summary 𓂃 when you admit you’ve never been on top before, dean decides there’s no better place to learn than his bed.
warnings 𓂃 18+ mdni, explicit smut, established relationship, insecurity, first time riding, protected sex, praise, dirty talk, boob play, clit stimulation, missionary, soft aftercare.
word count 𓂃 3,468.
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
You'd been pretending to watch the movie for at least fifteen minutes.
Dean had been doing a terrible job of pretending he wasn't staring at you for just as long.
It was a terrible performance on both sides, especially considering the laptop was still playing some action movie at the end of his bed, and neither of you could've named one thing that'd happened in the last ten minutes. You were tucked under his sheets in one of his old Briar shirts, the hem brushing soft against your thighs because your underwear was the only thing you'd bothered putting on after your shower, and Dean was lying beside you with one hand behind his head and the other low on your hip like he was trying very hard to act like a gentleman.
He was trying to behave, which was sweet, really, but not exactly successful.
"You're staring again," you murmured, not even bothering to look away from the screen.
Dean's thumb moved in a slow circle over your hip. "You're in my bed wearing my shirt. You can't really blame me."
"You gave it to me," you pointed out, like that was supposed to make him less smug about it.
"I know." Dean's mouth curved like he'd been waiting for you to say exactly that. "Great decision, honestly."
You rolled your eyes, but the smile breaking through kind of ruined the effect. "You're impossible."
"Yeah." Dean leaned in, his lips brushing your shoulder through the fabric of his shirt. "But you like me anyway."
"Sometimes," you said, though your smile made it sound a lot less convincing.
"Right now?" he asked, his voice dropping just enough to make your stomach flip.
You turned your head to answer, which was apparently all the invitation Dean needed, because then he was kissing you, slow and warm, one hand sliding up your side beneath the fabric like he'd planned the whole thing. It was easy to melt into Dean like that, a lot easier than you'd ever admit out loud. Dean kissed you like he knew exactly how much time he had, which apparently meant he had no problem spending it dragging every little sound out of you to see how much trouble it got him into.
His fingers slipped beneath the hem of the shirt, warm against your waist in a way that shouldn't have made you gasp as quickly as it did.
Dean smiled against your mouth, entirely too pleased with himself. "There she is."
"Don't start."
"I didn't even say anything."
"You were about to, and we both know it."
He laughed, low and entirely too pleased with himself, before rolling onto his back and tugging you over him like he already knew you'd follow. And you did, because apparently thinking was no longer part of the plan, one knee sliding across his hips until you were straddling his lap.
Then you froze beneath his hands, and Dean felt the change in you immediately.
His hands settled on your waist, thumbs brushing over your sides in a way that was soft enough to make your chest ache a little. "Hey."
You swallowed, suddenly very aware of the fact that you were in his lap with your thighs spread around his hips, his hard length pressing up beneath his sweatpants, and somehow his shirt still covering you didn't make you feel any less exposed.
"This feels like a lot of responsibility," you said, aiming for a joke and landing somewhere embarrassingly close to panic.
Dean's brow lifted like he wasn't sure whether to laugh or be concerned. "Responsibility?"
"I just..." You looked down, your fingers curling into the front of his shirt like that'd somehow make the words easier to get out. "I've never really done this before."
His expression softened, though that amused little spark in his eyes didn't go anywhere. "Been on top?"
Your cheeks warmed, which was annoying because Dean absolutely noticed. "Not really."
"Not really?" Dean repeated, thumbs still brushing over your waist like he was trying very hard not to look too pleased about that.
"Dean," you said, dragging his name out like a warning, even though the warmth in your cheeks made it pretty hard to sound threatening.
He smiled a little, his hands giving your hips a gentle squeeze like he'd decided to behave for once. "Okay. Not really."
"It's not a big deal," you said quickly, which was unfortunate because saying it that fast made it sound like it was definitely a big deal. "I just feel like I'd look stupid, or I wouldn't know what I was doing, and then you'd have to pretend it was hot, which is a very nice boyfriend thing to do, but also something I'd never emotionally recover from."
Dean stared at you for a beat, then laughed in this soft, disbelieving way that only made your face feel warmer. "Baby, I'm hard because you're sitting on my lap in my shirt. You could sneeze right now, and I'd find a way to be into it."
You blinked because, annoyingly enough, it had worked. "That was weirdly comforting."
"I'm great at comfort."
"You're absolutely not."
"I am when you're half-naked on top of me."
You tried to bite back a laugh, but it came out as this breathy little sound instead when Dean's hands guided your hips down, showing you exactly how slowly he wanted you to move over him. The pressure caught against your clit through your underwear, warm and steady enough to make your thighs tense before you could stop them.
Dean's eyes darkened like he'd felt the way your body reacted. "Does that feel good?"
You nodded, your thighs still tense beneath his hands.
His mouth curved. "Words, sweetheart."
"Yes," you breathed, because apparently that was the only word your brain had left to offer.
"There you go," Dean murmured, his voice soft enough to make your stomach flip.
The next kiss was messier, mostly because Dean kept guiding your hips over him like he had all the patience in the world, dragging it out until your underwear was damp, clinging to you, and making it pretty impossible to pretend you weren't affected. At first, the sounds you made were small and half-swallowed against his mouth, but Dean noticed every single one like he'd been waiting for them.
"Don't do that," he murmured.
You blinked at him. "Do what?"
"Hold back." His fingers tightened on your hips like he was making sure you couldn't pretend you didn't know what he meant. "I like hearing you."
Your stomach flipped, which was annoying because Dean absolutely felt it, and then he kissed you again until the friction dragged a moan out of you that you finally let him hear.
Dean groaned, as if he'd heard you'd done something terrible to his self-control.
That helped more than anything else could have.
By the time Dean had pushed his sweatpants down and rolled on a condom, your underwear was shoved to the side, your hands were planted on his chest, and the shirt was still hanging over you like a very pathetic attempt at feeling covered. Dean didn't try to take it off, which somehow made your chest feel tighter. He just held your hips, eyes fixed on your face as he guided himself through your wetness.
"Slow," he murmured. "Take your time."
You lowered yourself carefully, trying to take your time like he'd told you to, but your mouth still fell open the second the head of his cock pressed inside you. The stretch was familiar and different all at once, deeper like this, more intense because you were the one in control, which sounded nice in theory and felt a lot more terrifying with Dean watching your face like that. You sank inch by inch, trying very hard to look like you had any control over yourself, but the second he filled you, your fingers curled against his chest, and a shaky whimper slipped out before you could stop it.
Dean's jaw tightened. "Fuck."
You froze immediately. "Bad?"
His eyes snapped to yours as you'd just said something insane. "Are you joking?"
"You made a face."
"Yeah, baby, because you feel so good, I'm trying not to embarrass myself."
Your cheeks warmed, which was embarrassing enough on its own, but the praise still settled low in your stomach like your body had decided to enjoy it before you could overthink it.
"You're not just saying that?"
Dean's hands slid up your thighs, grounding you in a way that made it annoyingly hard to spiral. "Move once, sweetheart, and see if I sound like I'm lying."
So you did, moving slowly at first.
Your hips lifted, then sank back down, and Dean's head tipped against the pillow with this rough, helpless groan that made it pretty hard to believe he'd been lying about any of it.
"Oh," you breathed, and the second you moved again, it turned into something closer to a moan.
Dean's eyes opened, heavy and dark, like he'd been waiting for exactly that. "Yeah?"
"Feels good," you said, already sounding a little wrecked.
His hands squeezed your thighs. "Then keep going, sweetheart."
Your movements were awkward at first, mostly because your brain wouldn't shut up long enough to let your body figure it out, too busy worrying about the rhythm, whether you were doing enough, and whether you looked ridiculous hovering over him in his shirt with your thighs trembling.
Then Dean's hands tightened on your hips like he could feel you spiraling. "Stop thinking."
"I'm trying."
"No." His voice dropped, rough around the edges but still gentle. "You're trying to look good, which is insane, because you already do. Just move how you want."
The words hit harder than you'd expected, mostly because Dean sounded like he meant them, so you tried to believe him.
You rolled your hips instead of lifting so high, chasing the angle that made your clit catch against him every time you sank back down, and the moan that left you was loud enough to make Dean's cock twitch inside you like he was having a very hard time staying calm about it.
Your eyes flicked to his face, and Dean looked so wrecked that it made it pretty hard to keep worrying about whether you were doing it right.
His lips parted, jaw tense, and his hands kept flexing on your hips like Dean was having the world's hardest time remembering he'd told you to move how you wanted.
"You like this?" you asked, and even though your voice shook, it still came out bolder than before.
Dean laughed once, rough and breathless, as the question had actually offended him. "Like it?" His hips jerked up into you, dragging a gasp out of your mouth. "Baby, I'm trying not to lose my fucking mind."
That did something to you, mostly because Dean sounded like he meant it, and apparently, your body liked knowing you could mess him up that badly.
Your next movement was smoother, more confident, and the moan that came out of you wasn't even close to quiet, which Dean clearly noticed because his hands tightened on your hips immediately.
"Dean—fuck," you moaned, and the way his eyes darkened made it pretty clear he'd liked hearing his name like that.
"That's it," he murmured. "Let me hear you."
You rode him slowly at first, then a little faster once you realized your body had apparently figured out what your brain kept trying to overthink, your hands sliding up his chest as his shirt rode higher over your thighs. Your cunt was soaked around him, every movement making it easier, wetter, and a lot harder to feel shy about, especially when Dean looked down to watch where you were taking him and groaned as he'd just lost whatever was left of his self-control.
"God," he muttered, hands tightening on your hips. "You were worried about this?"
You tried to laugh, but it came out closer to a whimper when he helped you grind down harder. "Maybe."
Dean looked like that answer personally offended him. "You're killing me."
His fingers tugged at the hem of the shirt, and you slowed immediately, like your body had decided to panic before your brain could tell it not to.
Dean noticed immediately, because, of course, he did, his eyes lifting back to yours, as if taking the shirt off suddenly mattered a whole lot less than making sure you were okay. "Can I see you?"
Your stomach fluttered.
His hands rubbed up your thighs, warm and steady. "You can keep it on if you want."
You hesitated for only a second before lifting your arms, which felt a lot braver than it probably looked.
Dean pulled the shirt over your head and tossed it aside, leaving you in your bra and still moving over him like your body hadn't quite figured out whether to be nervous or proud. His eyes dragged over you slowly, and for once, Dean Di Laurentis had absolutely nothing to say.
That made your chest tighten, mostly because Dean looking at you like that was a lot harder to handle than any stupid comment he could've made. "What?"
His hands slid up your waist, warm and certain. "You're so fucking pretty."
Your breath caught the second his palms covered your breasts through your bra, thumbs brushing over your nipples beneath the thin fabric, and your rhythm faltered immediately, because apparently, Dean touching you there made moving and thinking at the same time impossible.
"Oh—Dean."
His mouth curved, entirely too pleased with himself. "No, don't stop."
"You're distracting me."
"Good." His thumbs circled again, making you clench around him like your body had decided to prove his point. "Keep riding me anyway."
You moaned louder this time, hips rolling as his hands played with your tits through your bra, and every touch made you stutter in a way Dean very clearly noticed. Every bit of praise made you wetter, every look on his face made you a little bolder, until the embarrassment started slipping away as your body had finally decided to stop fighting him.
"Tell me," he said, voice rough. "Tell me what feels good."
You swallowed, still moving over him because apparently stopping would've been the worst idea. "Your hands."
"Yeah?"
"And your cock." Your voice was breathless enough to be embarrassing, but you said it anyway, and Dean's eyes went so dark that it made the embarrassment feel worth it. "Feels good when I move like this."
You rolled your hips harder to show him, and Dean's head dropped back as you'd just ruined him on purpose.
"Fuck," he groaned. "Don't stop doing that."
Hearing Dean sound like that ruined something dangerous to your confidence, mostly because it was a lot harder to feel embarrassed when he sounded like he was the one barely holding it together.
Your hands moved behind your back, unclasping your bra before your brain could show up and ruin the moment. It slipped down your arms and fell somewhere between you, and Dean stared as you'd just done something genuinely unfair to his ability to breathe.
"Look at you," he breathed, and the way he said it made your whole body feel warm.
The words made your chest warm in a way you weren't sure what to do with.
Then his mouth was on you, lips closing around one nipple while his hand covered your other breast, and you cried out so quickly it would've been embarrassing if Dean hadn't groaned like it'd done something to him. Your fingers slid into his hair, hips moving faster now as pleasure started building low in your stomach.
"Dean, I'm—" Your voice fell apart into a whimper when his thumb found your clit, because apparently your body had no interest in letting you finish a sentence. "Oh my god, right there."
"There?" he asked, smug in a way that would've been annoying if he didn't sound so wrecked.
"Yes. Fuck, yes."
He rubbed slow circles over your clit while you rode him, his other hand on your hip and his mouth moving from your breast to your throat like he wasn't already making it impossible to focus. You were close, so close your thighs had started shaking, but the rhythm was getting harder to keep, your moans turning messier and needier as frustration tangled with the pleasure your body kept trying to chase.
Dean caught it instantly, like every little shift in your body was something he'd been waiting for.
"Come here," he murmured.
Before you could even think about arguing, Dean rolled you beneath him and pulled the sheets over both of you, settling between your thighs without slipping out like he'd decided you'd done enough thinking for one night. The new angle made you gasp, your legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed deeper.
Then Dean caught both your hands and laced your fingers together, pinning them above your head so gently it made your chest ache a little.
Dean kissed you, slow and messy, like he had every intention of making good on that promise. "Let me finish what you started."
"Please," you whispered, and it came out a lot needier than planned, which Dean absolutely noticed.
Dean's expression flickered. Then his hips started moving. Slow, deep, steady thrusts that had you moaning into the space between you, thighs locked around his waist, your hands crossed with his over your head. The sheets tangled around your legs, heat building under the blanket, his body heavy and warm over yours.
