MANEATER.ᐟ

2007

[jadorenne3]

𝑵𝑶𝑾 𝑷𝑳𝑨𝒀𝑰𝑵𝑮… RINSED by DEAN BLUNT

she/her. 8teen. garret grahms puck bunny. angels. ken carson. 888. hidden tattoos. babytees. rafe Camerons brat. the loudest introvert. industrial piercing. sleek hair. film lover. dilf enjoyer. black box dye hoarder. 𓆩❤︎𓆪

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬

[filmjules]

⋆˙⟡ BSF!DEAN OFFERING TO HELP YOU OUT AFTER HE FOUND OUT YOU WERE A VIRGIN ꣑ৎ ( nsfw )

“Wait, are you..?” Dean trailed off, sitting up from where he was laid out on the couch. He invited you over for a movie night, claiming he hadn’t seen you in soooo long and you needed to hang out with him again.

Totally unrelated, all of his roommates were at their girlfriends’ places for the night.

You felt your cheeks warm, the thought of verbally admitting you’d never actually had sex far too embarrassing. It wasn’t like you didn’t want to, it had just never happened naturally.

Guys had tried, but it always felt like a bad idea. Like you would regret it after, wishing you’d just taken care of yourself at home.

It wasn’t a religious thing, you weren’t saving yourself for marriage. You just didn’t want to regret it. You only wanted to do it if you were 100% sure and that hadn’t happened yet.

“Well, I mean I haven’t like—” you trailed off, feeling a pit in your stomach. “I’ve done stuff.”

One of his eyebrows popped up, his ridiculously large smile terribly hidden. “Look, I’m not judging. I’m just... Surprised?” his eyes flickered over your body and back up to your eyes. “You’re like, objectively hot.”

You rolled your eyes, feeling the knot in your stomach turn to heat. “It’s not like there haven’t been opportunities, jackass. I just don’t want some disgusting douchebag to be my first.”

Dean noticed the way you were fidgeting with your sleeves, avoiding eye contact with him. He felt bad for making you feel uncomfortable but he was genuinely in disbelief.

“Is it like... You want it to be special?” his voice came out softer than before, the humor in it almost entirely gone.

Shaking your head, you told him the truth you’d kept to yourself for years, “No, it’s just—every time I tried, it was like either the guy was gross, or he literally saw me as a fucking fleshlight, or he was trying to do crazy shit, and I’m just scared,” you laughed in self-pity, “I know it’ll probably hurt, and I just want to trust whoever I’m fucking to not hurt me. But that’s not a hook-up thing, and I’m not in a relationship, so...”

There was a long silence between you, the only sound in the house coming from the tv playing whatever comedy movie Dean put on when you first got there.

Dean chuckled to himself a little, “What if... I helped you out?”

You knew Dean was a horny guy, but you wouldn’t in a million years expect him to try to fuck you.

The offer literally had you speechless.

“Look, I don’t mean it in a weird way, okay? But I mean, you know I know my way around a woman. And you can trust me. It’s an exchange between friends, nothing crazy.”

You were starting to consider it, his stupid explanations actually sounding somewhat reasonable.

“What exactly is the exchange? What are you getting out of it?” You weren’t planning on selling your body when you agreed to coming over.

His typical smirk flashed across his face as he replied, “I get to have sex with a girl and not feel like I’m being used as a dildo.”

You snickered, “actually, I think it’s the opposite. I’m literally just using you for your dick.”

“Potato, puhtahto,” he shrugged.

“I thought it was ‘tomato, tomahto’?”

He rolled his eyes, leaning so close to your face that you could feel his minty breath on your lips. “Do you want me to fuck you or not?”

Squinting your eyes at him, you nodded, “Yeah. You promise it won’t make things weird between us?”

“Pinky,” he stuck his pinky up to you, waiting for you to finish it.

The second your pinky laced with his, his mouth was on yours. He let you start kissing back before he progressed, his hand finding it’s place on your neck. “C’mon, my room,” he mumbled against your lips, pulling away.

You followed him up the stairs, biting your tongue to not make a joke about how you’re special because you get his bed.

But the closer you got to his room, the more nervous you got. Your mind was racing with a thousand issues that could come from this, yet you didn’t want to stop.

The click of the door shutting made it feel impossibly real, the realization that you would never look at his room the same after today invading your brain.

“Stop overthinking it,” Dean spoke, his body so close to yours you were sure you could feel the warmth radiating off of him.

“I’m trying,” you whispered, leaning forward just an inch, closing the gap between you. “Kiss me.”

You didn’t have to tell Dean twice.

His lips met yours in a heated kiss, the intensity of it compared to the one downstairs throwing you for a loop. His tongue was in your mouth, yours in his, and his fingers were brushing the skin underneath your waistband.

“Are you sure? Hundred percent?” he asked, pulling back enough to look you in the eyes.

“I’m sure.”

The second the words came out of your mouth, he pulled you closer by your waist, walking you backward until his legs hit the bed and you fell on top of him.

His hands slid up your shirt, the warmth of his fingers against your cool skin giving you goosebumps. “Can I take this off?” he asked, bunching up your shirt in his hands.

“Mhm,” you nodded, putting your arms up to help him pull it off.

You thanked whatever made you choose to wear cute underwear today, because you weren’t originally planning on anyone seeing it, yet here you were.

He leaned forward, leaving open-mouthed kisses all over your bare skin. His hands were steady on your hips, pulling you down to grind against him while he worked his mouth on you.

Your hands rested on his shoulders, suddenly thankful for his aversion to wearing a shirt around the house.

You felt his right hand find your bra clasp, a moment of hesitation in him before he unclipped it. “Okay?”

“I’ll tell you if it’s not.”

He rolled his eyes as he pressed another kiss to your neck, this one getting a little bit of extra attention.

The loose bra straps fell forward, exposing your entire chest. Your nipples perked up at the sudden cold air, hardening within seconds. “Jesus, dude, you’re fucking gorgeous.”

“Is calling me ‘dude’ your way of keeping this friendly?”

He scoffed, throwing your bra on the floor. “No…”

“You’re so weird,” you laughed, “Just, act like you normally would.”

Nodding, he spoke in his low voice, “I can do that.” Then he flipped you over on your back, hovering over you while his lips dragged kisses down your body. “Ever been eaten out before?”

You squeaked when your back hit the mattress, pulling a giggle from your chest as he moved his way down. “Nope, only ever been asked to give head, never to get it.”

“Well, we’re changing that today. Ain’t that right?” he whispered as he pulled your pants off, his warm breath fanning over your barely clothed pussy. “Y’want that?”

You whimpered a pathetic, “mhm,” and nodded, your hole clenching around nothing as he kissed right beside where you needed him.

His fingers dipped in your waistband, pulling it down your legs tantalizingly slow. The anticipation was killing you, your heart beating out of your chest.

He ran his hands up and down your thighs soothingly as he spread you open, his eyes focusing solely on your pussy. You started feeling self-conscious by how long he was staring, trying to close your legs and quit this while you could, but he held you open.

“So wet for me,” he muttered as two of his fingers slid between your folds, gently pressing against your entrance without slipping in. “So fucking pretty.”

“Dean,” you groaned, “Are you gonna do something, or not?”

He clicked his tongue, “Sorry, sweetheart. I’m just admiring the view.”

“Mhm,” you sassed.

“Have you ever been fingered?”

Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you tell him, “Yes. Plus my own. A lot.”

His grin widened but he didn’t press on it further, he could always do that later. His tongue darted out, licking a stripe up your folds to get a first taste.

Moaning against you, his constant lapping at your cunt was a feeling you’d never expected to be so good. He wasn’t slowing down, either. Licking, sucking, at one point you even felt his teeth gently scrape against your clit—the feeling oddly good.

You were writhing under him, your back arching off the bed until one of his hands came to press you flat. The other started teasing your hole with just one finger, easily slipping in and out.

Just as he hit a specific spot inside you, his mouth came up to suck harshly on your clit. Your legs shook, almost missing when he added his other finger.

“Fuck, Dean. How are you so—” you cut yourself off with a loud moan, slapping your hand over your mouth.

He pulled away—without stopping his fingers—just enough to look you in the eye and say, “Don’t quiet yourself. Nobody’s home, and I want to hear how good I’m making you feel.”

“Okay. Okay. Jesus fuck,” you whined as a third finger slipped in your soaking cunt, stretching you out.

His fingers were longer and thicker than yours, more skilled than anyone else that’d fingered you before. They were sloppy and lazy and you had to practically teach them basic anatomy.

Dean was already amazing at it.

A tight knot was forming in your core, the familiar feeling of an orgasm building up as Dean relentlessly finger fucked you. “Dean,” you breathed, your fingers finding and gripping his messy blonde hair. “I’m gonna—”

“Uh-huh,” Dean hummed as he licked you through your orgasm, his other hand gripping your shaky thighs.

You gasped a deep breath when he finally let up, trying to direct oxygen back into your brain. “Holy shit, what is wrong with you?” you laughed, throwing your arm over your eyes as Dean sat up, towering over you.

“What?” his lips twitching up like he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to laugh or not, “I just gave you the best orgasm of your life and—”

“Says who?”

“Are you saying it wasn’t?”

Your eyes darted to the other side of the room before you replied, “Can you just—”

“You haven’t said a full sentence since I put my mouth on you,” he scoffed, the playful fire in his eyes telling you he wasn’t going to drop this. “Admit it. Admit that was the best orgasm of your life and I’ll fuck you without another word.”

“Want me to scream it out the window too?” you asked, deflecting as long as you could.

He shrugged, a cocky look on his face as he mumbled, “Eh, it wouldn’t hurt.”

Ignoring him, you leaned up, your face lining right up with his very obvious bulge. Your fingers gripped on his waistband, slowly sliding it off to reveal his lack of boxers.

A quiet giggle bubbled out of your chest before you could stop it. “Really? No shirt and no underwear?”

“Dude,” he groaned, ignoring you to finish taking his pants off. “It’s convenient.”

“Were you planning on sticking your dick in me?”

“No! Oh my god. For peeing. It’s convenient for peeing. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

You rolled your eyes, laying on your back. “Okay, I’m ready.”

You could hear him sighing and shuffling around before his huge body was hovering over yours, one of his arms down and rolling a condom onto his already fully-erect dick. “Are you still—”

“Oh my god, Dean. Yes. Please.”

He nodded, lining up his tip with your aching hole. “Y’gotta relax for me. It’ll feel better if you do, okay?”

Nodding, you tried to let your muscles slacken. His lips were back on yours, a deep and controlled kiss that almost distracted you from the stretch of his cock sliding into you.

“Oh, fucking shit,” you strangled out, feeling a mix of pain and pleasure as Dean stilled. You took a deep breath and grabbed onto his biceps, “Okay. Keep going.”

He smirked, biting his lip as he slowly pushed himself further in.

His head fell to your shoulder, pressing his lips to your neck. But this time wasn’t a distraction for you. He needed something to focus on so he didn’t slam himself to the hilt.

Your moans were urging him on, your nails digging into various parts of his upper body. He stopped once he was fully in, feeling the need to check in again. “Does it hurt?”

Shaking your head, you whispered, “Just a little. But a good kind of hurt. I’m okay, really.”

The words seemed to comfort him, his back muscles loosening just a little. “Tell me when you’re ready for me to move.”

He was still pressing small kisses along your neck, eventually moving to your lips for a deeper, messier kiss. Your hand found the nape of his neck, pulling him closer against you.

You whispered against his lips, “I’m ready.”

You could feel him smile against your mouth, his hips starting to back up and come back down. His pace started slow, the pain turning into pleasure as his thick cock rammed into you.

“Fuck. Faster,” you panted, Dean’s actions quickly reflecting your words. He was still holding back, still being gentle, but giving you what you wanted.

His hips snapped back and forth, bringing that very familiar feeling back to your stomach. Dean was back to sucking on your neck, feeling his own orgasm start to build up.

Without warning, his hand slid between your sweaty bodies to rub circles on your clit. That tight knot in your core was already coming undone, your entire body squirming from the pleasure of your release.

“Fuck, I’m gonna...” Dean trailed off as you felt his warm cum fill the condom inside you, riding you through your orgasm.

He pulled out slowly once you’d finished, pressing a small kiss to your lips to distract you from the sensitivity of him sliding out.

Your chest was rising and falling quickly, still trying to catch up to the current moment. “Wow,” you breathed, feeling Dean’s heavy body drop beside yours after he took care of the condom.

“Still don’t wanna admit it’s the best orgasm you’ve ever had?”

You scoffed, throwing your arm over his bare chest. “You already know it is, you don’t need that extra ego boost.”

His laugh carried throughout the room, “Yeah, that’s probably true.” You shut your eyes, letting yourself breath for a minute before you went and washed up.

“So... Just to be clear... You don’t regret it, right?”

You shook your head. “No. That was actually really good. I’m glad I waited.”

Hearing his tongue click again, you turned your head to face him. “Y’wanna try shower sex next?”

masterlist

note ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 i feel like i’m so bad at ending smut cuz it’s so awkward but like wtv 😣 i kinda just realized the request never straight up said that they do it so i’m hoping that’s what they wanted LMAO also ts is not proofread my head hurts so fricking bad rn i cannot be bothered 😪

[anitalenia]

let’s go to the strawberry fields tonight, xavier. my lips will be stained pink from nectar and your fingers will stick from the frosting but… you always give the sweetest kisses when in love. — 𝓐

[222luvr]

໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა pink divider dump ! ♡

౨ৎ : : credit not needed, reblog if using ♡

[anitalenia]

ayesha couture. — 𝓐

[starrliqhtt]

｡𖦹°‧⭑.ᐟ simple line dividers

pastel purple

pastel maroon

pastel pink

like/reblog if you use. credit is appreciated, but not needed <3

[zyafics]

CAN YOU PLEASE, PLEASE ON MY KNEES WRITE ABOUT BITCHY!READER X RAFE AND IT'S SMUT?? I FEEL LIKE YOU'LL DO IT JUSTICE!!! thank you

you literally read my mind because i was just thinking of this prompt that works so well with bitchy!reader!! hope you'll enjoy <3 (if it’s bad, look away!!)

WHATEVER SHE WANTS | Rafe Cameron

MASTERLIST (Oneshot)

Pairing — Rafe x Bitchy!Kook!Female Reader

Content — 18+, power/dominance play, p in v, doggy style, orgasm denial, and dirty talks

Word Count — 2.2K

lıllılı Whatever She Wants by Bryson Tiller

You always wanted Rafe.

It's your right. Since you were a child, you demanded the best in everything—toys, clothes, boyfriends. They had to be perfect. Had to be yours. And yes, it may come off a little superficial but who cares? It's what you deserve, and it'll be hell if you don't get it.

Since the first look, when you caught Rafe lounging on a chair with his friends, tipping the rim of his beer onto his lips, while his eyes scanned over the room in an attractive lazy way, you knew you had to have him. It didn't help that you were competitive, and Rafe garnered attention with women. They flocked to him and begged for a minute of his time. It became a game to you, and that heightened your need.

Everything was calculated. The makeup you wore, the outfits you curated, the glances. You always timed your arrivals—when you knew Rafe would be watching the door—and marked your exits. You knew exactly what to wear—dresses that tantalizing exposes your ass, but only as a preview—and the cosmetic style he liked. Rafe's the type of man who believes he wants a bare-faced woman, but truly, he wants something natural that enhances your features.

You came with friends. You left alone. You drank enough to loosen your nerves and danced with the crowd, but not enough to make a fool of yourself. You knew your tolerance and knew Rafe didn't like a messy girl.

At least, in public.

You caught his gaze a couple of times, flashing a flirtatious smile over your shoulders, but never lingered longer than three seconds. Rafe can't know how easy he can have you, because Rafe, like most boys, loves a chase. You're not easy, you're spoiled. He had to come to you.

And he did.

Rafe tried to introduce himself on several occasions. On those nights when you're leaving early—as planned—Rafe would cut to the door to pay a parting remark. "You're leaving so soon?" he would ask, "Alone? Again?" He would add. You always told him it was because no one caught your eye, and Rafe took that as a personal challenge. He would then try to tell you his name, as if he were different, to which you nod—detached—as if it didn't matter.

It drove him insane.

Because you didn't offer the same courtesy. You kept him guessing. He had to finally ask around to learn your name, which he would use to tease you the next time he saw you. And he did. And you laughed. But you acted like you didn't care. Like all the trouble he went through didn't prove a thing. That's when Rafe knew he needed you.

Tonight's no different. Just as you're about to leave, Rafe catches you with another smooth pick-up line. You just giggle. He studies how your eyes crinkle with amusement, the curve of your lips painted in his favorite shade of lipstick, and the lithe tilt of your head to the side as you ask him with your gaze, is that the best you got?

It isn't. But Rafe's determined to get further with you tonight. He continues to talk, asking about which men disappointed you and the reasons for your constant disappearances from these parties. And, for once, you're answering his questions with little resistance. Perhaps, it's because of the amount of cheap wines you consumed, or maybe you—for once—are tired of the games and want it to come to a fruitful end. Because when Rafe finally asks to take you home, you don't say no.

The walk to his truck is brisk. His arm wrapped around your waist, directing your path, while his fingers trail over the backless cut of your dress, producing a buzzing feeling beneath your skin. He's whispering something in your ear, but all of it is incomprehensible as you revel in the feeling of his touch and his touch alone. The feeling of your game coming to a conclusion.

And, just as you're about to reach the car, Rafe slams you into the side of the vehicle with a searing kiss.

His mouth catches yours and everything feels perfect. As if the buildup leading to this precise moment had been worth it, and every needy emotion rises to the top. His hand travels down the length of your body, to your hips, pulling you closer, and needing to eliminate all the space and wait you made him do.

Rafe's movements are swift and controlled. One of his hands props open the backdoor of his car, pushing you inside, and laying you against his leather seats. All without breaking the kiss.

"You don't know how long I wanted this, wanted you," Rafe blubbers between wet kisses. "Seeing you at every party, in these tiny dresses, not being able to touch," he rasps, bundling the hem of your dress into a tight fist. "Tell me you wear them for me."

"And if I did?" You say with a moan, tipping your head back to grant him access to your neck. "Did you like them?"

"Of course I did," he murmurs against the curve of your neck, the vibration of his words sending heat straight to your core. "You dressing up for me like my own perfect doll."

You want to retort that it's him who's in the palm of your hand, but Rafe sucks on a sensitive spot, causing your eyes to roll back and a whimper to escape your lips instead. He grabs your wrists with one hand, throwing them over his shoulder as he pulls you flush against his chest.

"So pretty, so fucking untouchable," Rafe kisses down the length of your throat, his fingers collecting the spaghetti straps of your dress before sliding it down the slope of your shoulders. "I'm going to fuck you so good."

His words snap you out of your haze. And while Rafe continues to expose more of your body, lamenting each reveal of flesh with a kiss, you withdraw enough to grab his attention.

"You're not fucking me in a car."

"What?" Rafe breaths, unable to snap out of the trace you had him in. Delirious with want, his mind warped around the idea of you being so close to attainable, that all rational manners left his system. He tries to kiss you again, to resume the moment, but you pull enough to send him a deadly glare, pouty and spoiled.

"Rafe, take me somewhere nice or we're not fucking at all."

He can't believe what he's hearing. He can't believe he's contemplating it. But Rafe doesn't understand that you have it all planned out to result in a perfect moment. You won't let it be disrupted just because Rafe can't drive the extra mile to take you somewhere nice. You'd rather leave him with blue balls.

"Are you serious?" He asks slowly, his eyes drawn to your swollen lips, the little pout, and the desperation to have them back on his. Sure, Rafe's had girls who wanted something more than a casual fling. He had them ask him for a better spot, but he never obliged. He never cared. But you're different. He wants you, and it's been a hell of a chase to get you here. He'll be damned if he lets it slip away because of a pretentious standard.

"Does it look like I'm joking?" You cross your arms over your chest, pushing your breasts further up. He nearly groans at the sight. "We're not having sex here."

"The nearest place has to be at least a fifteen-minute drive," Rafe argues. And it makes you upset, brows pinched together. "We can just—"

"I don't care," you snap. "Take me somewhere nice or I'm leaving."

You're serious. He sees it on your face. Rafe can't risk that, despite wanting to protest, because he knows he if he messes this up, he won't have another chance. Swearing under his breath, he drags himself out of the backseat and into the driver's side, pulling the car out of the parking lot.

Dangerously, Rafe speeds down the road, while you're sitting in the backseat with a self-satisfied demeanor, fixing your makeup through the rearview mirror. Occasionally, Rafe spares a glance through the same reflection, connecting with your gaze, and while there's subtle bitterness coiled in his chest, he recognizes the bigger prize at hand.

And what he can do with it.

Because, despite your bratty attitude, Rafe is a person who wants control. You want perfection. You two can have both.

That's how you find yourself in a newly-booked penthouse suite at one of the bougie hotels in Kildare, your head digging into the soft comforter of the bed, your ass in the air, as Rafe drills into you from behind.

When you reached the room, everything moved frantically. Rafe slammed you against the nearest wall to kiss you again—needing your lips, needing your taste—while his hands roamed over your dress and pulled down your cleavage, revealing your tits. Your hands wandered down his pants, unbuttoning them hurriedly, needily, and he assisted you by pulling them off alongside his boxers. His cock was big, slightly red with a pearly bead of pre-cum that rolls off the tip. And you could tell by the look on Rafe's face that he wanted you to suck it.

But you told him, "I don't do blowjobs."

So fucking pretentious.

It didn't matter. He hauled you over to the king-sized bed and pushed you onto the mattress. You landed with a soft thump, while Rafe hauled you up to your ass, pushing up your dress, until it became nothing but a bundle around your waist. His movements were urgent, and he wanted—no, needed—to be inside you because a bratty girl was going to be a great fuck.

And he was right.

You're perfect. The way you wrap around him, the way he sinks inside you. He doesn't know if it's because of the delirium of wanting you so desperately, of chasing you for so long—but he never had better pussy. And it doesn't help that your moans are sweet, breathy, and loud—begging him to go faster.

"Such a pretentious brat," Rafe grabs your throat, hauling you upwards till your spine rest on his chest, airway constricted by his harsh grip. "Making me wait this fucking long."

"R—Rafe," you mewl, eyes rolling to the back of your skull at the way he's angling his cock deep into your cervix, bullying the sensitive spot over and over again until you're seeing stars.

"Had to get the princess treatment, did you?" He murmurs hotly into your ear, nibbling a spot on your neck as you rest the back of your head on his shoulder. His thrusts grow more erratic. "Had to make me earn you, didn't you?"

"You weren't going to fuck me in a car," you persist, and despite how cockdrunk you became, and how much of an attitude you're willing to sacrifice to feel good, you were still adamant about receiving what you deemed enough. He respected that. "I'm not one of your whores."

"But I'm fucking you like my own personal slut. Is that any better?" He bites the lobe of your ear, and his other hand wanders up to grab a handful of your breast, squeezing the fat before rolling your perked nipple between his fingers. You moan louder. "What does that make you?"

You can't seem to answer him, can't seem to find your senses. The words Rafe uses are vulgar, but there’s still no regrets about this entire thing. Rafe wanted you so badly, that he was willing to spend hundreds of dollars on a hotel he probably won't even stay the night in. All because you demanded it.

You win.

"Shut up," you stammer, your stomach tightening. "Shut up and just fuck me, Rafe."

Rafe grins. The hand playing with your tits slips between your thighs to assist, finding your clit easily as he rubs it with his thumb in sync with his thrusts. Breathy moans escape you as you arch into his palm, while he pistons deeper inside of you, bottoming out.

"You sound so pretty, doll," Rafe murmurs against your heated skin, "Come on, take my fucking cock."

