𐙚

❛ my cherries and wine, rosemary and thyme ❜

[lvstqrs]

❛ i want ya,

i'll never tell you that. ❜

psd.

jeri or jer. xx. she/her/hers.

sam winchester lovebot. rafe cameron obsessed.

18+ minors do not interact. bella kay lover. cherries and mint gum !

masterlist.  taglist.  requests  open.  asks  open.  consider  supporting  me  on  ko-fi!

my psds!

[lvstqrs]

can you not tag your "golden reader" as x reader? it's clearly an oc. i read the first part and you were describing the "reader" as someone with freckles, i have nothing against freckles or ocs. just tag them correctly. it's quite annoying seeing fics that aren't tagged properly. thanks.

i'm just a little confused because i feel like reader profiles are pretty popular on here lol. i mean, sure, absolutely i can! however, i immediately put a link to the golden reader profile at the beginning of each part, so again, just a little confused. no shade no hate because i'm totally probably in the wrong but maybe i've just confused what reader profiles tag as?

and if i have, please tell me what to properly tag reader profiles as because they're not ocs

or maybe it is and i'm an idiot. idk for me i just think ocs have names and this is a reader profile so i feel as if it's different. although, i do see what you're saying.

[lvstqrs]

hey yall not my usual post but i need some help. my friend recently got her leg amputated and is struggling really bad with mobility aid money/medical money and just general life expenses. is there anything from me yall would be willing to buy?

i know times are tough so i don’t expect people to just donate money, but i’d really like to help her. let me know!

some things i can do: i make edits, graphics, i can make gifs if need be although im still learning all that HAHA, i can write, i sell ae and vsp colorings on my ko-fi.

[lvstqrs]

hey yall not my usual post but i need some help. my friend recently got her leg amputated and is struggling really bad with mobility aid money/medical money and just general life expenses. is there anything from me yall would be willing to buy?

i know times are tough so i don’t expect people to just donate money, but i’d really like to help her. let me know!

some things i can do: i make edits, graphics, i can make gifs if need be although im still learning all that HAHA, i can write, i sell ae and vsp colorings on my ko-fi. im also a beginner artist and can make decently okay fruit stickers lol

please share and comment!

[lvstqrs]

oh, honey ! - john logan

pairing ! john logan x fem!reader.

summary ! allie gives you some honey packets. somehow, you and logan end up trying them.

warnings ! mdni 18+. smut. unprotected sex. honey packets/aphrodisiacs. biting(mild). crazy amount of horniness. john logan whimpers and whines and that's canon to me. no use of y/n. not realistic in the sense of aphrodisiacs but who cares? not me ! john logan is a munch.

wc ! 2.2k

author's note ! oh this was fun. very, very fun.

to be added to my taglist.

completely inspired by @kissmeuntil !!

The idea was ridiculous. Allie was ridiculous. She was sitting in front of you in your dorm, holding up a packet of honey. A packet of honey that supposedly made you horny. You were calling bullshit.

"It's not supposed to work unless you're attracted to the person, but still. Fun!"

You giggled slightly, shaking your head. "So, you and Dean gonna try it?"

She shrugged. "Or you could." She had a twinkle of mischief in her eye. You furrowed your brows.

"With who? Casper?"

Allie rolled her eyes playfully. "Logan, silly."

Your mouth fell open, and you sputtered out some incoherent words, before getting your shit together. "John and I are friends. Friends."

Allie gave you a knowing look. "Mhm." She held the packet closer to you. "I have another one. You should do it with him. Find out if it's all really what it seems."

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. "That's ridiculous. We're friends, and- and even then, those stupid honeys don't work."  

Allie smiled, standing up. She went over to her purse, pulling out another packet and putting both on your desk. "Just in case."

You huffed.

Yeah, right.

  ++

  The honey packets were in your bag. Why? You had no idea. Not really. You knew it was stupid, and the chance of them actually working—whether that be because you weren't attracted to each other or because they were just straight bogus—was low.

Still, they were there, and you were on John's bed, scrolling through your phone as he did some sort of homework that he clearly didn't want to do. Eventually, he huffed, tossing his pen on the desk. "Okay, I give up. What should we do before my head explodes?"

He turned around in his chair, staring at you. You looked up, shrugging. "I dunno."

He gave you an unimpressed look. "There's not one thing in that chaotic mind of yours that has your interest?"

There was one thing. One stupid, ridiculously dumb thing. But it was there, and you couldn't get rid of it. John picked up on it before you could even deny anything. "What is it?"

You huffed, rolling your eyes. "Honey."

"Honey?"

"Honey."

He chuckled, shaking his head confusedly. "What?"

"Allie gave me some stupid honey packets. Told me to test them out and give her the results."

The pieces clicked quickly. He'd heard of them before. Of course he had, he was a college hockey player after all. His throat worked. "Oh." A pause, before he shrugged. "Do you have them?"

You almost laughed. Straight up cackled at the mere idea of him entertaining this. "You're serious?"

"Why not? What's the worst that could happen? I doubt they work."

"That's what I said. Allie insists otherwise."

"Well, let's find out."

You swallowed. This was not happening. You were not about to take horny honey with John Logan. Except, you were. He was willing. He was more than willing. You were dizzy from it. You let out a breathy laugh, leaning down and grabbing your purse off the floor.

You reached inside, searching until you found them. You pulled them out, tossing one to John. "This is stupid," you commented, but still, you were opening your packet. The honey was sweet on your tongue with some sort of bitter taste involved, but it wasn't overpowering.

John did the same thing until both of your packets were empty. You tossed your purse on the floor, standing up and throwing the trash away in his mini-trashcan by his desk.

He looked up at you from his seat. "Now we wait."

"Now we wait," you repeated, going back over to his bed.

John followed, plopping down next to you and pulling out his phone. Both of you stayed silent, a little too anxious over what may happen, but still willing to do it. You scrolled aimlessly on your phone for about thirty minutes before you started to feel weird.

Not a bad weird, but you were hyperaware. Hyperaware of every time he shifted next to you, every breath that was a little too deep. Your thighs squished together a bit because you were feeling a little tingle in your core.

Fuck.

Oh, fuck.

The realization that the honey packets were working made you swallow. You slowly looked at John, and he was already staring at you. "Oh," he said softly.

You swallowed. "Yeah."

The room was silent. Still. Waiting for your next move. Did you leave? Did you run away from the situation and deal with your problem alone?

Part of you wanted to. Hell, you really wanted to.

But the bigger part, the hornier part, just wanted him. You swallowed again, head snapping forward to look at his closed door. It was locked, too. He'd done that after Dean walked in twice for stupid shit and caused him to lose focus.

Now, it felt different. There were no interruptions. Nothing to stop this.

You swore you heard him whine, but the sound was so quiet and caught in his throat that you couldn't be sure. "What do we—"

"C'mere," he interrupted, his voice deep and strained like he was holding himself back from something. You looked at him again. His jaw was tight.

You put your phone down, scooting closer. He shook his head. "Come here."

He grabbed your arms, yanking you onto his lap in one swift motion. You gasped, biting your lip at the feeling of him under you. Hard and aching and, fuck — he was big.

You could feel it.

His hands fell to your hips, gripping you tightly as he stared directly into your soul. His eyes were dark, pupils blown and gaze determined. "I feel like I'm going to explode," he grumbled, head falling back as your hands gently grazed over his shoulders. "Fuck."

"Yeah," you whispered.

"Do you want this?"

You nodded. He shook his head, jaw working as he held himself back. "Not the sex. I know you want the sex. That's the point. Do you want it with me?"

You sucked in a breath. "I wouldn't have taken that stupid thing if I didn't."

You barely got the words out before he was on you, his tongue deep in your mouth as he forced your hips to move against his. He whined into your mouth, the kiss messy and deep as you moaned, grasping his shoulders properly.

You could feel how soaked you were, and every grind against his hard cock made you wetter. It made everything more difficult to control. You weren't high, but you felt like it. Not because of what you took but because you were grinding against John Logan's dick.

He pulled you into his chest, holding you against him as you continued rocking your hips over his. He moaned lowly, teeth grazing your shoulder blade. "Oh, fuck," you whined, hand slipping into his hair and tugging softly.

He groaned, teeth sinking a little deeper. Suddenly, he pulled back, flipping you over so that you were on your back and he was hovering over you. He panted as he looked down at you. You'd never seen him so hungry for something before.

It caused your panties to be even wetter. He rested back on his knees, quickly shedding his shirt. His hands went to your shorts, undoing the button and zipper quickly, before yanking them down. You gasped as you felt the cool air over your soaked panties, and he groaned at the sight.

"Fucking hell," he murmured, immediately leaning down and pressing kisses to your thighs. Rough and desperate ones, like he was trying to devour you. He yanked your panties down, wasting no time as he pressed his tongue flat against your clit, moaning.

You whined, back bowing slightly as your hands flew to his hair. His movements were rushed, but experienced. He knew what he was doing. His tongue flicked over your clit before his lips sealed around it, sucking roughly. "Oh — fuck!"

He hummed, gripping your thigh and rubbing his thumb across the sensitive skin. His other hand came down, two fingers teasing your entrance. He pulled back slightly, blowing air over your clit. "Fuck, look at this pretty pussy," he murmured, shoving two fingers into you slowly.

You gasped, gripping his hair tighter. Everything felt more intense than it ever had, and you weren't sure how you were going to handle this. But you wanted it. You wanted it so bad.

"So fucking tight. So fucking perfect." Then his mouth was on you again, his fingers working in time with his tongue to bring you closer and closer to climax.

You moaned his name, tugging on his hair and trying to get him closer as your hips bucked into him. And then he was pulling away and you were whining, eyes opening to look at him as you panted. His face was slick with your wetness and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

He moved up, thumb coming up to your lip and forcing your mouth open. He slid his fingers that were inside you moments ago into your mouth. You whined, sealing your lips around them and sucking them clean. He groaned. "Atta girl."

He pulled his fingers out, leaning down and capturing your lips in a heated kiss as he pressed into you, gently rolling his hips over yours, your slick coating his sweatpants. You gasped into his lips, pulling him closer and pushing your tongue deeper into his mouth.

"John —"

"I know, baby," he murmured, pulling back long enough to pull down his sweatpants and boxers. Then he was back on you, kissing you as he grabbed his cock, rubbing the tip up and down your slit. "Shit, you're so wet."

"Mhm," you moaned, brain blanking as you felt his cock on you. You wrapped your legs around his waist, crying out softly as he pushed the tip in you. "Oh —"

"Fuckkk, mhm," he murmured into your lips, rolling his hips and pushing in deeper. "Holy shit, baby."

"John, I — fuck, you're so —" You moaned out, words becoming incoherent as he bottomed out, pressing so deep inside you that you couldn't breathe in the best way.

"Shh, you're taking it so well for me. Such a good girl." He dragged his hand down, pulling your shirt up to press his hand over the bulge in your tummy. "Feel that? Fuck, I'm so deep, hm?"

You nodded frantically, head falling back against the pillow. He hadn't moved yet, and fuck, it was torture waiting. You needed him to move. "Please," you whimpered.

He hummed, hand slipping down further, thumb pressing to your clit, forcing a moan from deep in your throat. You knew he was just as desperate, but somehow, he was far more in control. "Please what?"

"Please fuck me. Move."

He rolled his hips once. Twice. And then stopped. You cried out, feeling his chain around his neck brushing against your skin as he leaned down. His breath brushed past your ear as he whispered, "I've been thinking 'bout this for a long time, baby."

You moaned, pulling him back enough to see his face. "Me too." And then you were kissing him, softer but still desperate. You needed this, and clearly, so did he.

He groaned, his hips starting to move fluidly now. Deep, slow thrusts that had your toes curling and your back bowing at the feel of him dragging against your walls over and over. "Fuck — so fucking good."

He grabbed your legs, tossing them over his shoulders and practically bending you in half as he did so. You cried out, loud enough that you were sure the guys heard. Right now, you didn't care. "That's it, baby. Let me hear you."

He was moving faster now. Deeper, if that were possible. Your legs were shaking and tears were forming in your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure of it all. John's lips were all over your legs, teeth nipping at skin as he held them in place, fucking into you with a force you weren't sure you've ever had before.

Moans and whimpers were escaping you at an increasing rate as you felt your orgasm closing in. You tried to warn him but everything was coming out in sputters as your brain melted into a pile of nothing because of him.

"Oh, fuck, you're squeezing me so tight," he groaned, hips jerking forward harder. You sobbed softly, hands gripping the sheets as your orgasm started.

Wave after wave of pleasure hit you so hard you were seeing stars, but he didn't stop. No, he fucked you through it, even as you pulsed around him and even as tears fell down your face. He was right there, working you through it all.

"Fuck — fuck!" He moaned, hips stuttering as he twitched. Neither of you were really worried in the moment about him coming inside of you. It just happened. You moaned as he filled you up, his hips slowing but not stopping as he dropped your legs, leaning down and kissing you as he worked himself through his orgasm.

You moaned, cupping his jaw as your legs twitched from his continuous thrusts. He wasn't stopping, even as you'd both came and everything felt insanely intense, he wasn't stopping. You didn't want him to.

His tongue slipped into your mouth, his body shaky from overstimulating himself. "Fuck — you feel too good," he moaned softly, lips trailing down to your neck. "Too fucking perfect."

You whimpered, nodding as tears slipping down your cheeks from the amount of pleasure coursing through you. "We're gonna be here a while," he murmured.

