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Promise? - 1

John Logan X Softball!Reader

Summary: Beau has hid his best friend Y/N from the group for years. She and him had been friends since middle school, living next to one another growing up, and now the pair were in the same college. Then the day happens, when Beau finally decides to introduce them to her. They all immediately are entranced by her and her personality, John Logan especially…

Warning(s) throughout the series: strangers to lovers, mutual pining, swearing, mentions of softball plays/games, mentions of PTSD, angst, fluff, smut (18+)

•18+ Adults Only

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jinxispunk

nap trap

Steve Harrington x reader

Summary: Steve discovers that if he plays with your hair for long enough, you will fall asleep on him every single time.

Warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, minors DNI, no use of y/n, established relationship, fluff, sleepy affection, domestic intimacy, kissing, touch-starved steve harrington, comfort fic (lmk if i missed anything)

W/C: 1.2k

Read more of my writing here: [masterlist]

You’re both sprawled across his couch after a movie, the living room lit only by the television and the warm orange lamp beside the window. Rain taps softly against the glass while some terrible late-night advert mutters quietly in the background now that the film’s ended.

You’re tucked against his side beneath one of his old blankets, half talking about something Robin said earlier while Steve absentmindedly plays with your hair.

Not even consciously, really.

Just something his hands started doing at some point during the relationship and never stopped.

dilaurentispuckbunny

Between Us {John Logan x reader} Part 6

Summary: They were never nothing—but John Logan made sure they were never something either. Until the night he sees her with someone else... and realises too late what he let slip away.

Warnings: none :)

For a while, neither of you speaks.

The silence stretches between you, thick and heavy, settling into every space left behind by the things you've finally said out loud.

The sky above the parking lot has begun to darken, the last traces of sunlight fading behind the campus buildings. A cool breeze moves through the trees nearby, but neither of you seems to notice.

You're too caught up in this.

In him.

In the years sitting between you.

Logan hasn't moved.

Not even an inch.

Like he's afraid that if he takes a step forward, you'll take two steps back.

Like he's afraid that he's already pushed his luck as far as it can go.

You wipe at your face one more time, frustrated by the tears that refuse to completely disappear.

The worst part is that you're exhausted. Not physically. Emotionally. You feel wrung out.

Like every feeling you've spent years burying has suddenly been dragged into the light all at once.

And somehow there's still more left to say.

Because one question keeps circling around in your head.

One question that refuses to leave.

If he felt all of this...

If he noticed you. If he cared. If he wanted you. Then why?

Why did he keep walking away? Why did he keep choosing anything but you?

Your voice is quieter when you finally speak. Almost hesitant. "Then why didn't you?" Logan looks up.

The question clearly catches him off guard. You swallow. "Why didn't you choose me?" The words hang there.

Simple.

Direct.

Devastating.

For a second, something flashes across his face. Not guilt. Not embarrassment.

Something worse. Shame. Real shame.

The kind that settles deep. The kind that doesn't disappear.

And suddenly you know. Before he even speaks. You know the answer is going to hurt.

Logan looks away first. His jaw tightens. His hands disappear into the pockets of his jacket.

For the first time since you've known him, he looks completely stripped down.

Not physically. Emotionally.

Like there's nowhere left to hide.

When he finally speaks, his voice is rough. "I didn't think I deserved you."

The answer hits so unexpectedly that you almost don't process it.

You stare at him.

Waiting.

Because surely that's not it.

Surely after all these years, the explanation has to be bigger than that.

More complicated. More dramatic. But Logan just shakes his head.

A humourless laugh leaves him. "You look like that's the stupidest thing you've ever heard."

"Because it is."

The response comes immediately.

Logan actually nods. "Yeah."

The agreement catches you off guard.

He lets out a long breath. "I know how it sounds."

"No, Logan," you say, frustration building again. "Do you?"

His eyes meet yours. And for the first time all evening, he doesn't look away.

"I grew up watching my dad destroy every good thing he ever touched."

The words stop you cold. Immediately.

Because suddenly this conversation isn't about you anymore.

Not entirely.

The easy answers disappear. The anger softens around the edges. Just enough.

Logan stares somewhere over your shoulder. Like he's not really seeing the parking lot anymore. Like he's seeing something else. Something years away. "When I was a kid, I used to think people who loved each other stayed."

His laugh is quiet. Broken. "Turns out that's not how it works."

Your chest tightens. You know pieces of Logan's family situation. Everyone does. But hearing him talk about it is different. Because Logan doesn't talk about things that hurt.

He jokes.

He deflects.

He changes the subject.

He smiles.

Anything except this. "I watched my mom get disappointed over and over again." His voice lowers. "I watched her believe things were going to get better." Another pause. "They never did."

The ache in your chest grows.

Logan looks down at the pavement. "You know what the messed up part is?" You don't answer. He isn't really asking.

"I spent years thinking I wasn't anything like him." A bitter smile appears. Then disappears. "And then I started caring about you."

Your heart stumbles.

The look he gives you is almost painful. "I cared so much it scared the hell out of me." The confession lands somewhere deep. Somewhere dangerous. "You were the first thing that ever felt real enough to lose."

The parking lot suddenly feels too quiet.

Too small.

Too intimate.

Logan shakes his head.

Like he's frustrated with himself. "I kept thinking if I got close enough, eventually I'd screw it up." His voice grows tighter. "Eventually you'd realize I wasn't worth all the trouble."

Your eyes sting again.

Because now you understand.

Not agree.

Never agree.

But understand. "And every time things started becoming real..." His laugh is hollow. "I ran first."

The words settle heavily between you.

Not because they're surprising.

Because they're not.

You've known that for years.

But hearing him admit it changes something. Hearing him take responsibility changes something. "I told myself I was protecting myself." His eyes meet yours. "I told myself I was protecting you."

A long pause.

Then— "I was just scared."

The honesty in it steals the air from your lungs.

No excuses.

No blaming circumstances.

No blaming timing.

Just the truth.

Ugly and imperfect.

Logan takes a shaky breath. "You want to know the worst part?" Your throat feels tight. "What?"

A sad smile pulls at his mouth. "The entire time I thought I was protecting myself from getting hurt..." His eyes soften. "...I was hurting you instead."

The tears you've barely gotten under control return immediately. Because that's it. That's the thing you've wanted him to understand. Not that he was scared.

Not that he was confused.

Not even that he loved you.

That his choices had consequences.

That every time he walked away, he didn't walk away alone.

You were left behind every single time.

Logan sees the tears gathering again.

This time, he looks devastated.

Not because you're crying.

Because he knows he's the reason. "I'm sorry." The words come out broken. You can tell he means them.

Really means them.

Not because he wants something.

Not because he's trying to fix things.

Because he's finally allowing himself to see the damage. "I know sorry isn't enough." His voice shakes. "I know I don't get to erase any of it."

Your chest aches. "So stop acting like you have to." Logan blinks. "What?"

You take a slow breath. "Every time we talk about this, you act like you're trying to find the perfect thing to say." His brows pull together. "I am."

"I know."

Your voice softens. "And there isn't one."

The truth of it settles over both of you.

Because there isn't.

There is no speech.

No confession.

No apology big enough to give either of you those years back.

The realization hurts.

But it also feels strangely freeing.

For the first time, Logan isn't trying to convince you.

And for the first time, you're not asking him to.

You're both just standing in the truth.

Messy and painful and unfinished.

And somehow...

That feels more honest than anything that's happened between you before.

When Logan finally looks at you again, his eyes are red around the edges.

Not crying.

Close.

And your heart breaks a little.

Because for the first time in years, he isn't hiding.

He's just standing there.

Letting you see every ugly part of him.

Trusting you with it.

The same way you've trusted him with yours.

Neither of you notices the distance disappearing.

Not until you're standing closer than before.

Close enough to see the faint scar near his jaw.

Close enough to see the uncertainty in his eyes.

Close enough that neither of you can pretend this doesn't matter.

And for the first time in years...

The silence between you doesn't feel like something keeping you apart.

It feels like something waiting.

Taglist {open}: @notsosweetcreature @dina2223 @haydee5010 @rexit-mo @kmc1989 @mads-writes-vibes @superbfishhumanoidweasel @brianna28483 @m3lodyxo @antisocialfiore @sunshinevansh @girlidekanymore @nihoshi17 @em1ly57 @jellybaby17 @jamesmackreideswife @ralilda @k3nz13a @wilmonyibo7 @solstice-333 @aajames217 @wintermoonly

dilaurentispuckbunny

Between Us {John Logan x reader} Part 5

Summary: They were never nothing—but John Logan made sure they were never something either. Until the night he sees her with someone else... and realises too late what he let slip away.

