Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Just a gentle reminder to be kind and compassionate in the fanfiction community.
If you do not like something, do not read it. You don’t have to like it or leave kudos. You do not have to reblog it or share it. You do not have to comment on it. Just leave it be in its space.
Fanfiction is a space for people to explore and process.
Some people write fanfiction to work through emotions, wishes, and aspects of themselves that may be difficult to express elsewhere.
Some people write fanfiction to process trauma and or difficult experiences they went through.
Some people write fanfiction simply because they love a story and want to spend more time with beloved characters and worlds.
For many, fanfiction serves as a creative outlet, a coping mechanism, a form of self-discovery, and/or a way to build community with others who share their interests.
The hate comments or anon hate asks, simply are not necessary. Use your energy for other things, my dears! <3
summary: logan skips drunk shakespeare and you go looking for him. short fic, slightly hurt/comfort, mostly fluff. requested!
Unlike the packed hallways of the Drama building tonight, Briar U’s sports arena looks completely empty aside from Logan’s car parked right outside.
You smile once you spot it, a twinge of self-righteousness hitting you, because Logan might be sneaky and try to hide from everyone else, but goddamn, you know him. Of course he’d be here, training after midnight while his friends are all getting drunk.
Once inside, you move in silence, sitting on the player’s bench and watching as he tosses the puck towards the goal again and again, growing frustrated every time it hits the acrylic panel instead. A particularly loud bang makes him groan and take off his gear, allowing him to finally spot you on the side of the rink, his face twisting in a confused amusement, “Hey. I didn’t see you there.”
“Hello.” You say, standing up as he skates in your direction, “Didn’t know you were a midnight practice kind of guy.”
Logan chuckles, “Sometimes. It helps when I have trouble sleeping, you know?” he points to his own head, “I thought you were supposed to be at Drunk Shakespeare?”
You nod, “I was, ditched the afterparty. You missed Garrett dancing on stage, by the way.”
He barely holds back a laugh, “Damn, really?” You hum, “Already missed Tuck’s rendition of Save a Horse on Malone’s. I’m missing out on all the fun stuff lately.”
“Well, you’ve been here a lot.”
A coy smile appears on his face, “I guess so, yeah.”
You stare at him, carefully picking your next words.
Logan isn’t the type to be open about his feelings, the only time you’ve ever had him going up to you being a drunken confession after being passed over in his very first draft. He apologized profusely, but you remember how it felt weirdly nice. The sort of intimacy that it brought between the two of you, not enough to cross the line of friendship, but a little something there. He didn’t have to hide these feelings away anymore, and you liked being the secret-holder of his sorrows.
You keep the memory close to your heart, along with a vow to keep checking on him, as you do now.
Moving a bit closer, your fingertip touches his forehead pointedly, “Wanna tell me what’s going on there then?”
Logan chuckles, gently grabbing your wrist and pushing your hand off his face, “Just, you know… Had a talk with Jules today.”
You see the discomfort in his face, and still, you dig into it anyway, “Yeah? About what?”
“The usual.” He shrugs, “Hockey, the garage, Mom.”
“Is she okay?”
“Uh, yeah. Still in rehab,” He looks away from you, heading to the door, “Haven’t talked to her recently.”
You hum, “What did Jules say?”
Logan rolls his eyes, taking the rest of his gear off, “Reminded me what a miserable future awaits me if I don’t make it into Hockey,” he says, a scowl on his face as he gets more sarcastic, “No biggie.”
“That’s a lot of pressure for you to hold, Logan,” you say.
“It’s true, though.” He plops down on the bench, looking up at you, “And I might not have a chance, and I have to work, like, twice, three, ten times as much as– As any other player because they might be able to go a different way, but I can’t afford to. I have to make it.”
Logan huffs, all the frustration now out of his system. You sit down next to him, his eyes following you.
“This is taking a tool on you, yeah?”
He nods, “Fuck, you have no idea.”
You don’t feel bad for Logan, because you know he wouldn’t want you to pity him. Still, you can’t help but think how unfair of a situation it is, and how much you wish things were different for him. You know there’s not much you can do but be there for him, and Logan desperately needs someone to do it, to see the softness he hides behind a brick wall of obligations and pay him some attention — him, not his potential, not his future self. That’s all you can offer, but that’s also all he wants, really.
Your arms reach out to him, hand patting his back in a soothing manner, “I’m sorry. It’s a lot for you to deal with,” your fingers stretch to his shoulder, pulling him closer.
Logan follows your movement, easy like a rag doll, his head dropping into your shoulder. His eyes flutter closed, “I’m tired,” he murmurs, “Just wanna take my mind off of it a little.”
You snort, “I don’t think midnight hockey is the way to do it,” you say, hand around his shoulder in a gentle squeeze, “But a beer at Malone’s could be the way, if you’re up to it.”
He raises his head up from your shoulder, the corners of his mouth moving slightly up, and you know you hit the jackpot, “Just you and me?”
If there's a twinge of embarrassment from his suggestion, you don’t acknowledge it, though your skin definitely feels warmer, “Yeah, just you and me.”