You let out a breathy laugh that turned into a moan as he picked up his pace. "Mhm," you hummed.

Fuck, you were grateful for Allie's stupid honey packets right about now.

[lvstqrs]

puhlease i’m a star

[ephmeralss]

𝑻𝑨𝑳𝑲𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑩𝑶𝑫𝒀...𝐣. 𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧

.✦ ݁˖ john logan x lavender!reader.ᐟ

summary   .ᐟ   your   car   breaks   down   and   you   go   see   your   favorite   mechanic.

contains   .ᐟ   p   in   v   (unprotected), creampie,  fingering,   use   of   pet   names,   auto   shop   sex,   “atta   girl”   abused   in   this   LMFAO.

wc   .ᐟ   1.7k

authors   note   .ᐟ   hes   so   i   need   him   so   hes   so   im   so.

Your  car  screeched  slowly  along  the  street  you  knew  so  well,  your  hazards  blinking  as  you  took  a  turn  entirely  too  cautiously  into  the  Logan  &  Sons  auto  shop.

Your  car  was  a  piece  of  shit.  Everyone  knew  it.  You  knew  it,  your  siblings  knew  it,  your  parents  knew  it,  hell,  even  Logan  knew  it.

But  he  refused  to  give  up  on  it.

Even  as  he  walked  over  to  your  car,  a  layer  of  sweat  shining  over  his  biceps,  hands  coated  in  motor  oil,  bandana  tied  around  his  head,  and  leaned  into  your  open  window.  "Break  down  again?"

You  could  feel  your  cheeks  getting  hot  out  of  embarrassment.  "I  think  Linda  is  on  her  last  life."  you  scrunched  your  nose,  your  chipped  black  nails  tapping  against  the  steering  wheel,  Paramore  playing  faintly  through  your  fucked  up  radio.  "She's  a  lost  cause,  John."  You  frowned.  Even  if  it  was  a  piece  of  shit,  you  loved  your  car.

Logan  shook  his  head,  smiling  at  you  with  that  same  smile  he'd  give  every  time  you  came  into  the  shop.  That  knowing  one  that  made  you  want  to  kiss  him  as  much  as  it  made  you  want  to  smack  him.  "Nah,  Linda's  still  got  some  fight  in  her."  He  patted  the  hood  of  your  black  2008  Toyota  Camry  as  he  opened  your  door  with  his  other  hand,  ever  the  gentleman.

She  had  scratches  and  dents,  and  the  AC  barely  worked  on  a  good  day,  but  she  was  yours,  and  you  were  happy  he  saw  it  the  way  you  did.  You  crawled  out  of  the  front  seat  after  pulling  the  key  out  of  the  ignition  and  finding  your  usual  spot  on  his  work  desk.  You  were  here  more  often  than  you  were  anywhere  else,  including  school.

"She's  not  even  lasting  a  week  anymore,  Lo.  I  don't  think  she  has  much  life  left  in  her."  You  swung  your  legs  beneath  you,  watching  as  he  reached  into  your  car  and  popped  the  hood.

He  tilted  his  head,  pointing  at  you.  "She's  got  plenty  of  life  left  in  her.  You  doubt  my  skills,  that  hurts."  He  held  an  offended  hand  to  his  chest,  you  rolled  your  eyes.  "I  can  give  her  another  two  months  of  life,  minimum." 

You  raised  an  eyebrow  as  he  moved  closer  to  you,  planting  his  palms  on  the  table  on  either  side  of  your  hips  after  cleaning  them  off  with  a  wet  wipe.  You  tried  your  best  not  to  squirm  beneath  his  heat  but  it  was  hard  not  to.  The  two  of  you  had  this  thing.  It  was  hard  to  explain  and  impossible  to  label.  The  best  way  you  could  describe  it  was  really  close  friends  who  occasionally  fucked.  "Mhm,  that's  what  you  said  last  week."

Logan  smiled  and  something  fluttered  deep  in  your  belly.  He  moved  his  head  from  side  to  side  like  he  was  considering  what  you  said.  "Yeah,  well,  I  was  bluffing  last  week  and  I  know  what  the  problem  is  now." 

You  hummed,  narrowing  your  eyes  as  you  poked  his  side.  "Oh,  do  you  know?"

He  patted  your  hip  with  his  fingers,  sending  a  jolt  of  tingles  down  your  spine,  something  that  usually  happened  when  he  touched  you.  "Oh,  yeah.  Some  TLC  and  she'll  be  right  back  to  her  charming  self,  angel." 

You  bit  the  corner  of  your  bottom  lip. Angel.  The  nickname  he  had  for  you  since  the  first  time  you  brought  your  car  to  him  because  one  of  your  best  friends,  John  Tucker,  advised  you  to.  It  was  an  addictive  feeling,  the  way  your  breath  caught  in  your  lungs  when  he  said  it  in  that  gravely  tone.

You  remembered  the  first  time  he  said  it  to  you  when  he  was  balls  deep  in  you,  you  didn't  think  you'd  ever  come  that  hard  in  your  life.  As  if  he  could  read  your  thoughts,  his  eyes  darkened  and  he  clicked  his  tongue.  "Get  a  handle  on  that  mind  of  yours  or  else  I  won't  be  fixing  your  car  tonight."  He  tucked  a  piece  of  your  purple  hair  out  of  your  face.

You  giggled,  wrapping  your  arms  around  his  neck,  legs  locking  around  his  waist.  He  didn't  hesitate  to  grip  onto  your  thighs.  "Is  that  a  bad  thing?"  You  squinted  like  you  were  genuinely  asking.

He  let  out  a  huff  as  you  planted  a  wisp  of  a  kiss  on  the  corner  of  his  mouth,  his  stubble  deliciously  scratchy.  "I'm  not  gonna  be  nice,  angel,"  he  groaned  out  against  your  lips  as  he  yanked  your  hips  to  the  edge  of  the  table,  pressing  you  right  up  next  to  him.

You  smiled,  already  drunk  on  the  tension  collecting  in  the  air  between  the  two  of  you,  making  it  thick  and  suffocating  in  the  best  way  possible.  "I  don't  want  you  to  be."

That  was  all  he  needed.  Before  you  could  even  process  what  was  happening,  he  was  pulling  your  shorts  and  ripped  black  tights  off  of  your  body,  discarding  them  next  to  the  shoes  you  didn't  even  notice  he  had  untied  and  shoved  off  of  you.

Your  drawn-on,  stained,  well-loved,  black  converse  were  plopped  onto  the  floor,  completely  forgotten  as  his  thumb  pressed  against  your  clit  through  your  underwear.  You  gasped,  your  nails  digging  into  his  shoulders  as  your  head  fell  back  against  the  wall  of  tools  behind  you,  the  metals  clanking  together.

He  buried  his  face  into  the  crook  of  your  neck,  mouth  attacking  any  inch  of  skin  he  could  find.  "You  always  smell  so  fuckin'  good,  angel."  You  weren't  shy  when  it  came  to  sex...until  you  started  having  sex  with  John  Logan.  He  had  a  way  of  making  you  blush  and  giggle  in  a  way  you  never  had  before.

His  fingers  moved  with  expertise,  having  already  learned  what  you  like  and  what  made  you  squirm.  You  pushed  his  upper  half  away  just  enough  to  yank  off  his  tank  top,  hearing  a  tearing  sound  in  your  haste,  neither  of  you  cared.  His  lips  found  yours  once  he  was  bare  from  the  waist  up,  his  free  hand  moving  to  grip  a  portion  of  your  hair,  tugging  from  the  root  and  forcing  a  moan  out  of  your  throat.

The  small  twinge  of  pain  made  your  arousal  that  much  worse.  "Missed  you,"  you  whined  against  his  lips,  hands  moving  for  his  belt  next.  The  two  of  you  saw  each  other  more  than  anyone  else  but  you  hadn't  done  anything  more  than  work  on  your  car  in  almost  a  month.  You  were  starting  to  get  antsy  and  this  was  exactly  what  you  needed.

Logan  laughed  against  your  lips,  fingertips  hooking  under  the  waistband  of  your  panties  and  carefully  pulling  them  down  your  legs,  remembering  the  last  time  he  accidentally  ripped  them  and  upset  you  because  they  were  your  favorite  pair.  "I've  been  right  here,  sweetheart."

You  rolled  your  eyes  playfully,  cursing  when  he  slid  a  finger  easily  into  you,  your  wetness  making  the  glide  easy.  "You  know  that's  not  what  I  meant..."  you  whined  as  he  added  a  second,  letting  you  work  on  getting  his  belt  and  jeans  undone.  You  could  feel  how  hard  he  was  through  the  denim  and  it  was  almost  making  your  mouth  water.

Logan  hummed,  pulling  his  fingers  out,  leaving  you  empty  and  wanting  before  he  gripped  your  jaw,  pressing  the  two  fingers  against  your  tongue.  "Bratty  today."

You  wanted  to  remark,  you  truly  did  but  you  were  high  on  him.  High  on  this  heady  feeling  as  you  closed  your  lips  around  his  fingers  and  sucked  them  clean  of  you.  "Atta  girl...you're  so  fuckin'  gorgeous,  sweetheart."

You  moaned  as  he  slid  his  fingers  out  of  your  mouth,  replacing  them  with  his  tongue  as  he  pulled  your  shirt  up  just  enough  to  free  your  tits.  His  breathing  grew  heavier  at  the  thought  of  you  not  wearing  a  bra  as  your  fingers  finished  with  his  belt,  hooking  them  beneath  the  fabric  and  shoving  them  down  his  hips.

He  kicked  them  away,  picking  you  up  off  the  table  effortlessly,  a  perk  of  having  a  hockey  man,  and  flipping  you  around  to  press  your  chest  against  the  surface  of  the  desk.  You  whimpered,  forced  on  your  toes  to  stay  at  level  with  his  hips.  You  felt  his  chest  lean  over  your  back,  covering  you  almost  entirely.

You  swore  you  were  going  to  lose  your  mind  and  he  hadn't  even  fucked  you  yet.  "Open  your  legs,  baby..."  When  you  followed  his  instructions,  he  groaned  against  your  ear,  one  hand  clasped  around  your  hip  while  the  other  tangled  in  your  hair.  "Good  girl...so  so  good  f'me."

He  barely  gave  you  a  second  before  he  was  pressing  into  you.  Your  moan  got  caught  in  your  throat  as  he  stretched  you  the  way  you  had  been  craving  for  almost  a  month.  "Fuck,  feel  so  good."  He  gritted  out,  pushing  until  his  pelvis  was  flesh  with  your  ass.

Your  eyes  rolled,  your  toes  already  aching  from  the  arch  in  your  feet,  your  pussy  deliciously  filled  and  pulsing  around  him.  You  were  already  so  close  and  he  had  barely  done  anything.  "Hold  onto  the  table  for  me,  sweet  girl."

You  fucking  loved  it  when  he  talked  you  through  these  things,  and  he  knew  it.  You  nodded  as  best  you  could  and  did  as  asked.  "Atta  girl."  he  growled  into  your  ear,  the  hairs  on  your  arms  standing  on  end  as  goosebumps  traveled  all  over  your  body.

And  then  he  was  fucking  you  like  there  was  going  to  be  no  tomorrow.  Your  sounds  echoed  in  the  garage,  your  fingers  white-knuckling  the  desk  with  each  thrust.  It  felt  like  you  were  in  a  different  solar  system.

You  were  on  the  cusp  before  you  were  even  ready  for  it,  and  he  knew  that,  he  always  knew  that.  "John—"  you  managed  out  past  your  moans.

"I  know,  I  know,  baby.  Where  do  you  want  it?"  He  asked,  his  pace  never  letting  up  as  one  hand  traveled  around  your  body  and  found  your  clit,  rubbing  in  tight  circles.  You  saw  stars.

"Fuck,  inside!"  You  cried  out,  your  orgasm  beginning  to  take  hold.  The  hand  gripping  your  hair  yanked  and  crushed  your  mouth  to  his,  stretching  your  back  at  an  angle  you  didn't  know  you  could  get.

The  second  you  came,  white  burst  behind  your  lids,  pleasure  melting  through  your  body  as  your  pussy  convulsed  around  his  cock,  wanting  him  closer  if  that  was  even  possible.  It  didn't  take  long  before  he  was  tumbling  over  the  edge,  shooting  load  after  load  deep  inside  of  you.

He  made  noises  that  would  stay  with  you  long  after  he  pulled  out,  long  after  his  come  dripped  down  your  thighs,  long  after  he  cleaned  you  up,  and  way  long  after  he  kissed  your  forehead  and  said,  "That's  my  girl." 

[lvstqrs]

stay - dean di laurentis

pairing ! dean di laurentis x golden!reader

summary ! dean stays over for the first time.

warnings ! fluff. mild talk of insecurities. dean is downbad and so is golden.

wc ! 1k

author's note ! it's here!! part three!! i love them so bad.

to be added to my taglist.

part one. part two.

The first night you and Dean almost stayed with each other, it was messy. After Block Party, and you were a little drunk. So was he. Logan bunked you two together in Dean's room and called it a night, but even drunk you was scared.

Staying over was serious. It was real.

You weren't sure if things were like that yet. You didn't want to get your hopes up. So when Dean passed out basically right after hitting the bed, you only felt a little bad when you made your way downstairs and found a spot on the couch.

When you'd woken up the next day, there was a blanket over you and Tucker was next to you playing a video game. You hadn't asked about Dean, but he told you that he was out back working out anyway.