Warnings: none :)

For a long moment, neither of you says anything.

The parking lot around you is quiet, the kind of quiet that feels almost unnatural after the emotional whirlwind of the last hour. The distant sounds of campus life seem muted, pushed far into the background, leaving only the two of you standing in the fading evening light.

You remain seated on the hood of your car, your arms folded tightly across your chest as if holding yourself together. Across from you, Logan stands frozen in place, looking like every nightmare he's ever had has suddenly become reality.

The thing is, you should probably feel bad for him.

You should probably take some kind of pity on the fact that John Logan—the guy who always seemed to know exactly what to say, the guy who could charm his way through almost any situation without breaking a sweat—looks completely and utterly horrified.

His usual confidence is nowhere to be found.

For once, he doesn't have a clever response ready.

For once, he looks genuinely vulnerable.

But you don't feel sorry for him.

Not really.

Because for years, you've been the one carrying around all the embarrassing feelings.

You've been the one lying awake at two in the morning replaying conversations in your head, wondering if a certain look meant something or if you had imagined it.

You've been the one analyzing every interaction afterward, picking apart every word and every smile until you couldn't tell the difference between reality and wishful thinking.

You've been the one forcing yourself to smile while watching him flirt with other girls, pretending it didn't bother you when it felt like someone was slowly pressing on a bruise that never had the chance to heal.

You've spent years making excuses for him. Years convincing yourself not to hope too much.

Years trying to protect your own heart from someone who never seemed ready to choose you.

And now?

Now it's his turn to be uncomfortable.

Now it's his turn to sit with the consequences.

"Obsessed?" you repeat slowly, letting the word linger between you.

Logan immediately groans.

The sound is so miserable and dramatic that it almost makes you laugh.

Almost.

He drags a hand down his face before looking at you through his fingers. "Can we not use that word?"

"No," you say, far too quickly. His eyes close. "Y/N."

You tilt your head innocently.

"Obsessed?"

"Please stop."

A smile threatens to pull at your lips. You fight it. Mostly because you're enjoying this far more than you should. "You were obsessed with me?"

"I was not obsessed with you."

The denial comes so quickly that it practically trips over itself.

You raise an eyebrow. Logan immediately realizes he's walked directly into a trap. His shoulders slump. "Okay," he mutters, rubbing a hand across his jaw. "Maybe a little."

"A little?"

"Don't."

"You said maybe."

"That was before I remembered how much you're going to enjoy this."

The smile finally escapes.

Small.

Brief.

But real.

And the second Logan sees it, something changes in his expression.

The embarrassment remains. The humiliation is definitely still there. But underneath it is something softer.

Something that catches you off guard.

Relief.

As though seeing you smile—even at his expense—is enough to make this entire conversation worth surviving.

As though your happiness matters more to him than his pride.

The realization settles heavily in your chest.

And suddenly, the amusement begins to fade. Because this isn't funny anymore.

Not entirely.

Taylor's words are still sitting in the back of your mind, refusing to leave.

There was always someone he couldn't stop thinking about.

Everybody knew except him.

The memory of that conversation presses against your ribs.

Questions you've spent years burying begin resurfacing one by one.

Questions you stopped allowing yourself to ask because the answers hurt too much.

Slowly, you lower your gaze to your hands. Your fingers are twisting together without you realizing it. "How long?"

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them.

Immediately, the amusement disappears from Logan's face.

You don't look up. You're not sure you can. "How long what?"

You swallow hard.

The lump in your throat feels impossible to ignore. "How long have you felt this way?"

The silence that follows feels different.

Heavier.

More fragile.

It's not the comfortable silence you've shared before. It's not easy.

It's the kind of silence that makes your pulse speed up because you know whatever comes next matters.

A lot.

When Logan finally speaks, his voice is quieter than you've ever heard it. "I don't know."

A short laugh escapes you. Not because it's funny. Because it hurts.

Because somehow that answer feels both honest and completely unfair. "That's a terrible answer."

A faint smile touches his lips. "I know."

When you finally look up, he's staring at the pavement.

Not at you.

At the pavement.

Like it's easier somehow.

Like saying these things is difficult enough without having to watch your reaction.

"I don't know when it started," he says carefully. "I just know there wasn't really a point where it wasn't there anymore."

The words hit harder than they should. Your chest tightens immediately. Because that's not what you expected.

You expected uncertainty.

You expected confusion.

You expected him to stumble through some explanation about timing or circumstances.

You expected excuses.

Instead, he sounds painfully sincere.

Like he's telling the truth even though it makes him uncomfortable.

Logan exhales slowly. The sound is shaky. "I remember freshman year."

Your heart skips.

His eyes finally lift to yours. "You were sitting in Garrett's room."

A small crease appears between your brows. "What?"

"You were yelling at him." You stare. Then blink. Then stare some more.

"That's what you remember?"

A weak smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Very vividly."

Despite everything, a laugh escapes you. "I was yelling because he broke my laptop."

"He deserved it."

"He absolutely deserved it."

For a brief moment, the tension eases. The memory settles between you like something familiar. Something safe.

But then the smile fades from Logan's face.

And suddenly he's looking at you with an expression that makes your stomach twist painfully.

Something unbearably soft.

Something that feels old.

Ancient, almost.

Like he's been carrying it around for years. "I remember realizing I always knew where you were." The air leaves your lungs.

His gaze never wavers. "If we were at a party, I knew where you were."

Your heartbeat begins to speed up.

"If we were hanging out with everyone, I knew where you were."

The ache in your chest grows stronger.

Not because you don't want to hear it.

Because you do.

God, you do.

You've wanted to hear it for years.

And somehow that makes it hurt even more.

"If you walked into a room..."

His voice lowers.

Soft enough that you almost miss it. "I noticed."

The silence afterward feels enormous.

You can't seem to find words.

Because no matter how many times you've imagined this conversation, it never looked like this.

In your head, Logan's confession was always dramatic.

Certain.

Confident.

The kind of thing people write songs about.

Not this.

Not him standing in front of you looking nervous.

Not him sounding like every sentence costs him something.

Not him looking like he's terrified you'll walk away before he's finished speaking.

You look away first.

Because you need a second.

Need room to breathe.

Need room to process.

Need room to deal with the fact that hearing this doesn't make you happy. Not completely.

Because alongside the warmth spreading through your chest is something heavier.

Something darker.

Years of hurt.

Years of confusion.

Years of wondering why you weren't enough for him to choose.

Your eyes begin to sting. The realization annoys you immediately. Perfect. Now you're crying.

Exactly what you wanted.

You blink rapidly.

Trying to stop it. Trying to pull yourself together.

But Logan notices. Of course he notices.

The second your expression changes, his entire posture changes with it.

Concern floods his face. "Hey."

You shake your head immediately. "No."

His brows pull together. "Y/N—"

"No." This time your voice breaks.

The sound of it seems to physically hurt him.

His expression falls instantly.

Because now he understands.

Maybe not all of it.

Maybe not completely.

But enough.

A shaky laugh escapes you.

"You don't get it."

His face twists. "Then explain it to me."

The frustration in his voice catches both of you off guard.

Not anger.

Desperation.

Like he genuinely wants to understand.

Like he hates that he doesn't.

You slide off the hood of the car. Your shoes hit the pavement.

The movement feels necessary.

You can't sit still anymore.

Can't keep all of this trapped inside your chest. "I wanted this." The words leave before you can stop them.

Logan goes completely still.

You can actually see the impact they have on him.

Your eyes burn.

You hate it.

You hate how vulnerable this feels. "I wanted this for so long." Your voice trembles.

You can't stop it now. "I wanted you to say these things."

Logan looks devastated.

Good.

Let him.

Because he should hear it.

He should finally understand.

"There were so many times," you continue, swallowing hard, "when I would've given you everything."

His eyes close briefly.

Like the words physically hurt.

Like he's remembering those moments too. "There were so many times I thought maybe this was it."

Your voice cracks. You shake your head. "But it never was."

The parking lot falls silent again.

The entire world feels silent.

Just you.

Just him.

Just years of missed chances standing between you.

When Logan finally speaks, his voice sounds rough.

Raw.

"I know."

The tears you've been fighting finally spill over.

You wipe them away immediately.

Frustrated.

Embarrassed.

Angry.

Heartbroken.

All of it at once.

"I hate that part of me is still happy hearing this."

The confession hangs between you.

Raw and terrifying.

