[foreverromanticising]

bloody kisses - john logan

summary; logan doesn't fight, not until someone brings your name up which might actually be the best thing for both of you

notes; john logan x fem!reader, reader is sooo mad at him but not reallyyyyy, fuck u adam! no use of y/n! 3.9k words! angsty and fluffy and cute ugh requests for john logan are alwayyyys open! (ps this might be rlly bad im very rusty but im working through requests rn) (not proof read oops)

based off of @incrediblylegendaryvenom request!

John Logan would never admit it but he was a lover, not a fighter. He tried his very hardest to mediate any disagreements in the hockey house, hating the tension that would loom over the boys like a thunder cloud approaching on a summer’s day. He never let frustration boil into anger. He spoke up for himself, he communicated his feelings, and he made a conscious effort to keep calm. He wasn’t an angry guy, and he refused to ever let you see him as such. 

You could only describe him as anything but angry; he was as warm as the sun around you. You had known him since your first year at Briar, and it felt as though something had clicked into place the day he came into your life. You knew him inside and out, through the ups and downs of his hockey career, through the hard days that followed his family. Despite being there for each other through the highs and lows, your everyday with John Logan was your favourite version the boy. 

Your version of John was quieter than what everyone else knew. Maybe he had some hot headed moments, you were sure he had probably lost his temper once or twice in a locker room, but never around you. You watched him on the ice, anger spilling out into the game, but he never let it leave the rink. You knew John for the love that brewed inside his heart, for the thoughtfulness that came to him like second nature. 

He was a travel mug full of hot cocoa by the side of the rink; he was a blanket draped over your shoulders when your eyes had fallen shut beside him on the coach; he was the early morning sun, shining through your thin curtains, waking you up as he tried to silently leave your bedroom for an early practice; he was the line between friendship and something more, pushing it further every time he saw you, but never daring to cross it. He was all things soft and careful, quiet but confident in how well he knew you. 

He was a hand on your waist, soft to the touch, as he guided you through the hockey house house. Sure, you knew your way around as thought it was your own home, but he liked to keep an eye on you, that wasn’t a crime. You weren’t exactly in any position to complain, relaxing into the feeling of his calloused fingertips dancing along the bare skin of your waist. 

“What you drinking?” John’s lips brushed the shell of your ear, voice loud enough for you to hear over the blaring music and incessant chatter.

“Tequila?” You titled your head up with a smile dancing across your face, knowing what he had to say before he even opened his mouth to speak.

“You gotta find another drink,” The words left his lips despite his arm reaching across the kitchen counter to grab one of the various bottles of tequila for you, mixing it with whatever else he could find in a red solo cup for you. “A beer or somethin’, tequila can’t be your casual drink.” 

Over the years, he had been there for you through every drunken night and bad decision, holding your hair back in the bathroom across from his bedroom. With the smell of tequila strong on your lips and a haze swimming through your eyes, he would tuck you into his bed with painkillers already there on his bedside table for the next morning. 

“Says who?” You grabbed a second up, pouring the same tequila mixture for him. “It’s fun.”

“It’s messy.” He laughed as he took the cup from your hands, fingers brushing over yours as he simply accepted tequila being his drink of choice for the night.

“Maybe for you.” You let the tequila burn the back of your throat, savouring the taste before spinning on your heel, headed in the direction of Hannah as you caught sight of the back of her head. 

Logan stayed put in the kitchen, leaning against the countertop as a revolving door of his friends passed through the room, a shot in their hands soon making their way to his. Garrett stayed to chat, the pair sinking a beer or two as they discussed strategies for the next team they were going to play, what flowers Garrett should pick up for Hannah, and if Logan was ever going to open his mouth to tell you how he really felt.

“It’s risky, man,” Logan kissed his teeth before throwing back another shot of tequila, passed to him by a smiling Dean as he overheard the conversation between the boys. “I don’t wanna throw away everything we’ve got.”

“You’re not throwing it away, Logan,” Garrett shook his head, unable to understand Logan’s thought process. “She’s a risk that’s worth taking.” 

Logan ignored his friend, having had this same conversation at least once a week for the last few months, and instead let his eyes find you in the living room; your eyes looking over the shoulder of the man you were talking to, only to meet John’s across the room. You waved your fingers in his direction before turning your attention back to the man you were talking to but it was enough to have his heart fluttering more than usual, whether that be the tequila or simply the affect you had on him, he couldn’t be sure. 

“Have another drink and go talk to someone else, quit starin’ at her unless you’re gonna talk to her about this.” Dean intercepted the boy’s conversation once again, a red solo cup in his hand that he soon pushed into Logan’s grip.

And so he did. Logan didn’t think twice and he choked back some sort of vodka mixture, ignoring the way the room started to spin with every step he took. He doesn’t think too much as he ends up sucked into a conversation with Beau and Allie, nodding along mindlessly as he pretends to listen to what plays the theatre department will be producing in the next semester. He tries to listen, he really does, but his limbs feel weighted and his eyelids are beginning to drop. 

If you were nearby, you would drag him to bed, knowing he’d gone past his limit once the tiredness became unshakable. 

Through squinted eyes, he found you leaning back against the kitchen counter, still laughing along with the guy you had spent the whole night with. Selfishly, John wondered how rude it would be to interrupt you, to saunter over and beg you to follow him to bed, craving the warmth that flooded him when you fell asleep beside him. However, he wasn’t a selfish person, so he refrained from bombarding you as such. Instead, he wandered over, paying careful attention to every step he took as his boots dragged along the floorboards, wary not to trip.

“Johnny, hi!” Your face lit up as he appeared beside you, his arm sliding around your waist to pull you close to him - maybe he was a little selfish, wanting to keep you close. “I can’t believe you’re empty handed.” You slipped out from under his touch, missing the frown that dared to play at his lips as he already missed the feeling of your body next to his.”

“Hey man, I’m Adam,” The man who had spent his whole night orbiting around you offered his hand out to Logan, ready to shake with a disarming smile plastered across his face. “She’s a pretty thing, isn’t she?”

“Y-yeah, yeah, you’re-” Logan started to speak, eyebrows scrunched together as he struggled to truly comprehend what he was hearing. He knew you were pretty, he’d known that from the very first day you two had met, but he kept that to himself. He kept quiet about how pretty he found the ends of your hair, the flutter of your eyelashes, and the corners of your mouth when you tried to fight a life. 

He would be lying if he said his stomach didn’t drop at hearing someone else thought of you in the same way.

“So, you tapped that yet?” Adam cut Logan off, that same grin covering his face, daring Logan to bring up the drinks from the night as his stomach turned. “You’re a fucking idiot if you haven’t, I don’t think I could control myself around her-”

“‘The fuck did you just say to me?” Logan stood up from leaning against the kitchen counter, his attention suddenly focused on Adam only inches in front of him, instead of watching the way you pottered around the kitchen with his drink in hand, getting sucked into conversations. 

“Hey, it’s not like that, just saying you’re wasting her time,” Adam laughed as Logan took a step closer to him. “You really think she’s gonna want someone like you? When a guy like me can just come in here and distract her like that?”

“Someone like me?” Logan chose to ignore Adam’s vicious words, refusing to think about what he meant.

“You know what I mean, what’ve you got to offer her? A fucking garage you might inherit one day? You really think that’s what she wants?” Adam’s words were laced with venom, letting it be known he knew more about Logan’s life than Logan could ever know about the man opposite him.

“Let this go, man,” Logan was impossibly close to Adam, almost close enough to feel the way his chest rose and sank. His hands were clenched by his sides, his sight still blurry unless he tried hard to focus them. “Just get outta here and we can let this go.”

“I know girls like her- they want the handbags and the vacations, and the art galleries,” Adam put his hand on Logan’s shoulder, his grip sinking into Logan’s skin. “My dad’s got a couple’a art galleries, sure she’d love to have a look, y’know? Your dad’s a fucking drunk with a garage, Logan, so just-”

Before Adam could even finish his sentence, Logan sprung forward, his hands grabbing the boy in front of him’s collar. Pushed back against the kitchen cabinets, Adam let out a laugh, distracted as Logan’s fist collided with his jaw. 

Logan wasn’t an angry guy, he knew he wasn’t, but he could only see red with Adam underneath him; replaying every cruel word he’d said about you. He couldn’t hear the yelling that erupted around him, almost ready to take a step back from Adam once he saw the blood pool at his lip. He stood up for a moment, his eyes trying to catch yours, but his moment of distraction led to Adam firing a hit back at him. 

Maybe Logan deserved it, the endless hits that Adam seemed to throw his way, simply as karma for the anger he had unleashed only mere moments ago. Perhaps, it was karma for letting you see him so angry, something you had never even come close to seeing in him. He accepted the punches thrown at his face, feeling bile crawl up his throat as his many drinks threaten to spill over, but it never lasted long before he could finally come up for air.

Once he came around to the scene that had unfolded in the kitchen, Logan quickly noticed the lack of music that had previously been blaring through the home. He noticed how sparse the rooms looked now, as people had quickly realised it was the end of the night. More than anything, he noticed the frightened look on your face, stood on the other side of the kitchen island with your arms crossed over your body as you stared back at him. 

The bile in the back of his throat had been an empty threat up until that point, until seeing your face as hollow as it was. He could only imagine what you had witnessed. Despite the yells that seemed to have erupted in the kitchen or the questions being flung at him, he made a beeline for the bathroom as his stomach turned with every second that passed. 

He was stupid to think you wouldn’t follow after him, locking the door behind him only to be met with your knocking. 

“John, just open the door,” You sighed as your knocking was met without a reply. “Someone’s gotta be the one to hold your hair back.” Your voice was light and teasing, and just enough to have John unlock the door for you.

He was quiet as he opened the bathroom door, a sheepish look across his face as you took in the sight of him; the burst lip, blood dripping down his chin, and a bruise forming across his cheek that you knew would bloom purple in the morning. Despite the battered look he was sporting, he still grinned when your eyes met his.

“Oh my-” The words died in your throat as you took him in, immediately stepping into his space to hold his face in your hands, desperate for a closer look at him. 

“Hey, it’s fine,” John shook his head, trying to ease the worry that he could feel buzzing off of your skin. “You should see the other guy.” He let out a laugh despite himself; nothing about this was funny but he would be damned if he let you stew in any sort of worry about him.

“I don’t think this is funny,” You dropped your hands from his face to his shoulders, sitting him down on the edge of the bathtub. “You can’t just go around beating guys up.” 

He stayed quiet after this, letting you manhandle him. He watched as you rummaged around his bathroom cabinets for any sort of first aid kit you could find, listening as you murmured about how stupid he was and how stupid the fight was and how stupid all of the guys were for not having a first aid kit in the hockey house. 

He stayed quiet as you wiped a warm cloth across his face, cleaning any blood that had dried to his face before holding it against his face. You were trying to apply pressure to the cut across his lip, hoping to stop the bleeding sooner rather than later, but all Logan could focus on was the feeling of your fingertips on his skin, the tips of your nails almost digging into his face but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. 

“I could save up, y’know, like after college,” Logan dared to break the silence that suffocated the bathroom for he knew that your quietness told him exactly how you were feeling, and he couldn’t bear to think about how annoyed you were with him. “I’ll get a good hockey deal-”

“John, what-” Your eyes flicked up from the cloth pressed against his lips, to his eyes, and quickly back down once he met your stare with eyes full of sorrow. You weren’t sure what he meant but he didn’t let you ask any questions before interrupting you.

“I’ll get you the handbags, and we’ll go to Paris, and you can drag me to any art galleries you want.” Adam’s conversation had embedded into his mind, provoking thoughts that Logan had spent years suppressing.

“You’re drunk,” You sighed and turned away from him, looking through the first aid kit for any sort of bandage or plaster. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m not drunk, and you do know what I’m talking about,” John sat pliant to your touch, letting you angle his face upwards to secure the plaster to the edge of his lip. “You’re gonna want someone with a penthouse and- and fucking generational wealth, and a fucking trip to Europe every year. I’m not gonna be the person to hold you back from that.” He let out a deep breath after he spoke, almost frightened you would see through his words to understand what he was truly confessing. You were always brighter than him, he was sure you would.

“I don’t get where this is coming from,” You stepped back from him again, leaning against the sink with your arms crossed over your body. “Sure, everyone wants to vacation in Europe but you’re not holding me back from that.”

“You should be with someone like Adam,” The words tasted bitter on his tongue, though Logan couldn’t be sure if that was the vomit or the blood from the night. “Not Adam, he’s a dick, but he’s from a good family with a job lined up in his fucking dad’s company. You deserve that, but I can’t give you that.”

“I’ve never asked you to give me anything, John,” You looked at him properly, perched on the lip of the bathtub, with bruises blooming across his face; he couldn’t have looked further from your John, and he wasn’t acting like the boy you knew. “I’ve never cared about fucking handbags, and maybe I’ll go to Paris one day, but I don’t need Adam to do that- is that what this was about? Some dick measuring contest?” 

“What? No, no, I swear! He’s awful, and I couldn’t let him talk about you for any longer, not when he’s in my house.” Logan carefully left out the part where Adam berated him, dancing around it instead. 

“So what?” You dragged your hands down your face, the tiredness from the night creeping into your bones as the alcohol had long vanished. “You kicked the shit out of a guy ‘cause he said I want a fucking designer handbag? John, do you even know me? I don’t want any of that.”

