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Running on Chaos | John Logan

summary: five times you ragebaited logan, and the one time he got you back.

request: yes/no

warnings: swearing, allusions to sex (but nothing explicit)

word count: 3.11k

authors note: I have no comments, beyond that this made me laugh. oh and realistically, these events were happening over the span of weeks or months, they did not all happen back to back.

You started dating Logan in April right before the summer break started.

loveyoubunchies

Sweet Surprises

John Logan x fem!reader

Summary: You adored your boyfriend, John Logan, with every bone in your body. Which is why you decided to throw him his very first surprised party. Except this happened to be the one time having a clingy boyfriend had it's downsides

Warnings: FLUFF, slightish bit of angst

A/N: Giving you something sweet! I really loved writing this. Lowkey one of my favorites.

Main Masterlist

flannelshirts-and-fingerguns

We Listen and We Don’t Judge Pt. 2 (aka the Fire Fiasco)

Summary: A continuation of We Listen and We Don’t Judge. Things escalate but they work out in the end.

Pairing: John Logan x Reader

Warning: Don’t try this at home

Note: My first part 2 for a story. This was so fun to write. Hope y’all enjoy 🫶

The living room of the hockey house looked like a war zone.

Actually, that was insulting to war zones. Smoke rolled lazily across the ceiling, the distinct scent of burnt upholstery hung heavy in the air, and the fire department had only just left after drenching the kitchen in a thick layer of industrial foam.

In the center of the devastation stood Garrett, Hannah, Dean, Allie, and Tucker. They were all soaking wet, dripping with soot-stained water, and covered in varying layers of black ash. Garrett’s signature jawline was tight enough to snap a hockey stick; Hannah was rubbing her temples; Allie’s hair was plastered to her face like a sad sea creature; Tucker looked profoundly disappointed; and Dean was staring at his ruined, soot-covered vintage leather jacket as if his firstborn child had just been taken from him.

They were all staring at the two of you with their arms tightly crossed.

Then there was you and John Logan. Standing side-by-side in the one dry corner of the room, completely pristine, smelling like vanilla and expensive cologne, looking incredibly sheepish. You were twisting your fingers together, while Logan was rubbing the back of his neck, his cheeks a bright, guilty red.

"I mean..." you started, your voice a tiny squeak in the dead silence. "The important thing is that nobody got hurt?"

Garrett’s eye twitched. "You burned down our kitchen, Y/N."

"Technically," Logan interjected, holding up a finger, "it was only a localized cabinet fire that spread to the drywall, G. The structure is totally solid."

Five deadly glares snapped directly to Logan. He quickly dropped his hand and cleared his throat, looking back at the floor. "Right. Sorry. Shutting up."

How had it come to this? To understand the sheer, unhinged logistics of a destroyed hockey house, you have to rewind exactly three hours earlier.

Three Hours Earlier...

It had started with Garrett’s advice. Logan had finally decided to "man up" and ask you on a proper date, completely devoid of broken plumbing or loose screws. He had come over to the girls' dorm, dressed in a nice button-down shirt (sadly hiding the biceps, but still devastatingly handsome), and asked you out to a nice Italian dinner.

You had said yes so fast you nearly gave yourself whiplash.

But because the universe apparently thrives on chaos, your first official date didn't quite make it to the restaurant. Logan had brought you back to the hockey house first to grab his wallet, which he’d forgotten in his room.

"Make yourself at home," Logan had smiled, gesturing to the living room. "I'll be two seconds."

Now, any normal person would have sat on the couch. But you? You were a girl with a mission, a toolkit hidden under your own sofa, and a brain that had been thoroughly rotted by Allie’s whiteboard schemes. You had noticed, upon entering, that the handle on the hockey house’s front door was jiggling. It was a mechanical flaw. An invitation.

While Logan was in his room, you slipped a miniature screwdriver out of your purse (you had started carrying it like lip balm). You figured you would just loosen the internal latch mechanism a tiny bit. Just enough so that when you guys got back from dinner, the lock would stick, and Logan would have to heroically fix it while you watched those glorious shoulder muscles work.

It was a foolproof plan. Until you dropped the tiny, critical screw directly into the floor vent.

"Oh, no, no, no," you whispered, dropping to your knees. You peeked into the metal grate. The screw was gone. Panicking, you tried to pull the grate off the floor to reach for it, but it was stuck. You pulled harder. Your foot slipped, and the grate went flying past the nearby kitchen island, and with a horrific CRACK, you managed to completely dislodge a gas line connector that ran from the floor to the stove.

A faint, ominous hissing sound filled the air.

"Y/N? You find everything okay out here?" Logan asked, walking towards the kitchen.

"Logan!" you gasped, jumping up and accidentally kicking your purse—which slid across the floor, hit the oven door, and knocked a loose dish towel directly onto the stove's pilot light.

FWOOMP.

A spark caught the towel. The hissing gas caught the spark. Within three seconds, the entire back wall of the kitchen was a wall of bright, roaring flames.

"Oh my god!" you screamed.

"Holy shit!" Logan yelled. He didn't even hesitate. He grabbed you by the waist, lifting you completely off your feet, and sprinted backward into the living room, shielding your body with his own. He tried to throw open the front door—which, thanks to your tampering, was immediately jammed shut, trapping the lock in place.

"The door is stuck!" Logan shouted, kicking it. It didn't budge.

"I lost the screw!" you wailed over the sound of the smoke alarm blaring.

By this time, the rest of the crew had been alerted by the sirens. Garrett and Hannah rushed down the stairs; Tucker ran in from the back porch; Dean and Allie, scrambled out of the bathroom.

"What did you do?!" Garrett screamed, coughing through the black smoke that was rapidly filling the house.

"I've got the fire extinguisher!" Tucker yelled, sprinting into the kitchen like a hero, only for the extinguisher to malfunction and spray a massive cloud of white chemical retardant directly into Dean’s face.

"My hair!" Dean shrieked, blindly stumbling backward into Allie, knocking them both into the hallway bookcase, which collapsed, triggering the house's overhead emergency sprinkler system.

Instantly, freezing cold water began pouring from the ceiling. Tucker was battling the grease fire with a failing extinguisher; Garrett was trying to hack the front door open with a hockey stick; Hannah was trying to drag Garrett out of the line of fire; and Allie was screaming because the soot-water was ruining her makeup.

And amidst the absolute, cataclysmic, terrifying screaming match of five people getting drenched, bruised, and covered in ash... Logan had kept you pinned into the one dry corner of the foyer under the hallway archway, entirely protected from the sprinklers and the smoke, his arms wrapped securely around you.

He looked down at you, his blue eyes wide, his chest heaving. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," you whispered, staring up at him, your heart hammering against your ribs. "Logan... I'm so sorry. I was just trying to loosen the door handle so you'd have to fix it later. Because I wanted an excuse to see you again."

Logan blinked, the chaotic screaming of his roommates fading into background noise as things clicked into place for him. "Wait. The plumbing? The cabinets? The drywall?"

"Me," you confessed miserably. "All me. I have zero handy skills. I just wanted to watch you work in those cutoff shirts."

A slow, devastatingly gorgeous grin spread across Logan's face. He let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh. "You’ve accidentally burned down part of the house because you think I'm hot?"

"Essentially, yes."

"God, I love you," Logan muttered. And right there, while the fire department sirens wailed in the distance and Garrett finally broke the front door down with a ferocious body-slam, Logan leaned down and kissed you—deep, sweet, and thoroughly intoxicating.

Present Time...

Back in the smoky, soggy present, the crew was still staring at the two of you. Tucker was wringing out his shirt into a bucket; Dean was literally petting his ruined leather jacket with tears in his eyes.

"So," Garrett said, his voice dangerously calm. "Care to explain how a date turned into a three-alarm fire?"

You and Logan exchanged a look. You stepped forward, clearing your throat, and offered a weak, incredibly apologetic smile.

"Well..." you said, gesturing between yourself and Logan. "Look on the bright side! Logan and I are officially together now. Which means I don't have to break anything else to get his attention. You guys never have to worry about our hijinks ever again!"

Dean looked up from his jacket, his face covered in soot. "I'm going to sleep in my car from now on."

"Yeah," Hannah sighed, leaning her head on Garrett's wet shoulder. "Y/N if you ever come within ten feet of a toolbox again, I'm calling the police."

flannelshirts-and-fingerguns

We Listen and We Don’t Judge… WTF Y/N?!