Logan's eyes shine with something dangerously close to heartbreak. "I know."

"You don't get to fix this with one confession."

"I know."

"You don't get to tell me you've always cared and expect everything to magically be okay."

"I know." His voice cracks on the last one.

And for the first time all evening, you realize something.

He's not arguing.

He's not defending himself.

He's not trying to explain away your pain.

He's not asking you to forgive him.

He's simply standing there and taking it.

Because he knows you deserve to say it.

Because he knows you've carried this alone for far too long.

Because maybe, finally, he's beginning to understand what all those years cost you.

And somehow, seeing that understanding in his eyes hurts almost as much as everything else.

dilaurentispuckbunny

Between Us {John Logan x reader} Part 4

Summary: They were never nothing—but John Logan made sure they were never something either. Until the night he sees her with someone else... and realises too late what he let slip away.

Warnings: none :)

The problem with giving John Logan a chance is that, somewhere along the way, he starts to believe that he's actually making progress.

It isn't because he's arrogant, and it certainly isn't because he assumes you've already forgiven him for everything that happened between you. If anything, he's more careful now than he's ever been before. The difference is that, for the first time in a very long time, things between the two of you no longer feel impossible.

You answer his texts instead of leaving them unread for hours.

You agree to meet him for coffee without immediately looking for an excuse to leave early.

When conversations end, you don't rush away the second there's a pause. Instead, you linger. You stay. You let the silence exist without feeling the need to escape it.

The tension that used to define every interaction between you—the sharp, painful kind that felt like it could explode into an argument or a confession at any moment—has slowly begun to change. It hasn't disappeared completely, but it has softened into something quieter. Something warmer. Something that feels dangerously close to hope.

And that's exactly what terrifies Logan.

Because hope means there's something worth losing.

Hope means that if he screws this up, he won't be able to pretend it never mattered.

A week after your conversation outside the party, you find yourself sitting in the bleachers during one of the team's afternoon practices. A textbook rests open in your lap, but you've barely absorbed a single sentence. Every few minutes your eyes drift away from the page and toward the ice, where players skate through drills beneath the bright arena lights.

The rink is cold enough that you've pulled your sleeves over your hands, curling your fingers into the fabric for warmth. Normally you would have left after twenty minutes, but today you don't seem to mind staying.

Most of the players barely notice you're there.

A few wave when they recognize you.

Garrett catches sight of you almost immediately and sends you a knowing smirk that practically screams I know exactly why you're here. You respond by pointedly ignoring him, which only seems to amuse him more.

Logan, however, notices you the second he steps onto the ice.

You actually watch it happen.

One moment he's listening to Coach explain the practice plan, his attention focused entirely on the conversation. The next, his gaze lifts toward the stands and lands directly on you.

The change is immediate.

His eyes widen slightly.

His focus disappears.

And then he nearly skates straight into one of his teammates.

The laugh that escapes you is impossible to stop.

Even from halfway across the rink, Logan hears it.

His head snaps toward you, and he sends you an offended look that makes you grin even wider.

You offer him the sweetest smile you can manage.

His expression somehow becomes even more offended.

The entire interaction lasts less than five seconds before practice resumes, but for some reason it seems to stay with him for the rest of the afternoon.

You can tell.

Every time you glance up from your textbook, he's already looking in your direction.

Whenever he scores during a drill, his eyes immediately drift toward the stands as though he's checking to see whether you noticed.

And every single time, they find you.

It should feel embarrassing.

Instead, it creates an uncomfortable ache somewhere beneath your ribs.

Because a part of you spent years wondering what it would feel like to be chosen by him.

Not occasionally.

Not secretly.

Not only when it was convenient for him.

Chosen.

Fully and openly.

For so long, that possibility felt impossible. It became easier to convince yourself that it would never happen than to keep hoping for it.

And now that it finally seems to be happening, you still can't stop waiting for the catch.

You keep expecting him to change his mind.

You keep expecting him to pull away.

You keep waiting for the moment when everything falls apart and proves that trusting him was a mistake.

The fear lingers no matter how hard you try to ignore it.

—

Practice ends about an hour later.

You gather your things slowly, slipping your textbook into your bag while players begin filing off the ice. Normally, by now, Logan would already be making his way toward you.

Lately, it's become routine.

He finds you after practice.

You walk out together.

Sometimes you grab coffee.

Sometimes you just talk.

The consistency still feels strange.

But fifteen minutes pass.

Then twenty.

You check your phone.

Nothing.

No text.

No explanation.

No Logan.

A strange disappointment settles heavily in your stomach.

It's ridiculous, really.

You tell yourself that repeatedly as you leave the arena and head toward the parking lot.

Absolutely ridiculous.

You've spent years functioning perfectly fine without him. There's no reason his absence should bother you now.

And yet it does.

You make it halfway to your car before someone calls your name.

You stop and turn around.

It's not Logan.

Instead, a girl is hurrying toward you.

She's pretty, with blonde hair pulled into a loose ponytail and a Brock University hoodie hanging off one shoulder. She smiles when she reaches you, slightly out of breath from jogging across the lot.

"Sorry," she says. "Are you Y/N?"

The disappointment you'd been carrying instantly gives way to confusion.

"Yeah?"

Her smile brightens.

"Oh, good. Logan pointed you out once and I wasn't sure if it was actually you."

Your stomach drops.

Immediately.

Something about that sentence puts you on edge before you can even explain why.

"Oh."

The girl doesn't seem to notice your reaction.

"I'm Taylor."

You nod politely.

Then she says the last thing you expect.

"I used to see Logan last year."

The world seems to go strangely quiet.

It's not as though you've never considered the fact that Logan dated other people.

Of course he did.

You knew that.

You always knew that.

But hearing it spoken aloud by someone standing directly in front of you feels entirely different from knowing it in theory.

For reasons you can't quite explain, it feels personal.

Taylor laughs awkwardly.

"I'm sorry. That sounded weird."

A little.

"We weren't serious or anything," she continues quickly. "I just wanted to say... whatever's going on between you two?"

Your chest tightens.

"What about it?"

Her expression softens.

"He talks about you now."

You blink.

"What?"

"He never used to."

The statement catches you completely off guard.

Taylor glances back toward the rink before continuing.

"When we were seeing each other, there was always this feeling that there was someone else."

Your heart skips.

"Not another girl exactly," she clarifies. "At least not in the usual sense. It was more like... there was someone he couldn't stop thinking about."

You don't know what to say.

Part of you wants to dismiss it immediately.

Another part desperately wants her to keep talking.

Taylor laughs quietly.

"It's kind of funny looking back on it now. I honestly think everybody knew except him."

The words settle heavily in your chest.

Before you can ask another question, her phone buzzes.

She glances down at the screen and sighs.

"Anyway," she says with a smile. "Sorry for being random."

And then she's gone.

Just like that.

Leaving you standing alone in the middle of the parking lot.

Thinking.

Overthinking.

Spiraling, if you're being honest.

Because for years you convinced yourself that you imagined everything.

The tension.

The lingering looks.

The moments that felt significant.

You spent so much time convincing yourself that maybe those things mattered more to you than they ever did to him.

But what if they didn't?

What if he felt it too?

What if he'd been carrying the same feelings all along?

The possibility is almost harder to process than the alternative.

—

Logan finds you ten minutes later sitting on the hood of your car.

The second he sees your face, he slows down.

His expression changes immediately.

The easy confidence disappears, replaced by concern.

"What's wrong?"

You look up at him.

The worry in his voice is immediate.

Instinctive.

Real.

And somehow that makes everything harder.

Because if he didn't care, this conversation would be easy.

Instead, you find yourself staring at someone who clearly does.

"I met Taylor."

The reaction is instant.

Every trace of color drains from his face.

"Oh."

You stare at him.

"Oh?"

Logan closes his eyes briefly.

You almost laugh.

Because that's never a good sign.

"What did she say?"

The question catches your attention immediately.

Not Who's Taylor?

Not Why were you talking to her?

Just immediate resignation.

Like he already knows exactly where this conversation is headed.

"She said everybody knew."

Logan groans.

Actually groans.

His head tips back toward the sky as though he's physically suffering.

"Oh my God."

Your eyebrows lift.

"What?"

He drags both hands down his face.

Under different circumstances, it would be hilarious.

Right now, you're mostly confused.

"Please tell me she didn't."

"Didn't what?"

His eyes close again.

For a moment he genuinely looks like he'd rather throw himself in front of a moving truck than continue this conversation.

Then he looks back at you.

