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.
And if there was one thing that he learnt, it was that you were chaos.
Not in the loud kind of way that left you with a reputation.
It was this way that knew how to keep Logan on his feet 24/7 with you.
𝟏 “𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝,”
You were in your dorm with Allie and Hannah doing fit checks as Logan sat on your couch watching.
He promised to take the three of you to your girls night booking as he liked making sure that you were safe.
Hannah stood in the frame of your phone as she looked at what she was wearing “so this is actually all from their closests.” She laughed as she did a little twirl.
You laughed as you shook your head “your shoes are yours!” You corrected as Hannah nodded “yeah these are all mine.”
The brunette pointed to her sneakers before she pulled you into the frame “the skirt I stole from Allie and the shirt is from brandy.” A smirk spread across your face as Hannah motioned to Logan to join you in your shot.
Logan wrapped his hand around your waist “I’ve dressed my current boyfriend today in fact.” His arm tensed around your waist.
He turned to you with a confused expression “your current boyfriend?” He reiterated your words as you nodded with a smile.
Hannah and Allie giggled from beside your phone “are you planning on getting another one in the future?” Logan scoffed as you caught your lower lip between your teeth trying to swallow your own laughter.
You ran your fingers down his shirt “hey as they say the night is still young,” you teased as you pulled your attention back to the camera.
You did everything to not laugh “wow never in my life have I been so offended.” That broke the girls as they were now losing it on the other side of the camera.
That made Logan clock what was going on “I hate you.” He grumbled as he shook his head making you laugh as well.
You grinned as you cupped his jaw “you love me.” You mumbled as he stuck his tongue out before he kissed you.
Allie crossed her arms “you better not try to keep her tonight.” Her warning made Logan shake his head.
He laughed as he let his hand settle on your waist “oh no this one is your problem tonight.” He announced as he patted your hip.
𝟐 “𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫?”
You were sat on Logan’s bed as he came out of the bathroom “baby can you call my phone f’me? I can’t find it.” He had a towel wrapped around his waist.
You nodded as you threw your phone to the bottom of his bed as you looked up from your laptop. He used your password to unlock it before he typed in his number.
Then he frowned
“Wait.”
You barely looked up “what?” You cocked your head as he sat down on the foot of his bed.
He turned your phone to face you “why am I saved as John Logan in your phone?” He furrowed his eyebrows as it got your attention.
You placed your laptop next to you as you leaned up to sit closer to him “because that’s your name silly.” You rested your chin against his shoulder.
Logan laughed as the sensation made his squirm “yeah but that’s so formal.” He whined as his lips formed a pout.
You actually laughed at the sight “you want me to save you as Prince Charming or something?” You proposed as he thought about it seriously for a second.
And then he nodded.
“Maybe I should just save you as an unknown number?”
There was a pause before he shook his head “you’re just mean.” You laughed as you stood up.
You shrugged, “it’s more mysterious.” As you wriggled your eyebrows, Logan pulled you onto his lap.
“You’re one update away from me blocking you.”
His warning made you laugh as you stuck your tongue out at him.
You smiled, leaned in, and kissed his cheek before you grabbed your phone from his hand.
You were quick to type something before you showed it to him “happy?”
‘𝙹𝚘𝚑𝚗 𝙻𝚘𝚐𝚊𝚗’ 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚜 ‘𝙼𝚢 𝙼𝚊𝚗 💙’
“Very.”
𝟑 “𝐈’𝐦 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠,”
You were at practice, sitting in the bleachers in his hoodie, legs swinging as you watched the guys skate drills.
He came out of the locker room as he had his bag slung over his shoulder.
His breath was heavy, hair messy, looking annoyingly good in that effortless way that always made you forget your point for a second.
But not this time.
You pointed vaguely pointed to the group of lower-class men behind Logan “the guy with the dark hair,” you said casually “he’s kind of my type.”
John didn’t even turn around “you mean Carter.” His face turned into a sharp scowl as he heard the younger boys making a joke behind him.
You nodded as you slotted your phone into the pocket of your hoodie “yep.” You had to admit that if you were a freshman and single, you genuinely would have thought that the dude was hot.
He looked like a younger version of Logan which is why you found this so funny “you don’t even know him.” Logan deeply inhaled through his nostrils as he grumbled.
You shrugged as you licked your lips “I am just saying,”that’s when he slowly turned his head toward you.
Logan sucked at his teeth “you’re joking right?” He was practically weighing up the cost of what his bail money would be if he hit Carter.
You shrugged, “am I?” There was a beat of silence.
Then he stopped walking “that’s it.” He announced as he shook his head
“What?”
Logan sharpened his gaze back to the younger teammates “we’re leaving. I’m transferring teams. Maybe we’re moving countries.”You laughed as he hoisted you over his shoulder making you squeal.
He started walking the two of you out of the rink “you are a nightmare god.” He was genuinely considering relocating his entire life out of spite.
Or possibly throttling Carter into fear to avoid you for the rest of his life.
Carter never found out he was nearly responsible for a national hockey scandal.
𝟒 “𝐬𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐦𝐞,”
After Dean swore that you and Logan were the worst when it came to PDA.
And as you had a thing for proving the blonde boy wrong, you set yourself up on a challenge.
You wanted to see just how long it would take Logan to realise if you swiped his kisses.
Dean believed that Logan wouldn’t make it past 5 pm but you decided to back your boyfriend more than that “but you can’t avoid him all day then!” Dean pointed out as he watched Logan walk into the cafeteria.
You smiled as you got up “luckily for me I have a class in ten minutes.” You shot back as you stuck your tongue out at the blonde.
Logan dropped his bag into the seat where you were just sitting “hey pretty girl.” Logan smiled as he leaned down to kiss your lips.
You swerved letting his lips grazed your cheek “hey babe I gotta go!” You patted his cheek before you ran off.
It left Logan a little confused as he watched you run off “that was a little weird right?” Logan motioned to you as your body disappeared into the crowd.
Dean shook his head as he ate a carrot stick “not a clue what you’re talking about.” The second rule that you two came up with was that, neither one of you could hint that there was a bet going on.
By the time 2 pm came around Logan was waiting outside of your building after class “hey there princess.” Logan walked towards you with a smile as he reached for your hand.
You matched his facial expression as you leaned up to kiss him before you remembered what was going on “hi handsome.” You awkwardly shifted into giving him a hug.
As Logan patted your back, he almost wondered if he was just dreaming “the guys are waiting back at the house.” His announcement came as he mentally went through the previous events of the day as he was concerned he pissed you off.
You pulled away with a smile “perfect,” you squeezed his hand “shall we go?” You asked as you cocked your head.
Dean watched how you dodged Logan throughout the next few hours.
If you were any decent with a pair of skates, Dean would have proposed that he got you on the team. With the way you had been side stepping Logan, it was almost impressive.
Logan however, lacked the sentiment as you excused yourself to go to the bathroom “is it just me or is she being weird?” Logan spoke up as Dean celebrated.
But his cheering fell short when he realised that it was in fact 5:01 pm, what made your boyfriend even more confused was that you were running down the stairs cheering. While Dean sat with his head in his hands.
The brunette motioned between the two of you “okay what is going on between the two of you?” Logan asked as you marched over to him.
Your hands cupped his cheeks “god I love you.” You pulled him into a kiss that was so strong the two of you actually fell onto the couch.
Logan wasn’t going to complain as his hands steadied himself on your waist “god I hate it when she’s right.” Dean’s grumble was enough to make Logan pull away from you.
He cocked his head, making you sigh, “we had a bet that if I didn’t kiss you, you couldn’t last until five PM before you brought it up.” Your announcement made him laugh.
Logan stood up as he pulled you up with him “so that’s why you didn’t kiss me,” he spoke as he cocked his head.
You nodded now feeling somewhat bad until Logan wrapped his arms around your waist “if you boys will excuse us, we have some making out to catch up on.” His eyes flickered with mischief as the boys groaned.
Garrett shook his head “turn that up so we drown them out.” He grumbled, tapping Tucker’s shoulder as he pointed to the tv while Logan led you upstairs.
𝟓 “𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞?”
You were sat in the kitchen as Tucker cooked dinner for the group.
Logan was propped up on the counter as Garrett sat next to you “oh my god babe you wanna know what I saw?” You asked as Logan nodded.
He snatched a freshly cut carrot from Tucker’s chopping board, making the younger boy swat his hand away “Dean is on hinge!” Your announcement made all three boys freeze.
While Tucker and Garrett looked at each other, a little confused why you were on that app. Logan seemed far more curious to know what kind of prompts Dean had picked “wait show.” Logan motioned to you to hand him your phone.
When you smiled both other boys laughed finally catching onto what you were doing “nah I didn’t take a picture of it because I was so shocked, I just had to press close on his profile.” You swore your boyfriend must not have heard you properly.
But Logan shook his head “you can’t tell me that you found his profile and then not show me!” The boy whined as he walked over to you.
His hands wrapped around your shoulders as he rested his head against yours “c’mon babe.” He dragged out the last letter of the last word making you grin.
Logan pressed a kiss into your hair “this is just cruel and unusu-” he cut himself off as he stood up straight.
Garrett stood up as he reached for his phone seeing that he was meant to meet Hannah for dinner “bingo.” He patted Logan’s shoulder before he left.
Logan cocked his head as he looked at you “why are you on hinge?” He turned your body towards him.
You bit the inside of your cheek to hold back a laugh “I just like to see who is single.” You nodded to yourself, earning a laugh from Garrett before he left the room.
Your boyfriend cocked his head as he furrowed his eyebrows, “so is your profile like just you or?” He trailed off making you scoff “John Logan do you seriously think that I’m on a dating app to find us a throuple?”
Your words made Tucker cough as he packed up, laughing “I mean you’ve always said you wanted to try something.” Logan shrugged as he kissed your cheek.
You scoffed as you gasped, “yeah like positions in your bed, not who is gonna watch.” Tucker had opted to slowly slip out of the room as he was no longer interested in listening to this conversation.
Logan tucked your hair behind your ear “who said anything about them watching?” His smirk strengthened as your cheeks reddened.
It wasn’t often that you were speechless but in this moment you actually didn’t know what to say “should I be concerned that you actually seemed turned on by this?” You cocked your head as you pursed your lips together.
Your boyfriend laughed as he shook his head “you’re the one finding my friends on hinge.” Logan taunted as he pinched your side.
You rolled your eyes “I don’t have a damn hinge account!” You groaned making him smile.
Logan wrapped his arms around you as you stood “good,” he mumbled as he pecked your lips “for the record I like having you all to myself.”
+ 𝟏 “𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝,”
The group was all in the living room as the boys played the NHL video game in the tv while Logan and you were on a beanbag “thanks.” He sent you a smile as he pulled you on top of him as you handed him a water bottle.
He pressed a kiss against your cheek making you grin “you two make me sick.” Garrett gagged seeing the two of you from the corner of his eye.
It made you laugh as you stuck your tongue out at him “oh babe?” Logan spoke up as he scrolled on his phone.
You turned back to face him “my ex texted me today.” He spoke casually, still not looking at you.
You blinked slowly as your throat constricted “your what?” Your face turned as if you had just eaten a lemon.
You hadn’t noticed that the boys paused the tv to focus on you both as you were too concerned, and kept scrolling on his phone.
“Ex.”
You stared at him like he had grown three heads “for what?” You didn’t want to jump to conclusions but in that moment, you were teetering on the edge.
Logan shrugged “she was checking in.”You felt your face go flat as there was little left in your reserve to bite your tongue.
Part of you wondered if when you went to the kitchen to get water, if you were dropped in some alternate universe “oh, that’s sweet,” you said slowly, your body tensed as you prepared your next question “did you reply?” It felt like a penny could have dropped in that moment and it would have echoed through the house.
He shrugged as he bounced his foot “yeah,” there was silence as you sat up a little.
Tucker swore he watched you crack your knuckles a little “you replied.” You couldn’t miss the scowl on your face as you rolled your eyes.
“Mhm.”
Now he looked at you, like he was trying not to smile “and what did you say?” You struggled to understand what rock Logan had hit his head with to assume that you’d be totally fine with him chatting all to his ex like it was nothing.
He leaned back running his fingers through his hair “I just said hi,” he shrugged as you finally scoffed because that was it.
Something in you snapped instantly “oh, perfect,” you said, standing up “that’s great. I love that. So glad we’re doing this.”
“Doing what?”
You grabbed your bag as you stopped to look at him“whatever this is. Whatever situation I’ve apparently been invited into.” Part of you didn’t know if you were about to commit murder or just burst into tears.
Now he was definitely smiling “you’re jealous.” He pointed out as he stood up crossing his arms in the process.
Your lips formed a sharp line “I’m not jealous.” You grumbled as it made you stop what you were doing.
Logan looked at your bag “you’re literally packing up your things.” Half the stuff that you had thrown into it was stuff that you used to just leave at the house.
Dean had to admit he didn’t think that you had so many chargers at theirs “I’m going home.” You corrected Logan as you rolled your eyes.
“With my hoodie.”
A wicked laugh escaped your lips “oh you won’t need it where you’re going,” you snapped and that finally broke him.
He laughed like actually laughed and it was enough to make you clench your teeth.
And still he laughed again “babe,” he said, still grinning, “I don’t have an ex.”
You froze as your hands landed on your hips as your bag fell to the floor “huh?” You cocked your head as you were trying to keep the words that came out of your mouth appropriate.
“I made it up.”
You stared at him for a full five seconds and the boys swore that Logan must have gone too far “you are so dead,” you went to hit his chest but instead he pulled you into his arms.
He kissed your knuckles, still laughing “karma is a bitch huh?” Logan teased you as he ran his thumb over your cheek.
Dean rolled his eyes as he rubbed his knee “you two make me sick.” He fake gagged as he shook his head.
When Logan grabbed a pillow off of the couch and threw it at the blonde.
As you laughed, you knew that you couldn’t even stay mad for long.
Because John Logan looked way too happy watching you lose your mind over him.
And you hated that you liked that part the most.
But what made it okay was that when the shoe was on the other foot, Logan loved the fact that you knew how to push his buttons.
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
After dating Logan for nearly a year, you liked to think you knew almost everything about him. You knew what made him laugh, his favorite hockey players, movies he enjoyed and video games he played. You also knew about his upbringing that shaped him into the most emotionally aware and caring boyfriend you’d ever had. But there was one thing you knew about Logan that you wanted to change.
Throwing him a surprise birthday!
He mentioned it on the off hand when you were telling him about your own 18th surprise party where your friends pretended to forget your birthday before walking into a party later that night. It was one of the most memorable events where you felt so loved. And you wanted that for Logan. Remind him that he was loved.
So the planning started. You had exactly two weeks to pull off the best surprise party of them all. You enlisted his teammates, Hannah, Allie and Jules.
—
“Hey pretty,” Logan murmured, startling you as his arms wrapped around your waist as you were working by the kitchen counter.
You were spending the night since you were away last weekend for a club retreat and Logan was being more clingier than usual.
While normally you’d relax into his hold, this time your laptop screen has the group chat pulled up and other websites. Instead you froze in his hold, quickly swiping desktops before he could catch a glimpse.
You felt guilty when Logan gave you a weird look but the expression didn’t last when you turned to pressed a kiss to the corner of his lip. He smelled fresh as his hair was still damp from the shower, which is why you wanted to sneak in some extra planning time.
“Whatcha working on?” he mumbled, head now buried in the crook of your neck. You giggled feeling his stubble against your soft skin.
“Just a group project for class,” you said, interlacing your hand with his fingers splayed across your waist. You stayed in his embrace for a second feeling his breath tickle the back of your neck.
