heyyyy, how are u? i need something like Garrett × shy reader having the best sex of their lives. With him teasing her, and her being all shy.
That’s My Girl
⋆˚࿔ smutty blurb, [p in v, shy!reader, backshots, dirty talk, reader has glasses]
chye’s grimoire [masterlist]
Garrett flipped you onto your stomach without warning, his big hands gripping your hips and yanking them upward until your ass was high in the air and your chest pressed into the sheets. Your glasses slid halfway down your nose as you instinctively tried to hide your burning face against the mattress.
“Arch that back for me, baby,” he ordered, voice low and rough. One palm smoothed down your spine, pressing firmly until your ass was presented perfectly. “Good girl… fuck, look at this view.”
You felt completely exposed with your knees spread wide, back deeply arched, dripping pussy and ass on full display for him. The shy embarrassment made your cheeks flame hotter. You would never admit it, but it only made you wetter.
Garrett groaned appreciatively. “So fucking soaked. You love being like this for me, don’t you?” He gave your ass a firm smack, watching the way it jiggled, then soothed the sting with his palm. His thick cock slid between your cheeks, hot and heavy, teasing your slick folds without pushing in yet.
“Garrett…” you whimpered, pushing back against him despite your shyness.
He chuckled. “Patience, sweetheart. I want to enjoy how desperate this pretty pussy looks begging for me.” Finally, Garrett gripped the thick base of his cock, squeezing it as he dragged the swollen, leaking head up and down your soaked slit. He tapped it heavily against your swollen clit a few times, making your hips twitch and a needy whimper slip from your throat.
“Eeeeasy, baby,” he murmured, voice dark with lust. “Gonna give you every inch.”
He pressed the fat, bulbous head right against your entrance and started pushing in, agonizingly slow. You felt every single thick inch as he stretched you open in this deep angle. The wide crown popped inside first, forcing your pussy lips to part obscenely around his girth. Then came the rest of his heavy shaft, sliding deeper and deeper, dragging along every sensitive wall until the stretch bordered on overwhelming.
Your mouth fell open in a silent gasp. The new angle made him feel impossibly bigger, thicker, reaching places that had your toes curling and your eyes fluttering behind your fogged glasses. When his hips finally pressed flush against your ass, his heavy balls resting against your clit and his entire cock buried to the hilt inside your clenching heat, a loud, broken moan tore from your throat.
“Fuuuck” you whimpered, fingers clawing desperately at the sheets, trying to ground yourself as your pussy fluttered and pulsed around his throbbing length.
Garrett let out a low, guttural groan, his fingers digging harder into your hips. “That’s it… feel that? So fucking full of me. This tight little pussy is swallowing every inch like it was made for my cock.” He rocked into you. “Shit, baby,” he breathed. “You’re clenching so tight around me. This pussy was made for me”
He started thrusting with long, deep strokes at first, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in. The wet, filthy sound of skin slapping skin grew louder as he picked up rhythm. Each powerful thrust nudged against that sensitive spot deep inside you, making your toes curl and your glasses fog up even more. His hands gripped your hips hard enough to leave marks, pulling you back onto his cock with every forward snap of his hips. Your ass rippled with the force of it, your soaked pussy making obscene squelching noises around his thick length.
“Listen to how wet you are,” he teased, voice strained with pleasure. “Taking every inch like a good little shy slut. You like getting fucked like this? Letting me ruin you?”
You could only moan in response, too overwhelmed to form words. He reached around and rubbed your swollen clit in tight, slick circles, never slowing his relentless pounding. Your legs started shaking.
Garrett leaned over your back, one hand bracing beside your head while the other kept torturing your clit. His mouth brushed your ear. “Don’t hide those pretty moans. I want to hear how good my cock feels splitting you open.”
He straightened up again, grabbed a fistful of your hair, not too rough, just enough to pull your head back slightly, and fucked you harder. Deep, punishing strokes that made your whole body jolt forward. Your breasts swung beneath you, nipples brushing the sheets with every thrust. Sweat slicked your skin. Your glasses were completely fogged, the world blurry except for the overwhelming sensation of his thick cock driving into you over and over. The pressure built fast and intense. Your pussy fluttered and clenched around him, juices coating his balls as they slapped against your clit with every brutal thrust.
“I can’t, Garrett. It’s too much…” you gasped, voice breaking.
“Not enough,” he growled, slamming into you even harder. “Come on this cock, baby. Let me feel you fall apart.”
Your orgasm crashed over you like a violent wave. You cried out sharply, pussy spasming wildly around his thrusting cock as pure ecstasy ripped through your body. Your legs shook uncontrollably, ass pushing back against him as you came hard, gushing around his length.
But Garrett didn’t stop. He fucked you straight through it, chasing his own pleasure with short, deep, punishing strokes. “Fuck, that’s it… good girl,” he groaned. “Squeeze my cock just like that.”
The overstimulation had you whimpering and twitching, but the pleasure kept building again, sharper this time. Tears of overwhelming bliss pricked your eyes behind your foggy glasses. “I didn’t know…” you sobbed brokenly, voice hoarse. “Garrett, oh my god, I didn’t know it could be like this… fuck, I’m gonna come again…" Your second orgasm hit even harder, ripping a loud, shattered moan from your throat as your pussy clamped down on him like a vice. That finally pushed him over the edge.
Garrett’s thrusts grew erratic and desperate, his grip on your hips tightening. With a deep, guttural groan, he yanked your upper body upright, pulling your back flush against his sweaty chest. One strong arm banded around your waist to hold you there while his other hand reached up, gently pushing your fogged glasses back up your nose.
He pressed his mouth to your ear, breath hot and ragged.
Just as he started to come, you pushed back against him, ass pressing firmly into his hips, taking him even deeper despite the overwhelming pleasure. A needy little whimper escaped you as you rocked back to meet his grinding cock. Garrett groaned loudly, clearly surprised and thrilled. “Fuck… that’s my girl,” he rasped, voice thick with pride and lust. “Look at you pushing this pretty ass back on me… my shy little thing finally letting go and fucking herself on my cock. I’m so fucking proud of you, baby.”
His cock throbbed hard inside you as he came, thick, hot spurts of cum flooding your pulsing pussy in heavy pulses. He kept grinding up into you with slow, filthy rolls of his hips, pushing every drop deeper while cum leaked out around his thick shaft and dripped messily down your thighs.
“Yes, just like that,” he praised against your hair, kissing the side of your head tenderly, then your temple, then lower to your neck. “Keep pushing back on me while I fill you up. Such a good fucking girl for me… taking me like a champ. That’s it, sweetheart, milk me with that tight pussy.”
Even through his orgasm, his voice stayed low and filthy, laced with genuine pride. “You feel so fucking good squeezing me like this. My perfect girl.”
pairing: dean di laurentis x coachsdaughter!reader
synopsis: only one rule: no hockey players. and you tried soooo hard to stick to it. but dean di laurentis has a way, a way that includes his tongue and fingers and a dreaded phone call.
words: 1k+
disclaimer: english is not my first language!
warnings: literally porn without plot, munch!dean, cocky!dean. secret relationship. oral (f receiving). bed humping (m). second person, no use of Y/N, the images are purely for aesthetic purposes, no explicit description of the reader. oral while on the phone (forbidden relationship). not proofread!
chye's corner: based on a comment by @blackbabybird left on bounce on it. this can be considered as a follow-up, but it can absolutely be read as a stand alone!! pls consider a reblog, a like, or a comment! thank you for choosing to read my words (((:
chye's grimoire (masterlist)
requests are open!