“I know you don’t, fuck, I know you,” Logan’s voice was exasperated, matching the tiredness that he knew you were facing. “But Adam doesn’t, and he doesn’t know me.”

You were quiet, letting his words play over and over in your mind, allowing you to realise what he truly meant. 

“What did Adam say to you?” You wanted to ask what Adam had asked about John, knowing he had said something cruel enough to have your friend spiralling in front of you.

“What? He didn’t say anything-” He deflected, quickly and almost too practiced, but you saw threw it as he tried to build up his walls in front of you, refusing to let you see him vulnerable.

“I’m not stupid, just tell me what he said.” You moved to sit beside him on the edge of the bathtub, knees pressed against his.

“He was just being a dick about my dad and the garage,” Logan shrugged his shoulders as he spoke, trying to minimise how he truly felt. “And you, y’know, saying you could never want someone like me, I’ve got nothing to offer to you- and he’s right so I can’t-”

“He’s wrong.” Your voice was quieter now, less annoyed with him and more upset for him instead.

“What?” He wasn’t sure if he had misheard you, or misunderstood what you were trying to say, the short question falling from his lips almost too quickly - begging for you to clarify what you meant.

“I could want someone like you,” You took a deep breath, almost in disbelief that this situation was the one to bring out how you truly felt. “I already do, I think you’ve just been too busy to notice.”

“You do?” It was as though the air had been knocked out of his lungs, Logan’s hands almost scrambling to find yours for purchase; for something to bring him back down to earth.

“Yeah,” You huffed out a laugh, not sure if it was too early to be embarrassed by your confession but you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks. “You’re too in your head to notice.”

“Hey, I’m not-”

“You are.”

“I wish I’d known,” Logan took your fingers in his hand, lacing them with his own. “We could’ve avoided this whole night, I would’ve told you I was in love with you somewhere else - somewhere that’s not my bathroom with my blood all over the floor.”

“Yeah?” You felt his fingers tighten around yours, the calloused tips a gentle reminder that he was the same boy you had known for years, despite the night that had unfolded before you.

“Yeah, have been for a while,” He hummed, thinking his words over carefully. “And I’ve almost told you, like, a million times- and Garrett’s almost told you too, just to try and put me outta my misery.”

“Garrett knows?” Your eyes lit up, almost unable to believe what you were hearing; how Logan felt, and that he felt strongly enough to tell his best friend.

“Oh, yeah, everyone knows.” Logan spoke as thought it was obvious, as though the two of you hadn’t danced around this for years now.

“Why haven’t you said anything ‘till now?” It was a selfish question, you knew that for you hadn’t confessed until the same moment as John, yet it was a question you couldn’t help but ask.

“‘Cause you deserve someone better, someone like Adam and his fucking perfect life,” He laughed but you knew nothing was funny, not really. “I don’t wanna suck you into whatever mess I’ve got going on.” 

“I don’t care about mess or baggage, Johnny, I care about you.” It felt as though a weight had been lifted off of your shoulders, almost feeling free now you had confessed how you truly felt.

“Yeah?” A smile played at his lips, daring to break free, whilst his hand lifted beside your head as he tucked some stray pieces of hair behind your ears before letting his hand rest against your jaw, cradling your face in a way he had only craved before.

“Yeah.” You look at John, unabashedly for once; allowing yourself to relish in how handsome he looked so close to you. You tried to etch the photo into your memories, hoping you would never forget the bloodied boy sat hardly an inch beside you. 

The tenderness of the moment left you quiet, simply letting yourself look at John as you leaned into his touch. 

“Please stay tonight?” John’s voice was almost a whisper, for he felt the warmth between the two of you and he would never dream of breaking it. 

“I thought that was a given.” You laughed at the absurdity of his question, knowing you would’ve stayed over anyway.

Logan took your moment of distraction into his own hands, pressing his lips to yours in a quick kiss before backing away just enough to see the smile that broke across your face. Your smile was all he needed to kiss you again, hand still cradling your jaw, as he leans in again - both of you almost too eager and forgetting the plaster the covered the bottom of his lip and chin.  

You dropped your head into the crook of his neck, unable to control that laughter that fell from your lips as the plaster was less than ideal. You dared to look up at him; his dark brown eyes rid of the sorrow that filled them earlier and a smile so happy it was almost lopsided. 

You leaned forward to press dotted kisses across his face: his nose, up his cheekbones, his cupids bow, and the very edge of his lips that it could almost be considered teasing. But that was more than enough for both of you, knowing you had every day coming to fill with kisses; clumsy, romantic, giggly, and passionate. 

[folkloure]

⭑.ᐟ take my breath away

john logan x reader

summary: you're working on the liquid iv campaign, and john logan is a really nice addition to it. requested, written with a masc fem!reader in mind (more about it in the ending notes!)

You watch from afar as the make-up team fixes their hair for the post game sexy look you had instructed them. 

Honestly, you don’t quite understand why the brand seemed so uptight. Something to do with a change of plans and quite specific directions about the campaign, their initial offer denied. Now, you’d have the photoshoot in the locker room, with both of them dressed in a customized uniform, pretending like they’re in the middle of a game — they’re hyped and tired and they need some energy back, enters Liquid IV, Tear. Pour. Score more. Meh, you don’t love the slogan, but that’s not up to you anyway. All you have to do is pass the instructions, follow your vision and take the pictures for the brand, hence why you’re being so meticulous about Garrett Graham’s hair and the way the fake sweat drops down his forehead. 

Although Garrett is supposed to be the face of the campaign, you think his friend John is a really nice addition. A charming look playing a nice contrast to Garrett’s brooding one, and a smile that has been directed to you ever since he walked on set. 

“We’re ready!” The head of the make-up team calls, and you shift into professional mode right away. There will be time for you to dissect Logan’s glances towards you, but now you gotta work.

“You’re both doing great,” you say, a quick thumbs up thrown in their direction. “Garrett, grab a packet now and rip it– Yeah, like that. Perfect. Drop it onto Logan’s water bottle now?”

You keep the instructions, getting the shots you need as quickly as you could. It’s easy to work with old time friends, a chemistry that doesn’t need to be taught transferred into the camera lenses. You smile, going through the photos on a screen monitor behind the camera, “That’s perfect, guys. I think we can call it a day, yeah?”

The crew claps, and Garrett throws his thank yous as he grabs his girlfriend’s hand, almost storming out of set. Logan, however, moves slowly as he stares at you, waiting for any sign of green light to finally approach you.

After a final directive to your coworker, you turn to him, smiling in a playful, almost boyish way — like saying “I see you looking, come closer, I don’t bite.”

Logan obliges, because how could he not? He couldn’t keep his eyes from you anyway, with how cool you looked, giving away instructions all while maintaining a laid back manner he’s almost jealous of, still having people orbiting you like you’re not just the head of this campaign, but the actual sun. 

Now there he is, a star in your system.

“Have you considered a modeling career?” You joke, breaking the ice a little. Logan laughs, shaking his head, “I’m serious, you have potential. Charisma.”

“Not just a pretty face, then?” He asks.

“No, but yours does help,” you smile.

“Well, if you say so. You must know well about pretty faces,” he says, a charm in his tone. You look down, a little self consciousness in your pit. Logan follows your look, “Oh hey, I have those same sneakers. Though they’re in blue, cause— You know…” He moves his hand, as if to show the locker room around you two, “Hawks’ pride.”

“Of course,” you nod. “And thank you, by the way. But I prefer to stay behind the cameras.”

“Makes sense,” he says, nodding, “You’re really good at it too. Did you go to Briar?”

You look at him, your head bending to the left in a questioning look, “Is this your way of flirting? Just complimenting me all the time?” 

“Depends. Is it working?”

You giggle, “Jury’s still out. And I still go to Briar. Graduating next year, actually.”

Logan’s eyes widen, “Oh! Then you’re actually really fucking great, I thought you were head of the team.”

“Just an intern so far. Though I had a professor on my second semester— Professor Mapplethorpe, who teaches photography, really trusted my vision. Always said I have a thing.

“A thing?”

“A way of challenging rules that apparently translates really well into my work. His words, not mine.”

You watch his lips turn into a smile as he takes a look at you, studying you. “Yeah, that seems about right.” Logan says as his eyes fall back on yours, a smile on his face, “There’s a maverick energy about you.”

You feel your lips tugging, “So you think I’m as pretty as Tom Cruise’s Maverick?” You joke, and Logan throws his head back in a harsh, unexpected laugh.

“Prettier, actually. Tough competition, though.” He answers through a breathy last snicker. Logan clears his throat, “You said you go to Briar?”

“Yeah,” you say, “Watch your games and all.”

“Really?” He lights up, and you chuckle, nodding. “Would it be okay for me to ask if you wanna grab a drink at Malone’s?”

You bite back a smile, “Yeah, that would be okay. I, uh– I gotta collect all this set equipment but— I’ll find you there? Around seven, if that’s okay?”

“Seven’s perfect, yeah.” Logan nods, barely able to keep his smile from reaching his ears, “I’ll see you.”

You smile at him, then turn around to walk back to your stuff, waving a little goodbye at him that probably stays engraved on his retina forever. 

Logan doesn’t tell you, or anyone, for that matter, but he listens to Top Gun’s Take My Breath Away about six times on his way to Malone’s that night.

notes: thank you for reading <3 i hope i did okay with the gender presentation aspects of it, i tried avoiding being too descriptive of reader as to keep it self-insert! would love to know your thoughts (specially you, lovely anon who sent me the request!). likes and reblogs are encouraged!

john logan masterlist

[jupitercomet]

Dean being the kind of bf who gets way into playing with your LPS with you

CONTENT talks of infidelity and family/marriage drama

A/N idek what this is, it came to me in a vision

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

The air in the room is thick with tension.

“I mean, really?” You scoff. “My sister?”

Dean looks down shamefully. “It wasn’t like that,” he murmurs.

“Bullshit. That’s exactly what it was and you know it! While I was at home, taking care of our children, you were out fucking my sister!” You seethe. “What am I supposed to tell them, huh? That Daddy’s not coming home anymore because he’s too busy playing happy family with Auntie Carol?!”

Dean looks up at you finally, his eyes filled with anger. “Maybe you should tell them that Daddy couldn’t take being in a loveless marriage anymore! You wanna know why I slept with Carol? At least, she was there for me.”

“That’s not—!”

“Admit it. You’ve resented me ever since I got laid off. You don’t even look at me like I’m a man anymore!” Dean shouts.

From the kitchen, Tucker glances at Logan, his voice a low whisper. “...What is going on right now?”

You and Dean are sitting on the floor of the living room, pinned between the couch and coffee table—where a handful of Littlest Pet Shops are sitting in a pile. The head of a grey cat is pinched between your fingers as you twist it wildly to match the words you’re saying to the brown and tan border collie in Dean’s fingers.

Logan lets out a tired sigh, rubbing his eyes. “They’re playing house.”

“—If you want me to treat you like a man then act like one, Lewis!”

“Don’t act like I’m the only one making mistakes here.” Dean wiggles his dog at you accusingly. “You think I don’t know what’s been going on? Why you always have to ‘stay late at the office’?”

You let your cat take a dramatic step forward. “We have a giant proposal coming up, I told you—,”

“I didn’t realize that involved having sex with your coworker! I smell his cologne on you when you come home, don’t even try to deny it. I mean, God, is there even a proposal at all or was that just a lie too?”

The two of you fall into silence, before Dean shakes his dog’s head sadly. “I think I should stay at Carol’s tonight.”

“Oh yeah, you do that.” You laugh bitterly. “Just run away from your problems. Classic Lewis.”

“That’s not fair—,”

“Just say goodbye to the kids and go, I can’t even look at you right now.” You turn your cat around dramatically and lift it up and down on the table to walk away. 

Your other hand moves to the pile of LPS and you pick through the different toys. “Hey, Tuck?” You call out without looking up.

“Yeah?”

“You wanna be the kid or the divorce attorney?”

“...Divorce attorney, please.”

“Okay, you can be mine and Logan can be Dean’s.” You nod in agreement.

Dean lets out an indignant squawk. “Wait, that’s not fair! Why do I get stuck with Logan?”

“Fuck you, asshole.” Logan swats him on the back of the head as the two other guys move to sit down next to you on the living room floor. “It’s not my fault you didn’t sign a prenup.”

[blondwhxrewrites]

If you had to describe Clark Kent in one word, it would be good. If anything, he was like the sun: bright and all-consuming.

The first time you met him, you stumbled into him at your favorite cafe, spilling your drink all over his nice shirt and completely ruining it. It wasn't exactly your finest moment, yet for some reason he seemed to be completely bewitched by you, insisting that it was okay and that your panicked rambling was unnecessary.

He'd been so kind, so charming; how could you possibly say no when he asked for your number?

Now, months later, Clark was a staple part of your life. He'd wormed his way into your routine and heart like it was the easiest thing in the world.

He laid on your chest, his face stuffed between your breasts. He'd been like that for hours, content to simply exist in between your boobs like they were the finest pillows around, acting as if he wasn't suffocating you with his body, which usually you didn't mind; in fact, you quite enjoyed it, but unfortunately for both of you, you had a book to write.

"Get off of me, you big oaf."

"No," he grumbled, his arms tightening around you ever so slightly. "I deserve this after the day I had at work. I mean, can you believe it, me interviewing Lex Luthor? I swear Perry has it out for me."

