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
Logan has a habit of looking for you the second he walks into a room; it doesn't matter if it's a crowded party, the hockey arena, or a lecture hall. His eyes automatically scan the space until they find you and the moment they do, his entire posture relaxes.
He is constantly finding reasons to be near you without realizing he's doing it. You'll be sitting on the couch and somehow he'll end up right beside you, one arm stretched behind your shoulders, his knee pressed against yours. If someone points it out, he'll look genuinely confused and mumble something about there not being enough room elsewhere.
He grew up learning how to fix things, so whenever you mention even the smallest inconvenience, he's already figuring out a solution. A squeaky door, a broken lamp, a loose shelf—he treats every problem like a personal mission. You once joked that he was your handyman and he spent the next week pretending to be offended while secretly loving the title.
He’s a sucker for hair pulling and when you force him to look at you while riding him. Logan is always focused on your face, taking all the expressions you make as he pulls you down on his member. He also loves calling you petnames like baby, angel, sunflower.
Logan absolutely melts when you're proud of him: he'll brush off compliments from teammates, coaches, and professors, but if you tell him you noticed how hard he's been working, he gets all quiet. His ears turn red and he suddenly becomes very interested in whatever is happening across the room.
He's big into praise when you both are having sex too, either it's receiving or giving: you'll never hear him degrade you, even if you beg for it. No, he wants to tell you how good you are being, how well you did.
Logan is surprisingly affectionate when he's tired. His usual confidence disappears completely and he'll drape himself over you, tuck his face into your neck, and grumble every time you try to get up. If you tell him you need to do something important, he'll mumble, "Five more minutes," like a giant overgrown puppy.
He gets ridiculously protective when you're sick. The second you mention feeling unwell, he's showing up with medicine, blankets, soup, and enough supplies to survive a natural disaster. He'll spend the entire day hovering around you asking if you need anything, even when the answer is always no.
He loves seeing you in his clothes; his hoodies, his shirts, even his pajamas pants either they fit you or not. He acts like it's a bother, like he wants to complaint about it, but it's all fake. He tells you that you can keep it and that he will buy more and he secretly hopes you will steal the new ones too.
Will definitely make love to you while you are wearing his hoodies; it's all soft, tender sex while whispering into your ears how pretty you are. You are his partner, he loves you so much, he wants to stay in your warmth forever. He can smell you everywhere and it drives him crazy in the softest way possible.
Logan likes listening to you talk, even about things he knows nothing about. You could spend twenty minutes explaining a hobby, a TV show, or college drama, and he'll pay attention the entire time. Not because he's interested in the topic itself, but because he loves the way your face lights up when you're excited.
He loves seeing you at his hockey matches; either you like it or not, he knows you will always be here to support him in his hobby. He's also glad that you get along with his friends, because to him, they are his second family after Jules and you are a part of it too.
taglist ﹏ @ravensreadingrecs @nuitts @filthgf @avasarchve @girldisrupted @userhotd @wiishies @cheriedove @corvusmorte @purplerainx1 ( to be added )
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
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 — logan brings you to the rink on his day off, determined to teach you how to skate. you’re terrified of falling, but he doesn’t seem to mind giving you something to hold onto.
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — pure fluff, established relationship, boyfriend-coded logan, rink date, reader is scared of falling, hand holding, kissing.
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 — 5,294.
𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — based on this request 💌 this is exactly why logan is my favourite, he’s so boyfriend-coded it hurts. now i need him to teach me how to skate too. i hope you like it <3 also, i’m still trying to figure out a new aesthetic for my page, tell me what you think
𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⟶ you can find my taglist here!
𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⟶ you can find my masterlist here!
─── ⋆⋅🏒⋅⋆ ───
You should’ve known Logan was up to something the second he told you to wear something warm. Not something nice, not something cute. Warm.
Suspicious. Even more suspicious was the way he smiled when he picked you up, leaning against his car with his hands tucked into his jacket pockets, looking far too pleased with himself for a man who’d refused to tell you where you were going.
You stopped on the sidewalk, narrowing your eyes at him.
“No,” you said immediately.
Logan’s brows lifted, all fake innocence. “I didn’t even say anything.”
“You have a face,” you pointed out.
“I do, yeah,” Logan agreed.
“A guilty face,” you corrected.
His grin widened, clearly pleased with himself. “I think you mean a handsome face.”
“I mean a face that says I’m about to regret trusting you.”
He pushed off the car and stepped closer, still smiling like he was trying not to laugh. “You trust me?”
“I’m currently reconsidering.”
“Too late,” he said, reaching for your hand and pulling you in gently before pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. “You’re already here.”
“I’m standing on a public sidewalk,” you reminded him. “I can still run.”
“You wouldn’t get far.”
You gasped. “Rude.”
“You’re wearing boots with absolutely zero grip.”
You looked down at your shoes, deeply offended to find that he was right.
Logan laughed, opening the passenger door for you. “Come on, dramatic. You’ll like it.”
“That’s exactly what people say right before ruining my afternoon.”
“I’m not going to ruin your afternoon.”
“Logan,” you warned slowly, “where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise,” he answered.
