The Bet (pt iii) | John Logan Text AU
summary: 5 months ago john logan made a bet, fell in love and conveniently forgot about it, but like all things in life, it caught up to him.
warnings: mentions of fighting, punching, blood, bets etc.
💌: first two slides are right after what happened in pt ii. All slides after that are based two weeks after pt ii.
This is the last part of The Bet y'all. Kinda sad that it's over :(
no womp womp this time gals :)
honestly if a man as hot as Logan was out here beating the shit out of one of his best friends to defend my honour, I WOULD FOLD SO QUICK Y'ALL
Summary: You ask small questions, he replies but how can he reply when you ask him what he was dreading the most? Where a breakdown gives him everything he was missing.
Pairing: john logan x bug!reader
Warnings: mentions of trauma, therapy, car accidents, memory loss, amnesia, panic attack(?), nervous breakdown
Word Count: 4.5k
💌: I am the biggest angst whore out there but sometimes I melt. Thank you to everyone who has been reading and commenting, for you all I have decided to end this series on a happy note! A few more parts to come 🤪
Over the next two weeks, the apartment eased into a quiet routine.
Logan slept in the main bedroom, while you moved into the guest room at the end of the hall, the one normally reserved for drunk friends and extra storage. It became your sanctuary, a blank slate where you didn't have to face four years of memories that you didn't remember.
Living with an acquaintance whom you remembered to have met twice, who knew every single detail about you, was a bizarre balancing act. But slowly, the peculiarity of the situation began to smooth out into a daily routine.
Every morning at 7:30 AM, you woke up to the quiet sounds of Logan and Moose moving around the apartment. Because of his dislocated shoulder and bound arm, simple tasks were a challenge for him, yet he refused to play the victim or accept any help from you. He always let you sleep in no matter how many times you asked him to wake you up.
By the time you walked out into the hallway, Moose switched up on Logan and ran to you, as you found them in the kitchen, Logan looking at you with a small smile. He was standing at the island, wearing his grey high school hockey hoodie and black sweatpants with one sleeve empty, tucked into his sling. With his good hand, he made coffee.
He never handed it directly to you, always setting your mug down on the counter with a quiet, ‘Morning’
‘Morning’, you replied, pulling up a stool on the opposite side of the island.
The first few days were filled with long, awkward silences, broken only by the hum of the refrigerator or Moose’s tail thumping against the floorboards as he waited for breakfast. But gradually, the silence turned comfortable. You began asking him questions, and Logan, ever patient, answered each one without pushing or overwhelming you with details. Then by brunch time, both of you had therapy, you for the amnesia and him for his shoulder.
By the first two weeks, you asked everything you wanted to know.
‘Do the kids actually listen to you?’ you asked one morning, watching him try to untie his sweatpants drawstrings with one hand.
Logan paused, as a chuckle escaped his mouth at your random question, a sound you were starting to look forward to every day. ‘They're sixteen, you idiot. Half the time they're trying to figure out how to score without tripping over their own feet, and the other half they're trying to impress girls in the bleachers. Why do you ask?’ As he went back to struggle with the strings.
‘Wait lemme help with that’ you said, reaching over before he could refuse as you continued talking, ‘You're like such a softie, it's hard to imagine you all strict and coachy’
Logan froze as you gently opened the drawstrings of his sweatpants, your fingers brushing against his thumb to untie the knot for him. He went completely still, his eyes dropping to your hands. You could feel his eyes on you as you realised what you did. For three seconds, neither of you moved.
When you pulled back, your heart was hammering against your ribs. Logan swallowed the lump in his throat, clearing his throat as he looked into your eyes. ‘Thanks’ he mumbled softly.
By the third week, you began rediscovering your own identity within the apartment.
You spent hours sitting in your room, staring at the wood architectural models and trace paper drawings scattered across the table. You didn't remember designing them, but when you explained it to Logan, you didn't even hesitate, it came to you naturally. The muscle memory was intact, even if the narrative was missing.
One evening, he walked past the open door of your room, holding an ice pack against his shoulder. He stopped in the doorway, leaning on the doorframe, watching you intently as you looked over old designs.
‘You always do that when you're focused’ he said quietly.
You looked up, ‘Do what?’
‘Chew on your lower lip and stick your tongue out when you read something that requires extra attention’ a nostalgic smile on his lips. ‘Even when we were in college and you kept doodling on napkins, you did the same thing’
You looked down at your traces, then back up at him, ‘Is it weird for you? Seeing me do things I don't even know I'm doing?’
Logan’s expression softened into something vulnerable, ‘Sometimes. But mostly, it just reminds me that you're still in there. Even if you don't remember the dates or the places, you are still you’
Before you could reply, he gave you a small nod and walked back out toward the living room to feed Moose. You wanted him to stay, you wanted to talk, and he thought you needed some space to process what he said.
The turning point came on a rainy Thursday night, a week later.
A severe thunderstorm had rolled over the city, the rain beating furiously against the glass windows. You were sitting on the living room rug, your back leaned against the sofa, watching TV while Moose lay sprawled across your feet.
Logan was sitting on the other end of the couch, his iPad resting on his knees as he reviewed game footage.
A crack of thunder echoed loudly outside, which led to Moose letting out a high-pitched yip, scrambling up, and immediately shifting his body right into the space between you and Logan’s legs, burying his wet nose under him. You both burst out laughing at the same time, an unforced laugh that cut through the tension of the room.
Logan looked down at you from the couch, and all you could notice was how handsome he looked under the warm light, the sharp angles of his jaw, the stubble along his cheek, and the unwavering kindness in his eyes, the small smile that always pops up when he sees you looking at him. For the first time since waking up in the hospital, you didn't feel afraid of the history you had lost. You felt something different towards him now, something new.
Without thinking, you rested your arm on the cushion near his knee, closing the gap that had separated you, as you looked up at him, leaning towards him.