The embarrassment on John Logan's face is so severe that you almost feel bad for him.

Almost.

"Please tell me she didn't tell you that I was obsessed with you."

Silence.

A long, horrible silence.

The second it stretches beyond a few seconds, Logan knows exactly what your answer is.

His eyes widen.

"Oh my God."

You bite the inside of your cheek.

"Oh my God, she did."

For the first time since you've known him, John Logan looks like he genuinely wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

And for some reason, after everything he's put you through over the years, watching him suffer feels surprisingly satisfying.

•18+ Adults Only

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urawizardharry

Promise? - 1

John Logan X Softball!Reader

Warning(s) throughout the series: strangers to lovers, mutual pining, swearing, mentions of softball plays/games, mentions of PTSD, angst, fluff, smut (18+)

flwr-princ3ss

lacy, oh lacy

A/N: i haven’t written in such a hot minute, this may be actual garbage. will probably be a part 2, based on the olivia rodrigo song i love to cry to. typos are probable, i’m trying lol.

summary: in which you are in love with your best friend, John Logan. but he’s got feelings for Hannah, your competition in the pop showcase. feelings may arise.

pairing: john logan x bestfriend!reader

wc: ~1.7k

tw: angsty, feelings of doubt, discussions of insecurity

—————

You were incredibly, 100% without a doubt, obvious to everyone but him, in love with your best friend John Logan.

Problem was, your best friend, John Logan, was 100% without a doubt, obvious to everyone including yourself, in love with someone else.

Your friend from class, Hannah.

And you’re competing against her in the pop showcase for a scholarship you both really, really needed.

You couldn’t even blame Logan, not really. Every time you looked at Hannah, you saw everything that in your mind you weren’t. Flaws and insecurities came to the surface and picked at the front of your mind until your conscious echoed the harshest criticisms. Things you could never say about someone else, but so frequently iterated inside your own mind. You couldn’t help but draw comparisons to her.

She’s prettier.

More talented.

Smarter.

Kinder.

She seemed to float on air, her energy absolutely magnetic.

Who wouldn’t be drawn to her?

Hell, you could be in love with her from the way he talked about her. His eyes lit up every time he saw her, lingering every time she crossed his path until she was out of sight. When Logan saw Hannah he stood straighter, he was easygoing, he was being a gentleman every chance he got all while hoping she would notice him just once.

Hannah couldn’t harm a fly but she could probably make friends with a fence post. She was everything you weren’t. And you were abundantly aware of it every day.

Today was no exception.

You were sat across from Logan at Malone’s in the afternoon, eating loose fries and trying to come up with a song for the showcase. Trying and failing to get Logan’s attention or opinion.

“I just don’t know that I like this melody, it doesn’t feel like it has anywhere to go until the bridge.”

“Yeah, no for sure.”

Logan wasn’t paying attention. You looked up, eyes darting to your oblivious best friend and his googly eyes that never saw you. Your gaze softened, heart in vice grip as you realized what—or rather who—had caught his attention.

He was staring at Hannah, whose section you were seated in.

You remained silent for a few moments, collecting your thoughts and trying to rein in your emotions as you desperately attempted to swallow the lump that threatened to stop your ability to breathe completely.

Inhaling deeply, you focus on Logan’s hands sitting on the table in front of you to try and refocus before the storm brewing beneath the surface took over. You had memorized every freckle and scar, every callus from the years of playing hockey, and how he had a nervous habit of biting his nails when he was extremely stressed, something he was extraordinarily good at hiding. It was one of the only tells you had to when things were really starting to weigh him down and that he was moments away from going ghost mode until he figured his shit out. He was tapping his thumb on the table top, a soft rhythm thumping away, pulling you back into the moment and out of your reverie.

“Earth to Logan, hello,” you said, waving a hand in front of his eyes.

“Sorry, what?” Logan’s eyes shot back to you, looking at you for the first time since you had sat down in the booth.

“You didn’t listen to a word I said in the last 15 minutes did you?” you asked.

“I was listening, I promise,” Logan argued back.

“You were drooling, more like,” you teased. The smile you hoped was convincing didn’t quite meet your eyes.

“Y/N,” Logan drew out your name as he winced at being caught in the moment.

“Logan.”

“To be fair, it took you 15 minutes to notice I wasn’t listening,” Logan joked, laughing airily as he threw his hands up in mock-surrender.

“You’re such an ass, John Logan” you tossed a fry at his face, forcing a laugh.

“No I’m kidding, I was listening. I promise I was.”

You tilted your head towards him to ask, “Really?”

“Well, mostly,” he smiled sheepishly.

You rolled your eyes and lowered your gaze to stare at the pages on the table filled with scratched out lyrics and ideas for different chord progressions, rhythmically tapping your pencil to match Logan’s beat from earlier.

“You’re stressed about your song, you don’t like the melody. You can’t decide how full of a production to make it or at what point is too much too much, and you wrote the last lyrics of the song but now you feel like you have to back track to the beginning because you don’t like any of the original lyrics you wrote a few days ago.”

You leaned back against the booth, cool vinyl pressing into your skin as warmth crawled up the back of your neck.

“Wow, so he can listen while he gawks. Who knew a man could be capable of multitasking like that,” you tease, a genuine laugh escaping despite the pangs you feel in your heart every time Logan steals a glance back at the counter.

It was Logan’s turn to throw a fry at your face, laughing lightly with a lopsided grin.

“I listen to you, dork. But I don’t know how much help I could be to you unfortunately.”

“That’s okay, I’ll make something work. I didn’t expect you to have the answer to all my problems.”

Logan went silent again for a brief moment, glancing back at the counter and contemplating his next thoughts. He was tapping his thumb along to your pencil, pausing as suddenly an idea sprang into his mind.

“Hey why don’t you ask Hannah, she’s doing the showcase too right? Maybe she can help you and give you some ideas,” Logan suggested, his eyes flickering to you.

Right. There it was.

Hannah, Hannah, Hannah.

Everything she was, everything you weren’t.

His grand idea felt like a stab to the heart and an echo of the evil voice inside your conscious. A reminder of how you felt about yourself, and how Logan felt about Hannah.

Silence passed between you and Logan, for one beat. Then two.

“I’m not sure how that would go over, asking her to help me compete against her,” you drew out your words slowly, trying not to dwell on the underlying feelings.

Logan was quiet for a minute, and then he nodded as he considered your words.

“Fair enough, I suppose that’s true. I look forward to hearing your song though, once you figure it out,” Logan said.

You put your best smile on, albeit a small one.

“I’ll do my best,” you offered limply.

“That’s my girl.”

Your heart involuntarily fluttered.

My girl, he had said.

If only.

Logan stood up abruptly from the table, “Hey, I gotta get going. I’ve got practice so I’ll text you later. We good for our movie night Friday?” Logan hovered nearby as he asked.

“Of course, I’ll see you then,”

“Great, see you later.”

Logan was gone before you could say your farewell, you stared at his retreating figure as he paused at the counter and talked to Hannah. He was smiling at something she said, eyes crinkling as she giggled in return.

It felt as though someone had carved the heart out of your chest, stomped on it, and tossed it around the ice like a hockey puck.

Logan’s specialty, you supposed.

You looked down at your notes as corners of your vision blurred with tears threatening to escape. You had been best friends with Logan since your freshman year at Briar University. You sat next to each other in your English Literature general elective class and became fast friends as you poked fun at that professor’s drawling monologues about Shakespearean love and tragedies. Rather ironic, you couldn’t help but think, looking back at the memories now.

A voice interrupted your daydreaming.

“Hey, were you still doing okay or did you need anything?”

Hannah was staring at you now, her question hanging over as you startled out of your reminiscing.

“You okay, Y/N?” Hannah looked slightly concerned now.

“Yeah sorry, I was spacing out for a second. I’m all good, Hannah. Thanks for checking. How much was the bill?” You asked, reaching to grab your wallet from your bag.

“Oh no worries, your friend paid already at the counter. You’re all good,” Hannah said with her usual radiant smile.

“Ugh he did? Damn, it was my turn to pay,” you groaned.

“He’s really sweet, you guys would be pretty cute together,” Hannah winked at you, letting out a small giggle.

The grip around your heart squeezed impossibly tighter.

“I’m just saying, Y/N. You’re so stunning and smart, you could pull any guy. You’re a total catch! Besides, I think he’s a little bit into you,” Hannah wiggled her eyebrows at you.

She meant well, you knew she did. But Hannah’s compliments feel more like bullets pointed at your deepest hurt.