Summary: You play a game of ‘we listen and we don’t judge’ with Hannah and Allie. Except when they find out your secret they have to judge

Pairing: John Logan x Reader

Warning: Don’t try this at home

Notes: This was created after looking at all the wonderful JL gifs. Specifically any of the ones where he has a cutoff shirt showing his biceps or where he is fixing things. 😋 Also I’m working on a Dean fic and I cannot nail his f-boy energy. If anyone has request send them my way while I fight my muse. Anyway hope y’all enjoy 🫶

The living room of the girls' dorm was dead silent, save for the hum of the refrigerator and the sudden, synchronized drop of Hannah and Allie’s jaws.

The three of you were sitting in a circle on the floor, playing a sacred game: the “We listen and we don’t judge” game. It was supposed to be a safe space for silly confessions. Hannah had already confessed that she accidentally submitted a recipe for chocolate chip cookies instead of her philosophy essay (and somehow got a B-). Allie had gleefully admitted to hiding Dean’s favorite hair gel because he told her she takes to long to get ready.

Then, it was your turn. And you had just blown the roof off the place.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Hannah held up a hand, her eyes wide. “Rewind. You’re telling us that you are the dorm spirit we’ve been complaining about for the past few months? There is no poltergeist? You’ve been deliberately sabotaging our apartment?”

“Let her cook, Han,” Allie interrupted, leaning forward with sudden, intense fascination. “I want to hear the logistics of this. Go on, Y/N. Explain the sordid details.”

You blushed furiously, pulling your knees to your chest. “Okay, look! It’s not that bad I swear! You know how I take mostly online classes and work from home? I have a lot of free time. And you know I have a massive, hopeless crush on John Logan. But I didn’t know how to get him to notice me!”

“So your grand solution was property damage?” Hannah asked, a grin twitching at the corner of her lips.

“Yes!” you squeaked. “He’s a literal mechanic! It’s his love language! I figured, if things randomly break, he’ll come over to fix them. And oh my god, girls… the cutoff shirts he wears when he works? The sweat? The biceps? It is doing wonderful things for my mental health.”

Allie giggled, “Brilliant. I respect the hustle.”

“You guys were losing your minds wondering why the plumbing and the cabinetry were failing on a weekly basis,” you mumbled into your knees. “I felt a little bad. So, I tried to ‘help’ him when he came over. But… I have zero handy skills.”

Hannah snorted. “Oh, we know. Remember when you tried to hang that picture frame and put a hole through the drywall?”

“Exactly!” you cried. “So whenever Logan’s fixing something, I try to hand him tools or hold things, and I just end up making it so much worse. Last week, I accidentally messed up the screws on the cabinet hinges so badly he had to re-drill the whole frame. I literally added two hours of work to his day. My heart was breaking for him!”

“And what did he do?” Allie cooed.

“He just smiled this devastatingly cute smile, looked at me with those blue eyes, and said, ‘Wow! Thanks for helping, pretty girl. I couldn't have done it without you.’ Meanwhile, I could see his soul leaving his body because I’m a walking disaster. But he’s just so sweet!”

Hannah shook her head, laughing. “Y/N, you are completely ridiculous. You don't need to commit minor acts of vandalism just to see him. You should just tell him how you feel! The guy clearly likes you.”

“No way,” you groaned, burying your face in your hands. “He’s John Logan. He probably thinks I’m just your clumsy, weird roommate.”

Meanwhile, across campus at the hockey house, John Logan was pacing the living room, a wildly whipped expression on his face. Garrett Graham sat on the couch, watching his friend with a mixture of amusement and genuine concern.

“I’m telling you, G, she’s an angel,” Logan gushed, throwing his hands in the air. “A beautiful, clumsy, perfect angel. The campus spirits are blessed, man. Every time something breaks in her apartment, I get to go over there.”

Garrett took a sip of his drink. “Right. Because the plumbing in a university dorm just spontaneously combusts every Tuesday.”

“I don't care why it breaks, I’m just glad it does,” Logan said, a goofy grin spreading across his face. “Ever since the day I met her—when I literally tripped over my own hockey bag and faceplanted right in front of her gorgeous face—I’ve been hooked. And she’s so shy, G. But she tries so hard to help me.”

Garrett raised an eyebrow. “Is she actually helpful?”

Logan’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second. A brief flash of phantom pain crossed his mechanic’s heart. “...She’s enthusiastic. Last time, she tried to help me fix the sink trap and accidentally wrenched the main valve the wrong way. Water sprayed everywhere. We were soaked. It took me three extra hours to clean up her ‘help’.”

“Logan,” Garrett said slowly. “That sounds like a nightmare.”

“No, you don't get it!” Logan defended, his eyes shining. “She looked so cute and guilty, dripping wet and apologizing. I just looked at her and I had no choice but to say, ‘Great job, pretty girl!’ because I didn't want to hurt her feelings. I’d let her break every pipe in that building if it means she stays near me. She’s just… god, she's so gorgeous.”

Garrett stared at his best friend for a long, quiet moment. Finally, he shook his head.

“Man, I am seriously concerned for your mental wellbeing. You’re enabling property damage for a smile,” Garrett said, standing up and clapping a hand on Logan’s shoulder. “Man up, Bob the Builder. Stop waiting for the toilet to overflow. Just ask her out on a proper date.”

Logan blinked, rubbing the back of his neck. “You think? What if she just thinks of me as the handyman?”

Back in the girls dorm, Allie was practically mapping out your next move on a small whiteboard. “Okay, so next is the bathroom door lock. You 'accidentally' get stuck inside, Logan has to break the door down, he carries you out—”

“Allie, stop encouraging her!” Hannah laughed, throwing a pillow at her. She turned to you, her expression softening. “Seriously, Y/N. You don’t need a broken door lock. Just talk to him next time he comes over. No sabotage required.”

You blushed, looking at the toolkit you had hidden under the sofa. “Maybe… but the cutoff shirts, Han. I have to consider the cutoff shirts.”

marvel-spidey

Safe With Me

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem! Reader Word count: 6.6k (my biggest one yet, woohoo) Genre: Angst/hurt/comfort Summary: After you are kidnapped by the Russians, Matt is forced to face the cost of his double life and the fear of losing the one person who means everything to him. (Based on ep 1x04 where Claire is kidnapped because that scene always has me in my feelsss) Warnings: violence, blood. A/n: Yes, here I am again. I'm rewatching the show and I couldn't help it, ok?? Soundtrack on loop while writing: Be Still by The Fray. If you feel emotionally compromised, that’s intentional. Enjoy!

vampireedolll

Sitching you up | Matt Murdock

✰summary: Matt finds you bloody and bruised in his apartment and helps you with your wounds.

✰wc: 2k✰

✰pairing: Matt Murdock x vigilente!fem reader.✰

✰ gif credits: @/fmsoys✰

✰mostly fluff/angst. Some allusions/mentions of sex. Also mentions of blood, stitches, injury, and wounds (probably not medically accurate)

When Matt enters his apartment, he is immediately hit with the scent of you. The smell of your sweet and dark amber cherry vanilla perfume mixes with the strong metallic blood scent and your spandex vigilante suit. He assumes you had come over after your usual vigilante activities. Letting yourself in with the spare key he gave you, like you've done before. A smile already forms on his lips as he enters his apartment further, hitting the light switch on his wall. It's not until he hears the sounds of labored breaths that he realizes something is wrong. Your gasps and desperate attempts at breathing grow louder as he walks closer to you.

He bends down, crouching beside where you lie on his living room floor. His hands roam over your suit trying to pinpoint the injury, but the more he hears and feels, he realizes it wasn't just the one. He could feel the blood seeping onto the floor underneath you.

"Sweetheart, what did you do? Where were you?"

andy-15-07

hii!!

could you do something where John Logan gets badly hit during a game and reader is in full panic mode in the crowd even if he says he’s fine and it’s a bit angsty but cute ? <3

When the Hit Lands

Pairing: John Logan x Reader

Word Count: 1342

Request open!

Off campus masterlist

John Logan had taken hard hits before.

That was the problem.

You knew, rationally, that hockey was a brutal sport. You knew people got checked into the boards, knocked off balance, sent sprawling into the ice. You knew John had always been tough enough to take it.

Knowing that did absolutely nothing when it happened to him.

You were in the stands with your hands wrapped around your program, halfway through the second period, when the play turned ugly in the blink of an eye. One second John had the puck, the next he was pinned hard against the boards by a defenseman twice as angry as he had any right to be.