"You're a journalist, a good one. Of course he would want you to interview Mr. Luthor, and besides, Lois will be there too." You patted his back in an act of solidarity, but he only groaned in response.

"It still sucks."

You had no doubt about that. You hadn't met the infamous CEO, but you heard from Clark how insufferable he could be. An interview with him sounded like hell, but you knew your Clark could do it. Just like he could do anything he put his mind to.

"Well, I'll be cheering for you, and when you come home, I'll have dinner ready for you." He peaked one eye open and glanced up at you, his smile impossibly soft just like the rest of him.

"Have I ever told you how much I love you?"

"Everyday."

It's true. He made sure of it. It was one of the many, many, things you loved about him. "Now come on, it's time to get up. I have a chapter to write, and you promised you would make me pancakes—"

"With extra chocolates," he finished for you. "And just so you know, I will absolutely do that, but right now I am busy spending time with my lovely partner, whom I love very much—"

"You just want to lay in between my boobs, don't you?"

"Oh, absolutely."

Well, at least he was honest about it. He would never lie to you after all. Wait, scratch that; he would definitely lie to you. Only over something minuscule, though, like he ate the last of your cereal, which he was known to do.

"Must you seriously lay right there, though? I can hardly breathe under your big ass body."

"I wouldn't mind being in between your thighs." You felt him smirk. Yeah, you should have seen that one coming.

"No."

Welp, at least he tried.

Uselessly, you pushed at his shoulder. He didn't budge. Not even for a second. You groaned.

"Why are you like this?"

"Oh shush," he chuckled. "You love me."

Unfortunately, you did. You very much did. That didn't stop you from being annoyed, though. Your publisher was breathing down your neck for you to release the next book in your series. A book you still needed to finish.

"Honey, I have a chapter I need to finish—" He shushed you, like, full-on shushed you, his finger unwrapping around you to press against your lips, effectively stopping you from speaking. From his place between your boobs, he stared at you with his big blue eyes all sparkly with adoration.

"You've been working so hard lately. You deserve a break. You can't write when you're half asleep and dead on your feet." You opened your mouth to argue, but he shushed you again.

Actually, he did kind of have a point. You'd been working day and night to get this book finished. You hardly slept.

Maybe a break was a good idea. Your publisher could go suck it, and your fans would rather wait than have the book be half-assed. Ugh, you hated when he was right, which was most of the time.

"Fine, you can stay." A smile broke out on his face, and his hand retreated back around your waist, and he buried his face into your chest once again, sighing in content.

Yeah, he was right. A break was just what you needed.

You still wanted those pancakes, though.

#ClarkKentLovesYourBoobs

A/N: I actually really like how this worked out. Also

[oinswiftie]

Second-Best (To the Rest of the World) {One-Shot}

Pairing: Clark Kent x Female Reader (featuring Lois Lane)

Summary: For eight months, you’ve loved Clark Kent in the quiet, suffocating shadow of his past. You convinced yourself that his broken promises and midnight cancellations were just the price of loving Superman—until a chance comment reveals he hasn’t been across the globe saving the world. He’s been three miles away, hidden in the dark bullpen with his ex-girlfriend. When eight months of suppressed insecurity and secret lies finally collide in a screaming match at the Daily Planet, you are left to pick up the shattered pieces of your heart, while the Man of Steel is forced to face the reality of what he lost.

Warnings: heavy angst, relationship distress, severe insecurity, lying/hidden truths, major confrontation, screaming/fighting, emotional breakdown, breakup, ex-girlfriend drama, condescending behavior, intense angst to fluff, happy ending, lois lane showed in a bitchy way (ik she's not but bear with me pls) This fic is sort of inspired by "my way" by Olivia Rodrigo. I honestly love that whole album and was thinking about that song while I was writing this so here we go lovelies.

The white button-down shirt you were wearing belonged to Clark, but it didn't smell like him anymore. It smelled like fabric softener and the lonely, quiet corners of your shared apartment.

For months, you had lived in the shadow of a ghost. Clark and Lois had ended their long, undefined relationship exactly two months before he asked you out. You knew the timeline down to the day. You had been together for nearly a year now, sharing an apartment, building a routine, but every time he looked at you with those impossibly blue, earnest eyes, a vicious little voice in the back of your mind still whispered, "Rebound. You’re just the soft place he landed when she walked away."

The transition from Clark’s breakup with Lois to the night he finally asked you out hadn’t been a clean, romantic handoff. It was a messy, painful gray area that dragged on for two agonizing months.

You were an outsider to the Daily Planet circle, but you weren’t blind. You had known Clark as a friend first—the quiet, massive guy who always bought you tea at the corner cafe and listened to you complain about your day. That's where you two first met- the small cafe plus bookstore- where you were buying books and accidentally dropped them all on Clark's feet. He didn't even flinched and instead helped you pick them up. And suddenly, you saw each other nearly everyday at the cafe and became friends fast.

But during those two months after Lois ended things with him, Clark was a hollowed-out shell. He would sit across from you, his eyes distant, constantly checking his phone every time a notification pinged, hoping it was her.

You became his emotional crutch. You were the one who sat on his couch until three in the morning, making him hot cocoa while he stared at the wall, processing the rejection. You listened to him talk about how much he missed the predictability of his old life. And the whole time, your own heart was fracturing. You were already desperately in love with him, but you had to swallow your feelings, putting on a brave face just to be the "good friend" he needed.

When he finally kissed you at the end of those two months, it didn't feel like a fairytale. It felt like a desperate, heavy realization on his part—like he looked at you and decided he couldn't handle the emptiness anymore. The doubt took root in your mind that very night: He didn't choose me because he saw me. He chose me because I was the only one left standing in the ruins.

You tried to be mature. They still worked together at the Daily Planet. They shared a byline, a bullpen, a history. You told yourself you were fine with it—mostly because you didn't have a choice. To ask Clark Kent to stop working with Lois Lane was like asking the sun to stop rising.

But lately, the date cancellations had become unbearable.

“I’m so sorry, honey. Something came up at work. I have to fly out.”

“Breaking news, sweetheart. Don’t wait up for me.”

For months, you never complained. You smiled, told him it was okay, and kept his secrets close to your chest. You thought "work" meant a collapsing dam in Asia or a rogue metahuman downtown. You thought he was saving the world. You sacrificed your evenings, your dinners, and your peace of mind because you believed you were supporting Superman.

Until Thursday afternoon.

You were walking through Centennial Park, trying to clear the heavy fog from your brain, when a familiar voice called your name.

"Hey! Y/N!" Jimmy Olsen jogged up to you, a heavy camera strap slung over his shoulder. He gave you a bright, friendly smile. "Long time no see! How's everything?"

"Hey, Jimmy. Good, just taking a walk," you smiled, adjusting your scarf. "Clark's been buried under mountains of work lately, so I'm just keeping myself busy."

Jimmy blinked, his smile faltering into a look of slight confusion. "Work? I mean, yeah, I guess. Man, Clark has been a total machine at the office lately. It’s crazy."

Your brows knitted. "At the office?"

"Yeah! He and Lois have been pulling massive late nights on that new corporate corruption expose," Jimmy said, completely oblivious to the detonator he was pulling the pin on. "I left the newsroom at midnight yesterday and they were still huddled over his desk, trading notes and hammering away at the keys. It’s classic Lane and Kent. They’re unstoppable when they get like this."

The world seemed to lose its sound for a fraction of a second. Midnight.

Two nights ago, Clark had texted you saying a flash flood in South America required his immediate attention. He hadn't been across the world. He had been three miles away, sitting in a climate-controlled room, breathing the same air as his ex-girlfriend.

"Right," you choked out, your throat suddenly tight, forcing the most hollow smile of your life. "Classic them."

The final blow came at 8:00 PM the next night.

You had spent three hours in the kitchen making an elaborate apple pie—Clark’s favorite. You learned the recipe from Mrs Kent and tried your very best to replicate it, knowing that Clark misses his home and family in Smallville. You had bought a nice bottle of wine, set the table for two, lit the candles, and even put on the dress he loved. It was your anniversary, and you wanted tonight to feel special. You wanted to feel like his girlfriend, not a ghost waiting in an empty apartment.

Then, the vibration of your phone against the counter.

Clark: Sweetheart, I am so, so sorry. The layout for the morning edition is completely backed up and Perry needs edits on the lead piece immediately. I’m going to be stuck here for hours. Eat without me, okay? Love you.

You stared at the glowing screen. The text didn't say Superman duties. It said office work. And office work meant working wit Lois Lane.

Something inside you snapped. It wasn't a clean break; it was a violent, jagged shattering of nearly a year of insecurity, silence, and suppressed jealousy. You didn't cry. The tears were completely burned away by a sudden, scalding wave of pure rage.

You didn't change out of your dress. You grabbed your coat, slammed the apartment door behind you, and took a cab straight to the Daily Planet building.

The elevator ride up to the bullpen felt like a descent into hell. The floor was mostly dark, the evening shift having already cleared out. The only light emanated from the far corner of the room—the investigative desk.

You walked silently across the carpet, your heels muffled. As you drew closer, the sound of laughter drifted through the quiet air.

It was a light, melodic giggle from Lois, followed by Clark’s distinct, deep, rumbling chuckle.

You stepped around the final partition and froze.

Clark’s glasses were pushed up onto his head. Lois was sitting on the edge of his desk, her legs crossed, swinging a stray shoe. Right between them, laid out over printed drafts, was a large spread of takeout containers. Clark was holding a pair of chopsticks, smiling up at her with a warmth that made your stomach violently turn. She reached out, playfully nudging his shoulder as she reached for a piece of sushi.

They looked perfect. They looked comfortable. They looked like a couple who had never skipped a beat, sharing a quiet dinner after a long day.

"Am I interrupting the editorial meeting?"

Your voice didn’t just cut through the bullpen. It vibrated with a raw, trembling fury that made the glass partitions hum.

Both of them flinched. Clark’s head snapped toward you, his eyes widening in absolute, paralyzing horror as his glasses slipped back down the bridge of his nose. He didn't even heard you walk in, being busy listening to Lois. He dropped his chopsticks and stood up so fast his rolling chair slammed into the filing cabinet behind him.

"Y/N?" Clark stammered, scrambling to stand up, his massive frame suddenly looking incredibly small. "What—what are you doing here?"

Lois didn't scramble. She slowly slid off the desk, smoothing down her pants. Her expression shifted from surprise to something cold, calculating, and deeply condescending. She crossed her arms, looking down her nose at your beautiful, wasted anniversary dress.

"Look who decided to drop by," Lois said, her tone dripping with an artificial, sweet arrogance. "You know, Y/N, the Planet has a strict policy about non-staff wandering the bullpen after hours. Clark is in the middle of a very high-stakes, breaking deadline. He doesn't really have time to play house right now. Some people understand the demands of real journalism. Others... well, I guess they just get lonely at home."

Every single fuse in your brain blew.

"Shut your goddamn mouth, Lois," you snarled, stepping directly into her space.

Lois’s eyes widened slightly, shocked by the venom in your voice, but she quickly masked it. "Excuse me? I don't think you realize who you're talking to—"

"Oh, I know exactly who the fuck I'm talking to!" you shrieked, the volume of your voice echoing off the concrete pillars. You marched directly into her space, your eyes blazing. "You think you're untouchable because you win a Pulitzer once in your fucking life?! You think that gives you a lifetime pass to show off that you're a great reporter a bazillion times, you dumbfuck?! You think it gives you the right to keep my boyfriend on a leash because your own ego can't handle the fact that he moved on?!"

"Y/N, please, let's calm down—lower your voice!" Clark begged, his face pale as he stepped between you and Lois, his massive hands reaching out blindly.

"Don't you dare tell me to lower my voice!" you screamed, turning all your rage onto him, shoving his chest with all your might. He didn't move an inch, but the sheer force of your hatred made him physically flinch. "Don't you dare look at me with those pathetic, cowardly eyes!"

You grabbed your purse and slammed it down onto the desk, sending takeout containers flying. Soy sauce splattered across the printed drafts they had been working on.

"Three months, Clark! For three fucking months, I have sat in that apartment like a ghost! I ate cold dinners alone! I watched the clock turn to two, three, four in the morning, weeping into my hands because I thought you were out there saving the world! I forgave every single canceled date, every broken promise, because I thought the universe needed Superman more than I needed a boyfriend!"

You stepped right back into Clark’s face, screaming upward at him, your voice cracking with pure, agonizing heartbreak.

"But you weren't across the globe! You were here! You lied to my face! You told me you were stuck in layout, you told me you were in South America, you told me a million different variations of the same disgusting lie just so you could sit here and giggle-fuck around over takeout with your ex-girlfriend on our anniversary!"

"It was just the article! Y/N, I swear to you, it’s just the deadline!" Clark roared back, his own voice finally breaking, his chest heaving as tears of panic and frustration finally spilled over his lashes. He had never raised his voice at you, but he was losing his mind with terror. "I was trying to finish it so I could come home to you! I love you! Why can't you see that?!"

"Because you don't act like it!" you shrieked, the tears blinding you now. "You love the safety net I give you! You love that I was stupid enough to wait around while you figured out how to be alone with your own thoughts! You don't deserve to be called a man, Clark Kent! A real man doesn't keep a girl wrapped around his finger just to feed his ex-girlfriend dinner while his actual relationship rots!"