You didn't have a hangover, which you were grateful for, but you did feel a little guilty. It wasn't like you didn't want to stay with Dean, quite the opposite, but it was a scary feeling. You were trying to make sure that you didn't get in over your head.

Dean hadn't mentioned it, you couldn't even tell if he had really noticed, but there was something in his eye that day like he had. It made you feel worse. But, still, you knew it was better this way.

No risk.

The second time was different than the first. It was your house and way past midnight. You two had been up watching movies and talking. When you finally realized the time, you were sleepy and Dean noticed.

He'd been sleepy for about an hour by then, just hadn't said anything. You were a little less scared this time, a little more comfortable. It'd been weeks of you two seeing each other and still, Dean was there.

That meant something and you knew it.

So, you felt a little less like it was a huge risk if you two stayed together. But Dean went home. He'd kissed your forehead and told you goodnight and he left. You weren't sure why, but whatever the reason, it made you sad.

You didn't say anything and it wasn't a huge deal, but it still felt wrong. You realized then that you wanted to stay with him. You wanted to cuddle up next to him and fall asleep in his arms. It was something you craved.

So, the third time was the charm.

You were on your couch again, Dean on the other side, your feet on his lap as you read a book and he watched the tv. Well, he said he was watching the tv, but you felt his stare more often than not. By the time you were a quarter way through the pages, your eyes burned and you were yawning every minute or so.

Dean chuckled, reaching over and gently pushing the book down so he could see your face. "Sweetheart, go to bed," he said, his voice soft and smooth like always.

You giggled, bookmarking your page and closing the book, placing it on the coffee table. "I'm so comfy, though," you argued quietly, leaning into the couch and closing your eyes.

Dean chuckled, gently moving your feet of his lap with a small groan of protest from you. He stood up, walking over to you and picking you up. You squealed softly, giggling as you shook your head. "I can walk, you know?"

"This is much more fun."

You smiled softly at him, letting him carry you to your room. He gently laid you down on the bed, covering you up. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Goodnight, sweetheart."

You sank into the mattress, getting comfortable as you hummed. Then he pulled away. Just slightly, like he was about to leave. You didn't want him to. You reached out, grabbing his wrist gently and lazily, with no real effort.

"Stay?" you murmured.

He paused, eyes looking down at you. He tilted his head. "Sweetheart, I'll be on the couch."

You shook your head, patting the mattress beside you. "In here."

He smiled softly, pulling his hand out of your wrist and instead rubbing his thumb across it gently. "You're sure?"

You nodded. "Mhm."

He nodded back, and you scooted over, giving him the room he needed to climb into your bed. He did so slowly and carefully, like he was scared of frightening you. You barely noticed, too sleepy to really comprehend much. Instead, you moved closer, turning over to get comfortable, your back to him but still pressed against him.

Slowly, Dean sunk into the mattress, wrapping his arms around you and spooning you. His head was rested next to yours, breath fanning your neck as he nuzzled into your hair. You hummed softly, rubbing your thumb back and forth over his hand that was around your waist.

He kissed your shoulder, then the back of your neck. Soft and gentle like he was just trying to be close to you, and it sent butterflies into your tummy. "You smell good," he whispered, pressing a small kiss behind your ear.

You giggled softly, and he held you tighter. You weren't scared now, weren't uncomfortable. He wasn't pushing or initiating anything. He was just...holding you. Being there. Showing you affection. It was nice.

His buried his face in your neck, humming softly as he rested there. You sighed in content, eyes closing. But you weren't really all that tired now. Just comfortable. You slowly turned over, and Dean pulled back just enough to let you.

Your eyes met his and you smiled softly, leaning in and giving him a small kiss. He smiled into it, cupping your jaw, but remained soft and gentle. He pulled you even closer, holding you tight and you pulled away from the kiss.

He pressed his forehead to yours silently, nudging his nose against yours. "I like holding you," he said softly.

You smiled. "I like it too."

"Good, I'm glad."

He kissed your cheek, pulling you into his chest and resting his chin on your head. His hands rubbed your back and arm as he held you close, and the silence was comfortable and welcomed as you both laid there.

Finally, it felt like you could rest, and sleep came easily in Dean's arms.

[kissmeuntil]

⎯⎯⎯; 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭?

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: therapist!rafe x sex addict!reader

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ mdni. therapist/patient relationship, unethical therapy, professional boundary violations, power imbalance, emotional dependency, obsessive thoughts, explicit sexual content, fingering, edging/orgasm denial, dirty talk, discussion of compulsive sexual behavior/sex addiction, unhealthy relationship dynamics, and emotional manipulation.

this work is entirely fictional and is not intended to romanticize or endorse therapist-patient relationships or unethical clinical conduct.

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: seventeen sessions in, you're still pretending dr. cameron is just your therapist. he's still pretending he doesn't look forward to thursday evenings. you've told him everything except the truth, that every fantasy you've had for months ends with him.

𝐚/𝐧: a serious genius sent me this idea. i'm so so happy they did because i had a similar idea previously but didn't have the courage to pursue it due to... well. you know. which is funny because i've written much more taboo content. anyway, if you're reading this my love, thank you for the courage! this story explores quiet obsession and an intentionally unethical therapist/patient relationship. none of this is meant to reflect healthy therapy or healthy relationships. please read the warnings before continuing. ♡

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.9k

you're fifteen minutes early. you're never early.

the waiting room is empty, which is good because you don't think you could sit here making small talk with another patient right now. the white noise machine hums from somewhere behind the reception desk, a constant static that's supposed to be soothing but just makes you more aware of every sound your body makes. your breathing. the rustle of your clothes. the tap of your shoe against the floor that you can't seem to stop.

you left your hair down even though you always tie it back for sessions because it feels too vulnerable otherwise. but today you want to feel vulnerable. you want him to notice.

you check your phone. 6:47pm. his last appointment of the day is always at seven. you know this because you've been coming here every thursday at seven for six months and you've never seen anyone leave after you.

six months.

you remember the first session. how you sat on that couch and couldn't look at him while you explained why you were there. "i have a problem with sex," you'd said, and the words felt stupid coming out of your mouth. so clinical and detached.

"tell me about it," he'd said, and his voice was so calm that you actually looked up at him. he was leaning back in his chair, one ankle crossed over his knee, pen in hand but not writing anything yet.

so you told him about the compulsion. about the way you'd fuck someone and feel nothing and then do it again the next night hoping it would be different. the way you fixated on people... strangers, mostly, and built entire fantasies around them until the reality of actually being with them shattered everything. how you were chasing something you couldn't understand or begin to grasp.

he'd listened to all of it. didn't flinch, didn't judge, didn't try to fix it right away. just asked questions. "what do you think you're looking for?" and "how do you feel in the moment, right before?" and "what happens after?"

you'd left that first session feeling raw.

the second session, you noticed his hands. the way he held the pen, the way his fingers moved when he gestured while talking. you told yourself it didn't mean anything.

by the fourth session, you were thinking about his voice at night.

by the eighth session, you realized you were dressing differently on thursdays.

and then one night, session eleven, maybe twelve, you were fucking some guy you'd met at a party and you weren't thinking about him at all. you were thinking about dr. cameron. about what his hands would feel like instead. about whether he'd be gentle or rough, whether he'd talk to you the way he does in sessions, that calm steady voice asking you questions while he—

you'd came so hard you scared yourself. that was a rarity. you never came.

after that, it was over. every hookup became a placeholder for him. every confession in therapy became a way to see if he'd react, if you could make him break that professional mask even for a second. you started telling him more explicit details. not because you needed to for therapy, but because you wanted to see what he'd do with the information. if he'd really look at you.

you're pretty sure he does. you've caught him sometimes, when you're in the middle of a story, and there's something in his eyes that doesn't really feel like clinical interest.

or maybe you're delusional and maybe this whole thing is just another fixation.

but today feels different.

last weekend you fucked someone in a bar bathroom and the entire time you were imagining it was dr. cameron. you’d said his name so quietly, barely a whisper, but the guy heard it. asked "who's rafe?" and you'd lied, said it was your ex, but the truth sat in your chest like a bag of heavy rocks.

you can't keep doing this. you can't keep coming here every thursday and confessing everything except the one thing that actually matters.

the door to the inner office opens.

dr. cameron steps out, holding a file. he's wearing a light colored button-down with the sleeves rolled up, and you hate that you notice. the way his forearms flex, and how his long fingers grip the file. he sees you and something flickers across his face. surprise, maybe, but it's gone so fast you might have imagined it.

"hey," he says. "you're early."

"yeah." your voice sounds normal. "is that okay?"

"of course. come on in."

you follow him into the office and the familiar space feels different today, even though its all the same. the couch where you always sit with his chair angled toward it. the desk in the corner with his laptop and stacks of files. the lamp that casts everything in warm light. the door closes behind you, and you hear the lock click into place like he always does, for privacy, but today the sound makes your stomach turn.

"how was your week?" he asks, settling into his chair.

you sit on the couch, your usual spot. nothing feels normal. your skin is too tight.

"it was fine," you say. "i mean, not fine. i don't know."

he waits. he's good at that. letting silence stretch until you fill it.

"i hooked up with someone last weekend," you say, and you watch his face for a reaction, but there's nothing. just that calm, attentive expression. "met him at a bar."

"okay," he says. "tell me about it."

so you do. you tell him about meeting the guy, about how easy it was to fall into that classic pattern—drinks, flirting, the bathroom with its flickering fluorescent light and the smell of cheap soap. you tell him about fucking the guy against the sink, your jeans around your ankles, his hands on your hips, and how the entire time you were somewhere else. you were here. in this office. with dr. cameron's hands on you instead.

he's leaning forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, and he's listening the way he always does, but there's something else underneath it. the lamp casts shadows across his face and you can see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers are pressed together.

"and after?" he asks. his voice is steady but there's something underneath it now, something that wasn't there before. "how did you feel after?"

"empty," you say. the word sits between you like a stone. "like always."

"but you did it anyway."

"yeah."

"why?"

you shrug, but the gesture feels wrong, too casual for what you're about to say. "because... because i wanted to feel something? i guess? anything." the words come out uncertain, like you're testing them as you speak.

there's a pause that stretches way too long. it makes you aware of the distant sound of traffic outside muffled by the closed window, the fact that you're alone in this room with him and the door is locked. you can hear your own breathing. his too, if you listen closely enough.

and then you say it.

"i've been thinking about you," your heart is pounding so hard you can feel it in your throat. "since session six. maybe earlier. i don't know."

session six is definitely a lie. you’d been thinking about him since session two. but there’s no way you could admit something like that. telling him at all was more than enough.

his face changes. it's subtle, just a flash of something raw crossing his features before he can stop it. he looks away, down at his hands where they're pressed together between his knees, and for a moment he's just a man sitting in a chair. not a therapist. not someone in control. just a man who's been caught.

when he looks back at you, his jaw is tight, and whatever argument he'd been having with himself is over. you can see it in his eyes.

"session six," he repeats, and his voice is quieter now, rougher around the edges. "that's... that's a long time."

"yeah."

he's quiet for another moment. you watch him process it, watch the way his chest rises and falls a little faster than it should. his fingers unclasp and he runs one hand through his hair, messing it up in a way you've never seen before.

"why didn't you tell me?" he asks.

"because i thought it would go away," you reply. the confession feels like peeling off skin. "i thought if i just... maybe if i kept coming here, kept talking about it, it would stop. but it didn't. it got worse."

he nods slowly. you can see the conflict playing out on his face, the way his mouth tightens, the way he looks at you and then away and then back again like he can't help himself.

he stands up. the movement is sudden enough that you flinch, and for a second you think he's going to ask you to leave, going to tell you this was a mistake and that you need to find another therapist. but he doesn't. he walks away from you, toward the window, and stands there with his back to you, one hand coming up to grip the back of his neck. you can see the tension in his shoulders, the way they're drawn up tight. the way they rise and fall with his breathing. the office feels smaller suddenly, the walls much closer.

he's pacing now. not frantically or anything, just a few steps back and forth in front of the window, looking at the floor like he's trying to work something out. his hand falls from his neck and he shoves both hands in his pockets, then pulls them out again. you watch him, and you realize this is it. this is the moment where he decides whether to cross the line or send you away.

he stops so abruptly it almost looks like something catches him. his hand falls away from the back of his neck again and when he turns, he doesn't say anything right away. he just looks at you, and there's something in his eyes you've never seen before. something hungry and raw and completely unprofessional.

the way he looks at you... it's not the way a therapist looks at a patient.

"stand up," he says.

you do. your legs feel shaky, unsteady, but you stand anyway. your hands are trembling at your sides.

"come here."

he sits back down in his chair, and the distance between the couch and where he's sitting is barely a few steps, but it feels way longer now. each one gives you another chance to turn around, another chance to pretend none of this happened, to walk out and find a new therapist and never come back. you don't take it.

your shoes are silent on the carpet. you're standing in front of him now, close enough that you could reach out and touch him if you wanted to. close enough to see the way his pupils are dilated, the way his chest is rising and falling faster than normal. there's no trace of the careful distance he'd kept for six months. it's gone completely.

"sit," he says, patting his lap.

"dr. cameron—"

"sit."

you do. you lower yourself onto his lap slowly, your back settling against his chest. his thighs are thick and solid and warm beneath you, the muscle firm under the fabric of his pants. you can feel his cock, already hard, pressing against your ass through the denim of your jeans. the knowledge of it sends heat flooding through you. you want to shift, to grind back against him, but you force yourself to stay still because part of you still can't even believe this is happening.

his hands settle on your thighs. warm and heavy, the weight of them grounding you.