‘Logan’
‘Yeah?’ his voice was barely a whisper as he looked into your eyes, sometimes you couldn't read him. You had no idea what was going on behind those eyes.
‘Can you tell me about the accident? I want to know what happened that day, what were we up to?’ you asked softly ‘If that’s okay with you? I don't want to intrude, like I know it was so hard for you with everything that happened’ you gestured towards yourself.
Logan went still, his hand pausing where it had been stroking Moose's ears. He looked at you and then closed his eyes for a few seconds before slowly bringing his gaze back to yours.
‘I- uh it's okay, I can talk about it, it’s fine’
It wasn’t fine, he knew that he would start bawling his eyes out the moment he talked about it. It had happened a few times, when he told Garrett, when he had to explain it to his therapist, and every night when he thought about it. He knew that he would have to tell you one day, and you had the right to know.
Still he continued, ‘We just spent the whole Sunday doing nothing, as we always did’ he said quietly. ‘I made a mess of pancakes, Moose ate raw pancake batter, we laughed, everyone came over for lunch. It was just a normal Sunday’
The guilt of not telling you about the ring resurfaced in his head, he didn't know how to tell you, and he was mainly scared. Scared that you would run, that it would be too much and you would leave him and he wouldn't be able to handle that. So he kept quiet about it, he didn't mention the wedding planning, he didn't mention any details.
He took a slow, deep breath, ‘We were driving back home around nine, it was raining super hard. You were half asleep in the passenger seat. You didn't even open your eyes, you just reached across the centre console, found my hand, and held it’
An ache formed in the centre of your chest as you listened, you had such a beautiful life before you forgot it all.
‘We were driving down the street,’ Logan continued, his voice dropping, ‘A driver ran a red light coming off 4th Street. He was speeding. I saw the headlights flash in front of us half a second before impact. I swerved as hard as I could but it-’ he inhaled a long breath, ‘it didn't help’
He swallowed, as you saw his hands starting to shake, ‘The force spun us around. My shoulder slammed into the door frame, and the airbag deployed. The last thing I remember before I blacked out was your fingers slipping out of mine’
Logan stopped. He closed his eyes for a few seconds as he tried to control his breathing, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the armrest to control his shaky hands. When he opened them again, they were filled with unshed tears, red-rimmed eyes clearly indicating that. He looked destroyed as if remembering what happened was hurting him physically.
‘I was out for I don't know how long, maybe two or three minutes,’ his voice began to tremble, a fragile sound from a man who usually felt as dependable as granite. ‘When I woke up, everything was shattered, there was so much glass, so much dust, and everything was dead silent except for the car horn blaring. My ears were ringing so hard that the sound of the horn felt like it was miles away’
He turned his face away toward the dark window, trying to hide his tears, but the crack in his composure was already wide open.
‘I looked over at you, bug, and I freaked the fuck out. You were slumped over toward the console. You weren't moving, god- your face was covered in blood from where your head hit the side window, and your skin, your skin looked so pale. So cold. You looked like you were dead’ Saying that out loud broke him, especially when you were looking at him with such compassion, the image of you in the car flashing before him.
A shuddering breath escaped his chest as the unbreakable wall he had built at the hospital, the strength he had maintained while sleeping on the hospital bed, while holding back his grief, while taking care of you with one arm without a single complaint, completely shattered right in front of you.
‘I lost my mind’ he choked out, a loud sob tearing through his throat. He covered his face with his good hand, his hands shaking uncontrollably. ‘My left arm was pinned, my shoulder popped out of its socket, and I was screaming your name, trying to reach you with one hand’
Tears spilt over his hand, dripping down his wrist. He was sobbing now, ugly, desperate cries that he couldn't hold back anymore.
‘I touched your hand, and it was so cold, I couldn't feel your pulse. I couldn't tell if you were breathing. I kept begging, begging for you to wake up, begging for you to be alive, begging god to not let you die in that fucking car next to me’
He pressed his palm hard against his eyes, his chest heaving as weeks of unbearable trauma broke through him all at once.
‘John’
You didn't think, you didn't hesitate as you pushed yourself up from the floorboard, sliding onto the sofa right next to him. You didn't care about the missing memories or the four lost years. You reached out with both hands and wrapped your arms around his neck and pulling his shaking frame against you in a tight hug.
He just melted into your sudden touch, leaning his weight into you, burying his face right into the crook of your neck. His good arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you so close you could feel his heart hammering against your ribs.
‘I thought I lost you, bug’ he sobbed, his hot tears soaking into the collar of your sweatshirt, ‘I thought I lost you before I could even tell you I loved you one last time’
‘I'm right here, John’ you whispered, your own eyes welling up with tears as your fingers ran through his hair. ‘John, look at me, I'm right here. You saved me’
‘I don't want to lose you, I don't want to live a life without you in it’
‘I’m here, I'm here. I'll always be here. You're not going to lose me, I promise’
He didn't pull away, he just held you as the rain cracked on the windows outside, clinging to you as if you were the only solid thing left in his world. You sat like that for how long, you didn't even realize as you both cried in each other's arms, no longer strangers living in the same house.
Logan’s breathing gradually evened out as he shifted slightly, suddenly aware of how tightly he was holding you. ‘I'm sorry,’ he murmured into your neck, his voice coming out horribly raspy. He made a move to gently pull back, his good hand uncurling from your waist as his instincts kicked back in. ‘I didn't mean to- I shouldn't have dumped all of that on you’
‘John, shut up’
Before he could pull away from you, you reached up, your fingers cupping his jaw. You guided his face up until his eyes were forced to meet yours.
‘Stop trying to protect me from your pain’ you whispered, your thumb brushing away a stray tear beneath his eye. ‘You've been holding your breath for three weeks. You don't have to apologize for bleeding when you're hurt’
Logan stared at you, his chest heaving as he looked at your face, not with the look of a man staring at a ghost, but with awe at the woman holding him right now.