“I don’t like surprises.”
“You told me last week that you loved surprises.”
“I like surprises when they involve flowers or coffee or you showing up with fries because I had a bad day. I don’t like surprises that start with you telling me how to dress.”
His expression softened at that, just for a second, like the memory caught him off guard in the best way. Then he kissed your hand before letting you climb into the car.
“You’re going to like this one,” he promised.
You didn’t believe him, not fully. But after six months of Logan looking at you like that — soft around the edges, all playful mouth and careful hands — you’d learned that trusting him was usually easier than pretending you didn’t.
So, despite your better judgment, you got in.
The drive didn’t take long. Almost too short, really. Long enough for Logan to keep glancing at you like he was waiting for you to figure it out, but not long enough for you to collect enough evidence to start a real argument. He hummed along to the radio, fingers tapping lightly against the steering wheel, one hand occasionally drifting over to squeeze your knee.
That should’ve been another warning sign. Logan was always affectionate, but this felt different — almost nervous, like he cared a little too much about whether you liked whatever he’d planned.
You turned in your seat to look at him. “Are you taking me somewhere illegal?”
He laughed, shaking his head. “No.”
“Somewhere dangerous?”
“No,” he assured you.
“Somewhere embarrassing?”
“That depends entirely on how good your balance is.”
Your eyes widened as realization hit, and Logan’s mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile.
“No,” you said at once.
“You don’t even know what I mean yet.”
“Yes, I do.”
“No, you don’t.”
“John Logan,” you warned.
“Oh, full name.” He pulled into the parking lot, still trying not to smile. “Serious.”
You looked out the window, already dreading what you were going to see, and then you saw it.
The rink.
The arena sat quiet under the afternoon light, the parking lot nearly empty and familiar in a way that made your stomach dip. Of course, you’d been here before — for games, mostly, practices sometimes, loud nights full of cheering and whistles and bodies slamming into the boards while Logan flew across the ice like he’d been born there.
But now, it looked different. Almost still. Almost private. Waiting.
Slowly, you turned toward him.
“Absolutely not,” you said.
Logan turned off the car. “You haven’t even heard my pitch.”
“I don’t need to hear your pitch. Your pitch involves putting me on ice, and I happen to enjoy having unbroken bones.”
“I’m going to teach you,” he assured you.
“That’s not as comforting as you think it is.”
“It should be,” he informed you. “I’m very good.”
“At hockey,” you corrected. “Not necessarily at keeping your girlfriend alive.”
Logan placed a hand over his chest. “You wound me.”
“You’re about to wound me physically.”
His laughter softened when he looked at you, and for a second, the teasing faded into something warmer.
“I got the rink for an hour,” Logan said, softer now. “Just us.”
You blinked, caught off guard, and your panic quieted a little.
“Just us?” you asked.
“Yeah.” He shrugged, suddenly looking almost shy, which was rare enough to make your heart squeeze. “I thought it could be fun. You come to games and everything, but that’s different. It’s loud, everyone’s there, and I’m usually trying not to get my teeth knocked out.”
“You make almost getting your teeth knocked out sound very romantic.”
His smile softened. “I wanted you to see it like this.”
The words landed softly, right in the place your panic had been a few minutes ago.
You looked back toward the rink.
This place belonged to Logan in a way you’d never fully understood before. Not all of it, maybe, but a big piece.
The ice.
The boards.
The sound of skates cutting across the surface.
The place where he was confident, fast, and completely impossible to look away from.
You’d watched him here from the stands so many times.
But Logan was right. This was different.
From the stands, Logan had always belonged to the noise.
To the team.
To the game.
To everyone cheering his name.
Today, he’d brought you here in the quiet.
Just you. Just him.
You swallowed, trying very hard not to show how much that touched you.
He laughed, catching your hand before you could pull away and pressing a kiss to your knuckles.
“But I’ll catch you,” he promised.
“You sound very confident,” you said.
“I’m extremely confident,” Logan replied.
“In yourself?” you asked.
“In us,” he said.
That was deeply unfair.
You stared at him, your argument fading under the weight of the way he was looking at you. You sighed dramatically, because apparently that was the closest thing to winning you were going to get.
“If I die, I’m haunting you,” you declared.
“Fair.”
“And I want it on record that I was manipulated.”
“I’ll tell everyone you were brave,” Logan said, like that was generous and not deeply insulting.
“I’ll be dead, Logan,” you pointed out.
“Beautiful and brave,” Logan announced.
You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling by the time he got out of the car.
Inside, the rink felt completely different without the crowd. Your footsteps echoed down the empty hallway, and the air smelled cold and clean, carrying that sharp, frozen scent that always clung to arenas. Logan walked beside you, your skates in one hand and his in the other, looking more relaxed with every step.
You noticed it immediately — the way his shoulders loosened. The way his gaze moved around the rink was like he was greeting something familiar. The way he seemed quieter here, but not sad.
Peaceful.
You bumped your shoulder against his, smiling a little. “You like it when it’s empty.”
He glanced down at you, his smile small. “Yeah.”
“Why?” you asked.
He was quiet for a moment, thinking about it.