"You did so well," he murmured, his mouth brushing your jaw like he knew exactly how badly the praise was getting to you. "Looked so fucking good on top of me."
"Dean," you whimpered.
"I know." His hips rolled deeper, pulling your back into an arch. "I've got you."
His hand slipped between your bodies again, thumb finding your clit like he already knew exactly what you needed, and your whole body tightened around him.
"Oh—fuck, don't stop," you gasped, which was probably unnecessary considering Dean looked like stopping would've killed him.
He groaned anyway. "Wasn't planning on it."
The pleasure snapped through you suddenly, hot and sharp, and your moan broke against Dean's mouth as you came around him. Your thighs locked around his waist, fingers tightening in his above your head like you needed something to hold onto while your body shook beneath him.
Dean followed right after, his thrusts going uneven as he'd finally lost the last of his control, face buried in your neck as a rough groan broke out of him while he held you close and came.
For a while, neither of you moved, both of you too warm and tangled beneath the sheets to do anything other than breathe.
"You okay?" he asked softly.
You nodded, still trying to catch your breath. "Yeah."
His grin appeared slowly, which was never a good sign. "So."
"No."
"I didn't say anything."
"You were about to."
"I was just gonna say you're definitely not bad at being on top."
Your face warmed, and you turned it into the pillow like that might somehow save you. "You're so annoying."
"And you were so loud."
"Dean."
"I liked it," he said, kissing your cheek like he hadn't just made you want to disappear into the mattress. "A lot."
You tried to glare, but it came out pretty weak, especially when he slipped out carefully and disappeared to clean up like he hadn't just ruined your ability to function. When he came back, he helped clean you with a warm towel, gentle when your thighs twitched, before pulling his shirt back over your head as it belonged there.
"Putting me back in this?" you asked, glancing down at the shirt.
"Obviously." Dean climbed into bed beside you and pulled you into his chest, looking far too pleased with himself. "It's my new favorite thing now."
You laughed softly, settling against him while his arm wrapped around you like he had no plans of letting you go anytime soon.
For a minute, Dean only rubbed slow circles over your back like he was trying to make sure you'd fully melted into him. Then his voice came again, softer this time, though obviously still teasing because it was Dean.
"So..." His mouth brushed your hair, and you could hear the grin in his voice before he even finished. "You wanna do that again sometime?"
You pinched his side, which only made him laugh because apparently even that wasn't enough to make him less pleased with himself.
Dean laughed and pulled you closer, sounding far too pleased with himself for someone who'd just been pinched. "I'll take that as a yes."
“goddamn, angel doll you are squeezing me so fucking hard” dean says through his teeth, his breathing coming out in heavy pants, blonde hair sticking to his sweaty forehead.
he had you on your hands and knees, his thick cock slamming into your sopping wet pussy from behind.
dean loved having you in this position! your body at his mercy, pleasure being his for the taking - getting the perfect glimpse of you when he briefly pulled out.
the sound of skin your skin slapping against his filled the room, his calloused fingers digging into the flesh of your hips almost painfully.
dirty sounds of pleasure slipped through your lips as his cock reached places you didn’t even know possible.
“yeahhh? you like that, huh?” dean says smugly, placing soft smacks against your ass.
your hands started to become shaky beneath you, managing a lazy little nod, “harder” you whined loudly, deans movements faltering quickly after.
“shit, baby don’t say that or this is going to end much quicker than i want it to” he murmured truthfully.
You get too distracted with Garrett Graham’s chain while he’s fucking you ⋆ mdni, female reader, unprotected sex, teasing.
─────
The room was humid and hot, too hot, and the air smelled faintly of sex, sweat and his cologne. His room was dark, except for the low golden light coming from the single lamp on his nightstand.
A calloused hand traveled around your body until it settled on the flesh of your hip, lifting it slightly so he could sink himself deeper into your warmth.
“Fuck, Garrett—” you gasped, eyebrows furrowing as your manicured nails dug into the muscles of his back, right over his tattoo.
He smirked. “Yeah?”
Damn him.
His face hovered above yours, dark curls damp with sweat falling across his forehead. That lazy smile played on his mouth as he watched you fall apart, purely from the slow roll of his hips, the burn and the stretch of his cock sliding easily in and out of your pussy, again and again.
And if that wasn’t enough, the thin, golden chain dangling between you, swinging with every thrust while catching the lamplight, made your stomach curl. Now, you couldn’t stop staring at it, the way it moved back and forth, brushing against your breasts each time he sank deep.
“Baby,” he rasped, voice laced with amusement. “You’re gettin’ fuckin’ distracted again.”
Your mouth opened to answer, but the words died in your throat as Garrett punctuated them with a cruel roll of hips, dragging the thick, leaking head of his cock along that spongy spot inside you. Immediately, your back arched, and anything you were about to say gets replaced by an embarrassingly loud moan.
“I—I’m not,” you breathed out, eyes still glued to the swinging chain.
“Yeah? you sure?” Garrett laughed, low and dangerous in that way that made you dizzy. He dipped lower, close enough for you to feel the three day stubble on his defined jaw scratch your cheek, close enough for the cool metal of the chain to brush against your nipple. Your breath hitched. “Don’t lie to me, baby.” He drawled against your earlobe.
You tried to answer. You really did. But what came out was barely a word, and more like… a strangled noise, and the fact that his cock was throbbing right inside you, coated with your arousal, stuffing you full with every thrust, letting you feel every ridge and vein along his length. Fuck, it didn’t help at all.
And he noticed it, of course.
“Shit, don’t tell me I’ve already fucked you stupid.”
“Jesus, shut up,” you choked out, tightening your legs around his waist, keeping him right where he was.
“Oh, so she talks.” The hand on your hip suddenly disappeared, sliding south, lower, and lower. All while that annoying smirk never seemed to leave his face.
“Don’t—” A borderline pornographic moan tore from your lips as the rough pad of Garrett’s thumb drew lazy, effortless circles on your swollen clit. “Don’t— get so cocky.”
“Me? Baby—”
But before he could finish another arrogant remark, your trembling fingers reached up to wrap around the cool, golden chain. Desperate, you tugged hard on it, pulling him down until his chapped lips met yours. His hips faltered for a split second, and a groan rumbled from his chest as he kissed you back. The kiss was raw, messy, and intense. The back of his neck burned from the pressure of the chain, your grip was something, and he was sure it would leave a mark.
A deep, sore, red line that he’d make you kiss better later in the shower, because he was definitely nowhere near done with you.
he’s staring at you from across the overcrowded frat party, sipping on his drink and smiling like a fool.
your in your usual element, bubbly and laughing while you’re dancing with your girls, looking utterly beautiful in the short mini skirt that’s so short you could flash the whole party with a slight bend, and a skimpy top that’s tied at your back, and dean’s pretty sure he could untie it with a tug of his teeth.
the outfit is beyond dangerous and scandalous, but that’s why your boyfriend’s here, right? and he can fight too, so that’s a bonus.
eventually that smile on dean’s face turns into an annoyed look when you move around all sweaty, trying to get a drink from logan, and that gives the perfect opportunity to some short frat guy making his way towards you, flashing you his cheap boy‑next‑door smile and trying to make small conversation while you look him up and down, answering his questions in boredom.
and dean’s teammate logan has the audacity to leave you alone as he makes his way towards his own girl. the conversation looks innocent, but not until shorty has the audacity to put a hand on your hip, whispering something in your ear, pretending like it’s sooo loud and you just can’t hear him!!
and that’s what motivates dean to leave his drink nearby on a table and strut his way towards you as he rounds a large hand over your tummy, pulling you into his hard chest and making you relax.
the guy you’re talking to falters slightly, letting go as he gapes at him.
“hey man, saw your game last night—” he blabbers, but dean could not care less, using his free hand as he tilts your chin to his smirking face while you grin at him.
not long before he brands his lips and tongue on you, you struggle to kiss him back.
the frat guy is long forgotten, melting away into the background as dean deepens the kiss. your hands find purchase on his shoulders, gripping the firm muscle through his shirt as you press closer.
you’re drunk on his scent.
he’s drunk on your mouth.
shamelessly, he takes full advantage, pressing open‑mouthed kisses down the column of your throat. his hand continues its journey upward until he reaches the knot of your top, his fingers toying with the strings.
“dean,” you whisper, a half‑hearted protest as your body arches into his touch.
he smirks against your skin. “what? just making sure it’s secure. can’t have you flashing everyone now, can we?” but his fingers continue to tease the knot, not quite untying it but definitely testing its strength.
you hear a loud “get a room!” and you both know it’s one of his idiot friends, but he doesn’t even care as he grins into you.
your own hands begin to explore, sliding down his chest to the hem of his shirt. you slip beneath it, your fingers tracing the ridges of his abs while balancing your drink on the other hand.
dean groans into your mouth at your touch, his hips pressing forward instinctively.
“maybe we should find somewhere more private hmm,” he suggests between kisses, though he makes no move to pull away.
you’re about to agree when someone bumps into you, breaking the moment. you both look up to find a drunk girl apologizing profusely before stumbling away. the spell broken, dean takes your hand.
“come on,” he says, his eyes gleaming with desire. “we’re getting outta here.”
who knew dean di laurentis. famous party boy was so desperate to leave a party.
summary your brother's best friend gets a boner when you sit on his lap
contains boner alert... mature content, dry humping, coming in pants, sexual tension, forced proximity, public sex (kinda...), reader is a tease, wc 2k
a/n this is not supposed to be realistic... at all... just fun and horny yay!!
Fitting eight people into one car isn't very ideal.
You tried to get past it, understand the situation you're in, but you can't wrap your head around it. How the hell did Garrett manage to convince seven people to squeeze into his car without holding a gun to their head?
The scene you're greeted with when you make your way downstairs is baffling, suffocating almost.
Garrett and Hannah sit comfortably in the front, giggling over a stupid joke he made as Hannah presses some random buttons to get the music working. Your eyes drift to the back, and that's when you see the disaster.
Jesus Christ.
You can't even tell people apart from how cramped it is inside. Logan's sitting by the window, with Jules on the edge of his lap. Tucker sits next to him, tense and looking very uncomfortable.
Beau is glued to Tucker's side, with Allie comfortably positioned on his lap. They're giggling together as she shows him something on her phone. It's a very warm sight, they've grown really close after their trip to New York together.
As if things couldn't get any worse, Dean is here. His side of the car is definitely... emptier. He's positioned in the seat behind Garret with his legs stretched over the rolled down window. The door to his side wide open, letting in much needed air.
He's busy scrolling on his phone, only noticing your presence when your voice erupts through the chaos.
"Wow, you should've invited a few more people," your tone fills with sarcasm, statement directed towards your brother. "Too much space."
An amused chuckle escapes Dean's throat at your snarky comment, legs back on the ground as his attention shifts to Garrett.
"Haha, very funny, Graham." Garret rolls his eyes, causing Hannah to shove his side. "Get in, you kept us stalling forever."
"Where am I supposed to sit?" You argue, pointing towards the rammed car.
Your eyes flicker back to Dean, who adjusts his position at your question. His legs spread apart, fingers lightly patting his lap, the silent gesture an invitation, something he voluntarily did to catch your attention.
The idea of straddling Dean's lap for the entire car ride makes your heart flutter, cause air to get stuck in your throat. You can barely act normal when he's around, turning into a stuttering mess as soon as he joins any conversation, and now you have to sit on his lap for the next thirty minutes.
"You're the only one complaining," Garrett interrupts through your thoughts, gesturing for you to get in the car. "Quit being a baby and find yourself a place to sit."
A sigh dreads past your lips, dragging a deep exhale out as you step towards the vehicle. Dean clears his throat, fumbling around to put his phone away and straighten his back. You almost scoff if not for how nervous you are.
"Hi," you start, avoiding Dean's gaze.
"Hi," he repeats, but his tone is teasing, amused by how flustered you seem. You pause for a second, mustering up the courage to ask him to scoot, but Dean beats you to talking. "What are you waiting for?"
"Huh?" You hum, caught off guard.
"Sit," his voice lowers into a whisper, gesturing you to sit on his lap. Your stomach twists into knots, the demand carrying so much tension, it makes your knees grow weak. "Sit on my lap."
You fight the choked breath threatening to leave your chest, flashing him a tight-lipped smile, but still doing as you're told. You shuffle around to get in the car, carefully propping yourself across Dean's lap.
Your whole body's tense, and you're sitting uncomfortably at the edge of his lap, barely providing yourself any space. The length of his legs is of no help, unnecessary long, you're practically holding onto the headrest to keep yourself from falling.
"I'm gonna fucking kill you, Garrett Graham." You mutter through gritted teeth, causing your brother to freeze in his spot.
"Alright, now that everyone's here," Hannah bursts into laughter at Garrett's change of topic, completely ignoring the threat you threw in his direction.
Annoyance fades into surprise when Dean slings his arms around your waist, using your astonishment as an opportunity to tug you close. Your back hits his firm chest with a thud, the proximity of the touch overwhelming you in an instant.
Your body radiates with heat, as Dean's breath fans over your ear, the feather-like sensation causing goosebumps to break out across your back. He's so close, you can smell his stupid cologne, the aroma intoxicating, it almost melts you in your spot.
You try to shuffle back into your old position, in case you're too heavy or causing Dean any discomfort, but the hand he presses to your hips interrupts those thoughts from rummaging through your head.
"You should get comfortable," he whispers in your ear, drawing circular motions to the sliver of skin just above your skirt. "It's a long ride."
Fuck.
Heat travels to in between your legs, gaze lowering to the arms caging you in place. His grip is firm, unwavering even when you move around to adjust yourself into a comfortable position.
Dean doesn't budge, he pretends you're not even in his lap. He laughs, makes jokes, sings along as Hannah plays music, and it's like you're not even there. Unlike him, you're having a hard time playing this off as casual, nothing about this is normal, you skipped from ground zero to a thousand in the span of minutes.
You try not to pay him too much attention, or his fingers as they're tracing small patterns to your hips, or his breath gradually blowing over your neck. All of it is so overwhelming, you want nothing more than to break free and breathe.