‘I constantly feel like I'm going to scare you off. I kept thinking that if I tell you everything, one day you’ll think this is too much and leave’
‘I’m not leaving, John, ’ you said firmly ‘And I’m not scared of you, never of you’
He let out a long sigh as he rested his forehead against yours. His good hand came up to gently cover yours on his cheek, his eyes closed as if he was trying to savour this moment, as if he would get you like this again. You stayed like that on the sofa, held in each other's arms, TV running in the background without a sound as you sat here in comfortable silence.
The physical and emotional exhaustion caught up to him, and he fell asleep right there on the couch, his head resting in your lap, one hand holding onto you as you ran your good hand through his hair, almost petting him like Moose. You stayed awake for another hour watching his face relax into a calm expression as if he had let go of everything that troubled him, just happy to be back with you. For the first time since you walked out of that hospital, the tension in his stance was completely gone.
Sleeping with his messy hair against your knee, he didn't look like a grieving stranger. He just looked human and so so exhausted. Your fingers rested in his hair, slowly moving as you traced the shape of his jaw; your mind was in shambles, yet so happy.
For the past month, after the return from the hospital, you had started attending outpatient therapy sessions to deal with the overwhelming whiplash of traumatic amnesia. Your therapist, Dr Montgomery, had spent hours trying to help you process what she called ‘the ghost syndrome’, the suffocating guilt of living in a home built by a woman you didn't remember being, living with a man who looked at you like you were his whole world.
‘He’s too patient’ you blurted out during your session three days ago. ‘It’s unsettling. Nobody is this selfless. He’s been staying away from the guest room for weeks, walking on eggshells in his own house, and he hasn't shown a shred of resentment. Is it survivor's guilt because he was behind the wheel? Is he overcompensating? Or is he just putting on an act because he thinks I'm too broken to handle the truth?’
Dr Montgomery listened quietly before offering an observation, ‘When people are performing out of guilt, they look for gratitude. Is he looking for you to thank him, or is he just trying to keep you safe?’
You thought about the last few weeks. Any other man in his position might have been angry, or desperate, or pushed you to remember things you couldn't. Any other man might have guilted you into staying in his bed, or complained about the sleeping situation, or demanded comfort for his own broken heart.
But John Logan didn’t ask for a single thing.
He had woken up at 6:30 every morning, making sure you had coffee before he even touched his own. He had stepped back every time you felt crowded, read your anxiety before you even voiced it, and held back an ocean of grief so you wouldn't feel burdened by his pain. And when he finally broke, when he wept in your arms over the trauma of almost losing you, he didn't do it to manipulate you. He did it because he loved you, because he feared for your well-being. He was patient. He was gentle. He was just unselfishly good, too good to be true.
It wasn't a performance. It wasn't guilt.
A man performing out of obligation wouldn't memorize how you chew your lip when you're trying to focus. A man trying to play a role wouldn't sit in a hospital chair for four straight days with a dislocated shoulder just so you wouldn't wake up scared and alone in the dark. He didn't demand physical touch, he didn't guilt-trip you about your lost memory, and he didn't ask you to comfort him as he literally carried everything by himself until he couldn't contain it anymore. And then he apologised for sharing his side of the pain.
When he had broken down, when he sobbed into your neck about seeing your blood on the shattered glass and feeling your fingers slip out of his, he didn't ask for forgiveness. He had simply revealed how much he cared. He didn't love the idea of you from four years ago. He loved you, right here, right now, even broken and forgotten.
Looking down at his peaceful face, something settled into your chest.
‘Stop trying to live in her shadow, if your memories return, good but if they don't?’ Dr Montgomery's voice echoed in your head. ‘If you can’t remember the past, you have to decide if you want to choose him in the present’
You didn't need to hunt for lost memories anymore. You didn't want to feel like a ghost inhabiting someone else's life anymore. The past was a locked door, sure, but the man sleeping like a baby in your lap? He was real. And you couldn't help but become drawn to him.
If we don't have a past, you thought, smiling softly as you brushed a stray lock of dark hair from his forehead, then we'll just have to start from the beginning.
The next morning, you woke up to the apartment flooded with sunlight after the torrential downpour last night.
For the first time since coming home from the hospital, you were the one who woke up first. You carefully slipped your hand out of Logan's grip, adjusting the cushion under his head and the blanket over his shoulders while he remained asleep on the couch.
You walked into the kitchen, filled the kettle, measured the dark roast coffee grounds, and waited as the water boiled.
When Logan finally stirred at 8:30 AM, coffee was done. He sat up, wincing slightly as he adjusted his sling, rubbing his face with his right hand.
‘Morning, John’ your voice called out.
Logan looked up toward the kitchen island. You were leaning against the counter, wearing last night’s sweatshirt, holding out his two favourite ceramic mugs that he had buried at the back of the rack.
In your right hand was the blue cup: Property of Logan. The other was the pink one: Property of Logan's Favourite Person.
Logan stared at the mugs, then looked up at your face. And he smiled. God, he's so handsome, the bedhead suited him so well.
‘You made coffee’
‘I did, don't worry I remembered how to make coffee,’ you said, walking over to the couch. Instead of setting his mug on the side table, you leaned down and handed it directly to him. His fingers brushed yours, but neither of you flinched. Neither of you pulled away.
‘Thank you’ he mumbled, taking a slow sip. He looked up at you over the rim of the blue mug. ‘Did you sleep okay? I’m so sorry, bug, I fell asleep in your lap, I-’ his trail of rambling broken by your finger pressing against his mouth, ‘Shut up and drink your coffee coach, and rate it 1 to 10’ You made him blush.
Moose walked over, resting his chin on Logan's foot, begging for a scrap of attention. The awkward tension that had filled every interaction since the hospital was gone. In its place was a simple awareness of each other.