Everything’s so dirty. The way he handles you, the way your wetness drips down your thighs, the way his words breathe onto your skin and tighten your core. But you love it. You do, but you're not willing to give in so easily. No matter how good it feels. No matter how much he feels like a prize.

"You don't deserve me." You whisper with a mewl, body tightening with the familiar wave of your undoing.

Yet, Rafe merely grins.

"But you're sucking in my cock like you need me," Rafe taunts, pleasure coursing through his body at the way your walls grip him in a vice. The way your words spark challenge and invitation. He knows, despite your spoiled attitude and pretentious demands, he'll do anything to get another chance like this. "Now, behave like a good girl or you're not coming tonight."

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[filmjules]

⋆˙⟡ DEAN LOVES YOUR NEW NIPPLE PIERCINGS ꣑ৎ

Getting your nipples pierced was a last minute decision.

Earlier that day, you went with Allie to get her navel pierced. She was so excited, talking about all the piercings she would love to have but isn’t sure about. Which led to her saying, “You would look absolutely fucking amazing with your nipples pierced. I bet Dean would have a field day with it, too.”

She kept babbling, saying stuff like, “Not that I’m suggesting it for him. Only for yourself, obvi. And me and Han, I know she would agree.”

You laughed it off, saying it was cool but not your thing.

Until you were inside the piercing shop.

The girl at the counter asked what the two of you needed, saying for a piercing it would be around a ten minute wait. Allie told the girl what she wanted, but before she wrote it down you butted in.

“Um, actually—I wanted to get my nipples pierced, can we do that today too?”

The worker responded politely, “of course!” before writing your information down.

Allie whipped her head around to face you as you walked away from the counter, her curls swaying. “Really? I thought you weren’t into the idea…” She squealed, excitement clearly coursing through her body.

You shook your head, hoping she didn’t see through your false confidence when you replied, “I mean, why not? It’s cute.”

When you got home later that day, Dean was already cozying up in your bed. He knew you’d be out with Allie for a while but you’d told him he could be there if he wanted to. You didn’t really think he’d take the offer.

“Oh! Hi,” you mumbled as you walked in the door, your brain hyperaware of your new piercings. You’d been so consumed by the thought of the piercings themselves that you’d forgotten that Dean was going to see them, probably very soon.

You’d also forgotten how sensitive they’d be.

“Hey, baby,” his voice was muffled from being beneath a big pile of your blankets and stuffed animals, “Have fun with Allie?”

The way you paused mindlessly before answering with a soft, “Yeah,” was Dean’s first red flag. The second was how stiff you were standing as you walked around the room, putting your purse away and taking off your shoes.

He sat up, moving the little bunny stuffy he got you for Valentine’s day.

When you finally met his eyes, your guard was up immediately. His bright blue eyes were narrowed and his lips were pressed in a pout. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay. Tell me what happened.”

Laughing, you sat on the empty side of the bed. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Dean rolled onto his stomach, taking up the empty space and revealing his shirtless torso. “You’re acting weird. I want my girlfriend back, please.”

You rolled your eyes, running your hand over his hair soothingly.

“Okay,” you cleared your throat, trying to push down your racing thoughts. What if he hates it? What if he has to pretend to like it? What if—“I have something to tell you.”

His playful smile dropped, worry taking over his features. “Yeah?”

Dragging a hand over your face, you let out a heavy breath. “I got my nipples pierced,” you mumbled against your palm.

There was a beat of silence before Dean said, “What was that?”

“Dean.”

“I really couldn’t hear you, baby,” He laughed, his hands coming up to wrap around your wrists and pull your hands away from your face. “Can you repeat it? Please?”

Groaning, you repeated louder, “I got my nipples pierced.”

There was another silent beat, but Dean’s eyes had an unmistakable fire in them. The corner of his lips quirked up, his eyes dropping to your chest and back up.

“What?”

“I am not repeating myself again, Di Laurentis.”

“No, no. I just—Wow,” he blew out a breath, his chest rising and falling more dramatically than before. “Can I see?”

That’s how you ended up here, with Dean’s hands resting on your hips and his legs open wide for you to stand between. Your shirt was in a pile on the floor, the cool air making your nipples hard and even more of a view for Dean.

“Wow. You look…” he trailed off, his gaze never straying from your tits. His hand reached up, aiming for your new piercings, until you stopped his hand.

“Can’t touch. Y’gotta be careful with ‘em.”

Your boyfriend dragged out a low groan, dropping his head to your stomach—making sure to avoid hitting your sensitive piercings. “You’re already killing me, and now I can’t even touch you? What am I being punished for?”

You scoffed, “You’re not being punished, you big baby. And if you’re expecting me to wait until my piercings are fully healed for you to touch me at all, I’m offended.”

His head snapped up at that, his eyes telling you everything you need to know. That and the very clear boner he’s sporting through his sweats. “I just gotta avoid the tits for a little? That’s all? No surprise piercing down there that I need to know about?”

You shook your head, recognizing the undeniable heat in his voice, “Everything else is still on the table.”

The entire night felt like it was just Dean complimenting you. He said something at every point.

Took your pants off? “Gorgeous.” Came on his fingers? “So fucking hot.” Finished on his face? “Delicious.”

He would not stop.

Even when he was buried to the hilt inside you, while you were squirming from the pleasure and milking his cock dry, he felt like he had to keep praising you. “You’re so pretty, baby. I fucking love—Holy shit—I love your nipples. I love your nipple piercings. So fucking sexy, baby.”

The man literally begged you to go on top. He said he “wanted to have your pretty tits up close and bouncing in his face if he couldn’t even touch them.”

You agreed, expecting to have to take control. Not expecting to have him fucking up into you, hitting you at a new angle that made your back arch and your entire body shake. Your eyes were teary and clamped shut, moans spilling out of your mouth faster than you could feel them coming.

“That feel good, sweetheart?” The cocky bastard asked you with a devilish grin on his face. “Looks like it from down here.”

Your hand cupped over his mouth, your way of telling him to shut up without having to speak. He kissed your palm and grabbed your hand, lacing his fingers through yours.

The new angle you took to reach his mouth made your clit rub against his solid body, adding extra pleasure that made you squeeze around him. “Oh my god. Dean.”

Dean groaned at the sound of your shaky voice gasping his name, the feeling of your tight pussy around him and your nails digging into his biceps bringing him closer to his release.

“I’m close,” his deep voice rasped in your ear, his hands gripping your hips as he continued plowing into you. You threw your head back with your body, Dean’s fingers promptly coming to toy with your clit, working you over the edge.

“Dean—”

“I know, baby. Ride it out f’me,” he cooed, continuing his thrusts until you pushed on his chest to stop him.

You slowly pulled off, careful not to overstimulate your very sensitive cunt. Flopping over on your back, Dean was quick to roll on his side to look at you. He didn’t say anything more, just stared until you turned away in embarrassment.

masterlist

[masonsgooding]

HOLLYWOOD (2020-) Jack Castello + cop uniform

[rafesteddy]

Getting Even After a Break Up…

ex bf frat!rafe x reader

(📱smau + fic📚) spice inspired by this link 🔗

c/w .ᐟ.ᐟ smut, break up -> make up jealous!rafe, possessive!rafe, brat!reader, pet names, praise, $ manipulation, spanking, teasing, unprotected p in v, begging, degradation, + cum play

-> Click image and swipe your finger to the left

7,270 words

You laugh softly to yourself when the handle rattles again, the dull clink of metal against the lock echoing through the quiet room.

You tilt into the door, ear hovering over the wood, your palms pressed flat against it, listening to his frustrated muttering.

Outside, Rafe is still fighting with the lock—a quiet clink and an impatient scrape, a breathy “Come on… Come on…” muttered under his breath.

The metal grinds and his tool falls with a heavy thud to the floor. A quiet, defeated sound slips out of him—like a man who just can’t seem to catch a break. But he doesn’t deserve one. Not just yet, at least.

“Shit,” he hisses as he bends down, picking up the tool and starting again, his shadow shifting in the thin strip of light spilling in from the hallway beyond the door.

Your shoulder leans harder into the door as you listen, hand pressed against your lips so he won’t hear you laughing.

“Please just work,” he stammers, voice low and almost pitiful. Silence falls on the other side of the door, followed by an unmistakable thunk as his forehead rests against the wood.

“Baby?” He murmurs.

You can practically picture him standing there, broad shoulders slumped, lip pouted, one big hand still holding whatever piece of metal he’d been using.

“You’re right there, aren’t you?” He asks, and you don’t answer. He exhales slowly, blowing out a deep breath. “Please… Please open the door, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

You let his words hang heavy in the air, the tension thick even with a threshold between you.

“I know I screwed up tonight,” he says, words tight in his throat, trying to hold back all the things he’s feeling. “And, before—I just… You know—You know how I get… about you.”

The handle shifts again, the little metal something pressing into it, trying again as he spills his heart.

“I just…” He pauses, exhaling slowly against the door. “I just hate the idea of losing you. I hate the idea of someone else seeing you like that—but I shouldn’t tell you what to do. I trust you. I just don’t trust anyone else. That’s my issue, not yours,” his words break, his voice still on the edge of frustrated tears.

“I swear if you let me in I’ll do whatever you want, baby,” he says quietly. “I pushed it when I asked for a kiss, I know. Just—Just let me sleep on the floor. You don’t even have to talk to me.”

You hear him shift on the other side of the door, restless, and broken.

“You know I’m crazy about you,” he mumbles. “Like… embarrassingly so. M’so fucking pathetic for you, please—” He lets out a tired, almost helpless laugh as his back settles against the door, sinking down to the ground.

“I mean you gotta come out sometime, right?” He sighs, getting comfortable on the other side, but it’s not a threat, he’s genuinely hoping to catch you either in a weak moment or on your way to grab something—hoping you’ll step on him on your way out at the very least.

“I’m sorry I’m a mess. I really am,” he murmurs.

You take a deep breath, reaching up to pinch the lock, and the second you do you can hear his heavy feet on the other side, scrambling to stand. By the time you open the door he’s already there, looking down at you, breathing out a shaky sigh.

He bites his lip, holding the words back from breaking free. His hair is wild from raking his fingers through it, eyes red, cheeks splotchy from frustration, his jaw so tight it looks like it could break.

And, you were right before—he looked tortured and he hasn’t changed. His eyebrows draw in like he’s hoping to hear something that sounds like forgiveness, like he’s hoping he’ll get the second chance he’s been begging for.

His blue eyes shine, a few stray tears threatening to spill if you shut the door again and send him home without you.

You stare at him for another second, letting him sweat just a little longer before you step to the side.

Rafe hesitates for half a second, trying to decide if you’re serious. Then he walks in, looking around your room nervously, not knowing what to do or where you want him. Like he assumes it’s the floor—even if he still looks a little hopeful.

You step back from the doorway slowly, folding your arms across your chest as he lingers just inside the room. He shifts his weight awkwardly, glancing around the room before looking back at you.

“Where do you want me?” He asks softly. “The floor?”

Your eyes roll immediately, long and exaggerated, gesturing lazily toward the foot of the bed.

He exhales through his nose, relief softening the tension in his shoulders as he moves to sit down where you pointed. The mattress dips under his weight.

His elbows rest on his knees, hands hanging loosely between them as he stares down at the floor like a man waiting for a verdict.

You walk toward him and his head lifts immediately.

His thighs shift apart as you approach, giving you space without even thinking about it. He expected you to stop a few steps away—expecting distance, maybe another lecture, maybe even a sarcastic jab.

His hands move carefully, settling against the backs of your thighs. You look down at him, arms still folded, expression bitter and annoyed but your eyes give you away.

Because no matter how irritated you are—no matter how much trouble he caused tonight—you still look at him like he’s yours.

Rafe looks back up at you the way he always does when he knows he’s screwed up. Like a big, pathetic, sorry-for-himself puppy.

“M’sorry, baby,” he says quietly as his rough thumbs drag slowly over the back of your legs. “Thank you for letting me say that to your face.”

His face softens and he reaches forward, arms sliding around your waist, pulling you closer until the space between you disappears completely.

Your hands come up, settling around the back of his neck, your fingers drifting into the hair at his nape, the contact instantly unraveling him, making his shoulders drop as soon as he feels it.

“I love you,” he says quietly.

You roll your eyes instinctively, but your hands don’t move from where they’re resting around his neck.

You lean down just enough for your voice to drop softer between you, his breath held as he waits to hear what you’ll say next.

“I love you too,” you whisper, your eyes sliding away for a moment, trying not to give him the benefit of a smile. But he looks so happy to be here. “You’re such a fucking asshole.” The insult lands soft, and he knows it.

A crooked smile tugs at the corner of his mouth because of it, and he chuckles warmly under his breath.

“I deserved that,” he admits, then tilts his head up a little, looking back at you properly, his expression turning serious again. “Can we just go back? Back to how things were before tonight? Before I started acting like a fuckin’ psycho and ruining everything?”

His hands tighten around your waist, not just pleading with his words but with his whole damn being.

“Just give it one more shot, alright? You and me.”

You study his face for a moment. Your fingers card through his messy hair, damp at the roots from nervous sweat. His eyes are red from rubbing his hands over them in frustration, looking so painfully sincere it’s almost annoying after everything.

“One more chance,” you whisper, like it pains you to cave. His thumbs still on your skin, he stares at you, not expecting you to actually say that.

“Really?”

“One.”

“I won’t fuck up, alright? Promise. You have my word,” he assures, biting his cheek and holding back a smile, not wanting to get ahead of himself or get too happy too fast because he sees the look in your eyes too.

“I’m serious.”

“Not gonna waste any more of your time actin’ like that. I took it too far,” he sighs.

“You think?” You chuckle tiredly and he blows out a raspberry.

“Got a little crazy back there, huh?”

“Uh, yeah,” you scoff. “You were trying to bait me into a parking lot.”

“Was not,” he mumbles, not even able to look you in the eye as he lies.

“Rafe—”

“Guilty.” His head drops back, eyes shut like he’s reliving it all. “You have fun at dinner?”

Your eyes soften on his when his eyes return to you, and he winces at the ridiculousness of the question—like fighting with him wouldn’t have affected the trajectory of your night. Like you weren’t still feeling hurt despite putting him through the wringer.

“Stupid fuckin’ question,” he sighs.

Rafe leans back slightly so he can take you in, his hands landing at your waist as his eyes travel slowly down.

Then he breaks. A boyish smile tugs at his mouth as his finger traces lightly beneath the edge of your dress at your thigh, brushing your skin before he looks back up at you.

“You look stunning.”

You roll your eyes so hard it makes him laugh. “Relax,” you mutter.

He tips his chin up just slightly, his gaze flicking down to your mouth and then back to your eyes.

He doesn’t say anything. The silent request is so loud it almost makes you laugh this time. You sigh like you’re inconvenienced by the whole thing, but you lean down anyway.

The kiss lands soft at first, thankful and warm. His lips move against yours tenderly, like he’s reclaiming what he’d lost.

His hand slides up your back, pressing gently between your shoulder blades, pulling you closer. The other stays down by your side, drifting higher under your dress. Then he pauses; his breath catching in his chest for a second.

His fingers still for a second, like his brain is trying to catch up with what he just felt. “…Baby.” His hand shifts slightly, brushing the mesh hidden underneath.

“Mhmm,” you breathe as he pulls back just enough to look at you.

“Please don’t tell me you wore this to the bar,” he says. The words come out half-joking, half-wounded, jealousy still bubbling under the surface no matter how well he tries to hide it.

You look down at him calmly, lifting an eyebrow at him, letting him know the ice he’s skating on is thin. Paper fucking thin. “No.”

He purses his lips, trying to remain neutral.

“I wore this to a girls’ dinner,” you continue. “And then,” you add, leaning forward again so your mouth brushes his when you speak. “I was going to come to your place and let you take it off me.”

He lets out a quiet laugh against your mouth, the sound warm and disbelieving as his forehead drops forward to rest gently against yours.

“I am such a goddamn idiot,” he mutters as you let out a sound of agreement.

Rafe barely lets the utterance leave your lips before he moves. One arm slides firmly around your waist while the other comes up to cradle the side of your neck, his thumb pressing warm and steady along your jaw as he pulls you into him.

His eyes drop to your mouth for half a breathless second before his lips are on you again, like he’s giving you a chance to pull him away—but you tug him closer instead, the passion in his kiss almost knocking the breath out of you.

Your head spins, but he grounds you with a hand at your neck, tilting your face slightly, fingers spreading gently along your cheek while the arm around your waist tightens, drawing you closer until there’s barely space left between you.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he mumbles against your lips, his words breathed out between kisses.

Your body warms, fingers curling into the back of his shirt. His forehead bumps lightly against yours when he pulls back.

“Tell me I’m yours,” he continues quietly. “C’mon.”

“You’re mine,” you whisper.

“Just tell me,” he says, almost pleading now. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours.”

The relief that crosses his face is immediate. He exhales softly against your mouth, kissing you again—slower this time, softer, like he’s savoring the words.

Then his brow furrows slightly. “What were you trying to tell me earlier?” He asks, breath still heavy.

You blink back at him, still floating and dizzy from the kiss. “What?”

“The messages,” he says, watching you carefully now, and realization makes your stomach drop. “The voice ones.”

Your expression shifts just enough for him to notice.

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” he admits quietly. “You were saying stuff and I couldn’t open any of it.” His thumb brushes lightly along the side of your face again. “You said a lot, baby. What did you say?”

“Nothing,” you whisper, leaning in for his lips, but he frowns immediately.

“That wasn’t nothing, sweetheart.”

“It was nothing,” you mumble as you kiss the corner of his mouth.

He leans back slightly now, studying your face more closely, squinting back at you uneasily. “Gimme your phone.”

You laugh immediately, clipped and quick. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because.”

He tilts his head, wheels turning a hundred miles an hour now as he weighs the risk of pushing you after everything. “Why are you being weird about it?”

“I’m not being weird,” you add, your voice cracking a little.

“You are absolutely being weird.” Rafe watches you for another second, his eyes narrowing just slightly. “Baby.”

“Mhmm,” you hum.

“Gimme the phone,” he says again.

“Rafe—”

“What did you say in those messages?” He cuts in, reaching out to grab your phone himself, unlocking it, the screen glowing against his hardened features.

At first he just focuses on the screen, scrolling back through the messages you sent earlier. His thumb hovers over the first voice message again, the same one he’d been trying to play since the moment you sent it.

But the longer he looks at them, the quieter he gets. “…Baby,” he says slowly.

“Yup?” You answer as he exhales, his eyes locked on the text thread.

“You sent a lot of these.”

He swallows thick and hard, thumb hovering over the messages, looking up at you again, and the look on his face makes your stomach drop.

“…It must’ve been bad,” he says honestly. “I mean this whole situation’s bad but…”

“But what?” You ask as he glances down at your phone again.

“Whatever you were saying,” he explains slowly. “If you had that much to say and I couldn’t hear any of it…” He runs a hand through his hair anxiously. “…it probably was about a hell of a lot more than just tonight.”

Rafe shifts his weight on the mattress, shoulders tense now.

“Must’ve been other stuff too,” he mutters.

Your heart is absolutely racing now because this has gotten wildly out of hand. “Rafe—”

His hand is trembling just slightly when he presses it, but nothing happens.

He presses it again. Still nothing.

“What the fuck,” he mutters and you wince, biting your lip.

“Remember how much of an asshole you were tonight?” You say weakly, which only makes him tap the screen even harder like that’ll make it work.

Rafe exhales and lets out a small laugh under his breath, shaking his head like he’s embarrassed. “Help me out here, baby,” he sighs, holding the phone up between you. “I cannot figure this shit out.”

You press your lips together, and his eyes tighten, brows pulling together.

“Rafe, I—”

“Did something happen at the bar?” He asks quickly. “Is that what you were trying to tell me?”

“No!” You cut in, shaking your head immediately.

“Then what the fuck’s the problem, huh?” He asks nervously.

“It’s just—” You start.

“It’s what?” His words trip over yours, his frustration getting the better of him.

“Those voice messages… They—Well, they aren’t real.”

“The fuck are you talking about?” The words punch out of him as he snatches your phone back, tapping the screen like you’re lying.

“They’re fake…”

“Fake? What do you mean fake?”

“Open the browser,” you mumble, and he does, staring down at the screen as symbols.com stares back at him. The word copied with a little check next to it, like a receipt of the torment he fell for.

His mouth slowly falls open, nose scrunching in disgust. “And you’re tellin’ me,” he says slowly, “that I’ve been losin’ my fucking mind all night over nothing. You sat there and watched me spiral over this shit. And the worst part is you were probably laughing the whole time.”

“Well… I mean. Yeah?”

“I was sittin’ in the car thinking you were breaking up with me…”

“We were.”

He scoffs like the two words that just left your lips were somehow a lie, gesturing weakly at your phone in his hand. “You are insane,” he says, his eyes wild, lips quivering, not sure whether to smile or not.

You fold your arms across your chest again as you look up at him.

“You deserved it.”

His eyes widen at your words, expression halfway between disbelief and complete admiration. He lets out a quiet laugh under his breath, shaking his head as he glances back down at the messages.

“I did.”

“All of it,” you add.

Rafe finally sets the phone down on the bed beside him, his hand dragging over his face as he exhales hard and long.

“I was sitting there thinkin’ you were finally done with me for good,” he continues quietly. “Like you’d had enough, and I just couldn’t hear it. Literally.”

You step in and his hands slide around your waist again, pulling you closer. “But for the record,” he adds softly, leaning down toward your mouth, “I would’ve listened to every single one of those messages—”

“And cried,” you finish his sentence, smiling against his lips.

“I was already doin’ that,” he mumbles for you, the words so quiet you barely catch them.

“Knew it.”

“You drive me insane,” he sighs before he kisses you again, your hand coming down to reach for the hem of his shirt.

Your fingers hook into the fabric, pulling upward, and he laughs softly against your mouth when he realizes what you’re doing, lifting his arms automatically so you can drag the shirt over his head.

His hands settle right back on you the second the shirt’s gone, leaning in to deepen the kiss while his fingers trace along your waist, his mouth still curved in that disbelieving half-smile as he tries to process all the chaos.

“You better send my fuckin’ money back,” he mutters half-serious, half-laughing against your mouth.

“I already did.”

He groans like he’s disappointed—like he expected you to stand firm and keep it all. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Your lips brush against his mouth, fingers tugging into his hair. “I don’t want your money, Rafe.”

“Well you deserve it,” he counters.

“I know.” You pause just long enough to make him smile suspiciously before adding, “that’s why I kept three-fifty.”

“Fuck, baby,” he whispers, laughing lightly. “Giving me a deal, huh? Would’ve paid anything to get back in here.”

“I know,” you answer honestly.

“Nine messages,” he murmurs against your lips and you laugh.

“Mhmm,” you say, not giving him an ounce of pity about it either.

“Nine fake voice messages,” he continues quietly as he traces your jaw. “Nothing… Just you fucking with me.”

“You fucked with me first,” you whisper, and Rafe exhales a quiet laugh at that as his hands slide lower, finding the zipper at the back of your dress.

The zipper glides down slowly beneath his fingers and the dress loosens immediately, the fabric slipping down your shoulders before falling softly to the floor around your feet. “What did I do to deserve you, huh?”

He looks at you for a second after he says it, still trying to understand how the night went from losing you to somehow getting you back. His eyes flicker over your face, then your mouth, then the lingerie you had put on just for him—and somehow, he still gets to see it.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, lifting you easily off the floor, tossing you back onto the bed. Your body bounces against the mattress, and by the time you try to prop yourself up on your elbows, he’s already climbing over you, bracing his weight above you while his hands catch your wrists and press them into the mattress on either side of your head.