This feels intimate, maybe too intimate, even more so because you're aware his touches are for you only, everyone else is doing their thing, and you two are in your own little world.
After a while of resisting, you eventually settle back and relax against Dean's chest, satisfied by the way he tenses beneath you. His breath grows ragged, but he doesn't let you have it, tightening his arms in response, his hold engulfing most of your frame.
This is okay, it's totally fine that you're tangled in this position with your brother's best friend, whom you've had a crush on since forever.
You can get used to it.
But you can't. Not when he's pulling every string to get your attention and get a reaction out of you.
A few minutes pass by, and your body feels stiff from maintaining the same stance for too long. You shuffle around to find a comfortable position, hips stuttering when you feel something twitch underneath you.
You're mistaken, have to be. It's all in your head, there's no way what you felt just now is real.
"Fuck," Dean grunts, confirming your suspicions.
Oh.
Oh.
He sighs, very shaky, but delibaret, the sound ringing in your ear, and making you pulse in reaction. You can feel hie semi-hard erection growing beneath you, failing to keep it under control.
Fuck, Dean Di Laurentis is hard.
You hate how much it's turning you on, your heat heaving with arousal when you feel another pulse through the thin fabric of his sweats.
You angle your face towards the window, casually, without causing any suspicion, and Dean fights the embarrassment he feels to spare you a glance, regretting it soon as your hips move forward, instantly earning a choked breath out of him.
It's not on purpose, you only realize what happens after he reacts.
"Do you want me to–" he gives your hip another squeeze, locking you in place as the words die on your tongue.
"Don't fuckin' move," he warns, practicing restraint. "Please."
How can you not when his crotch is practically poking at your entrance, drenching your pussy from how tingly it's making you feel.
"Dean," you whisper through a breath, causing his cock to twitch with need. The reaction you receive is immediate, anticipated, the only sign you need to grind down against his hardened length.
His lips part in a hefty moan, barely dismissed by the loud music occupying everyone else.
"You did that on purpose, didn't you?" He whispers, toying with the hem of your skirt, as his other hand caresses the exposed flesh around your stomach.
"Maybe." You coyly offer him a response.
This is your brother's best friend, someone way out of your orbit. You shouldn't cross the line, and let your lust drive you over the edge when you fought to keep yourself under control.
Your brain short circuits, and panic rises in your chest before you can even stop it, but the pleasure surging through your body takes over when Dean's hips meet yours halfway, completely dismissing the guilt you're feeling.
You've avoided Dean just fine till now, so why is it that you're involuntarily rolling your hips down for a mere fraction of his cock?
Your pedicured nails dig into his arms, the force of the touch forming red marks all over his flesh. Dean smoothes out the fabric of your skirt to hide the circular motion of your hips. You ground him into place, repeatedly rubbing your wet cunt over his crotch.
Pleasure builds through your insides, and you start to lose control over your grinds, messy and needy. Dean encourages you with a hand to your side, guiding you down to chase his own high, slowly building.
His cock aches, leaking with precum that stains a a patch in his underwear, wet and sticky, but he doesn't feel disgusted from it, but more so turned on because you're the cause of it. You're the reason he's in this mess, risking one of the most precious things to him just to touch you, feel you, even for a little.
"I'm–" You fight the whimper threatening to leave your lips, leaning your head against the head rest to avoid locking eyes with anyone.
Your pussy drenches in your arousal, thrusts growing sloppy as you feel your orgasm reaching its peak. Dean can almost tell that you're close, grip tightening around your stomach as he thrusts into you, rolling his hips once more before you came undone.
Your legs shake from the overstimulation, Dean uses his hands to stabilize you in his lap. You ride him through your orgasm, sensitive, but desperate to please him and make him feel good.
"You don't have to," he whispers, like he knows exactly what you're thinking. "I can take care of myself, darling."
"I want to," you reply, out of breath, with sweat forming at your forehead. Your face flushes with heat, and your energy goes down the drain in an instant, but you're persistent on making Dean come.
His breath gets caught in his throat, and he uses your back as a shield to hide his expression as he reaches his own high. It only takes you a few more grinds for him to come undone.
He releases into his pants, sticky stripes of semen coating a mess in his underwear. He stills your hips as he comes down from his high, a sigh of relief escaping his throat in the process.
"That was– fuck." He chokes out, "So good for me, baby."
You almost mewl at the praise but hold it back for the sake of not being caught.
That was... insane. Probably the best orgasm you've had.
The rest of the car ride seeps into silence on both your ends, too tired to engage with the rest of the group as they broke into a whole karaoke session. It's not uncomfortable, nor is it unbearable, just... silence, you almost find it comforting.
Garrett announces your arrival soon after, wrapping up the karaoke session as everyone engaged in another conversation.
You use their banter as an opportunity to pull at the strings of your thong, wiggling around on Dean's lap in an attempt to get them off. They slide down your thighs, bunching around your knees before eventually falling down your legs.
Dean doesn't do anything, simply sits back and observes you with a hint of confusion, eyebrows pinching as you bent down to grab it into your hold.
And as everyone's busy getting out, you turn around and hand him the lacy material.
"Huh?" He questions, taken aback by the sudden offer.
You get off his lap, and land on the ground, smoothing down your skirt. Your gaze flickers back to him, a teasing grin smeared all over your lips.
"A gift." You reply, attention shifting down to the mess on his lap. "Good luck cleaning that up."
And with that, you take off with the rest of the group, barely sparing him a second glance.
Fuck, now he has to deal with another boner.
a/n lowk rushed towards the end but hey i wrote most of this at a gathering so it's something 😓 oh and i havent written in a while so i'm trying to get used to it again this is hard man my bad if this sucked i can't write smut to save my life 💔 also this was lowk lowkkkk inspired by that one scene from off limits it made me miss writing it sigh
i didn’t expect john logan to win tbh 💀💀💀💀💀 okay pls send in what yall want to see. i have a few ideas and then i start going blank with how to finish it. pls helpppp
summary: you accidentally hear strange sounds from dean's room
c/w: smut, hot dean, naked dean, water glistening his skin dean, did I say hot dean, masturbating contest
a/n: i genuinely can't take my mind off of him i hope you guys suffer the same way as i do
You are walking to Garett's place right after your class. You intend to return his girlfriend Hannah's musical notes that you borrowed earlier. You texted her and she said to just come over to this house because it's closer than walking to her place and because well—she's busy making out with her boyfriend on the couch in the living room.
"Seriously? This is how I'm greeted with?"
Your voice breaks their kiss with their eyes wide. Although Garett quickly recovers, he doesn't take his arms off of his girl, glaring at you like you just ruined his perfect moment. You kind of did, but whatever.
"Oh my god, I'm sorry. I was waiting for your update but you didn't call?" Her voice is high from the embarrassment and the sentence ends in questions because she's sure you'd call again but you didn't.
"Yeah, my phone died."
Garett rolls his eyes at your answers. "You just ruined our kiss, you know." Hannah immediately hits his chest, giddy yet signaling him to behave.
"Oh I'm sorry I ruined your hot make out session." You say in mock playfulness. Hannah laughs at that, her voice sweet in your ear. She's such a lovely girl.
"Anyway, these are your musical notes, thank you. And do you guys have a charger? My phone is like, dying dead." You turn to look at them both.
"Oh, I think Garett has it. Right, Garett?" He gives her a look that makes her blush. "Right, baby?"
You make a disgusted face at that. He smiles at her then looks at you. "It's in my room. You know where it is."
Your feet step on the stairs. "Beside Dean's right?" You wonder where the rest of the boys are because the house is oddly quiet.
You don't hear his answer so you turn your head just to look at them back making out again. "Ugh, you guys are unbelievable." You roll your eyes as you climb the stairs and refuse to look back.
"Right back at you." Garett says, his voice muffled by Hannah's giggle. You just shake your head.
Garett's room door is opened while Dean's door hung partially open, making you curious what his room looks like. You wonder if he's home, you didn't ask Garett beforehand. But it doesn't matter, you step into Garett's room to quickly grab his charger and leave. But before you climb down the stairs, you hear a faint sound of moans.
You try to shrug it down, maybe it's Dean or his friend with a random girl. But you don't hear the girl's moan. You take a peek downstairs, Hannah is still on Garett's lap, laughing about something. You turn on your feet and walk towards the source of the sound.
It's from Dean's room.
Following your impulse curiosity, you open the door slightly to take a peek at what's inside. You know you shouldn't be doing this, but stepping inside the famous charming womanizer to follow the sound of his grunts? Well you can't miss this.
You finally steps inside his room. It is surprisingly neat and clean. And it really indicates that he's someone who prioritizes his hygiene and looks. Because the products are everywhere. You will bring it up and use it against him in the future, you grin to yourself. The most wanted man on campus really cares about his looks. Can't wait to see his face.
He faces you backwards, his bathroom door barely closed. And now you can see it clearly with your eyes. He's jerking off. Dean Di Laurentis is jerking off. He fists his cock. He strokes his dick. Whatever. The sight is so salivating and interesting that you have to look at his butt and the way he throws his head back in pleasure for a few seconds before you call him out.
"Don't have your girls to please you, do you, Dean?"
He immediately snaps his neck towards you and his eyes widen in panic. His hand's quick to close the door in a loud bang and you let out your laugh. You can hear him cursing to himself in the bathroom now that the water stops running.
Then he comes out of the bathroom wearing only white towel that just covers the bulge between his legs. Obviously, he hasn't cum. Or else his face wouldn't be flushed red with embarrassment and frustration.
You check him out from head to toe without shame. His blonde strands are wet, the edge of them dripping water from the shower. His skin is sheen, showing he doesn't even dry himself properly. With lack of time and being caught in the middle of masturbating, you assume it is understandable. His muscles are even more tempting, not to mention his broad, ripe chest. And the abs, oh the abs.
"You done checking me out?"
"Hmm... Not yet." You tilt your head menacingly. He huffs, ruffling his hair, probably to act cool and not showing too much of his embarrassment.
"I see no girl in there."
"There is no girl." He replies almost immediately, looking at you now.
"Oh. Didn't think you were the independent type." You make a mock innocent face at him. He looks irritated now. He looks at the phone charger in your hand then looks at his on his table, then the gears turn behind his eyes once he realizes it's probably Garett's.
"You should leave." He says in a neutral tone, his one hand on his hips while the other holds the towel. You wonder if it'll fall out now.
"It's not gonna fall down, so stop eyeing me, pervert."
You make a disapproved expression. "Pervert? I'm not the one fisting my cock in the shower."
"That's because you don't have a cock." He shoots back immediately, although you can very clearly see the line of regret in his face after you say that. You press your lips to hide your laugh.
He exhales heavily. "Just, please leave."
"Aww, poor you. Must be frustrating to not cumming." After you finish your last word, he approaches you abruptly until his forehead almost touches yours. You don't back down.
"Now that you don't wanna leave, you should help me with this."
"With what? Your sexual frustration? Your hard dick?"
He clenches his jaw and you want to grab it down and kiss him rough. What you didn't expect is him going to the door and lock it. Then he turns to look at you.
"Oh wow. I'm forbidden to get out."
"You are." Now that he's not so helpless, that smug grin comes on the surface. You are very annoyed for finding it mad attractive. Because it is.
He walks towards you slowly, like he's taking his time. Now it's his turn to eye you up and down, making sure he doesn't miss a single sight. You grin. "Now who's the pervert?"
He drops his towel on purpose, his cock standing proud and hard while he puts his hand and strokes it slowly. "Me."
Your breath hitched, causing his lips to pull into that jackass smirk. "Thought someone agreed to help me."
You look at him for a moment before taking a step closer towards him. "I did, didn't I." You say quietly as you push his chest, making him fall to the nearest chair in a sudden move. He squints his eyes on you but doesn't complain. On the contrary, his blood rushes to his already hardening dick.
You stand in front of him, sending him a knowing look with a faint smile. He quickly gets that as his hand comes back down to stroke his dick as you unbutton your clothes.
He looks at you intensely from his seat, switching between holding eye contact and following your fingers movement. His face scrunches as he can't hold back his grunt when you're finally bare, sitting on his bed, your legs opened, one hand slowly comes down to your core.
Fuck, you're gorgeous. Your eyes shine with lust and thrill, your lips hold that teasing, naughty smile, and the sound you make—he's done.
You never break eye contact as you finger your slick pussy and play with your clit. Your sigh and moan fills the room, making his chest heavy with sigh as your voice turns him on more than he could imagine he's capable of.
"Are you enjoying the show, Dean?"
He sucked his teeth. "Not a show when I'm also looking at one."
Your finger hits that particular spot and you moan. "So cocky now when you were the one asking for my help in the first place." Your voice is breathy and trembling. His hips jerk uncontrollably at it.
"I'm gonna come." He says through his gritted teeth. His veins pop out of his forehead and drops of sweat falling from it as his face twists in frustration and pleasure.
You pinch your clit. "Mhm, me too."
You both edge yourself without taking your eyes off of each other, even when he rubs his sensitive tip and you circle your swollen clit. Your breath becomes short and heavy as you chase your release.
You cum first, the sight of your pussy clenching around your fingers and milk your wrist sets him off that he follows you quickly after.
You both pant, you're still unconsciously grinding your fingers, chasing for more friction. He grins through the coming down haze.
"You just came and you already want more?" He says in that mocking tone of his, his voice is still raw and husky after his intense release.
You can't help but blush at getting caught. Shit, how did you not realize you're still riding your fingers. But your release is so intense that most of the nights alone in your bed that you let your guard down and you can't help it. He's right. You want more.
He grins in triumph at catching your vulnerable desire, and you want to come up with smartass remarks when you hear knocking on the door, followed by Garett's familiar voice after.
"Hey, you've found the charger, right?"
You and Dean exchange looks right away.