Your father had made his first and only rule very clear the day you moved back to campus. “Stay away from my players. I mean it, kid. No hockey boys. Ever.”
You’d looked him in the eye and said, “Yes, Coach.”
You’d meant it, too. You’d seen what that life did to girls. The late nights, the ego, the constant useless drama. You’d watched your father coach long enough to know better.
But then there was Dean Di Laurentis.
He wasn’t just any hockey player. He was the hockey player. The wicked golden-boy. Sharp jaw, sharper tongue. The kind of man who walked into a room like he already owned it and everyone in it. The worst part? He knew exactly what he did to you.
And that’s exactly why now his face was buried between your thighs with raw fervor.
You gasped sharply as Dean devoured you.
His mouth was hot and relentless, tongue dragging through your slick folds with greedy strokes that made wet sounds fill the otherwise quiet room. He groaned deeply against your pussy, the vibration rumbling through your core as he licked and sucked like a man possessed. His strong hands gripped your thighs hard, spreading you wider, fingers digging into your soft skin while he held you open for him.
“Fuck, can’t get enough of you,” he muttered roughly, voice muffled as he dove back in. His tongue circled your clit with feverish intensity before sucking it hard into his mouth, the sharp pull sending sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine. You could feel how soaked you were, your arousal coating his chin, dripping down as he lapped at you messily, almost desperately.
Dean ate you out with complete abandon, alternating between broad, flat licks that dragged slowly over your entire pussy and flicking motions against your swollen clit that had your legs shaking. The wet heat of his mouth, the scratch of his light stubble you’d told him to shave days ago against your sensitive inner thighs, the filthy sounds of him sucking and slurping at your wetness. It was overwhelming. Every breath you took was filled with the scent of his cologne, every nerve in your body lit up as he fucked you with his tongue, pushing it inside you before pulling back to devour your clit again.
You moaned loudly, fingers twisting tight in his golden hair, hips grinding against his face as he growled in approval. He was so into it, so lost in the taste of you, that his groans grew louder, more desperate, the vibrations making your toes curl.
Your back arched off the bed, pleasure building fast and intense under his annoyingly skilled tongue…
Your phone rang on the nightstand.
The sharp, familiar ring sliced through the heavy breathing and wet sounds like a blade. Your heart slammed against your ribs as you saw the name on the screen.
Dad.
Pure panic flooded your chest. “Dean, stop, it’s him,” you hissed, trying to twist away. The shame hit you instantly, hot and nauseating. This was your father. The man who had raised you, trusted you, explicitly warned you. And here you were, legs spread obscenely wide in your bedroom while one of his players had his tongue buried in your pussy.
But Dean only tightened his grip on your thighs, his fingers digging in possessively. He looked up at you, lips shiny with your arousal, eyes dark with lust and something dangerously close to triumph. “Answer it,” he said, low and commanding.
“I can’t, Dean, please,” you whispered desperately. The guilt was already twisting in your stomach, but so was the undeniable thrill. The same thrill that had gotten you into this mess in the first place.
Dean’s smirk deepened. He dragged his tongue slowly up your slit, teasing your clit just enough to make your breath hitch. “Remember last week?” he murmured against your soaked flesh. “You kept bouncing on my cock until I came inside you while I was talking to him. You loved it. You know you did,” His eyes flashed. “Now it’s my turn.”
The phone kept ringing. Each ring felt like a condemnation.
You hated how wetter you got at his words. The taboo, the sheer wrongness of it, was flooding your system like a drug. Your own father on the other end of the line while his star player licked your pussy. The absolute betrayal. The power imbalance. It made you feel filthy. It made you feel alive.
With a trembling hand, you answered. “H-Hey, Dad,” you forced out, voice strained and higher than normal. Dean immediately dove back in with vicious hunger.
“Hey sweetheart,” your dad’s warm, familiar voice filled your ear. “Just calling to check on you. Everything okay back home?”
At the exact same moment, Dean sucked your clit hard into his mouth. The contrast was devastating.
A violent shudder ripped through you. The whiplash was insane: your father’s concerned, loving tone pouring into your ear while Dean’s wicked mouth devoured you with filthy enthusiasm. Shame burned through you, sharp and acidic, but it only made your pussy clench harder around nothing.
“I-I’m fine,” you stammered, gripping Dean’s hair with white knuckles. “Just… studying. How’s the game?”
Dean chuckled darkly against your cunt, the vibration traveling straight up your spine. He pushed two thick fingers inside you and curled them perfectly, stroking that spot that made your vision blur, all while his tongue flicked rapidly over your swollen clit.
The filthy sounds of him finger-fucking your dripping pussy grew louder. The squelching noise every time he thrust his fingers deep was growing so loud, you were afraid your father might pick up something through the phone. He sucked hard on your clit again, pulling it between his lips with wet, hungry suction while his tongue lashed relentlessly across the sensitive bundle of nerves.
You were soaking his face. Your arousal coated his chin, his lips, and dripped down onto the sheets, but Dean was too far gone to care. He groaned loudly into your cunt like he couldn’t get enough of your taste.
Then you felt the mattress start to shift rhythmically beneath you.
Dean was grinding his hips against the edge of your bed, humping the mattress desperately to relieve the aching pressure in his cock. His hard dick strained against his sweatpants, and he rocked forward in shallow, needy thrusts, rubbing himself against your bed while he devoured your pussy. The movement was frantic, almost involuntary, like eating you out was turning him on so much he couldn’t stop himself from seeking friction.
Your dad kept talking, completely oblivious to what was happening on the other side of the line. “All good, we’re up by 1 even without that fucker Di Laurentis. Called in sick, I don’t buy it. Have you seen him around campus, sweetheart?”
The guilt was almost unbearable. Yet the shame only intensified the pleasure.
Dean’s eyes flicked up to meet yours, dark with lust and filthy satisfaction. He curled his fingers harder inside you, rubbing that spongy spot with ruthless precision while his tongue flicked even faster over your throbbing clit. At the same time, his hips kept rolling, grinding his throbbing cock harder against the mattress, the bed creaking softly with every desperate thrust. He pulled back just enough to whisper, “Tell him how you’re being a good girl.”
You were mortified. You were absolutely the wettest you’ve ever been. And you were terrifyingly close to coming.
You wanted to hate him for this. You wanted to hate yourself more. Instead, you choked out, “No Dad, I’ve not seen him around… I’m being good. Really focused, studying mostly.”
Dean rewarded you by sucking your clit with renewed fervor, fingers pumping faster. The taboo coiled tighter in your belly. You were drowning in him: the fear of getting caught, the intoxicating rush of betrayal, the sick arousal of being so filthy right under your father’s nose. Every second on the phone stretched your nerves to the breaking point.
Your dad chuckled. “Alright, I won’t keep you. Love you, kiddo.”
“L-Love you too,” you barely managed, voice cracking.
The moment you hung up, Dean moaned loudly against your pussy and attacked you with single-minded intensity, determined to rip the orgasm out of you. “Fuck yes, that’s it,” he growled into your soaked cunt, his voice muffled and rough. “Come on my tongue like the dirty little slut you are.”
His fingers slammed into your dripping pussy harder, curling viciously against your g-spot with every brutal thrust. He sucked your swollen clit into his mouth with filthy hunger, tongue flicking rapidly.
At the same time, Dean’s hips kept rutting desperately against the edge of your bed, grinding his rock-hard cock into the mattress in frantic, needy strokes.