“Okay, sounds like fun,” he says, then quickly standing up from the bench like he can’t wait for it, “Shall we?”
You nod, chuckling at his urgency, “Sure.”
He grabs his bag, and waits for you to follow him. Once you get closer, his hand goes to your upper arm, “Thanks, by the way.”
You shake your head, “I didn’t do anything.”
“You listened,” he says, his voice so earnest, “You always do.”
Logan’s big, dark eyes get more intense when he’s being sincere. You can’t help but shy under them, “That’s okay, I’m– Um, you know, just being a good friend.”
He watches your face for a moment. You don’t know what he’s looking for, but he must’ve found it, for something pushes him to move, “Yeah, well,” his hand slips down, traveling over your arm and grabbing your hand, “Thank you anyway.”
Your lips curve into a smile, thumb caressing the back of his hand. You keep walking, pulling him behind, and Logan holds onto your hand all the way to Malone’s.
notes: this is also loosely based on the lyrics of “it’s nice to have a friend” by taylor swift but i didn’t want to use the same name lol. thank you for reading! requests are open! likes/reblogs/thoughts are very much appreciated! <3
☄︎ Warnings: not proofread! girl on top.
☄︎ Pairing: F!Reader x John Logan
☄︎ Rating/Genre: Mature (🔞). Smut.
☄︎ Words: 4629
☄︎ Summary: You work as the Hawks' Social Media Manager, and one of the players has a crush on you.
💭: yeah, so logan and i are locked in now... the social media part was also inspired by a tiktok from England Rugby. if you enjoyed, please consider leaving a comment, ask, reblog etc, it means a lot xx
Original request here. 〣 Off Campus Masterlist here.〣 Logan Masterlist here.
Some days as the media manager for the Briar U Hawks Hockey Team, you genuinely felt like you spent half your life waiting around for them, just to get a 30-second result. Today was one of those days. Anybody who claimed women take longer than men to get ready had clearly never waited on a hockey player to put his gear on.
You shifted your weight from one foot to the other on the rubber floor mats, the freezing arena air biting at your cheeks. You had been standing here with your phone in your hand for far too long. But you stayed ready, camera open and prepped to ambush them the second they exited the locker room corridor.
You silently laughed to yourself, thinking of how you were going to torture them this time. ‘Do it for the fans,’ was your usual go-to when you had to encourage them to participate. It was a strategy that worked on 99% of the roster.
However, for Logan, that rule didn't apply. For him, it was only a soft, ‘do it for me,’ accompanied by a slight pout, that ever actually worked. You had a feeling you might need to put one of those on today.
The double doors finally swung open, and your first victim player walked up the tunnel to the rink.
“It’s content day!” You sang, intentionally stepping right into his path just before the ice gate. “I need five seconds of your time before you hit the ice. Do not look at me like that, Graham. I promise you’ll actually like this one.”
Garrett stopped dead in front of your lens, as he adjusted his helmet. He sighed heavily. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Garrett, I’m like two years older than you,” you laughed, holding the camera steady. “I’m not a ma’am.”
“Yes, boss,” Garrett teased. When you looked at him with an unimpressed look, he let out a loud chuckle. “Hey, don’t look at me like that. You know what you did.”
Memories of the last promotional video you’d edited flashed vividly in your head. To be fair to Garrett, you had slightly embarrassed him in the final cut.
“Okay, fair point,” you conceded with a shrug. “But today, I promise I won’t embarrass you.”
Technically, that wasn’t a lie. If Garrett ended up looking foolish in this video, it would be entirely by his own doing, not yours. Semantics mattered.
You lifted your phone, centring him in the frame. “Just a quick geography question for the away-game promo. We want to show off how incredibly smart our Briar boys are.”
“I feel like you’re baiting me, but I’ll bite. Hit me.” Garrett squared his broad shoulders, his game face instantly switching on as he leant in toward the lens.
“Garrett, how many miles do you think it is from Massachusetts to Johannesburg?”
Garrett blinked, his eyes darting upward. “Uh. Well, if you go from...” He started mumbling calculations to himself, genuinely trying to do the map math in his head. “Maybe like... 3500 miles? Give or take. Maybe.” He said eventually, offering a definitive nod.
You put on the best performance of your life, widening your eyes in surprise. “No way! That’s actually right!”
Garrett paused, looking back and forth between your face and the lens, completely bewildered. “Wait. Really?”
“Yeah, honestly,” you lied smoothly.
“You’re not having me on, are you?”
You were having him on. The actual distance was well over 7000 miles. But you just smiled brightly, giving him an encouraging nod. “No, Garrett. Seriously, good job.”
Garrett puffed his chest out, looking dead into the camera with newfound pride. “Well... I have always been pretty good at geography.”
“Clearly,” you smiled, waving him through.
Next up was Dean, who gladly jogged over the moment he saw you with your camera, a flirtatious smile already pulling at his lips.
“How do you want me?” Dean asked, striking a series of poses for the screen.