‘So’ you started, setting your mug down on the low coffee table ‘I have a question’
Logan raised an eyebrow, clearly amused, ‘You gonna make me cry again?’
‘That depends on how annoying you act today, but listen to me, okay? This is important’ That got him to shut up as he saw how serious you actually were.
‘I know we've lived together for three years, and I know everyone keeps telling me we've been a couple for four’ You paused before looking up into his eyes. ‘But right now? To me, you're just this ridiculously patient and handsome hockey coach who makes my coffee and takes care of our dog’
‘Is that so?’ he blushed again as you realised this was your favourite activity from now on, making him blush.
‘It is’ you said, leaning forward and resting your elbows on your knees, a tiny smile playing on your lips. ‘You seem like a pretty great guy. Which is why I think it's only fair that you take me on a first date’
Silence fell over the living room. Logan stared at you, his mouth wide open in shock, as if his brain was struggling to process what you said.
‘A first date?’ he repeated, questioned.
‘Yes. A first date,’ you said firmly, ‘No trying to recreate the past. Just you, me, and whatever we decide to do today. I want to get to know you, John Logan’
For three long seconds, Logan didn't say anything. Then, slowly, a loud laugh broke from his chest, like what you said had brought the light back in his eyes. It was the first time you had heard him laugh like that, and the sound made your heart do a flip.
‘What's so funny?’ you asked, fighting a grin.
‘Nothing’ Logan said, wiping his eye with the back of his hand, his smile wide and breathtaking. ‘It's just that I haven't been asked out on a first date in four years. I'm a little rusty, y’know’
‘Well, you better shake off the rust, Coach’ you teased. ‘You've got three hours to figure out a plan. Pick me up at noon’
‘We live in the same apartment’ he called after you as you walked down the hallway toward the guest room. You paused at the doorway.
‘Then knock on my door at twelve sharp, Johnny boy and don't be late’
The moment the door to your room clicked shut, the cool and collected composure Logan had been holding together crumbled into unadulterated chaos. He sat frozen on the couch for how long, staring down the hallway like he was waiting for someone to jump out and tell him that he hallucinated the entire conversation.
Then, a smile broke across his face. A laugh bubbled out of his chest, completely helpless against the wave of relief washing over him.
Moose let out a low huff, resting his chin right back on Logan's feet, his brown eyes staring up at him with mild doggy confusion.
Logan dropped his coffee mug onto the side table and immediately leaned down, using his good arm to pull Moose’s head right into his chest. He threw his arm around the dog, ruffling his floppy ears with aggressive affection.
‘Did you hear that, Moose?’ Logan whispered, his voice unable to hide the excitement he hadn't felt in four years. ‘Did you hear her? She called me handsome. Me’
‘Your mom asked me to take her out on a first date’
Logan fell back against the couch cushions, staring up at the ceiling, still grinning like an absolute idiot with Moose still on him. She asked me out.
She didn't remember Malones. She didn't remember the anniversary trips, the apartment lease, or the engagement ring sitting at the bottom of his closet drawer. But she had looked at him, bruised, broken-shouldered, exhausted, messy-haired John Logan, and decided she wanted to know him anyway.
He felt warm as her words replayed in his head: You seem like a pretty great guy.
‘You're a genius, Logan’ He bit down on his lower lip to stop himself from laughing out loud again like a madman.
Then, reality hit him like a heavy body-check against the rink glass as his eyes shot to the wall clock.
9:14 AM.
‘Holy shit’ he gasped, his smile instantly morphing into panic. He pulled his phone out of his sweatpants pocket as he opened a text thread.
Logan: Garrett. Come over. Emergency.
Garrett: What happened??? Is she okay? Are you at the hospital??
Logan: No. She asked me out.
Garrett: She what?
Logan: She asked me on a first date, at noon, TODAY. I need you to come over and help me get a shirt on over this fucking sling, and I need you to drive us because I can't drive one-handed.
Garrett: Are you serious right now???
Logan: GARRETT COME OVER RIGHT NOW I HAVE LESS THAN THREE HOURS AND I HAVE NO CLUE WHAT TO DO.
Logan tossed his phone onto the cushion, pushing himself off the couch with a newfound surge of energy, immediately regretting the move as his shoulder twitched.
One thing was for sure: he was going to give her the best damn first date of her life.
I heard y'all, stay blessed but cautious you never know when the angst might attack 😈
Taglist: @elite4cekalyma @abominablesnowman24 @ifeelsthisway @twinkieam @we1rdth0ughts @duruxoxo @wintermoonly @stilesweasley2406 @kmc1989 @charmiee20 @quietobserverquake @saltyfriendsaladbandit @sugurplumprincess @emcybogi56-blog @papichulomacy @clarkbarnes @pogueprincesa @emcybogi55-blog @pperpetual @missmaddyline @slut-taylorsversionnn @thatsnotaddy @mblovestaylor @leilareads58 @fromasgardandback @undercoverbatwoman
just read something and it made logan seem like a fucking master manipulator and it's putting thoughts in my toxic head
i wanna write a toxic situationship so bad that it shakes me to my core 😩
LOOK AT HIM
tell me he doesn't know ball like?!??????!? (I know he's like admiring Hannah here or whatever but this gif is giving such a manipulator smile, like he knows what will make the other person bend)
He would RUIN someone so bad and it's making me wanna 🤸🏻♀️🕳️
I haven't even finished writing the alpha!logan fic (it's at 12k words I think)
please do not put thoughts in my head you mf
The Bet (pt ii) | John Logan Text AU
summary- 5 months ago john logan made a bet, fell in love and conveniently forgot about it, but like all things in life, it caught up to him.
warnings- insecurities, betting, hurt, the reader calls herself fat, just sad y'all.