Him seemed satisfied with your answer, pulling away slightly to spin you around in his arms so you’d face him. God you loved him so much. Every smile he gave you was just another reminder that your party planning skills had to be on top of it.
“Thought you were done with midterms,” Logan hummed.
“Yeah my marketing class is just OD,” you shrugged.
“You have Donovan right? I can give you my slides from last semester if you need help.”
Your heart clenched at his thoughtfulness. That presentation wasn’t actually until the end of the month but the fact Logan still offered you support made you love him even more.
“Thanks,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his chest, right over his heart.
“Anything for you, gorgeous,” he hummed, “Lemme cook dinner since you’re working.”
“It’s fine Logan,” you said, “I can help.”
“Nah I got it beautiful,” he assured, pressing a quick kiss to your head.
God you loved this man. Which is why this party needed to be perfect.
—
Things got worse as the date crept forward. Logan was a clingy boyfriend which normally you wouldn’t complain about until you realized you had no way of secretly communicating with anyone if he was in the room. He was always in arms distance, not in a possessive way but more in a sense he couldn’t stand the thought of there being a single inch of space between you if you were in the same room.
You were sitting on the counter in the garage while he was changing the oil of his car. Normally you would spend the time ogling him and talking about your day but today you were distracted. In between sneaking glances of him shirtless you were firing texts to Garrett, Dean, and Tucker about food details and to see if a certain birthday gift was possible. They were annoyingly slow at responding.
“You’re awfully quiet, pretty,” Logan said, turning his attention from the car to you.
Your brows were furrowed as you were trying to make sense of Dean’s cryptic texts and your legs seining back and forth impatiently. You were distracted by the amount of recipes Tucker sent and the lack of engagement from Garrett that you hadn’t realized Logan had wiped his hands and made his way over to you.
“Baby,” he hummed, leaning into your space.
“Hmm,” you replied before glancing up from your phone and seeing he was inches away from you.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hey,” you smiled, lowering your phone.
“You’ve been looking at the phone more than me this whole time. And I’m literally half naked,” he pouted, moving a hand to grip your waist.
You chuckled at his complaint but put your phone down next to you to wrap your arms around his neck drawing him closer. Your noses brushed as you looked into those beautiful brown eyes you adored.
“I’m sorry,” you mumbled.
Then you leaned in to press a kiss to his lips as an apology. Logan instantly reacted, deepening the kiss like a starved man. His grip tightened around your waist while one hand reached up to cup your jaw. Your own hands tangled into his soft hair as you let out a soft moan when his tongue met yours. Your bodies were now flushed against each other as you felt his hot bare skin against your clothed body. Logan began to press kisses down your neck while your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist to pull him closer.
Just as Logan began to grind into you, gripping your thighs your phone began to ring.
Fuck it was probably Garrett getting back to you about that favor.
You broke away to check your screen to confirm your suspicions but Logan kept kissing your neck, not wanting to stop.
“Do you seriously have to take that?” Logan said into your skin.
Garrett wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t important.
You pulled away, placing a hand on his chest to allow yourself some space to hop off the counter.
“Sorry it’s my group calling about the project,” you said, quickly rushing outside to take the call. You made sure to give him a quick kiss before leaving.
Logan let out a defeated sigh watching you go. A feeling of unease began to brew in his stomach as he blinked his eyes to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating Garrett’s caller ID on your phone.
You wouldn’t lie to him, right?
—
Logan’s birthday was a week away and you had somewhat finalized your plans.
Everyone agreed that it would be best for you two to have a dinner date and then to bring him back to the hockey house. The group was going to set everything up as you were out. You had also been practicing your baking skills for the past week which meant you had accidentally set of your fire alarm twice. But you were confident now that the final product would be great.
The only problem was that Logan had a birthday tradition of bringing all his friends to his childhood diner somewhere in Hastings. You had joined him last year as his new girlfriend and he was so happy to be surrounded by you and all his teammates. Which is why it was horrible breaking the news that it would only be you two this year.
“I’m sorry babe,” you hummed, rubbing his arm.
“Yeah it just sucks. I’m not the biggest fan of birthdays but I thought they’d at least remember to save the date,” Logan sighed, frowning down at you.
In reality, Garrett wasn’t visiting Hannah’s parents and Tucker and Dean weren’t going to this once in a lifetime concert. They were staying back to decorate the house.
You told yourself the look on his face during the surprise would be worth it but in the moment you wished you could tell him the truth. He’d been on edge all week with practices.
“Hey we’re going to have a fun night though,” you offered, wrapping your arms around his middle to pull him closer.
“Yeah,” he said, but his eyes still looked sad.
You rested your head against his chest as his arms stroked your side in the comforting embrace. You could tell he was frustrated with the situation but didn’t want to talk about it.
You knew Logan had trouble expressing his emotions which was a bit of a road bump in the beginning of your relationship. You learned that you needed to be patient with him or else he’d isolate himself. Although since you’ve been together Logan has been great at communicating. Almost too good as you listen to all his wild tangents and stories that led him to his emotional conclusion.
Your phone kept buzzing in your back pocket which was starting to cut through the comforting moment that Logan released you.
“I’ll let you get that,” he said hurt laced in his voice, before walking toward the stairs.
“It’s nothing,” you assured, feeling like you were adding salt to the wound.
You knew you’ve been distracted by your phone these past weeks that Logan started to catch on. Although you tried to assure him it wasn’t anything it seemed he wasn’t buying it. Hence him closing himself off.
“I’m gonna go shower,” he said and then disappeared up the stairs.
You let out a defeated sigh but you could try to make it up to him with cuddles. Checking your phone you instantly smiled seeing Garrett was able to seal the last surprise in your plan.
You just hoped Logan won’t get even sadder that he wouldn’t want to celebrate his birthday.
—
The day finally arrived and you were a frazzled mess. You sent out all your final texts as Logan was still in the shower getting ready for dinner.
Logan’s Super Surprise Party
You
We’re about to leave! DON’T go in yet until I say so
Garrett
Yes Captain
Tucker
All the food is ready!
Hannah
I’m so excited!!!
Allie
Finalized the playlist with Justin and Dean this morning
You
Thank you guys!!! I really hope he likes it
Jules
Oh he will. Mostly because you planned it and he likes anything you do.
You rolled your eyes at Jules' playful text and tucked your phone into your shoulder bag. You had slept over the night before since all his roommates were allegedly out of town but in reality they were all just staying at their respective girlfriend’s places to keep up the act.
“Don’t you look pretty?” Logan drawled, walking in with just a towel around his waist.
You were putting the last touches to your lip combo to match the cute denim skirt and white blouse you were wearing.
“Hey birthday boy,” you smiled.
Logan wasted no time planting a kiss on your lips which ruined your entire three step lip combo process. When he pulled away there were remnants of gloss staining his own lips.
“Logannnn,” you whined, rubbing your thumb over his lips to wipe off the make up. He kissed your thumb while you glared at him.
“You ruined my lip combo,” you sighed, immediately releasing him to fix your liner.
Logan just chuckled, “Worth it,” before throwing on some jeans and a plain black top.
You were jealous that he looked effortlessly good in everything while you spent an hour looking through the duffel bag of clothes for the perfect outfit.
“Ready to go gorgeous?” he hummed, grabbing his keys.
You gave a nod and happily bounced into his embrace. He stuck a hand in the back pocket of your jean skirt, leading you to the car unaware all his friends were waiting down the block.
—
Once you got to the diner, both you and Logan slid into the booth where you had your first date. He was grinning so hard you wouldn’t think he was moping yesterday about all his friends leaving.
“What are the odds?” he smiled.
You just shrugged. You had called the place earlier to save the booth. He didn’t need to know that.
“Whatcha gonna get?” you asked, scanning the menu.
“The usual. Double patty cheeseburger and fries,” he said, “And an extra side of fries so you don’t steal any of mine.”
You gave him a playful glare as you scanned the options. You’d probably do a tuna melt.
You two ordered quickly and began to discuss nothing and everything. Logan talked about his transformer’s themed 6th birthday while you laughed looking at images of a tiny Logan. When the food did come you were grateful for that extra side of fries as Logan gave you a look every time you reached for the basket.
Everything was perfect until your phone began to ring. You had put it on do not disturb but they must’ve bypassed it.
You subtly checked to see the caller ID which was Garrett. Logan looked at you with a certain look that made your heart ache.
“I need to use the bathroom,” you said, getting up.
“Yeah sure,” he mumbled.
In the bathroom you scrolled to see the flood of texts from people asking for party details and when Logan was coming.
“Garrett I’m at dinner,” you hissed.
“I know but we’re having trouble finding the cake.”
“What do you mean—Oh shit it’s in my dorm,” you sighed.
“Is Grace already on her way?” Garrett asked.
“Let me text her,” you said, firing off some messages.
Thankfully Grace was just about to leave before you caught her. She confirmed she could bring the cake which made you take a breath of relief.
“Grace is on her way with the cake,” you confirmed.
“Great, just text when you leave. Or I guess Grace has your location,” Garrett said.
“Yeah, sounds good,” you said before hanging up.
When you got back to the booth Logan was scrolling on his phone looking a bit defeated. You caught the waitress’ attention as his back was turned to you, paying the bill secretly knowing Logan would never let you pick up a check even if it was his birthday.
Your waitress smiled at you, taking your card allowing you to return to your boyfriend. You slide in the spot next to him, pressing a kiss to his cheek before stealing a fry off his plate.
“Did you miss me handsome?” you teased watching Logan’s expression change as he took in your sight.
“I always miss you,” he hummed, “Everything alright?”
“Yeah,” you said, “Why wouldn’t it be?”
Logan didn’t get a chance to answer as the waitress came back with your card.
“You’re all set,” she smiled.
Logan gave you an alarmed look watching you quickly write in a generous tip which you had to force yourself not to smile too hard.
“You didn’t have to pay,” he murmured, arms pulling you closer to brush his lips against your ear.
“It’s your birthday,” you said sheepishly, “Lemme spoil you at least once.”
“How did I get so lucky?” he hummed, pressing a kiss to your temple.
"I'm the lucky one," you teased back which made Logan pepper your forehead with kisses to prove his point.
–
The car ride was peaceful for the most part. One of Logan’s hands was intertwined with yours as he drove through the dimly lit streets. You were buzzing with excitement as you pulled onto Hawk street. Your phone dinged which you let go of his hand to answer that you would be there in a minute.
Logan frowned at the loss of contact. He let out a sigh and began to let out everything he was feeling,
“Are we good?”
Your heart sank. You looked over to him with a shocked look on your face but Logan just looked defeated.
“Are you cheating on me?” he whispered.
“What!” you exclaimed, “Absolutely not!”
“Well you’re always on your phone,” he sighed, shutting off the car as you pulled into the driveway.
“Logan, look at me,” you said, tilting his chin to look at you.
He looked so sad that it made your heart also break. You just needed to get him inside and all would be well.
“We’re perfect,” you said, pressing a quick kiss, “Let’s get inside and I promise you have nothing to worry about.”
He let out a defeated sigh but still opened up the door. You also got out and grabbed his hand as you made your way to the porch. You subtly angled your body so Logan would be in front when you entered. As he fumbled with his keys you secretly began recording for the memories.
As soon as Logan managed to open the door the house lights flicked on to reveal the crowd of people in his living room.
“Surprise!” everyone exclaimed leaving Logan’s jaw on the floor.
You eagerly pushed for him to go inside as his friends engulfed him in hugs and praises.
“Happy birthday old man,” Jules said, embracing their brother.
“You should see your face,” Dean grinned, giving him a nudge, “We totally had you fooled.”
“Yeah, what kind of friends would we be ditching your birthday for a concert?” Tucker chided.
“Happy birthday man,” Garrett smiled, bringing his best friend into a hug.
“Thanks guys,” Logan said, still trying to process it all, "How'd you guys do all this?
“Well you have a pretty awesome girlfriend,” Hannah said, nodding to where you were shyly standing behind him.
Logan turned to wrap an arm around your waist to pull you as close as possible. He gave you a squeeze as his eyes began to fill with tears with how happy he was.
“Happy birthday Logan,” you smiled, pecking his lips.
“You did this all for me?” he asked, looking around to the decorated room filled with all the people he loved.
“Of course,” you said, “You deserve good things. And that’s not even it.”
His brows popped up as Garrett pulled out his phone to reveal a video. After weeks of begging and intense networking, you and Garrett managed to get a personal birthday video from Logan’s current favorite player on the Bruins.
“Happy birthday John Logan,” David Pastrnak said with the Bruins’ rink in the background, “Heard you’re a beast on the ice so hopefully one day we can skate together. You got some good friends, make sure to celebrate tonight.”
“What the fuck,” Logan said, turning to you and Garrett.
You both gave him a non-chalant shrug as he squeezed you tighter. He pressed a kiss to your hair as you giggled seeing him so happy.
Later, you snuck away letting Logan talk to his teammates to go light the cake. Grace was helping you with the candles and gathering everyone to the kitchen. Dean turned off the light as you all sang a loud ‘Happy Birthday’ to Logan who was smiling widely in the middle.
He blew out the candles with no problem making everyone cheer in response. You could barely set the cake down before Logan had his hands all over you.
“You bake this yourself?” Logan hummed, noticing the slightly uneven frosting letters.
“Don’t judge me,” you frowned.
“I’m not. I’m just falling in love with you even more,” he hummed, accepting the knife to begin cutting the cake.
He took a bite and grinned, "Tastes amazing gorgeous."
Soon the party started to die down. You and Logan were chatting with Garrett and Hannah until the couple excused themselves for suspicious reasons that had you making sure to sprint past Garrett’s door later.
“You have fun?” you hummed, turning to face Logan.
“Of course baby. Thank you,” he smiled.
“This was a much better surprise than what you were thinking in the car huh?” you teased, playfully poking his ribs.
“Much better,” Logan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, “Sorry for jumping to conclusions.”
“It’s ok,” you hummed, wrapping your arms around his neck, “I think I would’ve reacted way worse if it was the other way around.”
“I’m such an idiot for even thinking those thoughts. I mean you threw a fucking surprise party for me. You’re perfect,” he said, “I love you.”
“I love you too John Logan,” you smiled, “Happy birthday.”
You both leaned in for the kiss as everything else faded away. When he pulled away he whispered against your lips
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."
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.”
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!
-
-
The hallway smelled faintly like old varnish and someone’s dinner down the hall, but you didn’t mind; it was familiar, comforting in its own New York way. You balanced the grocery bag against your hip as you fished for your keys, humming the same tune Matt always smiled at when he caught you doing it.
Today had been good. For once.
A peaceful shift, a warm cup of coffee on the walk home, and the light, fizzy feeling in your chest at the thought of Matt waiting for you upstairs. You’d even stopped by the little bakery he liked to pick up those stupidly overpriced chocolate pastries he pretended not to crave.
Your key slid into the lock, and you heard the familiar soft click.
You pushed the door open with your shoulder, smiling already.
“Matt?” you called out, kicking the door shut behind you. “You won’t believe the miracle I witnessed — the subway was actually on time and—”
You barely had time to turn toward the kitchen when the crash came, the shattering of glass behind you.
Two men burst through the window.
You gasped and stumbled backward, adrenaline surging a second too late. A pair of hands grabbed your arms, pinning them behind your back. Another thick hand slapped over your mouth before you could scream.
The man holding you was huge, nearly blocking out the streetlights coming through the now broken window.
“Hello, princess,” he hissed in a thick Russian accent against your ear. “Just come quiet”.