“Dean, focus,” you said, suppressing a snort. “How many miles from Massachusetts to Johannesburg?”
Dean smirked, “You've come to the right guy. I have an excellent sense of geography.”
“I’m sure you do,” you deadpanned.
“It's exactly twelve thousand miles,” Dean stated with unearned confidence.
You maintained a perfectly straight face, nodding in solemn agreement. “That is exactly right, Dean. Perfect answer. Spot on.”
Dean pumped his fist in the air. “I knew it! Spatial awareness, baby!”
He skated off onto the ice, completely oblivious to the fact that you were slowly losing the ability to breathe from holding in your laughter.
Birdie and Tucker came out next. You hit them with the exact same question, and they immediately stopped in their tracks, squabbling and throwing wild guesses back and forth. Finally, Tucker turned back to you.
“We’re going down the middle,” Tucker decided. “8500.”
“How did you know that?!” you gasped, feigning shock. “That’s the exact number.”
“Is it?” Birdie asked, his jaw dropping.
“Genuinely?” Tucker demanded at the exact same time.
“Yes! Spot on!” you encouraged, watching their competitive faces light up with pure excitement.
“Yes! Well done, Tucks!” Birdie beams, ruffling Tucker’s hair.
They skated away, thrilled with themselves.
You were still quietly giggling, resetting the recording length, when a shadow fell over your phone screen. You looked up and found yourself staring directly into a pair of dark, but soft, eyes.
“You need me?” Logan asked.
“I do need you,” you smiled softly. Neither of you spoke for a heavy moment, the quiet space between you filling up with a that unspoken heat as you just looked at each other. You cleared your throat, snapping yourself back into media-mode. “Oh, and I also need you for a video.”
You lifted the camera to line up the shot. “Stand there, please.”
“Fine,” Logan chuckled as he moved where you directed him. “Hit me.”
You tried your best to ignore the fact that he was looking directly at your face instead of looking at the camera lens.
“How many miles is it from Massachusetts to Johannesburg?”
Logan blinked, his eyes flicking down to your hands for a split second before returning to yours. “...Two hundred?”
You bit the inside of your cheek; did he even hear the question? “Yup! You’re spot on, Logan.”
Logan let out a low laugh. “Come on. I was way off, wasn’t I?”
“No!” you insisted, maintaining your best poker face. “That’s about right, genuinely.”
Logan’s eyes instantly crinkled at the corners. “That’s actually not fair. You distracted me.”
“I– what? I didn’t do anything!” you stuttered, your face growing hot as you completely lost your professional cool.
“You did! How am I supposed to think when...” he trailed off looking at your now trembling hands.
Before you could fully recover, Logan's hand reached out, wrapping securely around the top of your phone and gently pulling. “Give me that. I'm deleting the evidence.”
“Logan, no! Stop!” you shrieked playfully, causing a few of the guys on the ice to turn around and look over the boards.
“Nope, the public can't know this,” he laughed. He was inches away from you as you both wrestled over the handle, the camera recording a chaotic, blurry feed.
“Coach!” You called out mock-threateningly. “Logan is stealing media property!”
“Logan! Leave her alone and get on the ice!” Coach Jensen’s voice sailed across the rink.
“Snitch,” Logan murmured against your ear. He immediately let go of the camera with a soft chuckle, but he lingered for a second longer, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. “You owe me for my hurt feelings.”
As he finally skated onto the ice, he glanced back over his shoulder once. It was just long enough for you to catch him smiling to himself. And you knew, without a doubt, that he had caught you smiling right back.
A week later, you were on the bus back with them. It was just past nine in the evening, and the three-hour trek back to campus felt twice as long following the frustrating away-game loss.
Up front, you sat alone in the fourth row, the soft glow of your laptop screen lighting up your face. Most of the overhead reading lights were off, leaving the bus in near darkness save for the passing flashes of the highway streetlights. Behind you, the hockey players were scattered across the reclining seats. Some snored softly, others staring silently out the windows, too exhausted and frustrated to sleep.
The mood on the team’s social media account needed to be resilient, but your brain was too fried. At this point, you had spent so much time with these boys, been to so many of their intense training sessions, that you knew exactly how much they put into this sport. Because of that, you felt the weight of the loss almost as heavily as they did.
But Coach Jensen wanted the post-game recap video live by tomorrow morning. So, you were here, desperately trying to get a head start on the editing despite your electronics slowly dying on you.
You finally hit save on your third draft just as your laptop screen faded to black, the battery drained.
Not thirty seconds later, a sudden shadow fell over your row as someone stood next to you in the aisle.
“Is that seat taken?” Logan whispered.
You looked up, meeting his eyes in the dim light. “Go ahead,” you said softly.
Logan slid into the empty seat next to you. “Thanks. I was going to sit here earlier, but I didn’t want to interrupt you while you were working.”
“Oh, so you were watching me?” you laughed quietly, turning your head to face him.
“Hmm,” he hummed thoughtfully, leaning his head back against the headrest. “How do I say yes to that in a totally normal way?”