"That is enough!" Lois shouted, trying to regain her footing and grabbing at your shoulder. "You are completely unhinged—"

"I said shut up!" you violently whipped around, glaring at her with such blinding malice that she actually stepped back, her breath catching. "You want him so bad? You want to keep playing your miserable, codependent, toxic little games? Take him! He’s all yours! You two deserve each other!"

You turned back to Clark, who was trembling, his hands hovering in the air between you, entirely paralyzed by the destruction.

"We are done," you whispered, the sudden drop in your volume vibrating worse than the screams. You yanked the promise ring off your finger and hurled it directly at his face. It struck his cheek and dropped pathetically onto the carpet. "Do not call me. Do not fly to my window. Go back to your fucking deadline, Clark. You two deserve each other."

You turned on your heel, your dress swirling around your legs, and walked away. The elevator doors shut on the sound of Clark letting out a raw, guttural sob that tore through the empty bullpen.

The separation was absolute. You packed your bags that very night while Clark stood in the hallway of the apartment, openly crying, not forcing his way in because he knew he had crossed a line that no superpower could fix. You moved into a temporary studio apartment across town, blocked his number, and buried yourself in your own life.

The month that followed was a living hell for both of you.

You changed your routine and threw yourself into work, but the angst followed you like a physical sickness. Every morning, you woke up nauseous, your chest aching so badly it hurt to breathe. You couldn't eat. You couldn't sleep. Every time a strong gust of wind hit your windowpane, your heart would leap into your throat, thinking he was there, only to be met with the agonizing reality that you were entirely alone. The insecurity ran deeper now—you wondered if he was relieved you were gone, if he had just crawled right back into Lois's life the night you left.

But Clark was living in a state of unmitigated torture.

He didn't go back to Lois. In fact, he couldn't even look at her. The morning after the fight, Clark had walked into Perry White’s office, surrendered his immediate assignments, and taken a forced leave of absence. The corporate corruption article was published, but it only bore Lois’s byline. Clark formally requested a permanent transfer to the low-level city beat just to stay completely away from the investigative desk.

He stopped taking care of himself. The apartment you had shared sat entirely untouched, the air heavy and stagnant. Because of his super-hearing, he couldn't escape the ghost of you. He tried to fly into the upper atmosphere to drown out the noise of the earth, but the second he came back down, his brain automatically tuned to the exact frequency of your heartbeat. He listened to you cry yourself to sleep for weeks straight. He heard the sharp, ragged hitches in your breath when you walked past the café where you used to meet. He felt every single ounce of the pain he had caused you, amplified by his own crushing guilt.

Lois, humbled and profoundly shaken by the raw devastation she had witnessed in the bullpen, finally woke up too. She realized her own behavior had been born out of a petty inability to let go of the past. Fifteen days after the breakup, she tracked Clark down at the empty apartment.

"I called her, Clark," Lois said quietly, standing by his doorway.

Clark looked up from the dark couch, hollow-eyed. "What?"

"I called Y/N. I apologized," Lois confessed, her voice tight with genuine remorse. "I told her the truth. That you haven't looked at me like a boyfriend does, in a year. That the late nights were just you running away from your own insecurities because you felt like you weren't doing enough for her or the city. I told her I was a bitter idiot, and that if he loses you, he loses everything. But she needs to hear it from you, Clark. Fix it."

By the fourth week, the silence between you had reached a breaking point. You were sitting on the floor of your new, small studio apartment, surrounded by half-unpacked boxes, staring blankly at the wall. The anger had burned out, leaving only a profound, hollow exhaustion.

A soft, hesitant knock sounded at the wood.

Your stomach dropped. You walked over, your knees shaking, and pulled the door open.

Clark stood on the welcome mat. He looked entirely broken. His hair was messy, his flannel shirt was wrinkled, and his eyes were bloodshot and heavy with dark circles. He looked like he hadn't slept a single hour in thirty days. He wasn't wearing his glasses. In his hands, he held a thick, crumpled stack of documents and a fresh bouquet of lilies.

"Please don't close the door," he whispered, his voice incredibly hoarse, tearing at your heart instantly. He kept his feet glued to the mat, not crossing the threshold. "I won't come in unless you let me. I just... I needed you to see this."

He held up the documents with a trembling hand. "It's my official transfer. And this... this is a request for a leave of absence from the League. I gave up the investigative desk, Y/N. I don't talk to Lois anymore unless a story demands a generic line."

You looked at the papers, then up at his raw, agonizingly sincere face. "Why, Clark? Why now?"

"Because you were right," Clark choked out, a heavy tear spilling down his cheek, his broad shoulders shaking. "I was a spineless coward. I used work and I used the city to hide from how much power you had over me. I was so terrified of how deeply I loved you—of how much it would hurt if I lost you—that I held onto the past like a crutch. I was terrified of not doing enought- for you and for Earth. I made the woman who holds my entire universe feel like a second option, and I hate myself for it every single second."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the promise ring, holding it out on his open palm. "I don't expect you to just forget. I know I broke us. But I spent the last month listening to your heartbeat across the city, dying inside because I knew I was the reason it was beating so heavily. I don't want to run anymore. I want to earn you back. Let me be the man you deserve, Y/N. Please."

The heavy, steel walls you had built around your chest cracked wide open. The desperation in his eyes, the physical proof of his sacrifice, and the sheer gravity of his remorse completely shattered the last of your doubts. He wasn't looking for a rebound. He was completely, utterly unraveled by the thought of a life without you.

With a ragged, tearful sob, you let go of the door frame and threw yourself forward, slamming your body against his chest.

Clark let out a broken, breathless gasp, his arms instantly whipping around your waist like iron bands. He lifted you completely off the ground, burying his face into your neck as he kicked the apartment door shut behind him. He held you so tight it almost hurt, crushing you against him as if he were trying to pull you right underneath his ribs.

"I've got you, I've got you," he sobbed into your skin, his massive frame shaking violently as he rocked you back and forth in the small entryway. "I'm so sorry. I love you so much, Y/N. You're my home. You're my only choice. I'm never letting you go again."

Six months later, the smell of burnt garlic and sweet chili filled the kitchen of a brand-new apartment on the quieter edge of Metropolis.

You were standing over the stove, a wooden spoon in one hand, completely focused on trying to salvage the stir-fry sauce. The apartment was smaller than the old one, but it was yours. The walls were painted a warm cream, the shelves were stacked with a chaotic mix of your favorite novels and Clark’s old journalism texts, and the air felt light.

Suddenly, a pair of massive, warm arms slid around your waist from behind.

You didn’t flinch. You didn't even blink. You just leaned back against the broad, solid wall of Clark’s chest, letting out a soft laugh as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply.

"You're home early," you murmured, stirring the pan.

"The city desk editor let me off at five sharp," Clark mumbled against your skin, his voice deep and rumbling with a contentment that still made your stomach do flips. His large hands spread flat against your stomach, anchoring you to him. "I told him I had a strict deadline at home. An anniversary dinner."

Seven months since the night the bullpen shattered. Six months since he stood on your mat, broken and bleeding emotion, begging for a chance to rebuild the ruins.

It hadn't been an overnight fix. The first few weeks after you got back together had been tentative, laced with the fragile, quiet fear of old ghosts. You had text anxiety and he had proximity anxiety. But Clark had kept every single promise. He had shifted to the local city beat, writing pieces on community gardens and transit strikes. He had established a hard rule with the Justice League: unless the earth was literally cracking in half, he was off the clock by dusk.

But more than the schedule changes, it was the way he looked at you now. The distant, distracted fog in his blue eyes was entirely gone. When he was with you, he was with you—present, heavy, and completely consumed by the space you occupied together.

"Lois called me today," you said casually, turning down the burner.

Clark’s hands tightened just a fraction around your waist, an instinctual, protective reflex. He pulled back enough to look down at you, his glasses sitting crooked on his nose. "Did she? Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," you smiled, turning around in his embrace so you could loop your arms over his broad shoulders. You reached up, gently straightening his frames. "She wanted to know if we were coming to the Planet's summer gala next month. She said she’s bringing a date—some tech consultant from Star City."

Clark stared at you, searching your face for any trace of the old, suffocating insecurity that used to poison your chest. But there was nothing there. You weren't a rebound. You weren't the second choice. You were the girl who had looked Superman in the eye, demanded the respect you deserved, and brought him to his knees out of sheer devotion. You knew your worth now, and so did he.

"Do you want to go?" Clark asked softly, his thumb tracing the side of your hip through your sweater.

"I think I do," you said, leaning up on your tiptoes. "I have a really great dress I’ve been meaning to show off. And this time, I won't be waiting in an empty apartment for you to finish your work."

A beautiful, uninhibited smile broke across Clark's face—the kind of smile he only ever wore when the world outside was completely muted and it was just the two of you.

"No," he whispered, his eyes darkening with a fierce, unwavering adoration as he leaned down. "This time, I'll be the one holding your jacket at the door, waiting to take you home."

When his lips met yours, it wasn't the desperate, heavy kiss of a man trying to fill a void. It was slow, confident, and thick with a quiet promise that had been proven true over a hundred ordinary, perfect days. The garlic was a little burnt, the sauce was a little too thick, and the city outside was as loud as it always was—but inside, the fairytale was finally, beautifully quiet.

Heyyyy guyssss-so my first time writing a Clark Kent fanfic. I really hope you guys like it. please do leave a like and comment if you like it. And do comment if you want to be tagged in further Clark Kent fics.

@kentcant @kentcant @kryptidfiles @cantwritefastenough @ex-robin @lovergirlwhowearsglasses @yoyokslut @snoopysupe @maiamore @godmadeaterribleerror @tsaheylutales @sincere1ystar @kentdoll @pinksplace@honey-on-your-tongue @tsaheylutales @chloluvsdilfs @alunaseas @ggclarissa @blondwhxrewrites

(I just tagged some people whom I know to write Clark Kent fanfics and I admire them and their work a lot.-pls don't kill me)

[cherrieblossomzz]

Silly Texts w/ Beau Maxwell

pairing: beau maxwell x fem!reader

summary: silly, goofy texts with your golden retriever boyfriend

warnings: mainly fluff, gets a little spicy toward the end

[cherrieblossomzz]

GIRL DINNER

pairing: wlw) allie hayes x fem!reader

summary: allie's broken up with sean and you're her perfect distraction.

a/n: allie hayes needs an eater. that's it.

SMUT under the cut. 18+ ONLY. i am not responsible for what you consume on the internet.

allie hayes isn't the vanilla type.

every second with sean in the bedroom felt like lighting a wet lighter. no friction, no flame, just weak attempts at intimacy that always fell short.

sure, she'd orgasm. sean isn't a dummy and knows her body well enough to get the job done, and part of her feels like she shouldn't even be complaining in the first place. sean's objectively a great guy.

he has a plan outside of college, a career based in vancouver, and she's a part of those plans...just not willingly.

every second with sean feels predictable and planned. so now that she's officially broken up with him and a little (lot) depressed? she needs a way to blow off steam.

so, here we are.

"oh, fuck. right there."

allie's legs are spread wide open, her toes curling against the hard surface of your dorm room floor. the cold bites against her skin in the most delicious way.

her ringed fingers are gripping at your hair, nails digging into your scarp and sending a sharp stinging sensation through your head, that immediately shifts to a fast growing arousal that makes you drip through your panties.

allie's got her head tilted back, those curls messy and slightly damp from her shower earlier. one that you so "rudely" interrupted, just to get a taste of her. she remembers it very vividly.

"allie," you'd whined, leaning against the bathroom door with a jut to your bottom lip like someone's kicked puppy dog.

she rolled her eyes, continuing to soap down her beautiful body, the suds sliding and spreading across wet, naked skin. the sight wasn't that sexy, in her eyes, but to you? it was damn near erotic, the way she was washing herself--that gorgeous body that sean neglected to worship properly.

"i'll be out in a sec, babe," allie responded halfheartedly, running her loofa along her stomach.

"you've already been in there for, like, forever!"

"that's dramatic."

"and that's rich coming from you."

allie gasped, mockingly, sending you a smile that nearly had your knees buckling. "rude. now i'm definitely not getting out anytime soon."

that got a frustrated groan out of you, now walking fully into allie's bathroom and fully leaning against the shower door.

"come on," you groaned. "i haven't tasted you since friday night."

true. there was a big hockey match that night, briar u hawks against st. mary's team. usually, allie would've went with hannah, but you convinced her to stay in.

multiple times. on that maddeningly wicked tongue of yours.

allie sighs. "so, i'm assuming you want me to put you out of your misery?"

you nodded. "please."

allie wishes she got her ass out of that shower quicker with the way you're eating her out right now.

your tongue works tantalizing and rhythmic circles against her poor, overstimulated bundle of nerves. sending a slow, flat lick up her dripping, throbbing cunt as two of your fingers are nestled deep instead of her, curling with every inward thrust.

"you taste so fucking good, al..." you moaned against her clit, sending a sensation of vibration through her that has her moaning even louder.

"yeah? you like the way i taste--ah?"

you nodded, trading out your tongue for your lips as they wrap around her abused clit, sucking just enough to have her whimpering. your vacant hand makes its way up the expanse of her toned stomach, grabbing a breast and kneading the soft skin, thumb rolling her nipple until it pebbles.

allie doesn't think this can get any better.

until it doesn't.

she gasps as she hears the front door open and accidentally tugs on your hair sharp enough to have you pulling back and ready to glare at her, only for allie to clap her hand over your mouth.