Then he answered, “It’s quiet. I don’t have to think about anyone watching.”
That made you look over at him again.
He gave a small shrug, keeping his eyes ahead. “During games, everything feels loud. The crowd, Coach, the boys, my own head. I love it, most of the time. But sometimes it’s a lot.”
You nodded.
Logan looked toward the rink entrance, voice softening. “When it’s empty, it’s just the ice.”
Something about that made your chest ache softly.
In six months, Logan had let you see plenty of versions of him. Flirty Logan. Sleepy Logan. Cocky post-win Logan. Frustrated Logan, after bad games, dropped onto your bed and complained into your pillow until you ran your fingers through his hair.
But this felt like another version of him, one he didn’t share with everyone, and the fact that he wanted you here to see it made your chest ache.
You reached for his free hand, and Logan looked down just as your fingers slipped between his, closing his hand around yours without hesitation.
“Well,” you said, because being sincere for too long made your heart feel too exposed, “the ice and your girlfriend’s soon-to-be-concussed skull.”
Logan laughed and squeezed your hand. “You’re not getting concussed.”
“That sounds like a promise you’re not legally allowed to make.”
“I’m not going to let you fall that hard.”
“So you admit I’m going to fall.”
“Baby,” he said, gentle enough to make it worse, “you’re definitely going to fall.”
You stopped walking immediately. Logan made it one more step before turning back to you with a grin.
“I hate you,” you told him.
“No, you don’t,” Logan replied.
“No, I don’t,” you admitted, irritated by how little hesitation there was.
His smile softened at that.
You sat together on the bench near the boards before Logan crouched in front of you, your rental skates in his hands.
“Oh, so we’re doing this now?” you asked.
“That’s usually how skating works,” Logan said.
“I thought maybe we’d admire the ice from a safe, non-life-threatening distance.”
“You can admire it from up close,” Logan offered.
“I can admire it from the floor once I inevitably collapse.”
Logan shook his head, laughing under his breath as he slipped one of your boots off, but he went quiet while helping you into the skate.
The simple intimacy of it caught you off guard, how careful he was with something so small.
His hands were careful around your ankle, his fingers steady as he tightened the laces. You watched him focus, brows slightly drawn together and mouth relaxed in a way that made him look softer than usual. He tugged the laces once, checked the fit, and then looked up at you.
“Too tight?” he asked.
You shook your head, still watching him. “No.”
“Tell me if it hurts,” he said.
“I will,” you promised.
“You say that, but you have a habit of pretending you’re fine.”
You blinked, caught off guard.
Logan kept his gaze on yours, and there was no teasing in it this time.
You looked down at his hands instead, suddenly unable to hold his gaze. “You noticed that?”
“I notice a lot of things about you,” he said softly.
Your heart did something embarrassing.
“Unfortunately for you, skating is going to make it very obvious if I’m not fine.”
“Good,” he said, tying the second skate. “Then I won’t have to guess.”
You were quiet for a moment before you said, “You’re being very boyfriend right now.”
He looked up at you, grinning. “I’m your boyfriend.”
“I know,” you told him. “But you’re being extra boyfriend right now.”
“Is that supposed to be a complaint?”
“No,” you admitted.
His smile softened at that. “Good.”
Once your skates were tied and Logan had his own on, you tried to stand carefully, but the second your blades touched the rubber flooring, your legs betrayed you.
You grabbed Logan’s arm with both hands, immediately abandoning any pretense of dignity.
“No,” you protested.
Logan laughed immediately.
“Don’t laugh at me,” you blurted.
“I’m not,” Logan lied.
“You’re literally laughing.”
“You’re just cute when you panic,” he teased.
“I’m absolutely not panicking.”
“You tried to sit back down before you were even fully upright.”
“That was self-preservation.”
“Come on,” he coaxed, holding both your hands as he stepped backward toward the gate. “Small steps.”
“I’m going to die before we even make it to the ice.”
“You’re not going to die.”
“You don’t know that,” you argued, taking one step forward.
“I do,” he said, as that settled it.
“You’re alarmingly calm for a man leading his girlfriend to her doom.”
His grin widened, but his hands stayed steady around yours. “I’ve got you.”
That shouldn’t have worked as well as it did.
But Logan said it as he meant it, his hands steady around yours, and that made it harder to keep pretending you were scared of anything except how much you trusted him.
So you moved slowly, dramatically, and with a lot of complaining.
By the time you reached the open gate and saw the ice up close, your stomach had dropped. It looked impossibly smooth and impossibly hard, like it’d been waiting all afternoon for the chance to betray you.
Logan stepped onto the ice first, easy as breathing, and the second his blades touched the surface, something in him changed. He became fluid, lighter somehow, at home in a way that felt almost unfair.
Your grip tightened on the boards.
“Absolutely not.”
Logan turned back, skating backward a few easy feet. “You haven’t even stepped on yet.”
“And that’s exactly why I’m still alive.”
He held out both hands, steady and waiting. “Come here.”
You stared at him like he’d lost his mind.
He waited with his hands still outstretched, not impatient or mocking, just there, and you hated how much it helped.