You thrashed, but the grip tightened.
“Let her scream,” another voice said from across the room. “It’ll bring him faster.”
It was then you realized. They weren’t here to rob you. They weren’t here by accident.
They knew Matt. They knew you.
You involuntarily started to sob, thinking that this was a trap and Matt was about to walk right into it. The man restraining you chuckled darkly as he heard your muffled cry.
“Good,” he murmured. “Let him hear how scared you are.”
Pain exploded in the back of your head as everything went black.
-
-
-
The moment Matt stepped into the hallway, he knew something was wrong.
He felt it before he reached the door: the absence of your familiar heartbeat, the faint metallic bitterness of fresh blood, the horrible sensation pressing against his spine.
He didn’t even close the door behind him when he rushed inside.
“(Y/N)?”
Nothing.
But the scent hit him immediately, glass, dust, cold air from outside, and beneath it all…
You.
Your shampoo.
Your perfume.
Your blood.
His heart lurched so violently that it made him stumble.
“(Y/N)!”
The apartment rang with the urgency in his voice. His cane hit the floor with a thud as he followed the trail of shattered glass. His hands skimmed over the floor until his fingers brushed something cold and sharp.
A fragment of your phone.
His breath punched out of him.
Your phone had cracked during the impact, and he could feel the fractures and smell the faint electric burn of the battery shorting. And then something else, something that made his stomach drop.
Blood. Many drops of it, trailing toward the window. Your blood.
His throat tightened. A low, involuntary sound escaped him, something between a growl and a gasp. He pressed his fingers against the tiny smear on the floor, shaking.
“God, please… no… no, no…”
He was losing control. He felt everything at once: the rapid thundering of his pulse, a rushing in his ears that crowded out the world, the scent of your fear imprinted into the room. He swallowed hard, forcing himself upright, but his hands were trembling violently.
He tried listening for whatever he could, but as much as he tried, he couldn’t concentrate. You weren’t here, and you weren’t anywhere close.
His mind spiraled, trying to think of anything that could give him a clue about who might have taken you and, most importantly, where.
Searching the room for any sign, any trace, anything that could anchor him before he lost himself completely, he tried to identify the smells in your living room. Cheap cologne, alcohol, cigarettes, and leather. His fingers then brushed the couch, the wall, the broken glass.
Then it dawned on him. The Russians. It had to be the Russians.
They’d been sniffing around his footsteps for months, trying to capture him, figure out who he is. He’d pushed them too hard, hit too many of their operations. And he had been sloppy lately, going too many times after them, making it easier for them to find out where he lived.
Suddenly, he felt bile rise in his throat. They took you because of him. Because he loved you. Because you were the one thing they could use against him.
His jaw clenched so tightly he felt his teeth ache.
He rapidly went back to the window in order to get fresh air, regulate his breathing. He couldn’t believe this was happening. It was then that he felt the metallic smell of blood getting stronger. He tilted his head towards the floor until he recognized the trail of little red droplets.
Your blood was all over the floor of his living room. He felt something break inside of him.
He slammed a fist into the wall so hard the plaster cracked beneath his knuckles. Pain flared, dull and irrelevant. He dragged in a breath so sharp it stung his lungs.
“Where are you…?” he whispered, voice raw. “Please, God, protect her, please...”
He knelt and forced himself to listen, really listen.
And finally, beneath the noise of traffic and distant sirens, something flickered at the very edge of his senses:
A muffled cry. Barely a second long, filled with dread, and miles away, but he heard it. It was your voice.
His entire body went rigid.
Panic and rage collided inside him so violently that he nearly choked on it. He grabbed his black suit from under the floorboard, barely feeling his fingers move as he changed into it. His hands were still shaking, and he hated it. Hated the weakness, hated the fear clawing at his ribs.
He’d promised he’d keep you safe. He’d promised. And the Russians had taken you because he failed.
He pulled the mask over his face and vaulted out the window, landing in a crouch on the fire escape, breath harsh and ragged.
He locked onto the direction of your strained voice, and then he ran, faster than he’d ever run in his life. Wind tore past him as he sprinted across rooftops, lungs burning, muscles screaming, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. Every second counted.
Every second was another second they had you.
And he could hear the fear in your cries.
“Hold on,” Matt whispered, voice breaking. “Hold on, sweetheart. I’m coming.”
He would reach you. Or he would die trying.
-
-
-
You came back to yourself slowly, as if waking from underwater, awareness creeping in through the ache pulsing at the base of your skull. The world steadied in fragments: a concrete ceiling, a flickering fluorescent bulb, the distant hum of some generator, and then, with a sickening rush, the feeling of rough rope burning against the skin of your wrists.
Your breath stuttered. You tried to shift, and the chair scraped loudly beneath you, sending a jolt of pain through your side. The air tasted of rust and oil and something damp, like a warehouse no one had cared about in years.
And then you heard them.
“Look who wakes up,” a voice drawled behind you, thick accent, amused, cruel.
Russians.
Your stomach dropped so fast you felt dizzy. The second man stepped into view, stocky, a cheap jacket stained with something you didn’t want to identify. His partner followed, taller, with eyes sharp, as if he took pleasure in cataloging fear.
You struggled to regulate your breathing, willing your pulse to settle, because panic was the last thing you could afford right now, even as a thousand questions tore through you: Why? How? What did they want? But one answer surfaced quickly, cold and unforgiving.
Matt.
The tall one inhaled dramatically and walked a slow circle around you, like a man inspecting a new toy. “Scared,” he said with a satisfied grunt. “Good. Means you understand.”
You didn’t respond. You didn’t trust your voice not to shake.
The shorter one crouched in front of you. He tapped your chin with two fingers, not hard, not painful, just enough to make your teeth clench at the humiliation. “Let’s not pretend you don’t know why you are here.”
“I don’t—” you started, but he cut you off with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“You are here because the man in the black mask cares about you.”
Your heart leapt painfully against your ribs, and though you didn’t want to give them anything, that flicker of terror betrayed you. The tall one saw it instantly and let out a pleased laugh.
“I don’t know anything,” you said, trying to keep your voice level, trying not to show how the ropes were cutting into your wrists every time you breathed too deeply. “There’s nothing I can tell you.”
The slap came without warning, cracking across your cheek hard enough to make your vision haze. Your head snapped to the side, and you tasted blood where your teeth nicked your lip.
The shorter man clicked his tongue as if disappointed in a child. “Try again,” he murmured, grabbing the arm of the chair to pull you upright. “What is his name?”
You shut your eyes for half a second, partly to steady yourself and partly to keep the tears forming at the corners from spilling over. “I don’t know,” you said, and you hated how hoarse it came out. “I don’t know who he is.”
Another hit. This one sharper, angled, splitting your lip cleanly. Pain flared white behind your eyes. You had the feeling you would lose your senses for a moment and their smiles widened.
“Lying,” the tall one growled, circling your chair like some starved predator.
“I’m not,” you whispered, though the words wavered.
The stocky one leaned in and smoothed a hand over your hair as if mocking comfort before gripping the back of your skull and forcing your face up to meet his. “You make this very difficult. We only want him. You give name, he dies clean. You keep lying…?” He shrugged. “We try other ways.”
A cold blade grazed your cheek before you even realized he’d drawn it. The metal traced the line of your jaw, featherlight, terrifying in its gentleness.
Your breath hitched. You tried not to recoil, but your body betrayed you again, a tremor climbing your spine.
“There,” he murmured. “That’s the truth. You are very afraid.”
The shorter one leaned down so close you could feel the heat of his breath on your face. “Good. Fear makes people honest.”
Your heart hammered so hard it physically hurt.
“I don’t know what you think—”
The pipe hit your ribs before the sentence finished.
A scream tore out of you instinctively. The force of the blow knocked the chair sideways, but the tall one caught it before you fell, shoving you upright again.
Your vision blurred at the edges. Tears stung your eyes, hot and overwhelming.
“Tell us his name,” the shorter one said calmly, almost bored.
“I don’t know his name!”
Your voice cracked so badly the words barely came out.
Another hit, harder, this time lower, catching your hip and sending a bolt of pain through your entire body. You cried out again, voice breaking into a sob you couldn’t hold back. Your body shook uncontrollably.
The tall one crouched in front of you, tilting your chin up with the cold metal of a knife. “You know who he is,” he murmured. “You sleep in same bed. Don’t insult us.”
Tears spilled over, and you hated yourself for it, hated the way your breath came in ragged little gasps, hated that you couldn’t stop trembling. “Please—please, I’m begging you, I don’t know his name, I swear, I don’t—I don’t know—”
The knife slipped from your cheek to your collarbone, pressing just enough to make your skin prickle. “Begging already?” he taunted, amused.
“Stop,” you whispered, voice shaking so badly the word barely formed. “Please, stop—don’t—”
The shorter one grabbed your hair and yanked your head back abruptly. You screamed, your scalp burning, tears spilling freely now. You struggled, instinctively trying to pull away, but the rope bit deeper, and your movement only made things worse.
They weren’t done.
You didn’t even see the next hit coming.
One moment, the shorter man was pacing, muttering something in quick Russian under his breath, and the next he turned abruptly and drove his fist straight into your face — knuckles cracking against the bridge of your nose with a sickening sound.
A white-hot pain exploded behind your eyes, and your whole body jerked forward as you heard a loud ringing in your ears. Warmth spilled over your lips immediately, thick and metallic, dripping down your chin before you even realized it was blood.
You barely had time to catch your breath before his fist connected with your eyebrow, sharp and merciless. The impact sent your head whipping sideways, and your vision briefly inverted. White, then black, then a burst of stars that sparkled painfully across your sight.
A thin, hot trickle slid down into your eye. Your eyebrow was bleeding. The cut stung as the blood pooled and dripped, slipping down your temple, into your lashes.
“Stop— please— please,” you sobbed, breath hiccupping hard enough to hurt. “I’m not— I’m not lying— I’m not— I swear— just please—!”
The shorter one grabbed your jaw again and forced your head up so you had to look at him through the haze of blood and tears. Your vision doubled, his face swimming in and out of clarity.
“You lie for him,” he said, smiling faintly as your chin trembled beneath his grip. “You break for him.
A raw, involuntary sob ripped out of you, one that wasn’t entirely from the pain. The idea of Matt hearing you like this, hearing you shatter and beg and choke on your own blood, made your chest hollow out in a different kind of agony.
“I told you— I don’t know who he is— please—”
You could feel the blood dripping down your mouth now, warm and steady, the metallic taste thick on your tongue. One drop fell onto your shirt, then another, then another, until you didn’t know which warmth was blood and which was tears.
Your entire face throbbed and every breath hurt.
“Last chance,” he said softly. “Tell. Us. His—”
But then he froze. The tall one did too.
The lights died, popping in a shower of sparks, and darkness slammed down so completely you couldn’t even see the outlines of the men in front of you.
A low, disbelieving laugh slipped out of you because suddenly, in the middle of all that pain and terror and blood, you understood exactly what that shift in the air meant.
He was here. He had come for you.
And despite everything, relief crashed through you so hard your eyes blurred all over again.
“You… you want his name?” you rasped, letting your voice curl into something dark and shaking, your lips splitting wider as you tried to smile. The Russians froze, startled by the sudden change in you.
You lifted your head, blood dripping down your face, trembling violently but meeting their eyes anyway.
“Ask him yourself.”
Matt moved so fast he seemed to cut through the shadows themselves. A black blur, a whisper of motion, a violent snap of impact. The man dropped instantly, no dramatic struggle, no drawn-out fight. Just a single, decisive blow that told you Matt had been listening long enough to know this guy didn’t deserve a second chance to negotiate.
You rapidly got up from the metal chair, breath shaky, adrenaline cooling into a trembling relief. Matt stood over the unconscious body, chest rising and falling in controlled, deliberate breaths. His jaw was clenched so hard you could see the muscle ticking beneath the stubble.
Matt’s head snapped to the side before you even processed it, his whole body tensing like a wire pulled tight.
You barely had time to whisper his name before things got bad again.
Three men surged from the shadows, two of them rushing him at once.
Matt moved like water meeting stone, fluid, unstoppable. His fists struck the first man’s wrist, sending a knife skittering across the ground. A twist, a kick, the crunch of bone. The second man swung a pipe, but Matt ducked under it like he’d known the trajectory before the guy even lifted it.
You watched, breath locked in your throat, as Matt spun low, swept the man’s legs out, and threw one final punch across his jaw.
One down. Two down.
You didn’t see the third one until his arm looped around your throat and yanked you back.
A sharp cry broke from you. Your feet scraped against the pavement as you struggled, nails digging into the forearm pinning you in place. The Russian’s grip tightened, not enough to choke you, enough to show he could.
Matt froze. Everything in him went terrifyingly still.
“No move,” the man snarled, breath hot against your ear. “ Or pretty girl gets hurt.”
Your heartbeat thundered. Matt heard every frantic beat; you saw it in the way his jaw clenched, in the way his hands trembled into tightened fists.
“Let her go,” Matt said quietly. It wasn’t a plea, it was a warning.
The Russian laughed, pressing a knife against your cheek just hard enough to sting. “Take off your mask, and maybe she lives”.
“You shouldn’t have touched her”, Matt said, voice low enough to vibrate through your ribs.
The knife pressed harder and your breath broke into a sob.
That was the moment Matt snapped.
He moved before the man finished his sentence, dropping low, surging forward in one fluid motion, driving his shoulder into the Russian’s legs with bone-crushing force. The grip around your throat loosened just enough.
You gasped, stumbling forward as Matt surged up, his fist slamming into the man’s wrist. There was a sharp crack. The knife flew from his hand and skidded across the floor.
Matt didn’t stop. He threw a brutal punch to the ribs that knocked the air from the man’s lungs. Another to the jaw that sent blood spraying. Then a final, merciless strike to the side of his head that dropped him to the ground, unconscious before he hit the floor.
Silence crashed down around you.
Matt stood over the man for a second longer than necessary, chest heaving, fists trembling, knuckles already swelling. Then he turned, and all that rage collapsed into something raw and terrified.
He crossed the distance to you in three long steps.
Matt didn’t rush you. Not this time.
The fight was over, bodies unconscious, the warehouse eerily quiet, but you were still frozen where you stood, hands curled uselessly near your chest, breath coming in shallow, uneven pulls like your lungs had forgotten how to work properly.
Blood dripped from your nose and from your eyebrow onto the concrete.
Your knees buckled.
Matt caught you before you hit the floor.
“Hey—hey, I’ve got you,” he murmured instantly, arms locking around you, solid and real and there. “It’s me, it’s Matt”, he reassured you, while lifting his mask, so you could see his face. “You’re safe. You’re safe, sweetheart”.
You didn’t believe him, not yet.
Your body shook violently in his hold, tremors wracking through you like you were still bracing for the next hit, the next threat, the next knife at your throat. Your hands fisted into his shirt without permission, fingers clutching him like he might vanish if you didn’t hold tight enough.
“I—I thought—” Your voice cracked, words dissolving into a broken sob. “I thought they were going to kill me.”
Matt’s breath stuttered. He pulled you closer, one hand cradling the back of your head with aching care, pressing your face gently into the space beneath his jaw where his heartbeat was strongest.
“I know,” he whispered hoarsely. “I know you did.”
Your knees finally gave out completely, shock catching up to you all at once, and Matt sank down with you, settling onto the cold floor so you wouldn’t have to hold yourself upright anymore.
He guided you gently to the ground, one arm firm around your back as he lowered you together onto the cold concrete. You ended up half in his lap, half against his chest, turned toward him instinctively like your body knew where safety lived now.
