☄︎ Warnings: Arguing. Reader being stubborn. Heavy alcohol consumption. Light angst. ☄︎ Pairing: F!Reader x John Logan ☄︎ Rating/Genre: PG. Hurt/Comfort ☄︎ Words: 1847 ☄︎ Summary: You get into a petty argument with Logan on the way to a party.

💭: super original title cause i couldn't think of anything else lol

Original request here. 〣 Off Campus Masterlist here.〣 Logan Masterlist here.

It started as most stupid arguments did, a mild annoyance that snowballed into something unnecessarily bigger.

Logan had been late picking you up for the party. It's not like he hadn't messaged you to let you know, he had. It's not like he didn't have a valid excuse, he did. But you were already in a foul mood, already lowkey feeling like hockey took priority over everything, and his late arrival was the cherry on an already shit cake.

Muscles 🐶🐶🐶

⋆⭒˚.⋆ cabo 1k celebration masterlist!

⋆⭒˚.⋆ cabo 1k celebration info!

summary: in which the girls leave their handbags, and consequently phones behind in a taxi, leaving the boys to spend an entire practice trying, and failing, not to worry.

notes: hi! i personally loved this idea, thank you so much for your request! i hope you're all well, and enjoy! <3

ꪆৎ

the taxi disappears before any of you realise what has happened.

one moment, the four of you were standing beneath the shade of the resort entrance, arms crowded with shopping bags, still talking over one another about the markets.

the next, grace stops halfway through rearranging the bags against her hip.

“wait.”

nobody pays much attention at first.

allie is still trying to balance a paper cup on top of two boutique bags, sabrina is searching through one of hers for the sunglasses she has somehow forgotten are sitting on top of her head, and you are looking back towards the driveway, watching another car pull in behind the one that has just dropped you off.

grace’s voice comes again, quieter this time. “where’s my handbag?”

everything stills.

allie lowers the cup, sabrina’s hand stops inside the shopping bag, you look down at your own shoulder, where the thin leather strap should be resting.

there is nothing there.

for one long second, none of you say anything. the answer arrives slowly, then all at once.

the boot.

all four handbags had been placed in the boot with the shopping bags, before the driver had rearranged everything to make room.

the shopping bags had come out, the handbags had not.

allie turns towards the driveway so quickly that coffee spills over the rim of her cup, running across her fingers. “no.”

the taxi is already gone. “no, no, no.”

she starts walking towards the end of the driveway as though it might still be waiting just beyond the gates, temporarily hidden from view.

it isn’t.

you follow her anyway.

the heat outside feels heavier than it had only a minute ago, pressing against your shoulders, the pale stone beneath your sandals throwing warmth back up at you. nothing. there's no taxi, no driver leaning out the window, no familiar car turning around.

just the usual flow of vehicles moving past the resort.

grace stands beside you, staring at the road. “my phone was in there.”

“mine too,” sabrina says.

allie closes her eyes. “wallet.”

you swallow. “room keys.”

the four of you look at one another.

“passports?” grace asks quickly.

“safe,” you say.

the word comes out sharper than you mean it to, relief and panic tangling together. “they’re in the safe.”

allie presses both hands over her face, relief immediately gracing her features. “thank god.”

it's the only good thing any of you can think of.

-

the concierge is kind.

far kinder than the situation deserves, considering none of you know the taxi company, the driver’s name or the registration number.

you remember the colour, grace remembers the sticker in the window, sabrina remembers that the driver had mentioned picking somebody up from another resort after dropping you off.

the security footage helps.

a staff member rewinds the camera positioned above the entrance until the taxi appears on the screen, small and slightly blurred, pulling into the circular driveway.

you all lean over the counter. “that one,” allie says immediately.

the concierge pauses the footage. the plate is visible, but barely. somebody writes it down, while another calls the local taxi dispatch.

for the first half hour, it feels fixable, annoying, but fixable. the kind of mistake that will become funny before dinner. the driver will notice four handbags in the boot, turn around, and the entire thing will be over before any of you have time to properly panic.

you sit together in the lobby, shopping bags piled around your feet, waiting for someone to come back with good news.

nobody does.

-

by the time practice starts at briar, it has been nearly three hours since any of the boys had heard from you.

garrett notices first. not because he expects you to reply immediately, you never do. holidays have their own rhythm. sometimes you'll disappear for an hour or two, only to send him twelve photos all at once.

today however, feels different.

your last message had come through just before the markets. it was a photo of allie holding up two pairs of sunglasses, grace laughing in the background, sabrina half-hidden behind a row of hanging dresses.

you

which pair for today?

garrett had replied the ones on the left, claiming they suited your outfit more. you had simply reacted to the message, then nothing.

it wasn't unusual. you're on holiday, you're with the girls.

you had spent the last two weeks moving between beaches, restaurants, shops and whatever activity allie had decided everybody needed to try next.

still, garrett checks his phone before pulling his helmet on.

no reply. he slips it onto the shelf above his stall.

“ready?” dean asks.

garrett nods. “yeah.”

-

the first drill is uncomplicated.

breakout passes, controlled entries, shots from the slot.

something they have done enough times that most of it should happen through instinct.

garrett receives the puck along the boards, turns, sending it towards dean, except dean has already moved. the puck slides through open ice, hitting the opposite wall.

coach jensen’s whistle cuts across the rink, his tone sharp and demanding. “again!"

garrett circles back without argument. “my bad.”

dean glances at him as they reset. “you good?”

“fine.”

the answer comes too quickly. dean notices, however he doesn’t say anything.

-

the next time garrett misses a pass, it's less obvious.

his stick catches the edge of the puck instead of the centre, sending it wobbling towards logan, who has to shift awkwardly to keep it in play. logan manages it, but only barely. jensen watches from the boards, garrett feels it without looking.

the quiet assessment, the growing irritation.

they reset again.

on the bench, dean reaches for his water bottle, then his phone. he checks the screen, there's nothing from allie. his thumb moves across it before he can think better of it.

dean ❤️‍🔥

how much damage did you do?

the message delivers. he waits a second, before locking his phone.

“they still shopping?” tucker asks from beside him.

dean shrugs. “probably.”