With a deep breath and what you considered heroic bravery, you placed one skate on the ice, only for the blade to slide immediately.
You made a noise that wasn’t your proudest moment, grabbing Logan so fast that his eyes widened before he laughed.
“I’m sorry,” he managed, though he was very clearly not sorry at all.
“I hate ice,” you muttered.
“You’re doing great,” Logan said gently.
“I have one foot on the ice, Logan.”
“And that foot is doing great.”
You glared at him, and he only looked more delighted.
Eventually, with Logan holding you steady and offering encouragement that was only occasionally interrupted by laughter, you got both feet onto the ice.
You didn’t move, but you were on the ice. That counted.
“Okay,” Logan said, standing in front of you with both your hands held securely in his. “Bend your knees a little.”
“My knees are locked because they’ve correctly identified danger.”
“Bend them for me, baby.” You did, but barely. “Good,” he praised.
You narrowed your eyes at him. “Don’t use that voice.”
“What voice?” he asked.
“The soft coach voice,” you accused.
“You don’t like it?” Logan murmured, still smiling.
“I like it too much,” you admitted. “Which is irritating when I’m trying to be mad at you.”
His smile softened into something fond. “Noted.”
He started skating backward slowly, pulling you with him.
The second your skates shifted under you, your entire body tensed.
“Logan,” you warned.
“I’ve got you,” he said, hands steady around yours.
“Logan,” you repeated, grip tightening.
“Look at me,” he said gently.
“I’m looking directly at imminent death.”
“Look at me,” he repeated, his voice softer this time.
You dragged your gaze away from your feet and up to his face.
His eyes caught yours, steady and warm, and despite yourself, some of the panic loosened in your chest.
When you looked down, all you could focus on was the ice, the blades, the strange pressure in your ankles, and the terrifying lack of friction. But when you looked at Logan, there were his hands around yours, his eyes on your face, his body moving backward smoothly like guiding you was the easiest thing in the world.
You moved barely an inch, but it still counted.
“Oh my god,” you whispered, staring at him as he’d just performed a miracle.
Logan’s smile widened, proud and entirely too pleased. “See?”
“I’m skating,” you whispered, like saying it too loudly might ruin it.
“You are,” Logan said, smiling like he was proud of you.
“I’m incredible,” you declared.
“You’re extremely humble,” Logan teased, still guiding you backward.
“I’m basically ready for the Olympics.”
“Let’s maybe get you to the blue line first,” Logan suggested.
You looked down at the ice.
Mistake.
Your skate wobbled, your balance tipped, and a tiny scream slipped out as your arms flailed.
Logan caught you before you could fall, one hand at your waist and the other around your back, pulling you against him before you could hit the ice. Suddenly, your face was pressed to his chest, his laugh soft above you — not loud, not mean, just warm and happy as his arms stayed secure around you.
“I told you,” he murmured, his arms still secure around you. “I’ve got you.”
Your heart was pounding, and not entirely because of the almost-fall.
“You’re enjoying this too much,” you grumbled into his jacket.
“I’m enjoying holding you,” he murmured.
You lifted your head just enough to glare at him, but Logan only smiled down at you, warm and pleased in a way that made the glare hard to maintain.
That was the problem with Logan.
Sometimes it was impossible to stay annoyed with Logan when he looked at you like that, all soft eyes and quiet amusement, like your fear of ice was something precious he’d been trusted to hold.
You swallowed, trying very hard not to melt. “This is very manipulative.”
“What is?” Logan asked, looking far too innocent.
“You being cute while I’m vulnerable.”
His brows lifted, his smile already starting. “You think I’m cute?”
“I regret saying that,” you muttered, because Logan had clearly found a weak spot.
“No, no,” he said, holding you a little closer. “Let’s go back to that.”
“Absolutely not,” you muttered.
“You called me cute,” he reminded you.
“I was briefly concussed,” you replied.
“You didn’t fall,” Logan pointed out.
“I was emotionally concussed,” you replied, like that was a valid medical defense.
He laughed, kissing your forehead before letting you find your balance again.
For the next twenty minutes, Logan tried to teach you how to move.
You learned how to push off gently, keep your knees bent, and stop staring at your feet, even though they felt deeply untrustworthy. You learned that Logan was more patient than you’d expected, repeating himself without getting frustrated, catching you every time you stumbled, and praising even the smallest bit of progress as it mattered.
“That was good,” Logan praised after you managed three tiny glides without clinging to him.
“That was barely movement.”
“That was good,” Logan insisted.
“I moved approximately four inches,” you argued, like the measurement alone proved your point.
“Six, at least,” he corrected.
“Wow,” you deadpanned. “Alert the press.”
He skated a small, effortless circle around you, looking annoyingly beautiful while he did it. “You’re improving.”
“You’re showing off,” you accused.
“Maybe a little,” Logan admitted.
You watched him move, all easy bend in his knees and smooth shifts of weight, as the ice knew him as well as he knew it. He looked different here, not like he belonged to hockey exactly, but like this was one of the places where he could finally breathe.
It was beautiful, and a little intimidating.
Your smile faded before you could stop it, and Logan noticed immediately.