“You gonna squirt on my face, baby?” he taunted between licks, his breath hot against your pussy. “Gonna soak your sheets while I hump your fucking bed like a dog? Come on, let me feel this tight cunt squeeze my fingers.”
He doubled down, fingers pumping faster, tongue lashing relentlessly over your clit. The wet, squelching sounds of your pussy were pornographic as he fucked you with his fingers and devoured you. Your orgasm hit you like a freight train.
“Dean… fuck!” you cried out as pleasure exploded through you. Your pussy clenched hard around his thick fingers, gushing all over his tongue and chin as you came violently. Your back arched sharply, thighs locking around his head while your hips bucked wildly against his face.
Dean groaned loudly, the sound vibrating straight into your clit. “That’s my fucking girl. Drench me. Keep coming on my tongue. Fuckkk, you’re soaking my face.”
He didn’t stop. His fingers kept slamming into you, curling and stroking through every pulse of your orgasm while his mouth sucked and licked up every drop of your release. His own hips rutted harder against the bed, desperate and shameless.
You came so hard your legs shook uncontrollably, a loud, broken moan ripping from your throat as wave after wave crashed through you.
When your body finally went limp, trembling and spent, Dean slowly pulled his fingers out of your pulsing cunt and sat back on his heels. His face was a complete mess, lips swollen, chin dripping with your cum, cheeks shiny with your arousal.
He looked up at you with that signature cocky smirk, eyes dark and satisfied. Without a hint of shame, he wiped his mouth and chin with the back of his hand, then slowly licked his fingers clean, savoring every drop while maintaining eye contact. “Goddamn,” he chuckled, voice rough and smug. “You taste even better when you’re trying not to moan for your dad on the phone.”
He crawled up your body, still grinning like the arrogant asshole he was, and hovered over you. “Bet your old man has no idea his precious daughter just got her pussy devoured in her own bed. And came like a fucking pornstar while telling him she loves him.” He leaned down and kissed you deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. “You’re such a filthy little slut for me.”
Dean pulled back, still looking far too pleased with himself as he wiped the last bit of your wetness from his jaw with his thumb and sucked it clean. “Next time your dad calls?” He smirked. “I’m answering while I’m balls deep inside you. Fair’s fair, baby.”
pairing: garrett graham x ex!curly!fem!reader
synopsis: garrett graham shouldn't be jealous right now. it's only his ex dancing with a random dude. with a very short, very red outfit. with her curly hair following her body as she dances. with a smile on her perfect red lips. yeah, garrett graham shouldn't be jealous, doesn't mean he isn't.
words: 7k+
disclaimer: english is not my first language!
warnings: jealous!garrett, angst, SMUT, p in v (unprotected), reader is a baddie if you ask me. no use of Y/N, no body descriptions, the reader is intended as a curly haired person (self-insert ehheehheeh). third person, garrett's pov. spitting, breeding kink, non-con phrases if you squint. slapping. oral (f! receiving), dirty dirty talk. this was not proofread!
chye's corner: this was a request from anon. hopefully, you liked this!!!!! it has been a while since i've written a bigger piece, i apologize. pls consider a reblog, a like, or a comment! thank you for choosing to read my words (((:
chye's grimoire (masterlist)
requests are open!
The party was in full swing inside the big house, music thumping hard enough to rattle the windows, colored lights cutting through the dark in flashes of blue and red. Logan had asked to do something low-key for his birthday, but the rush from winning 5 games back to back had made him gullible to Tucker’s persuasion and had accepted his fate. People crowded the living room and spilled out onto the back deck, the air thick with the smell of beer, perfume, and whatever someone was smoking in the corner. Garrett stood near the kitchen island, one hand wrapped around a cold bottle, the other resting low on the blonde’s back as he leaned in close to talk to her.
She was cute, with her short black dress, long legs, easy laugh, and she’d been glued to his side for the last twenty minutes. Garrett gave her the full charm offensive, smiling down at her like she was the only person in the room. “You keep looking at me like that and I’m gonna start thinking you’re trouble,” he said, voice low and teasing, his thumb tracing a slow line along her spine. She laughed, tilting her head so her hair brushed his shoulder, and pressed in a little closer. Garrett let his fingers spread wider on her back, keeping the contact light but obvious. “Seriously though, that story about your roommate? I’m still waiting for the part where you almost got caught.”
The blonde giggled again and launched into another story, her hand coming up to rest on his chest. Garrett nodded along, flashing her that easy grin he knew worked, letting his eyes dip to her mouth for a second before meeting her gaze again. He had done this a million times, leaning in when he talked, letting his hand drift just a little lower on her waist, making her feel like the center of his attention.
But then his eyes drifted across the crowded room, almost on instinct.
And there she was.
She stood near the far wall with Allie, both of them holding drinks. Allie was saying something, gesturing with her free hand, but his ex only half-listened, nodding as she took a slow sip from her glass, maybe her signature gin tonic or something dark and strong. The red velvet top she wore caught the light every time she moved, the asymmetrical cut leaving one shoulder bare, the fabric twisting across her torso and cutting away at the sides to show smooth skin and the dip of her waist. That little silver ring detail on the sleeve glinted when she lifted her drink. Below it, the skirt sat low on her hips, all ruffled layers and sheer panels that barely reached mid-thigh, showing off the curve of her legs and the way the fabric shifted when she shifted her weight. Her curls were big and wild around her face, and even from here Garrett could see the deep red on her lips. She looked good. Too good. The kind of good that made his chest feel tight for a second.
He forced his attention back to the blonde, giving her another smile and a soft laugh at whatever she’d just said. “No way. You actually did that?” His hand stayed on her back, thumb moving in small circles now, keeping the flirty rhythm going even as his eyes kept wanting to slide back across the room.
Then his ex turned her head, like she’d felt the weight of his stare.
Their eyes locked.
Garrett’s stomach dipped. She was looking right at him with her jaw tight, brows pulled in just slightly, lips pressed together in that flat line he knew too well. Angry. She looked angry. Probably because he had his hand on some other girl’s back, flirting like he didn’t have an ounce of shame. Or at least that’s what it looked like from here. The way her gaze flicked, just for a second, to the blonde beside him and then back to his face told him everything he needed to know.
Allie was still talking beside her, oblivious, but his ex didn’t look away. She just stood there with her drink in hand, staring across the party like she was daring him to keep going.
Garrett swallowed, the blonde’s voice turning into background noise again. His hand was still on the girl’s back, still flirting on autopilot with that easy smile, but every part of him was tuned to the girl across the room, the one looking at him like she wanted to set the whole place on fire.
Garrett dragged his eyes back to the blonde and gave her his best easy smile, the one that usually kept girls right where he wanted them. “Upstate, huh? I’ve got family near there. Small world.” His hand stayed on her lower back, thumb tracing slow circles through the thin fabric of her dress as he leaned in a little closer, letting her feel the warmth of him. She laughed and tilted her face up toward his, clearly enjoying the attention. Garrett kept the dance going, another low comment about how good she looked tonight, another brush of his fingers along her spine, but his gaze kept betraying him, sliding across the crowded room every few seconds like it had a mind of its own.
His ex had finished her drink and passed the empty glass to Allie. She was still smiling, softer now, as she turned and wove through the crowd toward a tall guy in a football hoodie. Garrett recognized him, defensive end, name started with a T or something. The guy’s face lit up when he saw her, it was as clear as a day. They hugged quick and easy, like they already knew each other, and then he said something that made her laugh. A minute later the beat dropped heavier, and he nodded toward the packed living room where people were dancing. She glanced once, fast, back in Garrett’s direction. Their eyes met again for half a second. Then she looked away and followed the football player onto the floor.