“Yeah, I don’t see that happening,” you couldn’t help but scoff.

You were trying to be as nonchalant as possible. It did absolutely nothing to help the war happening in your mind and the pain in your heart.

“Well, if you change your mind I will happily stand up as a day one supporter. I gotta go seat a couple people, let me know if you need anything,” Hannah beamed as she fluttered away to the counter.

You could only stare as she floated away, taking in everything about Hannah. You could smell the faint scent of her perfume in her wake, her hair bouncing as she strode along with a twinkle in her eye and an infectious smile that lit up the room.

A literal angel.

Maybe you weren’t what Logan wanted, that you could begrudgingly accept. You never expected him to return your feelings or to hold a candle for you when he was constantly surrounded by the most gorgeous girls to walk around Briar.

And you could see why he liked Hannah.

But that never softened the hurt or the pangs of longing.

You started tapping your pencil again, glancing over at Hannah once more as inspiration slowly crept into your mind, a melody forming for the first time in days. You put your pencil to the paper and began to write. You couldn’t tell Logan how you felt, but maybe you could put your feelings into this song.

Maybe that would be enough.

Maybe that could help tame the hurt.

Maybe.

————

A/N: if this is garbage pls close ur eyes. hope y’all like my late night inspo

pinkfairydreamgirl

Come Under the Covers

series playlist!

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

in which you and john spectacularly fail at keeping your promise

pairing: john logan x f!reader

series summary: You and John Logan are childhood best friends. You share the kind of emotional intimacy only two people who have seen each other grow up can have, but now you’re no longer kids, you’re college students and trying to navigate the complex time between childhood and adulthood. Before joining John at Briar U a year after him, you were convinced your silly crush had faded, but now that you’re back in his orbit, you’re no longer so sure. You try your best to remain just friends, but watching him turn from the boy down the street to the big man on campus is harder than you thought. And you’re not sure how much more you can take of watching him overlook you time and time again.

contains: ANGST!!! heavy stuff, childhood trauma, addiction, swearing, emotional abusive parent, fighting, cursing, no use of y/n (logan calls reader by nickname: birdie) read with caution!

author’s note: i’m so tired and i honestly don’t know how im gonna feel about this one tomorrow or if there are 10,000 typos but here ya go!!! in logan’s pov <3 really some heavy stuff, so plz read warnings and proceed with caution. love u guys!!!

Garrett Graham’s fingers were brushing your shoulder.

And John Logan was fantasizing about cutting those fingers off.

John, at least, had the decency to feel guilty about it. He knew he had no right, but nevertheless, he could not take his eyes off the couch across the living room from him where you and Garrett sat; you completely oblivious while talking with Tucker, and Garrett staring at your profile with his arm on the back of the sofa, his fingertips just grazing your skin.

You probably couldn’t even feel it, most people wouldn’t notice it, but John did. He noticed everything.

The both of you swore to everyone that you were just friends. Maybe you were, but Garrett didn’t want to be. John knew his best friend, he knew the look in his eyes. He knew it because he felt the same. The only difference between the two was one of them wasn’t a complete and total idiot.

John loved Garrett. He was a good friend, a great hockey player, even a decent roommate, but there were times when John really did not like Garrett. One of those times, of course, was right now—watching him breathe your air and make you laugh. Some of those other times, it was due to his complete and total lack of awareness at his privileged upbringing.

He knew Phil Graham wasn’t the best guy in the world, but no one seemed to care more about their son’s career than he did. He got Garrett the best coaches, tutors, equipment, sponsorships. John would have killed for his dad just to know he made the Briar hockey team, let alone care enough to invest in his future. None of that seemed to matter to Garrett, though. He had no idea how good he had it.

The Graham’s didn’t have the kind of wealth that was flashy—they weren’t buying yachts or spending half the year in their vacation home in St. Barts, but it was the kind of wealth that those without noticed. And John noticed.

When things were broken in the house, Garrett called someone else to come fix them right away. When his car started making a funny noise, he’d trade it in for a new one. Once, he complained because one of the guys on the hockey team was chronically late to practice because he had a job, but the kid couldn’t afford to go to school without one. He worked at Malone’s, had served the team thousands of times, but when he got kicked off and John took the time to tell Garrett why he was always late, Garrett claimed he didn’t know, that he hadn’t noticed him.

Things came easy for Garrett. He made it all look so effortless. For John, that hadn’t ever been the case.

When John’s dad left, after his mom was through throwing his things out onto the lawn, she leaned down, took him by the shoulders and said, “you’re the man of the house now. You’ve got to step up.” He was eight.

He tried his best, he really did. However, it seemed that no matter what he did, it wasn’t right. He felt weighed down by expectations and like he was drowning in another man’s shoes he was desperately trying to fill. He didn’t know his father super well. Even when he did live with them, he worked a lot. His parents had opened the garage together a year after they got married; their first child a shared dream. It probably should have been their only child, but nevertheless, John came along shortly after, and then Jules, and their mom was expected to stay home with them. It was fairly obvious to him that she didn’t want to.

That’s when the fighting started. Back then, his parents spent most nights in a screaming match over various issues; money, the garage, whether or not his dad was sleeping with other women.

John once asked his mom in the aftermath of a particularly harsh argument that was soothed by a cigarette on the porch and a glass of whiskey. “Why do you stay with him?”

“Because I love him,” she answered hoarsely. “Like a fool.”

I hope I never fall in love, John thought then.

It took him a while to put a name to what he felt for you. He knew love to be as destructive as a tornado, as all-consuming as addiction, and as corrosive as a cancer. What he felt for you was something soft, steady, and warm. It was something precious he felt meant to protect.

He’d done a shitty job of that so far, and it started that night before he left for Briar.

He hadn’t planned to say the things he did to you, but he felt like something inside him had shaken loose that summer and he was helpless to stop the landslide.

When you kissed him, he was utterly gone. Nothing existed in his head but you; the feel of your soft body fitting perfectly into his, the give and take of your lips, the smell of your shampoo.

He’d spent so long resisting. So long telling himself that this fragile, beautiful thing between the two of you was too precious to risk. But the surrender was addicting.

Everything came rushing back the moment you asked what the kiss meant. He wasn’t afraid of the question, or you, he was afraid of his answer.

Everything, he wanted to say. But he knew from the moment he first saw you he wasn’t meant to have you. He knew when he watched you sitting up in your tree, the pop of your pink sneakers the only thing visible through the branches, that you were like a flame and his touch would only smother you.

So he said what he knew would hurt you, to get you to pull away. He’d allowed himself a momentary lapse in judgement, and it would have to last him the rest of his life.

When he walked back to his house, shattered and broken feeling, his mom had been sitting on the porch with her usual cigarette and glass of whiskey. She said nothing when she saw him, but he could tell from her face that she’d heard what just transpired between the two of you.

As he passed her, she muttered, “that girl deserves so much better than you.”

“I know,” was all he could say.

John told himself that if it were anyone else pursuing you, he could get past it. Anyone but Garrett Graham, his best friend, the man who got everything he wanted. And as he watched his hand slowly inch closer to you, your body relaxing in his hold, that fact was proving true.

He clenched his fist to the point of pain in his lap, knowing if looks could kill, Garrett would be dead.

He was only brought back to the moment when he felt Grace gently cover her hand over his, a knowing look in her clear eyes.

She got up off the couch so suddenly, everyone paused their conversation. John followed her after a moment into the backyard where she was now standing, her back to him and her arms wrapped around herself to fight off the biting cold.

John draped his jacket over her shoulders, and had she been less cold, he knew she would have thrown it right back in his face, but she wrapped it further around herself.

“Why did you want to get back together with me?” She wastes no time beating around the bush. It was one of the things he appreciated about her. John flinches but before he can respond, Grace is continuing. “Was it to spite her? Make her jealous?”

“No,” he immediately denies.

“Then why? It’s so clear she’s the one you want to be with.”

“I really like you Grace—“

“But you love her.”

His mouth opened and closed as he stared at her, the lie on the tip of his tongue but something in him wouldn’t let him say it.

She laughs bitterly, taking his silence as confirmation. “I knew it, too. I knew you were both lying to me and I didn’t care. I just hoped…” she shakes her head. “I guess I’m to blame too.”

“No, Grace. You’ve done nothing wrong. We shouldn’t—…I shouldn’t have involved you. I should have left as soon as I found out she wasn’t at the dorm that day.” He’d gone there in search of you, anyway. But you were off with Garrett, and instead there was Grace, smiling so brightly at him. It was selfish and petty, but it was also easier with Grace. He didn’t feel ripped open every time she walked into a room. He could breathe without her there. Unlike you.