The crack of it made your stomach drop.

John hit the ice.

The entire arena seemed to lurch with you.

You were already on your feet before you realized it, heart hammering so hard you could barely hear anything else. On the ice, John rolled once, then pushed himself up slowly. Too slowly.

Your hands went cold.

“John,” you whispered, though he could not hear you.

He stayed down another second, one glove pressed briefly to his side, then got up and skated with a stiffness that made your panic spike instantly. You could see the way he tried to hide it. The way he shook it off. The way he lifted his stick like he was fine.

But you knew him.

And he was not fine.

Beside you, Garrett leaned forward and squinted toward the ice. “That looked bad.”

You turned on him immediately, eyes wide. “He’s hurt.”

Garrett glanced at you and then back at the rink. “Maybe just shook up.”

“No.” Your voice cracked. “No, he’s hurt.”

He made a face. “Okay, okay. Let’s wait.”

You did not want to wait.

You watched the rest of the shift with your nails digging into your palms so hard it almost hurt more than the fear. Every time John moved, your eyes tracked him. Every time he touched his side, your panic got worse. Every time he told the trainer he was fine, you felt like you might crawl out of your skin.

When the period finally ended, John skated toward the bench with obvious annoyance written all over him.

“That’s not good,” Tucker muttered from below.

John was talking to the trainer while the guys surrounded him. You could not hear the words, only see the stubborn set of his jaw and the way he kept insisting on something while the trainer clearly did not agree.

Then John looked up.

Right at you.

Even from the stands, you could tell he was trying to reassure you.

He lifted a hand a little, like a wave. Like a signal.

You had never hated being told to calm down more in your life.

The moment he disappeared into the tunnel, you were already moving.

You found him near the locker room hallway with the trainer still pressing him to go for a scan. John was sitting on the bench with one elbow on his knee, face a little pale now that the adrenaline had started to fade. He looked up the second he heard your shoes.

There you were.

And somehow that made him look both better and worse.

“Hey,” he said, immediately trying for a smile. “You okay?”

You stopped in front of him and stared. “Am I okay?”

He blinked at your tone. “I’m asking because you look like you’re about to murder someone.”

“I am about to murder someone.”

His mouth twitched. “That tracks.”

You took one look at him sitting there trying to act like he was not holding his side and your eyes filled instantly.

John’s expression changed. “Oh, no.”

“Don’t oh, no me.”

He frowned. “Baby.”

“You got hit hard.”

“I know.”

“And then you told me you were fine.”

He gave you a helpless little look. “I am fine.”

You stared at him like he had lost his mind. “John.”

“What?”

“You are absolutely not fine.”

The trainer backed off discreetly once he realized the two of you were not going to be having a calm conversation in any traditional sense.

John reached for your hand. “Come here.”

You did, but only because you wanted to prove to yourself he was actually real and not made of stubbornness and terrible decisions. The second you got close, he caught your wrist and brought your hand to his mouth to kiss your knuckles.

That made you want to cry harder.

“Don’t do that,” you whispered, voice shaking.

“Do what?”

“Act normal.”

He exhaled through his nose and looked up at you with a tired, fond expression that still did not hide the pain underneath it. “I’m trying not to freak you out.”

“That ship has sailed.”

A soft laugh escaped him, then turned into a wince. He immediately pressed his lips together.

Your entire face changed. “See? You’re hurt.”

His eyes softened. “A little.”

“You’re not supposed to say a little when you look like this.”

“I’m trying to be brave.”

That made something in your chest ache.

You sat down beside him carefully and immediately tucked yourself close, one hand resting cautiously on his arm. “What did they say?”

“Probably a bruised rib. Maybe nothing worse.” He shrugged, then winced again and looked annoyed with himself. “Need to get checked out.”

You nodded quickly. “Okay. We’re doing that.”

He smiled at the we. “You sound terrifying.”

“I am terrifying.”

“That you are.”

You reached up and touched his cheek, relief and panic still battling in your chest. “You scared me.”

John’s face softened in a way that made him look suddenly so gentle it hurt.

“I know,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

You shook your head. “Just don’t do that again.”

He gave you a long look, then said, “I’ll try.”

“That is not reassuring.”

“Noted.”

You had to smile through the tears, which was unfair because he immediately looked a little more relieved when he saw it.

By the time they got him to the medical room, you were hovering so hard the nurse actually smiled at you and told you he was in good hands.

John, sitting on the exam table now while someone checked his ribs, kept reaching for you whenever he got the chance. A hand on your waist. Fingers against your wrist. Thumb brushing your knuckles.

At one point you leaned in and muttered, “You’re being clingy.”

He gave you a pained little smile. “You’re the one staring like I’m going to shatter.”

“That’s because you might.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “That dramatic?”

“Yes.”

The nurse was trying very hard not to laugh.

When the scan came back and the trainer confirmed it was just a nasty bruise and a few days of rest, your entire body finally let go of the fear you’d been carrying since the hit landed.

You exhaled so hard John looked up immediately.

“There she is,” he murmured.

You gave him a shaky look. “You’re not dying?”

He let out a quiet laugh, then winced and looked offended by the timing. “No.”

“Good.”

He held out both arms then, and you moved into them without hesitation, careful around his side. He tucked you close and kissed the top of your head.

“I’m okay,” he said softly.

You buried your face against his shirt and closed your eyes. “I know.”

But your hand still stayed spread carefully over his chest like you needed to make sure for yourself.

John kissed your hair once more and murmured, “I’ve got you.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes still wet but calmer now. “Yeah?”

His expression went warm and steady. “Yeah.”

And because you were still a little shaken and he was still warm and alive and here, you let yourself stay in his arms a little longer while the rest of the arena moved on around you.

He was fine.

You were fine.

And when he kissed your forehead before leaving the rink, it felt like enough to carry you both home.

ilovemmyy

John logan x reader- “i want you back”

warnings- none

wc- ~900

———————————————————————

The breakup wasn't explosive.

There wasn't screaming.

There weren't slammed doors.

Just two people sitting in silence, realizing love wasn't enough when neither of them knew how to communicate anymore.

"I think we need some space," Logan had said quietly.

You nodded, even though every part of you wanted to beg him to stay.

"If that's what you want."

It wasn't.

It wasn't what either of you wanted.

But neither of you stopped it.

—

Three weeks later.

John Logan had become an expert at pretending he was fine.

His teammates believed him.

His roommates believed him.

Even his coach believed him.

But every night, he'd unlock his phone, scroll to your contact, type out a message...

...and delete it.

"I miss you."

Delete.

"Can we talk?"

Delete.

"I made a mistake."

Delete.

He figured you were happier without him.

That was easier to believe than admitting he'd let the best thing in his life walk away.

—

You weren't doing much better.

Your friends kept insisting you should "get back out there."

So eventually, you agreed to go to a party.

You smiled when people talked to you.

Laughed when they told jokes.

Pretended you were okay.

Then, from across the room...

You saw him.

Logan.

He had just walked in with a couple of teammates, laughing at something one of them said.

The second he looked up...

His smile disappeared.

There you were.

You looked beautiful.

You always did.

But seeing you without him felt... wrong.

Like someone had taken the air out of the room.

Neither of you looked away.

"Logan?"

One of his teammates snapped their fingers.

"You coming?"

He nodded absentmindedly.

"Yeah."

But he wasn't listening.

He couldn't.

Not when you were standing twenty feet away.

—

An hour later, you stepped outside onto the back porch to escape the noise.

You barely had time to breathe before the screen door opened behind you.

"I had a feeling you'd come out here."

You turned.

Logan.

Hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie.

Hair messy.

Looking just as exhausted as you felt.

"You still hate crowded parties."

A small laugh escaped you.

"You remembered."

"I remember everything."

Silence settled between you.

Finally, he spoke.

"You look good."

"So do you."

Another silence.

The kind that used to feel comfortable.

Now it just hurt.

"How've you been?" he asked.

You shrugged.

"I'm surviving."

His jaw tightened.

"Yeah."

"Me too."

Neither of you believed the other.

"I miss you."

The words slipped out before Logan could stop them.

Your eyes widened.

He closed his eyes for a second.

"There."

He laughed bitterly.

"I finally said it."

Your heart ached.

"Logan..."

"I've been trying not to."

"I kept telling myself you were better off."

"I kept telling myself I'd get over you."