You collapsed into him.
Your face buried itself in his chest, cheek pressed against the worn fabric of his shirt, breath hitching as his scent wrapped around you: rain, sweat, faint traces of blood and city air, all unmistakably Matt. You inhaled deeply, desperately, like you needed proof that he was real, that this wasn’t your mind trying to save you.
His arms came around you immediately, strong and enclosing, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading gently into your hair as if anchoring you there.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, lips brushing your temple. “I’ve got you.”
Your hands fisted into his shirt again, knuckles pressing into his ribs, your body still shaking now that it finally had permission to fall apart. His heartbeat thundered beneath your cheek — fast, solid, alive —, and you clung to it like a lifeline.
Matt’s breath caught audibly above you. He bent his head, pressing his forehead against your hair, holding you tighter, not crushing, never hurting, just firm enough to promise he wasn’t going anywhere.
“They hurt me,” you whimpered, the admission spilling out small and broken, like saying it out loud might finally make it real. “They kept asking about you. I—I kept thinking if I said the wrong thing—”
“You didn’t,” Matt cut in immediately, firmer now, as he needed you to hear this. “You did everything right.”
“Oh God,” he breathed, thumb hovering just above your eyebrow, terrified of hurting you more. “Your face—”
“I’m okay,” you said automatically, even though you very clearly weren’t.
Matt swallowed hard. “You’re bleeding.”
“So are you,” you mumbled faintly, because you could smell him: sweat, rain, copper, and because part of you still needed to take care of him too.
He let out a soft, broken sound — half laugh, half sob — and pressed a kiss to your temple, careful and reverent, like he was afraid you might break beneath his lips.
“You’re alive,” he whispered against your skin. “That’s all that matters right now.”
Your hands finally loosened their death grip on his shirt, but only enough to slide up and clutch his wrists instead, needing the reassurance that he was still there, that he wasn’t letting go.
“I was so scared,” you admitted quietly. “I couldn’t stop thinking that this was it. That I wasn’t going to see you again.”
Matt closed his eyes, forehead resting briefly against your head as the weight of that sank in.
“I won’t let that happen,” he said, voice thick and rough. “I swear to you. I don’t care who comes after me; no one gets to take you from me.”
You leaned back into him fully then, exhaustion finally dragging you down, trusting him to hold you up. His arms tightened instinctively, anchoring you, grounding you, keeping the world out.
“I’m here,” he murmured again and again, like a mantra. “You’re safe. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
Matt stayed exactly where he was, sat on the cold concrete, one arm solid around your back while the other remained cradled at the base of your skull, thumb tracing slow, grounding circles through your hair. He let you breathe him in, let you shake, let the silence stretch until it stopped feeling dangerous.
Your face was still buried in his neck when he spoke again, softer now.
“Hey,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, close enough that you felt the words more than heard them. “You’re here with me. No one’s going to touch you.”
You didn’t answer. Instead, your hand lifted slowly, hesitantly, as if you needed to be sure he was really there. Your fingers brushed along his jaw, feeling the familiar scrape of stubble beneath your touch, the warmth of his skin, the tension still lingering there. He leaned into it instinctively, exhaling softly, as the contact grounded him as much as it grounded you.
Matt bent his head then, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, careful, reverent, lingering just long enough to make your chest ache. His lips were warm against your skin, solid and real, and the simple tenderness of it almost undid you more than the fear had.
After a moment, he pulled back just enough to speak, his thumb brushing lightly along your cheek.
“Let’s go home,” he said softly. “I’ll take you home.”
And this time, you believed him.
-
-
-
The walk back was quiet.
Not empty, but wrapped in a kind of hush that only existed when Matt kept you tucked close to his side, one arm firm around your waist as if the city itself might reach out and pull you away again. Every step sent a dull ache through your body, pain blooming where adrenaline had finally worn off, but Matt adjusted without you having to say a word, slowing when you faltered, steadying you when your knees threatened to give in.
You leaned into him shamelessly, and he let you.
By the time you reached the apartment, your hands were trembling again, not from fear this time, but from exhaustion, the delayed shock finally catching up to you. Matt opened the door quickly, ushering you inside and closing it behind you with a decisive click that felt like a seal being placed on the night.
Safe. You were safe.
He guided you to the couch, helping you sit before kneeling in front of you without hesitation. The overhead light was too bright; you flinched instinctively, and Matt immediately dimmed it, leaving the room bathed in softer shadows.
“Stay with me,” he said gently, one hand resting over your knee, grounding. “I’m right here.”
You nodded, swallowing thickly.
Matt disappeared into the bathroom and returned moments later with a small first-aid kit, hands already shaking a little despite how carefully he moved. He sat beside you, closer this time, his knees brushing yours.
“Can I?” he asked softly, lifting a clean cloth.
You nodded again.
The moment the cloth touched your skin, you hissed quietly. Matt froze.
“I’m sorry,” he said instantly. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” you whispered, even as your eyes burned.
He adjusted, gentler still, dabbing at the blood beneath your nose with delicate care, as every touch mattered. His jaw was tight, lips pressed together as if holding something back.
“I should’ve known,” he said quietly, the words finally slipping out before he could stop them. His jaw tightened, breath shallow. “I should’ve heard it coming sooner. I should’ve been there before they ever laid a hand on you.”
You felt the shift in him immediately, the way his body went rigid, like he was bracing for a blow that never came.
“I keep telling myself I can do this,” Matt went on, voice low and rough around the edges. “That I can balance it. The mask, the city, you.” A bitter huff of breath left him. “And tonight just proved I’m lying to myself.”
His thumb pressed into your shoulder, not hurting, just grounding, like he needed the contact to stay tethered.
“They didn’t take you because you were careless,” he said. “They took you because of me. Because loving me puts a target on your back.”
He swallowed hard, the sound sharp in the quiet.
“Matt—”, you tried interrupting him, but with no success.
“I hate that,” he admitted. “I hate that every time you look at me, all I can think about is how close I came to losing you. How close I always am.”
He finally averted his lost gaze in your direction, voice dropping into something raw and unguarded.
“If anything had happened to you,” he whispered, “I don’t know how I’d live with that.”
His hand slid up to cradle the back of your head, protective, trembling just slightly.
“I should’ve protected you better,” he finished softly.
He stayed there after that, forehead pressed to yours, like pulling away might shatter what little control he had left. His breathing was measured, careful, but you could feel the tension in it, the way every inhale seemed like work.
“I heard you scream,” he said quietly, almost like a confession. “Not with my ears. With everything else.” His mouth twisted, self-disgust bleeding through. “And I still wasn’t fast enough.”
You felt his hand tighten briefly at the back of your head, not painful, just… desperate.
“I keep telling myself this is the price,” Matt continued. “That this is what I owe the city. Bruises, blood, nights like this.” His voice dropped lower. “But you didn’t sign up for that. You didn’t choose my war.”
His thumb brushed your hair back gently, softly, like he was afraid even that small touch might hurt you.
“And yet you’re the one who paid for it tonight.”
The words sat heavily between you.
“I hate myself for that,” he admitted. “For walking out the door every night knowing someone could use you to get to me. Knowing I still do it anyway.”
You shifted closer, instinctively, your arms slipping around his neck. He froze for half a second, like he didn’t think he deserved it, before his arms wrapped around you in return, firm and protective, pulling you flush against him.
“I don’t know how to be both things,” he murmured into your hair. “The man who loves you… and the one who keeps dragging danger to your doorstep.”
His hand slid up and down your back slowly, grounding, as if he reminded himself you were breathing, you were warm, you were here.
“But God,” he whispered, voice breaking just slightly now, “when I thought you might be gone, when I thought they had taken you from me forever—” He shook his head, pressing his face into your temple. You could feel his warm tears against your face.
He pulled back just enough for his blind eyes to search your face as if they could memorize it, like he needed proof you were real.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry I put you in that position. I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you safe as I promised you I would.”
His lips barely had time to brush your temple before you moved, just enough to pull back and press your hands gently on both sides of his face.
“No,” you replied quietly “You don’t get to decide this alone.”
Matt stilled.
“You don’t get to stand there and turn this into another reason to hate yourself,” you continued, voice soft but unwavering. “I was scared. I was hurt. But I’m still here, Matt. And that wasn’t because you failed.”
His breath hitched, barely perceptible.
“I knew what loving you meant,” you said, your fingers caressing his cheek, grounding him. “I knew the risks the same way you know them every time you go out there, and I stayed anyway.”
“You came for me,” you continued. “You always do. And tonight, that mattered more than anything else.”
His jaw tightened abruptly, the softness draining from his expression as something hotter pushed its way through. He pulled back just enough to take you in properly, blind eyes narrowing like he could feel the damage written all over you.
“Did it?” he snapped, the words cutting sharper than his tone had before. “Do you think this is fair to you?”
You opened your mouth, but he didn’t give you the chance.
“Look at you,” Matt continued, frustration spilling over now, barely contained. His hands hovered near your arms, your ribs, your face, afraid to touch too much, furious that there was so much to touch at all. “Do you have any idea how hurt you are?”
His breath came faster.
“You’re going to be covered in bruises,” he said, voice rising despite himself. “For weeks. A month, at least. Your face—” He swallowed hard, anger cracking into something dangerously close to panic. “—My God.”
He dragged a hand through his hair, suddenly standing up from the couch and walking away, but turning back to you like he couldn’t physically move away.
“And you’re standing here telling me this is fine?” he demanded. “That this is just part of it?”
“This isn’t some abstract risk (Y/n)”, Matt said, voice rough now. “This is you. Bleeding. And it happened because of me.”
He exhaled sharply through his nose, fighting the tremor in his hands.
“I don’t get to decide that this is acceptable,” he went on. “I don’t get to look at you like this and tell myself it’s worth it.”
He reached out his arm and his thumb brushed near the cut on your eyebrow, stopping just short of touching it, like the restraint hurt him.
“Tell me how this is fair to you,” he said quietly, anger burning low and dangerous beneath the words. “Tell me how I’m supposed to live with this knowing it could happen again?”
He stayed there, rigid and breathing hard, fury and fear tangled together, not at you, never at you, but at himself, at the world, at anyone who had ever thought hurting you was a way to reach him.
“I know what you’re going to say, Murdock,” you said weakly, the name slipping out the way it always did when things felt too big, too close to breaking. “You can stop right there.”
You took a breath, shaky but determined because you knew where this is going.
“You’re about to tell me this can’t happen anymore,” you said quietly. “That you’re too dangerous. That loving you puts me in the line of fire. That I’d be safer without you.”
His mouth parted, but no sound came out.
Your voice wavered then, just a little, emotion finally catching up to you. “But after tonight, after thinking I was going to die—” You swallowed hard. “The idea of losing you, too, is… It’s too much, Matt.”
You shamelessly admitted, covering your face with your hands in hopes of hiding your sobs. Matt’s heart broke.
“I was terrified,” you admitted softly. “Not just because they hurt me. But because I thought I might never see you again. Because I thought that whatever happened, you wouldn’t be there.”
Matt then slowly walked back to you and sat down, feeling the urge to comfort you.
“So please don’t stand there and decide for me,” you murmured, tears falling freely now. “Don’t push me away just because you’re scared, okay?”, you whispered. “I know it was horrible for both of us. But losing you, choosing that, would hurt worse than anything they did to me.”
Matt didn’t answer right away.
You felt it in the way his chest rose under his black shirt, too fast at first, then deliberately slowing, like he was forcing himself not to break apart in front of you. His hands came up slowly, carefully, cupping your sides as if he needed the reassurance that you were still solid, still real.
“I wasn’t going to say it like that,” he said finally, voice low, strained. “But yes. That’s exactly where my mind went.”
His thumb brushed against your lips.
“Because when I look at you,” he continued, quieter now, “all I can think about is how close I came to losing you. And how every night I put the suit on, I’m rolling the dice with your life, not just mine, and I don’t know how to reconcile that”, Matt admitted. “How to love you and not feel like I’m sentencing you to this over and over again.”
His hand went to your shoulder and down your arm, gentle but firm, like he was bracing himself.
“But then you say things like that,” he went on, voice cracking just slightly, “and I realize I don’t get to pretend you’re a bystander in my life. You’re not something I can just lock away and keep untouched.”
He pulled back just enough to tilt his head, as if trying to meet your eyes through instinct alone.
“You’re choosing me,” he said. “Even now. Even after everything.”
A shaky breath left him.
“And that scares me more than anything else.”
His hand came up to cradle your cheek, careful of the injuries there, his touch delicate.
“Because if I let myself believe that,” he murmured, “then I have to accept that walking away from you wouldn’t be protection. It would be a punishment. For both of us.”
He rested his forehead against yours again, lingering there.
“I don’t want to lose you,” Matt said simply. “I don’t want to live in a world where I survive this, and you’re not in it.”
“You won’t have to”, you reassured him, slowly closing the space between you and his warm body, wincing at every movement.
“Okay, so if we do this,” he said again, more quietly now, “we do it honestly. No pretending it’s safe. No pretending tonight didn’t change things.”
You nodded against his chest.
“Okay,” you said.
The word surprised him. You felt it in the way his body went still for half a second.
“Okay?” he repeated.
“Yeah.” You shifted slightly, careful of the bruises, but you didn’t pull away. “Okay.”
You tilted your head just enough to speak without moving too much.
“I’m not going to tell you it was fine,” you continued. “It wasn’t. I’m going to feel this for a while”, you admitted, playing with his fingers. “But I’m also not going to pretend walking away would make it better,” you said. “It would just make both of us miserable.”
Matt exhaled slowly, like he was letting go of something he’d been bracing himself against.
“I don’t need you to promise me anything,” you added. “I don’t need you to stop being who you are. I just need you to stop deciding things for me when you’re scared.”
“I was scared,” he admitted.
“I know,” you said. “I was, too.”
The apartment was quiet around you, the kind of quiet that only came after something had nearly gone very wrong. He took your right hand and gently guided it to his lips, pressing a delicate kiss on your bruised skin.
“I’ll tell you when it’s too much,” you said. “And if that day comes, we’ll deal with it then. Together.”
He was silent for a moment.
“I don’t know how to make this fair,” Matt said finally.
“You don’t have to,” you replied. “Just don’t leave.”
His breath left him in a slow, unsteady exhale.
“Okay, sweetheart”, he agreed, almost in a whisper. “ Then I won’t. I will never let something like this happen again. I'll keep you safe, I promise."
“I know, Matt. I trust you”. You looked up at him, searching for his wandering hazel eyes. “You’ll always be safe with me, too.”
“I love you”, he said quietly, almost like a promise, sealing it with a kiss on the top of your head.
Outside, New York City kept moving. Tomorrow would come whether either of you were ready or not. But at least you both knew you could always be safe in each other’s arms.
Always.
Comments, feedback and requests are always welcome! x ♥️
✰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?"
A sharp stabbing pain that seems to be in every inch of your body wakes you up. Your head pulses in what must be the worst headache you've ever had. Every muscle in your body aches as you slowly open your eyes.
Panic sets in after a quick glance at your surroundings, and you realize you're not in your bedroom. You move your hand against the sheets underneath you and feel the sensations of soft, expensive silk sheets. Clearly too expensive to be yours. Your body feels as though you got hit by a truck, the way it hurts to even move just your toe.
Your eyes squeeze shut as you use the little energy and strength you can muster to turn around and sit up in the strange room. Looking out the large, floor-to-ceiling length window, and are met with a view of the high-rise skyline of Manhattan. Making it even clearer, you were not in your modest and cheap Brooklyn apartment.