-

in cabo, another hour passes.

the taxi company has contacted three drivers, none of them are yours.

the licence plate from the security footage is one digit unclear, which has apparently made everything significantly more difficult.

allie paces the length of the lobby, then back again. grace sits with her elbows on her knees, chin resting in her hands. sabrina has spoken to the concierge so many times that they are now on a first-name basis, while you sit in the middle of the sofa, staring at the resort entrance every time a car pulls in.

none of them are the taxi.

“they’re going to be worried,” grace says eventually.

allie stops pacing, nobody asks who she means.

“we can call from reception,” sabrina says.

allie looks up immediately, her eyes wide. “yes.”

you’re already standing. “i’ll try garrett.”

the receptionist offers the desk phone with an encouraging smile. “of course.”

your fingers hesitate over the keypad for barely a second before muscle memory takes over. you don't have his number memorised because you've never needed to. you've simply typed it often enough over the last few years that your hands know where to go before your brain catches up.

the final digit disappears beneath your fingertip.

you lift the receiver to your ear. one ring, then, nothing.

complete silence.

after several long seconds, the line disconnects with a dull tone.

you lower the receiver, frowning. "that's weird."

"did he answer?" grace asks.

you shake your head, eyebrows furrowing. "it didn't even ring properly."

the receptionist offers you an apologetic smile. "i'm sorry. our lobby phones can be a little unreliable for international calls." she reaches for the handset. "sometimes they don't connect at all. other times they'll disconnect before the call goes through."

grace groans, dropping back into the armchair. "you're joking."

"i wish i was."

the receptionist tries another extension herself before setting the phone back down. "it happens from time to time."

you stare at the handset for another second. somewhere, thousands of miles away, garrett has absolutely no idea you're trying to call him.

the thought settles heavily in your chest. "they're going to worry."

-

back at the rink, things get worse.

not enough that anybody outside the four of them would understand why, but enough that jensen does.

dean loses his footing during a transition drill, not badly, but stupidly. logan glances towards the bench in the middle of a rotation and misses tucker calling for the puck, while tucker sends a shot wide from a position he usually scores from without thinking.

garrett takes a pass too late and gets stripped cleanly. the whistle sounds again, this time, jensen doesn’t immediately restart the drill.

he looks at all four of them.

“would anyone like to tell me where the fuck your heads are?”

nobody answers, the rest of the team shifts quietly around them.

garrett adjusts his grip on his stick. “nowhere, coach.”

jensen stares at him. “well, wherever nowhere is, all four of you seem desperate to be there.”

dean exhales through his nose. “sorry.”

“i don’t want sorry.” jensen points towards the line. “i want you awake! you boys hear me?!'

they move back into position. the drill starts again.

for several minutes, they manage to hold it together. during the next water break however, logan checks his phone, his expression changing, slightly.

tucker notices anyway. “what?”

logan turns the screen towards him. three messages to grace, none of them read.

“when did you last hear from her?”

“before lunch.”

tucker looks down at his own phone. sabrina hasn't opened any of his messages either. dean, overhearing them, unlocks his screen again. “allie hasn’t answered either.”

garrett is already reaching for his. no new messages, four separate conversations, four separate silences, the same length of time.

“they’re together,” tucker says.

his words are meant to be reassuring.

“exactly,” dean replies. “they probably just left their phones in the room.”

logan looks at him. “all four of them?”

nobody says anything, jensen blows the whistle, “phones away!”

garrett puts his down, however his stomach fails to settle.

why were none of you answering?

-

practice continues, the boys play badly.

garrett keeps seeing your name on a silent screen, dean keeps telling himself allie has lost track of time, logan thinks about grace, who always messages when plans change, while tucker tries to be the reasonable one because somebody has to be.

the girls are together, they are safe, they are in cabo.

their phones are probably dead, their bags are probably in the room, the signal might be poor.

they might be at the pool, they might be eating, they might be doing any number of completely ordinary things.

by the time jensen finally calls practice, none of those explanations feel reasonable anymore.

-

the locker room is louder than the rink had been, showers running, lockers closing, music playing from somewhere near the back.

the four of them sit in different parts of the room, all doing the same thing, calling.

garrett listens to your phone ring until it cuts to voicemail, dean gets the same result, logan’s call rings once, then stops, while tucker’s goes straight through to an automated message.

dean looks across the room. “anything?”

three heads shake in response.

he rubs a towel over the back of his neck. “i'm sure we’re just being dramatic.”

“probably,” tucker says.

logan stares at his phone. “yeah.”

garrett says nothing.

-

they are still trying to convince themselves of it when they reach the hockey house.

dean throws his keys into the bowl by the door, logan goes straight to the kitchen, opening the fridge without taking anything out, tucker sits at the island, phone face-up in front of him. garrett remains standing.

“what time is it there?”

logan checks. “a little after four. they left for the markets around ten.”

dean looks at him. “maybe they stayed for lunch.”

“maybe.”

“then went somewhere else.”

“maybe.”

each possibility sounds thinner than the last.

tucker picks up his phone. “we could call the resort.”

dean leans back against the counter. “that feels slightly insane.”

“does it?”

nobody answers.

garrett takes the phone from tucker before he can fully decide.

the number is on the resort website. it rings twice, someone answers, garrett immediately straightens. “hi, sorry. i’m trying to reach a guest.”

the others go quiet. he gives your name first, then allie’s, followd by grace’s and sabrina’s.

the woman on the phone asks him to hold. garrett looks at the floor, anxiety coursing through his body while he waits. dean’s arms fold across his chest, logan stops pretending to look through the fridge, tucker watches garrett’s face, intently.

the woman returns, garrett listens, his shoulders tightening. “you’re sure?”

the kitchen changes, not visibly, just enough.

dean pushes away from the counter in frustration, already knowing the outcome of the call without having even heard it. garrett thanks her, before ending the call.

“what did she say?”

garrett looks up, meeting each of their eyes. “they haven’t been back to their rooms since this morning.”

the silence that follows is immediate, heavy. logan closes the fridge door, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “none of them?”

“none.”

dean reaches for his phone. “i'm trying allie again.” they all listen to it ring. once, twice, then voicemail.

"what the fuck?"

-

in cabo, the sun has started to lower.

the light through the lobby windows has softened, stretching long shadows across the floor.

the taxi still has not been found. the concierge has contacted another dispatch company, security has checked the footage twice, somebody has offered the four of you water.

allie’s coffee has been abandoned, untouched, sitting on a table beside her. you're more than tired now.

you're emotionally wrung out.

hours of waiting, wondering whether your phones are still sitting untouched in the boot, whether somebody has opened your wallets, whether the driver has even realised they're there, have finally begun to catch up with you.