He looked at you, his voice quieter now.

"I haven't."

You looked away before he could see the tears gathering in your eyes.

"I miss you too."

His head snapped up.

"You do?"

"Every day."

You laughed softly through your tears.

"I still reach for my phone to text you whenever something funny happens."

"I still expect you to be the first person I tell everything to."

Logan swallowed hard.

"I still sleep on my side of the bed."

"I can't bring myself to take over your space."

You wiped at your eyes.

"I even ordered your favorite coffee by accident last week."

He smiled sadly.

"I still drive past your apartment hoping I'll accidentally see you."

You looked at him.

"You do?"

"More than I'd like to admit."

"I messed up."

His voice cracked.

"I got comfortable."

"I stopped telling you how much you meant to me because I thought you'd just... know."

He shook his head.

"That wasn't fair to you."

"I should've fought harder."

"I should've listened more."

"I should've chosen us instead of assuming we'd always be okay."

He stepped a little closer.

"I'm not asking you to forget what happened."

"I'm not asking you to pretend everything was perfect."

He took a shaky breath.

"I'm just asking..."

His eyes searched yours.

"...if there's any part of you that still wants this."

Your tears finally spilled over.

"I never stopped wanting this."

Relief washed over his face so quickly it almost made you cry harder.

"You didn't?"

"I was just waiting for you to come back."

Logan let out a laugh that sounded suspiciously like a sob.

"I've wanted you back since the second I walked away."

He reached for your hand slowly, giving you every chance to pull away.

You didn't.

Your fingers slid into his like they belonged there.

"I don't want another goodbye," you whispered.

"There won't be one."

"You can't promise that."

"No."

He smiled gently.

"But I can promise that next time things get hard..."

He squeezed your hand.

"...I'll stay."

You stepped into his arms.

The hug wasn't dramatic.

There were no grand declarations.

Just relief.

The kind that comes from finally finding your way back to the person who still feels like home.

Logan rested his forehead against yours.

"I love you."

You smiled through your tears.

"I know."

Then you laughed.

"But you're going to have to work to earn me back."

He grinned for the first time in weeks.

"I was hoping you'd say that."

Because this time, getting back together wasn't about pretending the past never happened.

It was about choosing each other again.

And this time...

Neither of you was letting go.

lvstqrs

sort of - john logan

pairing ! john logan x fem!reader

summary ! you clean up john's hand after he beats up your ex

warnings ! mild wound descriptions, fluff.

wc ! 1k

author's note ! off campus as my comeback hell yeah !!

to be added to my taglist.

raven-dor

dear god

in which neither you or dean are brave enough to admit what you both feel... until everything boils over and it all comes out

PAIRINGS: dean heyward-di laurentis x fem!reader

WARNINGS: arguing, jealous!dean, rage-baiter!dean, miscommunication, found family trope to the max, chaos galore, angst but also fluff, banter galore, allusion to nsfw, they're idiots in love, your honor!!

WORD COUNT: 5.2k

🎶 : dear god - tate mcrae

AN: 🩵♥️💗 - oh dean, i love you so. they're both such cowards and it's so fun to write them dancing around their feelings. this fic can be read as a stand-alone BUT it is a part two to a drabble i recently wrote (click here to read it). PLEASE ENJOY!!

Spring 2024, Sig Tau House

You’d been playing eye tag all night.

With who? You didn’t even know. He was hot, blonde, tall, and exuded confidence. At first, you hadn’t thought he was making eyes at you, not when Allie was beside you the entire time. But then Allie wasn’t by your side, and he was still staring with that insanely intense look in his eye. You were hooked. He’d yet to come over, something that you’d been silently disappointed about the entire three hours you’d been there.

Allie nudged your side, clinging to Sean’s arm for stability. “What’s got your smile upside down, sweet cheeks?”

“Sweet cheeks?” You raised a brow.

“You have sweet cheeks.” She said it like it was a fact. “God forbid I love my friends.”

“Alright babe.” Sean muttered. “You’re really drunk right now. Maybe we should go home.”

“I’m fine.” Allie argued. “You always do this, you know. You act like I’m some inconvenience.”

“That’s not-”

You cut in, scared that he would start something he did not want to finish. And you wouldn’t stop Allie if she started cussing him out. In fact, you’d happily join in. They’d been on and off again for a year now, and you couldn’t form a solid opinion on him. (If you were being honest with yourself, it was leaning toward the negative side of things). “I love you too, pookums.”

“Am I interrupting?”

You looked over your shoulder, blood rushing to your cheeks. It was him, the tall hot blonde. “Not at all.”

“I have to tell you something.” He looked so handsome it made your heart hurt. “Something deadly serious.”

book-lish

👏👏👏

seventiesaces

hey! I had a john logan request! So here is what I was thinking and feel free to write it however you want. So reader is not dating John but they are getting close. Reader is out with friends at a bar and is getting really drunk. They are so out of it and are so drunk they are convinced they can walk home by themselves. It's about a 30 minute walk back to the hockey house and on the way they slip and fall and like crack their head open or get a really blood nose (up to you) but because they are so drunk they don't even notice. Everyone else is at the hockey house just hanging out and playing video games when reader walks in. Everyone starts freaking out because reader is all bloody but they haven't even noticed yet. John gets really protective and defensive of reader and insists on being the only one who helps reader get cleaned up. After that you can write whatever! thanks!

This one made me giggle and kick my feet a bit lmao

You and Allie were a deadly combination for a night out. Add far too drinks to that, and you go from bad to worse.

Neither of you were responsible enough not to drink that night, both having your own separate reasons to drown out your pain with the mind altering substance. Allie had broken up with Sean for the fifth time, and unlike their past break ups Allie was determined not to reach out to him.

You were trapped in a "will they, or won't they" situation with none other than John Logan. One drunken night had completely flipped your friendship into long running situationship. Some nights he would act like he barely knew you, throwing you are in the bed like a ragdoll before pulling his clothes on in a hurry and practically running out of your dorm. Other nights he would show up with a bag of take out and asking you if you wanted to watch a movie before slowly fucking you into the sheets. You never knew what Logan you were getting when he showed up at your dorm.

book-lish

Bar Fight

John Logan x Reader

AN: I am on the mend lol, back to work tomorrow but this was in the drafts and just needed the ending so I’ve worked on it on and off today. Whatever stomach bug is going around it found me with a vengeance.

Warnings: Violence

If there was one thing you were gonna do it was stick up for your friends. So when you overheard some dickheads from Saint Anthony’s talking about Hannah the night before the game, you were ready for war.

heartsandheadcanons

⭑ Cool For The Summer ⭑

7.) “If we both want to fit, we’ll have to cuddle”

17.) Sleeping in the same bed for the first time

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: bsf!john logan x fem!reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: where you go on a summer trip to cape cod with the hawks and somehow end up in the same bed with john logan

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: mentions of drinking, drunk reader, Dean being stupid, reader is a girl, reader referred to as babe, let me know if I missed any!

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2k

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: hii!! This was based on this request! I had so much fun writing this and I was thinking of turning this into a series, let me know if you want me to continue with this!

Taglist!

Masterlist!

The guys had a tradition of going out on a road trip every year during summer break to blow off steam before the school year started up again.

They usually went out to Cape Cod to rent out a cabin and came back with insane stories. Last year, the big story was that Dean got so drunk that he ended up sleeping in someone else’s cabin. Thankfully nobody was there while he was sleeping but he was very confused as to where he was when he woke up. Everybody thought he got kidnapped and almost called the police before Dean stumbled in and explained what happened. He never went unsupervised after that point of the trip.

Normally, you just heard about these trips and never went on them because you always had other plans with friends and family and the timing just never worked. But this year, Logan asked way beforehand if you could come.

“Hey.” He said smiling, holding a coffee for you. He always brought you one when he walked you to your next class together.

“Hey yourself. Thank you.”

“No problem. Hey, I uh, I had a question. Would you wanna come to Cape Cod with us this summer? I know you’re normally busy, but I think it’d be really fun if you came with us this time.” He rambled, bashfully scratching the back of his neck.

“Logan you do realize that it’s December right? The sun won’t even be out for months.” You laughed at him.

“Well yeah, but I wanted to make sure to ask before it was too late.” He explained, turning slightly red.

“I never took you for a planner type.” You teased, fully amused.

“You totally don’t have to come by the way, it was sort of stupid to ask anyway–”

“I’ll come.” You cut him off.