“Why don’t you tell her?” She asks.

“Tell her what?” He plays dumb.

“That you’re in love with her.”

He sighs. “She deserves better than me,” was all he could think to say.

“I don’t think you get to decide that.” He felt exposed, like a nerve. He looked up at the dark sky because he couldn’t look at her face anymore with all its morose lines and sullen angles. It had slowly morphed into something even worse than her previous anger: pity. “What is it that makes you so determined not to be happy?”

He felt like the wind was knocked out of him then. He hadn’t… He wasn’t…

God. Was she right?

“I don’t know,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.

“Maybe you should take the time to figure that out.” She hands him back his jacket before walking back inside, and he knows he won’t be seeing her again.

It’s Christmas Eve the next time he sees you.

Your family always hosts a small get together. He hadn’t come to the last one, he’d spent Christmas Eve in the rehab facility with Jules and their mom. She had been sober since her stay over Thanksgiving, but John gave up hoping a long time ago. It was safer to expect the worst.

When the three of them walked in, his eyes found you immedaitely like they always did. You were standing in the corner of the living room with your sisters, your nails a wine red that matched the liquid in your glass. Your lips were red too. He wondered if you tasted like the wine you drank.

He walked straight toward the kitchen for a drink.

The whole night it felt like the two of you orbited each other, but never came together. You talked with different people on opposite sides of the room, your eyes always finding and catching each other.

“John.” your mom suddenly appeared in front of him, snapping him out of his staring contest with you. “That faucet is acting up again, would you mind coming to take a look?”

“Of course.” He smiled and handed off his drink to Jules beside him before heading into the kitchen.

You found him a few minutes later underneath the sink. “Oh no,” you began. “She’s got you doing manual labor at a party.”

“I gotta sing for my dinner, Birdie,” he joked, his words slightly muffled while tightening the bolts on the pipes. You watched him work with your back pressed to the sink behind you and handed him a towel when he was done to wipe his hands with.

He leans back against the counter opposite you. “How’ve you been?”

You shrug casually. “Pretty good. How are you?”

He sighs, debating on telling you the truth. He’s been in a weird place ever since Thanksgiving. Actually, ever since the party when you very suddenly entered his life again. Having you so close but not with him was difficult. You’d agreed to be friends, and you were…friendly. But you hadn’t gone back to the way you were before. He wondered if you ever could.

“I heard about you and Grace.” He knew you had. After all, you two are roommates.

“I hope it didn’t make things…awkward between you guys.” He rubs the back of his neck nervously.

“No, we’re okay,” you assure kindly. You’re silent for another minute before breaking it again. “Well, I should get back in there.”

He watches you go and Jules comes to find him before he rejoins as well. He can tell something is wrong by their face. “Mom,” is all they need to say.

In the time he was gone, she had managed to down a few glasses, and was now swaying on her feet. He says nothing as he begins ushering her out to take her home.

“Let go of me, John. I’m fine,” she slurs. He says nothing as he continues to half guide her, half carry her down the street. When they make it inside he leads her to the couch and immediately goes to get a water for her. Jules heads straight to their room and slams the door shut.

He sits down on the coffee table in front of her and puts the glass right in front of her face and watches her drink. When she stops after a few he shakes his head. “The whole thing.”

“Don’t look at me like that,” she tells him before obeying.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re ashamed of me.” He says nothing. He knows he doesn’t have to. “You think you’re better than me?” She slams the empty glass down beside him on the wood. “You are me.”

“I’m nothing like you.” He doesn’t know who he’s trying to convince more, himself or her.

“No, you’re right.” She leans back and the two of them glare at each other. “You’re your father. So scared of letting anyone in to actually see you. Punishing those who do manage to break down your walls. All the while hating yourself the whole damn time.” John felt himself shake with anger, but at her words or the accuracy, he didn’t know. “Tell me, how long have you been punishing that poor girl for?”

He rips himself away from the conversation before he can say anything he can’t take back and locks himself in his room.

He lies awake in his bed all night just staring at the ceiling.

He sees you again a week later on New Year’s Eve.

You look like a dream in your shining, silver sequin dress. The hockey house is packed with people, the TV on for the ball drop countdown while music plays over it. You’re on the other side of the room the entire night, again revolving around each other while never looking away.

When you excuse yourself and walk out back, he follows you.

He finds you sat in one of the chairs at the fire pit, the logs burning low with no one around to feed the flames. He sits beside you, watching with curiosity as you pull out a joint and light it.

He raises his eyebrows at you. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smoke before.”

“It’s new,” you comment stiffly, your face scrunched up at the sour taste after taking a hit, your reaction affirming your words. He laughs. It’s rusty, like he hasn’t in a while. He realizes then that he hasn’t. “Helps with the stress.”

“I’ve heard that.”

“Have you tried it?” You offer it to him, but he declines.

“What do you think?” You smile, your eyelids drooping a little more than before. “With the random drug testing, I don’t get to partake very much.”

You hum in acknowledgement and bundle up further into your coat, tucking your knees up to your chest in the adirondack chair.

“How’s your mom doing?” You venture quietly.

“I don’t know,” he replies honestly. “We haven’t talked since Christmas.” His foot nudges the log in front of him, sending embers and smoke up in a puff.

“I’m sorry,” she says even quieter.

He feels the pull then, the one he always does when you’re around to lay himself bare in front of you, open and vulnerable knowing you’ll look with gentle eyes. He doesn’t, though. He’s terrified he’ll prove his mother right.

“It’s alright,” is the response he settles with. “How’s your family?”

You roll your head as it leans against the chair to face forward, staring into the orange glow and it reflects in your eyes. “They’re okay. The Thanksgiving fiasco ended up helping things in the long run. I said some things I had bottled up. We hashed things out. We’re good.” You shrug like it’s that simple. And he knows with your family, it really is.

“I’m glad things are better. I’m not glad that it took you getting hurt for it to happen, though.” You hum in agreement. “Let me see the battle scars.”

You lift the sleeves of your coat to show the slightly puckered and now pink skin still healing on your forearms.

“You gonna come up with a cool story?” He eyes you.

You smile. “Do we think hero angle? Saved someone from a burning building? Or badass and say I got in a fight with a pyromaniac?”

He chuckles, running his thumb over the skin, noticing a slight shiver from you when he does. “I vote badass.”

You pull back down your sleeve once he pulls away and settle back into the chair. When the sliding glass door opens again and group of people step out to smoke as well, he stands.

“Thirty minutes ‘till midnight,” he informs you. “I’ll leave you to it.”

After he heads back inside, he goes through the motions for the remainder of the party, feeling a bit like he’s on autopilot. That’s kind of how these past few years for him have felt. Everything a little less vibrant without you around.

John tends to see his life in two parts: before Birdie and after Birdie. The before, he doesn’t like thinking about too much, but the after, he likes thinking about that quite a bit. He still remembers the first day he met you. How you hid behind your older sister, the shyness in your smile and the white paint on your toenails. He’d never been content to just watch someone exist before, but he enjoyed watching you. You’d sit up in your tree humming gently and just watching life go by. Birds nesting, spiders weaving webs, ants collecting food for a colony. He liked the way you saw the world.

He liked the soft and quiet way you lived, like falling snow. Peaceful. Beautiful.

When the clock hit 11:58, he decided to head back outside to find you and bring you in, knowing how much you loved watching the countdown. However, Garrett was already sat out there with you, taking John’s previous spot from earlier, beside you.

He moved to join the two of you, but faltered when he saw his best friend lean in to kiss you and the way you let him.

He tortured himself by watching for a few more seconds and then turning away when he couldn’t anymore.

He vaguely heard the people crowded into his living room cheering as the clock struck midnight, some of his friends patting him on the arm or grabbing him for a hug, but it was all a blur as he made his way upstairs, to his bedroom.

He laid in bed for what felt like hours, staring at the ceiling and replaying the kiss over and over again.

He finally gave up going to bed somewhere around 4am and got up to head downstairs for some water. He forgot you were sleeping on the couch. Evidently, you couldn’t sleep either since you were up on your phone and offered him a smile as he made his way past you and towards the kitchen.

He hopes you won’t, but you join him, sliding your body up onto the counter beside him. You look soft and sleepy in your oversized shirt and sweatpants with fuzzy socks on your feet.

He aches.

“I didn’t see you after the ball drop,” you comment. “Did you head up early?”

“Yeah,” he says hoarsely, zoning out on the countertop beside you instead of meeting your eyes, afraid of what you’ll see in his.