Garrett’s jaw flexed. He forced himself to stay locked on the blonde, asking her another question about her summer plans, chuckling when she answered, even letting his other hand come up to rest lightly on her hip so they were almost facing each other. She was warm and soft against him, still flirting back, still pressing in close. He could do this. He could keep his attention right here.
But on the dance floor, his ex was moving.
The skirt shifted with every sway of her hips, the ruffled layers catching the lights and flashing skin underneath. The velvet top twisted across her torso as she lifted her arms, the cutouts at her waist showing smooth skin every time she rolled her body to the beat. Her curls bounced around her shoulders, wild and free. She looked like she belonged there, confident, a little dangerous, completely at ease in that outfit that somehow made her look even better than he remembered.
Garrett’s grip on the blonde tightened without him meaning to.
The football player stepped in closer, hands settling on her hips as they moved together. Not low enough to be outright disrespectful, but low enough that Garrett’s stomach went tight. The guy’s fingers flexed against the skirt like he was enjoying the feel of her, and she didn’t pull away. She just kept dancing, hips still rolling in that slow, hypnotic rhythm, head tilted back a little as she laughed at whatever he said in her ear.
Garrett’s teeth ground together. He tried harder to focus on the blonde, asked her if she wanted another drink, smiled when she said yes, even brushed his knuckles along her arm like he was still fully in the moment. But every time he blinked he saw those hands on her hips, saw the way the lace moved when she danced, saw the curve of her body under that red velvet top.
The blonde was saying something about joining the dance floor themselves, but Garrett barely caught it. His stare kept drifting back across the room, locked on the way his ex’s hips kept moving, on the easy way she let that guy touch her, on the flash of red every time she turned.
He was supposed to be fine with this. That’s exactly what he had wanted.
Instead his chest burned hotter with every second he watched her dance in that outfit while another guy’s hands stayed right where Garrett’s used to be.
He watched for another thirty seconds, jaw locked so tight it ached. The football guy’s hands stayed on her hips like they belonged there, fingers flexing against the red lace every time she rolled her body to the beat. The skirt shifted with each movement, ruffles catching the lights and flashing smooth skin underneath. The velvet top clung tighter now from the heat of dancing, twisting across her torso and exposing more of her waist every time she lifted her arms. Her curls were starting to stick to the back of her neck, and even from across the floor Garrett could see the way her lips get too close to the guy’s ear. Something hot and ugly twisted low in his chest.
He wasn’t doing this anymore.
Garrett turned back to the blonde, gave her the quickest smile he could manage, and leaned in just enough to be heard over the music. “Hey, I’ll be right back, gotta handle something real quick.” He didn’t wait for an answer. His hand dropped from her waist and he was already moving, cutting through the crowd with single-minded focus, the bass vibrating up through the soles of his boots.
He reached her from behind while she was still dancing, close enough that he could smell the faint trace of her perfume mixed with the warm scent of her skin. The football guy’s hands were still resting on her hips. Garrett’s voice came out low, calm on the surface but edged with steel. “Appreciate it, man, but she’s good. You can take off.”
The guy blinked, looked between them, then lifted his hands and stepped back without argument. Smart. He disappeared into the crowd a second later.
His ex spun around fast, curls whipping across her shoulder, and the second her eyes landed on Garrett her whole face changed. Anger. Sharp and immediate. Her chest was still rising and falling from dancing, the red velvet top clinging to the curve of her breasts, a faint sheen of sweat along her collarbone catching the light. The asymmetrical cut of the top had shifted slightly, exposing more skin at her waist, and the lace skirt sat a little crooked on her hips from the movement, ruffles brushing the tops of her thighs.
“What the fuck, Garrett?” she snapped, voice low but furious, loud enough for only him to hear over the music. She took a half-step back like she needed space, but the crowd was too thick and she bumped into someone behind her. “You just walk over here and, what? Tell him to leave? Are you serious right now?”
Garrett didn’t move back. He stayed close, close enough that he could see the way her pulse fluttered at the base of her throat, close enough to watch the way the velvet fabric stretched across her stomach when she breathed hard. His own pulse was hammering, but he kept his voice even, eyes locked on hers. “Yeah, I did. Looked like he was getting a little too comfortable with his hands on you.”
She laughed once, short and bitter, and shook her head. The movement made her curls bounce and the lace skirt sway against her thighs. “Oh, that’s rich. You were the one all over that blonde two minutes ago and now you’re over here acting like you have any say in who touches me? Fuck off, Garrett.”
Her eyes were blazing, jaw tight, lips pressed together the same way they had been when she first caught him flirting. She was still breathing fast from dancing, and every inhale made the cutouts in the velvet top shift, showing flashes of warm skin. Garrett’s gaze dropped for half a second before he forced it back up to her face. He could feel the heat coming off her, could see the way her fingers had curled into fists at her sides like she was holding herself back from shoving him.
“I wasn’t the one letting some guy put his hands all over me on the dance floor,” he said, voice dropping lower. “You looked like you were enjoying it.”
She stepped in closer this time, anger making her bold, close enough that the front of her red lace skirt brushed his jeans. The party noise faded into a dull roar around them. “I was dancing. With a friend. You don’t get to show up after months of nothing and start acting like you own me just because you don’t like what you see. You lost that right when you walked away the first time.”
Garrett’s hand twitched at his side. He wanted to reach out, wanted to settle it on the bare skin at her waist where the velvet stopped and the lace began, but he didn’t. Not yet. His eyes flicked down again, catching on the way the skirt hugged the curve of her hips, on the way a single curl had stuck to the damp skin just above her collarbone. When he looked back up, her expression hadn’t softened. If anything, it had gotten sharper. She was pissed. And standing this close in that outfit, still flushed from dancing, still glaring at him like she wanted to set him on fire, she looked better than she had any right to.
Garrett didn’t back down. His voice stayed low, rough around the edges. “Maybe I don’t like watching some other guy’s hands on you while you’re wearing that.”
Her eyes narrowed. The music pulsed around them, bodies moving on all sides, but the space between them felt like it had shrunk to nothing. Garrett held her stare. Her chest was still rising and falling fast from the dancing and the anger, the red velvet top stretched tight across her breasts, the cutouts at her waist flashing warm skin every time she took a sharp breath. A single curl had stuck to the damp spot just below her collarbone, and Garrett’s eyes kept catching on it before he forced them back to her face.
“You don’t get to act like this,” she said, voice low and tight, stepping even closer so the ruffled edge of her lace skirt brushed his thigh. “You don’t own me.” Her eyes were blazing, lips parted around the words, the deep red lipstick slightly smudged from the heat of the room. The lace skirt shifted with every angry shift of her weight, the sheer panels catching the flashing lights and showing the curve of her hips underneath. Garrett’s jaw flexed. He could smell her perfume stronger now, mixed with the faint salt of her skin, and it was doing dangerous things to his focus.
His gaze dropped again, couldn’t help it, tracing the way the velvet twisted across her torso, the way the asymmetrical cut left one shoulder bare and the silver ring on the sleeve glinted when she gestured. “You knew exactly what you were doing wearing that outfit tonight.”
She let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh, curls bouncing as she shook her head. “Oh my god. You’re actually jealous. Grow up.”
Before Garrett could answer, a hand touched his arm from the side. The blonde had pushed through the crowd, her short black dress catching the lights as she stepped up beside him. She smiled, but it was tighter now, her eyes flicking between Garrett and the girl in red with clear confusion. “Hey… everything okay? You said you’d be right back and then you just disappeared.” Her hand stayed on his forearm, fingers light but possessive in their own way. “Who’s this?”