“You will?” He said, his face going blank.

“Yeah, I will.” You smiled at him.

“Okay. Thanks. I’ll see you then. Well, I’ll see you way before then, since it’s December, but you know what I mean. Anyway, I’m gonna go to class now. Bye.” He rambled again, smiling at you.

“Bye Logan.” You laughed at him.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

And that’s how you ended up at the Hawk’s House at eight in the morning with four suitcases.

“Morning boys!” You smiled.

“Dude it is far too early to be that cheerful.” Dean mumbled.

“It’s eight in the morning. Don’t you have practice before then?” You asked him.

“Yeah, doesn’t mean I’m fully awake and ready at that time.” He crossed his arms.

“I’m sorry, are all those bags yours?” Garrett asked, looking appalled.

“Yeah. Why?” You asked.

“We’re only gonna be gone for a week.” He responded.

“I know. I have to be fashionable for said week. Can’t do that without clothes.” You explained.

“What are you gonna be wearing different outfits every hour?” Garrett scoffed.

“Garrett cut it out, she can bring what she wants.” Logan cut in, grabbing your bags and piling them into his truck.

“Morning loverboy.” Dean smirked.

“Piss off, prince charming.” Logan retorted.

“Alright! Everybody listen up! I have our itinerary here so I need everyone to pay attention.” Tucker said, rounding everyone up.

The game plan was that Garrett and Tucker would ride in one car while you, Logan, and Dean would ride in Logan’s truck. Dean was annoyed that he couldn’t drive, but ever since that time he decided to make a pit stop at a strip club, he wasn't allowed to drive anymore.

“It was one time! I thought the whole point of this trip was to let loose. I was just doing it early.” Dean whined, throwing his hands up.

“Do you not remember that you spent all of our gas money on the strippers?” Tucker reminded him, exasperated.

“I was simply being a good customer.” Dean replied smoothly.

“Just get in the car.” Tuck sighed, climbing into the driver’s seat of the car.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

“We are not listening to One Direction for an hour and a half.” Dean groaned.

“Well, what do you want to listen to Dean?” You snapped at him. You two had been arguing over what music to listen to for the past twenty minutes. You would suggest something, then Dean would say no. Dean would suggest something, and then you would say no. Then Logan would suggest something and you both said no.

“You know what, she’s picking.” Logan interrupted, settling the debate.

“Wha–that’s not fair! You always pick her side!” Dean groaned.

“I do not! Plus, I also don’t want to listen to Pitbull for the entire drive.”

“Ha! Loser!” You celebrated, doing a victory dance in the passenger seat.

“This is discrimination. First I have to get up early, I don’t get to drive, I don’t even get the privilege of sitting in the passenger seat, and now I’m subjected to listening to One Direction. I’m in hell.” Dean muttered to himself.

“Sorry what? I couldn’t hear you over the sound of One Direction playing.” You mocked him. Logan laughed while Dean rolled his eyes at you.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

“We’re here!” You squealed as you hopped out the truck.

You’ve been to Cape Cod before, but never with the Hawks. Were you fully aware that wild things were bound to happen? Yes. But did that excite you? Also yes.

“How was the drive for you guys?” Garrett asked.

“Absolutely awful. Tuck, don’t ever put me with her ever again.” Dean answered.

“What’d she do?” Tucker laughed.

“I don’t even want to talk about it. I need a drink.” Dean said glumly as he and Garrett walked into the cabin.

“I think you broke Dean.” Logan smirked at you, while he got your bags out of the car.

“He’ll be fine. Here, I can take those.” You held out your hands to take them.

“Nope I got it.”

“Are you sure? They’re pretty heavy.”

“I lift weights much heavier than this babe. I think I’ll be okay.” Logan replied as he walked your bags into the cabin.

Babe. Why did that nickname make your skin feel hot? Logan called you nicknames all the time, this was nothing different. It was probably the summer weather making you feel that way. Yeah. Right.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

“You have got to be kidding me.” You sighed.

Dean was going to be sleeping on the couch in the living room, and Garrett and Tuck were sleeping in the beds in the second bedroom, which left you and Logan with the first bedroom. With one bed.

“Sorry I didn’t even think about this. Normally I sleep in the bed by myself. I can sleep on the floor.” Logan apologized.

“Logan, you are not sleeping on the floor.” You stated.

“It’s no problem for me at all, really.”

“Well it’s a problem for me. Your back is going to kill you tomorrow if you sleep on the floor.” You crossed your arms at him.

“I’ll be fine I promise.” He said, trying to reassure you.

“That floor is also incredibly dirty.” You raised your eyebrows at him.

“I’ve seen worse.”

“John Logan, you are not sleeping on the floor!” You huffed.

“Ooooh, someone’s in trouble!” Dean hooted from across the hall.

“Shut up Dean!” Logan yelled back. You could hear the rest of the guys laughing in response.

“Listen, we can share. It’ll be like a fun sleepover. I don’t mind.” You reasoned with him, voice lowering.

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable.” Logan said, searching your face for any discomfort.

“You won’t. I promise.”

“Okay.” He relented, the fight leaving him.

“Okay.” You repeated, satisfied.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

You guys ended up at some random club, drinking and laughing. As soon as you guys stepped in you could feel the bass of the music in your bones, the energy of the club making you anxious to let loose. Dean went hard, being the life of the party as always. Garrett, Tuck, and Logan were half drinking, half laughing at the spectacle of Dean being stupid drunk. You instantly made your way to the dance floor, moving your body to the rhythm of the music, not caring what you looked like.

“Hey.” Logan whispered into your ear, coming up behind you.

“You scared me!” You startled, turning to face him.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to.” He smirked at you, a mischievous look in his eyes that told you that he one hundred percent meant to.

“Yeah whatever Johnny.” You rolled your eyes, gently swaying to the beat.

He smiled down at you as he pulled you closer by the belt loops on your jeans. Your arms found their way around his neck. It was weird how right it felt. Not that you were thinking about that.

“Have I told you how mesmerizing you look when you dance like no one’s watching?” He asked, looking intently into your eyes.

“No.” You replied lamely, breathless from how close you two were.

“Well you do.” He replied in a low voice, his eyes boring into yours. You were tempted to look away from how intense his gaze was but it was like he pulled you in, threatening to never let go. And you didn’t really know if you wanted him to.

There were inches between you both now, and if you two didn’t stop now you knew for a fact you’d end up kissing him. And judging by the look in Logan’s eyes he looked like he felt the same.

“Hey lovebirds! Care to help us with these shots?” Tuck yelled over the music at you both, breaking the moment between you.

“Yeah coming!” You yelled back, awkwardly unwrapping your arms from Logan. You walked away from Logan quickly, thanking Tucker for his impeccable timing.

A few rounds of shots later, you were wasted. It was probably a little too late to say that you were a lightweight. A huge one. You almost tripped and fell before two strong arms caught you, which happened to belong to Logan.

“You have such nice arms. Sorry I never noticed them before.” You said dreamily, smiling up at him.

“Well somebody is drunk.” He chuckled.

“Am not! Just a little bit tipsy s’all.” You denied, giggling.

“Uh huh. Let’s get you back to the cabin.” He said, not buying it all.

“Ugh fine. You’re such a loser for this y’know that?” You relented, huffing dramatically.

“A loser for wanting you to be safe? How terrible of me.” He clutched his chest, matching how dramatic you were being.

“Don’t mock me!” You tried to shove him with your shoulder but somehow sorely missed and hit the floor.

“Woah wipeout!” Tucker looked down at you, laughing at the sight of you.

“You see why we’re going home now?” Logan raised an eyebrow at you.

“You’re taking her to the cabin? Finally! It’s been painful watching you two dance around each other.” Dean clapped Logan on the shoulder.

“Not in that way dumbass. I’m taking her home because she’s obviously wasted.” He scowled at Dean.

“Phrase it however you need to man.” Dean held his hands up in mock surrender, smirking at Logan.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed.” Logan said as he led you out of the club.

“Have fun you two!” Dean laughed. Logan just flipped him off.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

After Logan forced you to take a shower, change into your pajamas, and drink some water, you had mellowed out enough to relax in bed.

“Is there anything else you need?” Logan asked you, getting ready to turn off the light.

“You.” You don’t know what possessed you to say that, but you knew you didn’t want to be alone tonight.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Logan grimaced.

“We don’t have to do anything. Just lay here with me.” You patted the space next to you.