He looks down at you with a tilted smile, his hair still messy, his breathing uneven. “You’re lucky I’m obsessed with you,” he warns, but there’s still something shaken under the surface. You can feel it in the way he looks at you—in the way his grip keeps tightening like he still hasn't calmed down or gotten over the idea that the two of you had broken up.

Just like before, you try to roll your eyes and scowl, but the smile curling at your mouth gives you away.

His rough thumbs brush slowly along your wrist, where he’s holding you, kissing you like a claim. His weight settles over you, warm and solid, the strength of his body pressing you deeper into the bed.

His shoulders flex every time he shifts closer, his tanned skin warm against yours, his chain dangling off his neck, landing cool against your hot skin.

You keep lifting your head off the pillow to follow him when he pulls back even slightly, leaving you chasing his mouth. Each time you do it he lets out the faintest laugh against your lips, the sound making a steady pulse beat between your thighs.

His hands slide up your arms, gathering your wrists above your head in one hand. His body grinds at the same time, the rough denim of his jeans dragging against your mesh panties.

The chill of his belt buckle brushes against your skin, pulling a quiet breath out of you. Your back arches instinctively, fingers tightening into fists, his fingers curling a little tighter to keep you in place. His stomach tightens, abs going hard every time his hips rock, every little shift making your body react.

His free hand drops between you to work at his belt as you kiss him through it, smiling against his mouth when he finally manages to shove his jeans down far enough to give himself room to kick them off. The whole time his mouth keeps finding yours again between breaths, refusing to lose you for longer than he has to.

You moan against his mouth when his hand cups your pussy, clicking his tongue like he knew this is exactly how he’d find you—soaking wet. “If I wasn’t such an asshole earlier,” he rasps, his voice breaking with need, “you’d probably be crying by now.”

You giggle, bratty and breathless, before his tongue slips into your mouth, rolling slowly as his fingers do the same, rubbing tight circles on your clit.

“Laughin’ at me, huh?” He says. “Still think this shit’s funny?”

“Mhmm,” you whimper then gasp against his lips as he pinches your clit between his fingers, his lips sucking and biting down on your bottom lip just enough to pinch.

“Getting pretty confident, sweetheart,” he murmurs as his mouth hovers over yours, slapping your clothed cunt, making your hips buck into his hand.

Rafe slowly rises up onto his knees above you, his eyes never leaving your face as he pulls down his boxers, his cock slapping against his bare skin with a snap. His gaze drifts down your body, taking in every inch of soft skin and delicate fabric.

“So fucking pretty for me,” he murmurs quietly.

Your hands shift instinctively and he catches the movement, snatching your wrists again to push them into the bed with a little more muscle.

“Keep your hands where they are,” he whispers against your lips.

The mesh between your thighs is already clinging to your skin, practically opaque from how wet you already are. He exhales slowly through his nose and shakes his head as he takes his dick in his fist.

“Thank you,” he mutters under his breath, tapping the wet fabric with his tip, the precum gathered on his hard skin mixed with your arousal on the slick material separating the two of you. “For lettin’ me back in… Fuck, I don’t deserve you—”

You pout slightly, wanting to feel his skin instead, and he notices that too. He shakes his head with a laugh, the kind that tells you he knows, and that’s precisely why he’s gonna make you wait.

“Not yet,” he says.

“You’re lucky you’re here, Rafe,” you counter, tauntingly.

“Just said ‘thank you’, didn’t I?”

You sigh dramatically and he laughs, thoroughly enjoying the fact that you’re impatient as he traces himself along your slit. The fabric drags against his sensitive skin, rubbing along you with every slow pass.

He thrusts his hips forward, the tip pressing there, and warmth spreads through your body despite the thin barrier still between you.

The pressure alone is enough to pull a moan from both of you. You bite down on your lip, both of your hands clawing into the sheets beside your head, twisting the fabric between your fingers as his cock rubs over your clit again and again.

Your eyes roll back as he spits on the place where the two of you meet, his hard cock slicking through the wetness, making you feel even more, stroking in a rough, steady rhythm.

Your tongue runs along your bottom lip and the knot in your stomach tightens. Your pleasure builds, the sight of his strong body rolling into you without penetration doing nothing but teasing just how deep his cock would go, pre cum dripping off his tip as it drags across your skin.

“I’m trying to tease you,” he pants. “Looks like it feels pretty good though.”

“Yes, fuck,” you whimper, matching his movements with a swivel of your hips.

Rafe keeps talking you through it, his voice low and warm as the praise slips out between sharp breaths. “You’re doing so good,” he tells you, looking up at your hands as you white-knuckle the bedsheets; his eyes falling to your thighs to watch them quake. “You gonna cum for me?” He asks and you whimper a ‘yes’.

You cum with his name on your lips and your pussy pulsing around nothing as he continues to stroke. Your eyes pinch shut and your hands reach for him quickly, grabbing him by the hair and the neck to pull him to your lips. He swallows your moans, not letting up his movement until you're melting underneath him, your mind doing the same.

He grips you firmly and shifts your body in one smooth motion, guiding you forward and turning you until you are on your hands and knees, his big body pressing flush behind you, hard cock swinging between your thighs.

Rafe’s hands settle on your hips first, sliding a little higher until his palms are full, squeezing and kneading your ass in his hands. His hands drag slow circles over your skin while you glance back over your shoulder at him, and the smugness painted all over his face starts to bleed out of him.

“Did I tell you I was a fucking idiot?” He murmurs quietly, his thumbs tracing along the hem of your panties like he’s deciding whether to move them aside or make you wait, choosing the latter, snapping the fabric against your skin with a smirk.

You laugh, still trying to catch your breath, rolling your eyes for the nth time this evening. His hand leaves your body, reaching forward until his fingers curl under your chin.

He guides you back toward him so your spine arches and your shoulders dip, bringing your mouth close enough that he can lean forward and kiss you over your shoulder.

“I fucking love you, baby,” he murmurs against your lips, slow and sure.

You smile softly at that, your lips capturing his, sucking and tugging as you pull away. “I love you too.”

“So good to me,” he mumbles. “When you wanna be.”

“You’re so stupid,” you whisper and he chuckles. “I’m too good to you—”

“I know, baby,” he cuts in.

“You on the other hand… are still being an asshole, Rafe Cameron.”

“The fuck I am,” he counters playfully, spanking your thigh, making you press your ass into him further.

“You’re teasing me when you should be fucking me,” you say and he just smiles against your lips toying with you still.

“Oh, shit. Is that what you want?” He asks, raising an eyebrow as his hands return to your hips, sliding lower again as he shifts behind you. His palms spread over you while he adjusts his position slightly.

He wants more—you can see it all over his face, feel how painfully hard he is when he slaps his dick against your ass but still he resists.

You reach down instinctively, your fingers brushing the edge of your panties as you start to shift them aside.

“Hands on the bed, sweetheart.”

“Rafe,” you scold but all he does is snicker, his hand cupped below your lips for spit.

“Put that mouth to good use—yellin’ at me like you didn't just cum,” he taunts as you spit in his hand. “There we go. Good fuckin’ girl.” He pushes his luck and he knows it.

He rubs the spit over his stiff cock, eyes unwavering on your body, resting his hands on the globes of your ass, gliding his dick through the narrow space between his thumbs.

Stroke after stroke, tease after tease, his heavy balls slap against your clit with each push of his hips, making the muscles in your body jump with sensitivity.

You look over your shoulder with a scowl and stare that looks like a threat, but you refuse to beg. And, Rafe knows it.

A quiet chuckle slips out of him. “Don’t worry, baby,” he murmurs, his voice softer now. “I know. I don’t deserve it. Not tonight,” he breathes and just when you think you won, he grips your panties and thrusts, his thick dick tracing between your ass, tip pushing against the rough mesh of your panties, still not giving you what you want.

“So damn wet,” he groans as his balls finally slap against your pussy, skin against skin, the wet smack filling the room along with his moans as you whimper and whine. “Fuck, I could probably get off just like this—”

“I dare you,” you scoff through a sharp breath, feeling yourself getting closer and closer from the smacking of his balls against your clit alone, but you want more.

“Where the fuck are you goin’?” He jabs, catching you as you crawl forward like you've finally had enough, yanking you back, grabbing your panties in his fist, just to wrap them around the base of his cock, binding you together before he pushes deep in your pussy.

You moan in succession, your head falling forward and his throwing back as he bottoms you out completely.

“Oh—Oh shit, baby,” he groans, stalling out for a moment as your wet warmth surrounds him, your body squeezing him tight. So wet he’s pinching his eyes shut, thinking about anything else but the moment to keep from cumming on the spot.

His hips draw back, tightening the panties around your waist, squeezing the thickness of his cock the farther he goes from you, the stitches of the fine material sounding like they might snap.

He presses forward slow, watching his dick dip deep. The panties wrapped around him make his cock redder, the veins mapping each inch standing higher—until his body is flush with your ass.

“Holy shit, Rafe,” you moan, rolling your hips a little, his blunt fingernails digging into your ass at the feeling. “Plea—”

“Nah, I got you,” he stops you before you can beg, his strokes picking up slowly until he’s pounding into you, the wet mess that he made squelching through the room, both of you sure you aren’t going to last much longer like this.

“Feels so fucking good,” he grits out, one hand landing against your shoulder before dragging down your arm, searching for your hand. His fingers wrap tightly around yours, pinned against your back, your face coming down to press against the mattress as he cracks you at the perfect angle.

You whimper that you’re close, the words barely making it out of your mouth. “Fuck, I’m cumming,” Rafe stammers, and his grip tightens around your hand, your pleasure enough for him to break, jaw tightening, brows furrowing, filling you up but refusing to stop until you finish.

You follow close behind him, pussy fluttering around his cock as it throbs inside you, leaving him sucking in a breath as you milk him dry.

Rafe’s hand is still locked with yours when he finally shifts. The room around you is thick with sex and heat, but the tension that had been weighing on you all night is gone now.

He pulls you back against his chest, his skin damp and his heart thundering against your back—the two of you trying desperately to catch your breaths. He presses a soft kiss against your shoulder and then another against the side of your neck, adrenaline leaving his lips trembling against your hot skin.

“I love you,” he murmurs quietly again.

“I know,” you whisper, and he makes a quiet sound against your skin, still waiting, still needing to hear it back. His teeth graze you in a playful little bite that makes you laugh softly before you finally give in. “I love you too,” you sigh.

His arms wrap around you a little tighter, nuzzling into your skin like he can’t help himself.

“Thank fucking god,” he mutters. “Thought I lost you, baby.” Your eyes cut over to his, lips parting to speak—to remind him he did, but he cuts you off with his lips on yours.

You whimper as he pulls out, the loose panties tumbling uselessly off your hips. Rafe grabs for you, using his strength to haul you right where he wants you, rolling you on top of him. Your hands rest on his chest while his big arms wrap around your body, keeping you close.

He looks up at you and sighs, brushing your hair out of your face. A thankful smile slides across his lips before he speaks.

“I’m not losing you again.”

⭐️ new tag list on my pinned post 🦄 @rafesthroatbaby @hockeygirlyyyy @karlydiary @drewstarkeyswife-7 @ornellastreet @cokewithcameron @loserboysandlithium @buckybarnessweetheart @torturedpoetism @slut-4-rafey @americanboz0 @taliescapes @rcameronlova1 @slxttfadustin @cdiaz18 @tangledinmyfeelings @harrrrystylesslut @rafecamlovr @st8rkey @obsessedwrafe @my-name-is-baby @dollforafe @fiercetigerpoison @seulbeomie @pillowprincess4him @moondustbaby @celestialreid @premiumshitt @gigislover08 @lilithblackkk @babygoddam @harringtonsbowgirl @yesimeasyy @angelicameron @ashleyytatum @stace-041193 @rafesbabygirlx @lhhlver @raf3cam3r0n @rafesbuzzcutseason @jscasmth @bunnyx2 @virgilsgurl @diasnohibng @ariieeesworld @ilovehughbiggs @wisewarriorlycanthrope @willowpains @esmerai-artemis @simp4f1 @jejdidsj

[loveharlow]

↷ ⋯ ♡ᵎ Why'd You Only Call Me When You're High?

JJ Maybank x Fem!Reader [ more jj content ]

SYNOPSIS & WC─•❥ based on this idea i found a while ago

WARNING(S) & A/N─•❥ swearing, sm*t (p in v, kinda rough), best friends to lovers (?),

"YOU went out with him?" JJ had choked out, voice cracking on the final word, a harsh laugh bubbling from his throat. "Rafe Cameron? Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?” He hisses, eyes narrowing. “Out of every single person on this godforsaken island, you choose the one guy who spent years making our lives a living hell?"

You had stood your ground, arms crossed tightly over your chest. JJ had shown up, already angry and stomping around your house, interrogating you after he’d heard from the others that you’d gone on a date with Rafe.

 "It was one date, JJ!” You cut in, voice rising. “We got burgers. At The Wreck. That’s it.” You snapped, jaw tight. “And for your information, he isn't the same douchebag he was a few years ago. He’s matured. You should try it sometime…” 

"So now I need to ‘mature’?" JJ sneered, taking a step toward you, chest heaving. "He’s a Kook! He used to pick on us like we weren’t worth shit, he fucked up my bike—”

“You also fucked with his truck.” You deadpanned. “I’d call it even.”

“He targeted us every chance he got!” He yelled, neck straining before his shoulders just dropped, a mean snarl on his lips. “...But I guess all it takes is a haircut and a silver spoon for you to forget all of that, huh?”

“...The fuck—”

“What, are you really that fuckin' desperate for a little country-club attention?"

The question hung in the air like a sword above your heads. You froze, breath heavy in your lungs as a cold sting pricked the back of your eyes, jaw clenching as you straightened slowly, fixing JJ with that one look he hated from you—the look that told him he fucked up.

JJ blinked, the anger in his eyes flickering as the weight of his words registered. He opened his mouth, his hands dropping to his sides. "Look, I…didn't mean it like—"

"Get out," you whispered, turning away from him.

"Wait, just—"

"I said get the fuck out, JJ," you snapped, though your voice had remained steady.

He had stared at your back for a long second, lips pressed into a thin line, before turning and slamming the door so hard the frames on your wall rattled.

NOW, a category-two storm was ripping the Outer Banks to shreds, and the universe, in its twisted sense of humor, had trapped your friend group inside the barely stable walls of The Chateau.

The rain beat down against the roof, the wind howling through the gaps in the wooden window frames. Outside, the marsh was overflowing, turning the yard into a murky pond. And inside, the tension was genuinely suffocating.

Normally, you and JJ were attached at the hip. If he was sitting on the porch, you were leaning against him. If he was rolling a joint, you were holding the lighter. If he was pacing, you were the only one who could calm him with a hand on his arm.

But tonight, you were avoiding each other like Hamilton and Burr.

You sat on the far edge of the kitchen counter, swinging your legs, staring at the peeling linoleum floor. JJ was across the room, slumped on the couch, his back turned to the rest of the house as he stared out the window.

This wasn't the first time you guys had bickered. The Pogues were used to you two snapping at each other over stupid things—who finished the last beer, who forgot to gas up the boat, who smoked the last of the blunt. Usually, those tiffs involved minimal yelling, a lot of prolonged eye contact across the room, and typically, within an hour, JJ would slide up next to you, nudge your shoulder with his, and offer you a drag of whatever he was smoking as a silent peace offering.

But this? This was different. 

You wouldn't look in his direction, and he refused to turn his head to acknowledge your existence.

John B had just gotten back, busy lighting a couple of lanterns outside since the power had gone out hours ago, but he didn't seem to notice the storm brewing between his two best friends. But Pope and Kie? They knew better.

Pope sat at the kitchen table, a textbook open in front of him, but could feel the distance between you two. Every time you moved toward JJ to do anything, he would stand up and walk out onto the covered porch. When he came back inside, you would retreat to the hallway or back to your spot in the kitchen.

Kiara, holding a faded blanket around her shoulders, was on the other end of the couch, her eyes darting between your stiff posture and the rigid line of JJ’s shoulders.

"Hell’s going on with them?" Kie whispered quietly to Pope when she got up and walked over to him, leaning over his shoulder.

"Beats me," Pope murmured, keeping his voice low. 

"Man, the rain is brutal," John B muttered as he walked in, dropping a steaming catering tray of food from the only restaurant that was still open onto the stove, one if the lanterns in hand. "We're definitely stuck here until tomorrow afternoon, at least."

You hopped down from the counter, grabbing a plastic bowl, keeping your eyes trained on the food to avoid looking anywhere near him.

"So," Kie started, trying to strike up normal conversation as she spooned food onto her plate. She looked over at you with a soft smile. "We never really got to talk about it because of the storm, but... how was the date the other night?” She starts, not knowing that this was probably the worst topic of conversation at the moment. “Everyone was saying they saw you out at The Wreck with him."

From the corner of your eye, you saw JJ’s shoulders stiffen.

"It was really nice, actually," you said evenly, keeping your voice casual as you took a seat next to Pope at the table. "Cute, simple. We just…talked."

John B grinned, grabbing a fork. "It’s still wild to me,” he smirks. “Rafe Cameron.” He shakes his head. “But hey, I gotta admit, the guy’s seemed way more chill lately. Remember last month at the boat drop? He didn't even say a word to us. Just nodded."

"Yeah," Pope agreed, chewing. "I think he finally grew up a little bit. Maybe the buzzcut did something for his brain.” He jokes, making the other two at the table giggle as you shoot him a slightly pointed look, fighting a smile. “It’s like he shed his skin."

Kie laughed, nudging your elbow. "Look, we were all a little…worried at first because he used to be such a dick, but people change.” She comforts. “If you're happy, we're happy for you."

A snort echoed from the corner of the room.

JJ turned his head, a bitter smirk plastered across his face as the lantern light caught the angles of his jaw. "Oh, yeah. Fantastic.” He spat. “Let’s throw a fuckin’ parade. All hail the newly redeemed Kook prince.” He scoffs. “Let’s all celebrate the great maturation of Rafe Cameron."

You gripped your fork tighter, ignoring him, turning to Pope instead. "Pope, can you pass me a cup?"

Before Pope could even reach for the stack of plastic cups, JJ’s voice cut through the air again. "Careful, Pope. Might wanna grab her a real glass. I’m sure her palate has gotten real refined after dining with Kildare royalty."

John B frowned, looking between the two of you. "JJ, what the hell, man?” He scolded his friend. “Chill out."

You swallowed hard, taking a deep breath, refusing to give him the satisfaction. You took the plastic cup from Pope with a muttered thanks, getting water before returning to the table, focused on your food.

A few minutes later, your phone buzzed in your pocket as you were throwing your plate away. It was a weather alert about the rising tide and potential flash flooding. Distracted by the screen, walking to grab a glass of water, your foot caught against the edge of John B’s boots left lying on the floor. You stumbled forward before catching yourself on the counter, cursing.

JJ let out a cold laugh from across the room. "Might wanna pay more attention,” he started again. “Wouldn't want you breakin’ anything. Pretty sure Rafe doesn't want damaged goods ridin’ passenger."

"JJ." Kie snapped, her eyes hard. "Seriously, stop. What is your problem tonight?"

"Just looking out for our girl, Kie," JJ said, voice dripping with false innocence as he stood up, tossing his empty beer can into the trash with a loud clatter. "Gotta make sure she stays in mint condition for the best of the best, right?"

You slammed your cup down onto the counter, water sloshing over the brim. You still didn't look at him, but your jaw was aching from how hard you were grinding your teeth. You walked straight past him, your shoulder missing his by a millimeter, and headed toward the bathroom, slamming the door behind you just to breathe some air that didn't feel like fire.

BY eleven, the storm was howling, the oil lanterns burning low, casting an amber glow over the living room as everyone began preparing for bed.

Kiara usually got John B’s bedroom for the sake of privacy while John B and Pope took the lumpy pull-out couch in the living room, and you always slept in JJ’s room, sharing his bed.

But tonight, the thought of crawling into that bed next to him made your stomach twist.

So, as John B was dragging a blanket out of the hall closet, you caught his forearm, pulling him into a corner of the dark hallway near the bathroom, out of sight and earshot from the rest of the room.

"Hey," you whispered, your voice tight. "Can we swap tonight? Please?"

John B stopped, looking down at you with a confused expression. "Swap? What do you mean?"

"I can take the pull-out with Pope. You take JJ's bed."

John B scoffed, a faint smile on his lips as if he thought you were joking. "No, that's crazy. You always sleep in there. Whatever’s goin’ on between you two will blow ever by tomorrow—"

"Please, John B," you pleaded, your voice dropping even lower as you glanced back toward the living room. "He’s being a total dick, and I don't know if it's just this stupid date with Rafe or if he’s got something else rotting his brain, but I am not sleeping next to him. Not tonight."

John B’s expression went from confusion to protective annoyance. He shook his head, dropping the blanket onto the floor. "No. No way. Don't let him and his shitty attitude force you onto my lumpy ass pull-out couch.” He comforts, somewhat. “You deserve to sleep in an actual bed. I’ll go talk to him—"

Your eyes widened in panic. "No!” You hiss. “John B, don't. Seriously, don't. It's just going to make it worse."

"It’s fine.” He brushes you off. “I'll talk to him, tell him you're sleeping in the room tonight. End of story," John B said firmly.

And before you could grab his arm to stop him, the boy marched down the short hallway and pushed open the door to JJ’s bedroom, stepping inside and shutting it behind him.

You stood in the hallway, head down, sighing. For a few seconds, there was only the low, muffled rumble of John B’s voice. Then, you heard the unmistakable voice of JJ—something about 'she can sleep wherever the fuck she wants'—before John B’s deeper voice cut him off, authoritative and final.

A moment later, the door swung open. John B stepped out, rubbing the back of his neck, face tight. He looked at you and gave a short, weary nod.

"You're good," he muttered, pointing a thumb toward the room. "Just... sleep with a pillow between you guys or something. He’s in a mood."

You swallowed the lump in your throat, throwing your arms out lightly by your sides. "Thanks, I guess."

THE door to JJ’s bedroom creaked as you pushed it open, stepping into the small space, illuminated only by a single candle sitting on the cluttered nightstand, casting long shadows across the peeling surf posters on the walls.

JJ was standing by the window, his back to you. John B had clearly soured his mood even further. 

As you shut the door quietly behind you, he pulled his faded t-shirt over his head, tossing it carelessly into the corner. He was wearing nothing but his low-slung cotton shorts, the light catching the sharp musculature of his back and the tense, twitching muscles of his shoulders.

You stood awkwardly near the door, a thought making you cringe—you hadn't brought any pajamas. Normally, whenever you stayed over, you didn't even think about it—you would just reach into his dresser and pull out one of his oversized, faded thrashed graphic tees or a hoodie.

But tonight didn’t provide you with the comfort to do so.

You stood there for a long, uncomfortable moment, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, watching him stare out at the dark storm and ignore your presence. 

Begrudgingly, you let out a frustrated huff.

"I didn't bring any clothes," you said, voice laced with irritation. "Do you…have something I could borrow? I’ll give it back to you as soon as I wake up."

JJ didn't turn around right away, letting out a mocking breath. "What, Rafe didn't lend you anythin’? Figured you’d be swimmin’ in Kook couture by now."

That was your last straw—the exhaustion of the storm, the three days of silence, and his relentless jabs all evening finally breaking the camel’s back.

"What the fuck is your problem?!" your voice rose, taking a step toward him. "It was one. date.” You bit out. “Why are you making this into some big deal?"

JJ spun around so fast his blonde hair whipped across his forehead. His blue eyes were blazing, wild in the dim candlelight as he took two wide strides toward you, closing the distance between you until he was towering over you.

"Because it is a big fuckin’ deal!" He yelled back, chest heaving. "Just because you want to put on your little blinders and pretend it's nothin' doesn't mean that's how it is!"