His ex’s gaze snapped to the blonde like a whip. The anger on her face sharpened into something colder, harder. Her shoulders went rigid, the velvet top pulling tighter across her chest with the sudden inhale. For a split second her eyes dropped to where the blonde’s hand rested on Garrett’s arm, then flicked back up, blazing. “Unbelievable,” she muttered, loud enough for both of them to hear. She took one step back, then another, the red lace skirt swaying hard against her thighs with the movement. “Perfect. Have fun.”
She turned on her heel before Garrett could say a word.
The crowd parted just enough for him to watch her walk away. She didn’t look back. Her posture was stiff with fury, one hand coming up to shove a curl out of her face as she headed toward the hallway that led to the back door. Garrett stood frozen for half a second, the blonde still talking beside him, her voice fading into static. His pulse was roaring in his ears. The image of her burned behind his eyes.
Then he was moving. He pulled his arm gently but firmly out of the blonde’s grip. “Sorry,” he said, already stepping away. “I have to go.”
He didn’t wait for her answer. He pushed through the crowd after the flash of red, the bass still vibrating up through the floor, the lights strobing across the room. His ex was already halfway down the hallway, one hand on the doorframe, disappearing outside, the lace skirt still shifting with every angry step.
Garrett pushed through the last of the crowd and stepped out onto the back porch, the screen door slapping shut behind him. The night air hit cooler than inside, carrying the faint smell of grass and someone’s cigarette from the far end of the yard. String lights were strung along the railing, casting a soft yellow glow over the wooden boards. Most of the party was still inside, so it was quieter out here, just the muffled bass thumping through the walls and a couple people talking low near the steps.
She was already at the far end of the porch, one hand braced on the railing, the other pushing a curl out of her face. The cutouts at her waist showing skin that looked even warmer in the porch light. When she heard the door, she spun around. “You have no fucking right,” she started, voice already sharp and climbing. “None. You spent the whole night with your hands on that girl, smiling at her like she was the best thing you’d seen all year, and then the second I try to have one good night you decide you get to walk over and play possessive ex? Like I’m not allowed to let someone else touch me without you throwing a tantrum in the middle of the party?” She stepped forward hard, then paced a few feet to the side before turning back, gesturing with both hands like she couldn’t contain the rage. The silver ring on her sleeve flashed every time she moved.
“I felt like shit in there. You made me feel like shit. Everyone saw you ditch that blonde and come after me like some jealous asshole. Do you know how embarrassing that was? I was finally having fun. I was finally not thinking about you for five goddamn minutes and you ruined it. You always do this. You only notice me when I’m not paying attention to you anymore. The second I look like I might be okay without you, suddenly you remember I exist.”
Her voice kept rising, words spilling out faster and meaner. “And that guy? He was harmless. He was just dancing. But you couldn’t stand it. Nooooo. You couldn’t stand seeing someone else want what you threw away. So you had to come over and make it about you again. Like always. Like the whole world is supposed to stop because Garrett Graham decided he’s jealous tonight. I was wearing this for me. Not for you. Not so you could stare at me like you still have any claim on anything. You lost that. You gave it up. And now you’re out here acting like I’m the one who did something wrong because I let someone else put their hands on me for thirty seconds.”
She was breathing hard now, curls sticking to the side of her neck. Garrett tried to speak. He really tried. But his eyes kept dropping.
Her mouth.
It was moving nonstop, sharp and furious, the deep red lipstick worn at the center from how hard she was talking. Her bottom lip kept catching the light when she got louder, fuller and angrier, shaping every bitter word. He watched the way it curled around “embarrassing,” the way it pressed tight after “threw away,” the faint smudge at the corner that made it look even more dangerous. He dragged his gaze back up to her eyes for half a second, then it fell again.
She didn’t notice. She was too far gone, too angry to see where he was looking. “You don’t get to do this to me,” she kept going, voice cracking at the edges from how worked up she was, “You don’t get to ignore me for months and then decide tonight is the night you remember how to feel something. I was fine. I was actually starting to feel like myself again. And you had to come in and ruin it because your ego couldn’t handle seeing me happy without you. That’s what this is. That’s all this is. Your fucking ego.”
Garrett’s hands were clenched so tight his knuckles ached. He took a step closer without realizing it. Then another. His eyes stayed locked on her mouth, on the way it moved, on the shape of it when she was this pissed, on how red and full it looked under the string lights. Every word she said made it harder to think. Harder to breathe. The anger in her voice, the way her lips formed the words, the way they parted and pressed and curled… it was all he could see. She was still ranting, still gesturing, still pouring out everything she’d been holding in, saying something about how selfish he was when he finally snapped.
He closed the last bit of space between them, one hand sliding around her waist right where the velvet ended and warm skin began. His other hand caught the back of her neck, fingers sinking into her curls. And then he kissed her.
Hard.
His mouth crashed against hers, cutting her off mid-sentence. He kissed her like he’d been holding it back since the moment their eyes met across the party. Like every second of watching her in that red outfit, every second of her angry mouth moving, had finally broken him. His grip on her waist tightened, pulling her flush against him as the lace skirt brushed his legs. He didn’t ease up. He kissed her deeper, like he needed to shut her up and taste her anger all at once.
Her hands fisted in the front of his shirt as she shoved up onto her toes, mouth moving against his with the same furious energy she’d been ranting with seconds ago. Garrett made a low sound in his throat and slid both hands into her curls, fingers sinking deep, tugging just enough to tilt her head back so he could kiss her deeper. Her mouth tasted like cherry lipstick and whatever she’d been drinking, and he couldn’t get enough. The red velvet top pressed tight against his chest as she leaned into him, the lace skirt brushing his thighs every time she shifted.
Then she ripped her mouth away. The slap came fast and sharp, cracking across his cheek before he could even process it. His head snapped slightly to the side from the force of it. The sting bloomed hot across his skin. Garrett’s eyes flicked back to her. He licked his lips slowly, tasting the faint trace of her lipstick and the heat she’d left behind. His cheek burned. His pulse was roaring.
She was breathing hard, eyes blazing, curls wild around her face. For one charged second she just stared at him like she couldn’t believe she’d done it. Then she grabbed the front of his shirt again, yanked his head back toward her, and kissed him.
This time there was nothing hesitant about it.
Garrett groaned into her mouth and walked her backward off the porch steps without breaking the kiss. His hands stayed buried in her hair, guiding her as they stumbled down the short path toward the street. The music from the party was nothing but a distant thump now. All he could focus on was the way her mouth moved against his, angry and desperate and so fucking good.
His car was parked at the curb. He pressed her back against the driver’s side door. The metal was cool against her bare shoulder blades, a sharp contrast to the heat of her skin. She made a small sound against his lips but didn’t pull away. Instead her hands slid up into his hair, nails scraping his scalp as she kissed him harder. Garrett’s hands dropped to her waist, then lower, gripping the backs of her thighs through the lace skirt. He lifted her easily and she went with it, hooking one leg high around his hip. The red lace rode up as her leg locked around him, the ruffled fabric bunching between them. He pressed in closer, hips pinning her to the car door, the hard line of his body flush against hers.
“Fuck you,” she muttered against his mouth between kisses, voice still shaking with anger.
She kissed him like she was still furious, like every bite of her teeth and every drag of her tongue was both punishment and permission. Garrett’s hand slid up her bare thigh under the lace, fingers digging in as he rocked against her. The velvet top twisted under his other hand where he gripped her waist, the cutouts exposing more skin for him to touch. Her curls were tangled around his fingers, wild and soft and impossible to let go of.