He slowed beside you, his voice gentler now. “Hey.”
You looked down at your skates, avoiding his eyes. “I’m fine.”
“Nope,” Logan said softly.
You sighed, still avoiding his eyes. “What?”
“That’s your fake fine,” Logan pointed out.
You looked up at him, and his face was open, concern softening it in that quiet way he got when he wasn’t trying to turn everything into a joke.
“It’s nothing,” you tried, but Logan’s expression made it clear he didn’t believe you for a second.
“It’s nothing if it made your face change like that.”
Your throat tightened unexpectedly, and you hated that.
The day had been sweet and funny and light, and suddenly your eyes were threatening to do something dramatic.
“I just…” You looked past him, toward the empty stands. “You’re so good here.”
Logan blinked, like that wasn’t where he’d expected your mind to go.
“And I know that’s obvious,” you continued quickly, suddenly feeling silly, “because it’s literally your thing. But seeing it up close is different. You look so comfortable here, like this whole place makes sense to you.”
His expression softened at that.
“And I’m standing here like a baby deer with knives strapped to its feet.”
His lips twitched, but he managed not to laugh.
“Don’t laugh,” you warned.
“I’m not,” Logan lied.
“You want to,” you accused, because the corner of his mouth was giving him away.
“A little,” he admitted, the smile fading into something softer. “But keep going.”
You exhaled, suddenly embarrassed. “I don’t know. I guess I hate being bad at something you love.”
Logan went still, as that’d hit somewhere he wasn’t expecting.
And there it was — the small truth you hadn’t meant to say out loud.
It felt ridiculous as soon as you said it. This was skating, not some life-changing test, and Logan was your boyfriend, not someone waiting to judge you. Still, you felt exposed, unsteady in more ways than one.
“I know it’s stupid,” you rushed out. “I just don’t want you to regret bringing me here because I’m terrible at this and scared and—”
“Baby,” Logan said softly.
You stopped, and Logan skated closer until the tips of his skates nearly touched yours. Then he reached for your hands.
“I didn’t bring you here because I needed you to be good at it,” Logan said, his hands steady around yours. “I brought you here because I wanted you here.”
Your chest tightened at that.
His thumbs brushed gently over your knuckles.
“I don’t care if you fall every five seconds,” he said, thumbs brushing over your knuckles. “I don’t care if we spend the whole hour by the boards. I just…” He glanced around the rink, then back at you. “This place is a big part of me. And you’re a big part of me now, too. I wanted those things to overlap a little.”
You stared at him, too full of feeling all at once to know what to say.
Logan’s mouth curved into a faint, self-conscious smile. “Too cheesy?”
“A little.”
“Good cheesy or bad cheesy?” he asked, still looking a little unsure.
You squeezed his hands, smiling despite the ache in your chest. “Devastating cheesy.”
The teasing faded from Logan’s face. “I’m serious,” he said. “I like having you here.”
You swallowed, hating how small your voice sounded. “Even if I’m bad?”
“Especially if you’re bad,” Logan said gently.
Your eyes narrowed at him.
He laughed, his thumbs brushing over your knuckles. “Because then I get to hold your hands.”
“You’re impossible,” you murmured, but your hands tightened around his anyway.
“You love me,” Logan said, entirely too pleased with himself.
You froze for half a second, and Logan’s smile faltered like the words had caught up to him too late.
It wasn’t the first time either of you had used the word casually. You loved plenty of things — fries, sleep, the way Dean got offended when nobody laughed at his jokes. But this time, it landed differently.
It slipped out softly, easily, too close to something real for a relationship that was still new enough to make you both careful.
Six months was long enough to know his favorite breakfast order, the way he liked his hair touched when he was tired, and all the little things that made him feel familiar. But it was still new enough that some words felt too big to throw around carelessly.
Logan’s expression shifted, a little panic flickering at the edges, and you squeezed his hands before he could take it back.
“I do,” you said quietly, and his breath caught like he hadn’t expected you to let the words stay.
The whole rink seemed to go impossibly still around you.
Your cheeks warmed immediately. “I mean, I do love you,” you rushed out. “Not just because you’re holding me upright, though that’s definitely helping your case.”
Logan stared at you, and for once, John Logan had absolutely nothing to say.
You gave him a nervous smile. “You’re supposed to say something now.”
His mouth opened. Closed. Then he laughed under his breath, soft and a little wrecked.
“I was trying not to say it first,” he admitted.
Your heart stumbled.
“What?” you breathed.
He looked down at your joined hands before looking back up, his eyes softer than you’d ever seen them.
“I didn’t want to scare you.”
“You thought loving me would scare me?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged, suddenly bashful in a way that made you want to kiss him until he stopped looking unsure. “Six months is still new, and you’re careful with stuff like that.”
“I’m careful because you’re terrifying,” you told him.
“I am?” he asked, looking genuinely confused.
“You’re John Logan,” you said.
“That explains absolutely nothing,” Logan said.
“You’re charming, and flirty, and everybody likes you, and sometimes you say things so easily, like they don’t mean anything, but they feel like something to me. I never know if I’m allowed to keep them.”