Oh, fuck.
yeay dean smut done! i can't wait to write for more! send your thoughts in the comments guys xoxo 💋💋💗💗
from an irritated "oh, fuck!" to a confident "fuck it", your entire relationship with John Logan can be mapped out in seven specific exclamations of his favorite four-letter word.
word count : 6.1k (sorry) — enemies to lovers, kind of — logan is moody — SMUT, minors DNI — Enjoy and please tell me what you think !
One — "Oh, fuck!"
The music wasn’t just loud; it was vibrating through the old floorboards and thumping directly against your ribs. You’d only been there for twenty minutes, entirely dragged along by Hannah, who was currently tucked under Garrett’s arm near the doorway. Watching them was sweet—almost nauseatingly so—but it left you feeling like a ghost drifting through a sea of oversized jerseys, loud hockey players, and the thick scent of cheap beer. For the most part, the rest of the boys were incredibly welcoming; even though you'd just met them tonight, they were already loud, inherently kind and easy to be around.
Except for John Logan.
You hadn’t actually been introduced to him yet, but you’d felt his suffocating vibe the moment he walked through the door. He looked like absolute thunder. Briar had dropped a frustrating, tight game that evening, and while Garrett was channeling his nervous energy into playing the charismatic host, Logan was wearing his irritation like armor. Leaning against the kitchen counter with a dark scowl that practically screamed at people to stay away, his knuckles were white around his glass, his eyes scanning the room as if looking for a reason to snap.
Navigating that crowded, chaotic kitchen with a brim-filled, sticky mixed drink was your first mistake. Your second was catching the rubber toe of your sneaker on the lifting edge of a rogue anti-fatigue mat near the sink.
You stumbled forward, your arms flailing wildly in a desperate, ungraceful bid for balance. You didn’t fall, but your cup did a violent, mid-air flip, slipping from your fingers. A torrential wave of sticky, dark rum and cola splashed directly across the pristine gray fabric of Logan’s Henley shirt, soaking through the chest, darkening the material instantly and dripping down the front of his dark jeans.
Logan froze. His head snapped down slowly, looking at the huge, dark stain spreading across his clothes, and then his gaze lifted to yours. His eyes were blazing, a dangerous brown, entirely unamused and dripping with venom. "Oh, fuck!" he snapped, his voice cutting right through the ambient noise like a knife. He pulled the wet, heavy fabric away from his skin with two fingers, a look of pure annoyance twisting his features. "Are you serious right now? Watch where the hell you're going."
The sheer aggression in his tone caught you completely off guard, instantly sparking your own deeply ingrained, stubborn nature. You had been about to apologize profusely, the words of remorse already forming on your tongue, but the bite in his words choked them right out of your throat. You squared your shoulders, refusing to back down under his glare. "It was an accident," you retorted, pulling a few crumpled, napkins from the counter and shoving them toward his chest. "You don't have to be a complete dick about it. It’s just a shirt, I'm pretty sure you'll survive."
"It's a wet, sticky shirt at the end of a terrible, exhausting fucking day," he growled, his voice dropping an octave as he batted your hand away with a harsh flick of his wrist. He didn't take the napkins; they fluttered uselessly to the floor. Instead, he leaned down slightly, giving you a long, icy glare that made you feel about two inches tall, his jaw clenching so hard you could see the muscle tick. "Next time, look up from your feet." Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and storming down the hallway toward the stairs, muttering curses under his breath.
You stood there rooted to the spot, your cheeks burning with a toxic mixture of intense embarrassment and sudden, deep-seated dislike. Garrett materialized at your side a split second later, a sympathetic, slightly apologetic grimace on his face as he patted your shoulder gently. "Hey, don't sweat it," Garrett reassured you quietly, glancing warily toward the stairs where Logan had disappeared. "Logan’s just in a brutal mood because of the game, and he hates losing more than anyone. He's usually a great guy, I swear. He’ll have forgotten all about it by tomorrow morning."
You forced a tight, fake smile and nodded, but as you looked down at your empty, sticky hands, a bitter taste lingered in your mouth. Spoiler alert: he wouldn't forget. and neither would you.
Two — "Fuck you"
A few weeks later, the initial friction hadn’t dissolved; it had hardened into a permanent, icy chill. You tried your best to play nice for the sake of Hannah and Allie, but Logan made it incredibly difficult. You saw how he was with the rest of their circle—fiercely loyal, easygoing, and warm. He was the kind of guy who quietly made sure Allie and Hannah got home safe from their late shifts and spent his free afternoons helping Jules with media stuff. He was patient with the entire world. But the exact millisecond you walked into a room, his posture stiffened and his jaw set. You hated being the sole exception to his good nature, so you simply stayed out of his way.
The breaking point came on a gray, rainy Tuesday afternoon. You and Hannah had walked over to the hockey house to help Tucker untangle a massive, soul-crushing history assignment he was drowning in. The three of you were spread across the dining table, surrounded by a chaotic mess of highlighters, laptop cords, and heavy library textbooks.
The back door clicked open, and Logan walked in. He was wearing his Briar athletic gear, a damp towel slung over his shoulders from a post-practice shower, his hair messy and wet. He looked exhausted, his shoulders tense, carrying the unmistakable hangover of a brutal morning practice. Instead of walking past to the kitchen, he paused by the table, leaning over Tucker’s shoulder to scan the open pages. He let out a heavy, deliberate sigh. "You’re using the wrong primary sources for that era, Tuck," Logan said, his voice dropping into that effortless, uninvited authority. "You need the economic logs from the eastern front, not these political manifestos. You’re going to tank your thesis statement with those."
Tucker blinked up, looking miserable. "Wait, really? I thought—"
"We checked those, Logan," you interrupted, keeping your voice level and calm as you kept your eyes on your notebook. "We've got it handled," you smiled, trying to remain polite.
Logan didn't move. His eyes slid slowly down to the side of your face, unamused. "Right. Because you're an expert on 20th-century economic trade?"
"No," you said, your pen pausing on the page. "But I can read a syllabus. If you're so worried about Tucker's academic results, you could have sat down and helped him yourself already."
Logan’s jaw tightened, a sharp spike of tension instantly replacing his usual easygoing demeanor. He took his hands out of his pockets and leaned forward, bracing his palms on the edge of the table, firmly invading your space. Tucker shot Hannah a wide-eyed, panicked look across the textbooks, both of them suddenly bracing for impact.
"I gave him my old notes weeks ago," Logan shot back, his voice dropping into something smaller, tighter. "But sure, ignore the guy who actually passed the class because you're too stubborn to take a note from me."
"I'm not being stubborn, you're just being a patronizing prick," you retorted, leaning back in your chair. "You’ve been hovering over this table for five minutes just looking for a problem because you had a bad day and want to take it out on someone."
Logan let out a harsh, dry laugh, though there was a flicker of genuine frustration in his eyes—the look of a good guy who couldn't understand why he kept letting you bait him. "Take it out on someone? Trust me, if I wanted to take anything out on someone, I wouldn't waste my time on you. I'm trying to keep my friend from bombing a midterm because he made the mistake of letting you organize his thoughts."
"My thoughts are perfectly fine, Logan," Tucker muttered quietly under his breath, his eyes glued to his laptop screen, desperately trying to dissolve into the background.
"They're fine when you're left alone, Tuck," Logan said, keeping his eyes locked onto yours, completely ignoring his teammate's plea. "Not when you're letting someone drag their own contrarian agenda into your coursework."
"A contrarian agenda?" You stood up, your chair scraping loudly against the hardwood floor. Hannah flinched at the sharp noise, withdrawing her hands from the table and motioning for Tucker to leave the potential future crime scene. They both complied quickly, knowing you both well enough to understand that trying to reason with you in that moment would be pointless. "Are you actually insane? I'm sorry that anyone else having a brain in this house threatens your need to micromanage every single thing that happens under this roof."
"It doesn't threaten me at all," Logan said, standing up straight and towering over you, using his height to crowd your space until his shadow completely blocked out the light from the window. The sheer, uncharacteristic anger rolling off him was suffocating; Tucker actually slid his chair back a few inches, completely done with trying to intervene at this point. "It annoys me. You annoy me, actually. I'm not going to walk on eggshells in my own dining room because you can't handle a basic correction."
"I can handle a correction if it's respectful," you shot back, your heart hammering against your ribs, but you refused to take a step away from him. "You don't want to help Tucker. You just want to feel like the smartest guy in the room and that is annoying."
"I dont—," Logan started, a nervous scoff escaping his lips. "You don't know anything about me. Please let's keep it this way, since you clearly can't stand me anyway."
"You're the one who treats me like an absolute inconvenience the second I breathe in your direction!" you yelled, the weeks of being ignored, brushed off, and glared at finally boiling over into raw, unadulterated anger. "If you hate me being here so much, just say it. But stop acting like I'm the one bringing the venom into this house when you're the one dripping it."
The air between you turned completely volatile, thick enough to choke on. A strange, angry electricity snapped between you, the argument completely detached from history or homework now, exposed and raw. Logan stared down at you, his breathing heavy and uneven as he tried to swallow down the sheer frustration rolling off him in waves. He leaned down slightly, bringing his face inches from yours, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle violently ticked in his cheek.
"Fuck you," he whispered.
The words hit with a cold, deliberate weight that vibrated in the dead-silent room. Before you could fire back, Tucker's voice boomed from the kitchen archway, stern and completely done with both of you. "Enough! Both of you, cut it the hell out."
But the damage was done. The look in Logan's eyes made something tight and painful twist in your chest. You refused to sit there and breathe the same air as him for another second. Blindly turning around, you grabbed your laptop and notebook, shoving them into your backpack with rigid, uncooperative hands.
"I'm leaving," you muttered, keeping your eyes glued firmly to the floor as you pushed past Hannah’s reaching hand on the way out. You grabbed your jacket from the hook and left through the front door, slamming it hard enough to rattle the frame, stepping out into the pouring, cold rain with the echo of his voice looping in your head like a curse.
Three — "Fuck off"
For the next month, you became an absolute expert at avoiding John Logan. You turned it into an art form. If he was at a crowded house party, you stayed firmly in the kitchen or on the opposite porch. If the entire group gathered at Malone's, you ensured you sat on the exact opposite end of the long table, hidden behind Dean's loud gestures.
Because of this, you never saw the way his eyes silently followed you when you entered a room, or the almost guilty look that crossed his face whenever your name came up in conversation. He knew he'd crossed a line by cursing at you like that—but your unbreakable silence gave him absolutely no room to apologize, and his own stubborn pride kept him from forcing the issue.
There were small signs of his guilt, though. One random Thursday afternoon, he showed up at the place you shared with Hannah and Allie, claiming he was just dropping off a spare hockey hoodie Garrett had left in his truck. You had stayed in your room with the door cracked just an inch, watching through the tiny gap as he lingered by the entrance, his eyes constantly drifting toward your door, silently checking to see if you'd come out. You hadn't moved an inch, holding your breath until he finally left.
Eventually, Hannah and Allie staged a full-blown intervention. A brand-new club had opened downtown, and they absolutely refused to let you stay home and rot in your room, even though they openly admitted the boys were all coming along. You finally relented, numbing your spiking anxiety by pouring yourself two heavy pre-game vodka crans before leaving the house.
The club was a massive sensory overload—flashing neon lights, artificial fog, and heavy, chest-thumping bass that made communication impossible. By midnight, everyone was comfortably, heavily drunk. You were leaning your back against the sticky mahogany bar, sipping a gin and tonic, when you finally caught sight of him through the pulsing crowd.
Logan was laughing at something Beau said, a dark red bandana tied tightly around his messy hair, looking effortlessly, devastatingly handsome in a black fitted t-shirt. As if sensing the weight of your gaze, his head turned. His dark eyes locked directly onto yours across the smoky crowded room. He didn’t look away. He held your stare for a second, then two, then three — a strange, intense, unreadable heat settling over his features before a group of dancers blocked your view.
A few minutes later, a guy from one of the campus fraternities slithered up next to you on the edge of the dance floor. He was loud, sweaty, and smelled entirely too much like cheap cologne and whiskey — but a little bit of dancing could help taking your mind off of a certain hockey player, you thought. You enjoyed it at first, moving along, focusing on the music, the stranger getting closer and closer as the playlist progressed. But then, just as you started to feel good - just the right amount of alcohol in your veins to feel lighter and relaxed - he tried to grind his hips against yours. You tried to step back, laughing it off politely at first, pushing his hands away, but he didn't take the hint. His hands came down on your waist, his fingers digging into your hips, pulling you flush against him with a grip that was far too tight and aggressive.
Before you could even raise your hands to shove his chest, a massive shadow loomed over both of you.
A now familiar hand gripped the frat guy’s shoulder, spinning him around with enough force to make his sneakers squeak on the floor.
"Fuck off," Logan snarled, his voice a low, lethal vibration that cut right through the heavy bass of the music. He leaned in until he was nose-to-nose with the guy. "Get your fucking hands off her and fuck off right now."
The guy looked at Logan and wisely raised his hands in surrender, backing away rapidly into the foggy crowd without throwing a single punch.
Logan’s breathing was heavy, his chest heaving, his fists still clenched tightly at his sides as his eyes scanned the immediate area like a wild animal looking for another threat. He looked ready to tear the entire club apart with his bare hands. Anxious that he might actually chase the guy down for a fight, you stepped directly into his line of sight, capturing his attention.
"Logan," you breathed, your voice soft and entirely stripped of its usual sarcasm. Without thinking about the consequences, you reached out, your bare fingers wrapping around his forearm.
The exact millisecond your skin met the warm, rock-hard muscle of his arm, Logan froze entirely. It was the first time the two of you had ever willingly, gently touched, and the effect was instantaneous. The blinding anger seemed to drain out of him in a single breath, replaced by a sudden, sharp intake of air. He looked down at your small hand resting on his arm, his skin tingling where you touched him, and then he slowly, deliberately lifted his gaze to your eyes.