You take a few more glances around the room, and you recognize the familiar, rich, fancy, out of your tax bracket apartment as Matt's. His new apartment. Not his older Hell's Kitchen apartment, the small, bare yet still cozy apartment with a huge billboard as the view in the living room. The one you've woken up in countless times. No, it was his bigger, newer luxury apartment. His big Law money apartment. Shortly, the pain in your chest starts to rise in your chest again because you do not remember when or how you ended up in this apartment.
You sit up, once again feeling the smooth black silk sheets rustle against your skin. Along with the stinging pain shoots through your body, causing you to let out a quiet groan. Or as quiet as you can make it.
You look down, examining your attire. Wearing an old, ill-fitted gray Colombian Law shirt, which is definitely Matt's. But the black shorts you have on were yours. They look like the pair you had sworn you had lost a few months ago. Were these them? Had he really kept them all this time?
You try to swing your legs over the edge of the bed to leave, but your attempt is cut short with another surge of pain from your back, and more aches meet it in the rest of your body. A small whine of pain escapes you as you lie back against Matt's bed.
"You shouldn't move. I had to do your stitches and… Well, let's just say it's been a while since I had to do them on someone else."
The sound of his voice has you turning your head towards where he is. Sitting in a chair in a corner of his bedroom. Legal papers lay sprawled across the glass coffee table. You watch as he moves, taking out his audio device ear buds and standing up from the chair. In a few short steps, he comes to the side of the bed where you're lying.
"What happened?" He asks under his breath, his voice is filled with concern, but you don't miss the hint of frustration either.
You've been in similar conversations before. He's reminded you before, letting you know how he hated it when you did things alone. When you didn't let him know where you were going or who you were going after. Always said you were too rash and impulsive. You said he was just controlling and possessive concerning his precious Hell's Kitchen.
The silence hangs over the two of you as you hesitate before replying, "What do you mean?" Not only did you not want to hear him tell you he was right. But it wasn't exactly clear what happened last night. You couldn't remember much, or anything really, about it.
Matthew just gives you small scoffs, letting out an unamused laugh at your answer. And you hate how you find it more attractive than annoying. He stands up, grabs the newspaper off the coffee table, and sets it down in front of you. Then he sits at the edge of the bed.
Taking a glance at the Braille newspaper, you already had a feeling it was going to share about what had led you to end up in Matt's apartment needing stitches. You run your fingers over the articles, reading the headlines until you read an article on you, reading your vigilante alias. As you continue to run your fingers over your read an account of the fight, how it led to some property damage to a construction site of some luxury gentrifying apartments that were being built. And since you had no memory, all you had to go on was the accounts, which were more about the damage than who you had fought.
After reading the account, you learn that the other party in the fight had some sort of powers. They couldnt pin point exactly, but the damage was more than an average person could do. Maybe you had known about the powers before, but at the moment, it was all fuzzy and hard to remember. Silently, you hand the paper back to Matthew and lay your head back against his soft pillows.
"I didn't know they had powers. Thought he was just the average asshole robbing and hurting people." You weren't sure if you had known about the powers when you fought them, but you didn't know just then, so it wasn't technically a lie.
"Maybe if you wouldn't run out there every night without researching even a tiny bit, you would be prepared." Matt voices raises a little. And his reprimand has you feeling like a kid, being scolded for breaking something. So you choose to look away from him, your eyes land on the giant floor-to-ceiling window behind him. Looking at the view of the Manhattan skyline. Thinking about how it is the opposite of the eyesore of the huge lit-up billboard from his old place. And yet you miss it.
Silence falls over the room. You don't want to talk about your fuck up anymore. So you decide to change the topic, and the pain that is radiating through your body every time you inhale seems like a good one.
"Why does it hurt to breathe so much?" You ask, but still your eyes stay on the view outside his window.
"You broke some of your ribs, I'd guess 2." He explains as he gets up from the bed once again. You don't ask where he's going. Listening to what he had said, thought that does make sense.
All you could manage to come up with was an "Oh".
When you notice he's leaving his bedroom, your eyes follow him, watching as he disappears into his ensuite. A few minutes pass before he comes back out. In his hand, he holds a red, larger-than-most, first aid kit. He walks back to the side of the bed where you're lying, setting the kit on his bed and opening it."
"What are you doing?"
"Your bandage needs to be changed, you ripped it when you sat up, and it's bleeding."
"Thought I felt something dripping a bit."
You sit up slowly, trying not to whine in pain as you re-adjust the position you're sitting in. Giving him better access to do what he needed to do. He opens the first aid kit, getting out what he needs. His hands move towards the bottom of his shirt you're wearing. But before he lifts it up, they hover over it.
"May I?" He asks, his eyes looking in the direction of the shirt.
You can't help the small eye roll you do at the question. "Sure, Matt. Don't know why you're asking now when you stripped me while I was unconscious last night, but sure."
"That was different, and it was better than just leaving you in that spandex you call a suit."
"Say the man who runs around with devil horns on his head."
He gives you a small, amused smile as he lifts the grey shirt, just high enough for him to access your wound. As he is, your mind drifts to the times when he was lifting your shirt off, just as slowly but for a totally different reason, in a totally different circumstance. Memories of you and Matter slowly taking off each other's clothes flash into your head. Memories of his hands slowly roaming across your body, feeling every inch of you. How his calloused hands would linger on your hips or breast as he took it all in. Even though he'd felt it all before, his hands would linger. But that was months ago.
"Well, letting you bleed out in your suit seemed worse, but next time I can do that."
Your thoughts are brought back to the present with the shooting pain in your side as Matt cleans your wound. A hiss leaves your lips as you feel the burning of him cleaning your injuries.
"Sorry, honey, I'm almost done." He says in a low tone as he tries to comfort you, while he finishes up and re-bandages the area. You try not to dwell on how nice it sounded when he used the pet name, but still, it makes your stomach flip.
You look down, seeing your skin discolored and bruised. Matching the other lacerations and forming bruises that cover what is visible on the rest of your body.
You find him staring in your direction, gazing into your head after he finishes. Your eyes run over him, just realizing he was wearing casual clothes and not a suit, or something more appropriate for his job. which meant he hadn't gone to work because of you. A slight twinge of guilt sinks into your gut.
"I can leave after you, finish the stitches."
"What?"
"I mean, I don't want to impose any more than I already have. So when you're done, I can just go, you don't have to miss-."
"Can you tell me what you did yesterday?" He interrupts, completely changing the subject, probably second nature in his career field.
Your brows furrow, both at the interruption and the question. You pause, taking a moment to think about the fight, what had happened leading up to you stumbling into Matthew's apartment. But it comes up blank.
"Matthew, we already went over how I fucked up, I don't want to get into it- "
Again, he interrupts, with a small shake of his head, eyes still on your head.
"No. Not whatever caused this." He gestures to your side. "I mean, generally, just take me through the day."
He clarifies as he brings his right hand to the base of your skull, and the gesture of his hand on you makes you warm and flustered slightly.
You don't reply immediately. Not sure if the sudden confusion you're feeling is from his hand on you or the lapse in your memory.
"Oh well…" You start, but trail off trying to think about what you did yesterday, but it comes up fuzzy.
You couldn't remember. Everything that happened yesterday is hard to recollect. Nothing comes to mind. You can only remember the moments of getting your ass handed to you and crawling into Matthew's apartment with the spare key he had given you. You look at Matthew, unsure of how to say you don't remember, but it's clear he was already aware of that.
"You have a mild concussion. You're probably going to have a hard time remembering stuff for the next few days."
Your eyes widen a bit. You knew about his heightened senses, but you didn't think he could pick up that. "How can you know that?"
He gives you a small nod as his hand gently cups the back of your skull, feeling it. "I can-uh- can sense the inflammation and swelling."
Still baffled, you stare at him, "Of my brain?"
He nods again, moving his hand down from your skull. It falls to your cheek, gently caressing it, looking at your collarbone. "You can stay here for a few days until you recover." He offers. His voice is low, almost a whisper. You almost say yes, but you remember you two haven't been what you were in a while.
You pull away, realizing how close the two of you had been. How close you were to putting your lips on his. "I wouldn't want to make any girlfriends you have uncomfortable."
His hand remains on your cheek, still rubbing it. He lets out a small laugh, shaking his head. "There's none for you to make uncomfortable."
"I doubt that." You say as you see his head leaning closer to you, and you do the same. Tilting your head, again finding yourself wanting to kiss him, but before your lips reach his. But this time it's Matt that pulls away, creating a bit more distance between you and him.
"You should get some rest." He says softly, bringing his hand to your chin for a moment before it falls from your face as he gets up from his bed, grabbing the first aid kit with him.
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.
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.
In the six months you'd known John Logan, you'd known him to be rational. His anger was taken out on the ice, his head stayed cool, and his fists stayed by his side. That's the type of man John Logan was. He didn't punch first and ask questions later.
So why then, did Tucker call you at ten at night to tell you that Logan had his fists in your ex's face?
You weren't sure. All you knew was that you needed to figure it out. Set it straight. Understand why Logan lost his cool so hard.
He'd never done that before, and something in you was worried.
So, you put shoes on and headed out the door, not even bothering to change out of your pjs as you got in the car and headed to the hockey house. The ride there was deafeningly silent. No music, no mumbling or humming or anything from you. Just the rumble of your car and the worry in your brain.
When you pulled up, you paused for a second, breath hitching. You weren't entirely sure what you were doing here. In reality, what could you do to help? But...you had to be there. You had to be.
If Logan was pissed off over your ex, you felt responsible.
So you got out of the car and headed up to the house in your slides and pjs, not bothering to knock as you opened the door. Tucker and Dean were in the living room, and Dean pointed upstairs wordlessly.
You didn't give him a second glance as you headed upstairs and to Logan's room. No knocking, no waiting, you just barged in, closing the door behind you. Logan was sitting on his bed, leg bouncing and knuckles busted open.
You swallowed. "What happened?" you asked, your voice suddenly quiet.
It was like he hadn't even realized you were there, not until now. His eyes shot up to you, a mix of confusion and anger still lingering, but there was something else too. Something...different. His jaw worked, his lips pressing together.
Then, he shook his head. "Nothing," he replied. Like it wasn't a big deal. Like this entire thing didn't happen.
You scoffed. "Nothing? Logan, look at your knuckles."
Logan looked down, his eyes glancing over his bloody knuckles, and he inhaled shakily, like he was seeing them for the first time. He brought a hand up, running it over his face. "It's fine. Don't worry about it."
"Don't worry about it?" You sounded offended. You were offended. How could he tell you that? You huffed, turning around and leaving his room. You went to the bathroom and grabbed a washcloth, getting it wet with warm water and then adding some soap.
You walked back into Logan's room, and his eyes shot up again, surprise in them like he didn't expect you to come back. You walked over to me, dropping to your knees down in front of him and grabbing his hand gently.
"You don't have to—"
"Shut up," you mumbled, dabbing the rugged skin lightly. Logan hissed, hand tightening in yours, and you let him. Silence encompassed the room for a few seconds as you cleaned his knuckles, but curiosity got the best of you. "Why'd you do it?"
Your eyes met his. He swallowed. "He pissed me off."
You shook your head. "It's more than that. It has to be. You don't just beat up people because they piss you off, John."
The use of his first name seemed to get him. You only called him that when it was serious, and this was serious. You had to understand what was so special about your ex that he threw fists.
He sighed, throat bobbing as he swallowed once more. "He deserved it," he deflected again.
You weren't having it. "That's not what I asked."
He inhaled through his nose, squeezing your hand slightly tighter as you hit a sensitive spot with the washcloth. "He called you a slut," he grumbled out through gritted teeth.
You paused, eyes flickering up to his. You let out a shaky breath. You knew your ex had been saying shit about you, but it didn't make it affect you any less hearing it come from Logan. He scoffed softly, shaking your head. "So you beat his ass for that?"
"Of course I beat his ass for that, angel. Why the hell wouldn't I?"
Angel.
He only called you that on rare occasions. When he was really drunk or when it was really late and you were sleeping over. So to hear it now, in this moment? It struck your chest and made your stomach erupt with butterflies.
"It wasn't worth it," you mumbled, finishing up his knuckles. "It's just words."
You stood up, tossing the washcloth in his dirty hamper. "It's not just words, and it was worth it. It was worth it to me." He stood up then, hovering over you, his body inches from yours. "No one gets to talk about you like that."
You swallowed, shaking your head. "Why is it such a big deal to you?"
He tilted his head, eyes searching yours like the question was ridiculous to even ask. "Are you kidding me?" You shook your head, eyebrows furrowed. "Angel..." His hands came down to your hips, gripping gently and pulling you closer.
Your breath hitched. "Everything about you is a big deal to me," he whispered, a small smile on his face.
You smiled slightly, confusedly, trying to come to terms with what you knew he was saying. "I don't-" You paused. "I mean...you- you still shouldn't have hit him."
He chuckled, breathlessly and softly, like this was all funny. "Yeah, I should've." He leaned in, kissing you softly. Your breath was taken away, his lips soft and sure against yours. It took you a few seconds, but you caught up.
Your hands went to his hair and he pulled you even closer, the kiss deepening as he did so. The kiss lasted as long as it could before you both had to pull back, and you were smiling so hard it almost hurt. You'd never been kissed like that before.
You chuckled, shaking your head. "You are..." You sighed, leaning in and resting your forehead against his. "Something else, John Logan."
He laughed, hand caressing your hair. You hadn't expected this to ever happen, let alone like this, but it felt right. Messy and a little quick to process, but right. Like the pieces were finally put together.
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.”
“Oh?” You tilted your head. “Is this something top secret?”
He shook his head. “I feel like it’s a relatively well known fact.”
“Well then.” You laughed. “Please enlighten the class.”
“You’re beautiful.” You were right, he was confident. You choked on your drink, and Allie gasped, slapping a hand over her mouth. “That’s the something.”
You cough, placing a hand on your chest to calm yourself down. “You’re pretty forward.”
“Believe it or not,” He leaned forward like this was something he wanted only you to know. “I’ve been working up the courage to tell you all night.”
You raised a brow. “I seriously doubt that.”
“Would I lie to you?”
“I don’t know.” Your stomach flipped as you looked at him, really looked at him. He had dimples, a scar under his left eyebrow, and the faintest freckles you’d ever seen. So faint, that they were almost invisible. “We just met. I don’t even know your name.”
“Let’s fix that.” He whispered in your ear. “I’m Dean.” He was trying to kill you. You gulped, whispering your name in return. He leaned back, eyes full of something dangerous that you didn’t really want to address right now. “A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”
“Do you always flirt this much with strangers?”
“I do. But I wouldn’t call us strangers.”
Allie was now gawking. “Holy shit, he’s got game.”
Dean smirked, Allie’s comment going straight to his head. “Do you want to grab a drink?”
“Yes.” You nodded. “Yes I do.”
You never got that drink. Not that you were complaining. As soon as you entered the kitchen, Dean lifted you onto the counter and slammed his lips against yours.
Somehow, in all the chaos, he’d led you to his bedroom. “God, you’re perfect.”
“You’re a flatterer.” Your voice sounded breathless. (It was.) “Do you always talk this much when you’re making out with someone?”
“No.” He could honestly say that he wasn’t lying. Something about you made him deeply nervous. It must be the total sense of contentment you made him feel. For someone who needs to be constantly distracted, being so enamored to the point of stillness makes him almost uncomfortable. He decides he’s thinking way too much for a casual hookup, and deepens the kiss. “You’re different.”