Something in his face changed, the softness there deepening until it almost hurt to look at.
“You’re allowed,” he whispered, and your throat tightened before you could stop it. “With me, you’re allowed.”
For a second, you stood together in the middle of the ice, hands linked, the quiet rink around you seeming to hold the moment carefully.
Then Logan looked at you and whispered, very softly, “I love you.”
There was no dramatic lead-up, no big speech, no smirk to soften it. Just Logan, standing in the place that felt most like him, giving you something he’d apparently been holding back out of fear.
You smiled, wobbly and helpless. “I love you too.”
His face broke into the sweetest smile, and then your skate slipped, because apparently romance and balance were too much for your body to manage at once.
Logan caught you before you could fall, laughter warm against your hair as you clutched at his jacket.
“Seriously?” Logan laughed.
“I was emotionally compromised,” you defended.
“You used that excuse already.”
“It keeps happening,” you argued.
He kept his hands at your waist, still smiling like he had no intention of ever letting this go.
“You okay?” he asked.
You nodded, still a little breathless. “Yeah.”
“Good,” he murmured, and then he kissed you right there on the ice.
It was soft at first, his hands steady at your waist while yours fisted in the front of his jacket. Cold air brushed your cheeks, but Logan was warm against you, his mouth gentle and smiling, and you felt the curve of it when he kissed you again, slower this time, like he had all the time in the world and nowhere else he wanted to be.
When he pulled back, your eyes stayed closed for a second.
“Still hate skating?” he whispered.
You cracked one eye open, like even that took too much effort. “I’m considering tolerating it.”
“Look at you. Big progress.”
“Mainly because there’s kissing involved.”
“Yeah, I can definitely work with that.”
You laughed, and he leaned in to kiss you once more, quick and sweet.
After that, you managed to make it a little farther across the ice, and while no one would’ve called it graceful or impressive, it still felt like progress. You even made it halfway around the rink with Logan skating backward in front of you, his hands holding yours as he smiled every time your eyes found him instead of the ice.
“Look at you,” he said, like he was proud enough to make your cheeks warm.
“Don’t hype me up,” you warned. “I’ll get cocky and die.”
“You’re doing great.”
“I’m doing okay.”
“You’re doing great,” he reassured you, his hands steady around yours.
You tried to glare at him, but the smile tugging at your lips ruined it.
Eventually, your legs got tired, and your ankles started to complain, so Logan guided you toward the bench. You nearly fell as soon as you stepped off the ice, but he caught you with a smile and claimed it didn’t count since you technically weren’t skating anymore.
He helped you sit before crouching in front of you again, his hands already moving to untie your skates.
You watched him work in silence, your fingers still cold, your cheeks still warm, and your chest still full from the kiss and the way he’d looked at you when he said he loved you.
“Thank you,” you murmured, watching his hands work at your laces.
Logan looked up from your skates. “For what?”
“For bringing me here,” you said, watching his smile soften. “Even though I complained the whole time.”
“Especially because you complained.”
“You’re too fond of me,” you said, like that was the problem.
“Yeah,” he murmured, his voice quieter now. “I am.”
You leaned forward and pressed your hand to his cheek. Logan turned into your palm without thinking, and the smallness of it almost undid you.
“You really wanted me here?” you asked.
Logan looked up at you, his expression soft. “I always want you where I am.”
Your heart gave a painful little squeeze.
“Stop being romantic,” you whispered, like your voice wasn’t already giving you away. “It’s embarrassing for both of us.”
He grinned, like he already knew the answer. “You love it.”
“I love you,” you corrected.
His expression softened all over again, like he still wasn’t used to hearing it and needed to hear it a hundred more times before he believed it.
He stood before sitting beside you on the bench, close enough that your shoulders brushed. You leaned into him without thinking, and Logan wrapped an arm around you, pulling you into his side.
The rink stayed quiet around you—no crowd, no whistles, no teammates yelling from the boards. No pressure. Just Logan, the ice, and you.
After a while, Logan pressed a kiss to the top of your head.
“So,” he started, his voice light, “second rink date?”
You let out a groan. “Logan.”
“What?” he asked, grinning. “Too soon?”
“I barely made it through the first one.”
“You did more than survive,” he said, smiling down at you.
“I nearly died three times.”
“I caught you three times, so really, you’re welcome.”
“Exactly,” you said. “Dangerous.”
He laughed and gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze.
You tipped your head back to look at him. “Maybe.”
His brows lifted. “Maybe?”
“Maybe we could do this again.”
His smile went soft, though there was no hiding how victorious he looked. “Yeah?”
“If you promise you’ll keep holding my hands.”
Logan looked at you like there was nothing easier in the world to promise.
“Always,” he promised.
He leaned down and kissed you again, soft and slow, while you sat there beside the rink with your skates untied and your fingers curled into his jacket.