“It’s okay, I watch you too,” you supplied, a playful glint in your eyes. “I even take videos sometimes.”
Logan let out a low chuckle. “Nice. My own personal stalker.”
“I didn’t say you were the only one I watched,” you countered smoothly.
“But am I your favourite one? That’s the real question.”
“Hm.” You pretended to think about it, tapping your phone against your palm. “There’s no contest, actually.”
“That’s what I like to hear.”
He exhaled a long, tired breath, as he sank deeper into the cushion, stretching his long legs out under the chair in front of him. For a few minutes, neither of you spoke, letting the steady hum of the bus engine fill the silence.
“Are you're still awake,” Logan whispered suddenly, though his eyes remained closed.
“Hard to sleep on these roads,” you replied, keeping your voice dropped low so it wouldn't carry past your row. You turned your head slightly on the headrest, studying his side profile in the dark. “Besides, I'm trying to figure something out.”
“Yeah? What's that?” He opened his eyes, turning his head on the cushion to meet your gaze. In the darkness of the cabin, his eyes looked incredibly dark.
“How you guys deal with frustrating losses,” you explained.
“We have our ways,” Logan laughed quietly.
“Does one of them include flirting?”
Logan’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You noticed?”
“Logan...” An amused huff slipping past your lips. “You volunteered for every single media interview these past few weeks. You invented ridiculous reasons just to walk me back to the media office. You literally sat through me editing raw footage for hours with the excuse of 'keeping me company.'“
When you laid it out like that, it was painfully obvious. The little hints he had been dropping over the past few months had all been noticed by you, and the fact that you were finally bringing it up now changed everything for him. He had been testing the waters, and you jumped right in.
“Okay, you caught me... does this mean I can stop pretending?”
“You were pretending?” you teased.
“I was pretending that I wasn’t going insane over you.”
You laughed softly. “You can stop pretending.”
“Why did it take you this long to call me on it if you knew?” he asked, his tone turning a little more serious.
“I wanted to see how long you'd keep trying.”
Not that you thought Logan was that type of guy, but you also wasn’t about to risk your career for a guy who just wanted you to be another notch on his bedpost.
“And?” he asked, leaning an inch closer.
“You lasted longer than I expected,” you murmured.
Silence settled over the row again, but the air felt different now.
The bus let out a loud hiss from the brakes, slowing down as it finally pulled off of the highway and onto the familiar roads of the Briar campus.
“The guys are throwing a post-game thing at the house,” Logan murmured, his voice laced with anticipation. He turned his body toward you fully, placing his hand softly on your knee. The heat of his palm soaked straight through your jeans. “Come back to the house with me. Just hang out in my room. Away from the team.”
He said it casually. Too casually. It was a tempting invitation, but you knew there was no way you could do that. If Coach Jensen knew you were flirting with the players on a team bus, or if you crossed that line so publicly...
You met his eyes, holding his gaze as you slowly shook your head. “I can’t, Logan.”
Logan’s smile faded slightly, knowing the hesitation was strictly about your position with the team. “I'm not asking you to break any rules right now... just hang out.”
“Logan. If I walk into the hockey house with you at night...” You trailed off.
There were so many ways you could finish that sentence. Dean would never let either of you live it down. Garrett would feel compelled to give some sort of responsible team-captain lecture. The entire team would know by breakfast, and your personal boundaries with them would probably be broken.
“I like my job too much,” you finished gently instead.
A flicker of disappointment crossed his handsome features. “So, that's a no.”
“It is.”
He nodded slowly, swallowing his pride as he accepted your answer. His hand slipped off your knee, leaving a cold space where his warmth had just been. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. I get it. Sorry, I didn't mean to press you.”
“But,” you whispered, a daring smile playing on your lips, “my apartment is off-campus.”
Logan froze mid-movement. He blinked, his dark eyes widening. “What?”
“If you’re not too tired, that is,” you murmured.
The heavy bus finally shuddered to a full stop in the arena parking lot.
You unbuckled your seatbelt and reached down to grab your backpack, putting your phone in the pocket.
For a second, Logan just stared at you as the reality of what you were offering sank in. Then, the disappointment vanished, replaced by a burning desire.
“Give me five minutes to come up with an excuse,” Logan whispered, his voice incredibly thick and rough. “Don't leave the parking lot without me.”
All around you, the overhead lights clicked on with a harsh flash, and the players began standing up. They groaned as they stretched their sore muscles, grabbing their duffel bags from the overhead racks.
“I’ll wait around the corner,” you whispered as you slipped out of your seat, blending into the crowd of hockey players shuffling down the aisle. Stepping off the bus, the crisp night air hit you instantly, a welcome relief from the stuffy interior.
As the players crowded around the luggage compartment to grab their bags, you walked up to the group casually.
“Great effort tonight, boys,” you said with a warm smile, nodding to Garrett and Tucker. “I’m sorry we couldn’t get the win.”
“Thanks,” Garrett muttered, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “You have a good evening.”
You walked towards your car, quickly sliding in and driving around the corner of the athletic building, parking in the shadows where the bus headlights couldn't reach. Your heart was hammering against your ribs, the thrill of having a secret making this so much better.