“Are…you okay?” You ask tentatively.

He looks at you then, the crinkle of concern between your eyebrows, the slight downturning of your lips.

God he wants to kiss you.

“You’re killing me,” he confesses so quietly, it’s a miracle you hear him, even in the quiet of the dark kitchen.

“Excuse me?”

“This…distance when you’re actually right here. It’s killing me.”

You shake your head lightly in confusion. “But we—“

“I know,” he cuts you off. “I know we agreed. I know I promised. I know I’m an asshole for saying it and breaking the promise, but I feel like I’m holding my breath constantly and the only time I can let it go is when you’re with me.” Your eyes widen the smallest amount at his confession. “But when you kissed him? That sucked all the air out of the room.”

You straighten in surprise. “How did you—…did you see us?”

“You could pick anyone, Bird. Anyone. I won’t like it, but at least it’s not him.” He hates himself for saying it.

“Why does it bother you so much? Why him?”

“Because he has everything, Birdie. Everything. And it’s selfish and childish and stupid, but he doesn’t get to also have you.” He moved closer as he spoke, his arms coming to cage you in on the counter, his palms resting on either side of your thighs.

“You had me,” you remind him, leaning back slightly from him. “And you didn’t want me.”

“That’s not true.”

“Then what is?”

He pauses and contemplates telling you the truth. And then he does. “I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want you and that terrifies me.”

You’re stunned silent, your lips slightly parted. He looks down at them, he can’t help it. He looks back up at you and leans closer, testing the waters. When you don’t lean away, he inches closer, feeling your breath on his face. His nose nudges yours and you nudge back, tipping your chin toward him in invitation. He wastes no time kissing you.

His hands grip your hips firmly and tug you closer to the edge to press you against him, his fingers digging into your flesh while you run yours through his hair, scratching his scalp lightly with your nails. He hears himself groan and your tongues meet as his mouth opens.

You’re so lost in each other you don’t hear Garrett come down the stairs. You only notice him when he says, “well. That was fast.” John pulls back, but you scoot off the counter and move across the kitchen to get away from him, a guilty sort of look souring your face. “I would have thought it’d have taken you at least a full day to come to your senses, Logan.” His tone isn’t kind.

“Garrett—“ you begin.

“The fuck does that mean?” John questions, cutting you off.

“Nothing. I just think it’s funny everyone else sees your pattern but you.”

“Garrett,” you say more sternly, though neither of them listen.

“And what pattern is that?” John challenges.

“The one where you only realize you want something when someone else has it.”

You look nervously back and forth between the two of them, John’s breath coming quicker with his anger.

“You know nothing, Graham.”

“Oh, I know plenty.” His eyes glance over to you momentarily, but John catches it, snapping his attention over to you.

“Garrett, stop.” You don’t deny what he’s implying. You’ve told him things. Things only you know. Things he only ever told you because he knew he could trust you.

John doesn’t know what to say, so he turns to leave. You call after him, begging him to come back, but he keeps walking toward the steps, back up to his bedroom.

“Yeah, leave,” Garrett calls. “Just like your dad.”

John stops dead in his tracks at that. He turns slowly to face the man he used to call his best friend, and he punches him square in the jaw.

His head whips back while you shriek. Garrett wastes no time hitting him back. You move to intervene, yelling at them again to stop. When they don’t, you get in between them just as Garrett is swinging, but instead of hitting John, he catches you.

You collapse to the ground and the both of them freeze. John immediately falls to the ground with you, lifting your face to inspect it.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” John yells, waking the rest of the house. Garrett’s face is so pale, he looks as if he’s the one who got hit out of nowhere. His expression is haunted, so shaken that he doesn’t even see Dean in front of him until he touches his shoulder, the two other roommates coming down to see what the commotion is about.

When John tries to lift you to get you back into the kitchen for an ice pack to put over your rapidly swelling eye, you finally snap.

“I don’t want your help!” It’s John’s turn to look stricken. “I’m so tired of being the casualty in your chaos. You don’t know how to not hurt me.”

You stand to leave and Tucker rushes to your side, offering to drive you home. Garrett mutters over and over again that he’s sorry. John watches numbly as you leave, wondering if this is the time he succeeds at pushing you away.

The thought terrifies him.

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all writing is mine. please do not copy, translate, or post to another forum without my permission.

puckingcuckbunny

🜼 — 𝟎𝟏 . 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐂𝐊

thank you @pinkyups for the gif <3 and @mieluno for the divider <3

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : 𝐣𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 𝟒,𝟑 𝐤 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 : 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐯𝐲 — 𝐩𝐭. 𝟏

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 : 𝐀 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐨, 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐯𝐲, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦. 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐬 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫-𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐨𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐝, 𝐫𝐞𝐝-𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐲. 𝐋𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬, 𝐰𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞. 𝐈𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐝, 𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭, 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐭, 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐧𝐨𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐫 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭.

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 : 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭! 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 🜼

sanguineterrain

noise | john logan (2)

part one

Summary: Weeks after Dean's party, you encounter Logan by accident when you're asked to take pictures of the guys during a hockey interview.

Pairing: John Logan x fem!reader

Word count: 5.1k

Warnings/tags: mentions of childhood bullying, parental issues, reader has food sensory issues and trouble understanding social cues. leaning hard into her being ND just fyi <3 dean and garrett being kinda annoying but they mean well. hannah being a cutie. photographer!reader. this is kind of a slow burn so nothing really happens tbh except logan being a nice young man :)

Notes: this is a series now? maybe?? i have no idea what's happening but thank u for all the support on the first fic! i guess if u guys are still interested, i'll keep writing these two!

i don't do taglists but you can follow @sanguinelibrary for all fic updates

the divider

“Yo. Hey, Logan. Loooogan. Dude.”

Logan peeks one eye open. Dean is crouched in front of him, at the side of his bed, shirtless, which is pretty much the last thing he wants to see ever.

Dean smiles with all of his teeth. “Hey, sunshine. Drain's clogged again.”

Logan grunts. “What'd you do this time?”

“Absolutely nothing. It was Garrett.”

“It was not, asshole,” Garrett says, strolling into Logan's room. He throws a shirt at Dean. “I just got home. Someone thought it'd be a great idea to pour bacon grease down the drain.”

•18+ Adults Only

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pucksandpower

yours, still

Dean Di Laurentis x childhood best friend!Reader

Summary: Dean has never held on to anything — not girls, not feelings, not the memory of a childhood best friend who disappeared across an ocean at fourteen. Then you walk back into his life on a brisk October morning, and every carefully constructed wall he never knew he had built comes down in an instant. You came to Briar to disappear. You didn’t count on being found

Warnings: 18+ content

The late October air sweeping across the Briar University quad is brisk enough to make a normal person shiver, but Dean runs hot. He always has.

Right now, he’s walking backward, a steaming cup of coffee in one hand, completely ignoring the fact that he’s navigating a crowded campus blind. But then again, Dean rarely has to watch where he’s going. People naturally move out of his way.

“I’m just saying,” Dean says, raising his coffee cup to emphasize his point, his voice carrying that familiar, effortless charm that makes half the girls within a fifty-foot radius turn their heads. “It’s not about the quantity, gentlemen. It’s about the experience. The mutually beneficial exchange of joy.”

p1stach-io

sugar talking: two

summary: dean will do anything to win you back, but winning you over proves harder than why he bargained for. (5.9k)

pairing: dean di laurentis x reader

content warning: relationship dysfunction, dean di laurentis is a mess, yearning, jealousy, language, alcohol, hurt/comfort.

authors note: this is for everyone who wanted to see how taking him back would play out. this may be the longest piece i’ve wrote on record but i couldn’t let this man get off so easily…

part one.

the tail-lights of suni's honda civic bled into the darkness of the gravel driveway, leaving nothing behind but the exhaust fumes and a hollow, ringing silence.

dean stood frozen under the dim glow of the porch light, his hand still half-raised in the air as if he could somehow catch the car and pull it back.

the cold night air slapped against his face, a brutal contrast to the suffocating heat of the house behind him, but he couldn't feel it.

his mouth was slightly open and his throat was completely dry.

i am officially withdrawing my terms.

the words repeated in his head, sharp and clinical, cutting right through the lingering buzz of the alcohol in his system.

dean di laurentis didn't get left hanging on driveways.

dean di laurentis didn't get tongue-tied.

he was the guy who always had the perfect pivot, the effortless laugh, the smooth reassurance that smoothed over any wrinkle.

but as he stared at the empty space where you had just been standing, a sickening wave of realization crashed over him.

gem-writes

One-Hit Wonder

- Part 3- “True”

Summary: When faced with the hardest decision of his life, Eddie drives around Hawkins, trying to find the answers he seeks. While reflecting on his several years-long friendship with you, he worries that he won't be able to be what you and your baby needs. Until WSQK plays a familiar song that Eddie knew well- your song. The soundtrack of exactly how he felt about you- and he wonders how he hadn't seen the truth until now.