“Oh?” God, your voice is addicting, and your touch even more so. Your hands are wrapped around his neck, your fingers tugging ever so slightly at the hairs laying on the nape of his neck. “How so?”
He shrugs, even though he knows exactly how so. Much too soon to say shit like that, he reminds himself. “I’ll find out soon enough.” His hands play with the hem of your shirt, and your at ease nature disappears. You immediately tense up, and he pulls back, eyes worriedly scanning your face. “Is everything okay, babydoll?”
“I-” You sit up, and he can’t help but follow you. “I don’t do this.”
“This?”
“I don’t do casual sex.” You say it like it’s embarrassing.
“Respect.” He replies like he doesn’t care.
“I’m sorry if I gave you that impression.”
“Don’t apologize for that.” Could he get any more perfect? “Seriously, I’m fine with what we’re doing right now.”
“Are you sure?” You look so guilty it pains him.
“Hey.” His hand holds your cheek, and his heart squeezes when you actually lean into his touch. “I’m not gonna pressure you into anything you don’t want to do.”
“Thank you.”
“No need to thank me.” He smiles, pulling his hand away.
“Your mother must be proud of you.” Your eyes widen. Why the hell did you just say that? “That sounded weird. I just mean-”
“I’d like to say that she is.” He smirked. “Her and my father. They did the best they could.”
You smiled. “Do you have any siblings?”
“Two. One older brother and one younger sister.”
“That’s awesome.” You leaned against his pillows. His smirk softened to something you couldn’t quite place. He laid beside you, tilting his head so that his eyes stayed locked with yours. “I have a little sister too.”
“How old is she?”
“Fifteen.”
“Mine’s eighteen.”
“Has she started looking at colleges?”
And that’s how the two of you stayed until you fell asleep. Talking about anything and everything. Family, school, special interests, sports. From the outside eye, it seemed like you’d known each other for years, the way the conversation flowed. When your eyes began to droop, Dean laughed, grabbing his biggest throw blanket to cover you. “Here.”
“Thank you.” You hummed, burrowing yourself into his bed.
He could get used to this, he thought.
You were dangerous, was his next before his own eyes drooped.
This was an interesting position to be in. To be honest, you didn’t hate it.
Somewhere between when you fell asleep and now, you and Dean had curled around each other like two codependent puppies. His right arm was wrapped around your waist, and his left was just above your head.
You were facing his chest, with your left leg swung over his waist.
You’d been awake for thirty minutes, trying not to wake him up as you theorized how to get out of this the easiest. You thought he was asleep. You swore he was. He hadn’t moved in ages.
That’s why you jumped when he spoke, his voice all deep and crackly. “You sleep like a koala.”
“I’m sorry.” You winced as you began to pull away.
“Wait a second-“ He urged, tightening his grip around your waist, prohibiting you from moving. In fact, he pulled you closer to his chest than you’d been before. “I didn’t say I hated it.”
“I had fun last night.” You murmured into his chest. “You’re sweet.” He laughed, and your head darted up, glaring. “What’s so funny?”
“It’s just-” He really found this funny. “No girl has ever described me as ‘sweet’ before.”
“Glad I’m the first the-” A phone dinged. Then dinged again. Then dinged four more times. “I think that’s mine.”
“Oh?” He raised a brow. “Is someone missing you?”
“Are you implying something with that little comment?” You raised a brow back.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if you had a whole roster of men begging to date you.”
“Thank you?” You laughed. “But it’s not a man. It’s definitely Allie.” You grabbed your phone, now determined to prove him wrong. “See?” You shoved the screen in his face. “Allie.”
“I stand corrected.” His eyes fell to your lips for a moment.
Your breath hitched as he leaned in, and then you placed a hand on his chest. “I should go. She- she needs me.”
“Yeah.” He nodded, his eyes falling to your lips once more. “If you want.”
“Thanks for-” You stood up, suddenly feeling extremely embarrassed about everything you’d done. “Everything.”
“I had fun.” He said it so earnestly that you almost considered jumping back into bed and abandoning Allie. Almost.
“Me too.” You smiled, nodding. “See you.”
“See you.”
Fall 2025, Briar Hockey House
“You’re gonna love them.” Hannah’s arm is hooked through yours and Allie’s as Garrett leads the way into the house. “They’re sweet, honestly. Like hyper puppies.”
“Aren’t puppies already hyper?” You whisper.
“They’re harmless.” Garrett defends, holding the door open. “Seriously. It’ll be fun.”
“I feel like my mom and dad are bringing me to the hospital to meet my siblings.” Allie laughed.
You laughed along with her, observing the inside of the house. “That’s an oddly specific situation, Allie-Cat.”
“Guys!” Garrett called out. “Come meet the girls!”
What happens next could only be described as a hurricane of chaos. Two boys race down the stairs. They’re both tall and handsome. Muscular, too. You reason with yourself that they are in fact professional athletes, so that makes sense.
“Hi.” He sticks his hand out, a charming smile donning his face. “I’m Tucker.”
“Nice to meet you.”
The other boy had a sort of grungy charm about him. “I’m John. John Logan.”
“Ah.” You smiled. “Garrett talks about you all the time.”
“Does he?” Logan smirks. “Awww, G. You love me.”
“Shut up.” Garrett glares, shoving Logan away when he tries to hug him. “Hey! Di Laurentis!”
“Coming!” The last to be revealed yells. “One second.”
“He was in the shower.” Logan remarks. “Another long one.”
“Oh my god.” Hannah groans. “He has a problem.”
“I’m sorry that I care about hygiene.” The third boy says as he descends the stairs. Your jaw immediately drops as the most chiseled abs you’ve ever seen in your life are shoved in your face. Your eyes drag up this man’s frame, and that’s when it happens. That’s when your heart drops, and his eyes glow with something dangerous.
“YOU?” It’s a question, but you practically screech it. “What are you doing here?”
“I live here.” Dean is obviously having too much fun with this. “The real question is, what are you doing here?”
“Wait a minute.” Tucker interrupts. “Are we missing something?”
Allie nods. “Yeah. What’s going on? Do you two know each other?” (For context, sweet, dear, Allie blacked out that night, and does not remember anything.)
“I-” You cross your arms, glaring at Dean. Why? You don’t really know, it just seemed like the go-to reaction in your arsenal. “Knowing someone is subjective.”
“Wait-” Hannah looks what could only be described as gleeful. “Did you two-”
“No!” You yell. “No we did not.”
“Why so defensive, babydoll?” Dean’s towel is hanging dangerously low, and you can’t help it that your eyes gravitate towards him. It’s almost natural. He’s still as handsome as you remember him, and it’s hard not to jump into his arms and pull his lips to yours.
“Care to share with the class how you two know each other then?” Garrett pushes.
“Not particularly.” You grumble.
“Oh boy.” Logan mumbled. “This is going to be fun.”
Present Day (Spring 2026, Malone’s Karaoke Night)
Dean has flirted with four girls in the span of thirty minutes. Not that you’re keeping track.
“If it makes you feel any better-” Logan is trying his best to comfort you, but to no avail. “He’s off his game. Normally he flirts with two times the-”
“It does not make me feel better.” You grumble. “Not at all.”
“Alright.” He raises his hands in defeat. “This is a lost cause. I’m gonna go get a drink.”
You’ve been holding your fork like a weapon for all thirty of those minutes. Tucker laughs. “If you grip that fork any harder, you’ll bend it in half.”
“Tucker!” You snap. “What are you trying to say right now?”
“I-” He looks positively shocked, and to be fair, so do you. “Sorry?”
Hannah whispers. “That was uncalled for, babe. He’s just trying to lighten the mood.”
Garrett says nothing, scared that he will be next in your murderous rampage.
“I’m-” You set the fork down, shaking your head like you’ve just been freed from a spell. “Tucker, I’m sorry. I’m being a bitch for no reason.”
“Well-” Beau mumbles. “I wouldn’t say no reason-”
You elbow the quarterback. “I’m really sorry.” You reach out, squeezing Tucker’s hand.
“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “I feel betrayed honestly. Hurt too, if I’m allowed to say so.” He’s really milking it.
You laugh. “Why don’t I buy you a drink to make up for it?”
“It would be a nice start.” He pretends to wipe away a fake tear as you slide out of the booth. “I’ll take a Dirty Shirley.”
“Oh my god.” Garrett’s face is red. “That’s what you’re choosing?”
“I’m sorry that your taste buds are evolved enough to enjoy a drink such as the one I have chosen.”
“Dirty Shirley.” You nod. “Got it. Be right back.”
You walk up to the bar, smiling at Allie sweetly. “Hello dear friend of mine.”
“What would you like, sweet cheeks?” That nickname unfortunately stuck.
“Two Dirty Shirley’s please.”
“That’ll be twenty dollars.” Allie sets the tap-to-pay ipad in front of you. “I’ll be right back.”
You pulled your card out, before someone else’s card pressed against the screen. Your jaw went slack as you looked up, fully expecting to see Dean’s face.
“Hi.”
A smile grew on your lips. It wasn’t Dean, but Zach, the man that Dean was trying to drive away. What perfect timing. “You really didn’t have to do that.”
He shrugged. “Gotta show you I’m still interested.”
“Yeah?” You began to twirl your hair. Holy cliche.
“Yeah.” He nodded, moving closer to you. “I miss you.”
“Aw.” You giggle. “That’s sweet.”
“I was thinking of asking you out to dinner.”
“Oh?” You grin, blood rushing to your cheeks.
“So?” His leg bounced rather aggressively, but you didn’t mind. It was sweet, how nervous he was. “Dinner this week?”
“I don’t know.” Dean. You squeeze your eyes shut as your hands squeeze into fists. “I don’t really swing that way. Thanks for asking though.”
You whip around. “Dean, respectfully, fuck off. I don’t butt into your conversations, so don’t butt into mine.”
“Here are your Dirty Shirley’s.” Allie whispers. “Sorry for interrupting.”
“Thank you, Allie.” You grab them, ignoring Dean’s obnoxious face. “And to answer your question, Zach, dinner sounds great.”
“Awesome.” Zach grins. “I’ll text you.”
“Perfect.” Your smile is tight as you elbow past Dean to get back to the booth.
“C’mon baby.” You can only imagine how ridiculous it looks that the 6’2” boy is following after you like a puppy dog.
“Don’t call me that.” You hiss, passing Tucker his drink. “Your Dirty Shirley, sir.”
“Thank you ma’am.”
Beau slides out of the booth so you can get back in. He looks up at his best friend with suspicion in his eyes. “What did you do, Dean?”
“All I did was interrupt a conversation.”
“He was asking me out, you asshole.” You feel red hot rage race through your veins. “I watched you flirt with about ten girls and didn’t say anything.”
“So you were watching me?”
“Kinda hard not to.” You mutter under your breath.
“It wasn’t ten girls.” Dean tries to defend himself, but he somehow makes it worse. “And that was different.”
“Why?” You raised a brow. “Because you didn’t ask any of them out?”
“No.” He leaned against the booth, the fabric of his sleeve stretching as he crossed his arms. You fought your inner demons, reminding yourself that he was pissing you off right now, and you would be betraying yourself by lusting after him. “Because they weren’t you.”
“Dean.” You let a deep breath out. “You are officially the world’s biggest hypocrite. What you have just said doesn’t even make any logical sense.”
“What-”
“You have this horrible habit of making my heart flip. And then in the same moment, you refuse to admit that we have something. You refuse to say anything that’s actually meaningful. And I-” Tears begin to form, and you force them back. “I can’t do it anymore. I can’t do this anymore.”
“I think it’s time to get some air.” Tucker whispers. “I’m just gonna-”
“No need.” You stop him. “I am leaving. Here.” You slide Dirty Shirley over to him. “It’s all yours.”
“Thanks.” Tucker immediately puts his straw into the glass.
“Beau.” You whisper. “I’m sorry, can you possibly-”
“Yeah.” He nods. “Yeah, no worries.” He stands up, holding your hand as you get out. “Do you need a ride home?”
“I-” Your eyes naturally drifted to Dean’s for a moment. They always did. “I think I’ll walk.”
“Are you sure?”
“Tucker was right.” You smile softly. “It’s time to get some air.”
“You shouldn’t walk alone.” Dean whispers.
“And you shouldn’t make me feel like this, so.” You shrug. “Guess we’re both at a loss. Have fun with all your admirers.”
Dean waited until you left Malone’s to follow after you. He never actually approached you, always staying ten paces behind, just to be sure that you stay safe. And when you walked into your apartment building, he stood by the corner streetlight, staring into your window like a lovestruck fool.
You don’t know how Allie had convinced you to go to the hockey game, but here you were. Normally, you were the one who had to beg her: you went all out. You put face paint on, the whole nine yards. A couple months ago, Dean had given you his jersey.
Today, you were not going all out.
You did have to thank Allie though, because this game was insanely entertaining, much better than endless episodes of The Office on repeat.
It was like the entire team was perfectly in sync. Garrett was controlling the ice and guiding the team with the precision of a seasoned pro, Logan was keeping it locked down in the defense department, and Tucker had scored two out of the three team’s goals.
And Dean, oh Dean. You could tell something was bothering him, because never before had he played so aggressively in his life. Or at least, at any game you’d ever seen. He’d already been put in the penalty box twice for minor penalties, one more, and he would be out of the game for five minutes.
There he went.
“What is up with him?” You whispered. Allie and Hannah stared at you like it was obvious. You raised a brow. “What?”
“You are what’s up with him. He’s pissed at himself for being an idiot, and he’s pissed that you’re going on that date with Zachary.”
“Zach, but yeah.” You nodded. “Maybe he should have behaved rationally for once. Maybe he should have said something meaningful instead of making the whole situation a joke.”
“Maybe.” Hannah smiled. “It doesn’t hurt to talk, though.”
“We haven’t talked in three days.”
“Just check in, make sure he’s doing well.” Allie placed a comforting hand on your shoulder.
“No time like the present to fix this.” Hannah turned back towards the game, and you stuck your tongue out at her. You hated how right she was, how right both of them were.
You’d been waiting outside of the locker room for thirty minutes, pacing back and forth as you watched player after player leave, all of them shooting you pitiful looks. Maybe he left super early, and you were here looking stupidly hung up on someone that didn’t even care about you.
The door swung open once more, and your heart skipped.
Logan and Tucker walked out together, followed closely by Garrett. Your heart returned to its normal pace.
Garrett stayed behind as the other boys continued down the hall. “He’s still inside.”
You smiled thankfully. “Thank god. I’ve been waiting here for an embarrassing amount of time.”
“He really likes you.” Garrett continued. “He’s just scared.”
“And stupid.” You whisper.
“And stupid.” Garrett laughs. “But he means well. I’m not trying to excuse his actions, because a lot of the stuff he’s done is super hurtful. But I also wouldn’t be doing my job as his friend if I let you think he didn’t care.”
“Thank you, Garrett.” Hannah’s wise nature was rubbing off on him. Or maybe, Garrett was just naturally wise. “I’ll see you later.”
“See you.”
You eyed the locker room suspiciously, like you were waiting for a monster to jump out from behind it at any moment. Honestly, you would rather face Cereberus right now than face your fear of being vulnerable and confessing your feelings to Dean.
Before you could take the coward’s way out, you pushed through the door. You turned the corner, frowning when you saw Dean. He looked utterly dejected as you watched him. He was sitting on the benches still in uniform with his face in his hands. “Dean?”
He visibly tensed, his voice low as he spoke. “What are you doing here?”
“I just-” He was right, what were you doing here? “I wanted to check on you. It was a rough game.”
“Well,” He stood up, his face as emotionless as you’d ever seen it. “You did it. You checked on me. Feel free to leave now.”