"keep talking," he says, his voice low in your ear. you can feel his breath against your neck, warm and slightly uneven. "tell me about the compulsion."

"i—i don't know what you want me to say."

his hands slide higher, fingers tracing the inside of your thighs through your jeans. the touch is light, almost teasing. "tell me what it feels like. when you're with someone. what are you chasing?"

you can barely think. his fingers are moving in slow circles on your inner thighs and it's making it hard to form words. "i don't know... validation, maybe? proof that i'm wanted."

"and do you get it?"

"no. never."

his fingers pop the button on your jeans. the sound is loud in the quiet office, the snap of metal against fabric. you lift your hips slightly so he can pull the zipper down. the rasp of metal teeth separating sounds almost deafening in the silence.

"why not?" he murmurs, sliding his hand inside your jeans, over your underwear. you're already wet, soaked through the fabric, and you know he can feel it. his fingers press against you through the damp cotton and you gasp, your hips jerking forward involuntarily.

"because... because it's never enough," you whisper. "it's never—fuck—"

he presses against your clit through the fabric and your hips jerk forward again. his other hand comes up to grip your jaw, fingers splaying across your cheek and throat, holding your head back against his shoulder. the grip is firm and feels like a gentle anchor.

"keep talking," he says. "you're doing so good."

"dr. cameron, please—"

"please what?" his thumb catches the edge of your underwear, easing it aside. his fingers find you almost absently, like he's waiting for your answer more than your reaction, but you can hear the wet sound of it when he slides through your folds. "use your words."

you can't answer. your eyes are squeezing shut and it feels like you're hardly breathing. he circles your clit once, twice, and you're already shaking. the jeans are tight around your hips, constricting, and his hand is trapped inside them, the denim pressing his knuckles against you in a way that's almost uncomfortable but also perfect.

his fingers stop circling. they just rest there, warm and still against your clit. the sudden absence of movement makes you whimper, a sound you didn't mean to make.

"the guy from last weekend," he says. not a question. his breath is against your ear, warm and steady. "tell me what he did."

"he—" your voice cracks. you can't think. his fingers are right there but not moving and it's worse than if he'd pulled away completely. the stillness is torture. "i don't—"

"you don't remember?" his fingers slide lower, just barely, teasing your entrance. you can feel the tip of one finger pressing against you, not pushing in, just resting there. "or you don't want to tell me?"

"no, i—he fucked me. in the—" you're breathing too fast. the words won't come out right. your brain can't form complete thoughts with his hand between your legs. "backseat. i was—"

his fingers push inside you. just the tips, just enough that you can feel the stretch, the intrusion. you gasp and lose the sentence completely, your mouth falling open.

"you were what?"

"on top," you manage. "i was on top."

he pushes deeper. not all the way, just enough that you can feel the stretch, the promise of more. his fingers are thick and you can feel every ridge, every knuckle as they slide into you. then he stops again and holds still inside you, buried to the second knuckle.

"did you cum?"

"no."

his fingers don't move and he’s silent for a moment. you can feel your pulse around them, can feel yourself clenching involuntarily, trying to pull him deeper. the stillness is maddening.

"why not?" he asks, and his voice is so calm, so steady, like he's asking about the weather while his fingers are inside you and you're falling apart in his lap.

"because i—" you're shaking. "i never—with them, i can't—"

"can't or don't?"

"both? neither. i don't know." the words come out frustrated, desperate.

his thumb brushes your clit. once. the lightest touch. you jerk against him and he pulls it away immediately, denying you.

"but you want to," he says.

"yes—fuck—yes."

"what do you think about?" his fingers curl inside you slightly, pressing against that spot. not enough pressure. just enough to make you aware of it. "when you're with them. when they're inside you... what's in your head?"

you don't answer. you can't. your breath is coming in short gasps and his hand is still gripping your jaw, holding you in place, and you can feel the heat of him against your back, the solid weight of his chest. the hardness of his cock pressing into you through your jeans, and you wonder if he's as desperate as you are, if this is killing him too.

"answer me," he says, and his fingers push deeper, all the way now, buried inside you to the knuckle. you cry out, the sound echoing in the small office.

"i can't—"

"yes you can." he starts moving them. slow, methodical thrusts that make you see stars. his thumb finds your clit again and circles it once, twice. the dual sensation is overwhelming. "tell me what you think about."

"i—" you're climbing already, way too fast. the pressure building low in your belly, spreading through your thighs. "i think about—"

he stops. completely stops. his fingers buried inside you but motionless, his thumb lifting off your clit.

this broken and desperate sound falls from your mouth, something you'd never even heard before.

"say it," he says.

"you," you gasp. "i... i think about—fuck—i think about you."

"me." his voice is rough now, the professional veneer cracking. "you think about me while some stranger fucks you in a parking lot."

"yes."

"what am i doing?" his fingers move again, just slightly, just enough to remind you they're there. "in your head. what am I doing to you?"

"this," you whisper. "you're—you're doing this."

"yeah?" he pushes deeper, curling his fingers inside you. you can feel every ridge, every knuckle, the stretch of it. his thumb finds your clit and he starts moving in a rhythm that has you climbing fast. too fast. your hips start to move, grinding back against his cock, and you can feel how hard he is, can hear the way his breath catches. his other hand tightens on your jaw, fingers pressing into your skin hard enough to leave marks.

"stay still," he says.

you try. you're shaking so fucking badly, your thighs trembling. you're right there, right on the edge, the pressure building and building and—

he stops. his fingers stay inside you but they don't move. his thumb lifts off your clit.

"no—please—"

"tell me more," he says. his voice is steady but you can hear the strain in it now. "you think about me. what do i do? in your head?"

you're gasping. you can feel tears starting to form, burning in your eyes. "i can't—"

"yes you can." his fingers move slightly, just a tiny curl, pressing against that spot inside you. "tell me what i do to you. in your fantasies."

"you—you touch me like this," you say, your voice breaking. "you make me—you don't stop. you let me cum."

"do i?" his fingers curl inside you again, harder this time, and you cry out. "what else?"

"you fuck me," you whisper. "you fuck me and you—and you tell me i'm good."

"you are doing good," he says, and his thumb presses against your clit again. you're climbing again, faster this time, the pressure building impossibly fast. "you're being so good for me right now."

"dr. ca—"

"tell me why you chase validation," he continues. meanwhile his fingers are moving inside you, pumping in and out, and you can hear the wet sound of it, obscene in the quiet office. you can feel yourself dripping, soaking his hand, soaking through your jeans. "what are you trying to prove?"

"i don't—i can't think—"

"try."

you have actual tears on your face now, hot and wet and streaming. "that i'm worth something. that someone wants me."

"and do you feel that? with the men you fuck?"

"no—never—please—"

you're right there again. your whole body is tense and shaking and his fingers are moving faster and his thumb is circling your clit and you're so close, so fucking close, the pressure building to an unbearable peak and—

he stops again.

you actually sob, the sound wrenching out of you.

"not yet," he says. "we're not done talking."

"please," you beg. "pleaseplease let me cum. i can't—"

"you can." his voice is firm. "breathe."

you try. the jeans are soaked now, the denim dark with wetness. you can smell it, the smell of sex starting to fill the office, mixing with the scent of his cologne and the faint smell of coffee from earlier.

"why do you think you fixate on people who can't give you what you need?" he asks.

"i don't know."

"yes you do."

"because—because it's safe," you gasp. "because if they can't give it to me then i can't be disappointed."

"and me?" his thumb brushes your clit, so light it's almost nothing. "am i safe?"

"no."

"why not?"

"because you could actually—fuck—you could actually hurt me."

"how?"

you're crying. "because i actually want you. not just—not just the sex. you."

his fingers start moving again. slow, and you're climbing again, faster now. you grind back against his cock and he doesn't stop you this time. you can feel him hard and thick against your ass, can hear the way his breathing has changed, rougher now.

"say it again," he says.

"i want you."

"louder."

"i want you," you say, your voice breaking. "i want you so fucking bad. please- please let me cum. i'm so close. please."

he's building you up again. his thumb on your clit, his fingers inside you, and you're climbing so fast you can't breathe. his other hand is still on your jaw, holding you in place. you can feel his breath against your ear, the slight hitch in it, and you realize he's as affected as you are.

"that's it—" he whispers quietly. "take what you need."

you're right there. right fucking there. the pressure is unbearable and—

his fingers go still.

but this time he doesn't pull away. just... stops. his fingers stay buried inside you, his thumb resting against your clit. completely motionless. completely silent.

the silence is worse. you're right there, right on the edge, and he's not moving and he's not saying anything. you can feel your pulse in your clit, can feel yourself clenching around his fingers, your body begging for more. the stillness is psychological torture. you need it so bad you could honestly cum right then and there without him touching you anymore. your pussy is clenching around nothing, beggining for it. but god, what a waste that would be.

so you wait. five seconds. ten. fifteen. your breath coming in short gasps.

finally, he speaks.

"why do you think you're here?" he asks, and his voice is quiet. "really here. not the answer you gave me in session one. the real answer."

"i don't—"

"yes you do." his fingers curl slightly inside you, just enough to make you gasp, but then he goes still again. "why are you here?"

"because..." you whisper. "because i don't know how to want something without destroying it. because i'm afraid if i let myself actually have something real, i'll ruin it."

"and me?" his thumb presses against your clit, just barely. "what am i?"

"real," you say. you're crying again. "you're real. and i'm terrified."

"good," he says, and his fingers start moving again. slow at first, then faster, harder, and his thumb is circling your clit and you're climbing so fast you can't breathe. "you should be terrified. because i'm not going to let you run from this. i'm not going to let you turn me into another fantasy you can chase and never catch. this is real."

"yes—fuck—yes—"

"knowing you go home and touch yourself and imagine it's me?" his fingers curl inside you, hitting that spot, and he doesn't stop this time. his thumb is relentless, circling and pressing and you're climbing higher and higher. "knowing you're so desperate for it you'll fuck anyone just to feel something?"

"oh my... god, please—"

"you don't need them," he says. his fingers are relentless now, pumping in and out of you, the wet sounds loud and sloppy and obscene. "you need someone who knows what you need. someone who's been listening. someone who's been paying attention for six fucking months."

"i—i'm—i'm gonna—"

"then do it," he says. "cum on my fingers. right here in my office. show me what you look like when you finally get what you need."

and you do. you cum so hard you can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything but feel. it hits you like a wave, starting deep in your core and radiating outward. your body convulses in his lap, every muscle tensing and releasing. your hips grinding back against his cock, and his fingers don't stop moving, drawing it out, prolonging it. the orgasm tears through you in waves, each one crashing over you harder than the last. you can feel yourself clenching around his fingers, rhythmic pulses that seem to go on forever. the wetness gushing out of you, soaking his hand, soaking your jeans, probably soaking through to his pants.

you're aware of everything and nothing—the way your thighs are shaking uncontrollably, the way your breath is coming in broken gasps, the way you can hear yourself making sounds you've never made before, desperate and raw. his fingers keep moving, keep curling, keep hitting that spot inside you, and just when you think it's over another wave hits and you're crying out again, your back arching, your head thrown back against his shoulder. it goes on and on, longer than ever before, until you're begging him to stop, until it's too much, until you can't take anymore.

when you finally come down, you're crying. actual tears streaming down your face, your breath coming in gasps. he pulls his fingers out slowly and you whimper at the loss, at the sudden emptiness. your jeans are soaked, the denim dark and wet, clinging to your thighs.

"shh," he says, wrapping his arms around you. "you're okay. you did so good."

you're trembling. you can still feel his cock hard against your ass and you want to turn around, want to touch him, want to make him feel what you just felt, but you can't move. your body won't cooperate.

"that's what you needed," he says quietly. "someone who knows you. someone who listens."

you nod, still trying to catch your breath.

"next session," he says, and his voice is back to that calm, professional tone, like he didn't just make you come apart in his lap, "we're going to talk about why you keep choosing people who can't give you what you need. i think we made some progress today on identifying the root of the compulsion."

you almost laugh. the absurdity of it.

"okay," you whisper.

"good," he says. "now go clean yourself up. there's a bathroom down the hall."

you stand on shaky legs. your jeans are dark with wetness and you have to button them with trembling fingers. when you look back at him, he's watching you, his fingers in his mouth, tasting you. the sight of it sends another jolt of heat through you.

"same time next week?" he asks.

"yeah," you say. "same time."

you walk out of his office on legs that barely work. in the bathroom, you look at yourself in the mirror. your face is flushed, your eyes red and glassy, your lips swollen. there's a mark on your neck from where his hand gripped your jaw, dark and obvious. you reach up to touch it. the skin is tender, slightly raised. you stare at it for a long moment, and then you notice something else in the mirror's reflection: your therapy appointment card, sticking out of your back pocket. the next date is already written on it in his handwriting. thursday. same time. you pull it out and look at it.

he wrote it before today's session.

you tuck the card back into your pocket. look at yourself in the mirror one more time. the mark on your neck. your flushed face.

thursday can't come fast enough.

[kissmeuntil]

⎯⎯⎯; 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧’ 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: best friend!rafe cameron x female!reader

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ mdni. friends to lovers, aphrodisiac/honey packets, explicit sexual content, mutual sexual tension, dirty talk, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, switch dynamics, light hair pulling, biting, neck holding, creampie, brief mentions of squirting, aggressive sex, topper thornton being an accidental matchmaker.