💌: when I tell you that this hit too close to home
womp womp womp
Hello my brother's in christ 🎀
I really want to do the kinktober thing and i have a few ideas 🤤 BUT before I make my own list, I wanted to ask you guys if y'all want a specific situation, kink or any prompt that you'd like me to write 🤪
Sooooo, send me your requests, if you want to (please do) and I'll start working on it so that October goes scot free with me actually posting on time.
(also the people who might not wanna say their kinky thoughts publicly, y'all can just send me an ask on the profile or send a dm)
30 days, 30 prompts
Here we go, saddle up gals 🤤
(I wanna chomp the fuck out of those biceps, fucking hell)
Summary: Coming back home to Moose was the easy part, coming back home to someone you didn't recognise was not. At least you had John.
Pairing: john logan x bug!reader
Warnings: panic, triggering spaces, homecoming but nothing is familiar.
Word Count: 4k
💌: they're making progress, still heartbreaking tho. I'm liking the direction this is taking but not sure where it'll end. That's a problem for later tho, enjoyyyy xoxo
You were in the hospital for the next four days. And for those four days, John Logan was curled awkwardly in the sleeper chair beside your bed. Despite his injuries, despite not getting any sleep at all, day and night, he was there. Your friends had asked him multiple times to take a break, unbeknownst to you, but he kept declining their offers. Every time your mom asked him to go home, he declined. Surviving on bits of food that your mom made him, always leaving most of it for you, but he was always there, no matter what, no matter what condition he was in.
Logan looked like he had been run through the mill. His dislocated shoulder was bound tight in a blue sling, his hair was a ruined mess, and his eyes were so bloodshot they looked bruised. Half the time, he was sitting in the armchair by the window, his broad shoulders hunched forward in exhaustion, hand in his hair, worry practically radiating off him in waves.
As the head hockey coach for the local high school team, he was used to taking hits and pushing through pain, but the physical ache in his shoulder was nothing compared to the absolute wreck his mind was. He couldn't put his mind to rest, even after consuming a concerning amount of painkillers just to get some sleep, but sleep rarely came. His mind became his greatest enemy, always full of outrageous and quite frankly impossible thoughts, but now Logan didn't consider anything impossible. He thought you forgetting him was impossible, but you did. He spent a good part of his day with one question on his mind, What if you never remember?
You could physically see him thinking, his eyebrows furrowed as he had a devastating expression on his face.
Every time you so much as shifted on the hospital mattress, his whole body twitched, his good hand gripping the armrest as if preparing to jump up. He was always ready, for what? He didn't know but he was ready.
Garrett was equally present there too, sitting silently in the corner with three empty paper coffee cups stacked on the floor by his boots. He had been an absolute rock for the last twenty-four hours, handling everything that Logan wasn't able to: the police reports from the crash, taking Logan’s phone to handle calls from the high school athletic department, rescheduling team practices to his substitute, telling frantic friends and relatives that you both were stable, communicate with the ones visiting, and making sure Logan actually drank water and ate something. He was playing the role of the ultimate best friend, carrying the weight of the entire world on his shoulders so Logan wouldn't have to leave the room, leave you.
One tiny shift of your blanket and his head lifted immediately. ‘You okay?’
His voice was so rough that it sounded painful, it made you frown, immediately regretting your decision as your face and head started throbbing. ‘Did you sleep at all?’
A sheepish smile tugged weakly at one corner of his mouth. ‘Yeah, yeah, don't worry about me’ liar, even you knew that.
From somewhere behind him came a snort, ‘Bullshit’ Of course, Garrett. You were now used to the routine, every morning you found Logan in the same spot, slouched and tired, trying to escape the thoughts that plague his mind as Garrett would come bearing food from your mom for him, as you had to consume the disgusting hospital food. Still, Logan being Logan would feed you most of it, keeping very little for himself despite the threats and protests made by you and Garrett.
‘You look terrible,’ you murmured, your voice raspy from sleeping with your mouth open, as Logan blinked, his tired gaze slowly rising to meet yours. A faint, heartbreakingly soft flicker of a smile touched his lips, never reaching his eyes.
‘I've had better days,’ he admitted. ‘How’s your head?’
‘Throbbing,’ you said, reaching up to touch the heavy bandage over your temple. You looked at him carefully, watching the way he kept a rigid, painful distance, as if he were afraid that getting too close might break whatever fragile reality you were both living in.
‘You've been asleep for like six hours,’ Garrett continued, pointing the cup toward Logan. ‘He checked if you were breathing approximately every twelve minutes’
‘I did not, don't listen to him. He is a pathological liar’
‘Dude’, Garrett raised an eyebrow, ‘You were counting’
‘Traitor, you really have no filter, G.’
‘You've known that for seven years now’
A tiny laugh escaped you as both men turned to look at you instantly, they looked like two bickering 15 year old siblings. You saw Logan's entire expression soften as if he had been waiting for you to express any emotion other than pain and hurt. You looked up at him smiling as he matched your smile back.
Over the next two days, those quiet, small conversations became your routine. Logan never left. He slept in fits and starts in that uncomfortable sleeper chair, refusing to go home even when Garrett offered to take him back for a shower promising that he would return him back to your room in record time but John was a no go. He showered in the hospital, almost crying from the pain when he had to change his clothes, never complaining once, never expressing that he was hurting too.
The two of you had small conversations in the lull between nurse shifts and doctor rounds.
You asked small things about your life, what you did for work, he proudly reminded you that you were a licensed architect, showing you drawings on your phone that blew your mind.
What he did, coaching the high school hockey team, which explained his physical build and stubbornness. He also played in the NHL before his early retirement due to an injury, his knee isn't built for the NHL violence anymore.
What your favorite food was, anything spicy that you would inevitably regret later but repeat the same order again and again.
Who took out the trash, him, always.
He told you everything you asked and everything you needed to know. He told you about your friends, what they were up to now, he told you about the friends you've made in the past few years (a few of them visited and you were hella confused).