You squeezed your fist, trying to control your anger from bubbling up. “You’re upset.”
“Yeah, I am.” He walked closer. “I’m upset that you’re here. I thought we weren’t talking.”
“I still care about you.” You scoffed. “Friends can check on-”
“Friends?” He looked disgusted at the thought, and your stomach clenched.
“I can’t believe I actually cared that you were upset. This was such a stupid idea.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You are a child, that’s what that means.”
“I’m a child?” He crossed his arms, walking towards you. “Please elaborate.”
“With pleasure.” You spat out, counting out the things he does on your fingers. “You have done nothing but poke and prod at me since Garrett introduced us, you get under my skin on purpose-”
“I-”
“You interrupt me.” You gave him a pointed look. “You deliberately do and say things that you know are going to hurt me. For example, I came in here out of the goodness of my heart, and you treated me like I was no better than a random puck bunny.”
“I have never tried to hurt you on purpose.” His eyes were dark.
“Well, you do.” Your voice broke. “You do it all the time. You look at me like I hung the moon and the stars. You remember something little that I told you eons ago, you memorize my coffee order, your eyes find mine at every party just to check in. And then, in that exact moment, you start sucking some girl’s face like you didn’t make my heart clench.”
“Oh yeah?” He looked highly offended. “If we’re getting to specifics, then you must know that you hurt me way before I hurt you.”
“I did not!”
“You did.” He seemed so small for someone so large. He was towering over you, literally, but physically, he seemed unsure, hesitant to even speak. “You were embarrassed of me.”
“What?” Your heart dropped. “What are you talking about?”
“When Garrett brought you to the hockey house for the first time.” His eyes bore into yours, practically begging for you to understand what he was getting at. “Do you not-” He frowned. “You acted like you didn’t know me.”
You scoffed, voice raising in annoyance. “That’s what started all of this?”
“You lied to them!” He retorted.
“What was I supposed to say? Hey guys, Dean and I made out once two years ago!”
“Exactly!” He yelled back. You stomped your feet against the floor, stalking out of the locker room. “That was exactly what you were supposed to say!”
He raced after you, his skates echoing against the floor. Your heart involuntarily skipped, as it always did when Dean was around. “Leave me alone.”
“No way.” His voice sounded nearer than you would have liked. “Why can’t you just say it?”
“I could ask you the same question.” You whipped around, colliding into his gear. His hands instinctively reached out, grabbing your waist firmly as he steadied you. “I-”
“I’m scared,” Dean whispered. “I’m scared that I’ll say I love you, and you’ll say it back, and eventually-” He gulped. “You’ll leave because you’ll realize that I’m not good enough. Hell. I’m not even good at-” He motioned between the two of you. “This. Whatever it is that we have.”
“I can’t even begin to describe what it is we have,” you whisper back. “But I can say that I will never leave you. Even if nothing ever became of us, I would never leave you. I care about you too much.”
“Babydoll…” His eyes drifted down to your lips, and your breath caught. “I’m a dick.”
You nodded. “You are.”
“I’m a hypocrite.”
“Big one.” You mumbled.
“I’m a jealous fool.”
Sometime in the middle of his speech, he’d begun walking you towards the wall. Your back collided against it, a gasp leaving your lips. “Defintely.”
“But I can promise you that I will work on all of that if you just-” He leaned down, his breath intertwining with yours. “If you agree to being my girlfriend.”
“Dean-” Your voice wavered. “Just kiss me.”
His pointer finger and thumb grabbed your chin, tilting it up ever so slightly. “You don’t do casual sex.”
“Why are you bringing this up right now?” Your heart was racing.
“Answer the question.”
“No, I don’t do casual sex.” You responded.
“And-” He leaned even closer, if that was somehow possible. “I’m assuming that this will be ending in-” he smirked. “So all I need you to do is agree to be my girlfriend, and then we can do whatever you wan-”
“Yes.” You nodded quickly. “Yes, I’ll be your girlfriend.”
“I can’t hear you.”
You glared. “Yes you can.”
“Say it louder, baby.”
“You’re so annoying.” You glared before grabbing his uniform in your clenched fist and pulling it to you. “I’m gonna kiss you now.”
He lifted you up in his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist as his lips crashed against yours. You would most definitely have bruises tomorrow morning, but you didn’t really care. “Dean, I’m sorry.”
“Do you always talk this much when you’re making out with someone?”
“No.” You gasped as he kissed down your throat. “But you’re different.”
“Different how?”
“Let me-” You pulled his lips back to yours. “Let me show you.”
“You’re dangerous.” He spoke between the kisses. “Let me change, and then I’m all yours.”
“I’m an idiot.” You mumbled under your breath.
“That makes two of us.” Dean whispered, pulling you closer. His arm was wrapped around your waist, as it had been for the past nine hours. Once you’d made it back to the hockey house, Dean had carried you up the stairs in bridal style, and thrown you onto the bed, slamming the door behind him. That’s where you’d been for nine hours, until you woke up like this, your arm across his chest, his arm around his waist, and your cheek pressed into his pecs. “We’re together now.”
You nodded, tracing shapes into his bare chest. “Good point.”
“Did you have fun last night?” He didn’t have the faintest trace of mischief in his tone. He was genuinely asking you, something that made you fall in love with him all over again.
“Yes, Dean.” You stretched your neck, kissing his jaw gently. “You could say I had fun.”
“Good.” He grinned, pulling your lips to his. You grinned, deepening the kiss. “I’m glad. I wanted you to-” He kissed you one more time. “To feel comfortable.”
“I always do with you.” You smiled, pushing a hand against his chest. “We need to get out of bed, Romeo.”
“Why?” He whined. “I’m having so much fun in here.”
“Shut up.” You shoved him away, laughing as he ‘fell’ out of bed. “You need to shower.”
He gasped. “Are you insinuating that I smell?”
You nodded. “Unfortunately.”
He threw you a shirt and some sweatpants. “For you.”
You pulled the covers up, catching the clothes with ease. “Why thank you, kind sir.”
“I’ll be back.” Dean winked. “Don’t go anywhere.”
“Wouldn't dream of it.” You giggled, waiting until he shut the door to jump out of bed. You pulled the sweatpants and oversized shirt on, admiring yourself in the mirror. The shirt, you realized, was from high school, something about Connecticut.
“Dean, I need to borrow a-” You froze, turning around slowly. There, as frozen as an ice cube, stood Tucker, his eyes wide and his jaw wide open. “Holy shit.”
“Hi.” You smiled guiltily. “Good morning?”
“Guys!” Tucker grinned, jumping up and down. “Guys, come here!”
You buried your face in your hands, wishing that this was all a dream. “Tucker-”
“Oh my god.” Hannah was here too? You opened your eyes, blood rushing to your face. “It seems like my advice worked.”
“What’s going on?” Garrett’s voice, as groggy as you’d ever heard it, shot out from down the hall.
“You’re not gonna believe it, G.” Logan smirked. “I almost don’t.”
“You all are finding much too much joy from this situation.” You glared. “You wanted this.”
“Holy shit.” Garrett was grinning.
“That’s what I said!” Tucker smacked his friends chest. “It happened!”
“Finally!” Garrett responded.
“Hello?” Who else was here to bask in your horribly uncomfortable situation? “Guys?”
“Beau!” Garrett yelled. “Up here, dude.”
“Do you guys know where Dean is?” Beau responded. “He hasn’t been answering my texts, and we were supposed to go on a ru-” His eyes bulged out of their sockets as he stared at you. “Nevermind.”
“Beau.” You begged. “Can you get them out of here, please?”
He paused for a moment, before nodding. “Alright people, nothing to see here. We’ll reconvene when they’re ready.”
“What?” They all began to protest. “This is my house!”
“Yeah, yeah.” Beau pushed his way to the front, before shutting the door. “You’ll live.”
“So-” Allie smirked. “Start from the beginning.”
You groaned, shoving your face in Dean’s arm. “Kill me now.”
In the time that Dean had showered, changed, and listened to you tell him what he’d missed, Allie had been contacted and told to get to the hockey house, stat.
“You can’t get out of this, sweet cheeks.” Allie leaned forward. “We’ve been watching this soap opera for far too long not to know how it ended.”
“I have to object to you calling my girlfriend sweet cheeks.” Dean interrupted.
“Overruled.”
“Girlfriend?” Hannah gasped. “What?”
“We missed so much.” Tucker whined. “I knew we should have stayed behind.”
Dean smirked. “I don’t know if you would have wanted to have been around for long.”
Your head shot up, glaring. “Di Laurentis! Shut up!”
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.
"Fuck, Logan!" Allie proclaimed after throwing back a tequila shot. "He doesn't know what he's missing by not locking you down. Any guy would be happy to be with you! You're like crazy hot!"
Allie always knew how to make you feel better. Unlike some of your other friends, Allie knew that the best way to heal a broken heart was throw a fun night. Dancing, drinks and gossiping was the way to mend all wounds.
As the night began to wind down, the two of you stumbled out onto the street. The two of you giggled at nothing, holding the other's hand.
"Aw man," Allie whined, her phone screen black. "My phone died."
You reached into you own little black purse, but didn't feel it anywhere. "Hold on," You said, taking the bag off your shoulder and crouching down on to the dirty street to empty out the contents. "Ugh!"
Allie giggled from above you, nearly tripping in her red heels. "What?"
"I can't find my phone." You shrugged, looking a little lost.
"We can just walk." Allie suggested, gesturing down the nicely lit street outside of Malone's.
For some reason, the idea of going back inside to look for your phone didn't occur to either of your impaired minds.
"That's a great idea, Als." You agreed, standing up on wobbly legs that resembled that of Bambi.
The two of you hooked arms and started the 30 minutes walk to the hockey house. Even though Logan was there, it was closer than your dorm, and if you were lucky one of the boys would drive you home. Unfortunately for the two of you, the street lights stopped after about 10 minutes of your walk and you were left making the trek in the dark.
"What was that?" Allie jumped, her arm tensing up around you. There was quietest crack in the woods nearby, but nothing too alarming.
You squinted at the treeline, trying to make out anything odd. As you stood there, another crack startled Allie, making her take off like small prey animal. Her arm, still hooked in yours caused you to fall forward, your drunken state not helping your lack of balance.
You hit the asphalt. Hard. For a moment, you just laid there not really sure if you could get up without vomiting. Slowly, you began to move. You felt a stinging all over, but the alcohol in your system did wonders to diminish it into a dull ache.
Allie ran back to you in the dark. She gasped at your form laying on the ground, "Oh my god! Are you okay?" She frantically said as she knelt next to you.
You just smiled at her in the darkness, barely able to make out the outline of her under the moonlight. "I'm fine. I think I got a bruise though."
Allie just laughed as you slurred your words. Eventually, the two of you got back up and continued your walk. You ignored the feeling of something warm and gooey on your legs and hands as you walked, not in the headspace to care.
Finally, you stepped onto the wooden deck of the hockey house. The light in the living room was on, indicating at least one of the boys were awake.
Allie went in first, announcing herself loudly, "Who wants to drive us home?"
The boys were sat around the couch, having a peaceful evening in as they had a game tomorrow.
Dean turned around first, grinning at her, "Who is we?"
Allie turned back to you, "Me and-" She gasped, covering mouth in shock with wide eyes. "Oh my god!"
The borderline traumatized squeal of Allie made all four boys whip their head around in concern. You were covered in blood. Your knees were torn up, dried up blood running down your legs and soaking the top of your white sneakers. Your hands were also scraped up badly, bloody as well. On your chin was a faint scrape that left a small trail of blood running down your neck. It was obvious you had taken quite the spill to anyone but you, apparently.
Logan didn't even take in your appearance for more than a moment before hopping over the back of the couch and rushing over to you. His face was deadly serious, gingerly reaching out to touch you arm.
"What the fuck happened?" Logan hissed, his eyes darting between you and Allie. He was pissed. Where had you been? Why didn't you call him?
Something about his tone made your eyes well up. He looked so upset. With you? You weren't sure. But the stinging of your injuries was beginning to come to forefront. Your lip wobbled and you let out a broken sob.
Logan rushed forward, catching you in his arms as you let your weight give away.
Garrett stood up from the couch, followed by the other boys.
"I'll grab the First Aid kit," Garrett started, but Logan shook his head.
"I've got it." He scooped you up in his arms like a bride on her wedding day.
"Logan, just let us-" Dean didn't get to finish as the bathroom door slammed shut and the lock clicked into place.
Logan used his foot to flip the lid of the toilet to be completely down. The house belonging to only guys meant it was eternally fully up. He sat you down carefully like you might crack. You sat there, you whole body beginning to ache.
"Logan," You croaked as he hurried around the bathroom, pulling out the First Aid kit and a bottle of pain killers.
"Yeah, princess." He answered gruffly. He glanced at your scraped up knees and hands again, grimacing. "You're really banged up."
You just nodded, not sure what to say. "I'm sorry."
Logan shook his head, kneeling in front of you to yank off you shoes and begin the tedious task of bandaging you up. "For what?"
You bit your lips, watching him wipe up the dried blood on your calves. "I was mad at you." You admitted, making him glance up with a raised brow. You continued, "I feel like you're leading me on."
Logan paused, pursing his own lips. "I didn't mean for you to feel like that."
You sniffled, wiping your nose with the sleeve of your jacket like a big, drunk toddler. "You come over all the time. We fuck, which is fun. But then you either treat me like a girlfriend or one of your puck bunnies." You met his eyes. "I thought we were friends. I didn't expect you to treat me like that. Like a cheap, fast hook up."
Logan's jaw clenched and he looked down, not able to look at that weepy face. "I hate that I made you feel that way."
You reached out, gently pressing your hand to his jaw. He looked at you, eyes full of guilt. "I just want to know what you're thinking."
Logan paused before conceding with a sigh, "You're my best friend. You fit so well into my life, I can't imagine it without you. Yet, I wonder if I fit into your life," Your eyebrows creased and Logan continued, "I'm going to go back home after college and take over my Dad's shop. You can do so much better than me. You don't deserve the boring life I'll give you."
You couldn't help the noise that came out of you, an airy laugh that made Logan's eyes flicker up. "Logan, nothing in life with you will be boring."
He sighed. "I don't want you to regret me in the future."
Your thumb stroked his cheek, feeling the stubble underneath. He leaned into your touch, "I'll never regret you."
Logan stared you down, checking your eyes for even a flicker of uncertainty. "Promise?"
You smiled, "Promise." You glanced down at your bloodied legs, "Now can you clean me up so we can cuddle?"
Logan grinned at this, propping your foot up on his knee. "Absolutely."
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.
“I’m just saying man, how fitting that Graham is hooking up with Delaney’s sloppy seconds.” A guys says, his St. Anthony’s shirt sticks out like a sore thumb.
“Di Laurentis and Logan sure did score with their puck bunnies too.” The other laughs. You listen in on the conversation as you and Allie wait for your drinks. Hannah is currently tucked into Garrett’s side across the bar, neither one of them drinking tonight. Logan and Dean are playing a heated game of pool, not aware of the two St. Anthony’s players that have somehow made themselves welcome in a Briar University bar.
“I’m just saying I’d love to have five minutes alone with one of them, bet they’d forget all about their little boyfriends.” The first guy says, laughing at his own statement. You turn, sneering your nose up at him. You let out a short laugh.
“Oh, please.” You look him up and down. “You don’t look like you could find the clit if it was waving a flashlight at you.” A few people nearby choke on their drinks. The guy looks at you, face red. He’s probably had way too much to drink.