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: topper swears the honey packets work, you swear they’re bullshit, and rafe decides there’s only one way to prove him wrong. unfortunately, the honey has other plans.

𝐚/𝐧: this is equal parts friends-to-lovers, “we’re definitely not into each other” denial, and absolute stupidity. everyone is an adult. please read the warnings before continuing. i kept editing and fixing and changing this. after a while it was turning into that series of events where you take a selfie and keep looking at it until you hate it LOL so i kinda gave up. hopefully it makes sense and hopefully you guys like it anyway :) ♡

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5.7k

you're on rafe's bed scrolling through your phone when he walks in with that stupid smirk, holding something between his fingers.

"what," you say without looking up.

"so... topper gave me these." the mattress dips as rafe sits, his weight pulling you slightly toward him. you glance up and see the tiny golden honey packets catch the light as he turns them between his fingers.

you actually laugh. "oh my god, rafe. are you serious?" you sit up straighter, grinning at him. "those don't even work. you know that right?"

"nah, i mean—"

"it's honey... it's literally just honey in some fancy ass packet. topper probably paid like thirty bucks for two dollars worth of honey because some instagram ad told him it would turn him into a porn star." you're fully laughing now, years of giving each other shit making this easy. you reach out and flick one of the packets in his hand. "you actually believe that shit?"

"listen—" rafe tries, but there's that smile tugging at his mouth because he knows you're gonna dog him for this. he shifts closer, his knee bumping against your leg.

"no, seriously, i need to know how much money topper wasted on honey packets." you push at his shoulder, invested in roasting him. "remember those gas station dick pills he got last summer?"

"alright, alright—" rafe's laughing too, shaking his head, catching your hand before you can push him again. his fingers wrap around your wrist for just a second before letting go. "you're not wrong."

"i'm never wrong about topper being an idiot." you settle back against his pillows, satisfied, tucking your legs underneath you. "remember when he tried to convince us that eating raw garlic would make him better at golf? and then his breath just smelled like shit the whole time?"

"yeah, and you kicked him out of the car," rafe says, grinning, leaning back on one hand so he's angled toward you.

"because he made it smell so fucking bad. and you know what— now you're an idiot too for even believing this."

"yeah, but—" rafe pauses, something shifting in his eyes. he leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees, the packets still dangling from his fingers. "i mean... c'mon. if it doesn't work, then nothin' happens, right? like literally nothin'. we'd just be sittin' here exactly like we are now."

you narrow your eyes at him. "that's your argument?"

"i'm just sayin'..." he shrugs, still holding up one of the packets, close enough now that you can see the gold foil catching the light. "if it's bullshit... then it's bullshit and we laugh about how dumb topper is. but if it's not..." he trails off, that smirk getting wider as he tilts his head.

"it is bullshit."

"probably," rafe agrees, way too casual, shifting his weight so he's sitting fully on the bed now, one leg bent, facing you. "but... what's the actual harm? you gonna tell me you're scared of honey?"

"i'm not scared of honey, i'm just not gonna waste my time on some stupid—"

"so then try it. humor me," his voice is smooth and logical, like he's not actively trying to peer pressure you into this. he holds one of the packets out toward you, close enough that you'd only have to reach a few inches to take it. "seriously. worst case scenario? nothin' happens and you get to say 'i told you so' for the rest of the night. and you love that shit."

and you hate that he's right. you hate that that actually makes sense, because if it doesn't work then literally nothing happens. it's just honey. and you do love being right.

"this is so fucking dumb," you mutter, but you're already grinning because this is exactly the kind of stupid shit you two always end up doing together. you reach out and snatch the packet from his hand.

"yeah, probably." rafe's already tearing open a packet, squeezing the honey into his mouth like it's nothing. he swallows, then looks at you with this expectant expression, leaning in slightly. "c'monnn. prove me wrong."

"i will." you tear open your packet, very aware of how close he is, how he's watching you. the honey is sweet on your tongue, sticky as you swallow it down and look at him. "it's not gonna work."

"we'll see," rafe says, settling back against the headboard next to you, his arm brushing yours as he gets comfortable, but his eyes are still on you.

"yeah, we will," you say, going back to your phone. "and when nothing happens, you're buying me food for a week as an apology for wasting my time."

"deal," rafe says, and there's something in his voice that makes you think he's not worried about losing that bet at all.

twenty minutes later the heat starts low in your belly and spreads outward until your skin feels too tight and every nerve ending is awake. you shift and the seam of your shorts catches against you in a way that makes your breath hitch—suddenly you're aware of how wet you're getting, the fabric sticking to you, and every tiny movement makes it worse.

your thighs press together without you meaning to and the pressure sends a pulse of need straight through your core that's so intense you have to bite the inside of your cheek. you try to focus on your phone but the words blur together and all you can think about is the throbbing between your legs, the way your pussy is clenching around nothing, how the cotton of your shirt feels too rough against your nipples.

"you good?"

your phone nearly slips from your hands when he speaks and for a second you can't catch your breath.

"yeah, i'm fine." but your voice sounds all wrong—strained and slightly pitched up in a way that gives you away immediately.

he's silent for a moment but you can feel him looking and it makes your skin prickle with awareness, makes the heat worse.

"you sure?" there's amusement threading through his voice now, low and knowing. "i could've sworn you said it was bullshit."

"it is." you try to sound convincing but you're pressing your thighs together again and you know he can see it, can probably see the flush spreading down your neck. "it's definitely not working."

"yeah? then why are you squirmin' like that?"

your entire body goes rigid.

"i'm not squirming."

"you keep pressin' your legs together..."

"oh my god, shutupshutupshutup."

then his hand lands on your thigh and the touch burns through the thin fabric of your shorts, making your breath catch immediately, and you realize you're in trouble because just that simple contact makes you want to spread your legs and beg.

"relax, alright?" his thumb strokes back and forth and each pass makes the ache between your legs worse, makes you wetter. "just checkin' somethin'."

"checking what?"

"how full of shit you are."

his hand slides higher and your pussy throbs so hard you gasp—you can't help it, can't control the way your body responds to him. he stops with his palm resting on your inner thigh, his fingers so close to where you're dripping that you want to grab his wrist and shove his hand where you need it.

"rafe—"

"whattt," he mutters, all innocence, but you can hear the smugness underneath. "thought it wasn't workin'."

"it's not." but you're shaking and your voice is barely there.

his thumb strokes your inner thigh again and you feel his breath against your ear, warm and close. "but you're breathin' all hard..." his fingers brush the edge of your shorts and you can't stop the whimper that escapes because you need more, need him to touch you properly or you're going to lose your mind.

"shut up."

his fingers trace the hem and it feels like you're going to die if he doesn't touch you properly, if he keeps teasing like this. "you want me to stop?"

"no." it comes out immediately and you want to take it back but then his hand slides up and cups you through your shorts and the pressure makes your hips jerk forward into his palm without permission.

"jesus—you're fuckin' drenched."

you are—you can feel how wet you are, how the fabric is clinging to you, and when he presses harder you feel the slickness spread and it should embarrass you but all you can think about is getting his hand closer.

then he's yanking you toward him and suddenly you're straddling his lap and his cock is right there beneath you, thick and hard and pressing up against your pussy through too many layers of fabric. you grind down without thinking and the friction makes you gasp because it's not enough but it's something.

his hands grip your hips and guide you to move against him again and the drag of his cock against your clit through your shorts makes your head fall back, makes you chase that pressure desperately.

"look at you." his voice is strained, rougher than before. "still waitin' for you to admit it was legit."

"shut up." you grind against him harder, chasing the pressure, and his fingers dig into your hips hard enough to bruise but you don't care because you need more.

his hand slides up your back into your hair and tugs and the sharp pull makes you gasp. his other hand moves between your bodies and presses against you through your shorts and you're so sensitive that even that makes you whimper, makes your hips roll forward seeking more contact.

"please..." you hear yourself say it and you don't even care anymore.

"please what?" he's enjoying this but his voice is rough, barely controlled. "what d'you want?"

"please touch me."

he pulls your shirt off and then your shorts and suddenly the air hits your wet pussy and you're exposed and aching and vulnerable. his hand slides between your legs and his fingers stroke through your folds and you shudder at the contact, at finally feeling his skin against you.

"jesus—" his voice cracks and you look down to see him staring between your legs like he's never seen anything like it. "you're fuckin' drenched."

his fingers run through the wetness and when he pulls his hand back you can see how they're coated, strings of it connecting his fingers to you, and he stares at it like he's mesmerized. the sight makes you clench around nothing, makes you need him inside you.

"look at this mess—" then his fingers find your clit and you stop breathing because the pressure is perfect and you're grinding into his hand desperately, chasing the sensation.

you're making these sounds you can't control—gasping and moaning—and you don't even care anymore because his fingers feel so good and you're so close already.

"there you go." his other hand is palming himself through his sweatpants and you can see how hard he is, can see the outline of his cock straining against the fabric. "listen to yourself—"

then his fingers slow down and barely touch you and you whine at the loss, at the sudden absence of pressure.

"what was that thing you said?" his voice is rough and his hips jerk forward into his own hand like he can't help it. "about instagram ads?"

"rafe please—"

his fingers push inside you—two at once—and you clench around them immediately, your pussy trying to pull them deeper because you need more. he curls them and presses against that spot and your entire body jerks forward, a sharp cry tearing out of you.

"shit—you're so tight—" his hand is shaking where he's gripping your hip and you can feel how affected he is, how much he wants this.

he does it again and you cry out, your nails digging into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks. his thumb finds your clit while his fingers work inside you and you can't help but moan at the combination, at how good it feels to finally have him touching you like this.

"you want more?"

"ohmy—pleaseyes—"

"c'mon, ask me nice."

"pleaseplease i need more—"

"yeah? need what?"

"your mouth." it comes out desperate and broken. "need your mouth on me."

he groans and the sound is all raw and broken like just hearing you say the words is fueling him, like he's been waiting to hear it. he pulls his fingers out and brings them to his mouth and sucks them clean and watching his eyes roll back makes something flip in your stomach because he looks needy for it already.

then he's pushing you down onto your back and the sheets are cool for half a second before his hands are spreading your thighs wide and his mouth is on you and—

your back arches off the bed before you can stop it. a sharp gasp tears out of you and your hands fly to his hair, gripping tight because you need something to hold onto. the groan he makes vibrates straight through your clit and you whimper, your hips bucking up involuntarily.

his tongue pushes inside you and you weren't expecting that—weren't expecting the wet heat of it or how deep he'd go or the obscene sound it makes when he does. your hips jerk up and he groans again, louder this time, like he's the one being overwhelmed.

you look down and oh god—

his face is buried between your legs, his jaw working as his tongue moves inside you, and his chin is already shiny and dripping with you. when his eyes flick up to meet yours there's something feral in them, something you've never seen before. this isn't calm, collected rafe who always has a smirk and a comeback ready. this is rafe completely undone, his pupils blown so wide his eyes look black, his mouth slack and wet and desperate as he stares at you like he's starving.

but that's not what makes you forget how to breathe.

his other hand is palming himself through his sweatpants, his hips grinding forward into his own hand in these short, desperate thrusts, and you can see the outline of his cock straining against the fabric—thick and hard and so obvious it's obscene. there's already a wet spot forming where he's leaking through and you can't stop staring, can't stop noticing how his shoulders are trembling, how his free hand is gripping your thigh so hard you know there'll be bruises, how his breathing is ragged and uneven against your pussy.

rafe was always so controlled, always the one with the upper hand, the one who stayed calm no matter what. but right now he looks frantic, completely gone, and it's because of you.

you want to touch him, want to wrap your hand around his cock and feel the weight of him and taste him and watch him fall apart under your mouth the way you're falling apart under his.

then his tongue drags up through your folds so slow like he's savoring the taste and the thought dissolves into nothing.

"oh—" you gasp and your hips buck up, seeking more. "oh god—"

he does it again—licks you from your entrance all the way up to your clit and then circles it with his tongue, teasing—and you whimper. your hands tighten in his hair and you pull him closer without meaning to and he groans like that's exactly what he wanted, like he needs you to use him.

"you taste—" he pulls back just enough to breathe and his voice is completely shot, wrecked in a way you've never heard before. his hand is still working himself, his hips still jerking forward. "so fuckin' good—"

then his mouth is back on you and his fingers push inside—two, then three—and the stretch makes you cry out because he's not gentle, he's messy and desperate, his tongue lapping at your clit while his fingers curl inside you. the wet sounds should embarrass you but you're too far gone to care, too focused on the way he's devouring you.

"listen to that—" his voice is muffled against you and you can feel his lips moving, can feel the vibration. "so fuckin' messy—"

his hand is still working himself and his hips are still grinding forward and you can see how badly he's shaking, can see his jaw tighten and his eyes squeeze shut for a second like he's trying to hold himself together. when they open again and lock on yours they're needy and pleading and desperate.

he's looking at you like he's memorizing you—his gaze drags up from where his mouth is on you, over your stomach, your tits, your mouth. he's staring at your face like he needs to see every reaction, every gasp, every time your eyes flutter closed, and the intensity of it makes your breath catch.

"rafe—" your voice breaks and you can barely get the words out. "oh my god—"

he pulls back just enough to breathe and his chin is dripping, his lips swollen and shiny and his pupils are so blown you can barely see the blue. "y'gonna cum for me?"

then his mouth seals around your clit and sucks hard and his fingers curl inside you and press against that spot and everything goes white.