It didn’t take Logan long to make his way to you. He walked with a purposeful stride, his eyes scanning the dark street until they landed on your car. He jogged over, opened the passenger door, and slid in.
“Smooth,” Logan murmured as he buckled his seatbelt. “Very professional.”
“I try my best,” you laughed softly, shifting into drive.
When you walked through your front door, you tossed your keys onto the entryway table and kicked off your shoes. Logan did the same, following you through your apartment as he took it all in for the first time.
“Can I get you something to drink?” you asked, walking toward the kitchen nook. You at least wanted to play good host before jumping his bones.
“Water is fine, thanks,” Logan said, walking over to the living room and sinking into your plush sofa.
You poured two glasses of water and walked back over, handing one to him. Instead of taking the armchair across from him, you sat down on the opposite end of the sofa.
“Thanks,” he murmured, taking a slow sip before setting the glass down on the coffee table. He shifted his weight, turning his body toward you and resting his arm along the back of the sofa.
“You look exhausted,” you said softly, pulling one leg up onto the cushion so you were facing him too.
“I was,” Logan admitted, his dark eyes fixed on your face. “But I'm feeling a lot better now.”
“Yeah?”
“Mhm.”
You placed your own glass down on the coffee table, before looking back at him. He usually looked at you in one of two ways. The first was when you laughed or spoke; he’d look with a soft expression. The second, like now, was when he’d basically be undressing you with his eyes.
“So...” you started, but you didn’t finish your trail of thought.
Logan watched you for a few beats longer, before blurting out, “Will you think less of me if I’m bold?”
You bit your lower lip, shaking your head. “No.”
“Good, then come here.” He leant forward, sticking out his hand.
When you took it, he pulled you towards him, he kept pulling until you were straddling his lap.
“Hi,” you breathed, looking down at him.
“Hi,” he said back.
He kept looking up at you expectantly, wanting to let you set the pace to this.
You leant forward and bit down on his earlobe. He signed and moaned as you sucked it into your mouth. Then, you moved to where his jaw met his neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin there.
“I’ve been waiting a while for this,” you confessed against the skin of his neck.
“Yeah?” He panted. “Me too.”
His lips slightly parted as you resumed your trail down across his neck, over his jaw, and then to his mouth.
The kiss started slow, almost cautious, as if he was still making sure he wasn’t dreaming. His lips were soft against yours, but the moment you breathed a sigh against his mouth and leant into his touch, the hesitation vanished. You found a rhythm together quickly, his tongue swiping across yours.
You pulled back to get some air and Logan followed you, his breath puffing against your mouth as he came to claim you in kisses once again. He tilted your head so that he could deepen the kiss.
He didn’t stop kissing you as his hands went under the hem of your shirt, warm, calloused hands sliding up your smooth back. He stopped at the clasp of your bra, fingers moving smoothly over the clasp to undo it on the first attempt.
This time, it was Logan who pulled back, but only for a second so that he could tug your shirt up over your head and pull off your bra. The second you were bare; his lips were back on yours.
Pulling you flush against him, his hand snaked between your bodies and up to your chest. He kneaded your breasts, before focusing his attention on one nipple, softly pinching and rolling it between his fingers.
You moaned into his mouth as he flicked a finger over it, back and forth and back again.
Then, the pad of his thumb stroked firmly over your nipple, and another moan left your lips. He pulled his mouth away from yours, tracing down your throat. Burying his face in your beck, his teeth grazed your pulse point while his hands continued across your chest.
“Don’t mark me,” you warned, you didn’t want to have to cover up at work.
“I won’t,” he groaned, his voice vibrating right against your skin. “I've pictured this every single day since the start of the season.”
You hadn’t realised how much you were grinding down into him until you begun to feel the rigid length of him beneath you, straining against the fabric. You desperately, purposely, moved your hips against him again, the friction coming from the fabric of your jeans and his length pressed up into you driving you insane.
He shuddered as he leant back against the armrest of the sofa, his hands sliding down to your hips as he looked up at you. his gaze was heavy and heated, roaming over the way you grinded into him, up to your bare chest, and finally to the look of ecstasy on your face. You felt exposed, but so powerful, as you watched his head loll back.
Slowly, you reached down, your fingers catching the hem of his top. “Your turn.”
It’s like your words revived him, he immediately sat up, pulling the top over his head and tossing it onto the floor. The sight of his tanned skin, the trail of hair leading down his body, and the sharp lines of his abs made your breath hitch. He had a few bruises from the game across his torso and it made him look even more attractive to you.
You leant forward, pressing your bare chest against his bare skin, as you captured his lips again, much hungrier this time. Your hands slid down his firm abdomen to the waistband of his sweatpants.
He bucked up to you, groaning into the kiss, as you wrapped your hand around his erection. You squeezed it tightly before dragging a nail along the throbbing vein at the underside of his dick.
Moving your attention to his leaking slit, your thumb traced over it, smearing the small amount of pre-cum around the head.