He seemed to wrestle with his options for a few beats, sighed, and then made his way over to you.

“Well there’s no need to be so touchy with me Johnny.” You deadpanned. He was sitting on the edge of the bed looking like he wanted the bed to swallow him whole.

“I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.” He replied.

“If we both want to fit, we’ll have to cuddle.”

He sighed again and laid down next to you, putting his arm under your head. You nestled into his chest and made a contented noise.

“This is nice.” You whispered.

“It is.” He admitted quietly.

“We’ve never slept in the same bed before. Why haven’t we done that before?” You wondered aloud.

“Lots of reasons.” Logan replied.

“Well they’re all stupid.” You muttered, half asleep already.

He chuckled softly at that.

“Night Johnny.”

“Night babe.” He blew out a breath and looked up at the ceiling. This was going to be a long week.

🏷️: @ralilda

yvaineseleneposts

Choosing you

A/N: This was requested by an Anon. I took some creative liberty and made her insecure about his crush on Hannah as well.

Pairing: John Logan x reader

Words: 1,8k

Warning(s): feeling insecure, slight angst but happy end

The first month of dating John Logan should have been the happiest month of your life. Instead, it terrified you. Not because Logan did anything wrong, in fact, that was the problem, he did everything right.

folkloure

⭑.ᐟ all cards on the table

john logan x reader

summary: you feel insecure about logan's feelings and keep picking up fights, until he calls it off. angsty, hurt/comfort. requested!

You keep glaring at Logan through your teary eyes, even though he refuses to look back at you right now.

“So this is it, then?” You say, and it comes out ragged as you try raising your voice, “You’d rather just– Just leave?”

Your accusing tone makes him look up, and you notice his eyebrows furrowing in a way that almost looks angry, framing his big eyes. “What do you want me to do?” He answers, so resolute, “Hm? Would you rather just have us keep fighting for no fucking reason?”

It takes you aback, how unusual the harshness sounds for him. John Logan, your loving boyfriend with his ever soft spoken voice, speaking with such coldness within his words.

“Logan…” You try reaching out, but it only makes him take a step back.

“I don’t know what else– I don’t understand.” He says, “I want to, but I don’t know what I can do for us– For you to make up your mind.”

And it hurts to hear, but he isn’t necessarily wrong — you have been the one stirring up arguments between you and Logan.

Every other day, like a key suddenly shifting, your brain would wander to how serious he really feels about the two of you, and all hell would break loose inside your mind.

You think it must be because you don’t believe in his reformed manwhore behaviour, playing the adoring boyfriend part that only makes you wonder when he’ll drop it and finally break your heart.

And Logan has been patient, saintly so. He’d listen to you and he’d argue back, make a bunch of promises he has every intention of keeping even when you don’t expect him to, he’d kiss you silly until there was no space for doubt of his love for you. But still, at some point, your head would again be made up about him, and again there’d be no turning back from it. The next argument would always come, and Logan would pledge, profess his love, give you his word.

Now, he’s silently staring at you, and you realise you might’ve finally crossed the line.

He sighs, and his voice comes out defeated when he finally says, “What do you want me to do?”

You shake your head, watching him. What is there for him to do? You watch his reddened, tired eyes, knowing you had driven him to exhaustion at this point. What else could you possibly do for him?

“You can leave now,” you say, your tone hoarse from the lump forming in your throat.

Logan only shakes his head, muttering, “Yeah,” he clears his throat, “Yeah, sure.” Then walking out of your dorm, leaving the room.

No door slams, no more arguments. Just silence.

—

You don’t answer the phone for two days, despite your friends' constant texts and calls. They know it by now, of course they do. Logan would’ve confided in Garrett, who would tell Hannah, who would call Allie to reach out to you, and you can’t have that.

A buzz comes from your phone and you let it ring, because you refuse to acknowledge that you’ve finally done it — you have officially pushed Logan away.

You don’t blame him, because how could you? You wouldn’t tolerate your constant accusal either, your sullen moments where you’d overanalyse his demeanour until you would’ve found anything, even if a product of your own mind. He has been patient, and he has been understanding, and he has left you.

Another buzz goes unnoticed.

Then, a knock, “Hey, um.” Logan’s voice comes out muffled from behind the door, and you sit up, “Just wanted to check if you’re okay? Allie said she was coming to tear the door down, but– Um, I still have the spare key.”

You can’t move, stuck in place watching the door, and nothing else comes from the other side for a moment, “Yeah, they’re worried, and– And I’m worried too, so. Yeah.” Then after another beat, “Just– Please, open the door? Don’t make me use the spare key, please.”

The sound of his jiggling keys takes you out of your stupor, quickly getting out of bed to get the door, “Wait a second.”

You swing the door open, watching as Logan’s head turns up, “Jesus, you look awful,” you say, words slipping out of your mouth before you can hold them back. Your face twists in embarrassment, but Logan actually chuckles, “Sorry, I didn’t–”

“No, it’s okay.” He answers, and you feel his eyes traveling down on you, “Right back at you, actually.”

You can’t help but run your hands over your clothes as you mutter, “Yeah. Tough week.”

He nods, “Yeah, me too.” You stare at him. Logan looks handsome, although his undereyes look slightly more prominent than they did back on the day of your final argument. He shrugs, and starts backing up, “I’ll let Allie know you’re alive, then.”

You take a step forward, “Logan, wait. I– Can we talk?” He stands there, eyes closed as if he had been dreading this very moment. You open the door a little more, “Please?”

“I really don’t wanna fight.” He says, and it makes your stomach churn that his mind immediately goes there.

You shake your head, “No, of course not.” He nods, and walks inside your room. You take the seconds between him walking past you and closing your door to take a deep breath, thoughts running with all the things you wanna say to him just now, “I– I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

Logan opens his mouth, but you don’t let him talk, “No, let me. I’m– I know this is all my fault, okay? I was just so– I don’t know, terrified. Constantly waiting for you to realise that wasn’t what you wanted, and break my fucking heart, and I just– Broke it myself, you know? It would be less painful–”

“For who?” He cuts you off, the hurt in his voice making itself known, “You broke my heart too, sweetheart.”

“I know.” You say, “I know. I’m sorry, it was completely unjustified, and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I’m so sorry.”

Logan runs his hands through his face. He’s hurt, and hearing you say he wasn’t really the one to blame feels like twisting the knife instead of soothing the wound, and he’s unsure what to do or say. Then, he takes a look at you.

You’re not crying, but he can tell the dam is close to breaking. Puffy face, tired eyes, wearing an old shirt of his, and even though he still feels awful, you look just as bad.

“Come here,” he says, motioning for you to get closer.

You move like a wounded animal, slowly and unsure. Logan places his arms around your shoulders, and you gently push your face into his shoulder, whispering, “I’m so embarrassed.”

“Don’t be.”

“No, I am.” You say, like you’re defending your right to feel terrible, “I have to. I treated you awfully.”

Logan sighs, “You sort of did, yeah,” you huff, endeared by his bluntness, “I don’t think I could see where you were coming from, with all that. I do see it now, kinda.”

“It was stupid.”

“Not stupid. Just… I don’t know. You weren’t sure about how I felt, I can understand it.”

“But I didn’t need to.” You say.

Logan presses you closer, his lips finding your shoulder, “No, you didn’t.”

You hum, “I’m really sorry.”

“I know.” He answers, and even though he doesn’t have to, he still murmurs, “I’m sorry too.”

You close your eyes, letting your body relax against his.

You know this isn’t the end of you or the talk, that you’ll both find the time to go back to this conversation when the two of you aren’t so exhausted, and talk about it over and over and over, until it’s all cards on the table and no unspoken feelings left behind.

But now, as you wrap your arms around his midriff, there’s a new kind of feeling brewing in your ribs, a willingness to be truthful to your own uncertainties and talk it out, knowing you’re past the worst of it. And when you lay your head on his chest, you feel his heart drum in a similar beat of your own, a willingness to understand them all.

notes: thank you for reading! requests are open! likes/reblogs/thoughts are appreciated! <3

john logan masterlist

darkkdamsel00

GRAHAM'S LITTLE SISTER

Pairing: John Logan x Graham!Sister!Reader

Summary: You return to Boston for spring break determined to keep your secret relationship with your brother’s best friend hidden, but one look from John Logan is enough to unravel every boundary you swore you’d keep.