The noisy club, the flashing strobe lights, the roaring bass, the alcohol—it all faded into irrelevant background noise. You stood face-to-face on the crowded dance floor, completely motionless, just looking into each other's eyes. Your heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs, not from fear of the frat guy, but from a sudden, dizzying, terrifying realization. Looking into his wide, intensely focused eyes, you realized you didn't hate him. Not even close. And from the soft, almost vulnerable parting of his lips, he didn't hate you either. You weren't close to being friends yet, but the ice had officially shattered into a million pieces.
Four — "What the fuck"
The shift between you was subtle, but it was absolutely undeniable. The sharp hostility was gone, completely replaced by a quiet, lingering, heavy awareness that neither of you knew quite what to do with.
A week later, you were sitting in a sunlit corner booth at Malone’s. You were completely, entirely absorbed in a brutal, multi-chapter study session for your finals, a pair of heavy over-ear headphones clamped securely over your ears. The sweet, nostalgic melody of American Pie was playing through the speakers, and without even realizing it, you were softly humming along to the chorus, tapping the cap of your yellow highlighter rhythmically against the open pages of your textbook.
You were so deeply focused on your notes that you didn't hear the diner's front door chime, nor did you see Logan walk in. He was there to finalize the last-minute details for the upcoming Hockey Fundraiser with Hannah and Della. But the exact moment his eyes scanned the room and spotted you sitting alone in the corner booth, he stopped dead in his tracks.
He didn’t approach right away. He just stood near the counter, watching you. A soft, genuine smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he listened to your faint, slightly off-key humming.
Prickled by the sudden, distinct sensation of eyes on you, you blinked and lifted your head from your textbook. Logan instantly wiped the smile from his face, clearing his throat roughly and pretending to read a missing cat flyer on the bulletin board.
You pulled your headphones down, a small smirk playing on your lips. "You know, if you stare any harder, you're going to burn a hole right through my skull, Logan."
Instead of snapping back with a sarcastic, biting retort like he used to, Logan let out a soft chuckle. He walked over to your booth and, to your surprise, slid into the bench by your side, his knee almost touching yours.
"Just making sure you weren't torturing the rest of the innocent customers with your singing," he teased gently, his shoulder brushing against yours in the tight space.
You rolled your eyes, but there was no spite left in your expression. "I happen to have the voice of a literal angel, thank you very much. You're just jealous."
The playful banter slowly subsided into a comfortable silence. Logan looked at you, his expression turning a little more serious, his eyes softening as his voice dropped to a much quieter register. "Hey… are you doing okay?" Since what happened the other night, obviously implied by the way he looked at you right now, concern written all over his face.
You felt a warm flush creep up your neck and settle into your cheeks. "I'm okay, thank you" you smiled and he nodded, both silently agreeing not to discuss this unpleasant event anymore. You paused, looking down at his large hands resting on the table before forcing yourself to look back up. "How are you doing ? With the fundraiser and everything, I mean. You look like you haven't slept in a week."
He seemed genuinely surprised that you were asking about him. Really, truly asking. He leaned back against the vinyl booth, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he completely opened up to you. He talked about the immense stress of managing the team's high expectations, his constant worries about Jules’ upcoming exams, and the suffocating pressure of the NHL scouts attending the next three games. You listened intently, never interrupting, offering gentle encouragement and a few dry, sarcastic jokes that had him laughing quietly into his palms. For a full hour, the two most stubborn, argumentative people at Briar University just… talked.
"Well," you finally said, checking the diner clock and reluctantly packing your laptop into your bag. "I have to get to my shift at the library. Don't let Della bully you into paying extra for the tableware."
"I won't," Logan said, his eyes tracking your every movement, lingering on your face. "See you around?"
"See you around." You gave him a small, genuine smile—the first real one he'd ever received from you—and walked out into the crisp afternoon air, your heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks.
Inside the booth, Logan sat completely still for a long, agonizing moment. He watched your retreating figure through the glass window until you turned the corner and disappeared from view. Slowly, he let out a shaky exhale, burying his face entirely in his hands. He rubbed his palms over his eyes, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs.
"What the fuck," he whispered into the empty diner booth, his voice laced with a mixture of absolute awe and sheer, unadulterated panic. He was screwed. He was completely, utterly, hopelessly screwed, and he knew there was no turning back.
Five — "Well, fuck"
The night of the Briar Hockey Fundraiser at Malone’s was a chaotic, high-energy, glittering success. The entire diner had been completely transformed for the evening—the regular tables had been pushed to the far perimeter to create a makeshift dance floor, strings of warm fairy lights hung across the ceiling, and a massive turnout of wealthy alumni, boosters, and students kept the bar utterly slammed.
You had dressed up significantly for the occasion, wearing a form-fitting, emerald green silk dress that Allie let you borrow from her closet - of course. You spent the first half of the night talking to Hannah near the punch bowl, but your eyes kept unconsciously tracking a certain someone across the room.
Logan was entirely in his element—charming the older donors, laughing easily with his teammates, and looking entirely too edible for your own good.
Around midnight, the formal event finally dissolved into a proper, rowdy college party. The DJ cranked up a heavy, slow, rhythmic pop song, the bass echoing through the floor, and the dance floor filled up with couples. You were navigating the edge of the sweaty crowd, trying to find Allie when a sudden, firm, yet gentle pull on your wrist guided you backward.
You spun around on your heels, your chest bumping right into Logan’s broad torso. "You've been actively dodging me all night," he murmured, his deep voice vibrating right against your skin as his large hand settled naturally around yours. The casual, unhesitating intimacy of the gesture sent a fierce, blinding jolt of electricity straight down your spine.
"I wasn't dodging you, I was letting you do your official host duties," you shot back, a wicked, playful smile spreading across your lips. The alcohol gave you a surge of confidence, and you looped your arms slowly around his neck, stepping closer into his personal space until there was absolutely no air left between you. "Besides, I didn't think you could actually handle me dancing with you."
Logan’s dark eyes lit up instantly, a dangerous, competitive challenge flaring in his pupils. He pulled you a fraction of an inch closer. "Oh, really? Try me, sweetheart."
You didn't hesitate. As the heavy beat of the music dropped, you shifted your weight, rolling your hips slowly, deliberately, and sinfully against his. You leaned in close, your lips brushing the warm shell of his ear as you whispered, "You're all talk, John Logan. Let's see if you can actually keep up with me."
You pulled back just enough to look at him, your hands sliding down his chest to grip the crisp fabric of his shirt, tugging him rhythmically, tightly against your body. The friction was immediate, heavy, and intoxicating. Logan’s breath hitched audibly in his throat. A dark, intense flush crept up his neck, coloring his sharp cheekbones as his hands settled on your waist, his fingers digging firmly into your skin through the thin fabric of your dress. He swallowed hard, his eyes dropping helplessly to your parted lips, entirely overwhelmed and undone by the sudden confidence of your movements. He could feel exactly how much you were affecting him, his body reacting instantly to the touch of your hips.
A breathless, desperate laugh escaped him. He jerked his head back for a split second, fighting a losing battle for self-control. "Well, fuck," he muttered, his voice raw, completely devoid of its usual composure.
"Did I break the big, tough hockey player already?" you cooed, tilting your chin up tauntingly, your noses almost touching as you continued to sway against him.
"You wish," he groaned, his thumbs stroking the bare skin of your lower back where your dress dipped low. He didn't pull away. Instead, he pulled you even tighter against his lower body, matching your sinful rhythm perfectly, his dark eyes locked onto yours with a burning intensity that made it very clear the playful teasing was rapidly turning into something much more dangerous and inevitable. When the night finally forced you apart, it didn't feel like a goodbye — it was a promise.
Six — "Fuck"
Some things are bound to reach a breaking point, and the agonizing tension building between you for months was no exception. Three nights later, Briar won a massive game and the ensuing after-party at the boys' house was pure chaotic madness. The house was packed to maximum capacity, a sweaty, pulsing mass of drunken celebration, loud music, and screaming students.
But you and Logan weren't paying any attention to the party. For the past two hours, you had been moving around the house like two high-powered magnets — constantly drawing closer, stealing long, heated glances across the crowded rooms, the unspoken, heavy weight of the fundraiser hanging between you.
Seeking a brief moment of quiet to cool down your flushed skin, you headed down the dark back hallway toward the upstairs bathroom. Just as you reached out for the brass doorknob, the door swung open from the inside.
Logan stepped out.
You nearly crashed straight into his chest, cutting your breath short as you ground to a halt mere inches from him. The hallway was swallowed by shadows, save for the frantic strobe lights bleeding in from the living room. Logan stared down at you, wide-eyed, his chest rising and falling in sync with the thick, suffocating heat pulsing through the house.
Neither of you said a single word. The months of toxic banter, the vicious, screaming arguments, the desperate avoidance, and the agonizing teasing all converged into a single, breathless, breaking second.
Logan reached out with lightning speed, his large hand wrapping around your waist, and shoved you backward into the bathroom, slamming the heavy wooden door shut behind you and twisting the lock with a sharp, echoing click.
Before the sound of the lock could even fade, his mouth crashed onto yours.
It was an absolute explosion. The kiss was passionate, borderline feral, a violent release of pure, pent-up, crazy frustration. You let out a muffled gasp against his lips, your hands flying up to rip into his dark hair, pulling him down toward you out of sheer desperation. He groaned deep in his throat, a sound of pure hunger, pinning your body flat against the heavy wooden door, his thick thighs crowding tightly between yours. His hands were absolutely everywhere—clutching your face, tracing the line of your throat, gripping your hips with a bruising, desperate force that felt incredibly, entirely right.
"Logan," you whimpered against his mouth as he tore his lips away to kiss your jawline, your neck - his hands sliding down to frantically bunch up the silk fabric of your dress.
With a sudden burst of strengh, he hooked his large hands under your thighs and lifted you effortlessly into the air. You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist as he deposited you onto the cold marble edge of the bathroom sink counter. He didn't waste a single second. His hands slid all the way up the bare, warm skin of your thighs, finding the edge of your underwear. His fingers quickly found your slick, burning, over-sensitized core, rubbing against you through the damp fabric with a rhythm that made your head tilt back and earned a large grin from him.
You arched your back off the counter, a loud sob escaping your lips, your fingers digging deep into his shoulders.
"You like that?" Logan growled against your neck, his voice dripping with lust. His fingers moved faster, driving you up a steep, agonizing cliff. "Tell me you want it."
"Logan," you breathed out, "please," you cried out, your head tossing back against the large bathroom mirror. Your hands flew down to his waist, frantically, blindly fumbling with the button of his jeans. You shoved the denim down his hips until his length snapped free—thick, heavy, and pulsing with heat. The moment your fingers wrapped tightly around him, moving in a fast, desperate stroke, Logan’s eyes rolled back.
His jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked violently in his neck. He couldn't endure the exquisite torture for long, his quiet moans matching your own, before his large hand clamped over yours, freezing your movement. "Stop, stop," he panted, his chest wild, his forehead pressing against yours. "I'm going to come right now if you keep doing that. I need to feel you, right now."
With trembling, frantic hands, he reached into the small drawer next to the sink—Dean’s emergency stash—and ripped open a foil condom wrapper, spitting the plastic away and rolling it onto himself in one fluid, desperate motion.
Then he stepped back between your open thighs. His hands gripped your hips with an iron hold, dragging you to the very edge of the marble counter. He aligned himself against you, waiting just long enough for your frantic nod of approval. With one heavy, unyielding, possessive thrust, he buried himself completely inside you.
The sheer, overwhelming pleasure of that sudden fullness hit you both at once, fracturing the quiet of the bathroom with a sharp, mutual gasp. Instead of slowing down, the friction only stoked the fire, drawing a long, ragged, shattered exhale from deep in Logan's chest. His pupils were completely dilated, dark and wild with pure lust as his forehead dropped heavily against your shoulder.
"Fuck," he groaned into the crook of your neck, his voice a raw, visceral prayer vibrating against your collarbone.
His hands tightened on your hips, his fingers digging into your skin like an anchor as he immediately established a rhythm. The restraint dissolved into pure instinct. He pulled you flush against him, his thrusts becoming powerful, deep, and utterly relentless from the very start. Every heavy drive forced a breathless cry from your lips, the sound echoing off the tiled walls. You rocked together on the cold edge of the marble sink, your bodies generating a feverish heat that defied the chilly stone beneath you.
The bass from the after-party still thudded through the floorboards, a distant, muffled reminder of the chaotic world outside, but within the locked walls of the bathroom, that world was entirely forgotten. There was only the slick, friction-heavy slide of skin against skin, the frantic tangle of your fingers in his hair, and the hot, primal rhythm consuming you both.
The friction was dizzying, driving you both toward a precipice that neither of you could fight anymore. Logan’s pace turned frantic, his breath coming in harsh, ragged stabs against your ear as his hips slammed against yours with an undoing, desperate urgency. Every stroke sent a white-hot wave of pleasure straight to your core, tightening the coil inside you until it was agonizing.
You choked out a breathless, broken sound, your hands clamping onto his biceps as your head thrashed back against the mirror once more.
He didn't need words to know you were right there. He buried his face in your hair, his teeth grazing your shoulder as he delivered three more devastatingly deep, relentless thrusts.
That was the final breaking point. Your walls clamped down around him tight and pulsing, fracturing your breath into a loud, ruined cry as your entire body shattered into a blinding, head-to-toe release.
Hearing you break completely ruined him. Logan let out a guttural, unhinged groan that vibrated deep in his chest. His jaw locked, his body rigid and trembling as he gave one last, deeply possessive shove, throwing his weight into you as he came violently inside the condom. He held himself deep within you, his hips shuddering against yours as he rode out the waves of his own release, the two of you panting heavily in the quiet aftermath, entirely spent.
Seven — "Fuck it"
Roughly thirty minutes later, the two of you finally emerged from the bathroom. You had tried your absolute best to fix your chaotic appearance in the mirror—re-applying a bit of smudge-proof lip gloss, smoothing down the wrinkled fabric of your dress, and trying to tame your wildly tangled hair with your fingers—but the physical evidence of what had just occurred was written all over your faces. Your skin was flushed a deep unmistakable pink, your lips were incredibly swollen and red, and Logan was walking with a loose, stupidly contented, proud stride, his hair completely disheveled and sticking up in directions where your fingers had repeatedly torn through it.