“Logan,” you purred as you made a ring with your fingers and worked his length.
“Hmm?”
“I’m really wet,” you said darkly, “and I need you to fuck me now, okay?”
Immediately jumping to action, his hands found the hem of your jeans and, together, you worked in a frantic and uncoordinated rush to get rid of the rest of the clothes. You slid off of his lap, your bare feet hitting the carpet as you pushed your jeans and underwear down your legs. Logan kicked off his sweatpants and boxers at the same time, freeing his thick length.
He slid to the floor, back resting against the base if the sofa.
When you looked down at him, he was watching you, mouth wide as he looked over your naked body.
“Come here,” he murmured, his voice rough.
You immediately straddled his lap, the direct skin-on-skin contact sending another bolt of ecstasy through you. he slipped a hand between your legs, collecting your arousal on his fingers before popping them into his mouth, sucking it clean off.
“I can’t wait to properly taste you,” he said.
“Next time,” you huffed as you rubbed your dripping pussy over his dick.
Tilting his pelvis up, he guided the head of his length to your entrance. He paused there for a second.
“Look at me,” he whispered, his eyes locking onto yours when you looked at him. He wanted to make sure you were ready.
You stared directly into his eyes, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you slowly lowered your hips, taking him inside you.
Logan’s head fell back against the sofa cushions, a low groan rumbling from his throat as you squeezed around him. He gripped your waist tighter than he probably realised he was.
For a long moment, he didn’t move, letting you both adjust to what was happening. His chest heaved as he stared up at you with unadulterated desire.
When he finally began to thrust into you, every stroke hit you deeply, and was perfectly aimed at the spot inside of you that had your toes curling. The room was silent save for the combined sounds of you both raggedly breathing and each slap of your ass against the tops of his thighs.
It had only taken a few bounces before Logan felt his orgasm approach.
“Oh– shit,” Logan called, as he was then suddenly shooting ropey cum up into you.
You leant back, hands resting on the floor behind you as you spread your legs wider. He was still buried inside you, so you opted your small rolls of your hips rather than bounces. His hand came to your clit, it throbbed under his thumb, and the tight coil built rapidly in your lower stomach.
One of your hands came to play with your nipples as he kept gently rubbing at your clit, not sure what kind of pressure you needed. Your orgasm crashed over you, pulling an undone cry from your lips.
He winced as your walls squeezed around his sensitive, and slightly softened, dick.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, turning pink as you came down from your orgasm. “Guess I’ve been holding that one in for too long.”
You were an adult, and knew that the reality was that sex wasn’t always a marathon. You didn’t mind a sprint every now and then, especially considering there was actual build up.
“You don’t need to apologise. I enjoyed it. Really enjoyed it. Did you?”
He nodded sheepishly.
“Then there’s no problem.” You leant in to give him a swift kiss. “Do you want to take a shower with me?”
“I do,” he said eagerly.
You stood up, wincing as you felt his release run down your inner thighs. Walking on shaky legs, you led the way into the bathroom, Logan following close behind. You turned the handle, waiting a moment for the water to warm up before stepping under the spray.
When Logan stepped in behind you and helped you to wash, it was incredibly sweet, feeling way more intimate than what you’d just done. The heat mostly washed away the worries you hadn’t realised you had, but a voice nagging in your head kept asking you what would happen now that you’d crossed that boundary with him.
The shower was over quickly, and you gave him the only pair of shorts you owed that you thought could fit him. You both walked back to the living room and sat on the sofa, putting on a movie, but the exhaustion of the long night was catching up fast.
“By the way,” he said. “I was thinking about what you said on the coach about wanting to see how long I would have kept trying.”
“Hmm,” you mumbled sleepily, shifting closer against him.
“I want you to know I would have kept trying until you rejected me,” Logan murmured, his arm tightening around your shoulders to pull you securely against him. “This isn’t a game to me. I’m serious about this.”
A soft smile pulled at your lips as you felt yourself drifting off.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
but what if they hugged?? What if they touched foreheads??? What if they cried together????? What if they laughed together???? What if they loved each other SO DAMN MUCH??????
could u do one where its just john logan comforting reader shes on her period and she has a lot going on and she just crying and in pain abd its just fluff etc thankuuu
Heat and Honey
Pairing: John Logan x Reader
Word Count: 992
Request open!
Off campus masterlist
John could tell the second he walked into the apartment that something was wrong.
You were curled on the couch under two blankets, face pale, one hand pressed to your stomach, eyes red-rimmed in a way that made his chest tighten immediately. The lights were low, the room was too quiet, and the second you looked up at him, your face crumpled all over again.
“Hey,” he said softly, setting his bag down. “What’s going on?”
You shook your head and tried to speak, but the words came out broken. “I,John, I’m sorry, I just,”
And then you started crying harder.
He crossed the room in three quick steps and crouched in front of you, one hand immediately coming to your knee while the other brushed hair back from your face. “No, no. Don’t apologize.”
Your shoulders shook. “It hurts so bad.”
His expression changed instantly, all concern and tenderness now. “Your period?”