“What the fuck did you just say to me, bitch?” He says, getting in your face. Beside you Allie pales. Little do you know Dean and Logan have stopped their game of pool and are standing by for backup. You don’t so much as flinch.
“You heard me.” You say. A humorless smile tugs at your lips as you fold your arms across your chest.
“Besides, it’s a little pretentious to walk onto our campus and assume you’d ever have a chance with one of us in the first place.” You say glaring up at him.
His jaw tightens.
“Yeah?” He laughs, taking a step closer. “Well, our boy Delaney got your captain’s girl way back in high school.” He shrugs. “You puck bunnies are all the same. Easy little sluts.”
Rage clouds your train of thought and your arm moves on instinct tossing the contents of your cup into the guys face.
“You crazy fucking bitch!” He yells. His next move takes the entire bar off guard. He drops his shoulder slamming you into the bar, hard, deliberate, and most definitely hockey-style. You’re a little stunned, around you the bar erupts in outrage.
“What the fuck!” Allie screeches. Logan is already busting through the crowd trying to get to you. Dean pulls Allie behind him. You regain your balance, hurting like a mother fucker. But that sure as hell isn’t going to stop you. As the guy is rattling something off to his friend you shove him.
“Woah, woah, woah!” Logan chants, grabbing you as the guys arm raises no doubt aiming for you.
“Control your bitch man!” The guy’s friend yells. Dean and Logan share a look. You’re practically vibrating with rage. The guy who shoved you sticks his finger in your face.
“You’ve got a real fuckin’ attitude problem.” He turns to Logan. “She always run that damn mouth?” He asks, eyeing you, a disgusting grin on his face.
“If you were mine, I’d keep that pretty little mouth busy.” He says looking to Logan for his reaction. You feel him tense, his body practically shaking with rage.
“Not worth it man, we’ll kick his ass on the ice tomorrow.” Garrett calls. Hannah is tucked behind him like a baby animal hiding behind their mom. You don’t blame her after everything she’s been through. Dean puts a hand on his shoulder, getting him to disengage from the guy.
“Yeah that’s right 22! Walk away!” The guy calls. Logan pauses, his jaw set. He closes his eyes for a second and you can tell he’s debating turning back around, you grab his arm.
“Let’s just go, baby.” You mutter. You feel bad for causing a scene but no way were you going to let some guy talk about your best friends like that.
Loading up in Garrett’s Jeep everyone is a little too quiet for your liking. You know the guys are trying to let Logan simmer down. You sit in the back seat between Dean and Logan, Allie perched on Deans lap. Hannah rides shotgun next to Garrett.
“Are you okay?” Logan asks, turning slightly to look at you. You nod, you’re sure your back is bruised but he doesn’t need to know about that right now.
“I’m fine, I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to start anything.” You say, your apology intended for the whole car.
“What did that guy say to you? I’ve never seen you that mad?” Garrett, asks. You bite your lip, before recounting the conversation. Your friends are quiet for a moment.
“Okay, I totally would have thrown my drink in his face too.” Allie says, breaking the silence.
“You could have gotten hurt.” Logan says beside you.
“I’m okay.” You sigh.
“You got checked into a bar.” Logan states. You sigh.
“I know.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “You don’t get it.”
You roll your eyes. Though you doubt he can see it in the darkness of the back of the Jeep. “Logan..” You trail off.
“Are you hurting anywhere?” He asks.
You hesitate.
“My back.” You mumble. The entire Jeep goes quiet. Logan angles himself toward you as best as he can in the tightly packed Jeep.
“Your back?” Logan asks.
“It just feels sore.” You say. The Jeep pulls into the drive of the hockey house and as the lights come on Logan’s eyes are scanning your body in concern. Everyone files out of the Jeep and heads for the house.
“Come here.” Logan says, gesturing for you to get out of the Jeep.
“Logan, I’m fi-“ you say but he cuts you off.
“Humor me.” He says as you climb out of the Jeep. He gently guides you into the living room of the house.
He reaches for the hem of your sweatshirt. His brown eyes looking into yours.
“Can I?” He asks, warm fingers gripping your shirt. You nod. He carefully lifts the fabric just enough to expose your lower back. His entire body goes still.
“Fuck…” he mutters.
“What?” You ask, trying to get a glimpse of your back.
Dean walks into the living room, a fresh bottle of beer in his hand.
“Damn.” He says taking a sip. Garrett follows behind him before muttering, “Holy shit.”
“What?” You ask again.
A massive bruise is already spreading across the right side of your lower back, the skin turning an angry mix of purple, blue, and dark red. You can almost make out where the edge of the bar caught you.
Allie winces.
“Y/N…” she says.
“It’s that bad?” You ask. Sure it was a little sore, and you’d planned on taking some advil but surely it couldn’t be that bad already.
Logan gently lets your shirt fall back down, before rubbing a hand over his face.
“I should’ve killed him.” He says plainly.
“Logan.” You say.
“I’m serious.” He counters.
“You are absolutely not serious.” You say.
“I should have beat his ass.” Logan says. He lets out a dry laugh.
“John.” You say seriously, snapping his attention back to you. “I’m okay, baby.” You say.
“He put his hands on you.” His voice is so quiet you almost miss it.
“He put his fucking hands on you.” He says. The anger that had been simmering all night suddenly melts into something else entirely. Fear. He steps closer, carefully placing his hands on your hips, avoiding the bruise completely.
“Hey…” You reach up and cup his cheek.
“I’m okay.” You assure him.
“You won’t be tomorrow.” He says.You frown.
“What?” You ask.
“That bruise is going to get a hell of a lot worse before it gets better.” He says. He would know, he was used to getting banged up like that but at least he was the same size as the guys slamming into him. That guy was nearly two of you.
“It already looks pretty bad.” Logan says. Dean whistles from the couch.
“Pretty bad? Honey, that thing is going to look like modern art by morning.” He says.
Despite everything, you laugh. Allie smacks Dean’s arm.
“Read the room, dingus.” She says.
“What? I’m trying to lighten the mood.” Dean offers.
“You should get some ice on that.” Garrett offers, moving into the kitchen to grab one of the many gel ice packs the boys kept in the freezer.
Logan nods, taking the ice pack from Garrett.
“I’ll take care of her.” He says. You smile softly as he guides you up the steps to his room, practically your shared room at this point. You change quickly, slipping out of your jeans and top and into one of Logan’s t-shirts. He finally looks at you, his eyes still full of guilt.
“I’m not mad at you.” He clarifies, as you lay down on the bed, wincing as your back hits the soft surface.
“You kind of seem mad.” You reason.
“I’m mad…” He pauses. “Just not at you.” He brushes a strand of hair behind your ear.
“I’m mad because someone thought they could hurt you.”
You lean forward, resting your forehead against his.
“I’d still do it again.” You say. He groans.
“I know you would.” He says. “Roll onto your belly let me ice your back.” He instructs. You do as he says, hissing slightly when the cold pack hits your back.
“And you’d still love me anyway.” You tease. A reluctant smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
“Unfortunately.” He says, leaning down to kiss your forehead. You grin.
“Unfortunately?” You ask.
“I was hoping for someone with a stronger sense of self-preservation.” He jokes.
“You got me instead.” You say.
“I sure as hell did.” He laughs. “I wouldn’t want anyone else.” He adds, laying beside you and holding the ice pack in place for you.
“No more bar fights though, okay?” He says with a laugh. You roll your eyes.
“I’ll try my best.” You say truthfully, both of you knowing that you’d do whatever it took to stick up for your friends.
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.
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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.
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“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.
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“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.
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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.
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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.
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.
He texted you every morning before you were even fully awake, he always managed to find you between classes, even if it was only for a few minutes. He kissed your forehead absentmindedly while you studied together and wrapped an arm around your shoulders whenever you would walk across campus. He even remembered the little things you mentioned once in passing, like your favourite coffee order, the movie you’d watched a hundred times as a kid, and the fact that you hated thunderstorms but loved sitting by the window when it rained. Every day, he made you feel important, wanted, and cared for. And every day you become more convinced that it couldn’t possibly last. The problem wasn't Logan; the problem was you.
Before Logan, there had been other relationships. Relationships that had slowly chipped away at your confidence until there was almost nothing left. Ex-boyfriends who had made you feel like you were too much one day and not enough the next. Guys who flirted with other girls right in front of you and then accused you of being dramatic when you got upset. Guys who compared you to other women without even realising the damage they were doing. Over time, you had learned a dangerous lesson: if someone seemed to love you, it was only a matter of time before they changed their mind.
Then Logan had come along, and he was wonderful, which somehow made everything worse. Because you knew about his crush on Hannah, everyone knew about that. You remembered hearing stories before you and Logan ever got together. How hopelessly gone he’d been for her. How he’d looked at her like she hung the moon in the sky. How long he’d spent wanting someone who was never really his. Hannah and Garrett had their happy ending now, but that didn’t erase the history. It didn’t erase the fact that Logan had once wanted someone else so badly that everyone around him had noticed.
And you couldn’t stop wondering if those feelings had truly disappeared. Every time you saw Hannah on campus, your stomach twisted itself in knots. Hannah was beautiful in a way that seemed effortless. She laughed loudly. She spoke confidently. She never appeared self-conscious or unsure of herself. She fit naturally into every room she entered. Standing next to her made you feel painfully aware of every flaw you spent hours trying to hide. The comparisons became automatic. Hannah was prettier, funnier, more outgoing, confident, just everything. Meanwhile, you spent twenty minutes staring into the bathroom mirror every morning, wondering why Logan had chosen you at all.
At first, you managed to keep all those thoughts hidden. You smiled when you needed to smile, you laughed at Logan’s jokes, and you kissed him back when he kissed you, but the insecurities have a way of growing in silence. The longer you kept them to yourself, the larger they became. Eventually, you started pulling away from him without even realising it. You answered texts a little slower, you stopped initiating affection, and you constantly found excuses when Logan asked you to hang out.
Some days you convinced yourself that you were protecting your heart. That if you got too attached, it would hurt even more when he left. It was better to create some distance now than be blindsided later. The irony was that you were creating the very thing you feared, and Logan was starting to notice.
And every time you would lie, every single time. Because how were you supposed to explain something that sounded so ridiculous out loud?
Sorry, Logan. I think you're secretly in love with another girl even though you've never given me a reason to think that.
Sorry, Logan. I think you're going to leave me because everyone else eventually did.
Sorry, Logan. I hate myself so much that I can't believe someone like you could actually love me.
So, instead, you just smiled and told him you were fine. However, he didn’t believe you.
One Friday night he showed up at your apartment unexpectedly. You had just gotten out of the shower when you heard a knock on the door. You opened it, wearing sweatpants and an oversized shirt, immediately freezing when you saw him standing there. He looked nervous, actually nervous, and that alone made your heart drop to your stomach.
"Hey," you said quietly.
"Hey." You both just stood there, not moving at all, before Logan started to rub the back of his neck. "Can I come in?"
Something about the expression on his face made panic flare inside your chest. This was it. He was breaking up with you. The thought arrived so quickly and naturally that you barely questioned it. Of course he was. Why wouldn’t he be?
You silently stepped aside and let him enter. Logan walked into the living room before turning to face you. The moment he did, you saw the concern that was written all over his face. It didn’t look like anger or frustration, just concern, which somehow made you feel even worse.
"Talk to me," he said softly.
You looked away immediately. "About what?"
His jaw tightened. "About whatever's been going on for the last few weeks."
Your stomach dropped. "Nothing's going on."
"Y/N." The way he said your name nearly broke you, because there was no accusation in his voice, only worry. "I know something's wrong."
You folded your arms across your chest, contemplating your answer, before finally settling on "I'm fine."
"No, you're not." The silence stretched between you. Logan took a deep breath before he continued. "You barely answer my texts anymore." You stared at the floor. "You don't reach for my hand." Your eyes started to burn. "You keep finding reasons not to see me, and I don't know what I did."
That was what finally shattered you. He wasn’t angry with you, he didn’t blame you for anything, just a genuine belief that he had somehow caused this. Tears filled your eyes immediately, and Logan’s expression changed the second he saw them.
"Oh, baby." The nickname only made you cry harder. You sank onto the couch and covered your face. Everything you had spent weeks hiding came crashing down at once. The jealousy, the fear, the self-hatred, the constant comparisons, the certainty that you were just temporary and that you were a rebound, a placeholder. Just someone who happened to be there because the girl Logan actually wanted wasn’t available. The words poured out between sobs. They were messy, embarrassing, and impossible to stop. By the time you finished, you felt completely exposed and humiliated. You were certain that Logan would finally see how broken you really were.
Your apartment fell silent. For several long seconds Logan didn't say anything, when you finally forced yourself to look up, the expression on his face wasn't annoyance. It was heartbreak, like hearing you say those things had physically hurt him.
"Y/N," he said quietly. His voice sounded rough. "You really think that?"
Fresh tears slid down your cheeks, but you couldn’t answer. Logan moved to sit beside you, then he gently took your hands away from your face.
"You really think you're a placeholder to me?" The pain in his eyes was unbearable.
"I just..." you whispered. "I don't know why you'd pick me."
Something inside Logan seemed to crack. He reached for you right away, pulling you into his lap and wrapping his arms around you so tightly you could barely breathe.
"You have no idea how much I hate hearing you say that."
You buried your face against his shoulder and softly whispered, "I know you loved Hannah."
"Hannah was a crush," Logan sighed heavily. You didn’t respond. "A crush," he repeated. "Do you know what that means?" His question was met by silence.
"It means I built a fantasy in my head about someone I barely knew." He tilted your chin upward. "This is real." His hand rested over your heart. "You are real." Then he pressed your hand against his chest. "And this? This is real too."
Tears blurred your vision. "I don't compare you to Hannah,” he said firmly. "I don't think about Hannah when I'm with you."
He pressed a kiss to your forehead. "I don't wish you were Hannah."
Then he pressed a kiss to your temple before continuing, "I don't want Hannah."
A kiss to your cheek. "I want you."
Your breath caught in your throat. Logan rested his forehead against yours.
"You,” his voice cracked slightly. "Just you."
For a moment neither of you spoke. Then Logan admitted quietly, "Do you know what I thought was happening?" You shook your head. “I thought you stopped liking me."
His confession stunned you. "What?"
A sad laugh escaped him, "You kept pulling away." His eyes searched hers. "And every day I wondered what I did wrong."
The guilt hit you instantly. "Oh my God."
"I was terrified."
You stared at him. John Logan. Confident, charming, popular John Logan was terrified because he thought he was losing you. The realisation changed something inside you. For weeks you’d been so focused on your own fears that you’d forgotten Logan had feelings too. Forgotten that he cared. Forgotten that relationships involved two people. He wasn't some untouchable guy waiting for someone better to come along. He was your boyfriend, and he loved you.
The months that followed weren't perfect. Healing never happens overnight. There were still bad days. There were still moments when old insecurities crept back into your mind. Moments when you doubted yourself. Moments when you struggled to believe you deserved the love Logan gave you, but Logan never made you face those moments alone. He didn't magically fix your, he couldn’t, what he did instead was stay. He stayed when you were feeling insecure, when you overthought things, when you were afraid. Day after day. Week after week. And slowly, you started believing him. And not because he constantly told you that you were beautiful, or because he showered you with affection. It was because he proved it, over and over again, with his actions, his patience, and with his unwavering choice to love you.
For the first time in your life, you began to understand something you had never truly believed before. Love wasn’t supposed to feel like waiting for someone to leave. Love was supposed to feel like someone choosing to stay. And John Logan chose you every single day.
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
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.”
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