He kissed her deeper, rougher, swallowing the angry little sounds she made. The car door was cold at her back but she was burning everywhere they touched, her leg tight around his waist, her mouth hot and demanding against his, the red outfit shifting and riding up between them with every movement.
“This doesn’t mean I forgive you,” she said, even as her hands tightened in his hair and she pulled him back in. “It doesn’t change anything.”
Garrett’s mouth crashed back onto hers, rough and desperate, one hand sliding up her bare thigh under the lace while the other kept her leg locked around his waist. He pressed her harder against the car, the metal creaking faintly behind her back as he kissed her like he was trying to shut her up and answer her all at once.
A low whistle cut through the air.
“Well, well,” Dean’s voice drawled from the porch steps, amused and way too loud. “Look at this. Thought you two were done with each other?”
Garrett pulled back just enough to glare over his shoulder. Dean was leaning against the railing, beer in hand, grinning like an idiot. “Dean,” Garrett said, voice flat and cold. “Fuck off.”
Dean raised both hands in mock surrender, still smirking. “Hey, I’m just saying. If you’re gonna fuck your ex against your car, maybe take it inside? Some of us are trying to party without the free porn.”
Garrett turned back to her. He took her hand, and started walking toward the side of the house. She followed without pulling away, the red lace skirt brushing against her thighs with every step. He couldn’t stop touching her. His free hand slid to the small of her back, fingers spreading wide over the bare skin where the velvet top ended. Then it moved higher, tracing the edge of one of the cutouts, brushing along her waist as they walked.
Halfway across the lawn he stopped, turned her toward him, and kissed the side of her neck, right below her ear. His hand stayed on her waist, thumb stroking the warm skin there like he physically couldn’t make himself let go. She inhaled sharply but didn’t push him away.
They slipped in through the side door, bypassing the loudest part of the party. The bass from inside thumped through the walls as they moved down the short hallway. Garrett’s hand never left her. It slid from her waist to her hip, fingers hooking lightly in the lace skirt for a second before moving back up, brushing the underside of her breast through the velvet. He leaned in again and kissed the curve of her neck, slower this time, mouth open against her skin as they reached the stairs.
She was still tense with anger, shoulders tight, but she kept walking with him, curls brushing his shoulder every time she turned her head slightly. At the top of the stairs he pulled her in again, mouth finding the spot just behind her ear, kissing it once, then again, while his hand slid under the hem of the velvet top to rest against bare skin at her lower back.
By the time they reached his bedroom door, he had her backed against it. His hand was still on her waist, fingers flexing like he needed the contact. He kissed her neck again, then lower, along the line where velvet met skin. She made a quiet, frustrated sound but didn’t stop him.
He pushed the door open behind her and walked her inside, one hand never leaving her body. The second the door clicked shut he had her against it again, mouth on her neck, hands roaming, one in her curls, the other sliding down to grip her hip through the lace skirt, pulling her closer like he still couldn’t get enough of touching her.
She was still mad. He could feel it in the way her fingers dug into his shoulders, in the sharp little breaths she took every time his mouth found a new spot on her neck. But she wasn’t telling him to stop.
And Garrett couldn’t make his hands stay still. Not even for a second.
“This doesn’t fix what you did,” she said quietly, voice tight. But she didn’t push him away.
“I know,” Garrett murmured against her skin. He kissed lower, along the curve of her neck, then the sharp line of her collarbone where the velvet dipped. “Let me try anyway.”
His hands moved to the hem of the top. He lifted it slowly, eyes flicking up to hers for permission she didn’t give with words, just a sharp breath and the way she raised her arms. He peeled the red velvet upward, revealing smooth skin inch by inch. The fabric caught for a second on her breasts before sliding over her head and dropping to the floor. His mouth followed the path it left behind, kissing the center of her chest, then lower, across the soft skin of her stomach. Every new inch of her he uncovered, he touched. His palms skimmed up her sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts before his mouth replaced them, kissing there too, slow and deliberate.
She made a frustrated sound, one hand sliding into his hair and tugging, not gentle. “Do you think I am pathetic for letting you do this?”
“No,” he answered honestly, voice low against her skin. He dropped to his knees in front of her, hands sliding down to the waistband of the red skirt. “You’re a goddess, I’m blessed.”
He hooked his fingers into the skirt and tugged it down slowly, letting it pool at her ankles, together with her panties. His mouth followed, kissing the newly exposed skin of her hips, then the inside of one thigh as he helped her step out of the skirt. His hands stayed on her legs the entire time, sliding up the backs of her calves, then higher, gripping her thighs like he needed the anchor. He kissed the front of one hip, then the other, then lower, open-mouthed against the soft skin just above where the lace had been.
She was breathing harder now, still angry but not stopping him. Her fingers stayed tight in his hair.
“You’re still an asshole,” she muttered, voice rough.
“I know,” Garrett said again, quieter this time. He rose back up slowly, hands never leaving her body, one sliding up the back of her thigh, the other tracing the curve of her waist as he stood. He kissed her neck again, then her shoulder, then the center of her chest, worshipping every inch he could reach. His mouth moved lower again, across her stomach, slow and reverent, like he was trying to memorize her with his lips.
His hands followed everywhere his mouth went, palms skimming her sides, fingers brushing the undersides of her breasts, then down again to grip her hips. He couldn’t stop touching her. Every time he tried to focus on one spot, his hands wandered to another… to the dip of her waist, the smooth skin of her back, the soft flesh of her thigh.
Garrett kissed her once more, then sank back down to his knees in front of her. His hands slid up the backs of her thighs, gripping firmly as he looked up at her. She was still flushed, still breathing hard, still looking at him like she hadn’t decided whether she wanted to shove him away or pull him closer.
He didn’t wait for permission.
He hooked one of her legs over his shoulder, spreading her open, and dragged his tongue slowly through her folds. She tasted exactly how he remembered, sweet and slick and so fucking good it made his cock throb in his jeans. A low groan rumbled in his chest as he licked her again, slower this time, savoring it.
“Fuck,” he muttered against her, voice rough. “I missed this. Missed how wet you get for me.” Her hand immediately fisted in his hair, tight and unforgiving. He didn’t mind. He wanted the sting. He licked her again, firmer now, circling her clit with the flat of his tongue before sucking it gently between his lips.
“You can stay mad at me,” he said between slow, deliberate licks, voice low and filthy. “Hate me all you want. Just let me eat this pretty pussy until you come on my tongue.”
She made a sharp, angry sound above him, hips twitching despite herself. Her fingers tightened in his hair, pulling hard. “Shut up,” she breathed, but there was no real heat behind it anymore, just frustration and want.
Garrett smiled against her, then dragged his tongue lower, fucking it inside her once before moving back up to her clit. He kept one hand gripping her thigh, holding her open, while the other slid up to palm her ass, pulling her closer to his mouth. “You’re dripping,” he growled, licking her slow and filthy. “So fucking wet and you’re still trying to act like you don’t want this. Like you don’t want me on my knees for you.”
He sealed his mouth over her clit and sucked, tongue flicking fast and relentless. Her leg over his shoulder trembled. He could feel how close she already was, could taste how much her body wanted this even if her head was still fighting it.
“Come on,” he muttered against her, voice muffled and rough. “Be mad at me all night if you want. Just come on my fucking tongue first. Let me taste how sorry I am.”