“we need to find another way to contact them,” you say.

grace looks over. “how?”

sabrina has already stood from her seat. “we buy a phone.”

allie blinks. “with what money?”

sabrina reaches into one of her shopping bags, pulling out a small folded envelope. “cash.”

everybody stares at her. “why do you have that?”

“because unlike the rest of you, i don’t put every single thing i own in one handbag.”

allie stands immediately, sighing, before grabbing her shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “i have never loved you more.”

-

it takes another forty minutes.

a staff member helps you arrange a ride to a nearby electronics shop.

the cheapest phone available still feels wildly expensive for something you intend to use once. you buy it anyway, immediately setting it up.

the man behind the counter helps activate it, and you feel as though you could cry from relief.

at the hockey house, garrett’s phone starts ringing.

unknown number.

the country code is not american, and suddenly, all four of them freeze in anticipation. garrett answers before the second ring.

“hello?”

for a moment, there is only movement on the other end, voices, allie saying something in the background.

until eventually your voice comes through. “garrett?”

his eyes close, the reaction is instant. he slowly releases a breath, his free hand gripping the edge of the counter as every muscle in his body finally begins to loosen.

“hi, baby.”

dean steps closer, logan and tucker are already moving around the island.

“i’m so sorry.”

“are you okay?”

“yes.” the answer comes quickly, firmly.

“we’re all okay.”

garrett lowers his head. “what happened?”

there's a pause, then, quieter. “we left our handbags in the taxi.”

nobody in the kitchen speaks. “all four of them,” you add.

dean closes his eyes, logan braces both hands against the counter, while tucker lets out a quiet, disbelieving breath.

“our phones were inside,” you continue. “and our wallets, and the room keys. we’ve been trying to find the driver all afternoon.”

garrett listens without interrupting. the relief has settled, but it hasn't replaced the last five hours, not entirely.

“you called the resort,” you say softly.

it's not a question. “yeah.”

“they told you we weren’t back.”

“yeah.”

the line goes quiet. when you speak again, your voice has changed, the panic in it gone, replaced with something much heavier, guilt.

“you were worried.”

garrett looks around the kitchen. dean is staring at the phone like he can somehow see allie through it, logan’s jaw is tight, tucker has both hands clasped in front of him.

“a little,” garrett says.

dean gives him a look, garrett ignores it.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper.

“i know.”

“we didn’t have any way to contact you.”

“i know.”

“we tried.”

“i know, baby.” he says it gently, no anger evident in his tone.

“are all the girls there?”

“yeah.”

the phone shifts, voices move closer, allie speaks first.

“dean?”

dean takes one step forward. “i’m here.”

“we’re okay.”

his mouth tightens. “you better be.”

allie goes quiet, dean softens almost immediately.

“are you actually okay?”

“yes.”

“all of you?”

“yes.”

logan leans closer. “grace?”

“hi.”

the single word changes his entire face. “you alright?”

“i’m alright.”

“have you eaten?”

grace lets out a small laugh. “not since breakfast.”

logan closes his eyes, “of course you haven’t.”

tucker shakes his head, relief finally breaking into something warmer. “sabrina?”

“i’m here.”

“you good?”

“i’m the reason we have a phone.”

“that sounds about right.”

the girls laugh, the sound faint through the speaker, tired, uneven, but enough. the sound fills the kitchen, normal again.

garrett brings the phone closer to his ear. “when are you going back?”

“now. the resort organised a car.”

“message me when you’re in the room.”

you pause. “on the new phone?”

“yes.”

“you want me to keep this?”

“i want you to keep anything that allows me to know you’re alive.”

you laugh softly, the sound catches somewhere in his chest.

“okay.”

“and baby?”

“yeah?”

“next time, keep your phone on you.”

“i will.”

“and your wallet.”

“okay.”

“and maybe the entire handbag.”

you laugh again, more properly this time. behind him, dean mutters, “that feels like the bare minimum.”

allie hears him. “i’m sorry, did someone ask you?”

“yes. five hours ago.”

the others laugh, even dean does, eventually.

garrett lowers his head, smiling into the phone. the worry hasn't disappeared entirely, it will, once you are back in the room.

once he sees your face. once you send him proof that all four of you are together, safe, unharmed, probably surrounded by the ridiculous number of shopping bags you somehow managed not to lose.

for now, your voice is enough.

“call me when you’re back,” he says.

“i will.”

“promise?”

your answer comes without hesitation. “promise.”

⊹ ࣪ ˖ THEY DON’T KNOW ABOUT US ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ໒꒱ john logan x !reader — blurb . you and john logan have been in a secret relationship for a few months, and your friends have been trying to get you both with other people…

⋮ ⌗ ┆ warnings: fem!reader, established relationship, secret relationship, kinda angsty, language

“Dude, you haven’t talked about a girl in so long,” said Dean. His voice was almost exasperated, as if he was the one who hadn’t hooked up with anyone and not Logan. It rightfully pissed you off and Logan could tell.

Without sparing you a glance—trying to keep the secret relationship a secret—Logan said, "I just haven't been feeling it."

Stupid excuse.

"You haven't hooked up with anyone either," said Allie, looking directly at you. Shit.

In the corner of your eye, you saw Logan's jaw clench before he forced himself to relax. You felt a wave of relief wash over you. At least you weren't the only one getting annoyed.

"I just don't want to," you said, feigning confidence.

Allie chuckled, but it came out close to a snort. "Liar! A girl has needs. I can vouch."

"No, I just—"

"Dean and I should set you guys up with people," suggested Allie. Her eyes sparkled like she cured cancer.

Dean's expression immediately matched hers as he sat up and grabbed Logan's arm. "I'm gonna get you the second hottest girl on campus."

"Second," asked Logan.

"Well, yeah. I'm dating the first."

"I really don't wanna be set up with anyone," you said, sitting up straighter. "I'm focusing on school. I don't need a boyfriend."

————————————————————————

About a week had passed since then and Allie and Dean have been relentless with their efforts to set you and Logan up with people. God, how could they be so oblivious?

You were all at a party hosted by one of the puck bunnies, and it was loud and outrageous and you just wanted Logan.