"yes—fuck—yes—"

it hits you and your entire body convulses, your hands gripping his hair so tight it has to hurt but you're pulling him closer as your hips buck up against his face. you're sobbing his name and he doesn't pull away—he keeps his mouth on you through all of it, drawing it out, groaning against you like he can't get enough, his hips still grinding into his hand like watching you come is almost enough to make him lose it too.

when he finally pulls back his face is a mess—his chin is shiny and dripping, his lips swollen and red. his hand leaves his cock and you can see how hard he is, the outline obscene against his sweatpants, a wet spot spreading where he's leaking, and suddenly you need to taste him, need to make him fall apart the way he just made you fall apart.

"my turn."

you're pushing him before he can react and he's so surprised he lets you flip him onto his back, his eyes going wide as you move down his body, your hands already reaching for his sweatpants.

"wait—"

"shut up." you yank his sweatpants down and his cock springs free and jesus christ—it's thick and flushed dark, curving up toward his stomach, pre-cum dripping steadily from the slit. you watch it drip down his shaft and your mouth waters because you need to taste him.

"fuck—" his voice cracks when your hand wraps around him and he's so hard, so hot in your palm, and when you stroke up his entire body jerks like he's been electrocuted. "oh fuck—"

you lean down and lick the pre-cum from his tip and the taste of him—salty and clean and him—makes you moan. his hips buck up and he whimpers, the sound high and broken.

"shit—wait—i can't—"

"yeah you can." you lick up his shaft, following the trail of pre-cum, and his hands fly to the sheets and grip tight, his knuckles going white.

you wrap your lips around the head and suck and the sound he makes is this half moan, half growl that goes straight between your legs. you take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, and his cock throbs on your tongue, leaking more pre-cum.

"shit—" his voice is wrecked, barely recognizable. "fuckin' love your mouth—"

you pull off with a wet pop and stroke him with your hand, watching more pre-cum leak from the tip, watching the way his abs flex and his hips jerk up seeking more. "god, you're so easy."

"yeah? so fuckin' what."

you take him deep again, as far as you can, and his hips thrust up involuntarily, pushing him deeper. you gag slightly but don't pull off, just relax your throat and take him deeper, and his hands fly to your hair.

"fuck—sorry—i'm sorry—" but he's not pulling you off, his fingers are tangling in your hair and holding you there and you moan around him because you want this, want him to lose control.

you pull off, spit connecting your lips to his cock, and pump him with your hand—fast and tight and slick. you take him deep again and this time when his hips thrust up you meet him, taking him into your throat. the groan he makes is almost anguished, desperate and raw, and you set a rhythm, bobbing your head, taking him as deep as you can while his hips start moving, fucking up into your mouth in shallow thrusts.

"oh fuck—oh fuck—" his voice is breaking, cracking on every word.

but then his hands are pulling you off and he's gasping, his chest heaving. "fuck—wait—i'm gonna—"

"that's the point."

"no—" he's pulling you up his body and his hands are shaking, trembling as they grip you. "not yet—need to fuck you."

his cock is pressed between your bodies, hot and slick and throbbing, and you can feel more pre-cum leaking onto your stomach. you grind against him and he groans, the sound pained.

"god—" you reach between your bodies and wrap your hand around him and stroke, feeling how hard he is, how much he's leaking. "you're shaking."

"yeah—" his voice breaks and his hips jerk up into your hand. "yeah i'm fuckin' shakin'—you have no idea—"

you position him at your entrance and sink down slowly and the stretch makes you both moan because he's so thick, filling you so completely, and from this angle he's so deep you can feel him everywhere.

"oh fuck—" his hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise and his entire body is trembling beneath you. "oh fuck you're tight—so. fuckin'. wet—"

you start moving and the slide of him inside you is perfect—you can feel every ridge, every vein, the way he throbs when you clench around him. you brace your hands on his chest and his heart is slamming against your palms, fast and erratic and out of control.

"look at you," you manage, even though you can barely breathe. "thought you were gonna be in control."

he thrusts up hard and the argument dies in your throat, replaced by a gasp.

"yeah?" his voice is strained, barely there. "you were sayin'?"

but you can see the flush spreading down his neck, the way his shoulders are tensed like he's holding himself back, and you know he's just as ruined as you are.

you ride him harder, faster, chasing the feeling building in your core. the wet sounds are so fucking obscene—slap slap slap, squelch squelch squelch—and you can feel your arousal dripping down his shaft, coating his balls, making everything slick and messy.

"fuckkkk—" he's watching where you're joined and his voice breaks, his jaw completely slack as he stares. you grind down in a circle and he whimpers, the sound all high and broken. "topper's never gonna believe this shit." he laughs—breathless and broken—and you feel it vibrate through his chest.

"are you seriously thinking about topper right now?"

"tryin' not to." you clench around him and watch his head tip back, his throat exposed, a groan tearing out of him that sounds almost pained. "but shit—you owe him a fuckin' thank you card."

the angle drives him so deep you feel it in your stomach and suddenly you're not thinking about topper anymore—you're thinking about the drag of his cock inside you, the wet sounds that match your rhythm, how his fingers are digging into your hips hard enough to leave purple marks.

his hand slides between your bodies and finds your clit and the pressure makes your movements stutter, makes you lose your rhythm because you can't focus on anything except the fullness of him stretching you and the tight heat building low in your belly.

"oh my god—"

"there you go." he mutters, voice all low and shaky, and you can see sweat dripping down his temples, can see his abs flexing with every thrust up into you. "'s what i wanna see."

you grind down and take him deeper and his hips jerk up to meet you and you're both slick with sweat now, your bodies sliding together. you can feel the heat radiating off him, can feel his other hand find your breast and squeeze, his palm damp against your skin.

"so full—" you gasp it out because you can barely form words. "can feel you everywhere—"

"yeah?" he thrusts up harder and you watch his biceps flex as he grips you tighter, watch the way his muscles coil. "y'like feelin' how deep i am?"

"yes—fuck yes—"

you roll your hips and he whimpers and you realize you're the one making him sound like that, you're the one unraveling him. his composure is completely gone—he's gripping you like he's drowning, his fingers digging in, and there's something raw in the way he's looking at you. pupils blown wide, mouth hanging open.

"you're so fuckin' tight." his hands grip your ass now and his fingers dig in hard enough to bruise, hard enough to sting. "you keep squeezin' me like that and i'm gonna—gonna cum."

"already?"

"shut up—you're the one who's—look at you—you can barely—" his voice breaks when you clench around him again and his jaw goes slack, his eyes rolling back. he's right though—you're gasping and your movements are getting frantic and his fingers find your clit again and suddenly you're close, so close you can feel it building.

"rafe—" your voice breaks and you can barely get his name out. "i'm gonna—"

"yeah?" his hips are bucking up desperately now and you can feel him throbbing inside you, can feel how close he is too. "do it—wanna feel you—need to feel it—"

his fingers work your clit in tight circles and you come so hard you're seeing stars, clenching around him in waves, your body convulsing as his hips buck up against you, prolonging it.

you're still moving, still riding him through it because you can't stop, and he's falling apart beneath you—his grip on you tightening, his breathing ragged. then his hands are gripping your hips hard and he's flipping you and you barely process the change before you're on your stomach and he's entering you from behind in one brutal thrust that makes you scream into the sheets.

"fuck—"

his arm hooks around your neck and he's pulling you back against his chest, fucking into you so hard you can barely think, can barely breathe. his forearm is solid against your throat, the weight of it holding you exactly where he wants you, and his other hand finds your clit and rubs tight circles. you're squirming against him, trying to escape the intensity but he's holding you so tight you can hardly move.

the sounds are so nasty—the wet slapping, the squelch with every thrust, your moans and his grunts mixing together.

"rafe—" you're gasping, barely able to form words. "it's too much—"

his hips snap forward hard and you feel his teeth graze your shoulder before biting down, his fingers pressing harder on your clit. "nah—c'mon you can take it."

"fuck—pleasepleaseplease—"

his next thrust goes so deep you can't breathe and your body goes rigid for a second before your back arches involuntarily, your ass pressing back into him hard enough that he groans. the angle sends everything white-hot through you and your thighs clench.

"ah—ah—fuck—" the sounds punch out of you with every thrust and you can't stop them. he sounds so fucking good right now. the way he's rutting into you like he's been wanting to do this, like he's finally letting himself have you, makes you even wetter.

"every. last. inch." his voice is low and rough in your ear. "just like this—"

"that's it—" his arm flexes around your neck and pulls you tighter against his chest. you can feel his collarbone digging into your shoulder blade, the solid heat of him pressed against every inch of your back. "fuck yourself back on my cock."

you do it without thinking, meeting his thrusts, and the angle makes him go even deeper. "oh god—fuck—you're so fucking deep—" your thighs are shaking.

"you like this?" his breath is hot against your ear and his voice is wrecked, barely controlled. "like me fuckin' you like this?"

"yesyesyes—" it comes out broken between thrusts.

"yeah?" he thrusts harder and you can hear how wet you are with every movement, can hear the obscene squelch. "listen to that—so fuckin' messy—drippin' all over me—"

your nails dig into his forearm and you feel the flex of muscle beneath your fingers, the way his tendons shift with every movement. his hips slow and grind deep instead of thrusting and you feel every inch of him, the pressure maddening, his cock dragging against that spongy spot inside you with every slow roll of his body.

"tell me i was right." his voice drops lower, more guttural, and his rhythm falters before he regains control and fucks into you with renewed desperation. you can feel the tension in his shoulders, the way his whole body is coiled tight.

"i—" you sob it and tears stream down your face because it's too much, because you can't think. "fuck—"

"say it." his hips slam forward hard enough to push you into the mattress. "say it. need to hear you say it."

"i was wrong—" you sob it out, your voice breaking. "okay? i was wrong—"

"that's not what i said." his arm flexes around your throat and his hips grind deep, so deep you feel it everywhere. "tell me i was right."

"god—fuck, you were right." you're clenching around him with every thrust, your body betraying you. "you were right about everything—"

"yeah i fuckin' was—" he groans against your neck and his control finally cracks, his hips snapping forward brutally now, chasing his release, his rhythm completely gone. you feel his arm tighten around your neck as he pulls you back onto him with each thrust and the angle shifts and suddenly he's hitting so deep you see stars. "you gonna remember that? gonna remember how good i fuck you?"

"yes—yes i'll remember—i'll never—forget it."

and just like that you're coming again, clenching around him so tight it's almost painful, gushing around him and soaking everything. and even still he's fucking you through it, his arm around your neck holding you in place.

"keep fuckin' takin' it—"

"i'm taking it—" you sob, tears streaming down your face. "fuck i'm taking it—"

his rhythm is erratic now and desperate and you can feel him getting harder inside you, the way his cock swells right before he comes, and you want it, need to feel him come inside you.

"wanna feel you—wanna feel you come inside me—"

then he's pulling out suddenly and flipping you again and you're on your back and he's on top and he's slamming back inside in one brutal thrust that makes you both cry out.

"look at me." his hand grips your jaw and forces you to meet his eyes and there's something desperate in them, something that feels vulnerable and unlike anything you've ever seen on his face. your heart clenches at the sight of it and you don't look away, not for a second. "need to see you."

he's pushing deep, deeper than before, and you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

"fuck—" his voice breaks and cracks. "fuck i'm gonna—i'm—"

then he's spilling inside you, his entire body locking up. you feel it—the first pulse of his cock, then another, then another. the heat of his cum flooding inside you, filling you, and it's so much. he's groaning your name against your neck—a sound that's almost anguished—and you can feel every pulse as he empties himself inside you, his hips jerking forward with each spasm like he can't help it, like his body is trying to get deeper even though there's nowhere left to go.

the sensation triggers something in you and suddenly you're coming again, clenching around him, milking him, taking every drop. you're sobbing as you come and rafe is holding you so tight, his arms wrapped around you, his fingers digging into your back.

you can feel his cum inside you, hot and thick, can feel it leaking out around his cock because there's so much. your pussy clenches again and he whimpers against your neck, the sound vulnerable and raw.

his movements slow and become gentle but you can still feel him throbbing inside you and the aftershocks running through both of you. his full weight settles on you and you can feel his heartbeat slamming against your chest—fast and erratic. sweat is cooling on your skin but inside you're still burning, still feeling the heat of him.

"je—" his voice is rough, barely there. "jesus fucking christ—"

he stops like there's something he was about to say and swallowed it. his face is buried in your neck and his arms are wrapped around you so tight you can barely breathe. you can feel his pulse against your collarbone where his throat presses into you.

you wonder what he was going to say.

you're both gasping for air and your legs are still wrapped around his waist, holding him close.

he's not pulling out—he's staying inside you and softening but still there, still connected. his full weight is pressing you into the bed and you can feel his cum leaking out around him, dripping down your thighs, making everything even messier. the sheets beneath you are soaked.

you can feel the honey packet still working through your system—the warmth that hasn't faded, the need is still there simmering under your skin.

you shift slightly and you feel him getting hard again almost immediately. he groans against your neck and the sound is surprised and almost pained.

"oh my god. already?"

your hips roll without meaning to and you feel him thickening inside you and he shudders, his arms tightening around you. you can feel the tension returning to his shoulders, the way his muscles coil.