"sorry," she sheepishly whispers, quickly pressing a kiss to your forehead before scrambling up and grabbing her favorite red robe and throwing it on to see who came in.

and of course, it's hannah--her best friend and roommate.

"hey, han," allie greeted with a smile, crossing her arms and trying to ignore the dissatisfied aching of her cunt.

"hey!" hannah chirped back, giving allie a little smile before walking to her own room.

"i thought you were with garrett today, date night and such?" allie questioned.

hannah grabbed her lip gloss off of her dresser, a pink shade she'd stolen from allie a couple of months ago, and walked back out of her room.

"still am," hannah answered. "i just came back for this, and---"

she pauses.

"why are you so sweaty?"

shit.

allie immediately tries to cover it up, waving her hand in an attempt to dismiss the fact that her hair looks like a wet dog, and she's glowing either from being in the gym too long or...other things.

"just got back from pilates! yeah, today was crazy. mad planks, weird tree poses, the usual. you should come next time, we missed you there!"

hannah almost smiles--she knows about allie's little situation with you. always hanging around each other too long, glances that lingered for a second too much, and there's always been a tension between the two of you that she never deemed as "just friendship".

"...okay. well, i'm heading back out. malone's later?" hannah didn't question a thing.

"yeah, totally! be safe, love you lots!" allie watches hannah leave, and as soon as the door closes, she lets out a big sigh.

she slowly walks back to her dorm room to find you sitting on her bed, going through her sex calendar.

"sorry about that," allie smiled, immediately pouncing onto the bed and wrapping her arms around you from behind whilst pressing a kiss to the back of your neck. "...now where'd we leave off?"

"we left off at the part where you tell me why you have a calendar with a picture of a man doing a handstand into a girl's pu--"

"that's not how it works!"

allie's hand reached out to grab the calendar, but you try to snatch it back. a fury of limbs go wild as you both wrestle for the calendar as giggles fill the room.

her hand flies down to tickle at your side. "eek!" you squealed, easily getting rolled over and onto your back as allie straddles you and holds the calendar above your head--victorious.

"ask me nicely, and i'll show you how to do october 17th." she smirked.

"do i even wanna know what that is?" you groaned.

yeah, you definitely, totally do.

"maybe. maybe not. but for right now?" allie's nails drag down your tank top, stopping at the hem of it.

"i really, really want my mouth on you. to make up for earlier."

you smiled, hands coming out to rest on her hips.

"by all means...go right ahead."

and oh, she does.

horny and bored. that's the point of the post. xoxo

[bucksplum]

❝ 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 ❞

allie hayes x fem!reader 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: it was wrong, sinful even—neither of you could find it in yourselves to care.

𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬: 18+ MDNI; smut! smut! smut!; p in v (s*an🤮 x allie); fingering; a lil oral fixation; clit stimulation; oral sex (fem!receiving); a mild slap; grinding coochies together; reader is a tease (she's a lil mean); something something related to the synopsis and the title; lemme know if I missed any!

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 6.2k 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐲: guys... im actually a lil unsure about the smut in this. i ran with a concept and that's it so please lemme know if you enjoyed it!

Allie was a good girl.

She was raised by two loving parents who taught her to be kind, to be a shoulder to lean on.

Through dancing around the living room while bills lay forgotten on the table, through meals they always shared and laughter echoing across their humble Brooklyn apartment. They showed her how love is supposed to look and feel like.

It was a resilience that only grew stronger when her mother got sick, and when she thought it would fray when she passed, her father proved her wrong. The love they shared for the most important woman in their lives only expanded, and when she met Sean, she promised herself that their love would only grow.

She was a good girl with dreams that were bigger than her and a heart so full of love it was simply begging to be held and taken care of. So much so that once it was held, it couldn’t pry its warmth away when it needed to, even if those hands only held it to drag it down.

And a heart so tired of being held in a grip, finds its way to break free with no regard for how seditious its ways were—

It bore no concern for how good Allie Hayes was.

I’m good. The thought ran rampant in Allie’s mind as she lay beneath Sean, his thrusts sloppy and shallow.

Too shallow. Too afraid of bruising her despite her desperate need for it—despite her constant request for it.

I’m good. His hand bends and arches her back for her, the angle allowing him to hit the spot that had stars shining in her eyes. She moaned. Soft and whole.

Sex with him wasn’t bad—it was good. Just good.

I’m good. She could appreciate his respect for her and her body, pleasuring her with gentle hands. But it was far from what she wanted.

His fingers were too soft, only enough to get her off, to have her toes curling gently against her sheets. Always the sheets. Never the cold tiles of the bathroom, nor the floors—not even the air. Just the sheets.

Allie heard him grunt under his breath, his face twisting, all too focused on humping and grinding that he didn’t notice her hand trailing down her stomach to rub her clit.

I’m good. She thought as she leaned back, closing her eyes and started tracing her neglected clit slowly, I’m good.

It echoed in her head while her fingers slipped between her folds, gently circling her clit before putting pressure. It echoed and echoed as a memory played behind her eyes.

Confused, her brows furrowed, the scene was familiar yet she couldn’t place her finger on it. Not the overcrowded floors, nor the high ceilings. The music, forgettable it was, was muffled by the thumping of her heart in her ears. Silhouettes dance slow around the figure amidst the dance floor. There, she sees you.

A girl’s arms wrapped around your shoulders while her head hung back, copious moans escaping her parted lips. Allie’s eyes trail down your arm and she watches as your hand disappears under the woman’s skirt.

Her fingers met in a fist in Sean’s hair, shoving his face into the crook of her neck. She told herself it was so he could bite at her skin but the contact had her imagining it was your lips through scrunched eyelids.

Trembling, the digits sunk further into his hair, slowly but firmly guiding his head until his lips attached themselves to her breast as he thrusted. An image behind her eyes flashes, your fingers in place of the latex, and the slow pace left her feeling every crevice and slick surface of her pussy.

She curled her digits around Sean’s hand until the pads of them squeezed the fat of her thigh the way she wanted it to at the same time she wrapped her legs around his waist, letting him pull away but pushing him deeper into her with every thrust—all in tune with your fingers in her memory.

Allie’s jaw drops—just like the girl’s did—and she found herself shoving one, two fingers past her lips when the overwhelming pleasure of Sean’s pelvis rubbing against her clit with each thrust was all too much.

I’m good. She thought when she pulled her fingers from her mouth to toy with her aching nipple, picturing your fingers twisting the taut bud, leaving her panting and moaning aloud. Loud and broken against Sean’s ears while her mind goes back to you.

How your eyes found hers amidst the dance floor. She saw your sly smirk then. You were well aware of her eyes when you lapped at the girl’s neck, when you took her plump lips to your own, all the while holding Allie’s gaze, as the girl comes on your fingers.

She claws her nails down Sean’s back when the sight blossomed behind her eyes, ignoring his groan of pleasure or complaint. She didn’t care. All she could hear was the thumping of her heart in her ears and the constant squelching that came from her needy pussy.

For a second she feared Sean would realize, or that your name would slip past her lips, so, in the effort to expel the thoughts of you, she pushed her mouth against his. She kissed, and shoved her tongue inside Sean’s mouth just to feel him, just him.

Just his chest against hers, his soft hands instead of your calloused ones, his hair, him, Sean not you. Him. Not you.

All her efforts go to waste when his tongue danced with hers, reminding her of your own against the girl’s wet muscle. Almost instantly, her moans melt to a higher pitch, her eyes scrunching to focus solely on the stimulation on her neglected bud. She bit into his shoulder when the coil in her belly had tightened enough to snap, bending her spine and making her whimper against his skin.

Her hips jerked against Sean’s. “Oh fuck.” She heard him breathe, laughter bubbling from his chest. “That was so intense, babe. You even bit me.”

She released a breath that she disguised as a laugh when her high passed, smiling sheepishly at him with her hand still cupping herself as waves of guilt replaced the waves of pleasure.

“Are you good?” he asked. I’m good. She reminded herself when she looked at him getting comfortable, dick limp and spent while her chest still heaved, cunt still clenching.

“I’m good.” It breezed past her lips even as it quivered in her throat. Allie felt humiliation crawl up her skin, a cold dread sinking her stomach, contrasting the pure warmth she was just consumed in. This was everything against what she was taught—what she stood for.

The reality of coming harder—at the mere thought of you, no less—than she ever had with Sean had shame flooding her veins. Allie tried convincing herself that it was a slip of judgment—that maybe it was just bitterness that he hadn’t made her come like that in years.

If it was the only way she could come, so why should she feel guilty about it? People fantasize all the time…

Yeah, she thought. It was exactly that. She’s good.

She is good.

The clamor at Malone’s was often attributed to by the presence of Briar U’s hockey royalty. The presence of your friends at Malone’s was, while some might consider loud and obnoxious—a valid perception, of course—was a comfort to you.

Logan’s insistent dry humor to Dean’s overt dramaticism engulfed the entire table in a never ending debate with Tucker constantly playing devil’s advocate while Garrett kept agreeing to both sides, constantly confusing and angering the others.

When you asked him if he was doing it on purpose, he’d only shrug, muttering, “Kierkegaard,” like he’d said something revolutionary. They continued even when Della came to refill their drinks, asking her for her opinion that, when she’d agreed with Dean, earned her an enthusiastic kiss on the cheek from the man, making chuckle and shake her head in mild amusement as she walked away, you quietly in tow.

They’re her “sweet boys,” she’d always say, you replied with a chuckle.

“You’d be glad you don’t know them outside of your restaurant, D.” you say, eyes trailing back to the boys, who were still in an incredibly passionate debate.

While you considered them manwhores from time to time, they weren’t disrespectful by any means—it just meant that if they were occupying Malone’s the rest of the campus would soon follow.

Courtesy of “Fifth Line,” fans of the hockey team crowded the dainty restaurant, covering the floors with students who were there for the cheap beer and the possibility of coming home with company.

Hence the amount of bodies that now covered the vinyl floors.

The Briar boys were an invitation in itself. And where Garrett Graham is, there’s a massive chance Hannah is around considering his clinginess. And where Hannah is around, Allie would soon follow, and, unfortunately for you, Sean.

The smile that lifted your cheeks when Allie walked through the threshold was soon dropped when your gaze landed on Sean right behind her. He was walking slowly, as though he was being dragged somewhere he’d rather not be, smiling tightly when Allie waved him over to your booth.

You watch her reach for his hand, ire warming the pads of your fingers.

You pretend not to notice her gaze, or the way her face fell when you faced Della once more. The smile you gave the old woman was terse, ignoring her gaze and gripping the serving tray with white knuckles.

The comments dwindled down to the occasional mutters from Dean and Logan the moment the food was set in front of them, making you snort to yourself as you dug into your food.

Allie, who was quietly giggling with Hannah, had gone quiet at your arrival, shifting in her seat. She felt heat climb up her neck, the memory of the other night flashing behind her eyes, straightening her spine.

Sean, who’d been grumbling under his breath whenever a burst of noise echoed from the crowd, glanced at her with furrowed brows. “Told you,” he muttered in her direction, earning a confused glance from both Hannah and Allie.

“I meant I told you it’d be loud in here.” He let out a laugh, though to Allie, it sounded more like sarcasm than delight.

“Loosen up man,” Dean interjected, waving his fork around and ignoring your protest when he almost hit you. “It’s a diner—not a Michelin star restaurant.”

“Exactly,” he said, softly even, giving Allie a look you could only describe as gloating. “I wanted to go to a nice, dignified restaurant that isn’t filled with obnoxious sweaty college students.”

The air shifted at his words, growing thicker with heat as the hockey players all silently seethed with annoyance, and Allie could feel the heat sink into her skin at the attention.

You, however, only stared at him, your growing annoyance dragging slow, controlled breaths out of you. It wasn’t like he didn’t make a good point. You sometimes felt like that whenever you’d visit the boys’ house—

It was the way he said it—snobbish and conceited, and with that all too familiar demeaning tone concealed by his “nice” words.

“C’mon babe, it’s not that bad,” Allie defended, animated hands pointing to well-loved restaurant. “It’s cozy.”

“Yeah,” came Logan’s breathy agreement, the look in his eyes suggesting he was annoyed, but Logan is nothing if not sassy. “If you can’t handle a few guys being sweaty around you for one night, then why’d you come?”

“Allie wanted me to—” he tried to protest before you cut him off, your voice slow but indignant.

“Well be our guest and leave.”

It was as if for a second everybody at the table held their breath. Allie’s doe eyes widen even more at your words, brown pupils darting between you and her boyfriend.

The world narrowed between you. Sean held your gaze, and while you might’ve looked calm, you were feeling anything but. The built-up anger you’ve held for months manifested into heat-prickled flesh, irritating you no less than the man that always looked at you smugly whenever he’d catch you staring at Allie.

He looked at you the same way now—irritated, but gloating—like he’d won a silent battle. And honestly? He did.

He’d won the girl. Again. He’d seen you pine—seen you attempt to keep him away—and yet, she stayed there. Next to him, while your heart ached in your chest whenever she’d smile at you softly with stars in her eyes.

It was petty, really. Something you only would’ve said in your head and something you definitely shouldn’t have said around a couple who’d just rekindled, but it slipped out before you could stop it.

“She doesn’t need to be dragging around a corpse to what’s supposed to be, a fun night.”