Left all alone in the kitchen, surrounded by people you either didn't know or hated, your eyes immediately scanned the room for Logan, trying to find his silhouette.

What if they actually set him up with someone? What if he liked her? Shut up!

Grabbing yourself another can of beer, you felt the presence of someone sliding up beside you.

You turned to look at him and it was one of Beau's football teammates. You had spoken to him before in passing, but never full conversations.

Dean and Allie forced him here.

"Hey," he said, clearly making his voice deeper.

"Hi," you said awkwardly, holding the can with both your hands, stiff as a stick. "Um, you're Dylan, right?"

He smiled at you and nodded. "Yeah, and you're really pretty."

Another wave of awkwardness flooded your system, causing you to nervously laugh. It sounded close to a flirty laugh. "Oh, thank you."

"What's a pretty girl like you doing alone at a party?"

"I'm not alone," you said quickly. "I came with Allie."

He looked over at Allie and Dean, who were currently in the middle of the dance floor. "Seems like she came with Dean."

“She actually came with me.”

Your heart dropped as you heard his voice as his arm slid around your waist, his hand resting on your hip.

What was Logan doing?

“Oh, you two are—“

“Together,” he cut Dylan off.

“Sorry, man. Didn’t know.” Dylan tilted his head towards Dean. “He told me she was single.”

Logan gave him a single nod. “Well, she’s not.”

Dylan opened his mouth to defend himself before closing it again, realizing Logan was stubborn. With a sigh, he walked away, leaving you and Logan alone in the loud yet agonizingly quiet kitchen.

"Why'd you do that," you asked, clearly irritated.

Logan scoffed. "What? Did you like him or something?"

"What? No! I just—"

"Don't fucking lie to me," he snapped.

"You won't even give me the chance to speak," you snapped back.

He let go of you, running his hand through his hair frustratedly. "What was I supposed to do? Let him smooth talk you into doing whatever he had planned?"

"I wasn't gonna do anything with him!"

"Really?" His voice was low and full of doubt. "Across the room, it seemed like you were pretty into it."

You scoffed. "Do you really think that little of me," you mumbled.

His eyes widened in panic as dread and panic sank into his bones. "No, no, no, baby, I didn't—"

Before he could finish, you walked past him, bumping his shoulder as you left.

His arm tried and failed to pull you back. For a few seconds, you wondered if he was gonna follow you. Eventually, you gave up all home and left the party, needing a break and some fresh air.

Stepping into the cold air, you listened to the leaves in the breeze and the muffled voices coming from people all over.

"Please," whispered a voice from behind you. "Baby, don't leave it like that."

Logan's arms wrapped around your waist from behind. "I'm sorry," he whispered into your ear. "I just... I don't like seeing other guys around you. Not when I know they want you half as badly as I do."

You turned around in his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Why don't you just trust me? I don't want anyone else," you mumbled, looking up at him.

His eyes softened even more. "I do trust you. I promise I do." He turned his head and looked over to the party. "It's them I don't trust."

You looked down, but he immediately caught your chin with two fingers.

"Look at me, baby," he said softly. "I love you, okay? You're it for me."

At his words, you pulled him closer. "Swear?"

"To the hockey gods," he promised, hoping to get a smile from you.

And it worked.

Before you knew it, the edges of your mouth were curling up.

Pairing: Amnesiac! Jason Todd x GN Married! Reader Summary: After a long night where his irritation had gotten the better of him yet again, Jason dropped into bed, determined to put a stop to it once and for all. So when he woke up to the greatest fucking test of his patience so far in the form of a stranger on him, it almost felt like he had asked for it. Tags: Amnesia, Memory Loss, Established Relationship, Brief Dubcon*, Arguments, Big Misunderstandings, Unreliable Narrator A/N: Heyy, so this was harder to write and edit than Dick and Bruce’s versions, but I think I managed. It’s also not as cute, sorry about that. I wanted to try a different angle, and making Jason suffer is something that just…happened 😬 I love him tho, I swear! He’ll recover, don’t worry, it just won’t be as easy. Feel free to yell at me! *Beware: Something like dubious consent ahead. Or SA? Idk, he consented, but now he doesn’t remember doing that, so technically it’s SA…in a way?

Jason was in a bad fucking mood. 

Patrol had been shitty. It hadn’t started that way. He had saved a couple working girls from their creepy old pimp and set them up in one of the apartment complexes he protected so they could get a fresh start. He prevented a kid from falling into a port because of some stupid dare the kid’s older siblings gave him.

But all his open cases, an old heroin ring somehow getting back on its feet, a deranged serial killer on the loose skinning her victims, Roman Sionis hiding somewhere he couldn’t find. No matter who Red Hood shook up or how late he stayed out to check every corner of his territory and beyond, Jason had been too rash, made absolutely no progress with any of it, and it tasted like failure.

Like he was a joke. 

Pathetic.

That’s why when he finally returned to his primary safehouse with a crick in his neck, still dressed head to toe in his gear, it had been a relief to remove the hood. To remove the responsibility for just a couple hours. So much of a relief that that was just about all Jason could be bothered to take off before he barrelled through the entrance, open kitchen and bathroom to fall onto his comfortable, pillow top mattress face first and knock out with his fists clenched tight.

While it wasn’t his finest moment – even he could admit that – in the privacy of his own place and small bedroom, no one had to know…Or so he thought, because as Jason woke up with his face to the ceiling and a weight on his legs, he soon came to realise that while no one had to, someone did. Something was wrong.

His eyes snapped open, sensation quickly coming back to him. 

At first glance, Jason’s bedroom looked the same as it did when he first fell asleep. Same old magnolia ceiling, familiar slim black lamp with its square shade and cool light battling with the barely visible yellow early morning sun rays trapped behind his bedroom door. But his overflowing bookshelf was twice its usual size, there was cleaning equipment he didn’t remember placing beside his table, and a duffel bag neatly packed with the largest water bottle Jason had ever se—

Something was very, very wrong.

Jason jolted, fists clenching even tighter as he felt—

Shit! Motherfucking shit! 

Someone— your— fucking hole was wrapped around the tip of his cock, warm and soft and tight. You were straddling him, gently kissing his cheek and nuzzling a nose on his skin. Your right hand was holding his own, body curved into his without shame a— Jason felt something uncontrollable begin to simmer in his chest as he desperately forced himself to not yet react to whatever absolute bullshit this was squaring up to be. Not if he wanted to know who you were and why the fuck you were here. How the fuck you were here.