You still weren’t sure skating was for you, but you loved the way Logan looked at you every time you tried.
you didn't know what was worse, being at a party you didn't want to be at or not being able to stop staring at logan from across the room.
it hurt you to see him so... normal.
you had broke up months ago, but you still felt the absence that hurt in your chest.
there wasn't a day that went by that you didn't think about him. sometimes you'd text him without realizing it, but you'd delete the message before sending it and stay as far away from your phone as possible. you no longer woke up in his arms in the mornings; he wasn't there to melt you with his warm eyes, breakfast in bed was no longer a regular occurrence, and sometimes you'd wake up in the middle of the night with an urgent need to call him and sort things out.
the fight you had had been intense, and both of you said horrible things to each other that you didn't mean, but the anger of the moment made you say them.
his presence still caused reactions in you.
even from across the room, he could make your hands tremble and send a tingle down your spine.
You looked away, refusing to continue torturing yourself in that way.
you tried to observe other things: the tables full of soft drinks of all colors and flavors, the dim lights and some colored ones, the laughter, the footsteps; you even focused on your breathing.
the group of friends you were with didn't seem to notice your silence. one of them moved slightly, blocking logan from your view.
you should've felt relieved, but you immediately took a small step to the side.
the uncertainty was killing you. you knew you missed him. a lot. but you didn't know if he felt the same way.
to clear your mind a little, you went to the kitchen to make yourself another drink. it clearly didn't work at all because you kept thinking things like: "in a room full of people, you were looking for him, would he avoid you or would he look for you too?"
someone else entered the almost empty kitchen, if not for you.
"vodka with sprite?" asked a guy you didn't know.
you nodded and raised your glass vaguely.
"my favorite," you said.
"i was expecting something more interesting." he said, leaning against the counter.
you raised an eyebrow.
"and what would be interesting?"
"i don't know, something that makes me think 'wow this girl is a mystery'".
"and how do you know she's not a mystery?"
logan said as he entered the kitchen.
you did everything you could to avoid looking at him.
"i don't think anyone called you, john".
you were the only one who called him by his name.
"relax, i just came for a drink". he said as he put his glass on the counter. "pretend i'm not here".
"and who are you?" the boy asked.
"nobody important," logan excused himself.
if only he knew how important he is to you.
he was. he is. you don't really know.
suddenly, the kitchen felt much smaller.
despite logan saying you had to ignore him, he spoke again.
"because to say someone isn’t a mystery," he continued, "you’d have to know them pretty well."
"some people are easy to read."
"not her."
the reply came too fast and too firmly. and for a second there was silence. because the guy understood something. and so did you. your ex still knew you too well. maybe better than anyone.
"well," the guy finally said, "looks like someone already did the research before i did."
"you could say that."
you felt your heart pound against your ribs. because logan's gaze never left yours. not for a second. as if the conversation had never been about mysteries. as if he’d walked into that kitchen for one reason only. and that reason were you.
"you had no right to do that," you said as the boy left the kitchen.
"do what?"
you wanted to wipe that poorly hidden smile off his face with a punch.
or maybe a kiss.
"don't play dumb with me, you scared the guy away, why?"
"his flirting attempts were weak, is that what you look for in a man?"
"it shouldn't matter what i'm looking for or not, john, so leave me alone."
for several minutes afterward, you wondered what logan meant while he was talking to that guy.
"not her."
"you could say that."
"earth calling," your friend gestured in front of your face, pulling you from your thoughts. "did you hear what i said?"
"sorry, i was in another world, what did you say?"
"will you come with me to the bathroom? so many drinks need to be thrown away."
"right.".
you and your friend passed through the crowd until you reached the stairs.
the party was starting to feel too loud. too many people. too many conversations.
too many chances of running into him again.
bad luck.
because when you looked up, he was there. coming down the stairs. straight toward you.
your heart stopped for a second. and then it started beating too fast. there was enough room to pass. but neither of you moved right away.
logan saw you. you saw him.
and suddenly, the rest of the party disappeared. there were only the two of you.
you swallowed.
logan had one hand resting on the banister. the same relaxed posture as always. the same one that still managed to make you nervous even now. after all this time.
"sorry," you finally murmured.
it took him a second to react. as if he'd forgotten how to move too. then he stepped aside.
you started going up and he started going down. when you were at the same height, neither of you looked at the other. or at least you tried not to. because you recognized his perfume instantly. and you hated that it still smelled so familiar. and logan caught a glimpse of the small necklace resting around your neck. the same one he had given to you a few years ago. the one you had promised never to take off. the one you were apparently still wearing.
neither of you said anything. neither of you stopped. but when you reached opposite ends of the staircase, you both looked back at the same time. only to discover that the other was already looking. and immediately look away. like two complete idiots.
you continued climbing.
logan continued descending.
"okay, now, that was weird,” your friends said when she reached the top of the stairs.
“what?”
“that whole 'i'm your ex but i still love you' situation?”
“you're talking nonsense.”
“i felt the tension between you two and it gave me goosebumps.”
“you can't feel tension when there isn't any.”
“i could've cut it with scissors, it was so tense.”