You’d been dreading this trip for weeks, but the second you stepped off the plane and saw Garrett waiting at arrivals with that stupid, familiar grin, your stomach flipped for an entirely different reason. Spring break. One week back in Boston with your brother and his crew. One week pretending John Logan wasn’t the guy who’d been fucking you senseless for the past twelve months.

Garrett pulled you into a bear hug, lifting you clear off the ground like you were still fifteen. “There’s my favorite sister.”

“I’m your only sister, dumbass.”

“Still favorite.” He set you down and ruffled your hair. “Hannah’s waiting in the car. Dean and Allie are already at the house pre-gaming. Logan’s… somewhere.”

Your pulse spiked at his name. You kept your face neutral. “Cool.”

The drive to the off-campus house was loud with Hannah’s laughter and Garrett’s terrible playlist. You sat in the back, phone buzzing in your lap.

Logan: You here yet, baby? I’m losing my mind.

You bit your lip and angled the screen away.

You: Just pulled up. Behave.

Logan: No.

The house looked the same—slightly worse for wear after another hockey season. Dean opened the door shirtless, Allie tucked under his arm, both of them already tipsy.

“Graham’s little sister!” Dean crowed, pulling you into a hug that smelled like tequila and cologne. “Look at you, all NYU sophisticated. Break any Ivy League hearts yet?”

“Only the ones that deserve it,” you shot back.

Then Logan appeared in the hallway behind him.

God, he looked good. Dark jeans, black thermal stretched across his shoulders, Bruins cap backwards. His brown eyes locked on you and the corner of his mouth twitched, the same smirk he gave you right before he buried his face between your thighs.

“Yo, Logan, come say hi to my sister,” Garrett called, oblivious.

Logan sauntered over, casual as hell. “Hey, stranger.” His voice was low, rough. His fingers brushed your waist as he hugged you—quick, friendly, brother-approved. But his hand lingered half a second too long, thumb pressing just above your hip bone where only he knew you were ticklish.

“Missed you,” he murmured against your ear, so soft no one else could hear.

You swallowed. “Missed you more.”

The first night was torture.

Everyone gathered in the living room, drinking, playing cards, telling stories. You sat on the couch between Hannah and Allie, laughing at Dean’s ridiculous impressions, while Logan lounged in the armchair across from you. His legs were spread, one ankle hooked over his knee, eyes never leaving you. Every time you crossed your legs, his gaze dropped. Every time you licked salt off your thumb after a tequila shot, his jaw tightened.

Around two a.m., people started drifting to bed. Garrett kissed Hannah goodnight and clapped Logan on the shoulder. “Don’t stay up too late, man. We’ve got ice time tomorrow.”

Logan’s smile was easy. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

You waited fifteen agonizing minutes in the guest room before your phone lit up.

Logan: Back door. Now.

You crept downstairs in nothing but an oversized hoodie and panties. The kitchen was dark. The second you stepped outside onto the back porch, strong arms yanked you against a hard chest. Logan’s mouth crashed into yours, hungry and desperate, a whole year of secret touches and stolen weekends exploding between you.

“Fuck, I missed this mouth,” he growled, backing you against the siding. His hands slid under the hoodie, palming your ass, lifting you so your legs wrapped around his waist. “Missed how wet you get for me.”

“Logan—” You gasped as he ground his erection against you. “We can’t—not here—”

“Inside. My room. Now.”

He carried you through the dark house like you weighed nothing. The second his bedroom door clicked shut, clothes hit the floor. Your hoodie, his shirt, your panties, his jeans. He pushed you onto the bed, mouth on your neck, your tits, sucking hard enough to leave marks you’d have to hide tomorrow.

“You’ve been driving me crazy all night,” he muttered against your stomach, kissing lower. “Sitting there in those little shorts, knowing I can’t touch you.”

“Then touch me now.”

He did. Two thick fingers pushed inside you without warning, curling just right. His tongue flicked your clit and your back arched off the bed. You shoved a pillow over your face to muffle the moan.

Logan ripped it away. “Let me hear you. Been too fucking long.”

He ate you out like a man starved—messy, filthy, perfect. You came hard, thighs shaking around his head, whispering his name like a prayer. Before you could recover, he was over you, condom on, cock nudging your entrance.

“Look at me,” he ordered.

You did. Blue eyes dark with lust and something deeper. He pushed in slowly, stretching you, filling you until you couldn’t breathe.

“Fuck, you feel like home,” he groaned.

Then he fucked you. Hard. Deep. The headboard banged against the wall and you didn’t even care. You clawed at his back, met every thrust, whispered dirty things in his ear that made him lose control. He flipped you over, pulled your hips up, and took you from behind, one hand fisted in your hair.

“Come on my cock, baby. Let me feel it.”

You shattered again. He followed right after, burying himself deep and groaning your name into your shoulder.

You collapsed together, sweaty and tangled. Logan pulled you against his chest, pressing lazy kisses to your temple.

“I hate hiding this,” he said quietly.

“Me too. But Garrett…”

“Yeah.” His arms tightened. “I know.”

The next three days were a blur of stolen moments. Quick kisses in the hallway when everyone was distracted. Logan’s hand up your skirt under the dinner table. A frantic blowjob in his truck in the driveway at 3 a.m. while Garrett and Hannah slept upstairs.

You almost got caught twice. Once when Dean nearly walked in on Logan fingering you in the laundry room. Another when Garrett asked why your neck looked “weird” and you lied about a curling iron burn.

By day four, the tension was unbearable.

It snapped at the bonfire.

The guys had dragged an old fire pit into the backyard. Beers flowed. Music thumped. You were tipsy, wearing Logan’s hoodie because it smelled like him and because he’d growled in your ear to put it on before you came outside.

Garrett was telling some story about a game last season when he noticed you laughing at something Logan whispered.

His eyes narrowed. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” you said quickly.

Logan leaned back, casual. “Just telling her about the time Dean face-planted during warm-ups.”

Garrett didn’t laugh. His gaze flicked between you and Logan. Something shifted in his expression—suspicion hardening into realization.

Later, when you slipped inside for another drink, Garrett followed.

In the kitchen, he cornered you. “You and Logan.”

It wasn’t a question.

Your heart stopped. “Garrett—”

“Don’t.” His voice was low, dangerous. “I saw the way he looked at you. The fucking hoodie. How long?”

You swallowed. “A year.”

“A year?” He looked like you’d slapped him. “My best friend has been screwing my little sister behind my back for a goddamn year?”

“It’s not like that. We’re together. For real.”

Garrett dragged a hand through his hair. “Jesus Christ. I trusted him. I told him you were off-limits. I specifically said—”

“I’m not a kid anymore,” you snapped. “I’m twenty-one. I make my own choices.”

“Not with him.” His jaw clenched. “Not with Logan. He’s a fucking mess. Hockey, parties, girls—”

“He hasn’t touched anyone else since we started. He loves me, Garrett.”

The back door slammed. Logan stepped in, eyes blazing. “You got something to say to me, Graham?”

Garrett turned on him. “Yeah. Get the fuck away from my sister.”

Logan’s hands fisted at his sides. “Too late for that.”

The first punch came from Garrett. It cracked across Logan’s jaw, sending him stumbling into the counter. Logan roared and tackled him. They crashed to the floor in a mess of limbs and fury—fists flying, grunts, the sound of knuckles on flesh.

“Stop!” you screamed.

Dean and Allie rushed in. Dean grabbed Garrett, Allie tried to pull Logan back, but the two men were too far gone.

“You’re supposed to be my brother!” Garrett shouted, blood on his lip. “I would’ve taken a bullet for you, man!”

“And I love her!” Logan yelled back, shoving Dean off. His eye was already swelling. “I’m in love with her, you idiot. Have been for years. I tried to stay away. I couldn’t.”

Garrett lunged again. Another punch landed. Blood splattered the tile.

You stepped between them, hands out. “Enough!”

Both men froze, breathing hard.

Garrett wiped his mouth, glaring at Logan with pure betrayal. “Break it off. Right now. Or we’re done. Friendship. Everything.”

The silence was deafening.

Logan looked at you. Really looked. The fear in his eyes broke your heart.

“No,” he said quietly. “I won’t.”

Garrett’s laugh was bitter. “Then get the fuck out of my house.”

You found Logan in his room twenty minutes later, packing a duffel with jerky movements. His face was bruised, lip split.

“Logan…”

“I’m not ending this.” His voice cracked. “I can’t. Not anymore.”