His hand on her ass tightened as he pulled her harder against his mouth, licking and sucking like he was trying to devour every inch of her. He didn’t stop. Didn’t slow down. He just kept eating her like he had something to prove, tongue working her clit in tight, filthy circles while two fingers slid inside her without warning, curling deep.
“That’s it,” he rasped when her hips started rocking against his face. “Fuck my tongue. Take what you need. I’m not stopping until you come for me.”
His hands couldn’t stay still. One gripped the back of her thigh hard, fingers digging into soft skin, holding her leg higher over his shoulder so he could get deeper. The other slid up the back of her other leg, palming her ass and pulling her closer to his mouth like he wanted to bury his face in her. His thumb stroked slow circles against the curve of her ass while his tongue worked her clit in tight, relentless strokes.
She made a sharp, frustrated sound above him, her hand fisting tighter in his hair, pulling hard enough to sting. He didn’t stop. If anything, it made him hungrier. He slid two fingers inside her without warning, curling them deep as he sucked on her clit again. Her hips jerked against his face despite herself. He could feel the way her thighs trembled on either side of his head, the way her stomach fluttered every time he licked her just right. He kept his mouth sealed over her clit, tongue flicking fast and filthy while his fingers pumped into her, curling against that spot inside that always made her lose it. He didn’t ease up. His hand on her ass squeezed tighter, pulling her forward so she was practically riding his face. His tongue never stopped moving, licking, sucking, circling, while his fingers worked her in steady, deep strokes.
Garrett felt the exact moment she stopped fighting it.
Her hips rolled forward once, hesitant at first, then again, harder. She started riding his fingers in slow, deliberate strokes, fucking herself on them while his mouth stayed sealed over her clit. The wet sound of it filled the quiet room, filthy and perfect. His fingers were soaked, sliding in and out of her easily as she moved, her walls clenching tight around them every time she sank down.
“That’s it,” he groaned against her, voice low and wrecked. “Ride my fucking fingers. Just like that. Use me.”
He curled them deeper on the next thrust, angling them so they dragged against that spot inside her with every roll of her hips. His tongue never let up, licking and sucking her clit in time with the way she moved, matching her rhythm. His free hand stayed locked on her ass, gripping hard, guiding her, pulling her down onto his fingers and mouth like he wanted her to take everything.
Her hips moved faster now, chasing it. Every time she sank down, his fingers disappeared inside her to the knuckle, and every time she lifted up, they glistened with how wet she was. He could feel her thighs shaking on either side of his head. Her hand was still fisted tight in his hair, tugging hard every time his tongue flicked her clit just right.
Garrett moaned into her, the sound vibrating against her sensitive flesh. He added a third finger without warning, stretching her, and she made a sharp, broken sound above him. He didn’t slow down. His mouth worked her relentlessly while his fingers pumped up into her every time she rode down.
“Come on,” he muttered against her, voice rough and filthy between licks. “Ride them harder. Fuck yourself on my hand while I eat this pussy. You’re so close, I can feel it. You’re clenching so fucking tight around my fingers.” He sucked her clit between his lips again and flicked his tongue fast, relentless, while his fingers curled and thrust in time with her movements. His other hand slid up her back, then down again, gripping her ass and pulling her harder against his face like he couldn’t get enough of her. “Give it to me,” he growled.
Her thighs started shaking hard around his head. Her hips stuttered, losing rhythm for a second before she ground down hard onto his fingers and mouth like she couldn’t help it. A broken, angry sound tore out of her throat as her walls clamped down tight around his fingers, pulsing hard.
He groaned against her clit, voice low and filthy. “Come for me. Fuck, just like that, mama. Come all over my tongue.”
He didn’t let up. He kept his fingers buried deep inside her, curling them against that spot with every clench, while his tongue licked her through it, slow, firm strokes that dragged out every wave. Her hips jerked against his face as she came, riding it out, and he held her there with both hands, one gripping her ass tight, the other still working his fingers inside her.
She was so fucking wet it coated his chin, his wrist, dripping down his hand. He moaned into her like he was the one coming, tongue never stopping as he licked up everything she gave him.
“Goddamn,” he rasped between licks, voice wrecked. “You’re squeezing my fingers so fucking tight. Look at you, soooo mad at me and coming all over my face anyway.”
Her body kept trembling through the aftershocks, thighs quivering against his shoulders. He slowed his fingers but didn’t pull them out, keeping them buried deep as he licked her softer now with gentle strokes over her sensitive clit while she rode out the last pulses. His hand on her ass stayed firm, holding her steady against his mouth like he wasn’t ready to let her go yet.
When her hips finally stopped moving and her breathing turned ragged, he pulled his fingers out slowly and dragged his tongue through her one last time, tasting her release. Then he kissed the inside of her thigh, open-mouthed and lingering, before resting his forehead against her stomach for a second, still breathing hard. His hands didn’t leave her body. One stayed on her ass, the other sliding up the back of her thigh in slow, possessive strokes.
“Still pissed at me?” he asked roughly against her skin, voice low and hoarse. He kissed her stomach, then lower again, like he couldn’t stop. “Or did that take the edge off?"
“Get up,” she muttered, voice rough.
He rose to his feet. The second he was standing, she was on him.
Her hands went straight to the hem of his shirt, yanking it up and over his head with quick, impatient movements. She tossed it somewhere behind her without looking. Her palms slid down his chest, nails dragging lightly over his skin as she reached for his belt. She undid it with sharp tugs, then popped the button of his jeans and shoved them down along with his briefs in one rough motion.
While her hands worked, she looked up at him, eyes still sharp with anger.
“You don’t deserve my mouth on your cock,” she said flatly, voice low and cutting. “Not after what you pulled tonight.”
Garrett’s jaw flexed. He didn’t argue. His hands found her waist automatically, thumbs stroking over her bare skin as she stripped him.“Yeah,” he said quietly, voice rough. “I know that.”
She didn’t reply. She just pushed at his chest until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed. He let her guide him down, sitting first before she climbed over him, straddling his lap. The second she was on top, his hands were everywhere again, sliding up her bare back, gripping her hips, then moving higher to cup her breasts as she settled over him.
She braced her hands on his chest and looked down at him, curls falling around her face, still flushed and breathing hard. His cock was hard and trapped between them, pressed against her slick heat, but she didn’t move yet. She just stared at him for a second, like she was deciding what she wanted to do with him.
Garrett’s hands kept moving. One slid down to grip her ass, squeezing, while the other traced up her spine and into her hair. He couldn’t stop touching her. Even now, with her on top and still clearly pissed, his palms kept roaming like he needed the contact to stay sane.
She rolled her hips once dragging her wetness along the length of his cock. A low groan rumbled out of his chest. “You did not tell me if you’re still mad" he asked, voice low and hoarse as his hands tightened on her.
She didn’t answer with words. She just leaned down, kissed him hard, and rolled her hips again. Garrett let her roll her hips once more, feeling the wet heat of her drag along his cock, but the second she started to move again he snapped.
In one fluid motion he gripped her waist tight, flipped them hard, and pinned her beneath him on the bed. The mattress dipped under their weight as her back hit the sheets. Her curls fanned out across the pillow, wild and dark against the white. He followed her down immediately, settling between her spread thighs, one hand braced beside her head while the other slid under her knee and hiked her leg up high around his hip.
He didn’t give her time to catch her breath.
He reached between them, gripped his cock, and dragged the head through her slick folds once, slow, deliberate,nbefore pushing inside in one deep, steady thrust. Her body stretched around him, hot and tight and so fucking wet it made his jaw clench. He bottomed out with a low groan, hips flush against hers, buried to the hilt. “Fuck,” he gritted out, forehead dropping to hers for a second. “You feel so good.”