“‘Dragging around a corpse’? Seriously?” Allie’s purse took the brunt of her frustration, smacking against Sean’s couch before falling off with a thud. She scoffed, frustratingly ripping her shirt off. “Is that what you really think of us—of me?”

Your words led you here, inside Sean’s apartment. A silence of your own making after those words slipped past your lips took over Malone’s. The restaurant had never felt quieter than that moment—like the other patrons had tuned in to what you had to say, and, you would’ve sunk into the booth at the attention had you not believed your words.

Because you did.

It’s obvious to everybody but Allie that they were never going to work. Everybody who knew her, knew that she was too ambitious for him—to put it nicely, of course; it was a collective agreement that he was too much of a pussy for her.

He even proved his sleaziness again when he stormed out like a child throwing a tantrum, leaving his girlfriend to walk herself home if you hadn’t convinced—forced—her into your car. She gave you the silent treatment the entire way there, only speaking again when she snapped at you, telling you she didn’t need you walking up with her—a warning you ignored again.

You listened as she mumbled under her breath, cursing you out as her footsteps led you to the man’s, whose guts you hated the most apartment.

“You know that’s—”

“No!” she turned, hair whipping past her shoulders. “Be honest with me. Right now. Is this how you see me? Desperate?”

“Stop putting words in my mouth, Hayes.” You shook your head, face twisting in a mix of frustration and annoyance.

You’ve always admired her inability to back down, often encouraging it even, but the combination of your incredibly shitty night alongside Sean’s annoying presence has her behavior irritating your skin. “You know damn well that’s not what I meant.”

“What else could you mean by it?”

The space between you disappeared, filled with nothing but frustration and heat, leaving you flushed all over. The sight of her shirtless was one you’ve seen before but now that she’s looking at you, cheeks ruddy from irritation, spreading down to her neck and chest, it made you want to do things to her a friend should never do to another friend.

Especially one who’s in a relationship.

“Because it felt malicious. I know you’ve never liked him, but this is on a whole ‘nother level of hatred.” She rambled, eyes erratic as her hands jerk all over the air. “He isn’t even that bad! Is he boring in bed? Maybe! But that doesn’t mean he’s dragging me down! It’s like you were calling me stupid for even entertaining this relationship ag—”

Having had enough of her words, you surged forward, hands gripping her cheeks and claiming her lips against yours. She froze briefly against the contact, hands shooting up to your wrists, as if she was gonna push you off, before she melted against you.

Her warm, glossed lips slid across your own, your noses bumping against each other as you angled her face to kiss her deeper, tongue teasing the seam of her lips. It was messy—an all-consuming passion and hunger overtaking your bodies, causing her hands to paw at your waist, closer, her body begged.

“You are…” you gasped against Allie’s lips, her own following yours from the break of contact, eager. “You’re stupid…” you sneered though it held no bite. “So fucking—”

Allie, with a surprising amount of gusto, pulled you until the backs of her knees hit the edge of Sean’s bed, causing your bodies to topple atop the sheets.

Her hands moved fervently, gripping your top to pull it off but it faltered when she caught sight of a polaroid of her and Sean on his desk just as your mouth crept below her ear.

She let out a gasp—Sean. Her boyfriend. Her boyfriend who grows closer to his home with every turn of his wheel. Her boyfriend whose apartment she’s in—whose bed she’s on, beneath you, heaving and basking in your touch.

“We…we shouldn’t be—” she hiccuped, voice faltering. Her eyes darted to the doorway, alert now. “—shouldn’t be doin’…this.”

“Then push me off.” You say, breathless as you continue your assault on her neck, leaving blooming marks in your wake for Sean to bear witness to later.

“I’m still—” she gulped, hands finding purchase on your warm skin, though her words lacked a fight. “‘m still with him.”

Her words sent a shiver through you, prompting a groan deep from your chest. She thinks those words would deter you. Like you wouldn’t fuck her while he watched.

She struggles to meet your eyes when you hovered above her. They stayed on your swollen lips, just a breath away from her own, and they scrunch when your knee presses against her core.

Contrary to her words, you feel her hips jerk against your knee, finding pressure to quell the ache between her legs. You ignore the sudden urge to disregard her advances, to tease her and hold her relief, because the way she looked at you, doe eyes all glassy, was something you wanted to commit to memory.

Tentatively, your fingers graze her navel, tracing the seam of her pants. Her breath hitched at the contact.

“Tell me to stop, Allie.”

She held your gaze then, her breaths coming out in uneven puffs. Allie couldn’t believe she was even hesitating—even thinking about this.

This should’ve been an immediate ‘no’. A ‘fuck no,’ in fact, but her judgment was skewed after years of wanting to be wanted and pined for—to be even lusted for—in a way she desperately longed for from Sean but never reciprocated.

It hadn’t helped that you were there all those years. A steady, extremely and unfairly attractive presence. One that stayed at a respectful distance, though looked at her with such hunger beneath amity—and such contempt at Sean—that it was almost disrespectful.

Now, those same eyes look at her with the same hunger, though now, with every second’s pass, they soften with doubt. And just as you were about to pull away, her hand shot up.

“Don’t.”

With trembling fingers, she buried them in your tresses and pulled. Your lips slotted against hers, soft and pillowy, slower now though still with the same hunger as before; almost reverent as one of her hands slips through your back pocket, urging you closer.

The air was hot, thick as it coated her chest in a sheen of sweat. It grows hotter when slivers of doubt evaporate with your mingled breaths. Her hips, once idle, grew erratic with every spark that shot up her spine.

All rational sense escaped both your bodies, consumed by the throes of passion Allie had always dreamed of. The passion of which was alleviated by the recurring thought of her existing boyfriend.

The same boyfriend she looked in the eye and told him he was imagining things. That she didn’t cling to you the way he described or looked at you like she was imagining you between her legs.

You hooked your fingers on her waistband, dragging her lacy panties alongside her jeans, down and in haste. The fabrics drop in a heap by your feet, joined by your own pair not long after.

You watch with bated breath as she sits up, hands eagerly unclasping her bra, causing her breasts to spill freely. The sight had your breath hitching, your eyes turning dark with desire, and the look had Allie’s thighs clenching.

“Mm-mm,” you mumbled in disapproval, and oh, does she obey so prettily.

Her thighs fall open at your command, and you can’t help but salivate at her glistening folds, wondering if she listened to him this easily. She was staring at you with that darkened doe-eyed look, begging and flustered from the exposure.

If only Sean could see her right now.

“Please…” she panted. One of her hands cups her breast, fingers twisting the eager peaks, causing her hole to clench around nothing. A whimper trembles past her lips when you knelt before her, her legs parting further in invitation.

You felt her shudder when your hand made contact with her ankle, and the closer your mouth gets to her core, the more she gushed, her slick dripping onto the sheets.

“Look’it you…” you hummed, palm against her navel—so close to where she needed you. “So fucking soaked, Al, she looks so pretty like this.”

Unable to hold back any longer, you flicked the tip of your tongue from the soft edge of her slit, dragging the wet muscle through her sopping folds before wrapping your lips around her clit and sucking.

“Ah—” The mewl she let out came from the base of her throat, unrestrained and heavy—the sound echoing against the walls that only ever heard breathless whispers.

Her thighs tensed, shaking against your grip as you tried to keep her legs apart. She whimpers when her silent plea isn’t answered, her hips jerking upwards into your mouth instead.

“Aw,” you breathe against her clit, keeping your mouth touching the sensitive bud but never putting pressure. “You tryna fuck yourself on me? Hmm?”

Her movements halt. She glared at you, breathless and so pretty with her hair a mess. “If you don’t move right now, I swear to god I’ll—”

“What? Tell your boyfriend?” You chuckled when she whined at your words, squeezing her eyes shut and covering her face with her hands.

“Tell me,” you start, thumbs parting her folds, and groaning when arousal flowed at your touch. You kissed her inner thigh, feeling the muscle contract between your teeth when you bit her softly. “C’mon, baby. Tell me what you want.”

“You—your mouth.” Came her immediate response, all breathy and panting at the ceiling. Like looking down at you would make this situation any better—make her any less guilty.

Looking at you would make this real.

But you knew Allie. She loved the thrill. And who were you to keep her from experiencing it?

You dragged your thumb through her folds, thinking that’d be enough to drag her gaze from the ceiling, but you only managed a breath out of her.

So you pushed two fingers inside her.

“Oh fuck! Mmph—” Allie all but screamed, her eyes rolling to the back of her head. The intrusion was nothing she’d felt before—it wasn’t Sean’s gentle push, nor did it feel like her soft nimble fingers—it was calloused and firm.

You didn’t let her adjust to the size of your fingers, only thrusting with a manner that suggested you’ve done this before. The thought had Allie quietly seething until you silenced her thoughts with a soft kiss to her clit, causing her mouth to part in a silent moan.

“I do wonder,” you mumble, slowly crooking your fingers with every pull of your fingers as you softly licked her puffy nub. “Do you think he’s on his way home?”

“Oh god! Don’t…” Not only do you feel her throb against your lips, you also feel her velvet walls squeeze your fingers, her toes curling into the sheets at the thought. “Please don’t say that…”

Your eyes trail from her sopping folds, up her clenching stomach, to her glistening chest, where her tan skin glowed beneath the moonlight. Her fingers, the one that had been shamelessly toying with her breast, slowed at your words. Now, they tremble against her thigh as the other attempts to muffle her needy sounds.

“Why not?” You pull away from her core, making her whimper at the loss and from the embarrassingly loud squelch that came from her pussy when you firmly pressed your fingers into her as you made your way up her body. “Don’t you wanna know how close he is to seeing you—seeing us like this? Unless…”

Allie squeezed her eyes shut when your face hovered over hers, afraid. Afraid that if you look deep enough, you’ll see that she felt no guilt for this—that you’ll see a reflection of your own hunger.

“Allie..” You breathed her name in a soft command. One that didn’t require words and one that had her following like an obedient pup, lashes fluttering against her red cheeks as she looked up at you. “You want him to see.”

Her slick muscles tightened around your digits, throbbing with a pulse that gave her filthy mind away. “I just felt you get tighter, honey.” You chuckled when she whimpered, a pathetic attempt at muffling her moan. “You love that, don’t you? Knowing he could walk through his doors and see me inside you.”

Allie melted into a blubbering mess beneath you, her thighs desperately clamping around your waist. But she never admitted it. Instead, she wrapped her fingers around your wrist, keeping your fingers buried inside her as she ruts and fucked herself on your digits.

She shook her head. “He can’t—I..I don’t want him to see—ah!” She cried out when you pried your fingers out of her, clammy hands wrapping around your wrist to keep you where you belonged.

“Shh, baby,” you whispered against her forehead, running your hands through her hair to soothe her panic. Her denial was cute, adorable even, watching her squirm and drench your fingers but never admit to herself that what she’d doing was wrong—that she wasn’t good.

You’d play her little game of denial, but if she wanted to come, she had to fess up—to show you her true colors—that she, deep inside, was a twisted human being who’d put pleasure before her loyalties.

“B-but I was so close—” Allie looked up at you with pleading eyes, her vision glazed with pleasure. She peered at you through wet lashes, completely fucked out and entirely at your mercy.

“I know. I know, honey.” You pecked her slightly wobbling lips, tasting the salt mixed from her tears. You wonder if it was the guilt or the pleasure, but when you felt her chase your lips, you knew you had your answer, but not enough of it. “You haven’t felt like this in forever have you?”

You pried her legs apart, hooking one of your legs over her hip and wrapping her other around your waist, a direction she happily obliged by pulling you in further. She whimpered breathlessly when your drenched cunt was flush against her own, looking at you through pleasure-lidded eyes and pawing at your chest.

You only heard a pathetic whine as approval of your question, but you didn’t fault her for it. You couldn’t. Not when she looked up at you so sweetly, just begging to be taken care of properly.

“Please…please, fuck me.” You groan when she starts shyly jerking her hips against yours, fingers pawing at any surface of your skin she could get ahold of, waiting for you so sweetly with parted lips.

Your tongues danced languidly when you captured her lips with a kiss, wrapping around one another while your hand trailed between your bodies to part your pussy lips, exposing your clit to hers in a mess of arousal and spit, making her moan against you when you started rocking your hips.

“Mmm—!” Allie squealed into your mouth, eyes squeezing shut as you expertly dragged your pebbled clit over her overstimulated nub. The first drag had you keening, too, feeling a jolt up your spine when you gushed against each other, smearing more arousal that could only drip down her asshole and into the sheets.

“That’s my girl.” You whimper when your sensitive folds glide across one another, your holes catching each other’s clits repeatedly, throbbing violently against one another. “Doin’ so good f’me.”

Her hair spread wildly across Sean’s sheets, some sticking to her forehead. “I…It feels so good…” Your breath hitched at her words, coating your body with hot lava. What a disappointment Sean’s cock was when the first drag of your clit against hers already had Allie purring. “Please don’t stop.”

How could you when with every thrust of your hips, a pretty sigh slips past her lips, blessing the walls with the music of real pleasure. Your fingers graze her nipple before pinching the peaked bud. “Did Sean ever make you feel like this?” she replied with a muddled moan, making you chuckle. “Use your words, pretty girl.”

“Mmm-fuck—no, never.” You felt drunk at the sight of her, with her fingers tangled in the same sheets she’d laid on with Sean, her hair splayed like a halo around her head as she felt pleasure Sean had never given her.