The exact moment you stepped back onto the floor of the crowded living room, a loud, piercing whistle cut through the air.
Dean was leaning against the back of the sofa, a beer dangling from his fingers and a knowing smirk plastered across his face. His eyes darted from you to Logan, zeroing in instantly on the faint trace of your lip gloss smeared along Logan’s jawline.
"Well, well, well," he said, loud enough to be heard over the music. "Must have been a pretty intense plumbing emergency in there. Either that, or you two just went ten rounds with a blender. You might want to wipe your face, Logan."
Your cheeks instantly burned. You took a step back. "Dean, shut up, we were just—"
But Logan didn't let you finish the lie. He looked down at you, catching the slight panic in your eyes, and then looked over at Dean, who was practically vibrating with smug satisfaction.
Instead of getting defensive, Logan just let out a short, quiet laugh. The stubbornness, the secrecy, the remnants of your old feud—it all suddenly felt completely irrelevant. He was tired of hiding it.
"You know what? Fuck it," Logan muttered.
Before you could process the words, his hand slid around the back of your neck, his thumb resting against your jaw as he pulled you flush against his chest. Right there by the sofa, he leaned down and kissed you.
Dean threw his arms up in a dramatic, sweeping gesture. "About damn fucking time! Graham, you owe me twenty bucks!"
When Logan finally pulled back, his eyes were bright, a relaxed, genuinely happy smile playing on his lips as his thumb brushed your cheek. You looked up at him, the noise of the party fading into the background, finally realizing that the long, argumentative journey of seven dirty words had brought you exactly where you were supposed to be.
Garrett Graham definitely loves it when you sit on him MAJDIAKSHDVT
he’d wrap his big hands around your plush thighs, dragging you backwards to where he wants you. if you straddle him that’s even better, he loves looking at your pretty face and tits. especially in that push up bra he bought for you during a hockey tournament. don’t think about getting up any time soon because he will complain about it.
all the things i’ve been seeing about chan’s shoulders got me thinking and going a little feral 😵💫
18+, 18+!! i swear if i need to block another goddamn minor i will go insane.
“Shit baby… feel s’good,” Chan moaned, hips slamming against yours, his low grunts ‘n groans right in your ear. His body completely caging yours, forearms resting on the bed next to your head, head dropped.
Your moans spilled out of your mouth continuously, Chan hitting that spot almost every thrust. Quickly pushing you farther and farther to another orgasm- you’re third just tonight.
The two of yous sounds were obscene
“T-too much!” You managed to get out, your arms tightening around his neck, just to move and scratch his shoulders.
“You can take it angel, i know you can. Been so long since we’ve seen each other, just one more?” Chan gets out through laboured breaths. One of his hands moving to softly hold your head- his form of comfort even as he wrecks you.
You whine at his words, but don’t refuse. Instead tightening your legs hold around his hips and pulling him closer somehow.
The pleasure was so good and overwhelming, you couldn’t handle it. That on top of your embarrassing sounds was too much- you bit his shoulder again. The firm muscles Chans built over the years being perfectly biteable.
“Atta girl,” Chan chuckled, feeling your teeth sink into his shoulder. Hand holding your head ruffling your hair. A fond, unmatching-with-the-scene smile making its way to his face. “You’re adorable.”
𝓖𝓪𝓻𝓻𝓮𝓽𝓽 𝓖𝓻𝓪𝓱𝓪𝓶⁴⁴ who drifts toward center ice for the final period, shoulders rising and falling hard beneath that royal blue jersey. His eyes stay locked ahead, jaw tight with focus, the skin along the back of his neck glistening under the lights, slick with sweat.
His dark curls are damp and messy from three brutal periods, the ends twirling out beneath his helmet in wet, uneven pieces. His gold chain peeks from the collar of his jersey too, catching flashes of light every time he moves.
He pushes his tongue against the inside of his cheek while he catches his breath, sweat dripping from the curls at the nape of his neck, as his skates carve into the ice, mumbling to the player across from him.
He looks exhausted, dog-tired in the hottest way possible; chest heaving, lips parted while he drags in another breath. His gloves flex around his stick while he waits for the puck to drop again, lungs working hard enough to stretch the last name stitched across his back.
After his shift, he skates back to the bench, head lulled between his broad shoulders as he slows his breathing. A little 44 pendant is trapped between his teeth for a second while he tugs at his jersey, fixing it after a scrum in the corner, sweat dripping down his throat, disappearing beneath the collar.
The pendant slips free from between his teeth, falling back against his chest as he smiles, his eyes finding you for a second before he looks away again, jaw tight like he’s trying to collect himself before stepping off the ice.
sypnosis: as a timid little pervert, soobin's favorite mantra is what you don't know won't kill you. but what he doesn't know is that you've already caught up with his nightly habits of watching you asleep.
pairings: pervert roommate!soobin x fem!reader
genre: pure smut (mdni!), roomies to ???, nonidol!au
warnings: detailed explicit content. sub!soobin. meanie dom!reader. heavy themes of somnophilia. subspace. unprotected sex. piv. dubious consent. thigh humping. tons of cursing. cowgirl. use of cuffs. post-nut clarity xd. premature ejaculation. slapping. dacryphilia. nipple play (m). finger sucking. degradation kink (m). pet names (bunny). pussy rubbing. multiple orgasms. soobin cums too fast n a lot hehe.
word count: 4.1k <3
THE MOON'S LIGHT DECORATED THE THIN BEDROOM WALLS. You look heavenly—unbothered with its glow, with eyes gently closed as soft grumbles leave your lips. Your phone hangs in your hand, probably falling asleep while watching numerous contents again.
It was the same routine that Soobin had memorized by now. Once again finding himself in the entrance of the room next to him, peeking into his sleeping roommate who was innocently drifting into dreamland.
Your unguarded body was full in display, wearing a yellow spaghetti strap matched with a very classy pair of dolphin shorts that are not doing their purpose, allowing him to take a glimpse of your—oh fuck.
You are not wearing any panties tonight.
This elevated the divine view Soobin loves to watch every night: you, deep in slumber, unaware that he is already murmuring your name in his mind. It was never new to him—it is already a forbidden hobby that he will keep to himself up to his grave.
The worst part is, he knew it was wrong. There is no universe where watching my roommate sleep in her bed while palming my cock is considered objectively correct. But, the simmering feeling of guilt combined with the undeniable pleasure on his nerves always kept him coming back for more.
Plus, where else would he see a body as perfect as yours? It was the best view he had in his everyday life.
Soobin was sweating buckets as he timidly stood in your doorway. Lips parted as he gazed at your unconscious body, palms caressing his semi-hard cock beneath his pajamas.
He was never assumed to do these types of things. He was supposed to be the best roommate—the quiet, observant, act-of-service kind of guy that you've grown to bond with. And, he strategically used that side of him to hide this secret for over five months.
Soobin was tugging his lips hard, trying to prevent any sound that was tempting to come out of his throat. You shifted in your position, now facing his figure that made him internally panic. Your fluffy cheek was squished in the pillow, brows furrowed when the cold air hit your skin.
“Hmmm…”
The soft whine from you landed on his ears perfectly, sending nasty thoughts to his brain that directly went down to his now hard cock hanging between his legs. Within almost five months of him watching you sleep, the man knew almost everything about your body. Your messy hair that gets tangled every time you change your position. Faint snores that often leave you when you are too tired. And, even the subtle quiver of your limbs when the room was too cold for your liking.
Another hushed grunt left you, shivering when the air's cool humid spread into the room. It left Soobin confused, eyes gazing around the room to check for any indifference. A grimace formed on his face when he saw your window wide open, answering his confusion.
An internal dilemma started in his mind, but his legs were already walking mindlessly into your room. His heartbeat went wild, silently praying that you won't wake up as he reached for the window panel on the other side of the room.
He blew a quiet sigh when he successfully closed it, tiptoeing back to his place when—
“Mhm, Binnie…”
Soobin's whole body went into full-mode rigid.
His eyes flew wide open in shock, his panicked mind already pacing with thoughts of loosely crafted apologies and reasons why he is inside your bedroom at this time of night. With a nervous gulp, he slowly looked in your direction—who was still sleeping heavily. Soobin sighed in relief, but his steps halted halfway.
For a moment, several assumptions came to him. If you are still asleep then you must be dreaming something. Perhaps, about a beanie? A beanstalk? A red bean paste? Or maybe… about him?
The reason behind his frenzy heartbeat went from anxiety to unexplained excitement. His eyes are locked into your slumped figure. Then, he saw it.
A small, lazy smile in your thin lips that almost made his mind malfunction between millions of thoughts.
What are you dreaming about? Is it him? Were you also fantasizing about him? If you are whining his name, then it must be something good.
Clouded with irresistible lust, Soobin can't help but walk towards you. Thoroughly analyzing your face to check if he had the right judgment. He could feel how his body aches to touch you, how his hard cock drips in his legs just because of his maddening thoughts about you.
Carefully, he sat down on the mattress. Intently watching you if his movements ever disturb your peaceful sleep. He tried to control his heavy breaths, his pulse getting tensed as he clutched the ruffled blanket at the bed's end.
Covering you up with the blankets’ warmth is the only cover-up he could think of if ever you managed to catch him. He tried to get his story straight first, but his body has always been ahead of him. Under the covers, he deliberately pressed his warm body into yours, his eyes locked into your sleeping features to foresee any changes.
Your heavy breaths became his sign that you are still asleep. And before he knew it, his hips started to hump itself into your thighs, earning a soft gasp from him. The plushness of your thighs contradicts the hardness of his aching cock, giving him the satisfaction his palms never gave him.
Soobin tried to convince himself that this was not wrong. In a way, he is still helping you. You are cold, and his body radiates heat out of neediness. He is just warming you up, and you are returning the favor by helping him to get off.
His hands clutched the blanket harder, mouth hanging open as the pleasure filled his fibbled brain. Soobin cannot help but grind his hips faster, making your body subtly wobble on the mattress.
He immediately stopped his movements when he saw a crease on your forehead, pupils quivering in panic. Your eyes opened slowly, lips in a confused pout before you decided to close them again.
“What's happening?” You softly purred. The words that barely came out of your mouth made Soobin freeze in his position. Forgetting his script in mind, he carefully tugged the blanket over your body before mentally calming himself.
“Th—This is just a dream,” He whispered in your ear, internally scolding himself for stuttering. “Go back to sleep.”
Soobin patiently waited as he drowned in anxiety. He has no idea if it would work, but the other sweet whine that left you became his hint. Your body began to weary once more, leaving him at ease.
You have always been so good to him. This is why he cannot help but develop these kinds of feelings that must not go beyond the roommate boundary. He then again began to thrust his hips on your thigh, biting his lips just to keep himself quiet.
The sticky feeling of precum has dampened his pajamas, with his thighs overly drenched with his liquid and sweat. He couldn't care less about all of that, not when the drag of his cock on your flesh felt too heavenly. His pace went faster, unable to contain his neediness of your warmth. It is almost a wonder how you are still not awake at this point.
Soobin could feel the intense build-up on his stomach, fighting every urge to moan out your name to avoid waking you up for the second time. Sweat starts to pool on his forehead, ruining the poor pink pillowcase that is one of your favorites.
He knew everything about you—on a second thought, maybe not everything. He still doesn’t know how delicious your pussy must be, and how fulfilling it might be to bury his cock between your walls.
Because if your thighs are enough for him to cum, then what more could your pussy offer?
The thought itself is enough for Soobin to cum. His body tensed beside yours, lips tightly sealed as his thighs trembled in pleasure. This must be one of the most exhilarating moments of his life, the intense feeling lingering on his chest longer than usual.
This is a thousand times better than just jerking himself in his room while he imagines how pretty your fucked up self must be.
“Fuck…” He whispered to himself, silently sitting up before shoving the blanket that was covering his lower region. Horror ran through his veins when he saw how drenched your bed cover is, utterly embarrassed by how much he came by humping on your thighs.
Then, it hits him. The overwhelming guilt punched him straight to the gut.
“Shit, shit, shit…” Soobin feels like crying, covering his face with his palms as he internalizes what has happened. He then looked at your innocent figure, making the shame more unbearable.
What the fuck has he done? This is not what it is supposed to be. He was supposed to be in the doorway, just watching you. Not grind his cock on your thighs and cum all over your mattress.
His realization barely sank in when his body started to move. He was about to escape when a strong grip pulled him back into the bed.
“Where do you think you are going?”
Soobin fell into another level of distraught.
You are now hovering over him, knees planted on his hips to lock his body between your legs. Your hands are pinning his shoulders, staring at him intently with a hellish grin. It was almost impeccable how his face lost its color, gullible eyes in a wide state of shock as he analyzed the situation.
“Wh—What?”
He mumbled, staring at your fully awake state above him. He could feel the warm press of your body weight against his, almost making him stupidly moan.
“Do you really think I am that stupid?” You said directly in his ears, your chest leaning into his. He meekly grunts at the contact, making you giggle softly.
“Oh Soobin,” Cooing at him, your finger began to trace his face, before finally stopping at the top of his lips. “Always thinking with his brain in his pants.”
Another chuckle erupted from you when his lips parted at your words. Something is compelling about how you said his name, and Soobin can totally feel that with his cock hardening once more.
“How does it feel to finally cum on my bed after watching me sleep for almost five months, you sick fuck?”
Soobin felt his nerves tighten. You knew? After all this time he thought he was being discreet and careful, you are fully aware of what he has been doing? And you still managed to not move out and treat him with no indifference? He does not know whether he should be worried about it or be thankful that you haven’t reported him to your landlord—or worse, to the authorities.
With a defeated sigh, he woefully gazed at you. “I am sorry,” He gently spoke, nudging a little as his lips were bumping on your finger. “It—It’s just… uhm…” He failed to compose his words, his heart rapidly beating in its cage by how intense your stare is.
“It’s just what? You are a sick, disgusting pervert?”