It was difficult, beyond violating to be touched in any way without knowing or agreeing to it first. Jason barely tolerated physical contact when it came from people he cared about, so for someone to break in and breach his personal space and take advantage of him while he was— it made him sick to the stomach, green in the face. Made him feel tainted, so deeply filthy in a way that he knew no chemical would be able to cleanse him of. 

Jason tried to shake the feeling off, to keep focused. He knew people like this, saw them all the time during patrols, during his old life on the streets, these sick fucks who took from the vulnerable with a smile. And yeah, he wasn’t helpless; he could fight back. Suddenly, he wanted so badly to kill you, to wrap his hands around your neck and squeeze the life out slowly so you knew what it felt like to suffer. He knew how to, and on another day, he would. He really, truly would. Right here and now.

But he had been too rash recently, too agitated. This wasn’t just some regular creep or overly talented stalker; you were inside his safehouse somehow, had broken in without a sound, entered his bed without him noticing. Jason couldn’t kill you just yet; he needed to stay calm, to solve this. He could not fail again. So he met your eyes, keeping his hips beneath your weight still even as the disgust persisted and unclenched his fists.

What he saw next surprised him. 

You looked…unreal. Undeniably so. Like a gem in this rotting city shining in the dimness of his room. Like a treasure, something dug up only after following a careful trail that would lead a person to you. A prize only won when the recipient was chosen and worthy. You looked too precious for a ghost like Jason Todd, with a smile too pretty for the vile acts you were currently committing. Like nothing was wrong. It was destabilising.

You weren’t from the Iceberg Lounge; he oversaw every employee and he didn’t recognise that face. You couldn’t be an undercover cop either. Gordon didn’t allow any of his officers to mess with the bats. So then, who were you?

Had you been someone working the streets, growing numb, empty of empathy, only to be offered the paycheck of a lifetime by someone with deep pockets and the equipment to override his security? Had one of Gotham’s rogues found you? Brainwashed you to get you here as a trap, a ploy to steal his attention from something worse? Or were you an up-coming villain, someone without the mental faculties to care about the gravity of your actions?

It had to be hero-related, Jason figured as you sank down on him, squeezing him tight. Something with stakes higher than a random person spotting a man on the streets and following after him, wanting. And he doubted someone as breath-taking as you, with eyes so incredibly and impossibly soft, was the mastermind behind such an operation. He knew twisted, knew delusions, knew how it all hid and he couldn’t yet see any of it in you.

Either way, as you lifted your hips, he decided that was enough patience for now, bile threatening to spill as he grabbed your fingers and dislodged you from his private parts with a wet smack on his bulletproof abdomen. That sound made Jason cringe, made him self-conscious, made him angry, because it was proof that he had been hard as a pillar inside you. That on some deep, dark level buried beneath his horror, his body had enjoyed—

It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter. It didn’t fucking matter!

Jason glared up at you as you sat back in his lap, trying to gauge your reaction. But you just smiled back, unabashed, and made that complete disgust morph into something else. Something more dangerous: bewilderment.

What…the everliving fuck was going on right now?

“Hey, sleepy head. Rough night? You fell asleep in your gear, thought I could make you feel better,” you told him, teasingly, like this was just another day.

Jason only stared harder, thinking as much as he could. The more he looked, the more he could not see the leering stare he expected, the underlying guilt, some level of insanity, but something truly shameless. Stealth wouldn’t help when he had no idea what he was dealing with; he could barely manage to stop himself from wringing your neck, let alone pretend. Not when this didn’t add up. It was bullshit. It was all bullshit.

Might as well ask.

“Who the fuck are you?” Jason stressed, noticing that, at the very least, the gun he usually left under his pillow was still beneath his head. Good.

Your cheeky smile turned crooked. “Just your dutiful cock warmer for the night.”

“No,” Jason growled, low, his fingers tensing around yours until it was finally wiped off your face. “Who the fuck are you? A prostitute? How did you get in? What the fuck is this?”

You blinked down at him, failing to shake him off, no matter how much you shook in his hold. “Huh? Jay, baby?”

“How did you get in?” Jason pressed relentlessly, a shiver running down his spine at the nickname. His identity was fucked, then. Whatever was left of it.

You bristled at that question, naked shoulders rising. Why exactly, he couldn’t tell yet. “What the hell? I stayed in. And did you just call me a prostitute?” But then you took a deep breath, trying for another smile. This was driving him absolutely insane. “Is this your kink? If so, you could've let me know beforehand. For a minute there…”

And he could only gape. “What the fuck?”

“Hey, what's up? What's wrong?”

“Don’t— Look!” Jason shoved you off of him completely then, hand darting down beneath the pillow just in time for you to regain your balance across the bed, frustration warring with what had to be annoyance on your face at his words. It pissed him off. He was the one who had to wake up to this. He was the one who had just been violated by you. How dare you be angry when you had made him feel so— so— he grit his teeth into a sneer. “I don't know why you're here or how you got in, but whatever trouble you got with me, we can deal with it outside. Be more dignified ‘bout it.”

“Dignified? I don’t get it,” your frown deepened, and you gripped the sheets tight in your fists as your exposed nipples perked in the cold air. So, naturally, he whipped out his gun and trained it on your head. If you really wanted to play games, fine. He could play. 

“Unless you're going to put up a fight in here?” Jason said, voice hard, mind racing. “What are you, an assassin? Did somebody send you?”

You paused, mouth falling ajar as you looked down the barrel with what looked like the purest form of disbelief. He wasn’t entirely convinced, though. “Jay, love. I think you should sit down.” 

Another nickname, his jaw ticked. “Don’t tell me, did the League send you? I told them to stay the hell out of my shit.”

“Which League?” You mumbled, seeming almost as confused as he was. “What are you even talking about?”

“Slade then? Now that I’ve worked with Ravager, he wants me to work with you, too?”

“Do I look like I could assassinate anyone?” You deadpanned.

“Still playing dumb, huh?” Jason snorted, hands shifting on the holster as he mimed pulling the trigger. He tried not to feel anything when you flinched like a baby, something like betrayal twisting your features as you sat pretty and bare on his sheets. And he could be convinced he was in purgatory had he not already known what that was like, the taste of soil in his mouth. “Did you really think I was gonna believe that act when you broke into my safe house, found out my identity and sat on my dick?” Drop it now, unless you want this to end badly for you.”