You nodded, wiping at your face with the heel of your hand. “And everything else is too much and I had the worst day and I keep crying and I can’t stop and I hate this.”
John’s jaw tightened with sympathy.
“Okay,” he said, voice calm and low. “Alright. We’re not doing ‘hate this’ alone.”
You gave a watery laugh that turned into another sob. “I feel ridiculous.”
“You’re in pain.”
“And emotional.”
“That too.”
He stood, then immediately came back with a heating pad, a water bottle, and a box of painkillers like he had already decided your suffering was now his problem. Which, knowing John, it absolutely was.
You looked up at him, still sniffly. “Did you plan this?”
“I know where things are in my own apartment.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It’s the answer you’re getting.”
That made you laugh a little more, which softened the edge of your crying, though your face still felt tight and hot.
John knelt again and gently tucked the heating pad against your lower stomach, careful with every movement. “Better?”
“A little,” you admitted.
He nodded and handed you the water next. “Take the medicine.”
You looked at him suspiciously. “You’re being very bossy.”
“I’m being useful.”
“You’re being caring.”
His expression shifted into something softer, and he said, “Yeah, well. You look like you need both.”
That nearly made you cry again, but in the good way this time.
He settled beside you on the couch, one arm around your shoulders while you took the medicine and leaned into him with a long, exhausted breath. The warmth of the heating pad started to spread through you, and John’s hand kept moving in slow circles along your back, grounding you without making it a big thing.
After a minute, he kissed your forehead.
Then again.
Then once more, just because he could.
You gave him a small, tired look. “You’re trying to distract me.”
He didn’t even pretend otherwise. “Is it working?”
“A little.”
“Good.”
You let your head rest against his chest and closed your eyes. The crying had worn you down, the cramps had made everything feel sharper than usual, and your whole body felt like it had been carrying too much for too long.
John seemed to understand that without needing an explanation.
He tipped your face up gently and asked, “Want tea?”
You nodded. “Please.”
“Any honey left?”
“Maybe.”
“Then I’m making it.”
You watched him get up and move around the kitchen, still feeling fragile but less alone by the second. The apartment was quiet except for the kettle and the soft sounds of him working, and when he came back with a mug of tea and the exact amount of honey you liked, something in your chest loosened completely.
“You remembered,” you whispered.
John looked at you like that was obvious. “Of course I did.”
You took the mug with both hands and looked down for a second to keep your eyes from filling again.
He noticed anyway.
“Hey,” he said softly.
You looked up.
He sat beside you, close enough to hold your hand while you sipped the tea. “You do not have to hold everything together right now.”
You swallowed. “I know.”
“Then stop trying.”
That made you laugh weakly through another fresh wave of tears. “I’m trying very hard to be calm.”
“You do not need to be calm with me.”
The words landed gently and completely.
You stared at him for a second, then leaned into his side again, and John wrapped both arms around you with a quiet certainty that made your whole body feel safer.
“I hate that this happens,” you muttered.
“I know.”
“It makes me feel useless.”
“You’re not useless.”
“I’m crying over nothing.”
John pulled back just enough to look at your face. “It is not nothing if it hurts.”
That made your eyes sting again, but this time you smiled too.
He kissed your temple. “You’re allowed to fall apart.”
You let out a breath, shaky and small. “You make that sound easy.”
“It’s not easy,” he said. “It just doesn’t scare me.”
You looked up at him, surprised.
John’s thumb brushed lightly over your cheek. “You’re still you.”
That was the moment that got you.
Not because it was dramatic. Because it was John. Quiet, steady John, saying the exact thing you needed without making you ask for it.
You rested your forehead against his shoulder and let yourself cry a little more, and he stayed with you through all of it,warm, patient, and impossibly gentle.
When you finally calmed down, he kissed your forehead one more time and murmured, “There you are.”
You laughed weakly. “You make me sound like a lost puppy.”
“You kind of are right now.”
That got a tired smile out of you at last.
John smiled back, then reached for the blanket and tucked it more securely around both of you. “Stay here. I’ve got you.”
pairing · John Logan × Reader
fandom · Off Campus
warnings · explicit 18+ MDNI · established relationship · enthusiastic sex with collateral damage · one (1) broken bed · communal humiliation at breakfast · an unbearably proud Dean Di Laurentis
word count · ~1.1k
format · one shot/request
✧ ───────── ✦ ───────── ✧
Logan’s bed has survived a lot, to say the least. Two years of him doing god knows what before he was with me. A frame he bought second-hand off a graduating senior and thought was in good condition for the cheap price. It has had a good life, well, until tonight.
It is late, the house is loud one floor down, somebody has the music up too high, and Logan is on top of me with my knees hooked over his arms, pounding into me. We have been at this long enough that the headboard has found a repetitive rhythm against the wall. Neither of us cares, it’s not like the other occupants of the house haven’t heard us before.
“You’re going to wake the whole house,” he says, not slowing down even slightly, grinning down at me with his hair stuck to his forehead.
“You started it.”