"You’re holding onto things that happened years ago!" you screamed right back, stepping into his space, refusing to back down. "Yeah, you guys got into a couple of fights! You don't like each other, he was a dick in high school!” You emphasized, your hands moving wildly. “He was an asshole, JJ! Newsflash—almost every Kook was! Including the ones you used to have in your bed—"

"But you should be taking my side!" JJ exploded, voice cracking. He stepped even closer, face inches from yours now, his breath hot against your skin. "I don't give a flying fuck about getting into fights with Rafe and those girls didn't mean anything, I never went on dates with any of 'em! I give a fuck that you picked his side!"

"I didn't pick his side! God, how old are you?!" you countered, tears of sheer frustration pricking the corners of your eyes. "I’m standing right here with you now, aren't I?!"

"What the fuck does it matter if you're here right now if you're just gonna be out with him again tomorrow?!" JJ bellowed, his hands curling into tight fists at his sides.

"Well maybe I chose him because you never chose me!" you screamed, the words leaving your mouth without a second thought.

JJ froze, eyes widening as his chest continued to rise and fall in rapid shallow breaths. The room fell into silence, save for the rattling of the window pane against the wind.

"What the fuck are you talkin’ about?" JJ hissed, his voice suddenly sounding hollow.

"I had a crush on you for years, JJ! Years!" you cried out, voice trembling as you gestured wildly between the two of you. "And you never looked my way once.” You bit. “I was always just tossed aside as the best friend while you ran off with random girls at parties, or hooked up with some random tourons. So forgive me if I can't fathom the fact that you suddenly have this stick up your ass about me going on one single date when you never looked at me like that in your entire life!"

JJ stared at you, blindsided, mouth parted slightly. But as the shock settled, his anger flared back up.

"I never looked your way?" JJ seethed, taking another step forward. "How the fuck can you say that to me when I've always looked your way?! It's always been you! Always!"

You blinked, momentarily stunned by his confession. 

"How was I supposed to know you were into me like that?!" he shouted, his eyes drilling into yours. "Every time I tried to cross that line with you, you would be the one to pull away! You’d leave the conversation, or you’d literally walk out of the room—"

"What the hell was I supposed to think, JJ?!" you shot back, frustration boiling over as a tear slipped down your cheek. "Every time those 'moments' happened, we were wasted! We were at a party, we'd been drinking all night, or we were smoking out back behind some barn.” You scoffed. “I didn't want to become just another one of your mindless hookups, to let you just use me for a night and forget about it the next morning!"

You took a ragged breath, stepping closer to him, your voice shaking. "You would only ever look at me that way, you would only ever talk to me in that way, when you were drunk! You would only ever call me late at night, spewing bullshit over the phone until two in the morning because you were high!"

You were pacing now, your hands flying up in the air as you started cursing under your breath, rambling to yourself. "Like how was I supposed to know that you actually liked me when the only time you look at me like you want something more from me is when you're under the influence of some drug?... like, what am I supposed to do with that?.... such a fucking—"

You didn’t notice as JJ crossed the remaining distance in one stride, his hands grabbing onto your waist as he spun your body around, cutting your rambling off with a gasp as he threw you backward onto the mattress. The heavy weight of his body came down over yours, pinning your wrists above your head against the pillows.

The impact knocked the air straight out of your lungs. You gasped, chest heaving against his bare one as you stared wide-eyed up into his face. His blue eyes were dark, pupils blown so wide they swallowed the blue.

"Get... get off of me."

But JJ didn't budge. His grip on your wrists tightened, fingers digging into your skin as his face descended until his lips were brushing against yours, his voice a rough growl.

"He takes everything I have," JJ whispered, his breath hot against your mouth. "He can't have you too."

You looked deep into his eyes. Every logical part of your brain told you to say something snarky, to shove him off you, or to slap him across the face for being such an ass. But the proximity, the heat radiating off his bare skin, and the confession of his jealousy broke something loose inside you.

You arched your back slightly against his weight, staring into his blown-out eyes, "Then take me back."

His mouth slammed down onto yours with a starved kind of hunger. It wasn't a gentle kiss, it was a reclamation—desperate, bruising. His tongue slid into your mouth, devouring you as a needy moan escaped the back of your throat.

Hands scrambled between your bodies as JJ released your wrists, his fingers gripping the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head in one motion. You didn't wait, your hands wrapping around the waistband of his shorts, shoving them down his thighs until you were both completely bare.

The skin-on-skin contact was electric, a jolt that made you gasp against his lips. JJ lifted your legs, hooking your thighs onto his waist, his weight settling firmly between your hips. 

He aligned himself and drove himself deep inside you in one brutal thrust forward.

"Ah— Fuck, JJ!" a loud, shattered moan ripped from your throat, your fingers clawing into the muscles of his bare back as he stretched you out.

The wet sounds of friction filled the small room, competing with the wind outside. JJ didn't waste a single second, his hips setting a relentless, punishing rhythm, the slap of his skin against yours echoing loudly over the squeaking of the old bedsprings.

You threw your head back into the pillow, eyes rolling back as the blinding pleasure flooded your nervous system. Every single thrust was deep, bottoming out against your cervix, leaving you breathless. JJ let out a guttural growl low in his chest, a sound that made you clench around him with each thrust.

He leaned down, his lips clamping onto the sweet spot where your neck met your shoulder, biting down just hard enough to make you whine before sucking the skin into his mouth. You let out a high-pitched, broken whimper, hips arching up to meet his movements, dragging him deeper inside.

"JJ... oh god, please," you gasped, vision blurring as your thighs began to tremble, that coil in your stomach winding tighter.

But he didn't slow down. Instead, he reached down, his hands anchoring onto your hips into the mattress, digging his fingers in deep to lock you in place as he pace picked up, his deep moans growing louder as he brutally drove in and out of you, the wet squelching sound of his cock sliding through your soaking wet folds was loud, driving him to the brink.

With a ragged breath, JJ leaned up, his chest panting against yours. He drove himself into you fully, burying his dick to the hilt before whispering into your ear.

"Is my dick bigger?" he growled, his voice thick.

You threw your head back, a trembling moan escaping you as he twitched inside you. "Fuck... fuck you, JJ."

"Answer me." he demanded, his hips pulling back before slamming into you again, so hard your vision spotted as you literally came. From one thrust. He dug his fingers deeper into your hips, anchoring you to the mattress. "He make you cum like this? Tell me,"

The pleasure was becoming unbearable as you squeezed around him, chasing the rest of your orgasm since he refused to help you ride it out, only now giving you short strokes. You grit your teeth, a breathless moan escaping your throat as you gasped out the truth through your post-orgasmic haze.

"...We didn't even fuck." you grit out, voice cracking.

JJ’s body froze mid-stroke, hips stuttering violently, length twitching inside of you. The shock of your words hit him right as he was on the precipice of his orgasm, trapping him in a state of suspended animation as stared down at you, eyes wide, stunned.

You caught your breath for a split second, looking up at his blown-out expression.

A slow, wicked smirk spread across your lips as the realization washed over him—this boy had just spent the last three days throwing a tantrum, for absolutely nothing.

You wrapped your arms loosely around his neck, pulling his head down close to yours, "Now how stupid do you look?"

©loveharlow.

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[thebriarbunny]

𝚂𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚙 𝚂𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐… 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓡𝓮𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓭𝓼?

𝒢𝒶𝓇𝓇𝑒𝓉𝓉 𝒢𝓇𝒶𝒽𝒶𝓂⁴⁴ 𝓍 𝓌𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓃’𝓈 𝒽𝑜𝒸𝓀𝑒𝓎 𝒸𝒶𝓅𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

4.6K words 𝒷𝒶𝓈𝑒𝒹 𝑜𝒻𝒻 𝒶𝓃 𝒶𝓈𝓀 𝒷𝓎 𝓁𝒾𝒶𝓂𝓈𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇 + 𝒶𝓃𝑜𝓃

c/w ᝰ.ᐟ strip studying w/ rewards, heavy praise, oral (fem. receiving) while he m@sterbates, unprotected p in v, spanking, physically sensitive reader, teasing, creampie, pet names (baby, pretty + no y/n), reader gets academically manipulated in the hottest way possible + 6’2” and good at Psych 101? That’s the kind of greed they talk about in the Bible ✏️🍎📓

“Holy shit,” you mutter.

The flashcard drops back onto the bed as you drag both hands down your face, squeezing your eyes shut. You draw a deep breath, letting it out slowly, trying to force your shoulders to relax. It doesn’t help.

Practice, film, lifting, classes, and another game this weekend—all of it piling up while you’re somehow supposed to memorize half a textbook too.

“I can’t do this,” you hiss.

You snatch another card from the pile, reading the question twice before your mind goes completely blank. Nothing. Not even a guess.

“Seriously?”

You toss it onto the bed with the rest, frustration bubbling up in your chest. You know this isn’t really about the flashcards. It hasn’t been for a while now.

It’s every obligation stacking on top of each other until even something as simple as studying feels impossible.

You pull another card from the stack, forcing yourself to slow down. One question. That’s all.

“Okay…” you whisper.

Your eyes scan the card once more before the answer finally clicks.

“Alright.”

A win. Small, sure. But hey, it’s something. A smile tugs at your lips, real enough to crack the pressure that’s been building all night.

For a second, it feels manageable—like maybe you can actually get through this one card, then the next, then the next.

Your shoulders loosen just a fraction, tension easing as you let out another breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

Your phone buzzes on the mattress, and you look down at it, a text message from Coach about ice time and a delayed start throwing you off your schedule, and off your game for the moment.

The quiet stretches for a beat, the soft rustle of paper the only sound as your fingers hover over the next card, hesitating.

You grab it and flip it over, looking down at it, letting your eyes shut when you see a word you know you know. I mean, how could you not know this shit?

The doorknob twists.

Your head snaps toward the sound, wide eyes meeting Garrett’s the second he steps inside—fresh from the shower, damp hair pushed back messily from his forehead, a few strands still clinging to his temples.

He’s in a loose gray t-shirt that hangs just right over his shoulders, dark shorts slung low on his hips. His skin still looks dewy, a little flushed, like he hasn’t been out of the locker room long.

“Baby?” he chuckles, lifting an eyebrow in your direction. “You okay?”

“Mhmm… Yeah.” You laugh weakly. “M’trying to study. I’m done. I’m just—I’m fucked.” The cards slip from your fingers, fluttering down to the comforter.

“You’re not fucked,” he sighs. “Didn’t hear my name gettin’ screamed outside your door now, did I?”

Your lips pull to the side, fighting off a smile, heat blooming in your cheeks as he crawls onto the bed.

“Plus, you’re fully clothed, pretty,” he mumbles, tilting in when he gets close enough, pressing a kiss to your neck. “Fuckin’ hate that for me.”

You giggle, turning into him a little more, feeling him smile into your skin, your body instantly sinking, hoping he’ll crawl the rest of the way on top and pin you underneath him.

“Where are you goin’, huh?” he asks, his voice deep and warm against your neck.

“I wanna be done,” you whisper, tugging at the front of his shirt, seeing the space between you. A dark trail of hair and deep v-lines disappear below his shorts, his skin tanned and tight.

“Don’t wanna work anymore, huh? Why are you bein’ such a baby?” he teases.

“Am not.”

“Are too,” he snickers. As you continue your childish back-and-forth, the stubble on his cheek scrapes lightly over your soft skin. “Let me help you.”

“Not with this,” you pout. Studying isn’t what you want from him. Right now, you just want him.

“Think I can help you with somethin’ else?” He grabs your face, squishing your cheeks, kissing you tenderly.

“I know you can,” you whisper.

“You using me for my body right now?” he teases, and you nod. “Thank you.” You giggle at his response, nails slipping around to rake up the broad expanse of his back. “But it’s not gonna work.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause we have a test tomorrow.”

“Forgive me for wanting my boyfriend.”

“Stop,” he rasps with a warm laugh, letting his head fall heavy against your shoulder. “You’re just bein’ a brat. Shit’s not gonna work with me.”

“Whatever,” you mumble.

“Whatever, huh?” he asks as his rough finger slides a little further up your thigh, tracing under the hem of your shorts, making your hips shift. “So sensitive, baby.”

“Garrett…”

“Just sayin’,” he whispers.

You slap your hands against the bed as he crashes down beside you. He scoops up a few neon cards, his grin widening as his big arm wraps behind your back, palm settling beside your hip.

He kisses your cheek, and you roll your eyes, rearranging the little stack in your hands.

“For the record, Graham. A distraction would have been preferred,” you whisper, leaning into him, that scowl playing on your lips, jerking away when he tickles you. “Enough,” you scold, grabbing his wrist.

“Just gotta get you out of your head, baby,” he hums before his attention gets pulled away.

Your phone vibrates on the mattress—a notification from a freshman player he recognizes flashes across the screen. Garrett grabs it off the bed, setting it aside before you can check it.

“I need to answer that.”

“Bullshit, you don’t.” He gives you a side eye. “See how attentive you were a minute ago? You got this. Just gotta focus on what’s happening right here.”

“Mhmm,” you hum bitterly. He reaches out, fingers wrapping around your jaw to turn you toward him.

“Studying isn’t half-bad with me, I promise.” His plush lips meet yours, kissing you deeply, chuckling into the kiss when you chase his lips, not wanting to stop. "Ready?"

“No,” you whisper, sucking in a breath when his hand comes and rests on your upper thigh, squeezing down, making your thigh draw in, chills crawling up your spine. “Don’t you have class?”

“Not for a bit,” he answers. “Stop fightin’ it, baby.”

Garrett’s arm hooks around your waist, drawing you closer in his lap as you split his legs. You lean back into his broad chest, and he snuggles close, breathing you in for a moment.

“How hard can this class be, baby? We got this,” he mumbles against your skin, foregoing the annoying reality that most things come naturally to him. But he means it, the words sounding so earnest you can’t help but sigh.

“Alright,” you whisper, flipping the first card in the deck.

He peers over your shoulder, lips resting on your skin, thumbs tracing along your bare thighs as you think. Your phone vibrates again, and his big arms wrap around your waist, fast holding you in place.

“Don’t,” he stops you before you can start.

His arms soften when he feels you do the same, a hand coming up to draw you in, kissing you, soft and slow.

You relax, concentrating on his lips—how they feel against yours, soft and sweet. The warmth of his body surrounds you, guiding you to relax a little more against him.

“Focus, baby.”

You shut your eyes, trying your best to clear your mind and settle into the task.

“Opsimath,” you whisper.

“Mhmm,” he hums, the utterance buzzing against your skin. “Remember in class last week… Opsē sounds like…”

You think for a beat, recalling that term from the week prior, the scratchy chalk scraping against the board as he broke down the term, Garrett sneaking into the class late with two coffees in hand while the professor had his back turned. He smiled at you, handing you the drink, asking you what he missed.

“Sounds like ‘oopsie,’” you whisper. “You say that when you’re late.”

“And, manthanein, means…” he asks.

“To learn—because you learn in math class.” He growls with delight, making you smile. “Someone who starts learning late in life.” The words breathe out of you, and the tension you were holding in your shoulders falls.

“Exactly.” Garrett slides the next card to the front of the stack, holding it out in front of the two of you. “Go ahead,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your shoulder as you settle against him again.

You study it for a second, your eyebrows pinching together before the answer slowly starts piecing itself together in your head.

“Metacognition,” you whisper. “Thinking about your own thinking.”

“There it is,” he smiles warmly.

You feel his hand squeeze your thigh, your body melting back against his chest before he reaches for another card.

The next one comes quicker. Then the next. Then the next. By the fourth, you’re answering before he can even finish reading the definition, your confidence building a little more every time he smiles.

“Told you,” he chuckles. “You know more than you think you do.”

You grin to yourself, a little proud now. “Maybe.”

“Not maybe,” he assures, thumb tracing another lazy path across your thigh while you search through the stack. Your eyes flick toward the nightstand when your phone chirps.

The rough pad of his thumb drifts just high enough to make your leg twitch beneath his hand. “Garrett,” you laugh, your body drawing in, before you wiggle away.

“What?” he asks, looking back at you like he has absolutely no idea what you’re talking about. “Just gettin’ my girl back on track.”

“Well, knock it off,” you grumble, snuggling back into him a little more.

“Stop bein’ bad, and I’ll think about it.”

“I’m not being bad.”

“I mean, you got this shit in the bag,” he gestures lazily to the cards. “Focus game needs a little work.” A crooked smile pulls at his lips as he presses another kiss just below your ear. “And, you’re cute when you’re all jumpy.”

“I’m trying to study.”

“And you’re doin’ a damn good job, aren’t you?” he praises, and the knot that’s been sitting in your chest all evening doesn’t feel nearly as tight anymore.

You’re still nervous about tomorrow, but the words aren’t swimming together anymore. They’re actually sticking.

Garrett hands you another card, and you answer it almost immediately.

“Atta baby,” he praises.

“Rewards?” you ask, turning just enough to catch the sparkle in his eye. “Do I get a reward for that one?”

His eyebrows lift and a smirk curls on his lips. “A reward?”

“Mhmm,” you hum.

“What kinda reward are we negotiatin’ for here?”

You pretend to think about it for a second, tapping the corner of the flashcard against your chin while your eyes drift over him. A little smile pulls at your lips before you look back at him.

“Maybe, just maybe… I already know what I want. And so do you.”

Garrett lets out a quiet laugh, already shaking his head. “You are such a slut for me.”

“You thanked me for using you for your body, Garrett Graham. I think we both know who the slut is.”

“Valid.”

“I’ve had a stressful day, baby,” you sigh. “A stressful week.”

He smiles, softer this time. “I know.” His fingers brush over your hip before nudging the next flashcard toward you. “You’ve got eight cards left, baby.”

“That’s too many.”

“So needy,” he chuckles, settling another flashcard into your hand. “C’mon, pretty. Eight more.”

You study it for a second, chewing lightly on the inside of your cheek before the answer comes to you with more confidence than the last one.

“Schema,” you answer quietly. “Mental framework that helps organize information.”

Garrett glances down at the back of the card before a smile spreads across his face.

“See?” he hums, giving your hip a proud little squeeze. “All in your head for what?”

“Thank you,” you whisper, tilting toward him as he moves closer, kissing you softly. His nose brushes against yours, breathing softly with you.

“Take off your shirt.”

"Huh?" you ask as your cheeks warm up—heart working a little faster. It's a request you've heard from him a million times, unexpected at this moment.

“You heard me,” he mumbles, warm and deep. “Take. It. Off.”

You reach for the bottom of your top, pulling it over your head, tossing it to the side.

Garrett looks over your shoulder, his hold around you tightening as his lips press against your bare shoulder, a quiet hum of approval vibrating against your skin.

“Fuck me,” he sighs, taking you in for a second, pushing out a deep breath behind you. “Baby.” His voice comes out needy, that strict program he was running since you tried to slip underneath him the first time seemingly crumbling away.

He strips off his shirt as well, big hands landing heavy on your legs with a playful clap, making your thighs draw together, but he pulls you open, smiling against your skin.

His palms rub and squeeze the inside of your thighs, your bare back pressing against his chest when you tilt closer. He breathes you in again, your soft body and sweet perfume smelling like heaven compared to the locker room he’d left before he got to your place.

The heat of his body wraps around you, the chill of his chain pressing against your spine. Garrett’s fingers drift higher, teasing the sensitive skin between your thigh and your panties with one hand, taking that top card off the stack with the other.

“Keep going,” he mumbles. “Doing so fuckin’ good for me.”

The next one doesn’t come quite as easily. Your eyebrows knit together while your eyes move over the word again, trying to pin it to a memory or a moment from class.

Garrett stays quiet, letting you work through it before he finally tips his head against yours.

“What do I tell you when I’m coming over?” he breathes, turning into you, making your chest tighten when his thumb moves higher, tracing over the lace between your thighs before he continues. “And I’m runnin’ late, but I fucking need you.” The words scrape past his lips, making your body tingle.

“You tell me you’re gonna take a shortcut.”

“Mhmm,” he hums, chuckling when he feels how wet you are—the subtle rock of your hips when he presses a little harder.

“A mental shortcut,” you whisper, turning your chin toward him, his gaze falling to your lips as he waits for the rest. “That helps you make decisions.”

“Heuristic,” he whispers, the corners of his lips tipping upward. “You didn’t need me. You got this shit.”

His hands slide to the band of your shorts, easing them down, nodding toward you to keep going. He groans as the material works down your thighs, leaving you in nothing but a bra and panties.

You shift over onto your hands and knees, already expecting him to take off his shorts too, and he chuckles, eyes locked on you as he tugs them over his hips, watching with a smile as you drag them down the rest of his strong thighs.

He adjusts slightly on your bed, looking back at you on your hands and knees. “Co’mere, baby,” he murmurs, and you settle on top of his lap, resting your body on top of him.

His long, thick cock is trapped in cotton still, the swell of it stretching the material. He presses the stack of cards into your hand. His palms instantly find their place on your ass, grabbing two fistfuls of skin.

"Six more cards and not a lot of clothes left, baby? What are we gonna do about that?" he asks.

“I’m sure you can think of other rewards, Garrett Graham,” you whisper. He reaches up, fingers tangling in your hair to pull you to his mouth.

He kisses you deeply, tongue sliding between your lips instantly—hips rocking with the tempo of your kiss. “Got a few ideas,” he murmurs. “Think you can get them all right for me?”

His smile pulls along your lips when you whisper yes, his hand still gripping your hair, the other kneading your ass, coaching each drag of your hips on top.

He pulls back from the kiss reluctantly, tapping against the bed for a flashcard. “Neuroplasticity,” he mumbles, licking his lips as his eyes fall to your lace-covered tits, knowing exactly where he’s going next.

“Hockey rink in my mind,” you whisper. “This is the one I had locked in.”

“Yeah?” he asks, his hands drifting up your spine. “Tell me more.”

“Every time I step on the ice, I’m running drills, skatin’ the same route; it gets easier.”

“Mhmm,” he hums, his head tipping back against the headboard as his fingers pinch the clasp of your bra, waiting for the term.

“Neuroplasticity… your brain adapts because you keep practicing.”

Your bra falls away as he chuckles proudly, pulling you in as he lowers his lips, mouth wrapping around your nipple as his hand squeezes your breast in his big palm, the other slapping your ass.

Your head lulls back and his tongue flicks across your bud, letting you go with a pop, kissing up the curve of your breast, along your collarbone.

His tongue slides along your skin, making you shiver and throb, the man catching the necklace at your neck, snagging the metal between his teeth, the white gold chain connecting the two of you.

The dainty G charm slips from between his teeth, glinting as it falls back against your skin before he speaks. “How come you never take this off, pretty?”

You look down at it, smiling to yourself, remembering that night. “Because you gave it to me.”

“If some other guy got you this, it’d just be another necklace.” You nod slowly as he scowls playfully at the mere suggestion of it—the scenario that he painted for you. “It means somethin’. That’s why your brain remembers it.”

“Semantic encoding,” you say. “I remember it by what it means, not just what it looks like.”

His big arm wraps tight around you, hugging you close, as he lets out a deep breath. “That’s my girl,” he whispers, his strong, bare chest pushing flush to yours. “Knew you could do it.”

He grabs your waist, lifting you until you're standing on top of your bed. His hands settle behind your thighs, drawing you closer, peeling the panties down your skin as you look back at him.

Garrett wraps his fingers around the band of his boxer briefs, tugging them down his thighs, his cock swinging free, slapping against his tanned skin as he pushes out a breath.

He wraps his fist around his dick, stroking slowly before looking up at you. “Next one?”

His hold on the back of your thigh keeps you close, the other one working itself at a steady pace. He’s got the next vocab word memorized—held on the tip of his tongue.