He told you about Moose, your horrible menace of a child as he had called him. You could see how much he loved him by the way his eyes lit up talking about him. What you didn't know was anyone who knew the two of you would've said the same, anyone could see how much he loved you by the way his eyes lit up talking about you.
He answered everything with careful patience, shielding you from the sheer magnitude of his grief whenever you couldn't remember a detail he held dear, not wanting to make you feel even worse than you already did.
Garrett kept the world moving in the background. He brought fresh clothes, handled the medical insurance forms, updated Hannah as she visited occasionally, and quietly brought Logan sandwiches that he barely touched.
You found out that Garrett and Hannah were now married, you and Logan were the maid of honour and best man. You cried when you realized that you didn't even remember that as Hannah held you in her arms and Logan watched helplessly.
By Friday afternoon, the doctor signed the discharge papers.
The room grew tense when your mother arrived, her arms full of blankets and overnight bags. Because your and Logan’s apartment was only ten minutes from the city hospital, she had been staying there the last few days to take care of Moose, keeping the beagle fed and walked while Logan stayed glued to your bedside.
‘You're coming back home with me,’ your mother said firmly, smoothing down your cardigan as she packed up your belongings. ‘I’ve taken care of Moose at your place these past few days, but now that you're out, it's better if you come back to my house. The house is familiar territory for you, you'll be comfortable. Momma will cook for you, keep you comfortable. It's better if you're in a place you actually remember, you won’t get overwhelmed by everything’
Logan stood near the window, entirely silent. He didn't argue. He didn't push. He just looked at you, his hazel eyes holding an exhausting vulnerability, waiting for your choice.
You looked at your mother, then looked over at Logan. You didn't remember his touch, his voice, or the four years you had shared. But looking at him, seeing the devotion carved into his face, the way he had spent four days guarding your bed despite his own broken body, a stubborn curiosity stirred in your chest. You could see how much your mom adored Logan, she loved him and it was so clear by how much she had trusted him around you the past week in the hospital, she looked at him the same way she looked at you, like he was as much of a son to her as you were daughter.
‘What do you think, Logan?’ His eyes met yours.
‘I think,’ he paused, ‘whatever makes you feel the safest’
‘You don't want me to come home?’ The question clearly caught him off guard, it was such a you thing to say that he almost laughed. He remembered every time you asked him a question like that and used his own words against him to tease him.
‘What? I want you wherever you'll heal, bug’
A beat. Bug? What does that mean?
‘I’m sorry, I- I shouldn't have said that, but if you want to stay with your mum you can, I'll be alright with that too’ Another pause, ‘I'll visit every day’
No pressure. No guilt. No pleading. Just unconditional acceptance.
And somehow that hurt your heart more than if he had begged for you to stay. You didn't want to retreat into the safety of college memories. You wanted to know who you were now, the architect, the partner, the woman who chose him. You wanted to know him, the real him.
‘I'm going to the apartment with Logan,’ you said quietly, your decision firm and majorly directed towards your mom.
Your mother opened her mouth to object, but seeing the quiet resolve in your eyes, she let out a slow sigh and nodded, she trusted Logan with your life, and she knew he would keep you safe. She also knew that you would choose to go back with him no matter the circumstances, she just wanted to be sure that you wanted to. Logan let out a slow breath, his broad shoulders visibly dropping an inch as he relaxed.
Was he scared that you would choose to go with your mom? The answer was yes.
Logan's heart was literally beating out of his chest, all the emotions he held threatening to spill at the thought of being away from you. He couldn't imagine walking into your apartment alone without you, how would he sleep without knowing if you were okay or not? What would he tell Moose- where his mom was? How would he look at the apartment the same way without you there? You had picked that apartment and made it a home. It was all your hardwork as Logan spent all his time smooching your pretty face off instead of making any decisions. He knew you loved decorating that apartment. It was home, your home.
Before Logan could spiral completely, he heard you say that you would stay with him and he completely broke. He tried to control the tears forming in his eyes as he took a deep breath relaxing his rigid stature a bit. He had to turn around so you wouldn't see him wiping his tears off, faking a coughing fit. Garrett swooped in at the correct time, changing the direction of the conversation.
‘Alright,’ Garrett said, stepping forward with a set of car keys, breaking Logan out of his scary thoughts. ‘Cars waiting downstairs, and I'm driving you guys home,’ he said as he took hold of both your bags and left out the door.
Your mom hugged you for so long, not wanting to leave. She then hugged Logan before you both got into the car, whispering in his ear as he hugged her back with such care and love, it made you want to cry.
Here was a man who was such a big part of your life, ingrained in every crevice, who loved you so hard that anyone could see, and you remembered nothing about him, you knew nothing about him.
The drive to the apartment was surreal. Garrett drove with ease, throwing occasional lighthearted remarks over his shoulder to keep the air from turning too heavy, while Logan sat in the front passenger seat, keeping his eyes on the road, closing his eyes as if every movement was causing him difficulty.
You sat in the back, staring out the window as the city blurred past, mostly staring at Logan wince and taking sharp breaths. This wasn't new for you, he had been doing this the last four days too, always hiding behind a smile, but this time it looked like sitting in the car was bringing back memories, wincing from remembering rather than pain. You knew the accident took a huge toll on him, anyone with eyes could see that, but he tried so hard to pretend that he was okay. He kept holding himself together for your sake, you wanted to talk to him about it, but how do you talk about something you don't even remember?
You were broken out of your thoughts as Garrett finally pulled up to a red brick building on a quiet, tree lined street, your heart doing a nervous flip started beating a lot faster. Garrett parked the car, turned around, and giving you a gentle nod.
‘I'll bring the bags up in a second,’ Garrett said softly. ‘You two go on ahead’
Logan opened his door with his good arm, stepping out into the cool afternoon air. He came around to open your door, extending a hand to help you out, instinctively, but then he hesitated. His hand hovered awkwardly between helping you out and respecting your space.