Your words slapped him hard. He wants to apologize again but his brain is merely cooperating with him. Not when half of his mind is focused on your barely covered pussy, which is placed gracefully on his stomach. Soobin felt more ashamed that he was getting turned on by you finding out what he has been doing.
“See,” You scoffed, “You are such a turd in heat that you don't even realize that I had planned this all along.”
Soobin got snapped out of his fantasy, his mind working overdrive to comprehend what you just said. Planned? What do you mean it is—
His thoughts got interrupted when you suddenly hopped out of his body, walking towards the nearest cabinet to fetch something that he failed to identify. You crawled back to the bed, before climbing on top of his crotch, which made him wince audibly.
“Aww, sensitive?” You teased, making him nervously nod. A giggle left you before finally showing what you took. “I don’t care. Give me your hands.”
“H-Huh?” Soobin gave you a confused look as his gaze went down to what you were holding. His mind immediately crumbled at the instant realization.
You are holding a black fluffy cuff.
A small smile rested on your lips as you watched the terror in his face. He never thought that you would be into something like this. Well, he didn’t even assume that whatever this is would escalate further.
Running out of patience, you snagged his hand on your own. His limbs are too tense to pull out, letting you do whatever you intend to do in his body. Soobin was still lost on what was happening, but the loud snap of the lock kept him grounded for what he was about to face.
“I knew this would happen this way,” You start, now locking his hand with the black cuffs you prepared for him. “I knew that you were gonna watch me tonight.”
With a tiny effort, you lift his hands above his head. Hooking its chain into your bedframe to settle him into his place. “I knew that you wouldn't leave me feeling cold so I left the window open,” You continued, before sitting on his crotch again, earning a gasp from him.
“You are so stupid and predictable, Soobin.” His breath hitches when your hand starts to roam under his shirt, making him shiver. “So, you should be glad that I let you do whatever you want for five months.”
Your other hand went to cup his face, forcefully squishing his cheeks to open his mouth. Then, with two fingers, you gagged his throat, which caused him to whimper your name.
“It's all fair if I get to do whatever I want this time, right?”
Soobin felt deeply torn with everything you just said. It is not that he doesn't want any of this to happen. It is more of a dream come true, but he is still confused as to why you chose to act now if you have known it for five months?
And, most importantly, how come you have a side like this?
You pushed your fingers deeper into his throat when he didn't give you an answer, making him cough around them. A devilish smirk is displayed on your face, letting him coat your digits with his saliva. As his tongue tangles within the gap of your fingers inside his mouth, your hand under his shirt begins to travel from his stomach to his sensitive nipples.
Soobin's eyes were tightly shut when you started to play with his bud, almost choking on your fingers when you gave it a harsh pinch. You are beyond satisfied with his reaction, his hard cock pressing on your pussy much closer when his back arched at the pleasure.
“I bet that you imagined things exactly like this,” You snarled at him. “You love this, don't you?” The man below you starts wiggling his hips as you continue to roll your fingers on his nipple, seeking at least a bit of friction for his aching hard cock.
A soft whine left your mouth at the delicious grind of his crotch on your covered cunt, his dampened pajamas between your thighs giving your body undeniable pleasure.
“Oh?” You sneered, sitting on his crotch harder to wholly feel the shape of his cock. “You are fucking pathetic, Binnie…” Your teasing landed directly in his clouded mind, and the nickname you used to call him added to the burning desire of his body.
“Pathetic enough to take my bait,” You huffed, pulling out your fingers in his mouth before observing his glistening saliva around them. “Do you think that I actually moaned your name in my sleep? You even lied straight to my face just so you could hump my leg like a dog.” Your words ended with a harsh slap, and he grunted at its sting.
The sudden embarrassment weighed on Soobin's stomach, eyes once again brimming with tears as he knew he couldn't do anything about it. He despises himself for being dumbly struck by his dirty thoughts that led him up to here.
But what he despises more is the undeniable pleasure in his abdomen for every degradation and malicious action you do to his body.
“Dumb bunny,” You spit at him, before giving his nipple another pinch. Soobin let out a strained groan, feeling overstimulated with everything you have given to him.
“Since you used my thighs to get off,” His pupils panicked at the pause, anxious at what else you could do. “I'm gonna fuck myself into your pathetic cock. Seems fair, right?” You carelessly retrieved your hands on his body, kneeling properly to remove your shorts and pulling enough fabric from his pajamas to free his leaky cock.
You took a second to take a proper look at his cock. It left him puzzled, trying to take a glance even though the cuffs were restricting him from moving his body. He couldn't tell if you were in awe or you were in shock at how beautifully your lips were parted.
“Is—Is there so—something wrong?” Soobin can't help but ask, utterly baffled by the way he stutters. But, his thoughts subsided when his gaze landed on your fully displayed pussy. All lustrous and wet for him to adore. He doesn't know if he is overreacting, but he could feel himself hyperventilating with the sight of your cunt that he thought he would never get to see.
You are perfection disguised as a sin.
“Hungry for my pussy, aren't you?” You smirked as you watched him eagerly nod his head, before sitting yourself on top of his length. A sigh of pleasure left both of you when his veiny cock brushed your pussy lips tenderly, palms planting on his stomach to balance yourself above him. The slide of your wet cunt drove Soobin senseless, raffling the cuffs that are constraining him to touch your body.
A loud moan came from his throat when you started to grind your hips into his thick cock. It almost felt unreal, like he was in a fever dream where he wouldn't ever want to leave. The delicious drag of your sex on him was already sending him to the edge, and watching your pretty face contorting into pleasure was not helping, either.
You began to pick up the pace, letting your hips rock on his cock. Soobin’s eyes were rolling back, uncontrollable strings of whine leaving him with every thrust. Every sweet moan coming from you even made his cock twitch under you, giving you more pleasure.
“This dirty cock is pretty useless, Binnie,” You wooed at him, nails digging crescent imprints on his pliant stomach that made him wince. The sight of his cock leaking precum at your every thrust made him look twice as pathetic in your eyes.
“Look at how your cock drips for my pussy.” You snickered, one hand landing on his tip which made him shudder in sensitivity.
“So—Sorry, hah—” Soobin barely made it to the first word when your fingers started to draw tiny circles on his tips, adding more flame to his abdomen.
“Sorry?” You condescendingly asked, “You are sorry that you are such a pervert?”
Soobin hummed in response, his loud moans barely containable when you suddenly pressed the hole in his cockhead. Tears fell into his flushed cheeks, breaking down as he drowned in too much stimulation that left him sensitive.
“Fuck, are you crying?” A laugh emerged from your throat, edging him by slowing down your movements on his cock. “You brought this upon yourself, and you are crying?”
Soobin was beyond ridiculed at this point, and he could not help but cum unannounced for the second time this night. Your audible gasp filled the room, momentarily fascinated by how much cum was leaking on his cock. His body trembles beneath you, chest heaving as he almost feels out of breath.
“No fucking way,” You exclaimed, “You are no fun!”
Without even giving him time to breathe, you kneeled to lift yourself above him, hastily aligning his tip into your hole. Soobin's faint protest went past your ears, pushing his oversensitive cock into your walls that made you abruptly whimper. His sniffs turn you even more, and you couldn't help but be proud of how vulnerable he looked below you.
“Ple—Please… I ca—can't—haaaah…”
“Don't fucking start with me,” Your curse sounded a little too harsh than intended, “You came and I didn't? What am I, your toy?”
Soobin can’t do anything but shake his head in response, silent whimpers leaving him as you push yourself deeper into his cock. The view of your pussy eating his length greedily was truly a dream come true to him, but not in this way. Not when his cock is getting too numb in oversensitivity.
His cock stretching your walls began to spread luscious feelings on your every nerve, toes curling into the sheets as you took him in halfway. Soobin is undeniably long and huge, the way that your pussy can fit him without proper prep could be deemed a miracle.
He is tugging his lips hard, fighting every urge to cum again and embarrass himself for the millionth time this night. Your body shivers at every nudge of his veins on your gummy walls, hitting all the best spots without even bottoming out. But then again, he is now too drunk in pleasure to defy the reaction of his body to the tightness of your cunt.
“Gonna—hah, shitsorry—Need to—”
You halted on your movement, deadpanning on him as your walls clenched around his cock. “Don't even think about cumming again.” You warned, before dropping your whole weight on him. Your synced moans echoed in the room, mixed with the nasty sound of the wetness of your pussy.
Within seconds, the warmth of his load filled you up to the brim, even gushing out of your stuffed pussy by how much he came. You looked at him in shock, merely pissed that he could not comply with a simple instruction.
“You useless piece of shit,” The words slipped past his mind, his whole body combusting as he came from the tight grip of your pussy on his cock. Despite it, you lifted yourself above him, letting the sticky liquid drip down your legs to his thighs. “Are you that fucking dumb?”
Soobin weakly hummed in response, eyes barely opening as your hole kept clinging on his tip, torturing his poor cock. He knows that there is no point in resisting you, not when he is locked on your bedframe and your weight prevents him from doing anything.
He knew better than this, but at the same time, he knew that this was where he wanted to be.
A pained grunt erupts from him when you slowly sit yourself back on his cock, beyond caring if he is overly exhausted from cumming too much. Another stream of tears left his glassy orbs, and it only urged you to push him to his limits.
"Fucking take it, you sick fuck."
The length of his cock was nowhere near what you are used to—it is too much. It could reach the deepest part of you without even exerting an effort. And, it is probably one of the things you won't regret tonight.
“You know,” Soobin tried to concentrate on your words, but his mind began to turn into mush the moment your hips began to grind on his cock. His mind was in a spiral, feeling his senses heightened to cope with his drained body.
You began to notice his loss of focus, forcing you to cup his cheeks in one grip. Soobin whimpered under your touch, doe eyes gazing at you like he is high. “All you gotta do is ask.”
His guttural moan fused with your compressed whines filled the room, thick humid scent of sex reaching your nose as you began to grind your hips faster on his cock. In your defense, humping on him is more than enough to satisfy yourself, as his large size can already make your nerves tingle in your pussy.
“Did you hear me?”
You gritted your teeth at him, a shaky moan escaping your mouth when his tip bumped the sweetest part of your cunt. Soobin was trembling below you, bow-shaped lips in a cute pout before a faint yes left him.
“Because with a cock this big, I would gladly fuck you up every single night.”
wawi's notes: HIIII OMFG!!! i finally got to post something after my finals week TT... i am so sorry for leaving you all behind, it's hard to juggle things when i am just a mere scholar </3... anywayyyy, here is a 4k fic filled with filth to compensate ><... thank u for reaching this far! as always, like, comments, and reblogs are deeply and truly appreciated <3
— flowers for the spring time. :: 3.330+ words. ..ᝰ.ᐟ
• little love letter :: sometimes, during a bright sunny day out within the forest, you and your mate, soobin, have an urgent need to fuck like the bunnies you are… . ✿
warnings :: (18+) mdni. smut — bunny hybrid! 최수빈 x bunny hybrid afab!reader … soft dom!soobin, cottagecore au, public sex, doggy style (?), overstimulation, exhibitionism, size kink, sensory play, reader is very sensitive, petnames, unprotected sex (wrap it up!), breeding kink, feral/primal play, sex in a garden, mentions of other hybrid!txt members, lots of symbolism, messy and feral bunnies 🐇
sticky note :: one of my fav fics, perfect for the spring season. freak soobin, my fav topic, bunny soobin, my fav topic. this is not proofread, i’ll do so after my nap 😪 thank uuu for reading >.<
the fresh smell of the earth invades your overly sensitive nose, reddened tip twitching at the potent twinge of geosmin and light hints of petrichor from last nights rain showers.
it’s the new mixture of freshly picked floral petals that invades your olfactory perception, strong and aromatic in your muddled senses.
you felt like you were going to melt completely, right here on the thick moss your nails clawed into and knees slightly scuff against as you desperately seek some sort of grounding from the merciless snaps of his hips.
this wasn’t the type of grounding you expected.
never did you think you would actually be pressed against the natural greenery of your backyard garden, get your soul snatched when anyone in the vicinity of the area could just witness this without trying to find you. yet here you are, the side of your face tainted in rich soil as green flecks of moss littered over your squished cheek and soft locks. your fur-balled tail twitched higher in the air as his fingers ran dangerously closer around the skin of your lower back, but that’s all you can realize before he hooks his grip on the crease of your thighs and hips, hands wrapped around your plushed hips in a tight vice.
the back door of your cottage was right there, just an arms length out of reach and so close to the softness of your blankets, so so close to the warmth and comfort of your nest, but the hybrid is never patient enough when he wants you for himself.
he’d rather take you right where he personally loved seeing you, attending to your various flowers in the garden he formulated for you years ago. it is considered your second safe space, one you loved sharing with him either by picking out his favorite lily and tucking it over his ear or simply informing him on new changes you made for better growth of your plant babies.
he knew how much you valued nature as a bunny hybrid, wanting you to feel as if your cottage was your natural playground, wanting to ensure your happiness and connection with the green nursery.
he had the same innocent thought before he appeared behind you, simply gazing at your seated frame as you tend a patch of lilies planted by the edge of the back porch. his lovely rabbit; legs and feet tucked underneath your body, long, pin straight ears forever sensitive and twitching at the sound of your own tone as you hum a soft song he recognizes — completely unaware of his presence until he made it known, thought now melting into sweet desire.
and you definitely weren’t opposed to it either…
he was so happy to see you preen all too happy when you allowed him to press you into a presenting position with a soft hand on your back, pull your cotton panties taut to the side with his other heavy palm and let his flicking tongue do as it pleases onto your syrupy, slicking flower for a while. he is so eager, parting your petals open with gentle licks and wrapping his lips around your swollen bud, ignoring your bubbling whines and lapping until your eyes rolled shut and your liquid nectar coated his entire lower face in a wet splash, for a second time…
and yet you still had the gull to ask him in that soft voice, if you two could do this inside, like normal humans. it was confusing.