“Oh—holy shit-Al—” You preened when her clenched hole caught your swollen clit. “Ah—you feel so fucking good! How could Sean take her for granted, huh? Or is she only this wet—fuck—f-for me?”

The constant rutting had the bed rocking against the wall, echoing Allie’s mewls. Even if you left before Sean could get home, you’d feel enough satisfaction that it wouldn’t just be her who’d remember the night—his walls would remember the repeated hitting and the sounds of Allie’s begging, and so would his neighbors.

His neighbors would look him in the eyes and know it wasn’t his name that slipped past his girlfriend’s lips. They’d know it wasn’t his thrusts responsible for the constant thumping—that it wasn’t his hands she came on.

And they’d look at him with pity that his girlfriend fucked another in the same sheets he slept on. A woman who brought her more pleasure than his cock ever did.

“I-just you—ooohh—oh god.” Her fingers sink into your hair, clenching and pulling at the strands until your lips slotted. She didn’t care when your teeth clashed, only that you were connected and there wasn’t a sliver of air between your bodies.

“Yeah, only me, Allie. Just me,” you mumble, giving into her touch because as putty as she is in your hands, it was her who held the power over your body. “So fucking drenched for me—soaking your boyfriend’s bed, too—fuu…”

“I-I think I’m gonna come. Please let me..” She mewled when a particular thrust caused your pebbled nipples to graze hers, urging you to keep the same pace so she’d feel it again, and again, and again until you wrapped your lips around her hardened peaks, circling your tongue around the tightened skin before dragging it up from the valley of her breasts to her neck.

She shuddered against you when you sucked at the skin, leaving a large bruise for only you and her to know. You trailed your kisses back down to her other breast, leaving marks blooming across her flushed tan skin. You tease her areola, feeling the goosebumps rise around it before flicking her nipple at the same time you thrusted, her swollen clit across yours.

“Hold it.” Her head shook at your words, tears gathering at the corner of her eyes. Her words weren’t enough. They weren’t the words you were looking for.

“I-I can’t—”

“You will, or I’ll leave you here for Sean to take care of.” She whined, hesitantly nodding, because now that she experienced your touch and your warm cunt, the drag of Sean’s cock would be torturous compared to your wet pussy against hers.

Her forehead sought the warmth of your neck, talons leaving red streaks down your chest. She didn’t care anymore. She didn’t care if Sean was close, didn’t care that he could hear that she was moaning like she never did with him.

Oh god. She didn’t care if he saw this; the trail of clothes that led to the heap of tangled limbs. She didn’t feel any shame fucking you and drenching his bed with your mixed arousal—leaving traces of her affair in every inch of his home.

You feel arousal flowing out of her despite her desperate clenching. She looked up at you with renewed vigor in her eyes, chest stuttering against yours. “I..I want him to—” Her eyes wild at the revelation.

She didn’t need to finish her words, your hips began grinding harder into hers as a cry left your chest. “Yeah?” Hearing her finally admit it might be your downfall. “You’re what?”

“Wan’ him to watch us—!” She cried, head thrown back against the sheets, and feeling herself teetering at the edge of a cliff. “Please—I-I want him to see…”

“Now was that so hard?” She shook her head, nails tearing open the skin of your back while the other still held your face close to hers, eyes tracking the way your face melted with pleasure as you humped her with reckless abandon. “You wan’ me to show him, that it? You want me to show him how to fuck his filthy slut of a girlfriend…”

“Yes—! mmm—oh god—please—” She came with a shout of your name when you slapped her tit, her back bowing off the drenched bed as her eyes disappeared behind her eyelids. The way her hips stuttered against yours triggered your own, leaving you shuddering—the tight coil in your belly snapping—your pussy spurting against her cunt, making her toes spread before curling in the air.

Your hips never stopped, not when you felt her arousal spray across your chest and hers, not when you could feel her sopping folds slot against your own in a filthy squelch.

Only when her palms started pushing at your stomach did you slow down. You stare down at her exhausted form, eyes still squeezed shut from her orgasm.

Her eyes, still hazy and heavy from her mind shattering peak, peer up at you through her lashes. You expected the guilt, the shame that should’ve taken over her, but no, her gaze was coated with nothing but adoration.

“Can you…” The question wasn’t finished, but it was loud, one that you answered by shifting your position so she was straddling you. Her legs tremble around your waist when you sat against the pillows, burying her face into your neck.

“What?” you chuckle when she mumbled something against your neck.

“My thighs are sticky…” She wasn’t lying; you could feel her warm core against your stomach and the sticky residue your mixed juices left clinging to her trembling skin.

“Is that your go-ahead for me to clean you up?”

Her hands run their course over your arms, squeezing and feeling while she bit her lip at the suggestion and shifted closer to your warmth. You shivered when her nipples grazed your chest, your hands moving on their own to squeeze the fat of her hips.

She nodded but you tut at her, bringing the same fingers she rode to her lips and pulling them down. She groaned when she tasted herself, and oh she looked so pretty like this.

Her hair was messy and sticking up in places while her bangs and baby hairs stuck to her forehead, her entire face was flushed all the while she sucked your fingers down her throat, her tongue eagerly swirling around the digits.

She pulled them out of her mouth by your wrist before twisting the appendage. Even as her lashes flutter, Allie’s eyes stay fixed on yours as she pushes your digits back inside her hot throbbing hole.

And you, you only stare at her with your chin resting on your hand while she sits across the table, feeding her boyfriend a scoop of ice cream. When you catch her eyes, your middle and ring fingers graze slowly down your lips causing her to bite her lip lightly, thighs clenching beneath the table.

The entire group oblivious to your secret. Her own boyfriend blind to what sat right in front of him and had gone on his sheets. When Allie looked back at you to see the mark she left on your chest, she told herself that they were none-the-wiser; she told herself she’s good.

She was good.

💌 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐞: cliterally will never be done with writing for this woman.

𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬, 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝!

©𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐩𝐥𝐮𝐦 — DO NOT translate, steal or post my work anywhere else without my permission.𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐀𝐈 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐀𝐘 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐁𝐄 𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐀𝐈 𝐎𝐑 𝐁𝐄 𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐀𝐈 𝐈𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐘.

[raedisconova]

DEAN DI LAURENTIS TEXTS → OLDER BROTHERS BSF

'who dis?’: offcampus!dean di laurentis x afab!reader (garrett’s younger sister)

summary: you’re garrett’s younger sister, and you have an obvious text flirt with one of his best friends, dean di laurentis

warnings: alcohol consumption

note: this was originally gonna be younger brothers bsf but i gotta give what the fans wanna see. lots of flirting here.. ⚠️reader is written to be twenty (20) years old in this and dean is twenty-two (22)⚠️

disclaimer: these are not my photos and i do not claim them as my photos, they are from pinterest.

join my off campus taglist

taglist: @sarahinhersundaybest @simp4f1 @lillrry @madufw @bookluver114 @satellitestompers23 @wiishies @afterhoursangell @marleyaugustinevadaquinnbroccoli @jinxedstarla @laceyvt3 @jihyos-wifey @sarcasm-ismy-onlydefense @prisciliamunoz @jocelynlovesharrystyles @eloquentjellyfishparadise @luver4chris @aria1108 @outpostsworld @swag313gurl @purpleprincessism @kisseswithstyles @breakupwithhimalready @escapismatbest @lynst91 @youusunshineyoutemptress @trinology @ethanthequeefqueen @jackedbygravity @fictional-characters-i-love-them @sisterslytherinog @sophssturn @wannabehermione @daiiverse @ilovebadremake @5stardudes @iheartonedirection @ladybug-luvr

[33forthew1n]

acts of service 𐙚⋆

🖤🏒 dean heyward-di laurentis x gf!reader 🏒🖤

fluff

written ff

synopsis: your love language is acts of service. dean's fluent in making you happy. (or: six times dean went out of his way to show you he loves you in everyday life.)

WARNINGS: cussing, suggestive, car accident mention

a/n: holy yapathon

𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°｡

1.

Early on in your relationship with Dean you made a few things clear. The most important of those being that you both had to communicate in a way that the other would understand.

That includes your love languages.

You learned very quickly that physical touch was what Dean liked and needed. If the going gets tough, you leaned on words of affirmation a bit, too.

On the other hand, you have always been partial to acts of service.

Dean didn't ask you what that meant, so you assumed he understood.

But, away from you, Dean asked many questions.

At the Hockey House, the guys snorted when they heard the question.

It's not everyday that the resident fuckboy asks what acts of service are and if thats an innuendo he failed to read.

Logan snorted and rolled his eyes, deciding to let the scene play out without his interference.

Tucker let out a tired sigh, way too akin to that of a teacher whose heard one too many stupid questions for their patience to not run thin.

Garrett was the only one who provided anything of use. After laughing his ass off, of course.

"Okay. Acts or service isn't a sex thing, Dean. It just means she likes small gestures. Like opening the door for her or making her coffee the way she likes it, bro", Garrett earnestly answers.

Dean lets out a sigh of relief. "That's easy. I just have to pay attention", he sounds way too confident for everyone liking.

"Easier said than done", Tucker mutters under his breath.

Logan had already left the room and Garrett wasn't too far behind. Something about texting Hannah that Dean's suddenly become a romance guru.

Despite his not-so-great track record and his teammates' lack of belief in him, acts of service came easily to Dean.

He wasn't sure if it was because he was trying his hardest to love you the right way or if it was that loving you came so easily that the rest just followed.

For instance, during date nights.

You and Dean have a system where he picks where date night will be one week and you pick the time after.

Your turn has become predictable.

Nine out of ten times you're going to choose the local Mexican spot. It's small and not at all fancy. Exactly how you like it.

You always either get al pastor tacos or quesabirrias. Both of which require (atleast in your books) some lime to be squeezed on top.

With your nails being freshly done, you hesitated to get them all dirtied up. Once, that is.

Dean saw you take a longing look at the limes for a second too long.

Immediately, he asked, "Can I?"

You nodded, suprised he noticed your lime-related troubles.

He squeezed the lime juice all over the tacos like it was nothing.

And, sure, it wasn't a big deal.

But, often the smallest gestures mean the most.

𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°｡

2.

Ever since studying at Briar, your favorite dessert has changed for the better. Before college, you lived and died for raspberry cheesecake.

Now, Della's cherry pie reigns supreme.

You don't get to eat it often, though.

With your closing shifts at Malone's, late-night study sessions, and weekly date nights, you don't find yourself at Della's as often as you used to.

Today's different.

The entire group's meeting up at the 50's-themed diner to celebrate the team's success at the Frozen Four.

When you arrive, everyone's already sitting.

Logan whistles at your entrance and Tucker jokes that he can't believe they've all been graced with your presence after all.

You roll your eyes and jokingly flip them off.

In no time, the conversations pick up and laughter becomes the background music of the hour.

You realize Dean has his hand on a fork that's barely touching a slice of cherry pie. You raise an eyebrow and your eyes signal towards the pie.

"Oh. This?", he asks.

You nod. "You don't like anything cherry", you remind him. As if he doesn't know himself, you realize a second too late.

"I know. I saved it for you", he explains.

"Oh", your mouth is left slightly gaping.

"The guy ordering at the counter was gonna grab it. I asked him if I could take it instead. I think if he hadn't seen the jacket he would have left with it", he says, referring to his Hawks Letterman jacket.

"Big-time star saved me a slice? What did I do to deserve this?", you joke. You don't think your sarcasm does a good enough job to hide the blush on your cheeks, though.

He smirks, but thinks better than saying what he wanted to.

Instead, he scooches you closer to him.

Your thighs are pressed against Dean's and your left hand is wrapped up in his.

Your right hand and 70% of your attention is wrapped up in the last slice of cherry pie.

The other 30% is all Dean.

𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°｡

3.

The last time Dean had the dorm all to himself was last Labor Day. For whatever reason, none of the guys were home and no parties called his name.

Before today.

Tucker's staying at Sigma Tau, Logan's spending the night with Grace since Ramona's out of town, and Garrett is in Boston on some Bruins media run.

This means you're definitely coming over for date night.

You were surprised when he told you the location of date night (his turn and all), but even more surprised when he mentioned dressing nicely.

When you arrive at the famous Hockey House in a red mini dress and platforms, Dean looks the part. He also looks suspiciously sheepish.

The countertop is decorated nicely, three fake candles and rose petals adorning the space.

Once you've sat, he clears his throat.

"You're probably wondering why you're dressed formally at the dorm", he begins. You nod, willing him to get on with it. "I had a plan. It was a good one. An ambitious one. But, uhm, not a very successful one", he rambles on.

"Dean", you say sternly.

Instead of responding he turns around and grabs two plates.

Before setting them down he says, "Don't laugh."

It was impossible not to when you realized what was right in front of you.

It was a sad excuse for chicken parmesan. Or, atleast you believe it was supposed to be.

The chicken was missing half it's breading and burnt to a crisp.

The pasta looked both raw and undercooked.

And the sauce...was closer to a tomato water than a marinara.

"Oh, baby", you managed once you stopped laughing.

The tips of Dean's ears were bright red (redder than the tomato sauce in front of you) and his eyes refused to look at his creation.

"This is so sweet", you say earnestly.

"It's inedible", Dean objects.

"Well, yes. But! You made it. For us", you argue.

"It was supposed to be big romantic gesture", he laments.

"It was! Nobody said romantic gestures have to be edible", you tease.

He grunts, but lets out a smile.