You crossed the room and wrapped your arms around him from behind. He turned, buried his face in your neck, holding you so tight it hurt.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“Not your fault. Should’ve told him sooner. Or not at all. I don’t know anymore.”

You kissed his bruised jaw, his split lip, gentle and reverent. He shuddered.

“Stay with me tonight,” you said. “One more night before everything explodes.”

He hesitated, then nodded.

You made love slowly this time. No rushing. Logan laid you down on his bed and worshipped every inch of you, his mouth on your breasts, hands mapping your curves like he was memorizing. When he finally slid inside you, it was deep and unhurried, eyes locked the entire time.

“I love you,” he whispered against your lips as he moved. “So fucking much.”

You came together, clinging to each other like the world outside might tear you apart.

Afterward, tangled in sheets, he traced patterns on your bare back. “Whatever happens tomorrow… I’m not letting you go.”

You believed him.

The next morning was war.

Garrett was in the kitchen nursing coffee and a black eye when you came downstairs with Logan right behind you. Hannah stood beside him, looking torn. Dean and Allie hovered awkwardly by the fridge.

Garrett’s eyes hardened. “You didn’t break it off.”

“No,” Logan said flatly. “And I’m not going to.”

Garrett stood. “Then you’re not welcome here.”

“Garrett, stop,” Hannah said softly. “They’re adults. They love each other.”

“He lied to me. For a year.” Garrett’s voice rose. “My best friend and my sister. Behind my back. How the fuck am I supposed to be okay with that?”

Logan stepped forward. “I know I fucked up the way we did it. But I’m not sorry for loving her. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You slipped your hand into Logan’s. “I love him too. And if you make me choose, Garrett… I’ll choose him.”

The words landed like another punch. Garrett flinched.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Then Garrett exhaled, long and shaky. “I’m disappointed in you, man. Really fucking disappointed.” He looked at you, eyes glassy. “Both of you.”

He walked out.

The rest of spring break was strained. Garrett barely spoke to either of you. Logan crashed at Dean’s for a couple nights. You spent every free second with Logan, talking, fucking, planning how to make this work when you went back to NYU and he stayed in Boston for the summer.

On the last night, Garrett cornered Logan on the back porch while you pretended not to watch from the window.

“I still want to kill you,” Garrett said gruffly.

“Fair.”

“But… if you hurt her, I will kill you. Slowly.”

Logan nodded. “I’d let you.”

Garrett sighed. “She’s happy. I can see that. Doesn’t mean I like it.”

“I know.”

A long pause.

“Don’t fuck it up, Logan.”

“I won’t.”

They didn’t hug. Not yet. But the fist bump was something. A start.

You left for NYU the next day. Logan drove you to the airport. In the parking garage, he kissed you like the plane might leave without you. Deep, claiming, hands in your hair.

“Call me when you land,” he said.

“I will.” You touched his still-bruised cheek. “I love you.”

“Love you more, baby.”

folkloure

⭑.ᐟ feels like home

john logan x reader

summary: john logan learns what it's like to watch the world cup with you. fluff, requested!

Being a star-team hockey player and all, Logan has seen his fair share of intense fan behaviour. People showing up to their games in painted faces, tons of merch, a usual over the top excitement.

Still, he thinks you are acting a notch above it.

“You know you can’t wear that today, right?” you say, sitting on bed, narrowed eyes almost burning a hole on his chest.

Logan looks down at his own clothes, “What’s wrong with it?”

“It's a hockey hoodie.” You say, your voice in such an obvious tone that makes him reevaluate the entire colour.

He stares at you, waiting for clarification, “Uh, yeah?”

“We’re watching football tonight, Logan.” You remind him, “I can’t have you wearing merch from a whole different sport.”

Maybe it’s the novelty of it all that gets him so amused. When you two started dating, it took you some time to understand the basics of hockey. You eventually learned all the common terms, and somewhat the rules, though barely enough to have an idea of what the fuck is going on. So it’s safe to say he wouldn’t expect you to be so… Intense about any other sport. But there you are, wearing a jersey, with shimmery eyeshadow adorning your pretty face and a really strict plan of watching most of the World Cup’s games — except the ones where you’ll be watching him play, of course. Glad to know you still love him more, he thinks.

“You could wear the white one,” you say, getting up and heading to his closet, rummaging through his clothes, “You don’t have a blue one, do you?”

He lets out a chuckle, “No, honey. White is on the third drawer, I think.”

You open said drawer, finding his hoodie. He bites back a smile as he watches your face turning into a little grimace, eventually just deciding to accept it and toss it at him, “Meh, that’ll do. I gotta get you a jersey.”

He stares at you, half awe, half surprised, “This must be a big thing for you.”

“‘Course it is,” you shrug, sitting back on the edge of his bed. A subtle twinkle appears in your eyes as you keep talking, “You should see it back home. Flags everywhere, streets getting painted.”

Logan walks to his bed, knee resting next to you as he curves to kiss your face, “You miss being home?”

You look at him, pensive, “Yeah, a little,” you say, “Not everyday, but– You know, in times like these.”

He hums, “We’ll have fun tonight, though.”

Your face opens into a beaming smile, “We will!” You rise up to press a peck on his lips, “I’m excited!”

—

Excited, turns out, is an understatement.

“No, no! Oh fuck, they’re heading for the goal again,” you jump from the couch, standing closer to the TV and back to Logan’s side. It’s stressful, and you keep switching between English and your first language, a casual string of strong words he can only assume, by your tone, that it’s not the kindest of compliments.

He’s never seen you like that.

While you scream at the TV, Logan keeps chuckling to himself, looking around the living room. He’s amazed at how meticulous you planned for the whole thing — you wearing all the main colours, popcorn and snacks laying around the room, and your joyful squeal every time your team finally scored a goal, which might just be his new found favourite thing.

He decides he must have you this happy again.

And if this is happening, then he really needs to step up on his game. Thankfully, nothing that a little help from Allie and her theater department decoration skills won’t do, and a text to Tucker to beg him to run to the closest store can do some wonders, followed by another text to all your friends: 8pm, our house. wear appropriate colours or you WILL get tossed out!!!

Logan picks you up from your shift at Malone’s that night, and you don’t ask about the growing smirk he has on his face all the way home.

He turns to you once he parks his car in their garage, “I have a surprise for you.”

“You don’t say,” you grin, sarcastic tone in your voice, “Course you do. It’s written all over your face.”

“Shut up, no it’s not,” he beams. You watch as Logan gets out of the car, running to open your passenger door, offering you his hand, “Come on, close your eyes.”

“What, now?”

“Yes, now!” He guides you out, getting behind you to use his hands to cover your eyes, “Just to make sure.”

You giggle, moving your hands to hold his over your face, “Why am I nervous?”

“Don’t be,” he says in a low voice, face close to your ear. He stops you, placing you in front of the door and knocking. You hear a commotion inside, a rumble of voices shushing and heading closer, then the door opening. Logan lifts his hands, “Okay, open your eyes now.”

Your friends in coordinated colours are the first thing you see, the very same colours from your beloved jersey they're handing you now. There’s a star garland and fairy lights all over the ceiling, and silky, colourful pieces of fabric serving as tablecloths for the coffee table, covered in snacks and drinks — a little “take a shot for every goal” plaque right behind them.

“You like it?” you hear Allie say, but you don't even look at her. Soon you’ll notice her eyes are covered in colourful makeup, Hannah’s too, but now your attention is everywhere, “It was all Logan’s idea.”

You turn around to face your boyfriend, and he coos at you once he sees your teary eyes,

“Aw, baby.”

“Logan, what– How– What the fuck, man.”

He chuckles, his hands going to your cheeks, lips to your forehead, “I know it’s not the same as being back home…”

“Stop,” you shake your head, “This– Oh my god, this is– This is everything.”

“Well then,” he says, turning you around to push you inside, “Go change into your clothes, game starts in an hour. I’ll call the pizza place.”

“Wait, Logan–” You pull him closer, wrapping your arms around his neck, your voice still wobbly, “Thank you. I– I don’t have words.”

He presses you closer to his chest, pressing a kiss to the side of your face, “Anytime, honey. Or every four years, at least.” You chuckle, stepping back to look around the room one more time. Logan watches you, “Does it look like back home?”

You hum, face close to his, a teary smile on your face, “Feels like it.”

notes: thank you for reading! likes/reblogs/thoughts are appreciated! <3

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