‘Sorry, you probably don't-’ His words stuck in his throat as you placed your hand in his, he froze only for a second, then his fingers curled gently around yours, impossibly careful, as though you were something precious that might disappear if he held on too tightly. He helped you out slowly, neither of you letting go. His hand felt so perfect in yours, it felt as if they were meant to fit together. Instead of looking at the building, you looked at him as he turned to look at you, smiling as he saw you his smile faltered, the outside light made your bruises look so much worse than the hospital, it felt like a punch to the gut.
‘Ready?’ Logan asked, his voice steady as you took a deep breath, as he looked up at the warm windows of the building where Moose was likely waiting.
‘Ready’
The moment you entered the house, it smelled like vanilla, cedarwood, and the faint, unmistakable scent of a dog. Before your shoes were even off, a blur of fur came skidding around the corner as Moose's floppy ears bounced with every frantic step, his nails scratching against the hardwood floor in a desperate rush to reach you. A loud, delightful bark as he launched himself between the two of you, unable to decide who deserved his attention first.
He darted to Logan, stretching up onto his hind legs to nose insistently at his free hand before immediately spinning back to you, planting his front paws against your thighs and burying his nose between your knees. Then he was back at Logan again, weaving excited circles around your legs, whining, sniffing, and wagging so hard his entire body was shaking. It made you laugh, he was so cute!
‘Moose, easy. Easy, buddy,’ Logan laughed, clearly very happy to see his baby, the sound breaking into a note of genuine panic as the beagle bounced toward you again. He caught Moose by the harness with his uninjured hand, groaning a little as he reeled him in before he could completely pull you down with him, scratching absentmindedly behind his ears. ‘Sorry,’ he said, looking up at you with an apologetic smile. ‘Your mom told me he has been driving her insane all week. He doesn't understand y’know, just knows both of us are finally home’ That made your heart lurch, such a beautiful sight it was to witness, yet you felt hollow inside, you couldn't even recognise your own dog. You felt your eyes brim up with tears, you didn't remember him.
As you stood frozen in the small foyer, Moose’s wide brown eyes were filled with so much hope as he kept whining for your attention, clearly done with his dad. Slowly, your knees gave out, and you sank to the floorboards to pet him, there is only so much cuteness a person can resist. Your hands were trembling as your fingers buried into the dense, soft fur behind his ears. Moose let out a long sigh, collapsing his entire weight against your side, as if he had been waiting for this his whole life. It reminded you of Logan when you had woken up from the nap, when you met him for the first time, technically speaking. It made you giggle. ‘Moose, hi,’ you whispered as tears fell freely from your eyes.
The name felt strange on your tongue. ‘Hi baby’
Logan was taking in the scene before him; hearing you call Moose baby made him falter. You used to call him baby, well, Moose too, oh how he wanted to hear you call him baby again.
‘He slept by the front door the night of the accident,’ Logan said quietly, standing by the counter, ‘Your mom said he barely touched his food until she brought down one of your hoodies from the bedroom’ You didn't know what to reply to that, what were you supposed to say to that. You just looked up at Logan with your eyes red, full of tears as he crouched down and sat with you groaning as his ribs kept protesting. ‘It‘s okay if you don't remember him, he understands. I understand and I'm here okay? Please don't cry bug’ You could only nod as he held your hand in his, helping you stand up.
You stood up and finally looked around the living space. It was bathed in the warm light of the late afternoon sun. To anyone else, it was a beautiful house, cosy, immaculate, curated with care, you could see how much effort past you and Logan put in to decorate this place.
To you, it felt strange, you had lived here for the last three years, but nothing felt familiar, not even Moose. On the side wall hung a beige pin board full of pictures, stickers, tags, little handwritten notes. You walked closer, running your thumb over the corner of one frame.
In one photo, you were wearing a thick red beanie, laughing so hard your eyes were squeezed shut while Logan kissed your cheek against a backdrop of frozen lake.
There were so many photos of your friends, people you'd didn't recognise, baby photos of Moose.
In another, you were asleep on a couch, Moose curled on your legs, while a half-eaten pizza box sat on the floor.
There was one where Logan was asleep on the couch with his head in your lap, your hands in his hair as you looked down at him fondly. Looking at the pictures, everything somehow suddenly felt real.
This was real, the house, the dog, Logan.
You stared at the girl in those pictures. She looked blissfully happy. She looked deeply and comfortably in love.
‘Is that really me? I lived here?’ you asked, turning around slowly.
Logan looked at you, his eyes completely exposing his feelings about the question, carrying a bottomless sadness that he was trying so hard to hide. How was he supposed to answer that? He never thought he would hear those words come out of your mouth, never thought he would have to show you the whole house again, a house you knew like the back of your hand, each and every crevice of it detailed by you.
‘Yeah,’ he murmured. ‘For three years. We got this place after we graduated’
‘We?’
He swallowed the lump in his throat, ‘Yeah, you and I, together’ You both kept standing there, staring at the board, feeling from the reality of the situation you were in.
‘Hey, I got the bags’
God bless Garrett, Logan thought he would start crying in front of you, but Garrett saved the day once again as he entered, bringing up the rest of the bags, quietly setting them by the kitchen counter. He offered Logan a brief, firm pat on his good shoulder, giving you a gentle smile, ‘I'm a phone call away, okay? Both of you. So is everyone else, okay?’ Logan hugged him, ‘Thank you, G’
‘Shut up and don't get sappy on me big boy. The gang is going to come by in a few days okay? Now get some rest, both of you’
Then he slipped back out, closing the door softly behind him.
The silence that settled over the apartment was thick and heavy; you could hear a pin drop. Even Moose sat quietly. You resumed walking around as you walked down the short hallway toward the two rooms in the back. One of the doors was halfway open as you pushed it, stepping into the master bedroom.