“Jason…” You thickly swallowed, still staring down the barrel. “I don't know if you're going to believe me or not, but you sound hysterical. I think you need to sit down. Please.” 

‘Please,’ huh? “Well, it looks like you still got your manners,” Jason lowly admitted to himself, then stood up, yanking on a pair of boxers with the barrel trained right on you. Out of reach. For the first time in years, he didn’t know what to do. “Look…just tell me what you want. My patience is already running fucking thin.”

You raised your hands in surrender, gaze stationary. “I want you to sit down with me so we can talk, because I think something's very…very wrong.”

“Yeah, you,” Jason snarled. “In my house.”

“No, you. Jay—” 

“Stop calling me that, we're not close,” he cut in, unforgiving.

You bitterly laughed, then ran a tired hand down your face like he was the problem. “I know this might seem hard to believe, but we're married. So we are kind of fucking close, Jason.”

And that made Jason laugh out loud. It made him laugh and laugh and laugh, unable to help himself at the absolutely fantastical story you were now spinning. Occam's razor was one thing, but this? “That's funny.”

Except you simply dropped your hands, and finally, your sharp eyes rose from the gun to meet his. “Does it look like I'm joking?”

Of two competing theories, the simpler explanation of an entity is to be preferred.

Jason struggled to tamp down his laughter enough to look at you, but when he did, what he saw made him pause. Because you…you did look serious right now. Like completely, insanely serious. As though you believed every word you were saying, and that wasn’t right. It was impossible. You had infiltrated his safehouse, and he would have to kill you now if you didn’t tell him the real truth, he wanted to, except…you were.

It made sense.

“You're insane then…”

Jason’s breath picked up a little. 

It was a dumb idea, but while a lot stayed the same, his room’s layout was different, the furniture, the smell. The longer he looked around, the less it felt like a safehouse bedroom. The more it felt like a home, like…the manor. It was unusual, but as he studied his own hands, steadily pointing his gun at you, he noticed an indent on the fourth finger of his left hand. It was faint and thin, and he could not recall ever seeing it before now. Not once.

It did make sense.

“No, no,” Jason’s brows furrowed. 

It was crazy, but his instincts were telling him you weren’t lying, that you were the one who might be in the right. This was only cemented when you brought your left hand up in surrender, and he saw it. Your ring. A gorgeous silver band with a glimmering ruby heavy at the top.

Fuck.

Jason liked it; he knew he would buy it, and that settled things.

It was the only thing that made sense. 

He was not going to fail again.

Jason dropped the gun onto the bed.

Fuck.

“I'm insane then. Great.”

“Yes—” You didn’t hesitate, and Jason actually laughed so hard that he almost cried. Priceless. Just— “I mean. No, you're not…insane. But I think you might have a little memory loss.”

Right.

“Maybe,” Jason didn’t trust you, even assuming you were right. Not after everything that had just happened to him, how he felt…He didn’t want you to touch him until he knew for sure that you were who you claimed. “But why should I believe your story?”

You just crossed your arms, staring up at him, fierce with uncertainty. “Except for the really obvious fact that I'm in your house, know your name, know your secret identity and have a ring on my finger that has your initials engraved on the inside? Check your body in the bathroom. There are scars that you probably aren't familiar with, and also, your ring is on your bedside table. You leave it there before every patrol.”

~

So he did. Jason followed your instructions and his own protocols. He checked himself out in his bathroom, wiped the sensation of you off his body over and over again, searched online, checked bank accounts, popped outside, and it was all so different; the date being years ahead on his new phone was believable. 

Success. Finally.

“It's legit,” Jason breathed a couple of minutes later. Somehow, he had tricked the cutest person he had ever seen into marrying him, and then he woke up, ripped you off your husband’s dick and put a gun to your head.

Why him? 

Why was this his life? 

Sometimes he wondered why he even tried.

Jason wanted to laugh again.

“What the fuck?” He sat calmly in the bathtub just…processing the new information, the fact that he would now need medical attention, because if he didn’t remember so much of his life, what else had changed? His cases, his friends, his family? He needed to contact them, but later. Later, once— he just needed to come to terms with—

“Jay, baby?” You called, knocking on the locked bathroom door. 

“Why would anyone ever date me?” Jason asked low from the bathtub.

“Hey, you’re alright,” you replied immediately, fond. 

“Enough to…marry?” He honestly couldn’t believe it. 

“Yes,” you said, fiddling with the door handle now, and he buried his head in his lap. This was a complete fucking mess. “We’re happy.”

“Then why was I not wearing my ring?” He snapped. 

“You…” Jason jolted when he felt your hand resting gently on his back and grimaced when you easily removed it. Understanding. Way too understanding. He was your husband, dammit. Husband. He was married. He couldn’t treat you like this— He had just— “You once told me that you didn't want to get it dirty or lost when patrolling, so you usually leave it at home every night. Before.”

Jason closed his eyes and curled up in his big body some more. “God. I…”

You laughed a little, voice softer than he had heard it yet. Sweeter than candy. “Don't apologise, it's fine. I understand. It could be worse. That…that must have been scary. I’m sorry.”

He swallowed, thickly. “I need to get in contact with my people.”

“OK, I’ll leave you to it then,” you said simply, smiling. “I believe in you, you'll fix this, Jay, I know you can. Imma head to another safehouse, give you space. I know how you are.”

Jason was unbearably uncomfortable, and you knew it. You adjusted to him. God, he barely knew you, and already he could tell, “I don't deserve you.”

You instantly scoffed, crossing your arms. “You don't even know me.”

“I don't need to know more than what I know right now to know that.”

The silence was heavy as you stared down at him. Then. 

“We all deserve more than we get, Jason.”

But no. No. Some people, “That's—”

“It's the truth,” you cut in, not unkind. “I try and so do you, and it's enough.”

And oh.

Wow. 

His heart skipped a fucking beat. 

The silence returned, but it was calmer this time as he absorbed your words, looking up at you in a new light. Because, “I can see why I married you.”

You barked a shy laugh, left him to it without any more fanfare, and Jason knew even if he tried and failed to remember you, he would work through his feelings and fall just the same.