"yeah."

you clench around his hardening cock and he makes this sound—half groan, half whimper.

he pulls back just enough to look at you and his hips press forward—a slow thrust that's all the way in that makes your breath catch. there's this look on his face, something softer than before like something changed between you. his hair is damp and sticking to his forehead and there's a flush spreading down his neck.

"told you."

but the teasing sounds different now—less about winning, more about something else. something you're not quite ready to admit yet.

you want to argue but he's grinding into you in slow circles that make your eyes flutter closed and your body is already desperate for more.

"oh fuck you."

but you're smiling. your legs wrap around his waist and pull him deeper and he laughs—soft and ragged—before his mouth finds yours.

he's kissing you—actually kissing you for the first time tonight. his lips are softer than you expected and he tastes like sweat and a little sweet from the honey. his tongue licks into your mouth, messy and urgent and perfect, the warmth of it making you melt into him. you're already grinding up into him and your hands are in his hair pulling him closer.

his hips start building a real rhythm again, slow at first but building, and you're so sensitive that every thrust makes you whimper into his mouth. his hand slides between your bodies, his fingers gently beginning to work your clit and you gasp into his mouth.

he pulls back just enough to look at you, his forehead pressed against yours, his voice low and rough.

"gonna fuck you all night."

𝐚/𝐧: i hope you guys like this one!! i'm ngl i'm kinda scared this one's gonna flop because i know people usually aren't as into the best friends to lovers trope as they are older!bf. i usually write things that have some kind of taboo element, and i really enjoy writing power imbalances and other weird shit like that, so this was definitely a step out of my comfort zone. i kept trying to figure out a best friends premise that didn't feel generic or boring, and i wanted to write a version of canon rafe that felt a little different without making him feel out of character. i hope you guys enjoy this version of him :) sometimes i like imagining season one rafe if he wasn't actively losing his shit lol.

@lvstqrs @ayeitsjustmee

[itsaintmebabe]

just like heaven

୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ summary: a quiet night alone in the dorm turns into an unforgettable first meeting for you and john logan.

pairing: john logan x fem! reader

warnings: not much honestly, a bit of nudity (reader is in a bralette), cussing

notes: here's my first ever john logan fic!!! pretty short but very cute and i def wanna write more for him the future so feel free to send a message with a request!!

୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ masterlist

Honestly, having the dorm to yourself for the night was kind of amazing.

You loved Hannah and Allie, you really did, but sometimes you desperately needed a little alone time. Especially because your apartment had somehow become the designated "Allie Freakout Headquarters." Midterms? Allie panicked here. Relationship problems? Here. Hockey drama? Somehow also here.

Peace and quiet had become a rare luxury. 

So you took full advantage of it.

You finally tackled the mountain of clothes that had been steadily growing on your bedroom floor because, honestly, between classes and work, you hadn't had the energy to care. The laundry still wasn't folded, but at least everything was off the floor.

Then, after staring at the stack for weeks, you finally caved and organized the massive record collection you, Hannah, and Allie had accumulated. Alphabetical order. Artist first, then album. It was weirdly satisfying.

By the time you finished, the apartment actually looked...clean.

For once, there weren't any assignments hanging over your head. No papers due at midnight. No readings you'd procrastinated until the last second. You could finally breathe.

Headphones settled comfortably over your ears, you cranked up Just Like Heaven by The Cure until it drowned out everything else. Within minutes, you were dancing around the apartment.

Barefoot. Baggy gray sweatpants hanging low on your hips. A black lace bralette that was comfortable enough to lounge in.

Not another soul around to judge you.

You wandered from room to room with your eyes closed, singing every lyric from memory, using a wooden spoon as a microphone before eventually swapping it for your hairbrush. You spun dramatically through the living room before launching yourself onto your bed, performing for an audience that definitely did not exist.

Completely lost in your own little concert, you never heard the knock at the front door. Or the second one. Or the sound of someone trying the doorknob.

Outside, John Logan frowned.

"Hello?" he called through the door, hearing movement somewhere inside.

He knocked again.

"Hannah?" he called louder. "Garrett said to grab his jersey! He left it here!"

Nothing.

He waited another few seconds before sighing.

Garrett's text was still open on his phone.

If they're not there, spare key's under the mat. The one that says "Go Away Please."

John had been hoping someone would answer. Breaking into his friend's girlfriend's apartment, even with permission, felt a little weird. But Garrett had practice, wanted his jersey back, and apparently trusted the girls enough to leave a spare key outside.

John shrugged.

"If I get murdered," he muttered to himself, fishing the key out from under the mat, "I'm haunting him."

The lock clicked open. He stepped inside carefully, closing the door behind him. The apartment was empty.

Well...

Mostly.

He could hear footsteps somewhere down the hallway.

And...

Was that singing?

"Hannah?" he called cautiously.

Nothing.

"Allie?"

Still nothing.

The singing only got louder. John stood awkwardly in the entryway for another second before taking a few hesitant steps farther inside. Then someone came spinning out of the hallway.

You.

Eyes closed.

Hands running dramatically through your hair as you belted out the chorus with absolutely zero concern for the outside world.

John froze. He should probably say something.

Instead...

He watched.

Not in a creepy way.

Just...

You looked so genuinely happy. You were dancing around like no one was watching, which, until about ten seconds ago, had been completely true.

A grin slowly spread across his face. He'd never seen you before, but judging by how comfortable you looked, you obviously lived here.

And...

You were really pretty.

Like...

Really pretty.

Then your eyes opened. You froze mid-spin.

Your brain took approximately half a second to register the fact that there was an unfamiliar six-foot hockey player standing in your living room.

You screamed. "What the fuck?!"

John nearly jumped out of his skin.

"It's okay!" he said immediately, throwing both hands into the air. "I'm not robbing you!"

You stared at him. He stared back.

Neither of you moved.

"I—"

"You literally broke into our apartment!"

"I used the key!"

"That's somehow worse!"

"No, wait—"

You grabbed the nearest object you could find, a throw pillow, and pointed it at him like it was a weapon.

"Explain."

John couldn't help the nervous laugh that escaped him.

"Garrett sent me."

Your eyebrows pulled together.

"...Garrett?"

"Yeah." He nodded quickly. "Garrett Graham. Hannah's boyfriend?"

You blinked. "I know who Garrett is."

"Right. Good. That would've been awkward."

He rubbed the back of his neck.

"He left his hockey jersey here and texted me to come grab it because he's already at the rink. Said there was a spare key under the mat."

You stared at him for another few seconds.

Then...

Very slowly...

Your shoulders relaxed. "Oh."

"Yeah."

"...I almost hit you with a pillow."

"I've taken body checks harder than that."

A reluctant laugh escaped you. "Don't get cocky."

"Oh, I absolutely am."

You rolled your eyes despite yourself.

Silence settled between you for a second.

Then John smiled. "I'm John, by the way."

"The John Logan?"

"The one and only."

You couldn't help smiling. "I'm Y/N."

"Nice to officially meet you."

You smiled politely before noticing his eyes flick downward for the briefest second. Following his gaze, you looked down. Black lace bralette. Bare shoulders. Barefoot. Hair sticking out in every direction from your one-woman concert.

Oh.

Oh, no.

Heat rushed to your face so fast it actually made your ears burn. You immediately folded your arms across yourself.

"I—"

John's own face turned red almost instantly. "I wasn't—"

"Nope."

"I wasn't trying to—"

"I know."

"I swear."

"I know!"

He looked genuinely horrified with himself. Which somehow made the situation even funnier. Trying to recover what little dignity you had left, you cleared your throat.

"Hannah's room."

John blinked. "What?"

"The jersey."

You pointed toward the hallway.

"It's probably in Hannah's room."

"Oh."

Right. The reason he'd come over.

"Thanks."

He disappeared into the bedroom, leaving you enough time to dramatically bury your face in your hands.

"Oh my God..."

Of all days...

Five minutes later, John reappeared holding Garrett's jersey triumphantly. "Found it."

"Nice."

Neither of you seemed entirely sure how to end the conversation.

John scratched the back of his neck. "Well..."

"I should probably..."

"Yeah."

He reached for the doorknob before pausing.

Turning back toward you, that signature Logan grin spread across his face.

"Oh."

You looked up.

"Great song, by the way."

Your eyes widened.

"You could hear that?"

"You were kinda killing your eardrums with those headphones."

You groaned, dropping your head into your hands. "Oh my God."

"And," he continued, clearly enjoying himself now, "your air guitar technique?"

"No."

"Pretty impressive."

"No."

"Eight out of ten."

"You need to leave."

John laughed. "Fair."

He opened the door. "See you around, Y/N."

Before you could think of anything remotely clever to say back, the door clicked shut behind him. The apartment fell silent again. You stood there for several long seconds.

Then slowly slid down the wall until you were sitting on the floor. "...Shit."

[lvstqrs]

who wanna be mutuals i want more tumblr friends

[lvstqrs]

posessive - john logan

pairing ! john logan x fem!reader

summary ! john gets possessive over you, ending in sex in his truck.

warnings ! literally no actual plot, all smut. mdni 18+ technically public sex but no one's around. overstim (slightly), odd positions because he's huge and you're in his truck lol. he's angry (giggles)

wc ! 1.3k

author's note ! ugh i need him so bad. so bad. so so bad.

to be added to my taglist.

The air in the truck was tense. Logan hadn't moved. Hadn't started the truck. Hadn't looked at you. The silence was crushing everything around you. Everyone had left by now, leaving you and him in his truck, alone in the arena parking lot.

He'd had a bad practice. A really, really shitty practice. All he wanted to do was take you home after that. But then he saw some douchebag flirting with you in the hallway. He dragged you away as quickly as he could, jaw clenched tight.

For a while, you didn't speak. You knew he needed time to cool down. But eventually it got too quiet for too long. "Baby—"

Logan inhaled sharply, eyes closing. You cut yourself off. He opened the door, getting out. You furrowed your brows, watching as he rounded the truck, opening your door. "Scoot," he said, his voice deep and rough and full of emotion.

You did as told, watching as he climbed in, slamming the door. Silently, he pulled you to him until you were on his lap, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he rested his head back against the back window.

He breathed out, eyes dark as they looked at you. You swallowed, feeling the arousal creeping up on you. You knew you shouldn't feel so turned on by him being like this, but you couldn't help it.

He yanked you closer, grinding your hips against his as he pulled you against him, burying his face in your neck. You moaned softly, clenching around nothing. He groaned at the feeling. His teeth nipped at your sensitive skin, his hands forcing your hips to grind against his once more.

He was hardening quickly under you.

Your hands dragged up his arms and into his hair, holding him close as you let him do what he wanted. "Fuck, you're so fuckin' good f'me," he groaned, sucking on your neck. Not soft and sensual like usual, but rough. Like he was trying to devour you.

He was.

His fingers slid inward, roughly squeezing your inner thighs, massaging them. You moaned softly, kissing his jaw, his stubble tickling your lips. He breathed out, relaxing slightly against the seat, continuing with your thighs.

He reached up, unbuttoning your shorts, slipping his fingers inside. "Mm, fuck," he breathed out as he felt you over your wet panties. He didn't move, just cupped your mound. Your hips jerked against his hand, trying to create friction.

He grabbed your hip with his other hand, stilling you. "No," he said. "Be a good girl and listen to me tonight, hmm?"

You bit your lip, burying your face in his neck. "Mhm," you hummed, licking over his pulse point. 

He took his hand out of your pants, and you whined slightly from the loss of contact. He gripped your hips, manhandling you until you were beside him, lying down against the seats, your legs on his. He maneuvered so that he was facing you, his hands tugging your shorts down.

Your panties came next, then his sweats and boxers. It was slightly difficult in the confines of his truck, but neither of you cared.

He moved so he was hovering over you, leaning down and finally capturing your lips in his. His kiss wasn't sweet. It wasn't kind and soft. It was rough and hungry. His teeth nipped at your lip and his tongue invaded your mouth as he tried to devour you whole.

You moaned into the kiss, grasping his face as he ground his hips into yours, his cock rubbing up and down your slit.

"So fucking wet," he murmured into the kiss. He pulled back, resting on his knees as he looked down at you. His fingers slid through your slit, teasing your entrance, before two fingers slipped inside.

He wasn't patient. He was rough and fast like he needed this to ground himself. He groaned at the feel of you clenching around his fingers, and you gasped, a whimper leaving your lips as you tossed your head back.

His thumb pressed against your clit, rubbing tight, fast circles as he fingered you. His eyes never left you, watching as your chest rose and fell and your back arched, hips bucking into his hand. He removed his hand from you quickly, forcing a whine from your lips.

"John," you whimpered, looking up at him.

His eyes were still dark, his jaw still tight. He moved back to hover over you, taking his cock in his hand and rubbing the tip over your clit. "You're mine, baby. I don't share," he told you, pushing the tip inside of you.

You moaned, eyes closing as he grabbed your legs and pushed them toward your chest. "I know," you whined out, nodding.

He smirked, shaking his head with a low chuckle. "Yeah?" He pushed in deeper, hard but not fast, giving you the time you needed to adjust to him. You bit your lip, and he groaned. He kissed your calf, teeth scraping skin gently. "So tight, baby."

His hips rocked forward more, until he was so deep you were already shaking, crying out softly. "F-fuck," you moaned.

"This pussy is mine, hm?" He started thrusting, deep and slow at first, letting you feel every drag of his cock against your walls. You moaned in response, but that wasn't enough for him. He grabbed your jaw, not hard, but with command. "Answer me, pretty girl."