A/N: Tumblr cut me off because this part was too long. So, to be continued in part 4….

────────

gem-writes

Close to You

A/N: Requested by an anonymous user. Hopefully I did you justice 🩷

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Giving your boyfriend Eddie the after-sex emotional intimacy that he craves.

Content Warning: 18+ Smut, Unprotected Sex (P in V), Cockwarming, Sexual Language, Swearing/Profanity.

Credits: @cafekitsune for the dividers

theslowesthnery

ah yes my favourite trope

•18+ Adults Only

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Anya is LIVE right now

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ficdelusioncore

Cookies of Love ˙ᵕ˙

Summary: Tucker tries to make cookies, you just mess around, ending with him mad at you. Luckily, you know what to do to stop him from being mad at you (he literally melts into your kisses).

Disclaimer: English is not my first language, so I apologize if there are any spelling or grammatical errors.

annabethsrealwife

.✦ ݁˖ half watching

summary: allie comes over for movie night, but neither of you end up paying much attention to the movie. (not smut…)

parings: allie hayes x fem!reader

a/n: hey guys… hehe it’s been a while since i posted.. i just wanted to focus on school because it was super stressful but SCHOOL IS OVER!! and summer break is finally here. unfortunately that means i need to start looking for a job.. but we’ll do that later.. okay anyway i been super obsessed with off campus!! it’s so good and i love it.. so guys now’s ur chance to send me requests because im locked in. okay here’s a cute allie fic i hope you guys enjoy… send requests for off campus!!

HAPPY PRIDE MONTH!!

it starts with a text that comes in when you’re not really doing anything important.

allie: hey iconnn, movie night?

i’m bored

i’m coming over btw

you stare at it for a second longer than you should, sitting cross-legged on your bed, then type back without thinking too hard about it.

you: you don’t even ask anymore 🙄

allie: because you always say yes

and you hate that she’s right.

there’s a knock at your door not long after, a little impatient like she already knows you’re going to open it anyway.

when you do, allie is standing there like she’s trying not to smile too obviously. she’s got snacks in both hands, shifting them slightly when she sees you like she suddenly remembers she’s supposed to act normal.

“hey,” she says, softer than the text messages were.

you step aside. “you’re acting like this is a planned event.”

“it is,” she says, walking past you like she’s already decided where she’s going. “you just didn’t know about it.”

you let out a quiet breath that almost turns into a laugh and close the door behind her. she moves into your room without hesitation, setting the snacks down and glancing around like she already belongs there.

you notice her hair first. down, a little messy, falling into her face in a way she keeps brushing back without noticing she’s doing it.

she catches you looking and her eyebrows lift slightly. “what.”

you shake your head a little too fast. “nothing.”

when time passes you guys are now sitting on your bed watching mamma mia.. it’s a classic and a musical something you both love and happily agreed on.

the movie keeps going but neither of you are really watching it anymore. it’s still playing, still filling the room with noise, but it feels distant now, like it belongs to something else entirely.

allie shifts slightly beside you, not enough to feel deliberate, just enough that the space between you changes without either of you acknowledging it. her shoulder brushes yours again and this time it doesn’t feel accidental in the way it probably is.

you don’t move away.

a few seconds pass like that, quiet in a way that feels heavier than it should. allie tilts her head a little toward you, eyes drifting off the screen like she’s already forgotten it’s even playing. she looks at you a second too long, like she’s thinking something she hasn’t said yet, and when she finally talks it’s quieter, like she’s not really saying it to the room at all.

“you’re pretty good at this,” she says.

you glance at her a little slowly, like you didn’t expect that. “at what.”

she makes a small, vague motion between the two of you, the bed, the movie, like she’s not even sure how to explain it properly. “this. just… being you.”

that makes you look away before you mean to, like it landed too close to something you don’t usually let people touch. your fingers tighten slightly in the blanket without you noticing at first, and when you finally speak your voice is quieter than before.

“that’s a weird thing to say,” you admit, not really looking at her when you say it.

allie just shrugs a little, still looking at you instead of the screen. “it’s true though.”

there’s a pause after that not empty… just slower. like even the room feels like it’s moving a little differently now.

you shift a little, adjusting like you suddenly forgot how to sit still, and she notices. of course she does. her knee nudges yours lightly again, not pulling away this time, just staying there like it belongs.

“you’re not even watching the movie,” you say quietly, more just to say something than because it really matters.

allie hums like she’s thinking about it, but she doesn’t look away from you. “neither are you.”

you let out a small breath through your nose, almost a laugh, but it doesn’t fully come out. “you’re really distracting,” you say, softer than you liked.

“me?” she asks, like she’s offended, but there’s a smile in it now. “you’re the one looking at me.”

you glance at her properly then, and she’s already looking back, closer now without either of you really deciding it happened. her expression isn’t teasing anymore, not really. it’s quieter, more steady, like she’s waiting for something she hasn’t said yet.

“what?” you murmur, because you can feel the shift even if you don’t know what to call it.

“nothing,” she says again, but she doesn’t look away.

and that’s the problem.. because nothing about her feels like nothing right now.

there’s a beat where the movie changes scenes and neither of you react at all. the sound keeps going but it might as well not exist.

allie leans in just slightly, not closing the distance fully, just enough that you feel it. her voice drops when she speaks again, softer now, like she’s not trying to interrupt anything anymore.

“you know..” she paused. “you’re really pretty,” she says.

it lands differently this time. slower. heavier. not like a comment, more like something she didn’t mean to hold in.

you go still for a second, not dramatic, just caught. your eyes flick down briefly, then back up, and there’s a small, nervous smile that slips in before you can stop it, like your body reacted before your brain caught up.

“you can’t just say that,” you say quietly, but it doesn’t really come out sharp like you wanted it to, it came out shy instead.

allie watches you like she’s trying to figure out why that reaction matters to her more than it should. “why not?” she asks.

you hesitate, shifting a little closer without realizing you’re doing it. “because it makes me feel like i have to say something back,” you admit, voice low now, a little more honest than you probably meant it to be.

that makes her expression change slightly, like she wasn’t expecting that answer at all. she doesn’t push it though, just nods a little like she’s taking it in.

“you don’t have to,” she says, after a second. “i just think it.”

that does something worse, honestly, because it’s even quieter now, even more real, and there’s nowhere to hide it.

you glance at her for a second too long, then away, then back again, like you’re trying to figure out what you’re supposed to do with the space between you.

“you’re pretty too,” you say, and it comes out softer than everything else, like you didn’t fully decide to say it before it happened.

allie goes still for a moment, just looking at you like she’s letting it sit there between you, then she shifts a little closer without really thinking about it.

her hand is already there before you fully notice it, resting lightly on your thigh, like it didn’t need permission so much as confirmation, and you don’t move away from it. you just look at her instead.

the movie keeps playing behind you both, completely forgotten now, like it was never really part of the night to begin with.

her voice drops, barely there when she speaks. “can i kiss you?” but there’s no joke in it or teasing. just her, asking.

you nod once, small. “yeah.”

she leans in slowly, like she’s giving you every chance to stop her, and you don’t.

the kiss starts soft at first, kind of careful in a way that feels almost unfamiliar, like neither of you really trusts it yet or wants to rush into something you can’t take back. there’s a second where it just lingers like that, close but still hesitant, like you’re both waiting to see what the other does.

and you guys can’t pull away from the kiss.. or maybe you just don’t want too but just like that.. the night goes on.

GUYSSS HAPPY PRIDE MONTH!! WOOOOO!! okay guys im very happy to be back finally!! hehe.. how do you guys like this short fic?? i think it’s very cutesy… GUYS PLEASEE send more requests for off campus i do anyone! garrett, dean, hannah, tucker, logan, allie (obvs), and beau.. ok pretty much anyone. sorry if this is bad or so many grammar errors this is not proofread LMAOO. i always end up doing my fics at like 2 am?? not sure why… im very obsessed with this show rn.. okay anyway guys i hope you enjoyed this! don’t forget to send more requests for off campus and i love you all so muchhh (happy pride.. again!)

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See you in the afterlife Bagman.