In the centre of the room sat a large queen bed with a bunch of jellycats, squishies and soft toys, a plush beige comforter at the foot of the bed. But the space was visibly split into two lives woven together. On the right nightstand sat a stack of hockey strategy books, a pair of black-rimmed reading glasses in a wooden tray. On the left nightstand there was a half-used bottle of lavender lotion, a small dish overflowing with silver rings, and a notebook with a pen clipped to the cover. Above the headboard hung a string of polaroids. The walls were covered with various designs and pictures, Moose's bed sat at the foot of the bed with toys spread all around it.
Fuck
Your heart gave a sharp, violent thud against your ribs. Panic clawed at your throat as the reality of the situation almost made you lose your footing.
One bed. One comforter. The history, the physical intimacy, the pure exposure of sleeping next to a man who you couldn't even remember, whose touch you couldn't remember, made your chest tighten until you could barely breathe. You took a sharp step back into the hallway.
Logan was there in an instant, but he didn't crowd you. He stopped two full paces away, his hands slightly raised in an open, non-threatening gesture. He saw your wide eyes, your rigid shoulders, the shallow rise and fall of your chest. He read you effortlessly, knowing your boundaries before you even voiced them.
‘You're okay, hey, look at me,’ as your wide eyes met his.
Without saying a word, Logan walked past you into the bedroom. He didn't look at you. He simply used his good hand to grab the handle of the door, shutting it close.
‘You don't have to go in there, okay?’
You watched him, your voice cracking. ‘Logan, I don't think I can sleep in here’
Logan paused, turning his head to meet your eyes. The gentleness in his expression was devastating.
‘That's okay,’ he said, his voice steady, soft, and entirely devoid of pressure. ‘You don't have to, we can do whatever you want, okay?’
‘I'm so sorry, I just-’ You looked as if you were going to cry, he wanted to hug you, hold your hand, comfort you.
‘Hey. Don't,’ he interrupted gently, walking towards you slowly, ‘You don't ever have to apologise for being overwhelmed. This is your home. You sleep where you feel safe. We have a guest bedroom, you can check that if you want to, okay?’
He opened the doors of the other room, which was less overwhelming to look at. It was a plain room, no pictures, no memories you didn't remember. Only a frame on the bedside table that was out facing down.
‘Take a look around, see if you like it. If not, we can go to your mom's. I'll drop her a text, I can drive you there, your mom definitely will be happy’
‘No- No, this is okay, I like it’ you were shaking as you said that.
‘You sure? Don't hesitate, please, I want you to be at ease, b-’
‘I'll stay in the guest room’ He nodded, still looking unsure of your answer.
‘You know you don't have to prove anything, right? You can lock the door if that helps’ He half repeated Garrett's words.
‘I'm not going to lock you out of your own room’ you mumbled, looking down at your socks.
‘You can if you need to,’ he replied softly, looking at you again with that damn look that made your eyes sting.
‘I just want you to feel safe in your own head again. Whatever that takes’
‘I know, John.’ He let out a small breath he was holding, smiling against his will.
Something about him was so comforting, you felt so calm and centred hearing him talk. It was like he was an anchor, keeping you stable.
‘Get some rest, you must be tired with all the-’ he gestured towards the house with his hands. He didn't know how to complete that sentence.
You didn't lie down right away. Instead, you followed him into the kitchen as he walked over to the kitchen. Using his good hand, he struggled to open a tin of dog food and fed Moose. It was such a domestic thing to watch, he kept the apartment's normal routine intact so things felt grounded.
You stood near the hallway, holding yourself, watching him navigate the kitchen with one arm, he looked like the winter soldier without the metal arm and definitely less intimidating. He looked at you and caught you staring which made you a little embarrassed. ‘You want something to eat? I can whip up a really good grilled cheese sandwich’
‘Only if I can help? If we pool our remaining functional hands, we technically make one fully operational human being’ you laughed making the best out of the situation.
‘So, walk me through the logistics. How do you propose to make a grilled cheese sandwich when neither of us can press down on the spatula with two hands?’
‘Okay Mr. Hockey coach, I didn't think that far to be honest and to be fair, I am concussed’
‘Just shut up, sit on the couch and let me make you a sandwich’ he laughed as he shooed you and moose out of the kitchen with a spatula. As you sat on the couch watching him struggle to make you a sandwich, he smiled at you everytime he caught your eye, immediately putting you at ease.
You realized then, that while you might not remember a single detail of the life you built in this apartment, John Logan was going to spend every single day making sure you felt completely safe, even if it meant standing on the outside of his own heart.
FUCKKKKKKK
Taglist- @elite4cekalyma @abominablesnowman24 @ifeelsthisway @twinkieam @we1rdth0ughts @duruxoxo @wintermoonly @stilesweasley2406 @kmc1989 @charmiee20 @quietobserverquake @saltyfriendsaladbandit @sugurplumprincess @emcybogi56-blog @papichulomacy @clarkbarnes @pogueprincesa @emcybogi55-blog @pperpetual @missmaddyline @slut-taylorsversionnn @thatsnotaddy @mblovestaylor
Okay so I have a fic idea hear me out
Logan and the reader are put in an arranged marriage arrangement, they're both family friends. So they decide to make the best of it as they are forced to live together through college. A year in, they fight like they blow up on each other and then shit goes down the hill.
I wanna make it cliche and put in some sort of a major injury or something that brings them back together 😈😈😈😈
Should I do it?
Or is it too cliche lmk gals thank u.
Might put some smut in there, logan might do some BAD BAD things we'll see 🤪
Hi Tara !
I was just wondering what’s the meaning of lovie!reader ?
hiii!
Babe it's like how y/n!reader is used when the reader is addressed as y/n. So in lovie!reader, the reader will be addressed as lovie and y/n will not be used.
I personally feel like using y/n kinda breaks the flow of reading for me so I thought I'd switch it up a bit.
Hope this helps, i don't know how to explain it better 😭