You nodded. "Fuck- yes!" You cried out a little louder as his thrusts got faster, hitting that deep spot perfectly.

He hummed, leaning forward and resting his hand against the door to hold himself up as he started pounding into you. "All of you is mine. Got it? I'm not fucking playing. I will mark every part of your perfect body if I have to."

You whined, grasping at his hair and tugging to try and ground yourself. He groaned, kissing you deeply. "Fuck, fuck, do it," you sputtered into his mouth, your lips parting in loud moans as he continued to fuck you.

He thrust harder, head moving so that he could suck on your jaw. "Yeah?" he murmured into your skin. "Wanna show everyone that you're mine?"

You nodded frantically, feeling so full of him that you could barely think. He growled softly, teeth sinking into your jaw just enough to make you cry out as he fucked you with abandon. He pushed your legs further into your chest, forcing you to take more of him as he sucked on your neck.

The marks were deep and visible and he fucking loved knowing he was doing that to you. That you wanted him to do that to you. His hand came down, fingers rubbing your puffy clit roughly. "Squeezing me so good, baby. Fuck, you were made for me."

Every slide of his cock had you moaning, your legs shaking from the pressure. Every rub of your clit had you crying out, your back arched into him as you got closer. He hummed, feeling you start to pulse around him.

"There ya go, pretty girl. Let me feel you." He sucked harder on your neck, keeping his pace on your clit and in your pussy as you cried out, orgasm taking over.

Your hands grasped at his hair and shirt, legs shaking as you pulsed around him. He moaned, teeth nipping at skin as he continued fucking you. "O-oh, fuck. John, I can't—"

"You can. You will. Be my good girl."

You whimpered, overstimulation quickly starting to take over as he continued fucking you, his fingers never stopping on your clit. He was getting closer, his thrusts a little sloppier as he felt you continuing to squeeze his cock so good.

Your toes curled as your legs shook, another orgasm crashing over you much more powerfully than the last. Tears welled up in your eyes as you cried out, and that's all it took for him. Two more deep thrusts and he was spilling inside you, cock twitching as your pussy pulsed.

Slowly, he stopped, not pulling out but pulling his fingers away from your clit. He panted in time with your pants, kissing from your neck to your lips. "So good. You're so fucking good for me," he murmured into your lips.

You moaned, kissing him back deeply. "F-feel better?" you whined out, still sensitive.

He chuckled. "I don't know, maybe I need to do that again."

[ephmeralss]

WHY I DON'T LEAVE THE HOUSE...

𝐋𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑...

purplette.  box  dye.  paramore. 

grapes.  black  eyeliner.  john  logan.

HELL YEAH .ᐟ punk  rock.  beat-up  converse.  the  color  purple.  rainbows.  writing  music.  christmas.  late  night  shopping.  alone  time.  tension.  horror  books/movies.  white  monsters.

HELL NO .ᐟ dumb  people.  country  music.  touching  her  guitar.  dancing.  shrimp.  pumpkin  spice.  talking  about  her  siblings.  singing  in  public.  attention.

𝐋𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑... a  punk-rocker  who  has  a  soft  spot  for  a  certain  mechanic.  laying  on  her  bed  upside  down  to  help  her  ‘creative  process’.  very  private.  stage  fright.

[ephmeralss]

AND IF YOU CALL ME A SLUT...

𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄ⵑ𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑...

brunette.  rain.  blue  bows. 

carefree.  blueberries.  garrett  graham.

𝐲𝐮𝐦𝐬.ᐟ the  color  blue.  thunderstorms.  cucumbers.  taylor  swift  (1989  specifically).  receiving.  her  cat.  girl  time.  late  night  talks.  big  hands.  music.  poorly  written  rom-coms.  blue  raspberry  slushies.

𝐲𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐬 .ᐟ insecure  men.  math.  loud  chewing.  being  rude  to  service  workers.  orange.  spiteful  people.  her  parents.

𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑... a  flirt  who  knows  her  worth.  percy  jackson  books.  nerdy  in  private.  popular.  commitmentphobe.

[lvstqrs]

first date - dean di laurentis

pairing ! dean di laurentis x golden!reader

summary ! it's your first date with dean.

warnings ! fluff. mild talk of insecurities. dean is literally so sweet.

wc ! 1.8k

author's note ! don't you worry my loves i have at least two more parts planned!!

to be added to my taglist.

part one.

You were nervous. A nervous wreck, really. Part of you was convinced this was all some ploy, but Hannah told you otherwise. "He's not like that, I promise," she said. And you chose to believe her. You had to believe her.

You wanted to.

You spent an hour getting ready, taking multiple pictures and sending them to Hannah and Allie for feedback. By the end, you were satisfied, even if still nervous. You waited anxiously on your couch for the text from Dean.

Twenty minutes later, there was a knock on your door. You swallowed. You hadn't expected him to actually come up to your door, but then again, you hadn't expected any of this. You stood up, walking over and opening the door.

Dean was holding flowers, a small smile on his face. His eyes raked over you, slowly and with no intention to hide his gaze. "Wow," he breathed out. You felt a little uncomfortable, not because of him, but because you weren't used to such an intense stare.

"Hi," you greeted softly, a small smile on your face.

"Hi," he repeated back. He held his hand out with the flowers, and you took them slowly. "I, uh, I asked Hannah what your favorites were."

You smiled a little brighter at that, sniffing the flowers and nodding. "That's sweet. Come in, let me put these in a vase."

He followed you inside, sitting on your couch as you searched your kitchen for a vase and set the flowers up on your countertop. Once you were done, Dean stood up, holding out his hand. "Shall we?"

You nodded. "We shall."

He chuckled, leading you out of your house, letting you lock your door, before leading you to his car. He opened the door for you, before rounding the car and getting in. "Where are we going?" you asked.

Dean smiled. "That's a surprise, sweetheart." You swallowed, not the biggest fan of surprises. Dean glanced at you. "Trust me. Hannah gave me all I needed to know."

That made you feel a little more at ease. You thought it was sweet he took the time to ask Hannah about you, but you tried not to let it go to your head. After all, you needed to be realistic. You doubted very seriously that you two were actually compatible.

Still, he let you pick the music and the talk in the car was easy and friendly, like it just flowed. You didn't get into deep conversations and you didn't ask many questions outside of the basic ones, saving all of that for when you got to wherever you were going.

Soon, you pulled up to your all-time favorite restaurant, and a small smile encompassed your face. Dean looked at you, a smile on his. "See, some surprises are worth it, hm?"

You giggled, nodding. Dean got out, rounding the car and opening your door, holding his hand out. You took it gladly, letting him guide you out of the car and into the restaurant. You were seated in a booth, Dean across from you as you both ordered your drinks.

"What do you like most about this place?" Dean asked once the waitress left.

"The atmosphere. I'm big on energy, and the energy here is always so good."

Dean nodded, eyes studying you. Not critically or anything, just a small glint in his look that made you aware he was taking notes. "I have to ask," you started. "Why'd you wanna go on a date with me?"

Dean tilted his head, like the question was the most puzzling thing in the world. "Why wouldn't I? You're beautiful and kind."

You shook your head, giggling. "No, I mean...you're not the type to go on dates, Dean."

Dean nodded, his throat working as he swallowed. "Well, maybe it's time to change that."

It was your turn to tilt your head, but the question remained unasked as the waitress brought your drinks. You both took a few minutes to look at the menu before ordering your food. By the time the waitress left once again, the energy had changed slightly.

Not bad. Just...different.

"So, hockey's not your thing. What is?"

Dean's forearms were on the table, him leaning in slightly as if what you were about to say was the most important thing in the world. You smiled slightly. "Peace."

The answer was simple, but somehow, Dean didn't need to ask any follow-ups. He just nodded, taking note of what you said.

"What's your favorite thing about hockey?" you asked.

Dean thought for a second. "The team. Nothing's better than a good team. Sure, the ice is nice, the game is cool, and the winning is amazing, but I'd be nothing out there without my boys. Don't tell them I said that, though."

You giggled, a genuine smile on your face. That was honestly the last thing you expected him to say, especially as a defenseman. "Secret's safe with me, Dean."

"Thanks, sweetheart." He smiled back at you, soft and small like it was the most raw thing he'd ever done. "Favorite place?"

You tilted your head in thought. "I think maybe the creek behind my old house. It's full of nature and peace and I really enjoyed reading out there. Like nothing could get me when I was with the Earth."

Dean smiled. "Hannah tells me you're an art major. Why's that?"

You shrugged. "It's just always drawn me. I get to be creative and speak through what I make. I can be anything, I can do anything, and I think that's pretty beautiful."

A nod from him. "That is pretty awesome."

You giggled. "You're pretty good at the whole 'date' thing."

His smile widened. "Yeah?"

You nodded. "Yeah."

"Well, good. I'm glad it's not miserable for you," he teased, but there was an underline of truth.

You shook your head. "Not at all."

The conversation flowed easily. It was comfortable and nice, like every word each of you said was meant to pass your lips and reach the other's ears. Dean's smile never faded, and neither did yours. He asked every question you'd never expected him of all people to ask.

You asked the ones you wanted to know the most. Things were easy and simple with him, and you were finding yourself a lot less skeptical than you were when the date started. Somehow, someway, it felt like you and him were compatible.

You tried to stay neutral, you tried not to get your hopes up, but it was hard. He was Dean, and he was staring at you like the world was at your feet. It felt unreal, truly. Like this was all some dream you'd wake up from and it'd be over.

But it wasn't.

The food arrived, and you took your time eating. You'd trained yourself in the art of eating slowly, to lessen the image that people automatically had over you. Dean, however, was not a slow eater. Nor did he care.

Nor did he have to.

You took a bite of your pasta, eyeing Dean as he cut into his steak. His thirty-five dollar steak. You honestly couldn't believe he'd pay that, but you should've known better. "So why Briar U?" he asked, taking a bite of his steak.

You raised an eyebrow, swallowing your bite of pasta. "Hm?"

"I mean, why'd you choose it? Hannah's mentioned just how smart you are."

You blushed slightly, shaking your head. "She's dramatic."

"I doubt that."

You giggled. The honest answer was a heavier one. One you weren't sure he really wanted to hear. Despite that doubt, you decided to tell him anyway. Honesty was something you were fond of. "Out of all the colleges I got accepted to, it was the best one that was furthest away."

Dean paused at that, questions in his eyes that you weren't sure he'd ask. "Furthest away from what?" You swallowed softly, like you were scared to answer, but were going to anyway. Dean noticed. "You don't have to answer that. I'm being nosy."

You shook your head, a soft smile on your face. "It's okay, I don't mind." You shrugged, taking a sip of your pink lemonade. "My family, mostly. They're...something. I dunno. It's best if we're on opposite sides of the country."

Dean nodded slowly, not pushing anymore. Even if it was clear he wanted to. "I assume you chose Briar for the hockey program?"

Dean smiled. "Yeah, couldn't really pass up that."

You giggled. "Guess not, huh?"

Dean was halfway done with his steak by the time you got a quarter of your pasta down, and honestly, you were already kind of full. You ate just fine in front of Hannah or by yourself, but right now? The thought of eating the entire dish made you slightly nauseous.

You weren't sure why, probably some deep-rooted problem you weren't putting effort into figuring out.

Dean eyed you for a second, eyes flicking down to your plate. "We can take that to-go, if you want," he said, his voice smooth and soft.

You nodded slightly. "Yeah, yeah. Sorry."

Dean furrowed his brows. "For what?"

You shrugged, chuckling softly. "Just feels like I'm wasting, even though I know I'm not."

He tilted his head. "Even if you did, I wouldn't care. Don't force yourself."

You looked at him, eyes searching his for a moment. "Yeah," you whispered.

Dean put his cutlery down, calling a waitress over for two to-go containers. "You don't have to—"

"No, it's okay. I'm already kind of full and I did promise Logan some steak anyway," he said, a smile on his face like this was no trouble at all.

You smiled back softly, even if you didn't really believe him. The gesture was sweet.

Once your food was in to-go containers and Dean paid for the meal, you were leaving the restaurant. Dean opened your door for you and you got in his car, watching as he rounded it. You let out a small, shaky breath before he got in.

Once he was in and the car was on, he looked at you. "Am I taking you home, or is there anything else you wanna do?" he asked genuinely.

You looked at him. "Honestly? I'd love to keep this going, but I have an assignment to finish unfortunately." You looked at him apologetically, and he nodded.

"No worries, sweetheart. There's always next time." He flashed his award-winning smile at you, and you giggled.

"Oh, so there's going to be a next time?"

"Only if you want there to be, of course."

Dean started down the street. You nodded. "Yeah, I do."

His smile widened, but he didn't say anything. The ride to your house was filled with random music from the radio and the occasional short conversation from the two of you, but it was comforting. Warm and soft like it was right where you were meant to be.

When you pulled up, Dean did what he'd done all night. Got out and opened your door, helping you out of the car and then walking you up to your house. You turned around and looked up at him as you reached your door.

"Thank you for tonight, Dean. Really."

He smiled softly. "Anytime, sweetheart."

You stood on your tip-toes, kissing his cheek softly, before pulling back. Your faces were close now, and you didn't miss the way his eyes glanced at your lips. He didn't make a move, though. "Goodnight," you whispered.

"Goodnight," he whispered back.

You turned around, unlocking your door and walking in, giving him one last wave before closing your door and locking it. You sighed out contently, a small smile on your face that stayed for the rest of the night.

That was the sweetest date you'd ever had.

[lvstqrs]

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