His palm runs up the back of your leg, breath catching in his chest. Your hand rests on the wall above your headboard, keeping you balanced.

“Mine disappears when I’m around you,” he mumbles, dipping in to press a kiss against your thigh, lips lingering, the warmth of his breathing against your skin making your pussy throb.

“Self-control?” you whisper.

“Exactly.”

“Executive function,” you answer. “Planning, focus, and self-control.” He smiles and nods, humming out praise as he lifts your leg, foot resting on the wooden frame.

You gasp, a hand flying down to grab him, twisting in his curls as he kisses your clit. Your hips jostle, but his arms flex, forcing you to stay right where he wants you, moaning when you tug at his strands in sensitivity.

He laps at your slit like he’s starved, hand jerking his dick, getting off on the taste and the pathetic sounds that cry past your lips with each drag and twirl of his tongue.

“Baby, fuck,” he hums into your pussy, the wet sounds of his working you over filling the room as the band in your belly tightens, your leg keeping you standing on the mattress, muscles trembling.

Your knees buckle as his lips lock down on your clit, sucking hard, making your eyes screw shut. “Garrett—Garrett, I’m gonna cum,” you whimper breathlessly, and he slaps your ass in response, drawing you as close as he can get you.

“Fuck!” You squeal when he dips his tongue in your entrance, the sensation sending you tumbling over the edge, your body fluttering around him as he works you through each wave of your orgasm, tongue-fucking you with no plans to stop until you soften completely.

Your body practically melts into his lap—his lips quickly finding yours. He grabs your hand, guiding you to his stiff cock between you, wrapping your hand around his length, stroking with you for a moment.

“How was that?” he asks softly, handing over control.

“So fucking good,” you whisper, feeling his lips curl into a smile at your words.

“Don’t peek,” he chuckles breathily against your mouth, peering away just enough to check the last three cards. “Fuck, baby. These are easy.”

“Are they?” you ask, running a line of spit down to the head of his cock, your fist moving easily through the wet, making his eyebrows tug together.

“Better get ‘em right,” he smiles, his eyes falling a little hazier.

“I will,” you whisper, feeling a little more confident now.

“Next one. Studying with me is way, way better,” he mumbles as his hands rest on your hips. “And you sure as hell aren’t doin’ this.”

“Transfer-appropriate…” Your words trail away a little bit when you see his breathing getting a little quicker, your touch on his dick feeling a little too good.

“Come on, baby,” he murmurs, nodding to you, his jaw clenching a little tighter. “Wanna cum inside you but you gotta get it right.”

“…Processing?” you whisper, and he stops your hand, the other coming up to grip your cheeks between his fingers, kissing you deeply. “Practicing it the way I'll actually have to use it.”

“I’m so fucking proud of you, you know that?” he sighs.

“Yeah?” you ask as you rise on your knees.

“Mhmm,” he breathes, holding his dick straight, tracing it along your soaked slit as you hover over him.

Your lips fall open when he pulls you down, the thick head of his cock stretching you wide, soothing the ache. He pulls you lower, your wet pussy sliding down each stiff inch until there’s no space left between you.

He looks back at you, sitting with it for a moment, feeling the wet mess he made squeeze around him—how perfect his hands fit, gripping your curves to keep you sat.

Garrett draws in a heavy breath before he speaks. “Two more, baby.”

“Fucking finally,” you mutter, and he snickers.

“What, you’re not enjoying this?” he asks smugly, your wetness dripping down him.

“Of course I am,” you whisper.

“Remember that away game I had last weekend? I got back to the hotel, and it was dark and quiet. All I could think about was this… and I texted you and told you. And what did you say to me?”

“…I want you so bad.”

“And?” he mumbles.

“I’m wet,” you sigh, the corners of his mouth tilting into a smirk as his cock moves inside you, just enough for you to feel it.

“And what did I say?”

“Show me,” you answer, remembering the picture you sent him seconds later.

“Of course I did,” he mumbles, and your eyes fall, your brain going a little fuzzy when he starts rubbing slow circles on your clit with his thumb.

“Dual coding theory,” you smile with him as his touch on you grows quicker.

Your heart rate starts to climb, that orgasm that just claimed you minutes ago still simmering.

“Elaborative rehearsal,” the last card in the stack leaves your lips without being prompted at all, the only one you didn’t discuss—the definition literally all encompassed in this moment. Garrett’s forehead falls against yours, waiting for you to finish, just as desperate as you. “Connecting new things to what I already know—”

You gasp and squeal out his name, your body flung to your back, Garrett pinning you underneath him before you can even ask if you’re right.

Your eyes go wide, and your jaw drops as he slams into you in one hard thrust, your hands wrapping around him, nails sinking into his back.

He lets out a deep, drawn-out groan, pulling out just enough to see the wetness slicked all over his length, the thick tip of his dick making you gasp when he pushes in again.

“Yes, baby,” Garrett growls against your lips, feeling your body squeeze around him, fucking into you at a punishing pace, your pussy gripping him with each filthy stroke.

You tremble beneath him, sliding higher up the mattress with each rough snap of his hips, the headboard thumping against the wall as the bed creaks below.

The room fills with the sounds of pleasure—the wet slap of skin against yours, his name leaving your lips in a choked cry, quiet praise humming past his lips into yours.

His hand slides down to grab your hip, hard enough to leave a bruise, his other palm resting by your head, gripping the sheet.

You pull him closer, locking your legs around his hips, forcing him deeper. Your eyes roll back in your head as he hits the perfect spot inside you.

“Feels too fuckin’ good,” he mutters, his forehead falling to yours as his hips stutter.

Your walls clench around him, and he gasps against your lips, his pace quickening until your back lifts off the bed.

“Yes—yes,” you cry out, and he buries his face in your neck, teeth gritted as he cums with you, burying himself deep inside you with a strangled moan, thick ropes of his climax filling you as your name drips from his mouth in a fucked-out sigh.

He collapses on top, snuggling into you, the air around you hot and sticky. Both of you are laughing dizzily, his lips moving against yours in soft, breathless kisses.

“We’re celebrating when you ace this shit tomorrow,” he smiles against the corner of your mouth.

“Pretty confident in me, Garrett Graham,” you whisper.

“Of course I am,” he whispers.

“What if I get an A?”

“You know you will,” he hums into a kiss, sucking off your bottom lip. “You gonna ask about another reward?”

You giggle below him, and he laughs, pushing out a satisfied sound when your nails slide down his strong back.

“Well, shit.” He lets out a soft sigh. “It’s gonna need to be pretty good, huh?”

“Mhmm,” you mumble.

He smiles against your mouth, chuckling like the plan just clicked. “Guess you’re gonna have to ace it and find out, huh?”

🍒✏️ tag list on my pinned post 📓 @rafesthroatbaby @liss2709-blog @sushi-girl04 @judesgfirl @cdiaz18 @abbottjunior01 @obsessedwrafe @vanillaiceyhot @maialopez23 @rexit-mo @georgiastars13 @princessaaa13 @dragonvalyria @livlovesfastcars @thebitchylibra @corvusmorte @st8rkey @imperfectlyperfect78 @winchestersbgirl @glitterandviolence13 @miramindlesslywriting @slut-4-rafey @emelia07 @maybankslover @archxve @jujuonthatbeat1357 @parker-barnes-af @aria1108 @magcon7280 @kristenm74 @dancerbailey3 @phoebesatoru @purplerainx1 @simp4f1 @at-arax-ia @lovesturni0l0s @kkkkisworld @hearts4norris @styles-sturniolo @angelnameddani @macbaetwo @tangledinmyfeelings @ethanthequeefqueen @taliescapes @grahamsbunny @party444you @gretavanhockey

divider: @anitalenia

[angelic1angel]

headlock

⤷ warnings; f!reader, smut, praise, pinv, reader is in a headlock, size kink, unprotected sex

⤷ word count; 350~

inspired by this blurb

plap plap plap 

the sound of wet skin echoes throughout the room, your moans shamelessly muffled by the fat of his bicep as he continues to fuck you.

you hadn’t even made it to the bed, instead, your back is pressed against his wide chest, his left arm wrapped loosely around your neck where your slobber dribbles on the meat of his bicep.

you're barely touching the ground, toes just barely grazing the cool floor as he carries your weight like it’s nothing. his mouth pressed to the crown of your head, switching between praises and kissing your scalp.

“my good girl” “taking me so well” “that feel good angel?” “doing such a good job f’me m’so proud of you” he whispers in your ear, voice cracking and horse as he chases his own pleasure.

his breath tickles your hair before his right hand moves from pressing on your lower belly to your folds, parting them before rubbing tight circles into your clit. “i know you’re close baby just a little longer, can you do that for me?” he whimpers, circles only growing tighter and harder as he realizes he’s closer than be thought.

your jaw tightens on his arm as the heat in your stomach grows closer. your spit coats his arm and your chin and you can’t control it. you love how big he is, every part of him.

you love that his frame swallows yours, you love how strong he is and how his bicep is as big as your head, you love the thickness of his thighs, his fingers, his chest, his… everywhere. he was perfect and what better way to show appreciation for that then literally drool all over him.

“yeah? yeah, baby” he mumbles, thrusting into you for the last time before your both cumming. your thighs shake and his finger continues to move as his thrusts stop.

his kissing your neck and your shoulders when he gently puts you down and despite the shake in your legs you’re still somehow standing. “my perfect girl” he grabs your chin to kiss you before laying you down on the bed and crawling on top of you.

taglist: @raspberrie-rising, @wiwiwikitty @chloeee20 @shecleansup @beabogsims @angelryex @loreofsarai @cumming4seb @missmanlykink @sheissopink @marvelhoe13 @legendaryhumanoidalienfriend @imsosorrys-posts @underwxrldqueen @kelbrave @tojisgdgirl @rarebambi @raggatasinthewind @thetoastghost222, @kentpaws @sturnskiss @booboobear-12 @biagaloree @stevesxwhore @beabogsims @angelryex @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger @aileen1237 @dontasklolo @belleberryz @mel1sooverrated3d @sophiesnotes @n4tsredbra @itsnearafish481 @iloveneilperry @feathers-from-cupid @losraire @hbagelzzz @inafieldoflilies @memedin4 @kekeanna266 @ohmybelladonna @sabrinaslotus @f4lin3 @vanillakirstein @zarquit @holowhaze @luvekent @tomatolaunch @cokepewpsii @nayacmenayadont2

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[innorality]

aliendick!clark and pavlov conditioning

summary// you ended up realizing that making clark your lab rat would simultaneously be the best and worst decision of your relationship.

content warning// conditioning, mating press, doggy style, nasty filthy sex, creampie, clark is feral, clark has an alien dick, clark swears, improper use of x-ray vision, kryptonian breeding kink, squirting, clark is pathetic

2k words whew

with clark kent fucking you like that, you don’t think you’re making it out alive.

well, your fault for trying to experiment on a poor, farm-grown kryptonian.

.

on monday, on the evening, you decided that you could begin your sick little experiment of conditioning on clark. after reading an article about it online, you wanted your alien boyfriend to be your lab-rat for it, and saw no apparent downsides to the experiment, so you went on with it.

starting with the trigger, you decided for it to be a duck emoji. weird enough for clark to be confused, not too weird for it to have him worrying like the sweetheart he is. ten minutes before you arrived home after work, you had sent him a singular duck emoji with no context or follow-up to it, which, as expected, had your poor clarkie as confused as ever. you smiled when he immediately texted back with ‘???’—success. as soon as you arrived home, you barely let him finish his questioning before pouncing on him, interrupting his sentence with a kiss he welcomed with open arms.

that night, you rode the man to the moon and back—gave him such mind-numbing pleasure that he couldn’t even bother to remember his previous confusion about the duck emoji.

and so, with the first day being a success, you repeated the process.

every day following that one, you would do the same thing—no texts or news all day, a duck emoji ten minutes before coming home, mind-blowing sex.

after a few days of repeating the process, you began to space out these encounters, opting to send the duck emoji every two to three days—a great way to keep the man on his toes, anticipating, waiting for the next time you'd send him that emoji.

then came the most awaited experiment—your greatest mistake.

it was on a friday night that you had decided tonight was the night. you had sent clark the usual duck emoji, smirking as he had immediately seen the text. however, when you arrived home, it wasn't like usual. usually, upon sending the emoji, you'd pounce on him and drag him to the bedroom. tonight, however? radio silence. well, not quite, but that's it felt to clark. you didn't give him those bedroom eyes you usually did on nights you were feeling particularly needy, you insisted on taking a shower all by yourself (he almost crumbled at that) and after dinner, you lounged on the couch to watch a tv show without even asking him to follow you! you just did!

the thing about clark kent is, he's a gentleman through and through. his ma had raised him to be one, and for christ's sake, he was superman! how could he not be a gentleman? but, he sympathizes with himself, you can't spell gentlemna without man, and clark was a man before he was anything else. a very aroused and hopelssly in love man, at that.

he stands awkwardly in the doorway of the living room, staring at you. you noticed, of course, but this wasn't unusual. clark has always had sort of weird quirks—you had always found them endearing. "is something the matter, honey?" your sirupy voice cut through his stream of thought, and suddenly his eyes focus again, gaze meeting yours.

clark has his phone in hand, and he brings it up to look back at the duck emoji you had sent. duck meant sex. you wanted this. he can indulge. you want this.

he knows you do. you sent the text, and he feels like he can almost smell your arousal and it's driving him fucking insane because he just wants to dive in it and taste it and fuck you everywhere so the entire place smells like you and-

in the blink of an eye, his phone is abandonned and he's on you, lips smashed against yours. you barely have the time to react but you do, arms now hanging around his thick neck. his hand latches itself onto your cheeks, fingers pressing into both of them, urging you to open your mouth. as soon as you do, his tongue, which was inhumanely long, snaked into your cavern, exploring its depths. he moaned at the taste of your saliva, almost melting into you as if the flavor of you was his ultimate salvation.

noticing the lack of air filling your lungs, he pulled away, his eyes softening at the sight of you catching your breath. "c-clark... what's... whta's gotten into you?" you licked your lips, face flushed. he looks at you like a puppy begging for its treat. "the emoji... you sent the emoji but you didn't... i thought..." his mind is a rush, moving at a thousand miles per hour as his entire body is begging him to rip your clothes off and take you.

he gives up, his head falling into the crook of your neck. "i just... i really need to fuck you, sweetheart." and as he's confessing this, his hand is gliding towards the waistband of your bottoms, sliding swiftly underneath it.

you think you could ascend.

you bite your lip, rendered mute at the sheer tension of the moment. "i know you want it, baby..." he scoffs, eyes closed. "can smell it."

curse him for being such a dangerously hot and multi-abled alien.

his hand makes its way underneath your panties, finger running through your slit, collecting the slick you've been trying to keep to yourself for the past hour. "ah..." you let out a low sound, almost imperceptible but clark was so hyper-focused on you that the little moan made him shudder.

he uses his forearm to push himself upwards, his hand escaping your bottoms to rush up to his mouth, and when you look at him, you gasp, feeling your walls clench.

because clark has never looked this feral.

his eyes were half-lidded and impossibly dark, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallows your juices, eyes nearly rolling back at the taste. he moans, his cock twitching and growing inside his sweatpants.

"you're gonna give it t'me, right sweetie?" he asks in that low, sultry voice that he only allows himself to use when he'd rather die than not touch you.

the eager nod you gave him marked the moment you knew you were done for.

.

how long has it been? you don't know. you don't know anything, actually. your brain is fogged with how clark was pounding you into the fuzzy carpet, your eyes crossing when the buds running along his dick grazed against the ridges of your walls, the added sensation making you spasm. "f-ffuck-! clark- oh my god, ohmygod—" you can barely form a sentence, let alone link two words together when he knocks at your cervix, your tits bouncing in rhythm with every thrust.

and clark isn't even listening to you, his eyes laser-focused on the sight of his cock splitting you open repeatedly, a vein bulging on his forehead at his intense use of his x-ray vision. "look at that, b-baby... look..." and you don't even bother, too lost in the ecstasy. he sees it all though, the strings of your arousal clinging to his tip every time he pulls away, the ridged of your pussy hooking onto his buds, the contractions of your muscles.

he finally manages to pull his eyes away from the sight, only to be met with the even prettier, albeit messier sight of your fucked out face. tears and drool glossed your skin, your eyes rolled back nearly to the back of your skull, throwing your head back when clark's hips stutter against yours, a white-hot wave washing over him over the sight.

he stilled when his buds hardened and hooked onto your walls, pulling him impossibly deep as he shoots buckets worth of cum deep into your womb. "a-ah! holy sh- hmm, fffuck, baby- i- fuck!" he sobs, jerking down towards you and you moan at the feeling of him filling you up once more, droplets of his sweat dripping onto your buzzing skin.

despite his orgasm, he doesn't stop, "n-need m-moree- needa fill you up-! ah, fuck!" his voice jumps up an octave when his buds finally relax again, allowing him to keep pistoning into you. "d-don't stop, clark! please dont- oh-!" he suddenly grabs your thighs, throwing them over his shoulders before beeending down, succesfully folding you in half. his face is now slotted right in front of yours, and the eye contact is so intense you almost feel shy under his gaze.

a mating press. clark kent had you in a fucking mating press.

you get lost in his ocean blue eyes, barely able to keep the eye conatct when he fucks you almost like he hated you, digging in your pussy. "you're... you're so beautiful, honey... so fucking pretty- all f'me, yeah? all f'me?" you nod, hands pressing against the back of his head to bring him impossiby closer to you, "all for you, clarkie," you confirmed being hastily pressing his against you, imprisoning him in a feverish kiss. clark moans into your mouth, eyes closing. you jolt slightly when you feel a tear drip down on your cheek, peeling your eyes open to see clark crying.

he pulls away, gasping for air as his throat restricts. "i l-love you, love you s'much— need you so, ngh, so bad... wanna breed ya'..." he sobs, whimpering for you. seeing clark become such a slave to his love for you had an inescapable effect on you, and your orgasm was almost immediate. you came with a gasp, the pleasure being so heavy that your eyes had given up on their function, unfocusing and leaving you with the blurry image of clark's flushed expression. your back arched as cream dribbled out of your hole, creating a white ring around clark's base.

in the midst of your orgasm, he pulls out, making you whine for the few seconds your face isn't smushed against the carpet because in a matter of moments, your world tilted before you found yourself face down ass up for your boyfriend. he pressed a hand on your back, urging a deeper arch. "m'sorry baby, m'so sorry..." he apologizes for the his unceremonial behavior but his apologies fall on deaf ears as you couldn't be happier.

your hands clutch the fluff of the carpet when he slams back into you, kneading the flesh of your ass. "just... just need this. s'your fault for making me wait... so long.. to have you- ngh, gosh..." he's hypnotized by the rippling of your ass, and the way your back bends impossibly for a second each time he rams back inside you, pressing you further into the carpet.

with clark kent fucking you like that, you really don’t think you’re making it out alive.

well, your fault for trying to experiment on a poor, farm-grown kryptonian.

your moans are rhythmic, matching the pace of his hips. leaning in, he wraps an arm around you to squeeze your tits, massaging them and rubbing your hardened nipples. "so obedient..." his comment makes your walls flutter around his fat cock. he begins to roll his hips, not quite thrusting. he presses against you, making you drool. "nghhh... fffuuuck... love you... so much.. c-clark-!" you slurred, going crazy at the sensation of his buds hardening slowly again, hooking onto your insides.

"w-want your cum-! want you to b-breed me!" you egged him on, "yeah? y'want it, baby? oh gosh, i'm cumming, m'cummingm'cumming-" he gritted, spilling into you once more. "oh my god! oh god, sweetheart!" he whined, your name escaping him as his hips bucked again, releasing rope upon rope inside you. his orgasm triggered yours, drops of your release trickled down onto the carpet before his hand snaked down to your clit, rubbing furiously and suddenly an intense stream released itself onto the now soaked carpet, the intensity of both of your orgasms making the two of you collaspe in a heap.

he layed on top of you, both of you catching your breaths. "i feel so... sticky." he remarked, "shit... i ruined the carpet." you groaned, knitting your eyebrows together.

a silence settled in, before you broke it. "i'm glad my experiment worked." a beat passes before he reacts, "experiment?"

"i tried conditioning you into associating sex with the duck emoji. it worked."

clarks hums, choosing not to react any further.

a few days later, minutes after the end of your shift, you receive a text from clark.

a duck emoji.

taglist : @mina-do-malik, @chroniclesofdyingmen, @onlyblackorpheus, @lanavelvetgoldmine, @kaerimango

[sc3ptre]

I absolutely loved your last Dean story!! I was wondering if you would be able to write about a reader who has never been able to finish, with herself or anyone else, and dean helps her learn.

Beautiful writing!

I would've done that sober

Pairing: Dean Di Laurentis x childhood best friend!reader

⟡ Main Index | ⟡ Archive for Earth-66

a/n: Well that was long, but such a delight to write and soooo so sexy

Classification: Smut +18 | Talks of ex's and sexual dysfunction/insecurity, emotional vulnerability, recreational drug use (NOT DURING SEX), dry humping/grinding, getting caught, fingering, tension and arousal descriptions, orgasm, praise and partial undressing/lingerie.

Word count: 12k

Divider by me ;)

You sat across from the fire pit in the boys’ backyard, elbows resting on the armrests of your chair while the flames cracked softly in front of you both. The night air had turned colder hours ago, but neither of you had gone inside. Dean kept talking and you kept letting him or trying to.

Every time he opened his mouth, you exhaled slowly through your nose as if physically releasing air might stop you from interrupting him.

“He’s an arrogant son of a bitch,” Dean repeated for probably the fifth time that night. He took another drag from the blunt before passing it toward you, smoke curling past his lips as he leaned back deeper into the chair.

“That’s what pisses me off the most,” he continued, staring hard into the fire like your ex-boyfriend personally offended him. “He had no clue what he was doing in the relationship from day one and still had the confidence to ask you out.” His jaw tightened slightly. “Usually I respect delusion like that, but that guy’s a fucking disaster.”

You accepted the blunt with a quiet sigh.

Dean had been ranting for nearly a week straight now. Anyone overhearing him would’ve assumed he’d been the one publicly dumped in the cafeteria instead of you but he’d been there when it happened, front row seats to your ex fumbling through excuses while half your friends sat frozen around the table pretending not to listen. Maybe that was enough for Dean.

Now, instead of being out partying with the rest of the team, he sat outside with you night after night, sharing weed and acting personally victimized by your breakup.

“Dean,” you finally interrupted, tone firm.

He stopped talking immediately.

You inhaled slowly before looking over at him through the smoke, holding his gaze while you exhaled. “It’s okay.”

Dean’s expression flattened instantly. “We have very different definitions of okay.”

His eyes drifted back toward the fire for a second, replaying the memory again. You could practically see it happening behind his eyes, the cafeteria, your expression and your ex stumbling through his speech.

“You should’ve let me talk to him,” he muttered.

“What good would that have done?” You brought the blunt back to your lips, inhaling before handing it over again. “It’s not his fault.”

Dean’s head snapped toward you so fast he nearly dropped the thing. “The fuck does that mean?”

You almost rolled your eyes at the offense in his tone. Instead, you looked away toward the fire again, watching orange light flicker against the patio stones.

“I’m lost here,” he scoffed. “Is being wrapped around another girl at a party three hours after dumping you not a dick move now?”

A laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it. “Dean,” you said gently, finally turning your head toward him again. “I think I’m the only person who wasn’t surprised by the breakup.”

His brows furrowed.

You shrugged one shoulder lightly. “He just beat me to it.”

“Oh.” The word left him quietly. Dean looked away immediately afterward, dragging a hand over his mouth while he gathered his thoughts before glancing back at you. “That’s the first time I’m hearing about that.”