MASTERLIST

-

Logan in plaid or a bandana is just superior

Summary: Logan is not giving your his attention, so you decide to hard launch your relationship on social media…for Garrett to see

—

‘’Babe stop, this is a good scene,’’ Logan shushed, avoiding your next kiss under his jaw. 

Garrett was with Hannah, Dean at Malone’s with Beau, and Tucker…you didn’t know where he was. But he wasn’t home. It was just you and Logan, cuddling on the couch while watching an action movie. They weren’t your favorite genre, but it was Logan’s turn to pick. And this one had Chris Evans in it, so it wasn’t too bad. 

You ignored Logan’s complaint and continued kissing down his neck, trying to lure his attention away from the screen. It was rare that everyone was out of the house, so you wanted to take advantage of the rare moment you had all to yourselves.

જ⁀➴ The thrill of keeping it hidden.

Pairing: Beau Maxwell x Di Laurentis!Reader Rating: Suggestive smut. Handjob. Words: 465

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⋆✴︎❤︎✴︎⋆

Sneaking around behind your brother’s back was arguably the most dangerous game you could play on campus. Everyone knew him, which meant that, by extension, everyone knew who you were. The thrill of hiding, but also the possibility of being caught, made every second worth it.

|Beau Maxwell

Friends/friends with benefits to lovers

Pairing: Beau Maxwell x reader

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: none, just obvious attraction and some jealousy

Authors note: First one-shot! Listening to Rihanna really inspires me lol. Also, my first language is not english so there might be a few mistakes

Tonight was supposed to be a nice night out where I’d have a few drinks, dance, and enjoy the night with my friends.

But a certain football player had other plans.

As soon as we arrived at the hockey house I was greeted by the sight of Beau surrounded by the gorgeous model-faced girls that name themselves as puck bunnies.

I didn’t hold a grudge against them, of course not. The brunette boy had always been kind, even when girls made it painfully obvious they were flirting. So they were not to blame.

It’s just that if this exact scenario happened a few weeks ago, I wouldn’t have cared. I would’ve brushed it off and went to get a drink. Not giving the situation any second thought.

At the end of the day, Beau and I have been friends longer than I could remember. With my mom being his mom’s best friend it was only natural for us to become friends too. After all, we were together in diapers, in scratched knees, heartbreaks and now during the both stressful and bohemian college life. Always by each other’s side.

But things were a lot different now.

They felt different.

The lingering touches and soft smiles from across the room started getting to me in a way that was not the casual one I was used to.

Stupid Beau and his stupid fucking smile.

Thanks to this, things started getting more charged between us—or maybe that’s just me reading too much into it—. The casual brushes of his hand, the way his shoulder bumped mine whenever he walked past, the hugs that lasted just a second longer than they used to… started igniting a tiny spark in my insides.

This dynamic went on for what felt like years.

Until the tension cracked in one party at the hockey house, where we somehow —somehow as in, thanks to alcohol, reckless choices and bold flirting passed off as jokes— ended up making out in Dean’s room. Things could’ve escalated into something more, but we were interrupted by the room’s owner with the company of two girls —bold, if you ask me.

Next thing, our friendship turned into this complex relationship where we kept it casual. On paper, we technically could be with other people, but in reality, we always went back to each other, no matter what or who approached us—or who we let in for a few minutes.

It was kind of a torture, though. Beau was the golden boy, girls gravitated toward him without him having to do much more than smile, because he just had that energy that pulled you in.

So I was forced to watch puck bunnies flirt with him, smile too hard at his stupid jokes and touch his arm at any chance they got. And of course he seemed to enjoy it, hell he enjoyed the fucking attention.

“girl, you will bore holes into his head if you keep staring like that” I heard my friend’s —Sasha— voice, she was sitting next to me, and even if I wasn’t looking at her I knew she had that amused expression she always had whenever I got too intense about this Beau situation.

“I’m not staring, I’m just…” my gaze averted just when he looked up in a brief moment, of course he noticed, I saw the smug smile that crept into his lips when our eyes met. He kept looking at me and subtly pulled the girl’s hand away from him, still gentle but dismissive.

He enjoyed seeing me like this—getting under my skin by handing girls drinks, drawing them into conversations about football that they faked interest in, let them touch him and lean in too close while laughing until I was done and went anywhere else, just for him to follow me immediately and tease me about it.

It was a damn cycle.

But at this point I didn’t fucking care. Because even if he let other girls hit on him with shameless comments —even if he never played along—, I knew that by the end of the night he’d be by my side trying to ease the tension in my body with his hands on my waist and lips on my neck.

Sasha’s voice took me out of my trance, “wait, I don’t understand anymore, are you guys casual or-”

“casual” I confirmed too fast to sound as nonchalant as I wanted to, it was obvious I cared.

“right, casual” she repeated while nodding as if she agreed, but she didn’t sound convinced. “and casual means… staring at each other like they’ve personally hung the whole moon and stars?”

I was going to deny it, but any retort that came to my mind sounded too weak to defend myself, because deep inside I knew she was kind of right.

So instead, I just stood up, taking her hand to pull her to her feet, “let’s go dance, you’re getting delusional”

Sasha noticed I just said that to deflect her comment, I knew it thanks to her knowing smile, but fortunately, she didn’t say anything else and just followed me to the dance floor.

We got there just when the song changed, Don’t Stop the Music by Rihanna started blasting in the room. Sasha and I immediately lit up because, honestly? this song is amazing, just perfect to dance without looking like you’re overdoing it.

Sasha threw her arms over her head and swayed her hips in perfect beat, her hand held mine forcing me to follow her moves. Within seconds we were laughing, singing along the chorus without a second thought, surrounded by people doing exactly the same.

The bass vibrated beneath my feet, making it impossible to stay still.

Right before the chorus, Sasha held my hand up and made me swing around in my place, before flashing me a mischievous smile and stepping back. I tilted my head to the side, confused, until I felt that familiar scent behind me.

One hand slipped around my waist, as I felt him move slowly against me, his breath against my ear and his warmth enveloping my body.

I didn’t stop dancing, but his presence made me self-aware of my own moves.

“you’ve been glaring at me all night and now you’re dancing like that wouldn’t make me want to take you somewhere private.” his voice was low, just enough for me to hear over the music and still send chills through my whole body.