he paused and looked at the perfectly ruined sight, validating his conclusion that there was no way was he going to stop now.
not when he knows you clearly don’t mind if you were letting him suckle on your cum just seconds ago, your ass still high in the air after he practically ripped off your soiled underwear and puffy tail lifted towards the sky to not hinder his ease of licking you clean.
not when your skin looked so alive against the vibrant array of colors that glimmer in your garden after he pulled off your sheer black babydoll, pretty face cushioned against your arms beneath you and limp, folded ears laying flat against his favorite flowers, rosy lilies.
absolutely no way. you are staying right here.
it’s all natural, so why not do it in the rawest way possible?
the birds above the tall pine trees chirped in a hymnal melody you’ve grown fond of, the rays of sun painted a golden glow onto your skin and heated your back as your spine arched further, body elongating and decompressing with each rock of his hips.
you appeared as soft as you felt, and he couldn’t get enough of the way you tremble despite there being no wind within the still forest, straight adoration dilating his pupils as they gaze upon the ruffle your tail does when he snaps his hips into a specific angle.
he molds himself onto your body and he doesn't hesitate to whisper sweet nothings into your long ears, calling you all the honeyed names he could think of— or maybe even the worse one that gets you mewling into the grassy plain below, his sweet bunny.
he couldn’t care about the fact that any of the other hybrids could easily return back from their hunt and see him take the bunny in this way, no.
but how could he, when he’s incredibly deep into you? watching as his cock disappears deep in your fluttering pussy and marvel at how wet he glistens every pull out, gaze darkening as his tip catches on your opening with your hurried clench. he plunges deeper until his base squishes against your reddened rump and his balls kiss your puffed button of sensitive nerves, reveling in the sound of your weak whimpers.
he had to pause to gaze dreamily at the sight. the swell in his heart grows bigger upon the pretty sight, your arched figure framed by green wisps, flowers spreading out and bowing under your weight, jolting along with you with each press of his hips.
the thickness of your plush thighs, a bunny trait he could never not love. muscles strong and sturdy enough to keep you in this position, and catch some of the impact of his thrusts with audible plaps. the way moans fall freely from your trembling lips as you press against his thick cock, using your legs to thrust yourself back and meet his quick pace.
and that’s when he could tell you were getting closer, that you couldn’t hold on any longer, his long body bending over yours easily and hands snaking around your front. he lifts you off the soft petals, warm palms walking up your frame as if they were tracing over a delicate art piece, remembering the ridges, curves and small marks on the smooth plains of your skin. they walk over the swell of your breast and hike over your shoulders, pulling you upwards into his body because he wants you pressed closer. wanting to feel the trembles of your orgasm wash over you against his heated skin.
he falls in love with how pliable and small your features are in his hands, how much he can grip and hold onto within just one palm.
dirt digs deeper in the crest of your claws as your elbows lock and straighten, arms slightly shaking as you uphold your upper body. he lifts your head up with a hand underneath your jaw, craning your neck until your ears flap back over your messy heap of frizzy locks, draping over your upper spine. dirt brushes against his lips as they peck along your temple, strands of his messy bangs picking up more soil as his head tilts for his lips to reach lower onto your dropped jaw, your moans ringing high into the sunny skies.
they’re noises of love, appreciation, echoing throughout the billowing trees and he knows he’s giving you everything you need right now, despite how messy, how unconventional.
you’re so messy, but this is how he knows you’re supposed to be. fulfilled and taken care of in every way, your primal needs satiated with pure joy at the act of mating in the comfort of raw nature — just like a true bunny.
kisses so soft, showing his affection and appreciation to the art that is his bunny, it contradicts the tough snap of his hips that punch moans out your hoarse throat, implementing his need for ruining you as well. you’re so close, mind buzzing as loud as the bees that often visit your garden during the spring season.
and his praise doesn’t stop; your jaw still gripped in his hand, he pulls your attention towards him as his lips utter soft murmurs and meet yours occasionally between lazy syllables, wholeheartedly eating your noises of satisfaction as if they were the sweetest treat.
his teasing nature doesn’t stop either.
“my sweet bunny, so sweet, you even let yourself be mounted in your garden where anyone can see,” his airy light taunts aim to weaken your already softened bones into a melted puddle of warmed milk, voice low and soft against your love-bitten pout. “kitties have sharp eyes, bunny. what if tyunnie saw you like this, hm?” you’re pliable within his embrace, whimpering in response. it takes a while for you to actually form syllables pass those trembling lips, but when you do, it rocks his world.
“n..no.. don’t say that,”
his moan puffs out as soft as yours just from hearing the sound of your meek, breathless tone.
he clearly saying this because he knows how much you love sharing your comfort space with the feline as well, and the shock he would experience upon seeing the full act on such a sacred space would definitely be fun to see.
“why not? but what about jjunie, his prurient curiosity would be cured if he finally witnesses your true mating desires,” you attempt pulling away from his hold at the mention of the fox hybrid, head twisting but he doesn’t allow you to, your muttered curses choking as he wraps his fingers tighter around your upper jugular, keeping you still as he continues.
a low hum, almost a purr. “would you let him watch you this messy and sticky, playing on dirt?”
“d-don’t be so explic—”
“what about beommie?” he hums thoughtfully as he feels you clench tighter around his throbbing length upon hearing his words. a smile rest of his lips; yes, your pretty bear, he hums again before continuing on with the mission of making you fall apart in his arms, “would your cub like the smell of your garden tainted with our sex?”
you couldn’t respond to that at all, but he knew what you wanted to say.
it’s clear at this point that you wouldn’t mind anything anymore, whining mindlessly in that candied voice of yours, since you’re so caught up on the mind clouding sensation that slowly builds into a breaking point within you. all you felt was his small chuckle puff against your cheek before he pulls away completely, hands falling back onto your hips and lower back as he continues his pace.
“sssssss…” is all you could hiss through your clenched teeth, shut eyelids clenching tighter as you fail to formulate the syllables of his name before your head hangs again and you’re sliding back onto your forearms, face just inches away from a rose petal underneath your drooling lips.
just the sight of you falling apart so gently was enough for his own release to build up, his eyes locked on the way your ears flop forward when your neck falls limp, admiring how your shoulders hunch higher from the ecstatic feeling that coursed through your nerves and tenses your muscles.
“you’re such a soft little thing, falling apart on these pretty flowers,” his voice washes over your floppy ears in a sweet lullaby, sweetened and dripping with pure admiration. the fluffy tips were almost as red with heat as the peonies jolting underneath your stomach and you feel the affects of his praise burning your skin as your face nuzzles into your forearms, your muddled moans vibrating against your tainted flesh. he coos at the mental image of your reddened nose twitching, like it always does when you’re overly sensitive from the pleasure. “gonna cum on the camelias?”
“yes please, binnie.”
he melts at how desperate your shaky plea sounded, it’s almost exasperated and all he wants to do is give you what you need immediately.
you don’t have to tell him twice for him to already get the idea.
the saccharine sound of your croon pushes a wanton moan from his bobbing throat before he could hide it. he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth as he pumps deeper, realizing your silence afterwards was due to the same reason for his.
it’s something common between you both,
when all your attention is focused on chasing that building pleasure, neither of you want to prolong the time any longer. you fall silent upon the sudden rush, mind zeroing in on the pressure. the heat seeps in underneath your skin and melts into liquid adrenaline as his hips piston impossibly faster, and all you could do was just brace longer against the smushed petals. your spit-slicked lips puff, parting around your own forearm as your fanged teeth sink deeper into your skin, holding your breath from the force and pace of his thrusts.
just the sound of the swaying branches surrounding your cottage and the raw noises of your love making was the perfect reminder of your feral desires, sinfully beautiful in your twitching ears. his choked whimpers hide behind his pursed lips, barely audible underneath the viscous squelches of your connected sexes, and you’ve both realized the longer and louder it gets, the harder it was fighting back these inevitable noises.
the restraint grows harder as he fucks you closer towards the sweet release, your eyebrows furrowing in blissful agony, rising like the edge of your impending orgasm.
the lightheaded feeling was euphoric and you’re merely a shaking leaf by the time the pleasure attacks your body in an unexpected pop of pressure, the only thing ringing in your ears being the wet smacks of skin.
then your mind reels in; nerve ending sparking as you focus on everything that’s gotten you into this point, how his slightly rough push and pull feels—
he’s thick, stretching your walls taut around his girth in a heavenly manner- filling you in perfectly, fitting comfortably as each pump fills clouds your mushy thoughts with desperate desire, almost feral. a sudden flipped switch rendering you speechless at the feeling of your boyfriend satiating your need, it’s almost purely animalistic.
it’s when he angles further down and the head of his cock pets over your g-spot that you finally crumble. he grazes over your sweet spot over and over again, until a high cry fills in the empty spaces between each audible smack of skin, jaw completely slacking as your held breath empties your lungs in a raw, unrestrained moan.
and once you come undone, he’s hissing through his fanged teeth, hands gripping tighter and fingers pressing bruising indents into your supple flesh as he feels the constricting vice of your walls tightening around his cock. he tastes metallic iron on his tongue when he lowers his gaze back onto your hips, his lip bruising between his bared teeth.
wet and glistening in the sunlight, you felt a chill overtake your body as your body falls boneless just like he wanted, thighs fully shaking as slick liquid squirts outwards everytime he pulls his hips away before rutting back in.
he follows not long after, his hands planting flat on the ground by your head and nails clawing into the dirt as his rhythm spasms with the help of your sticky release. from the ground, your blurry eyes flutter open and gaze upon a shadow of his frame, his lax ears flopping forward and broad shoulders blocking your back from the sun as he leans closer. his hips snap once more before his jaw slacks with a deep moan, releasing his load in shallow pumps, thick ropes painting your walls and rimming around his base as he nudges impossibly closer.
you feel overwhelmingly full everytime with him, but he stays there to make it stick.
god, he wants it to stick, so fucking bad.
he prays to the orchid petals that rest underneath your drooped ears.
there was so much of his seed that it bubbles out from where he’s still sitting comfortably deep inside you, trickling down the veins underside his length and drips down to his balls, seeping further down with gravity until it’s clinging onto the tip of your twitching clit. you can feel it collect on your sensitive flesh until it was heavy enough to fall onto the soil below your hips as a droplet, stringy like fruit nectar.
and none of you move an inch for a while, giving you an opportunity to bask in the moment.
you wish to stay like this forever, nuzzling into the pressed flowers that litter everywhere underneath your arched figure, connect with nature and get courted— mated in ways you’ve been yearning for, for weeks. the earth thrums underneath your palms, pulsing like the accelerated beat of your heart and in rhythm of his light ruts. it’s dirty in every way, ways that would even be a bit skeptical for the other hybrids.
but can you truly be at blame?
you’re just merely a bunny.
and he knows you.
with a long string of whispered curses and tender praises, he milks both of your releases with shallow grinds for long enough before it reaches the brink of unbearable overstimulation, watching as you fall out of that high and into a cloud of fuzzy haze.
a beat of time froze as the birds continue to chirp loud and clear.
soft pants and audible whines were all that was left of you both, falling limp, your knees sliding easier against the now dampened dirt as his hips press flush against your ass, rutting deeper and pushing you further down onto the bed of flowers. he can feel your tail ruffling with satisfaction against his lower navel as he drapes his lean body over yours, littering pecks onto every inch of your spine as you bask in the post glow, preening and nudging deeper in response to your rising purrs.
it’s true, he knows how to take care of his bunny, because it’s what you both need.
he knows it’s what you both wanted and what you both desired, down to the most primal instinct.
he knows that sometimes it’s necessary to let loose and fall prey to your animalistic traits, satisfy the feral feeling for a moment.
the breaking point before a reset.
soobin was itching for this, yearning, waiting for the right moment and catching it on time— when he knew you were pining, craving it too.
he knew from the moment you blinked at him with rounded eyes right as the last hybrid locked the front gate and waved him goodbye, running off after the others for their hunt and leaving you both alone,
the only two bunnies.
his own puff-ball tail ruffles with glee as pride overrides all other emotions within his hormones, his hands kneading your soft skin, soiling the tan flesh with more dirt from his palms.
he wants for you to have a simple life, live happily in the warmth of your shared cottage and he’s always in dire need to show his love for you. it’s an overwhelming need, and what better way than to express it by connecting in the best way possible on these flowers?
don’t think he didn’t know the meanings of each flower you’ve planted in your garden. of course he was going to catch onto your subtle signs, being the attentive bunny you’ve fell in love with.
MDNI. 18+
warnings // older!dean, age gap, p in v, slight breath play, somewhat dumbification, praise, use of the word ‘kiddo’
“Breathe,” Dean instructs, his hands rubbing up and down your spine. His touch is gentle, barely even there as his fingertips caress your bare back. With his other hand, he stills your hips to stop the rhythm of you bouncing on his dick.
You inhale a sharp breath, focusing on the air filling your lungs and the relief, rather than the tip of cock pressing against your g-spot. It’s only your second time sleeping with Dean, but the feeling of his girth and length filling you creates a disconnect between your thoughts and basic bodily functions, such as breathing. “Feels too good,” you pant as you exhale.
Dean grips your hips, using his biceps to slide you up and down. He’s far too concerned about you forgetting to breathe again, and he doesn’t want you focusing on riding him. “I know, honey, but you gotta remember to breathe.”
You can’t help the way your walls tighten around him, just the sound of his voice riling you up enough to send you to the edge. Dean scans your face, bringing one hand to your ribcage and gently squeezing, acting as a physical reminder for you to breathe. Obediently, you suck in a breath, eyes fixated on Dean as he watches approvingly. “Good girl,” he tells you, pressing his hips into you.
That’s all it takes for you to come undone around him, your walls tightening against his girth and your hips spasming as your climax rakes through you. A soft smirk plays at the corner of Dean’s lips. Why hadn’t he thought of fucking you sooner? So obedient, so sweet. You’re just like putty in his hands.
“That was good, kiddo,” Dean praises. “Let’s work on your breathing some more, silly girl.”