He passed the blunt over again.

You took it carefully, staring down at it between your fingers for a second before answering.

“Yeah, well...” You inhaled deeply, smoke burning pleasantly in your lungs before you let it back out slowly. “You’ve got other business to worry about.”

Dean huffed out a laugh instantly. “You are my business.” The certainty in his voice made your lips curl before you could stop them. “So start talking.”

He always did that. Dean had this way of making honesty feel inevitable. The two of you talked about everything, always had. He knew things about you your closest friends didn’t. Hell, he’d bought condoms for you the first time you planned on sleeping with someone because you’d been too embarrassed to walk into the store yourself.

You moved deeper into the chair, pulling one leg beneath you while you searched carefully for the right words. “Um…” You inhaled again, then blurted it out before your brain could stop you. “I suck at the sex thing.”

Dean’s face twisted immediately in disagreement as you passed the blunt. “Bullshit.”

You laughed softly. “No, seriously. I do.” You rubbed awkwardly at your neck before continuing. “Turns out not being able to cum eventually becomes an issue when your partner realizes you never actually have with them.”

Dean’s expression changed instantly. Every conversation you’d ever had about sex clearly started replaying in his head at once because confusion hit him violently.

“But you told me–”

“I lied.” The words came out easier than expected. You shrugged lightly, though your stomach still tightened. “I’ve been lying for years...Faking it until I got tired of faking it and started bruising egos.” A humorless smile tugged briefly at your mouth. “Including mine.”

Dean stayed quiet now so you stared into the fire instead.

“I just…” You exhaled slowly. “I don’t think sex is really my thing.” Your shoulders lifted. “I like the idea of it. I enjoy parts of it…but everyone talks about this huge explosive ending and I just…” You shook your head. “Don’t get there…naturally people stop believing you when you say it was still good.”

Dean watched you carefully. “Was it?”

“The sex?” You let the silence drag for a second before shrugging again. “I think so.” Your lips twitched faintly. “It was good enough to build better stories around afterward.”

Dean stopped smoking entirely after that. The blunt burned slowly between his fingers while he stared down at it, suddenly looking far more sober than either of you probably were. He looked like he was trying to organize his thoughts before speaking again.

“How about alone?” The question came softly, carefully.

If you didn’t know him so well, you might’ve mistaken the look on his face for pity. Thankfully, you did know him, which meant you recognized concern immediately.

You shook your head slowly. “That’s why I’m saying it’s not his fault.”

“It’s not yours either,” Dean argued as he flicked the rest of the blunt into the fire pit before continuing. “It just hasn’t happened yet.” His voice softened further. “Doesn’t mean it never will.”

You let out a slow breath, eyes closing briefly as the weed finally started loosening the tension sitting on your shoulders. “It’s definitely not from lack of trying.”

You could feel him staring at you even with your eyes closed.

The silence stretched comfortably after your confession, softened by the crackling fire and the distant chorus of crickets surrounding the backyard. The flames had started dying down, wood collapsing inward with quiet snaps while smoke drifted lazily into the cold night air.

Dean still hadn’t looked away from you. “So what now?” he asked finally.

You swallowed slowly, still keeping your eyes shut. For a second or maybe an entire minute, Dean genuinely thought you’d fallen asleep mid-conversation.

Then your lips twitched. “Celibacy.”

The offended sound that tore out of him made your smile widen. You heard him trying to hold it back too, which honestly made it funnier but this was Dean. Subtle outrage had never once existed in his body.

“Think I’d look hot as a nun?” you asked lazily.

“You’d look hot in a banana costume wearing clown shoes six sizes too big,” he replied instantly. “And you’re absolutely not dropping out of Briar to become a nun. End of discussion.”

His tone came out firm enough to sound ridiculous considering he had absolutely no authority over your life whatsoever.

You finally peeled your eyes open to look at him. The weed had settled into your bones now, leaving you heavy and relaxed against the chair. Dean looked hazy too, hair falling perfectly while the firelight flickered warm across his face.

“You’re not giving up because some five-eleven idiot couldn’t be patient long enough to figure you out.”

You grinned. “He’s six-one.”

Dean scoffed. “He tried out for the Hawks freshman year. Trust me, he’s five-eleven.”

Your brows lifted. Dean kept going without needing encouragement, already slipping into that protective streak he pretended wasn’t there. He always collected information about people around you, quietly filing it away for future use whenever he deemed necessary.

“He was wearing lifts during tryouts,” Dean added smugly. “One bad pivot and the guy almost snapped an ankle.”

A laugh escaped you softly.

“If you wanna stop having sex altogether, God forbid–”

“You should become a priest,” you interrupted.

Dean barked out a laugh, tipping his head back. “Yeah,” he nodded. “It’d probably take a year and a half to cleanse my sins.” He pointed toward himself loosely. “And that’s assuming I don’t burst into flames the second I walk into a church.” His eyes drifted back to you. “Can I continue now?”

“Yes, Father,” you replied through a chuckle.

Dean shook his head, smiling despite himself before settling deeper into his chair again.

“If you really wanna do the celibacy thing, fine.” He shrugged dramatically. “I’ll support you. We’ll find support groups together and hold hands through the trauma.” His mouth twitched. “Though personally, I’d go through withdrawals first.”

“How solidary of you.”

He nodded solemnly. “Exactly. Plus I can probably add it to my extracurriculars somehow.”

You laughed harder at that, shoulders shaking slightly as you leaned back into the chair. “You’re so fucking stupid.”

Dean watched you carefully while you laughed. The sound came out lighter than anything he’d heard from you all week, chest rising and falling unevenly while your eyes squeezed shut again for a second and suddenly the conversation stopped feeling funny to him.

Because underneath the jokes, underneath the weed and the teasing, he kept thinking about what you’d actually said earlier. About you trying and nothing happening.

Dean loved sex. Everyone knew that much about him but you did too or at least you loved wanting it, loved feeling desired, loved the intimacy, the heat and everything wrapped around it and now all he could think about was how frustrating that must’ve been for you. Wanting something everyone else talked about so easily only for your body not to cooperate no matter how hard you tried.

The thought sat badly in his chest. Dean looked down at the dying fire for a second before his eyes lifted back to you.

“Use me,” he blurted out.

Your laughter faded gradually after his words, the smile still lingering at the corners of your mouth while your eyes settled back on him even more carefully this time. 

“What do you mean?”

Dean didn’t even hesitate. “I’ll be your last resort,” he repeated easily, like he’d already thought this through far more than he probably had. “Aren’t you always telling me to make myself useful?”

You narrowed your eyes, blinking slowly through the haze settling heavier behind them.

“What exactly are you suggesting?” You rubbed at one eye with the heel of your hand. “Because I’m starting to think I hallucinated that sentence.”

“I hold my weed better than you,” he reminded you smugly.

That part, unfortunately, was true. Dean leaned forward in his chair, elbows resting against his knees now, all lazy amusement gone strangely sincere beneath the teasing.

“You wanna quit? Fine.” He shrugged. “Quit when you’re actually out of options.”

A quiet huff left you, somewhere between disbelief and laughter. “Didn’t realize Six Flags counted as an option.” Your lips twitched faintly. “I hate rollercoasters.”

Dean nodded decisively. “Then I’ll go out of business.”

“You’ll close the park?”

“I’ll shut the whole thing down,” he promised solemnly. “Just so you can ride the teacups.” The grin spreading across his face warned you half a second too late. “Remember when you threw up on the–”

“Yes,” you cut him off immediately, flat and horrified. “I remember.”

Dean laughed anyway. Full-bodied, warm and entirely too pleased with himself as he pointed at you. “You were crying,” he accused through the laughter. “You kept saying your stomach hated you–”

“I was fifteen.”

“And dramatic.” He added. “But so cute…less mouthy too.”

“You held my hair while I threw up into a trash can behind the funnel cake stand.”

Dean’s laughter softened slightly at that memory. Back then he’d been genuinely terrified something was wrong with you. He’d hovered beside you the entire night looking pale enough to pass out himself while you recovered on a bench wrapped in his sweatshirt. Now he just looked fond.

You glanced away first, eyes dropping back toward the dying fire while your thoughts started turning over his earlier suggestion again despite yourself.

It could go horribly. Actually, no, it would go horribly. There were at least seventeen reasons this crossed every boundary imaginable. You already hated rollercoasters, hated fast turns and hated giving up control over literally anything involving your body and Dean…Well, Dean was Dean.

Confident, experienced, annoyingly good-looking and unarguably good at sex if campus rumors counted for anything and unfortunately they definitely did. You hadn’t exactly conducted research firsthand but after years of hearing stories from girls around campus, the reviews were embarrassingly consistent.

“You really think that highly of your dick?” you asked finally.

Dean shrugged lazily against the chair. “Nobody said anything about using it.”

That made your eyes snap back to him fully. “And if nothing works?” you asked quieter this time.

The question slipped out more honestly than intended because suddenly you weren’t thinking about sex anymore. You were thinking about aftermaths, about what happened if this ruined things between you. Dean had woven himself into your life years ago so naturally that imagining him gone felt impossible now.

You genuinely didn’t know how you’d survive losing him too.

Dean studied you for a second and for once the confidence in his face softened into something steadier. “Then we fail,” he decided.

You swallowed.

His grin returned slowly afterward, softer around the edges. “Fail with me,” he corrected. “Fail better.” He pointed between you both lazily. “Fail together.”

A laugh escaped you despite every effort not to give him one.

You rolled your eyes hard enough to make him grin wider, shaking your head while the weed continued smoothing the sharp corners off your thoughts. The night air no longer felt cold against your skin and embarrassment had slowly stopped existing somewhere during the conversation. Maybe that was the dangerous part and not Dean’s suggestion but how easy it suddenly felt to consider it.

You didn’t bring it up again for the rest of the night and neither did Dean.

When the rest of the guys stumbled back into the house loud and half-drunk sometime after midnight, he changed back into normal so smoothly it almost irritated you. He made sure you had food, water, your charger and then bullied one of the sober freshmen into driving you home while standing outside by the car until you pulled away like he always did.

You slept absurdly well afterward.

A heavy sleep and dreamless night, the type that glued you to the mattress the next morning until sunlight was already cutting aggressively through your blinds. By the time you shuffled out with an oversized hoodie you were certain was your ex’s, your phone was buzzing with unread texts from Dean sent hours earlier, probably before morning practice.

You ignored every single one and it wasn’t because of regret. Embarrassment simply crawled into your chest somewhere between the first and third spoonful of cereal and decided to settle there permanently.

The entire conversation replayed so clearly now that you were sober. “Use me,” You nearly groaned into the bowl.

Three hours of class helped, at least temporarily. You sat near the back of the massive amphitheater classroom while your professor rambled enthusiastically about the new book he’d conveniently written himself and would definitely require students to purchase before midterms. You probably would’ve absorbed more information if you weren’t scrolling mindlessly through Instagram the entire lecture.

The doors behind you opened quietly midway through class.

You barely paid attention at first since nobody descended the stairs toward the lower rows and a second later the seat beside you groaned softly under someone’s weight.

You recognized the cologne immediately.

“How hard do you think you need to scrub for that scent to leave your skin?” you whispered without looking up.

Dean grinned beside you, leaning closer enough for warmth to brush your shoulder as his eyes dropped toward your phone screen.

You locked it quickly and finally looked at him. “You’re not in this class.”

“I see your phone works perfectly fine,” he replied.

The professor thankfully dismissed class early before you could answer, students immediately growing louder as backpacks zipped and people exited the space.

You stood quickly and started gathering your things. “Did you need something, Di Laurentis?” you asked flatly.

Dean remained seated on purpose, forcing you to awkwardly climb past him to leave the row. The asshole looked entirely too pleased with himself while you muttered under your breath and stepped over his legs.

The second you reached the aisle, he stood and followed.

You walked fast, actually, aggressively fast. Dean almost struggled to keep up at first, his legs clearly still wrecked from morning practice while you marched out of the building like escape itself was the objective. He finally caught you outside near the steps leading toward the quad.

“We need to talk.”

You slowed at last before turning toward him. “What we need is space,” you corrected, motioning firmly between your bodies.

Dean looked down between you both thoughtfully, then took exactly one step backward.

You almost laughed, especially because he looked unbearably smug afterward, standing there grinning in the middle of campus like he deserved a reward for basic listening skills.

“You’ve gone to New York with me enough times to know I don’t need more space,” he pointed out. “But fine.” His expression softened slightly afterward, amusement fading as he studied your face more carefully. “What’s going on?”

Of course, he was right. Dean practically crawled into people’s personal bubbles recreationally, so the fact he’d backed off at all made it harder to flee the conversation entirely.

You exhaled slowly. “We said stuff last night.”

He nodded once, blinking at the tension written all over your face. “Yeah. That’s usually how conversations work.”

“Stuff you might regret,” you clarified.

Dean’s brows lifted before a quiet laugh escaped him. “Regret?” He pointed toward himself loosely. “C’mon. It’s me.”

His voice gentled slightly after and the worst part was he looked relieved, because apparently the phrase ‘stuff you might regret’ translated in Dean’s brain to ‘good, she’s not upset’.

“I would’ve said that sober,” he assured you.

His eyes stayed fixed on yours while your attention darted briefly around campus before returning to him again exactly like he knew it would. Dean stepped closer instinctively, lowering his voice enough that the passing students around you blurred into background noise.

“You want me to repeat it?” he asked quietly. “Let me help you cum.”

Your stomach tightened at his tone of voice. “It might not work,” you reminded him softly.

You hoped your face conveyed the actual problem because this had never been about his ego. Dean could survive failure, he’d probably laugh through it, so that wasn’t what scared you.

Dean shrugged anyway, maddeningly calm. “What if it does?”

“And what if it doesn’t?” Frustration finally slipped into your voice. “Dean, I don’t want us to get weird.” You shook your head hard once. “I don’t need ‘optimistic Dean’ right now,” you muttered. “I need ‘realistic Dean’, so pull him out of your ass.”

“You already are weird,” Dean corrected easily, smiling down at you. “I accepted that years ago.” His grin widened then. “Actually, I encourage it.”

You rolled your eyes, though the corner of your mouth betrayed you.

“Let me try,” he insisted again, the confidence in his voice should’ve irritated you more than it did.

Instead, you found yourself studying him in silence, searching for something off in his expression. Some sign this was ego, curiosity or boredom disguised as concern but he just looked…earnest. Enthusiastic, sure, because he was Dean and apparently incapable of approaching anything halfway but not creepy about it and maybe this was partially your own fault.

You’d spent years talking openly with him about sex, relationships and attraction. About wanting something good someday instead of tolerable, about how when you were old and exhausted with kids running around, you still wanted a partner who looked at you and wanted you back because you were almost certain you’d still want them too.

Dean remembered everything you said…unfortunately.

You sighed heavily. “We need rules.”

“Fine.” He agreed so fast it almost startled you. Dean straightened afterward, nodding once with ridiculous seriousness like the two of you were entering business negotiations instead of whatever disaster this actually was.

You almost reconsidered your next words. Almost.

“No kissing.”

Dean’s shoulders visibly dropped. “Why?”

“Because!” you hissed. “And if we’re doing this, you don’t get to question the rules.”

His face twisted in disbelief. “We’ve kissed before.”

You crossed your arms tighter. “That was different.”

Dean scoffed softly. “We were literally each other’s first kiss.”

Again, he was right. You weren’t just each other’s first kiss either, a few firsts existed between you both scattered through years of friendship and growing up side by side, all except for sex. There was awkward teenage curiosity, truth or dare disasters and one regrettable spin-the-bottle incident Garrett still occasionally referenced against your will.

Which was exactly why kissing now felt dangerous. This couldn’t spiral into some ‘why didn’t we do this sooner’ conversation. It needed boundaries and structure, something detached enough that neither of you accidentally ruined the friendship orbiting underneath all this and selflessly, you also didn’t want the group dragged into the fallout if things exploded.

“We’re adults now,” you said firmly. “So no kissing.”

Dean stared at you for another second before exhaling dramatically. 

“Okay,” he relented…Too easily, which immediately made you suspicious he’d already started planning arguments against it for later.

“I’ve also thought about what you said last night,” you continued carefully. “About Six Flags.”

Dean’s brows lifted.

“And shutting down the entire park feels unfair to you,” you explained. “Potentially devastating, honestly.” Your lips twitched slightly. “So you can still hook up with other people if you want. I genuinely don’t care.”

Dean actually looked offended. “Didn’t realize I needed permission.”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t.” His voice sharpened for the first time since the conversation started. “But no thanks.” He shrugged once. “It makes this more exciting anyway.” A grin tugged briefly at his mouth again. “I’ve got one ride right now and that’s all I need.”

Your face scrunched at his words. “Does weed somehow make you an even bigger asshole?”

Dean ignored that completely. “I’m not doing anything with anyone else until we’re done here,” he repeated firmly. The teasing disappeared entirely from his voice that time and there was no smugness either, just certainty.

You quieted automatically when a group of students passed nearby, a few of them recognizing Dean instantly and greeting him as they crossed the quad. He responded absentmindedly without taking his eyes off you once.

The second they moved far enough away, you continued. “Why?”

Dean’s expression softened at the question. “Because I need you comfortable,” he answered simply. “And I need you to trust me more than you already do.”

You groaned. “Oh my God,” you muttered, dragging a hand down your face. “You’re making this weird.”

He grinned at your reaction while you grabbed his sleeve and started pulling him further across campus before more people stopped to talk to him. Dean let you drag him along without resistance, looking far too entertained by the whole thing.

“We don’t even know how long this will take,” you pointed out.

“My fist works perfectly fine in the meantime,” Dean decided easily.

You looked up at him so fast your neck almost hurt.

Dean pressed his lips together, visibly trying not to laugh at the pure disbelief written across your face. His head tilted slightly, hair strands falling over his forehead while he watched you stare at him like he’d just confessed to tax fraud.

Your gaze dropped away first.

Contrary to what everyone on campus believed, Dean didn’t actually need constant hookups to survive. He liked the reputation, liked exaggerating it even more whenever it annoyed you enough to argue back or laugh at him but underneath all that, he could handle himself perfectly fine.

Unfortunately for you, he seemed almost smug about proving that now.

“Can I add rules too?” he asked.

You sighed dramatically. “Sure.”

The two of you kept walking through campus side by side, your pace slower now that the conversation had moved on from terrifying to merely humiliating.

“No scheduling things specifically for this,” Dean decided. “If it happens, it happens.”

You blinked once before nodding slowly. “Yeah. Okay.” Relief actually loosened something in your chest at that. “That’s good. I’ll stress less.”

Dean glanced sideways at you, probably pleased you agreed so quickly…Except his rule immediately created entirely new problems.

“Uh…” Your steps slowed slightly. “How do you…” You scratched awkwardly at your eyebrow. “Take it?”

Dean stopped walking altogether. “How do I take what?” he asked carefully. “My coffee?”

You groaned. “No.” Your hand motioned vaguely between the two of you in a series of gestures that explained absolutely nothing. “Like…how do you like it?”

Dean’s brows lifted as realization hit him almost visibly.

You looked away at once. “Fuck,” you muttered under your breath. “Do I need to be clean shaven constantly or not?” Your voice lowered progressively through the sentence while your eyes darted around campus to make sure nobody nearby overheard you discussing grooming preferences in broad daylight.

Dean stared at you for half a second too long before answering.

“Y/n.” The seriousness in his tone made your eyes flicker back toward him. “The day I tell you what to do with your body, you better knock me unconscious.”

Your mouth parted slightly.

“I’ll literally kneel for it if that makes it easier,” he continued firmly. “Do whatever makes you comfortable.”

And he meant it. Dean would enjoy it either way, obviously, but that wasn’t what mattered to him here. What mattered was getting you out of your own head long enough to actually enjoy yourself instead of performing comfort for someone else.

You blinked slowly at him because suddenly your ex’s comments replayed in your head with uncomfortable clarity. Little preferences disguised as jokes and suggestions repeated enough times to become expectations and judging by the expression tightening briefly across Dean’s face, he’d realized exactly where your question came from too.

That only made you feel worse somehow. Your attention drifted toward the students moving around campus nearby.

You suddenly wondered if people would notice eventually. The same way older women always claimed they somehow knew when girls became sexually active. Weird comments about posture and confidence, wider hips and glowing skin that sounded fake until suddenly you became the target of them too.

Your stomach tightened faintly. “What are we supposed to tell people?”

Dean barely hesitated. “To mind their own fucking business.”

You snorted softly.

He looked over at you again, entirely serious despite the amusement still lingering around his mouth. “Just like I’m doing mine.”

The rest of the week passed almost painfully normal.

There were parties, late-night food runs, afternoons sprawled around the boys’ house while someone yelled at a video game in the background and hockey games while Dean acted exactly the same as always. You spent time with Hannah and Allie between classes and after them, listened to Garrett complain dramatically about assignments he’d started twelve hours before they were due, watched Tucker cook enough food for six grown men while Logan disappeared upstairs with company more often than not.

Nothing changed.

Dean still touched your shoulder when he walked past you, still stole fries off your plate and still looked at you too long whenever you laughed at something stupid and somehow that made the entire thing worse because half the time you genuinely convinced yourself you’d imagined the whole conversation by the fire pit entirely.

Maybe the weed had made you both insane and none of it was real.

You sat curled up on the floor of the boys’ living room later that week with your knees tucked to your chest, a notebook balanced across your thighs while formulas blurred together across the page. Your back rested against the couch and the TV played quietly in the background though neither of you actually paid attention to it.

Dean sat opposite you in the armchair, long legs spread comfortably while he hunched over his own notebook with far more concentration than anyone would expect from him or maybe not because he took hockey so seriously. He took school seriously too, despite pretending otherwise whenever possible but unfortunately for you, he also looked unfairly good doing homework.

You tried focusing on your own work, tried hard. Instead, your eyes kept lifting toward him between equations, your brain repeatedly snagging on the memory of everything he’d said days earlier and the fact neither of you had taken any of it back…or done a single thing about it.

“What’d you get for number three?” Dean’s voice pulled you from your thoughts but still didn’t look up from his notebook.

You blinked down at your own page, trying to remember where your brain had abandoned the assignment entirely.

“C,” you answered eventually. “But I’m not confident about it.”

Dean hummed thoughtfully. “I’ve done the math twice and I keep getting B.”

You reread the problem slowly, trying to force your attention into place. “Then it’s probably B.”

Dean finally looked up at that, one brow lifting. “You’re admitting you’re wrong?”

You snorted softly. Honestly, it was extremely possible. Your brain hadn’t functioned properly all week because you kept thinking about him offering himself up like some absurdly confident science experiment. 

“Don’t need to dig through my family tree to know I’m not descended from Isaac Newton.”

A smile tugged slowly across Dean’s mouth as he leaned back in the armchair. “If you are,” he said, eyes dragging over your face, “I’m glad the ugly recessive genes skipped you.”

Your nose scrunched instantly. “What kind of compliment is that?”

“The kind I’m hoping gets you over here to help me.” He motioned you closer lazily with his pointer and middle fingers.

You sighed before setting your notebook on the coffee table and padding across the room toward him. The house was quieter this late afternoon, though not empty. Hannah was upstairs with Garrett, Logan had disappeared into his room hours ago and Tucker was outside training.

“Let’s see,” you murmured.

You bent slightly over Dean and the notebook resting on the armrest, attention dropping fully to the equations scattered across the page. The movement loosened the collar of your shirt enough for cool air to brush your skin.

Dean noticed and his throat cleared quietly.

Your attention remained on the notebook while his eyes betrayed him completely, dropping for one dangerous second to the visible lace of your bra before forcing themselves back upward toward your face instead.