“as if I would let you take me somewhere else” I said, trying to keep my tone calm even if my stomach did that weird flip just from having him this close.

He hummed amused, like he knew that even behind my fake confidence, deep inside of me I was folding. “maybe… but you know I won’t let you be here all by yourself looking as stunning as you do right now and let any asshole approach you like they stood a chance”

His tone was calm, sure of himself as always. But it still held that tiny bit of something else, something deeper I couldn’t really put my finger on. But still, I tested my luck.

“Jealous much?” I glanced at him from the corner of my eye, even if I played it off as a teasing question, I was really curious if Beau Maxwell, the guy who was always easygoing and never showed any deep emotion, would feel a tingle of jealousy at the thought of me with another guy.

And fuck me if that thought didn’t make my chest tighten in excitement.

“I think that the jealous one is someone else” he pointed out while swirling me around and stopping me with both hands on my waist when I was facing him. We were chest to chest now, I could feel his usually steady heart skip a beat when I met his eyes.

His gaze was intense, the usual spark on his eyes was now blurred by something darker. Like he was feeling a lot more than he usually gave away.

“I am not jealous” it was a weak defense. But I didn’t care anymore, his touch was making me more drunk than alcohol did, and his eyes made me want to do every reckless move that my impulsive brain was suggesting right now. “I just find it ironic how you point out the idea of me with another guy, while you let any girl that approaches you treat you like their life-long friend”

A soft chuckle came out of his mouth and it both irritated me and made me want to kiss him senseless. “I’m not into them and they know it… and you should know it too”

Our conversation was starting to get longer than it should be, and it was hard to keep it intimate in a dance floor, so he gently slid his hand in mine and took me to the kitchen, it wasn’t empty but not crowded either, just enough people for us to talk without worrying about anyone interrupting or the music blasting over our ears.

When we stopped, I crossed my arms, leaning into the kitchen counter and continued; “oh, should I? I’m sorry, how stupid of me to think that you’re into any of them even if you let them flirt with you, touch you, make them laugh and- fuck, even get them drinks” I hated how even if my voice was thick with amused sarcasm, the soft crack in my tone gave away how much I actually cared.

And he noticed, of course. But he just smirked.

Damn fucking charming smirk of his.

“you’re jealous” he pointed out again, making me roll my eyes in annoyance. “it’s okay, sweetheart. I mean, if a dude tried to get into your pants? I’d react even worse, thank god that every guy around here knows better than to mess with you”

That should’ve annoyed me even more, and I really wish it did. But how sure he was of himself, and how he was just straightforward about anything was one of his many traits that made him attractive.

“so you’re the reason why any time I’m near a guy he just vanishes like I was a ghost” all those times that I tried to approach any guy —even if it wasn’t with any flirting purposes— and they just left with stupid excuses made sense now, but before, I did wonder if I was the problem. “why did you-”

He cut me off right away, he still had that smirk on his lips, but his demeanor was more serious now as he slowly took a few steps closer, enough to rest his hands on the counter at either side of my hips. He backed down enough to be at eye level with me “I didn’t do anything, but they’re not stupid enough to try and flirt with you.”

Even if he looked calm on the surface, there were tiny details that just someone that has been watching for a while —as in, me— would notice, like how his jaw was clenched, like the mere thought of it made his blood boil. And hell, I loved it. I loved seeing his control slip away even if just for a second.

“oh, really now?” I leaned in slightly, suddenly feeling smug. “and why is it that they can’t get near me, Beau? I mean, I’m not taken” I didn’t directly say we’re casual, but the hint was clear.

And it got to him, I knew it by the way he held tighter onto the edge, his knuckles turning white, as if trying to ground himself.

“you know why” he grumbled, his tone thick with emotion.

Our eyes met again, and all the smugness from earlier melted away in that intense rush in my veins that pushed me to kiss him, or maybe slap him. Or both.

I was about to deflect his accusation with a dismissive comment but he cut me off before I could even open my mouth.

“Will you keep downplaying my feelings or are you finally admitting that I’m a goner for you?” he finally asked, his voice tinged with tiredness and a hint of fondness. “all those girls… are meaningless next to you.” I was stunned to say the least, Sasha would say ‘why does it surprise you? it was obvious’ and maybe it was, but hearing it straight from Beau’s mouth? it just hit different.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Words failed me.

He must’ve noticed that I was out of words because then he added; “You’re it for me.”

And something about the way he said it, how he expressed his feelings with such vulnerability and yearning made me shift into my own feet. Trying to ease the feeling that was burning inside me.

“and I’d be damned if you didn’t have me for the rest of your life… or even for one night, I don’t even care anymore I just… I lo-”

I didn’t let him finish, crashing my lips onto his in a desperate kiss. Trying to pour everything in it. Months of longing, and jealousy, and uncertainty, all for it to melt into this.

A kiss that was both sweet and heated, like we couldn’t decide which one to stick to.

His hands squeezed my waist gently, anchoring himself, almost as if he couldn’t believe this was happening.

My hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer —if that was possible— wanting to feel him in every inch of my body. Wanting to drown in him, his warmth, his scent, his everything.

Finally we broke apart just enough to catch our breath, because apparently, we needed it to live; but even so, he rested his forehead against mine, like he didn’t want to pull away fully. And honestly? I didn’t want him to. Now that he had confessed so openly, and—even if I didn’t say anything with words— I reciprocated, I felt this fierce need of him. Like I needed him as much as I needed oxygen.

Not like I’d willingly admit it, though. He already knew it, and he didn’t need an ego boost, so instead I let out a breathless chuckle. “gosh… you’ve always liked to get into my nerves”

He chuckled too, not annoyed or hurt, just… fond. Because he knew me enough to recognize the fondness behind my comment.

“I know you love me, sweetheart, you can drop the act” he said with that smug tone I was already used to.

I smiled with an eye-roll. In full contrast with my hands that were intertwined in the back of his neck, pulling him closer again: “yeah, unfortunately, I do” I whispered before kissing him again.

And just like that, the last few weeks of dumb excuses I’d made to convince myself I was okay with keeping things casual vanished, replaced by something real. Because I finally knew he wasn’t playing about me.

And because, for the first time, it didn’t feel right to keep pretending I didn’t love him with every fiber of my being.

Is this a safe place to say that I absolutely loved Beau without anyone telling me to not get attached?