“shut up and go to the bathroom before i decide to leave you alone.”
the third time you saw each other that night was the worst.
you had just come back from upstairs when you found logan by the beer pong table. there were people everywhere. the music was too loud, so the girl next to logan had to hang onto his shoulder to reach his ear and say something. the air around you felt heavier. you felt overwhelmed, as if you had been there for hours.
for a moment, you were aware of everything: the pain in your feet, the air you were holding in your lungs that was starting to burn you from the inside out.
he was there.
with a blonde girl.
pretty.
perfect smile.
long eyelashes.
you didn't know what the girl was saying. you didn't know if she was flirting with him, but from the mischievous look on her face, you could tell.
it didn't matter anyway because jealousy is rarely rational.
you felt an unpleasant pressure in your chest before you even realized what was happening. the girl tightened her grip on logan's arm as she laughed. and that was enough.
you looked away immediately. ridiculous. it was over, and he could do whatever he wanted. be with whomever he wanted. and you couldn't interfere. you had no right over him. just like you'd told him earlier in the kitchen. and yet there you were. your stomach churning. hurt. annoyed. months of acceptance thrown away.
you let out a breath and reached for your glass.
empty. perfect.
you turned on your heel and walked toward the back door of the house. you needed fresh air, any excuse to get out of there before you did something you'd regret. you pushed open the door and stepped out onto the garden.
the change in temperature hit you immediately. the air was cool and damp. gray clouds and rain hung in the night sky, each drop falling like needles over you.
you didn't care in the slightest.
"you always do the same thing."
of course he followed you.
slowly, you turned around. rain dampened his dark hair, and his hands were shoved into the pockets of his jacket.
“do what?”
“you disappear whenever something bothers you”
a disbelieving laugh escaped from you.
“are you serious right now?” you asked. “you think you know everything, don’t you?”
a muscle moved in his jaw.
“no."
“could’ve fooled me”.
he looked down briefly before meeting your gaze again.
“no. i just know you”
the words landed harder than they should have and you hated that.
because they caused a reaction in you.
“and i know that you love the rain and to feel it on your skin”. he slowly continued. “but i know that if you don’t follow me inside and let me take you to your house you’ll catch a cold”
part of you wanted to argue.
and another part knew he was right.
your throat tightened so you looked away.
“i can’t believe you, really”. you said as you shook your head and looked at him once more.
“what did i do know?”
“you show up after months, spend the whole night avoiding me, despite the part were you scared the shit out of that guy who was talking to me, because who knows what, you follow me outside and then act like nothing happened”.
his expression faded.
“i never act like nothing happened”.
“oh, really?” you said bitterly.
“no."
and for the first time all night, he wasn’t hiding behind sarcasm or teasing remarks.
he just looked tired. just as tired as you. because neither of you wanted to be without the other. logan wanted to stop pretending, and so did you.
“you hurt me,” you admitted quietly.
the words were almost swallowed by the rain.
his shoulders dropped slightly.
“i know,” he nodded.
“and I'm aware that i hurted you too. and i didn’t mean anything i said”
in that moment you broke, the tears you didn’t know you were holding started to run over your face.
you closed your eyes.
the cold disappeared when two warm arms wrapped around your body.
logan was there. as always.
“i’m sorry, love” he said. his chin on your head. “i’m so fucking sorry that it took me so long to realize how wrong i was”
“i was trying so hard to get over you," you whispered. face hidden on his chest.
"i know," said logan, and smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"what do you mean?" you said after lifting your head and looking him straight in the eyes. his gaze was soft and made you forget the cold from being soaked by the rain.
"because i was trying to do the same."
you fell silent.
until neither of them could contain their laughter and burst out.
"this is so ridiculous," you said with a grin from ear to ear.
logan pulled you closer to his body, if that was even possible, and with one hand tucked the strands of hair behind your ear.
"seeing you with that guy awakened something i thought was dead inside me. although deep down i knew it was a lie. because i never stopped loving you, and i truly regret the things we said that day. i was blind by the fury of the moment, and i acted rashly as soon as the words left my mouth, but i was a coward, and i let you go. and i don't intend to do that again. not after today. not after not being able to take my eyes off you all night and knowing what i let slip away".
you didn't know what to say because he had already said it all. and it filled you with joy to know that the feelings were mutual.
"i missed you," he continued, and his gaze drifted down to your lips before returning to your eyes. "these last few months felt like torture."
"it didn't seem like torture when you were talking to that blonde girl," you raised your eyebrows.
"well, you don't have anything to worry about because that 'blonde girl' is dean's cousin and she's a lesbian."
you opened your mouth but closed it immediately.
"oh."
"sure, 'oh', is that all?"
he smiled.
"so i can be with her?"
just as the smile reached his eyes, it immediately faded, and you burst out laughing again.
“i'm just joking, silly.”
“you better be.”
“oh, really? and why is that?”
"because now that i have you back, i'm not going to let you go.”
"and now that you have me, i can say with certainty that i love you".
logan leaned in slightly toward you. one of his hands on your waist and the other on the side of your jaw. his fingers touched you delicately, as if you were the most fragile glass in the world. you closed your eyes and let yourself go when his lips finally met yours after so long. you both recognized each other immediately. his lips warm, yours cold but soft. fireworks exploded inside both of you, the joy of being with each other enveloped you.
you separated and he rested his forehead on yours. both with your eyes still closed.
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