Dean had promised himself he’d take this slow and naturally because the second he acted weird about it, you would too. You’d overthink every movement, every look and accidental touch and unfortunately for him, you’d always been terrifyingly good at reading him.

He moved the notebook slightly farther from you as one hand settled carefully against your hip, guiding you.

You reached automatically for the notebook before he moved it entirely out of reach, successfully grabbing it just as he tugged you forward enough for your balance to tip. A second later you settled directly onto his lap, knees falling naturally to either side of his thighs.

You blinked once. “Smooth,” you muttered, adjusting yourself carefully without looking at him. “I’ll give you that.”

Dean grinned openly now. You balanced the notebook against his chest like it was a table and reached backward for the pen loosely held in his free hand. His fingers brushed yours before letting go.

“Should be a five,” you corrected while marking over the equation. “Not a seven.” Your brows furrowed slightly. “Your handwriting’s gotten worse over the years.”

“You still read it.”

“I’m not the one grading you.” Your eyes lifted straight into his.

You’d sat on Dean’s lap before, during packed car rides, group trips and random stupid moments over the years where proximity stopped mattering because he was just Dean. This didn’t feel like that, not even close.

“Not in math,” he said quietly.

Only one of his hands touched you still, resting warm and steady against your hip like he was making a conscious effort not to overwhelm you. Whether it was intentional or not, it worked. His eyes drifted downward slowly toward your mouth.

“You should be rating everything else though.” A grin ghosted briefly across his lips. “Pretty sure Six Flags has customer surveys.”

You shook your head once, slow enough that your hair brushed lightly against your cheek. “No ride, no survey.”

Dean’s mouth twitched. His legs spread slightly wider underneath you then, subtle enough that you still felt the change as the apex of your thighs aligned more directly with his. The hand on your hip tightened enough for you to notice. “Go on then,” he murmured.

Your gaze dropped before you could stop it, down to the visible tent pressing insistently against the front of his sweats. Heat climbed your throat immediately.

“Interesting moment you picked,” you muttered softly, eyes flicking briefly toward the rest of the house.

You felt comfortable there. Comfortable enough to leave clothes behind, to wander into the kitchen without asking and to nap on the couch when you got tired during movie nights but knowing the others were still around somewhere made your pulse jump harder instead of calming it.

Dean noticed. “Just focus on me,” he instructed quietly.

Not ‘look at me’, just ‘focus’ which you could do.

You looked at him, seeing the genuine curiosity and lack of judgment in his eyes and for the first time, the wall you'd built around your sexuality felt more like a shield and less like a cage.

Slowly, tentatively, you moved as the gravity of the moment pulled you toward him. You settled your weight directly onto him, feeling the distinct, blunt shape of his cock through the layers of your clothes. He wasn't fully hard yet, just a semi-firm pressure against your clothed pussy but it didn't make you recoil. In fact, it sent a low thrum of anticipation through your nerves.

The air between you grew thick, charged with a tension that felt heavy enough to touch. You remembered your own rule: no kissing. So, you kept your face inches from his but you didn't close the gap. Instead, you focused on the sound of his breathing, which had hitched the moment you sat down. You could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting over your lips, a teasing, invisible touch that made your skin prickle.

Dean’s hand still hovered near your waist, trembling slightly but he didn't grip you. He seemed to be fighting every instinct to pull you closer, respecting the fragile boundary you had set.

"I'm gonna keep my hands off," he whispered, his voice strained and rough. "You just keep moving. Take whatever you're comfortable with."

He pulled his arms back, resting them flat against the seat beside him, leaving you in complete control. The sudden lack of physical contact made the friction between your pelvises feel even more intense. You knew what you were doing, you had enough experience to know how your body worked, even if the 'explosive ending' always eluded you. You began to rock, a slow, tentative grind that pressed your pussy firmly against the length of him as a sharp, jagged exhale escaped his lungs. 

You felt him react instantly, the semi-firmness beneath you surged, his cock thickening and hardening rapidly against your center. You rolled your hips in a circular motion, aiming for the sweet spot, feeling the dampness beginning to soak into your underwear. You were getting wetter, the friction creating a sliding, sensual heat that radiated upward into your stomach.

"You still okay?" he breathed out, voice barely a murmur.

You simply nodded and tried to focus entirely on him, wanting to give him something perfect, something that would leave him breathless. You pushed down harder, grinding your clit against the hard ridge of his dick. You watched his face, head falling back against the headrest, leaving his throat exposed and pulsing but he forced his eyes to stay open. He wanted to see you. He wanted to witness the way your expression changed as you found a rhythm that worked.

The intimacy was suffocating in the best way. There was no kissing to distract you and no wandering hands to break the spell, just the raw, rhythmic pressure of friction. You could feel the heat radiating off his thighs, the way his chest heaved in time with your movements as your own breathing became ragged, mirroring his, the sound of your synchronized gasps filling the quiet space.

You felt a small, involuntary moan escape your throat, a soft sound of pleasure that made Dean’s hips jerk upward instinctively, trying to meet your descent. You pressed closer, your mind racing, trying to synchronize your pleasure with his but as the tension built, a familiar frustration began to creep in. You were so close to that peak, that elusive edge but the more you focused on his perfection, the more you felt yourself slipping away from your own. You wanted it, you wanted to break through the ceiling you'd lived under for years and the frustration made you grind harder, more desperately.

You were just beginning to lose yourself in the friction, your body humming with a desperate, electric need, when the spell was shattered.

The heavy thud of footsteps hit the wooden porch outside, then came muffled voices.

Tucker.

The sound slammed into you like ice water dumped straight down your spine.

You jolted backward instantly, panic snapping through your body so violently that your balance disappeared completely. The friction, the heat, the dizzy haze clouding your brain shattered in one humiliating second as you scrambled away from Dean in pure instinct.

Dean’s hands had actually stayed off, so when you lurched backward, there was nothing anchoring you in place, no arm catching your waist or grip steadying you. You slipped right off his lap in a graceless tangle of limbs and landed hard beside the chair with a muffled curse, your pulse hammering violently against your ribs.

Dean moved at the same time you did. One hand grabbed the nearest couch pillow and yanked it straight into his lap while the other instinctively reached toward you, fingers brushing empty air because you were already halfway onto your feet.

The front door opened and you froze.

Your breathing came embarrassingly uneven as you tried forcing your body back under control, thighs trembling faintly from the abrupt stop, nerves buzzing so hard beneath your skin it almost hurt. Dean leaned back into the chair with his head tipped toward the ceiling for one brief second, chest rising sharply beneath his t-shirt while tortured frustration flashed openly across his face before he forced himself together enough to look toward the entryway.

Tucker walked in distractedly, phone pressed to his ear while he kicked the door shut behind him with his shoe.

“–No, because that’s not what I said,” he argued into the phone before finally glancing up.

Dean’s voice came out rough and annoyed. “Can't you knock?”

The irritation in it made your eyes widen and before thinking better of it, you reached over and smacked lightly at his arm which made him look offended for half a second.

Tucker’s brows pulled together slowly as his gaze moved between the two of you…You standing there awkwardly and Dean spread out in the armchair with a pillow aggressively covering his lap.

The TV was still playing, forgotten in the background too.

“Wait,” Tucker muttered into the phone, eyes narrowing slightly. “Hold on.” He lowered the phone away from his ear and motioned vaguely around the living room. “I live here,” he pointed out flatly. “If you two wanna study in complete silence maybe turn the TV down or go to the library.”

Your mouth pressed into a painfully tight smile.

“Hey, Y/n.” he greeted, much more gently.

“Hi,” you replied weakly with an awkward nod.

Tucker gave you one more lingering look before wandering toward the kitchen, already returning to his phone conversation while opening the fridge like absolutely nothing life-altering had just occurred in his living room.

The second he was no longer looking, your eyes snapped back toward Dean, his were already on you, wide and still dark with frustration and lingering heat and approximately ten other emotions you absolutely did not have time to unpack right now.

You hurried toward where you’d abandoned your bag near the couch and started shoving your things inside far too quickly.

Dean muttered a curse under his breath behind you as the fridge door opened again. “Wait, wait, wait,” he whispered urgently.

You ignored him completely, nearly dropping your belongings while trying to zip your bag shut.

“You don’t have to leave,” he continued quietly, unable to stand for reasons both of you were painfully aware of. The pillow remained trapped over his lap while he leaned forward slightly, voice dropping lower. “Stay for dinner.” Then louder, “Right, Tucker?”

From the kitchen, still mid-conversation, Tucker lifted a distracted thumbs up without even looking over. Of course you could stay, you were always welcome there and it somehow made this infinitely worse.

“Y/n, c’mon,” Dean tried again, even softer this time.

You finally looked at him, at his flushed face and the way he still looked wrecked from you despite the interruption.

Your stomach flipped painfully. “You can text me that survey of yours,” you muttered.

Dean groaned quietly at the reminder, watching as you grabbed your bag and headed straight for the front door before your embarrassment could physically consume you alive.

You didn’t say goodbye or looked back. You slipped outside into the cold early evening air and shut the door behind you, immediately dragging in one huge breath like you’d been underwater too long.

Fresh air hit your lungs sharply, cool and tensionless.

Your legs felt weird as you walked down the porch steps and somewhere beneath the embarrassment sat an even more irritating realization. You needed to change your panties and somehow, you still hadn’t come.

For the first time in your academic career, you were thankful exam week existed.

The chaos of midterms had given you and Dean something else to focus on besides the fact you’d nearly climbed him in the middle of his living room while Tucker casually walked through the front door. Between study sessions, essays, last-minute cramming and the general emotional collapse that overtook Briar every semester, things had settled back into something manageable.

You and Dean had talked afterward, though absolutely not alone.

He’d insisted on meeting in a crowded coffee shop near campus where old women typed aggressively on laptops and students cried quietly over textbooks in the corner booths. Dean had spent most of the conversation reassuring you Tucker didn’t know anything, swearing repeatedly that if Tucker had known, the entire hockey house would’ve heard about it within twelve minutes. More importantly, he’d made sure you still wanted this and despite the embarrassment, the frustration and how badly your body still reacted whenever he looked at you too long, you did.

“Are you seriously not coming?” Allie paced dramatically across the apartment while speaking, changing outfits for what had to be the fourth time in under an hour. Both you and Hannah tracked her movements from the couch like spectators at a tennis match while she disappeared into her room only to emerge seconds later wearing something slightly tighter each time.

Hannah finally peeled her attention away from Allie to look at you instead.

“She’s right,” she agreed. “Exams are over. Maybe partying would actually help.”

You smiled lazily from your spot curled into the couch cushions, blanket draped across your legs while exhaustion sat heavy behind your eyes.

“What’ll help me is eight uninterrupted hours of sleep,” you informed them. “Which I plan on pursuing aggressively the second both of you leave.” Your mouth twitched slightly. “Now see some boys and make questionable use of your mouths elsewhere.”

Allie barked out a laugh loud enough to echo while Hannah groaned.

“When are we finding your rebound?” Allie asked as she finally settled on an outfit and bent down to tug on her boots.

“It’s too soon,” you decided immediately.

“It is,” Hannah agreed with a firm nod. “She doesn’t wanna think about men right now and we’re respecting that.”

You pointed gratefully toward her. “See? Emotional maturity.”

“Sure,” Allie snorted. “I’m still passing your Instagram around tonight though.” She grinned wickedly while crossing toward the couch. “You can decide what to do with the options later.” Before you could answer, she leaned down and squeezed you tightly against her side. “Don’t wait up for us.”

You watched them drag out the goodbye process intentionally, moving toward the door with exaggerated slowness like they expected you to suddenly change your mind and throw on heels at the last second.

You sighed and stood from the couch, physically herding them toward the exit. “Just go,” you laughed while they protested loudly.

“We tried,” Hannah reminded you with a smile while Allie opened the apartment door. “We’ll send you the address anyway.”

“I won’t change my mind.”

“You say that now...”

You waved them off anyway and finally shut the door behind them once they disappeared down the hallway already talking excitedly about shots and music and whatever terrible decisions the night would inevitably produce.

Silence settled across the apartment immediately afterward.

You exhaled slowly…now what? You considered your options while wandering aimlessly through the living space. You could curl up on the couch with your laptop and a movie or crawl into bed and disappear beneath blankets for twelve straight hours like a Victorian woman with mysterious exhaustion. Or…Your thoughts drifted elsewhere automatically, toward your room and the drawer beside your bed.

You grimaced slightly. Maybe tonight was the night you tried again, actually committed to figuring yourself out instead of giving up midway through frustration like usual. You’d bought enough toys over the years based entirely on optimistic reviews and late-night curiosity alone.

Were they even charged? You were approximately two steps away from your bedroom when knocking sounded at the front door.

You groaned at the sound. “Did you guys forget your condoms again?” you called out while turning toward the entrance. Honestly, it happened often enough that the assumption came naturally now.

You unlocked the door and pulled it open. Then blinked at who you saw. “Dean.”

Dean stood casually in the hallway wearing a baseball cap and dark sunglasses despite the fact it was nighttime indoors, which might’ve worked better if he wasn’t also carrying an enormous black bag beside him.

“I always carry condoms,” he informed you smugly.

Your face scrunched instantly as his answer only emphasized how thin the apartment walls actually were. You narrowed your eyes at him while glancing suspiciously down the hallway. 

“Why aren’t you at the party?”

Dean lowered the sunglasses enough to properly look at you over the frames.

You looked soft tonight, comfortable. Wearing sweatpants and an oversized shirt, hair messier than usual from lying around all day. The sight quickly made something warm settle low in his chest.

“Because I’m here with you.”

“No,” you corrected. “You wanted to be here with me.” You pointed vaguely toward campus. “Past tense…You should currently be at that party.”

“No can do.” Dean slipped smoothly past you before you could stop him, nudging the apartment door shut behind him with his foot.

Only then did you fully notice the bag. It was large, rectangular, black and rigid with no visible branding whatsoever. It completely ruined the whole incognito outfit.

Your eyes narrowed harder while Dean looked far too pleased with himself.

“I come bearing gifts,” he announced, then he walked straight toward your bedroom like he paid rent there.

“How did you know I didn’t go to the party?” you asked while following him toward your bedroom.

Dean set the bag carefully onto your bed before finally turning around, fingers hooking beneath the brim of his cap as he pulled it off. The sunglasses followed next, revealing eyes already fixed on you with far too much satisfaction.

“I have my sources.”

You grimaced again. “That sounds vaguely threatening.”

“Hannah asked me the other day to convince you to come out tonight.” He shrugged casually. “I didn’t.”

You crossed your arms. “Who says I would’ve agreed anyway?”

Dean smiled instantly. “Me.” The confidence in his answer came without hesitation. “I’m very persuasive.”

You rolled your eyes before your attention dragged back toward the massive black bag sitting suspiciously at the foot of your bed. “What is that?”

Dean glanced over his shoulder toward it. “Our entertainment for tonight.” His mouth twitched slightly. “Well…mine.”

You narrowed your eyes harder at him before stepping around him toward the bed. The bag gave nothing away from the outside, rigid and sleek and annoyingly mysterious.

Cautiously, you reached inside and your fingers brushed lace first. You blinked then slowly pulled the item free into the light between you both, pinching it delicately between two fingers like it might suddenly attack you.

“Lingerie?” you asked, genuinely confused.

Dean nodded once. “I had to get rid of the boxes,” he explained. “Turns out Agent Provocateur packaging isn’t exactly subtle.”

Your eyes widened immediately. “Agent Provocateur?” You stared at him in disbelief before looking back into the bag. “Are you insane?”

One by one, you started pulling more pieces out. Black lace…cream silk and tiny straps. Things so soft they barely felt real against your fingertips.

Dean watched your growing expression carefully and only then seemed to realize he may have gone slightly overboard. “I got lost on the website,” he admitted. “And then there was free shipping after a certain amount which felt financially irresponsible to ignore.”

You straightened slowly, still clutching one lace bodysuit in your hands while looking at him like he’d lost his damn mind.

“Explain to me,” you said carefully, “how exactly this counts as entertainment.”

“Besides the obvious?”

Your stare sharpened. Dean exhaled quietly before answering, his tone softening as the teasing faded from his expression.

“When you were on my lap the other day…” His eyes flickered briefly toward the floor before returning to you. “You stopped focusing on yourself after a while.”

Your fingers tightened slightly around the lace.

“You started trying to get me there instead,” he continued gently. “Like you were more worried about proving something than actually feeling good.”

Heat crept onto the nape of your neck because he was right. Dean noticed everything.

“And I get it,” he added quickly, voice staying careful. “Probably instinct. You wanted me to enjoy it.” His mouth twitched faintly. “Which I definitely did, by the way. Don’t start doubting that part.”

You stayed quiet while watching him and actually listened instead of acting on your urge to flee.

“Tonight,” he said after a beat, nodding lightly toward the lingerie scattered across your bed, “the lingerie can be for me.” His eyes moved back to yours. “So the rest can just be yours.”

The room went quiet afterward. The plan had probably sounded more coherent in Dean’s head at one in the morning while online shopping half-awake with his laptop balanced on his stomach but somewhere beneath the absurdity of it, you understood what he meant.

Lingerie wasn’t only about someone else seeing you in it, women bought it for themselves too, to feel pretty, desired and confident. Sometimes just to stand in front of the mirror and reclaim something private but eventually, with partners, it often became performative too, something shared and visual. Dean was trying to remove that pressure from everything else.

Your gaze drifted slowly back down toward the pile of lace but you still weren’t entirely sure what happened next. You tried things on and then, what?

Your voice lowered slightly. “What kind of mind games are you playing?”

You hoped it didn’t sound accusing because it wasn’t meant to. You were just struggling to process the fact Dean had seen through you so clearly after one failed attempt, that he’d gone and actually thought about it, considered it and returned with something tangible instead of empty reassurance and blind confidence.

Dean shook his head immediately. “No games.” His voice stayed soft and patient, ready to leave the second you told him this was too much. “Let’s just give it a shot.”

Silence stretched again before you finally reached for a pair of panties instead. The lace slid smoothly through your fingers as you lifted the panties between you both for further inspection.

Dean’s eyes dropped instantly and despite himself, one very clear thought crossed his mind.

‘Yeah. Definitely one of my favorites.’

“How do you even know these will fit?” you asked honestly. The fabric looked expensive enough to disintegrate if handled incorrectly, soft lace brushing against your fingertips while you inspected the tiny details stitched into it.

Dean opened his mouth…closed it and opened it again. “I’m…observant?”

Even he sounded unsure of the answer.

Your lips twitched as you bit back a laugh while digging through the pile until you found the matching bra, then gathered both pieces in your hands.

“Observant and persuasive,” you mused while backing toward the bathroom. “Let me know when there’s something substantial to add to that list.”

Dean nodded solemnly like you’d given him serious criticism to reflect on. “Will do.”

The bathroom door clicked shut behind you and the second it did, Dean exhaled sharply and looked down at himself...for fuck’s sake.

He adjusted himself miserably through his pants while staring at your closed bathroom door in defeat. Lately everything about you affected him differently, your voice, your teasing and the way you looked at him for half a second too long depending on the day.

It was becoming genuinely embarrassing.

Dean barely moved from the spot you’d left him in.

He stayed planted near the foot of your bed, one hand dragging occasionally through his hair while his eyes remained fixed on the bathroom door like staring hard enough would somehow let him see through it. Every few seconds he twitched awkwardly in his pants, dealing unsuccessfully with the consequences of occasionally hearing your hums through the thin wall while knowing exactly what you were changing into behind it.

Inside the bathroom, you stood frozen in front of the mirror for far longer than necessary.

You tried very hard not to think about how closely Dean must’ve paid attention to you over the years to somehow get the sizing exactly right because it fit perfectly.

The lace sat snug against your skin without pinching anywhere, soft black patterns curling over your chest and hugging your hips beautifully. The bra lifted your breasts enough to make your posture straighten instinctively while the matching panties rested low against your hips, delicate enough to feel expensive but comfortable enough not to make you tug at them every two seconds.

You looked good, not just tolerable under dim lights or acceptable after strategic positioning and reassurance and maybe that was what scared you most because now you had to walk back out there and let someone else see it too.

With one last glance toward your reflection, you finally reached for the doorknob and stepped back into your room.

Dean looked up immediately, the reaction was almost embarrassing.

He stopped breathing for half a second entirely, eyes dragging over you slowly enough to make heat climb straight into your throat. He barely blinked while following your movement across the room as you drifted toward your full-length mirror, fingertips lightly tracing the lace resting over your shoulders before moving lower toward the small details connecting the cups together.

The silence stretched thickly.

You kept looking at yourself mostly because looking directly at him felt dangerous right now, even as he moved behind you slowly without touching. He was just standing there close enough for warmth to gather along your back while his eyes followed yours through the reflection. Wherever you looked, he looked too, until eventually your gazes met in the mirror.

You swallowed. “What do you think?”

Dean inhaled deeply through his nose. “I think,” he said slowly, “Six Flags might be going out of business soon.”

Your brows lifted immediately before a quiet laugh escaped you despite yourself.

You turned around to face him fully then, stepping closer until only inches separated you both. Your hands settled carefully against the center of his chest, fingertips brushing lightly against the fabric of his shirt while you looked up at him.

Dean held your gaze steadily, too steadily, sometimes it genuinely felt like he could read your thoughts if he stared long enough. “What do you think?” he echoed softly.

You hummed quietly, eyes flickering downward toward his mouth before lifting back up again.

“I think…” Your hands began sliding slowly down his chest, fingertips grazing over the hard planes beneath his shirt one inch at a time. “Maybe…” Your voice softened further as your palms drifted lower. “I could show you something I actually know how to do.”

Dean’s jaw tightened as your fingers brushed the bulge straining against his pants.

“With my mouth,” you finished quietly.

You didn’t move afterward and neither did he.

In your head, the logic made sense. Dean already thought you were beautiful, so you didn’t need him witnessing your frustration firsthand too. You could give him something good instead, something you knew how to control.

For one dangerous second, he looked like he was genuinely considering it. Then Dean exhaled sharply and turned you around instead, guiding you gently back toward the mirror until your back rested against his chest.

A startled breath caught in your throat as your ass pressed unintentionally against the hard outline of his erection.

Your eyes met his again through the reflection.

“I don’t doubt you can do those things,” he murmured near your ear. “All of them.”

One of his hands settled carefully against your waist while the other slid slowly downward, fingertips brushing beneath the waistband of your panties enough to make your stomach tighten. 

His eyes never once left yours in the mirror. “So why do you?”

The reflection showed the two of you, a study in tension and longing. You could see the intensity in his eyes, the way he watched you not just with desire but with a focused, intentional kind of devotion.

His hand didn't push further, he stopped before his fingertips brushed the outer lips of your pussy, leaving a teasing spark of contact. He held himself there, gaze locking onto yours in the mirror, waiting. He wasn't going to take a single inch more without your explicit permission.

You felt your heart hammer against your ribs, chest heaving. You looked into his eyes and gave a small, shaky nod.

The moment you did, he slid deeper. His fingers glided through the slick already gathering between your thighs, parting you with a gentle pressure that could’ve made your toes curl. He didn't rush, he navigated the wet lips until his fingertip found the small, swollen bud of your clit. He began to circle it slowly with agonizingly steady rotations that sent ripples of electricity shooting straight to your core.

"Tell me what you see," he whispered, voice a low and gravelly vibration against your ear.

You swallowed hard, voice trembling as you focused on the reflection. "You...you touching me," you breathed.

As you spoke, you watched your own body react. Your breathing picked up, turning into shallow, jagged gasps. In the mirror, you saw your breasts heaving, the nipples peaking and hardening into tight, sensitive points through the lace of your bra. As if reading your thoughts, Dean’s other hand reached around, his fingers finding one breast and gripping it. He massaged the hardened peak, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger and you let out a sharp, involuntary swallow, head tilting back slightly.