“I did.” He shifts his hips and hits a spot that makes me grab his shoulders and dig my nails in. “And I’d do it again.”
He gets a hand under my hips and pulls me into him harder, the angle going from good to embarrassing, I am clawing at his back and am mid-scream when the bed makes a sound a bed should never make.
A crack. Not just any crack, one that says, this structure is about to give way. So yeah.
Then the whole world drops six inches. The head of the bed hits the floor. We go with it, sliding, Logan’s arm shooting out to catch us against the wall before my skull finds the headboard, and then it is over. The two of us tangled in a heap of mattress, broken frame pieces and limbs, his weight half on me, both of us dead still.
Silence.
“Did we-” I cannot get the sentence out. “Did we just-.” The words come out like a squeak.
Logan lifts his head. He looks at the corner of the bed, now sitting on the floor at an angle no bed should sit at, and looks back at me.
And he loses it.
Not a chuckle. The full thing, helpless, his face dropping into my neck, his whole body shaking with it. Then I am gone too, both of us wheezing in the wreckage of his bed at one in the morning. I have to bite his shoulder to keep from getting even louder than I already was.
“We broke the bed,” he says into my skin, delighted. “We actually broke the bed.”
“You broke the bed.”
“We.” He props up on a forearm. The look on his face is one I am going to have to live with. Pure, unfiltered pride. “That was a team effort. I’m not taking sole credit for something this good.”
A fist pounds the wall from the next room. Dean’s room.
“I DON’T KNOW IF MY GUESS IS CORRECT,” Dean yells through the wall, muffled and joyful, “BUT I’M ASSUMING, AND I HAVE NEVER BEEN PROUDER.”
Logan drops his forehead to mine, shoulders going again. “Oh, I’m never living this down.”
“You’re not.”
“No regrets.” He kisses me, still grinning, more smile than kiss.
* * *
The kitchen the next morning feels like a trap, and I walk straight into it, because I value coffee more than my dignity, apparently.
Tucker is at the stove in an apron, doing something virtuous with eggs. Garrett inhales cereal at the table. Dean is leaning against the counter, beaming at me like he has been awake for hours waiting for this very moment. He probably has.
“The woman of the hour,” Dean says.
“Don’t start, Di Laurentis.” I pin him with an ‘I will murder you’ type look.
“I’m not going to say anything.” He puts a hand flat to his chest. “I just need you to know that what I heard last night was the sound of greatness. I respect it. I have already told everyone.”
“Told who,” I say, against my own better judgment.
“The group chat. The whole team. A man at the gym I have never met.” He ticks them off on his fingers. “Logan made the bed beg for mercy. That is a direct quote. Shit, he should trademark it, I’m impressed.”
“It was a structural failure,” I say. “The frame was cheap.”
“The frame was cheap,” Garrett agrees around a mouthful of cereal, “and it still lasted two years before you two got to it. Rest in peace. He was a good bed. Loyal. Did not deserve to go out like that.”
“Can everyone stop.”
“I made eggs,” Tucker says, not turning around, like it is both a complete sentence and a personal boundary. “I made eggs, and I am choosing to be a man who heard nothing last night. Everyone else in this house heard everything. I made eggs.”
Logan comes down then, hair wrecked, because he spent the night on a mattress on the actual floor. The whole kitchen turns to look at him.
He stops on the bottom step. He reads the room in about half a second.
“So we’re doing this,” he says.
“THE MAN HIMSELF.” Dean abandons me instantly and crosses the kitchen, arms already open. “Come here. Come here. I have never been prouder. You are an athlete. This is what we train for.”
Logan takes the hug, because there is no version of this morning where he gets out of it. Over Dean’s shoulder he finds me, fighting a grin and losing badly.
“How’s the bed?” Garrett asks.
“In two pieces by the dumpster,” Logan says. “Where it stays. I have practice, and I am not explaining to a stranger at the mattress store what happened to the last one.”
“I’m coming with you,” Dean says at once. “I want to help you choose. Something with a real frame this time. Something rated for.” He gestures, vaguely and damningly, at the two of us. “The lifestyle.”
My phone buzzes on the counter. Jules. Logan’s younger sibling, who is not in this house, does not live here, and has somehow already heard everything.
- the hawks fan page will NOT be covering this. i, however, will be thinking about it against my will for the rest of my life. you owe me a new brain -
Logan finally peels Dean off himself and crosses to me. He takes the coffee out of my hands, drinks half of it, gives it back.
“You good?” he asks, quiet, only for me, the grin going soft at the corners. Under all of it, he is actually asking.
“My boyfriend broke a bed and got a standing ovation at breakfast,” I say. “I’m processing.”
“Standing ovation is generous. Dean clapped. Once.”
“TWICE,” Dean calls, not looking up.
Logan kisses my temple and keeps his arm where it is, unbothered, beloved, completely insufferable. Behind us, Tucker announces that the eggs are getting cold and that not a single person in this house deserves them.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
stormborns
vaporwave
ellievsbear
amandla
gracieabrams
dailybridgerton
origamiaround
izzy806