"Plus", you theorize. "Isn't it just as romantic to order from Tao's?"

Dean dramatically gasps. "Wooow. My efforts mean nothing to you, do they?"

You dissolve into a puddle of laughter. "I love you. So much. Your cooking "skills" on the other hand..."

Dean tickles you until you're begging for mercy.

Not every romantic gesture is successful. But, they are all appreciated in your book.

𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°｡

4.

Sometimes you stare at Dean's hair with pure jealousy in your heart.

It's straight and thin, the exact opposite of yours.

Your hair has been unruly all your life. It's curly in most places and wavy in others. It's layered and thick.

Don't get me wrong, it's beautiful. But, the upkeep is...tiring.

Washing your hair is a weekly event. It takes so long you could probably watch a mini-doc in the time it takes you to get your hair in shape.

Dean knows you hate wash days. To make it even a little more manageable, he usually tries to brighten your mood.

He'll bring you a matcha or sit around with you while your hair mask does its wonders.

He's watched you wash your hair almost as many times as you've watched him play hockey.

Today, he's decided to lend a helping hand.

When he offered his hairwashing services, you figured he was joking.

"Ha ha, D. I know it's a mess, but it's a one person job", you insist.

"Yeah. I'll be the one person", he doubles down.

After twenty minutes of you insisting it wasn't necessary and Dean insisting otherwise, you were sat at the kitchen sink.

He's using the cowash. Correctly, you may add.

He's not too soft, but he's also not ripping your coils off your head.

You almost let out a moan at how well he's washing your scalp.

You didn't see it, but his smile widened when he realized how much you're enjoying this.

"Okay, now for conditioner", he mumbles.

You open one eye. "Be gentle when you're detangling, baby. My curls and your locks aren't the same", you softly remind him.

Again, he surprises you. He starts at your ends and works his way up to your roots. He doesn't yank or pull, he works at the strands until they're all untangled and soft.

Lastly, he washes out the conditioner. His rough hands do their best to treat your tender head nicely.

After an hour of the best hair wash of your life, Dean smiles. "All done."

You open your eyes to a very proud Dean...whose clothes are sticking to his defined chest.

You weren't gonna mention how he looked like he's been on a lazy river. He won that today.

"Thank you, baby", you start. "You really didn't have to."

"I wanted to", he informs you as his hands tangle with yours.

You kiss his jaw softly once. Then, twice. He groans and you stop there.

A kiss on his cheek is all you give him before you're up. "I still have to scrunch my hair. I'll be back", you wink at him.

When you came back out, you were dressed in his favorite lingerie set. Your wet hair was heavy on your back, but your heart felt light.

To have someone love you enough to make the things you dislike easier is a gift. You're not sure how you got so lucky.

𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°｡

5.

Driving is not fun to you. At all.

When everyone was obsessed with getting their licenses in high school, you were too.

A freak car accident that left you with a concussion and a broken arm your senior year changed that forever.

But, still you had to drive out of necessity.

You don't live on campus and you like to visit your parents when you can. Only a car allows you to do these things.

Or, as it turns out, Dean does, too.

He learned quickly that driving was one of those unavoidable fears you faced everyday.

Maybe it was how tightly your knuckles gripped the steering wheel. Or how you checked your mirrors six times before you even turned on the car. It could have been the way you could barely speak when you're driving, too laser-focused on staring at every car and pedestrian outside your control that could change the course of your life forever.

Slowly, Dean made it so he would become the default driver no matter what.

To the grocery store? Oh, cool, he'll join in because he needs to buy ingredients Tucker's asked for.

You need to stop home to grab clothes? Perfect, he's been wanting to stop at the convenience store a block away.

Often his excuses were ridiculous. But, your phobia was so great that you couldn't find it in you to call his crap.

The weirdest thing, though, is that Dean hates driving, too.

Not that you know anything about it. But, most everyone else does.

It's a combination of things. Dean hates traffic. He hates not being on his feet, the car feeling like a cage he can't escape. He's also technically a New Yorker. What New Yorker drives?!

But, none of his sorry excuses compare to the watery eyes you looked at him with when you recounted the car accident. When you told him that you were trapped in the car for thirty minutes, praying to someone somewhere that you'd survive.

He'd rather feel annoyed and a bit of road rage every once in a while than ever put you in the position you dread being in again.

Love is inconveniencing yourself to make your loved one's life just a little easier.

Dean would put the world on his shoulders to take the burden off yours.

What's a drive in comparison?

𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°｡

6.

The only reason you can attend BriarU is your academics. You were valedictorian of your school and wrote a killer Common App essay to cement your spot.

While the massive Dean's scholarship should give you some peace of mind, it honestly does the opposite. You feel like you have to work twice as hard as everyone to make sure you can be at the place the scholarship demands you stay in.

Due to this, you stay at the campus library until closing at least twice a week.

Dean tries to act like he doesn't, but he hates this habit of yours.

He worries. Worries you won't get home safe. Worries you won't get enough sleep. Worries you've got too much pressure on your shoulders at such a young age.

So, instead of texting you every five minutes (which has gotten him told off once...or twice), he's decided on a better alternative.

At eight, when the real studying begins, he shows up with a slice of cherry pie, an iced americano, and a club sandwich.

You're not sure how he got the delicious smelling food through Mrs. Dilano who once scolded you for bringing in a pack of saltines. But, that's a worry for another day. One when you're not starving and extremely grateful your boyfriend saved your night.

"Hey", you greet him with a warm smile.

"Hey, yourself", he responds.

He doesn't explain himself. He doesn't have to.

He simply sets the sandwich out of its aluminum wrapper, puts a napkin under your drink, and grabs a fork from his...back pocket (?!) to place next to the pie.

"I love you", he says once he's done. "Eat it all. Send me a picture when you're done so I can actually sleep well tonight."

Your insides melt into a puddle of goo.

"You didn't have to, Mama bear. But, I love you two", you tease.

He kisses your nose and lets his forhead settle on yours. "I know. We've established that, haven't we? I do things like this because I love you and I want you to know that in your language, too."

He was getting ready to walk right out the library when you pull him onto the seat next to you.

He stays. Not just until you're done eating your sandwich or nibbling through the pie.

He stays until you're ready to go. He doesn't speak much, but his presence is enough.

You don't think anyone sees Dean like this. Soft, comfortably quiet, and observant are not three adjectives anyone but you would use to describe him.

You love it like that.

[prettyyoungandbored]

Jack Abbot x Meteorologist!Wife!Reader Texts

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Meteorologist!Wife!Reader

Taglist: @nyxmoretti @itsmeamysworld @anyasthoughts @rainaris-ac @michasia24

Author’s note: IGNORE THE TIME STAMPS!

More Jack × Meteorologist!Wife!Reader (and Gizmo and Elouise) here!

[satanssideho]

Jack’s hoping to turn your little family of five into six…

“Come on, love, I think we should just have one more…” Jack’s sweet voice says, ready to do whatever he needs to get his way.

“Jack. Neither of us are home enough for another, plus Franky is still just a baby. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“I hear you, but, and just walk with me for a second, if we have four then there’s always a partner and no one has to be alone.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” You laugh, snuggling further into the couch with your babies and husband. “Can we go back to watching the movie?”

“Fine. But I’m not dropping it.”

“When you’re the one doing all the prep work, I’ll listen.”

“What about adopting?” He says one day, leaning against the counter while you’re finishing your charting.

“I am not having this conversation at work.” You roll your eyes with a smile, not bothering to take your eyes off work.

He ignores your protest with a smile of his own, continuing on his point. “If we go older we don’t have to do all of the early stage work and instead just get to enjoy it.”

“Leave them alone. They already do enough work here, no need for a bigger load at home.” Shen chimes in as he walks by to another consultation.

“Thank you!” “Shut up.” You both say at the same time, earning a laugh from the other attending.

“Jack! Someone pooped in the kitchen!”

“It wasn’t Ralf! He’s a good boy!”

“You aren’t supposed to have favourites!” You laugh as he pads into the kitchen to clean up.

“I don’t have favourites… just… preferences.”

“Well I’d prefer there wasn’t shit on our kitchen tile.”

“Does this mean no puppy..?”

“You’re unbelievable…” You laugh, leaving him alone.

Little did you know in less than two months, the perfect baby would stumble across your path, and your fur family of three would soon turn into four.

as a child hater, this is my personal manifestation onto jack :P

[snowdropblossoms]

jack abbot x younger!girlfriend!reader texts pt.3

a/n: hii!! you guys seem to like my younger!gf!reader texts so i shall keep you fed ( ˶˘ ³˘)♡

part one! part two!

masterlist here!!

all likes, comments and reblogs are very appreciated :)

[snowdropblossoms]

jack abbot x younger!girlfriend!reader texts pt.2

part one! part 3!

masterlist

reposts, comments and likes are very much appreciated

(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

[snoopy-abbot-archives]

Jack Abbot playfully teases his girlfriend while she’s away for work for a few days, keeping it light—just him showing her what she’s missing while she’s gone.

Masterlist ALT Masterlist Subscribe to taglist!

Taglist: @thehockeynerd30 @rufles2 @eugene-emt-roe @taygrls @jwinz @koiastro @disappearintofanfiction @unknownhuman102 @thoughtsandvibeslibrarian @pixviee @cassierins @momdancingtomcr @theariespov @cosmosnkaz @chauchirem @malindacath @snack-at-midknight @saibaxoxo @diasnohibng @rstaverous @midnight-sun-bright-star @solarasirenx @h-l-m @ubiquitous-corvids @clonesdserveb3tter @yuviqik @peachyfckingkeen @collarandcratecravings @goldenmoonbeam @luluskye @abbotaes @in-ky @definitelynotkirby @theariespov @savlovesmarvel @abbotaes

[devinemist]

𝙏𝙚𝙭𝙩𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙩𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙅𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙖𝙗𝙗𝙤𝙩 & 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙥𝙩.2 (𝘧𝘵 𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘴) 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘮 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵!

⋆⊱༻𖥸༺⊰⋆…….⋆⊱༻𖥸༺⊰……⋆⊱༻𖥸༺⊰⋆

⋆⊱༻𖥸༺⊰⋆…….⋆⊱༻𖥸༺⊰……⋆⊱༻𖥸༺⊰⋆

⋆⊱༻𖥸༺⊰⋆…….⋆⊱༻𖥸༺⊰……⋆⊱༻𖥸༺⊰⋆

⋆⊱༻𖥸༺⊰⋆…….⋆⊱༻𖥸༺⊰……⋆⊱༻𖥸༺⊰⋆

⋆⊱༻𖥸༺⊰⋆…….⋆⊱༻𖥸༺⊰……⋆⊱༻𖥸༺⊰⋆

𝘫𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘭𝘸𝘬 𝘢 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬😭

[coldalpsmcu]

imgonnagetyouback

Garrett Graham x Ex!Reader

inspired by the Taylor Swift song: imgonnagetyouback

part two: this love came back to me ( will be linked when posted!!)

When you begun dating Garrett, you thought it would last forever. You and him were constantly side by side and often called the parents of the house. Endgame, people called it. Nobody dared to mess with either of you, because they knew they wouldn’t have a chance.

You knew the price going into a relationship like this though, big hockey star destined for the Bruins, and how it could be difficult. You agreed to that though. Because you loved him.

However, it did get too much eventually. Arguments over small things, missing date nights, things that didn’t se a big deal to others but was a big deal for you. It was putting such a heavy strain on the relationship and was at the brink of ruining the two of you.

Garret tried. He did. But unfortunately for you both he was constantly busy with hockey and just didn’t think about how it actually affected you. And he couldn’t hurt you like that anymore. He was set on marrying you and starting a life that he could call his own. Not one created for him. One he made himself with you by his side like you used to talk to him about. That was his goal. Hockey was just a job which he obviously wouldn’t trade for the world, but if it meant losing you? That would ruin him.

As time went on however, the relationship slowly came to an end. School and work was piling up and it was affecting your daily life. You really did love him. But it was destroying you.

He begged for you to think about this. He couldn’t lose you, not when you spoke about so much. You knew so much. He couldn’t even think of what could happen to him without you. You were his rock, his motivation to keep going. Texts before every game were something he needed just for that boost, as he knew he was leaving the arena with you. Without them, would he be the Garrett Graham everyone knew and loved? Or would he just be a nobody.

You tried to move on. You really did. Rumours begun going out about him and another girl from his class.Even if you weren’t together anymore, hearing things about him made your heart hurt.

You kept telling your friends you hated him. But that was a lie, you could never hate him. He was your first love and the memories you shared with him you wouldn’t trade for anything else.

Your friends called him poisonous, how he only needed you when he was upset and vulnerable after games, but you knew better than that. They didn’t see him the way you saw him. They didn’t know about him and his dad. They didn’t know him like you know knew him.

Garrett was a mess. The boys noticed. Coaches noticed. Even others amongst campus noticed he wasn’t himself. And they knew it was because of you. He genuinely wasn’t okay without you with him, and even months after you broke up with him he never loved someone else. He tried going out with others, he heard from some rumours he was actually seeing another girl. But he wasn’t . How could he? He loved you like he never loved someone before and was determined to get you back. The boys even agreed to help him.

You were never not his, and he was never not yours.

He was gonna get you back.

And secretly you wanted him back too.

-

Ttpd is my favorite taylor album ever so i thought why not write this because im in my feels currently

tysm for reading!! likes comments and reblogs are super appreciated 😘

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