"And what's at the end of me?" he asked, voice humming with a dark, sensual curiosity.

"Me," you whispered, the word barely leaving your lips.

"What else?" he pressed, fingers continuing that relentless, circling motion. He was forcing you to stay present, stripping away your ability to hide in your head or focus on his pleasure. He wanted you trapped in your own skin.

You stared at yourself, hyper-aware of every inch of your anatomy. "Beauty marks," you murmured, noticing the small moles on your thighs and torso that you usually ignored.

"And here?" he asked, his thumb flicking the tip of your nipple.

"Hardened nipples," you gasped, eyes fluttering.

"And on your skin..." he prompted, his fingers quickening their pace, the friction against your clit becoming more insistent and demanding.

"Goosebumps," you whimpered. You could see them breaking out across your shoulders and arms, a physical manifestation of the arousal peaking within you.

The sensory overload was dizzying. Every time you named a part of yourself, the pleasure seemed to intensify, as if acknowledging your own body was unlocking a door you'd kept bolted shut. Dean’s fingers were no longer just circling, they were fluttering, vibrating against your most sensitive spot with a precision that made your hips instinctively buck back against him. You felt the wetness flooding out of you and coating his fingers, making the sounds of his touch wet and explicit in the quiet room.

You tried desperately to keep your eyes locked on his in the mirror but as the pleasure climbed, the world began to blur. Your eyelids grew heavy, the edges of your vision darkening as the sensation centered entirely on the point where he was rubbing you. You started to moan, the sounds raw but still shy, escaping your throat without your permission. You pushed your backside harder against the rigid length of his erection, craving the friction, the completion.

The tension in your lower belly coiled tighter and tighter, a spring winding up to the point of snapping. You were right there, on the precipice, the beginning of an orgasm shimmering just out of reach. Your breath became a series of broken sobs as your body trembled in anticipation. Was this it?

"I think...I–" you started, voice breaking as the first wave of a climax seemed to form but just before it solidified, just as you were about to believe it would, Dean abruptly pulled his hand away.

The sudden void was shocking. You gasped, body jolting from the abrupt loss of stimulation, the orgasm denied at the very last second of creation. You were left vibrating, aching and halfway undone but before you could process the frustration, he gripped your waist and turned you around in his arms so you were facing him. 

Your eyes were wide, glazed with lust and confusion, chest heaving as you looked up at him.

"What the hell are you doing?" you asked, voice a breathless wreck.

Dean didn't answer immediately. He just looked at you, taking in the desperate hunger in your eyes. He gripped your hips firmly, knuckles white and began backing up toward the bed, pulling you with him.

"Trusting you to do it first," he murmured.

As the back of his knees hit the mattress, he let himself fall back, laying flat on his back and spreading his arms wide, leaving himself completely open and vulnerable to you.

You climbed over him, your movements determined, fueled by a desperate, humming need that had been wound tight in the mirror. You braced your knees against his sides, feeling the hard muscle of his thighs beneath you and planted one hand firmly on his chest. Beneath your palm, you could feel his heart hammering a frantic rhythm, a mirror to your own. With a renewed sense of determination, you slipped your other hand beneath the fabric of your panties, your fingers finding the slick, swollen heat of your pussy.

As you began to touch yourself, you closed your eyes for a moment, repeating the litany he had forced you to acknowledge in the mirror. You focused on the hyper-awareness he had instilled in you, turning that mental lens inward. You found your clit, already engorged and sensitive and began to circle it. Your breathing became ragged, each exhale a shaky shudder that vibrated through your entire frame.

You opened your eyes and looked down at your hand on his chest. You watched the way his pectorals heaved under your touch, his skin flushed and warm. Then, you felt his hands slide up your legs, his large palms gripping your thighs firmly. The sheer intensity of his gaze, the way he watched your every movement with a hunger that felt almost tangible, made a low moan escape your throat.

You had never reached this point before, never felt this close to the edge of something so profound. The pleasure was a rising tide, threatening to pull you under.

"Be patient," Dean breathed, his voice a low, grounding rumble that seemed to vibrate through the mattress and into your bones. "Listen to your body."

You nodded, eyes locked onto his and focused entirely on the sensation. You ignored the noise in your head, everything except the friction of your own fingers. You kept your hand working at a speed you liked, a steady, rhythmic pressure that built a coil of tension in your lower belly. You began to squirm, hips rocking in a slow, undulating motion against your own hand, chasing the spark.

In your haze of arousal, you shifted, pressing your soaking wet clothed cunt directly onto the rigid length of his erection through his pants. The sudden, blunt pressure against your clit sent a shockwave of pleasure through you and you let out a loud, uncontrolled moan. Dean groaned in response, a sound of pure, tortured restraint as he kept his hips from jerking upward to meet you.

You quickly lifted your hips again, holding them high in the air, body arching as you fought to maintain the rhythm.

“Holy fuck,” You were so close now, the world was narrowing down to the point where your fingers met your flesh.

"Attagirl. That's it," Dean whispered, voice thick with praise. "You're doing so good. Just like that...look at you, taking it all in. So fucking worth it."

His words were like fuel to the fire. The praise made you bolder and movements more frantic. You pressed harder, your fingers fluttering with an urgency that bordered on desperation until the tension reached a breaking point, a white-hot spark that suddenly ignited into a roaring flame.

The orgasm hit you like a physical blow. Your head snapped back, your spine arching as the first wave of pleasure crashed over you. Your lips parted and an unreal, unabashed sound, a high, keening cry of release slipped out of you, echoing through the room. It was your first time ever coming and the sensation was overwhelming. It didn't just peak and fade, it rolled through you in long, rhythmic pulses that seemed to last forever, shaking your entire body, leaving your muscles twitching and your mind a complete blank.

Dean didn't move. He looked at you, completely mesmerized, eyes wide and unblinking. He watched the way your throat worked as you gasped for air, the way your breasts heaved and the way your body shuddered under the aftershocks. Beneath you, his cock throbbed and twitched painfully against the constraint of his pants, a visible manifestation of the agony and ecstasy of watching you shatter.

As the waves finally subsided, leaving you limp and floating, you collapsed onto his chest with a sultry whine, skin damp with sweat and breathing heavy and synchronized with his as you caught your breath.

The silence of the room was thick, charged with the lingering electricity of the moment.

You swallowed hard while still catching your breath, voice a mere whisper against his skin. "Is it too soon to say that was the best orgasm I've ever had?"

Dean let out a heavy, uneven breath beneath you, the sound shuddering straight through his chest and into yours. Only then did his hands finally leave your thighs. Slowly, almost cautiously, they slid upward along your sides until his palms settled against your back.

Gone was the restraint that had kept his fingers tense and controlled earlier. Now he touched you lightly, almost reverently, fingertips drifting along the curve of your spine over the lace while he tried to steady his breathing. Every few seconds his hands flexed against you instinctively, like he still couldn’t quite believe what had just happened.

“Definitely the best one I’ve ever had,” he murmured.

His voice sounded wrecked, dizzy, like simply watching you come apart on top of him had pushed him somewhere dangerously close to losing it himself.

You lifted your head slowly from where it rested against his chest, pushing up enough to properly look at him.

Dean blinked up at you lazily, pupils completely blown.

You swallowed once. “Did you…?”

The question barely finished forming before Dean’s expression morphed into something sheepish and amused all at once. He swallowed too before nodding once against the mattress.

Your eyes widened slightly as his hand slid upward from your back, fingertips brushing softly along your jaw while he looked at you with an expression so openly fond it almost hurt to hold eye contact with him.

“Am I still not deserving of a kiss?” he asked quietly. Half joking, half absolutely not.

You hummed thoughtfully like you were genuinely considering it. “You want a cookie and a gold star too?”

Dean’s grin spread slowly across his face, matching yours instantly despite the pleasure still weighing down his features. “Better than the survey.”

You laughed softly through your nose before finally leaning down the rest of the way.

The kiss was warm, searing and long overdue.

Dean’s hand moved instantly to the back of your head, holding you in place like he’d been waiting weeks to finally do exactly this. It started slow for approximately two seconds, soft lips parting against yours carefully, almost disbelievingly, before weeks of tension snapped apart all at once.

You melted into him with a breathless sound as his mouth pressed harder against yours.

Dean kissed like he did everything else, thoroughly.

His thumb pushed lightly beneath your jaw, tilting your head back enough for him to deepen the kiss, tongue sliding against yours slow at first, exploratorily, before the restraint he’d been clinging to all night dissolved completely. The taste of him, the warmth of his mouth and the low groan that rumbled out of his chest when you kissed him back with equal desperation made your stomach tighten all over again.

The kiss quickly turned messy, hungry. You could barely catch your breath between them, mouths reconnecting instantly every time you pulled apart for air like neither of you could tolerate the distance anymore. Dean’s grip tightened on your hair as his other hand spread wide against your back, dragging you flush against him while his tongue swept against yours again, deeper this time, making heat rush straight through your body.

So much for rules.

Seems like Six Flags had just been privatised for a single Agent Provocateur wearer…indefinitely.

a/n: Comments, likes and reblogs really do mean the world and help more than you know! More stories will be added to the archive soon, so stay tuned for new content. Thank you so much for reading! 🤍

[iceyngi]

Caught

☄︎ Warnings: Oral (f! receiving) ☄︎ Pairing: F!Reader x John Logan ☄︎ Rating: Mature (🔞). Smut. ☄︎ Words: 1525 ☄︎ Summary: You're studying at your boyfriend's house when he decides it's time to fix a leaking pipe.

💭: my brother in CHRIST antonio cipriano is so fucking fine like wtffffff. this intially started off differently in my head but when i saw this pic i reworked it cause i am a WHORE for handy men🧍🏽‍♀️ xx

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

When you woke up in the morning and headed to the hockey house, you had every intention of this being a serious study session with your boyfriend. You wanted to be overly prepared for your midterms; you didn’t need any nasty surprises coming out of it.

However, every time your mind tries to drive your attention back to the open textbook in front of you, your gaze keeps shifting lower, completely captivated by the view on the floor.

Logan is shoved halfway under the kitchen sink.

He’s wearing a fitted maroon t-shirt that spreads tightly across his shoulders every time he strains against a stubborn pipe. Whenever he lifts his arms, the shirt lifts too, exposing the patch of skin just above where his faded jeans are hugging his waist. You see the patch of hair that leads down his stomach, like an arrow directing you to look at where one of your favourite body parts of him lies.

It's really not your fault. You really did have the best study intentions.

A stray smudge of grease is smudged against his forehead. And his brown curls look messy from rubbing against the bottom of the cabinet. He holds a massive pair of pliers in one hand, propping himself up on one elbow to look up at you with a cocky grin.

“Take a picture, babe. It’ll last longer,” he teases.

You shake your head out of your daydream, pressing your thighs together and shifting in your seat.

“I might just have to,” you reply, leaning your chin on your hand. “I forgot about how handy you were.”

Logan tosses the pliers into the open, rusted red toolbox by his hip.

“Yeah, the P-trap was leaking, and Tucker was complaining about the smell. Figured I’d take care of it. Didn’t realise it would turn you on so much otherwise I’d have done it earlier.” He’s got a stupid cocky grin on his face that he totally deserves to be wearing, you’re practically drooling.

“I never said it turned me on,” you lie.

There’s just something intensely, undeniably, absolutely attractive about seeing him handle tools, the effortless confidence with which he fixes things. You start thinking about all the things in your dorm that you could break, just so you could ask him to come and fix it.

Logan slides out from under the sink, standing up to wash his hands. He turns back to you, leaning against the counter as he dries his hands on a towel.

“You didn’t have to say it.” He sets the towel down beside him. “Come here.”

He curves his index finger, gesturing you over.

“Logan, we’re in the middle of the kitchen,” you protest weakly, even as you slide off of the barstool and walk over to him. “Anyone could walk in.”

“Garrett’s out with Hannah, Tucker’s with Sabrina, and Dean is... well who knows where Dean is but it’s not here,” Logan murmurs. He hooks his fingers into the belt loops of your shorts, tugging you flush against his chest. The faint scent of motor oil and copper mixed with his clean cologne wraps around you like a vice. “We’re fine.”

Before you can argue any further, his mouth crashes into yours. It’s demanding and makes you completely forget what you were even protesting about. You whimper into his mouth, your hands instantly finding their way into his soft hair and tugging at it.

His hands slide down to rest firmly on your ass. He gives it a little squeeze before giving it a slap.

“You have no idea how hard it was to focus on that pipe with you watching me like that,” he murmurs against your lips.

You yelp as Logan’s hands cup under your ass, lifting you up to set you on the kitchen counter. He begins to trail light kisses along the inside of your knee, his hands tightening on your hips.

“Logan,” you breathe out, your head tilting back, “We really shouldn’t. Someone is going to-.”

“I told you,” he interrupts, his breath warm against your skin as he moves his path higher. “Nobody is home.”

Pulling you closer to the edge of the counter, he pulls your shorts and underwear off swifty.

You lay back, your head resting on top of the long-forgotten textbooks and other stationary.

Logan spreads your legs further, appreciating how you’re already clenching without him even really doing anything.

“Logan~,” you breathe, your hand reaching down to try and find his head so you can push him into you.

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll take care of you.”

He lifts up your shirt, pressing a kiss to your bellybutton before kissing a slow trail down.

When you finally think he’s going to kiss you where you’re aching, he moves to your inner thigh, pressing kisses and sucking on the skin there.

“Logan~~,” you whine, louder this time. You’re becoming desperate for it.

“Say my name again,” he says against your thigh. He’s so close to where you need him, his warm breath fanning over you.

“Logan~, Logan~, Logan pleaseee,” you chant.

You bite back a moan as blows on your throbbing clit. He does that a few more times, each time leaning back to admire how your muscles contract.

Before you can beg him again, he finally takes your clit into his mouth. He’s gentle with it, giving you a soft suck before releasing it. He tongues his way down to your whole, lapping up your arousal.

“Mhmm, you taste so good, baby.” He swipes a finger up between your folds, coating his finger in your arousal. “Have a taste.”

He leans over, putting his finger in your mouth. Keeping your eyes firmly on him, you suck it into your mouth.

“See how good you taste?” He asks, his voice heavy with need.

You hum around him finger and he looks back at you with a proud look on your face.

Pulling his finger out of your mouth, he settles back between your legs. Lewd, wet, sounds fill the large room as he laps at your pussy.

Your back arches and your finders find his hair as he sucks on your clit again.

“You like that, baby?” He asks.

“Yes~ I’m dripping wet,” you respond.

Just as you start to feel the pleasure coiling, the heavy front door swings open, the sound echoing into the kitchen.

“Yo! Anyone home? I brought food.”

It’s Dean.

Panic hits you like a bucket of ice water. You try to scramble back on the counter, your face flushing a deep, vivid red.

“Logan! Move, it’s Dean!” You hiss frantically.

Instead of jumping up, Logan’s grip on your thighs only tightens. You can’t help but moan as he licks at you again.

Dean rounds the corner, a brown paper bag in one hand and half-eaten chip in the other. He stops dead, taking in the entire scene. You, breathless and dishevelled on top of the kitchen island, and Logan, face pinned between your knees.

Logan lifts his head to look at Dean, his chin and lips are glistening and there’s a line of spit connecting his lips to your pussy. You freeze, hiding your face in your hands.

Dean lets out a loud whoop!

“Well, well, well,” Dean sings, leaning casually against the wall. He casts his eyes over the tools on the floor. “I knew you were handy, Logan, but I didn’t know you offered full-service plumbing. I guess when duty calls...”

“Dean, oh my God, go away!” You squeak, face still hidden behind your hands.

“Hey, don’t mind me! You carry on.” Dean laughs, completely unbothered. “In the kitchen? Respect.”

Before Dean’s even gone, Logan face is already buried back between your legs.  

“See ya later, lovebirds!” Dean struts up the stairs, leaving the two of you alone.

You bite down on your forearm as Logan sucks on your clit again.

“Don’t go quiet on me now, let him hear how wet I get you.” There’s a glint in Logan’s eye, he obviously thrives on this.

The tension leaves your shoulders as Logan works two fingers into you. His tongue presses flat against your clit as he shakes it side to side. It doesn’t take long for the pleasure to build up again, his fingers scissoring and curving inside of you.

You’re babbling now, trying to find the words to articulate what you need from him, you’re on the edge, you’re so close. But he knows what you need and with one final flick of his tongue, electricity runs through your body.

You see stars under the force of your orgasm. Your entire body jerking as you scream Logan’s name.

He holds you close until your pulse begins to slow, telling you how beautiful you look when you cum.

He slowly pulls back just enough to look at you, a smug look of satisfaction on his still shiny face. He stands up, smoothing his shirt. The evidence of his excitement is clear.

He wiggles his eyebrows at you. Just before you’re about to speak, a loud shout echoes down the stairs.

“Hell yeah, Logan. Let’s goooo!” Dean yells through his closed bedroom door.

[jjtsu-ho3]

hot hot HOT

need a man to man-handles me too esp if its john logan. fuck.

[nchye]

heyyyy, how are u? i need something like Garrett × shy reader having the best sex of their lives. With him teasing her, and her being all shy.

That’s My Girl

⋆˚࿔ smutty blurb, [p in v, shy!reader, backshots, dirty talk, reader has glasses]

chye’s grimoire [masterlist]

Garrett flipped you onto your stomach without warning, his big hands gripping your hips and yanking them upward until your ass was high in the air and your chest pressed into the sheets. Your glasses slid halfway down your nose as you instinctively tried to hide your burning face against the mattress.

“Arch that back for me, baby,” he ordered, voice low and rough. One palm smoothed down your spine, pressing firmly until your ass was presented perfectly. “Good girl… fuck, look at this view.”

You felt completely exposed with your knees spread wide, back deeply arched, dripping pussy and ass on full display for him. The shy embarrassment made your cheeks flame hotter. You would never admit it, but it only made you wetter.

Garrett groaned appreciatively. “So fucking soaked. You love being like this for me, don’t you?” He gave your ass a firm smack, watching the way it jiggled, then soothed the sting with his palm. His thick cock slid between your cheeks, hot and heavy, teasing your slick folds without pushing in yet.

“Garrett…” you whimpered, pushing back against him despite your shyness.

He chuckled. “Patience, sweetheart. I want to enjoy how desperate this pretty pussy looks begging for me.” Finally, Garrett gripped the thick base of his cock, squeezing it as he dragged the swollen, leaking head up and down your soaked slit. He tapped it heavily against your swollen clit a few times, making your hips twitch and a needy whimper slip from your throat.

“Eeeeasy, baby,” he murmured, voice dark with lust. “Gonna give you every inch.”

He pressed the fat, bulbous head right against your entrance and started pushing in, agonizingly slow. You felt every single thick inch as he stretched you open in this deep angle. The wide crown popped inside first, forcing your pussy lips to part obscenely around his girth. Then came the rest of his heavy shaft, sliding deeper and deeper, dragging along every sensitive wall until the stretch bordered on overwhelming.

Your mouth fell open in a silent gasp. The new angle made him feel impossibly bigger, thicker, reaching places that had your toes curling and your eyes fluttering behind your fogged glasses. When his hips finally pressed flush against your ass, his heavy balls resting against your clit and his entire cock buried to the hilt inside your clenching heat, a loud, broken moan tore from your throat.

“Fuuuck” you whimpered, fingers clawing desperately at the sheets, trying to ground yourself as your pussy fluttered and pulsed around his throbbing length.

Garrett let out a low, guttural groan, his fingers digging harder into your hips. “That’s it… feel that? So fucking full of me. This tight little pussy is swallowing every inch like it was made for my cock.” He rocked into you. “Shit, baby,” he breathed. “You’re clenching so tight around me. This pussy was made for me”

He started thrusting with long, deep strokes at first, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in. The wet, filthy sound of skin slapping skin grew louder as he picked up rhythm. Each powerful thrust nudged against that sensitive spot deep inside you, making your toes curl and your glasses fog up even more. His hands gripped your hips hard enough to leave marks, pulling you back onto his cock with every forward snap of his hips. Your ass rippled with the force of it, your soaked pussy making obscene squelching noises around his thick length.

“Listen to how wet you are,” he teased, voice strained with pleasure. “Taking every inch like a good little shy slut. You like getting fucked like this? Letting me ruin you?”

You could only moan in response, too overwhelmed to form words. He reached around and rubbed your swollen clit in tight, slick circles, never slowing his relentless pounding. Your legs started shaking.

Garrett leaned over your back, one hand bracing beside your head while the other kept torturing your clit. His mouth brushed your ear. “Don’t hide those pretty moans. I want to hear how good my cock feels splitting you open.”

He straightened up again, grabbed a fistful of your hair, not too rough, just enough to pull your head back slightly, and fucked you harder. Deep, punishing strokes that made your whole body jolt forward. Your breasts swung beneath you, nipples brushing the sheets with every thrust. Sweat slicked your skin. Your glasses were completely fogged, the world blurry except for the overwhelming sensation of his thick cock driving into you over and over. The pressure built fast and intense. Your pussy fluttered and clenched around him, juices coating his balls as they slapped against your clit with every brutal thrust.

“I can’t, Garrett. It’s too much…” you gasped, voice breaking.

“Not enough,” he growled, slamming into you even harder. “Come on this cock, baby. Let me feel you fall apart.”

Your orgasm crashed over you like a violent wave. You cried out sharply, pussy spasming wildly around his thrusting cock as pure ecstasy ripped through your body. Your legs shook uncontrollably, ass pushing back against him as you came hard, gushing around his length.

But Garrett didn’t stop. He fucked you straight through it, chasing his own pleasure with short, deep, punishing strokes. “Fuck, that’s it… good girl,” he groaned. “Squeeze my cock just like that.”

The overstimulation had you whimpering and twitching, but the pleasure kept building again, sharper this time. Tears of overwhelming bliss pricked your eyes behind your foggy glasses. “I didn’t know…” you sobbed brokenly, voice hoarse. “Garrett, oh my god, I didn’t know it could be like this… fuck, I’m gonna come again…" Your second orgasm hit even harder, ripping a loud, shattered moan from your throat as your pussy clamped down on him like a vice. That finally pushed him over the edge.

Garrett’s thrusts grew erratic and desperate, his grip on your hips tightening. With a deep, guttural groan, he yanked your upper body upright, pulling your back flush against his sweaty chest. One strong arm banded around your waist to hold you there while his other hand reached up, gently pushing your fogged glasses back up your nose.

He pressed his mouth to your ear, breath hot and ragged.

Just as he started to come, you pushed back against him, ass pressing firmly into his hips, taking him even deeper despite the overwhelming pleasure. A needy little whimper escaped you as you rocked back to meet his grinding cock. Garrett groaned loudly, clearly surprised and thrilled. “Fuck… that’s my girl,” he rasped, voice thick with pride and lust. “Look at you pushing this pretty ass back on me… my shy little thing finally letting go and fucking herself on my cock. I’m so fucking proud of you, baby.”

His cock throbbed hard inside you as he came, thick, hot spurts of cum flooding your pulsing pussy in heavy pulses. He kept grinding up into you with slow, filthy rolls of his hips, pushing every drop deeper while cum leaked out around his thick shaft and dripped messily down your thighs.

“Yes, just like that,” he praised against your hair, kissing the side of your head tenderly, then your temple, then lower to your neck. “Keep pushing back on me while I fill you up. Such a good fucking girl for me… taking me like a champ. That’s it, sweetheart, milk me with that tight pussy.”

Even through his orgasm, his voice stayed low and filthy, laced with genuine pride. “You feel so fucking good squeezing me like this. My perfect girl.”