He didn’t wait. He pulled back and drove into her again, harder this time, setting a deep, relentless rhythm right from the start. His hand stayed under her thigh, keeping her leg hooked high around him so he could fuck her deeper. The other hand slid up her body, gripping her waist, then higher to palm her breast, thumb brushing over her nipple as he moved.
He couldn’t stop touching her. Even as he fucked her, his hands kept roaming, sliding down to grip her hip hard enough to leave marks, then back up to tangle in her curls, tugging her head back so he could kiss her neck, her collarbone, the curve of her jaw. Every thrust pushed her up the bed slightly, the headboard knocking softly against the wall.
She was still glaring up at him, eyes sharp with anger even as her body arched beneath him. Her nails dug into his back, dragging down hard enough to sting.
Garrett groaned at the pain and fucked her harder, hips snapping forward in deep, punishing strokes. The wet sound of him driving into her filled the room, filthy and loud. He could feel how soaked she still was from coming on his tongue, how easily he slid in and out of her.
“You’re still so fucking wet,” he rasped against her ear, voice low and rough. “Came all over my face and you’re still dripping for me.” He thrust deep and stayed there for a second, grinding against her clit. “Keep looking at me like that. Keep being mad. You know what? I don’t care. I’m still gonna fuck you until you can’t think straight.”
Garrett kept her pinned beneath him, one hand gripping the back of her thigh and holding her leg high and open while he fucked into her in deep, heavy strokes. The wet slap of skin filled the room with every thrust. He could feel how tight she still was around him, how she clenched every time he bottomed out.
She was glaring up at him, but her mouth was open, breath coming in sharp gasps. Her hands were on his back, nails digging in hard.
“You’re such a fucking asshole,” she bit out between thrusts, voice strained but sharp. “You don’t get to just flip me over and take whatever you want after what you did.”
Garrett’s jaw flexed. He drove into her harder, grinding deep before pulling back and slamming forward again. His hand slid up from her thigh to wrap around her throat, not squeezing, just holding, thumb stroking the side of her neck. “Yeah?” he rasped, voice low and rough. “Then why’s this pussy so fucking wet for me? Why are you letting me stretch you open like this if you’re still so mad?”
She made a frustrated sound and tried to glare harder, but her hips lifted to meet his next thrust anyway. Her curls were spread across the pillow, sticking to the sweat on her neck. He leaned down and kissed her hard, then pulled back just enough to look at her.
“I’m gonna fill you up,” he muttered against her mouth, hips never slowing. “Gonna breed this tight little cunt until it’s dripping with me. You want that? Want me to fuck a load so deep in you that you feel it for days?”
Her eyes flashed with fresh anger even as her walls fluttered around him. She grabbed his jaw, fingers digging in. “Don’t you fucking dare come inside me like you own me,” she snapped, but her voice cracked on the last word when he hit a particularly deep angle. “You don’t get to do that.”
Garrett’s eyes darkened. He shifted his weight, pressing her deeper into the mattress as he fucked her harder, the bed creaking beneath them. His hand left her throat and slid into her hair instead, gripping tight. “Open your mouth,” he ordered, voice low and commanding.
She hesitated for half a second, still glaring, but she parted her lips anyway. He leaned in close, spat directly into her mouth, then kissed her before she could say anything, tongue pushing past her lips like he was claiming that too. When he pulled back, a thin string of spit connected them for a second before it broke. He kept thrusting, deep and relentless, one hand still tangled in her curls while the other slid down to rub tight circles over her clit.
“Keep talking, mama” he growled. “Tell me how much you hate me while I’m buried in you. While I’m about to pump you full.” His hips snapped forward harder. “I’m not pulling out. You’re gonna take every drop.”
She made another angry sound, but her body was arching into him now, chasing every thrust. Her leg hooked higher around his waist, pulling him deeper. “Selfish prick,” she breathed, voice shaky with pleasure and rage. “You don’t deserve to come in me.”
Garrett groaned low and fucked her even harder, sweat-slick skin sliding against hers. His hand in her hair tightened as he leaned down again, mouth brushing her ear. “Too bad,” he rasped. “Because I’m gonna breed this pussy anyway. And you’re gonna come while I do it.”
Her body went loose beneath him in the best way, hips lifting to meet every thrust, thighs spreading wider around his waist, back arching off the bed as she took him deeper. The angry tension in her muscles melted into something raw and desperate. Her nails stopped just digging and started clawing down his back in long, hard lines. A broken moan tore out of her throat, louder than before, and her head tipped back against the pillow, curls spilling everywhere.
“That’s it,” Garrett growled, voice thick and filthy as he fucked into her harder. “Let go. Stop fighting it. Let me fuck this pussy the way it needs.”
He shifted his angle, driving deeper, the head of his cock dragging against that spot inside her with every stroke. The wet, obscene sound of him pounding into her filled the room, skin slapping, her slick coating his cock and dripping down between them. He could feel how soaked she was, how her walls fluttered and clenched around him every time he bottomed out.
His hand slid between them, thumb rubbing tight, fast circles over her swollen clit while h e kept thrusting. The other stayed tangled in her hair, holding her head back so he could watch her face as she started to lose it. “I’m gonna breed you,” he rasped, low and rough against her ear. “Gonna fill this tight cunt up until it’s overflowing. Pump you so full of cum you’ll feel it leaking out of you for hours. You want that? Want me to breed this pussy?”
She made a choked, angry sound that turned into a moan halfway through. Her legs locked higher around his waist, heels digging into the backs of his thighs as she pulled him in deeper. Her hips were moving on their own now, rolling up to meet every brutal thrust.
“Fuck, Garrett…” she gasped, voice breaking. Her hands gripped his shoulders hard, nails biting into skin. “You’re such a, ah, fucking bastard…”
Her whole body started to shake. Her mouth fell open on a silent cry before a loud, broken moan ripped out of her. Her walls clamped down around him in hard, pulsing waves as she came, thighs trembling, back arching sharply, hips jerking uncontrollably beneath him. Wetness flooded around his cock, soaking him as she rode out the orgasm, still grinding up against him like she couldn’t stop. Garrett groaned low and filthy, fucking her straight through it without slowing down. His hand stayed between them, working her clit as she clenched and fluttered around him.
Garrett’s thrusts turned shorter and rougher as he got closer, his cock swelling inside her. He could feel the pressure building fast at the base of his spine, his balls drawing tight. Every time he bottomed out, her soaked pussy gripped him like a fist, wet and hot and pulsing from her orgasm.
He knew he shouldn’t come inside her.
She’d been furious with him all night. She’d told him he didn’t deserve her mouth, and even though she’d let him fuck her, even though she’d come hard on his tongue and then on his cock, he still remembered the anger in her voice when she said he didn’t get to have all of her. Out of respect, he started to pull back.
His hips drew back slowly, cock sliding halfway out of her, glistening and dripping with her slick. He was right there, one more thrust and he’d be coming.
But she didn’t let him go.
Her legs snapped tighter around his waist in an instant, strong and unyielding. Her heels dug hard into the backs of his thighs as she yanked him forward, forcing his cock back inside her to the hilt in one rough pull. At the same time her hands slid down to his ass, fingers digging in deep as she held him there, refusing to let him pull out.
Garrett groaned, low and broken, forehead dropping against hers.
“Fuck, I’m about to come,” he rasped, voice strained. His hips jerked once, like he was still trying to be good, but she kept him locked deep. “I’m gonna pull out.”
“Don’t" she cut in, voice shaky but firm, almost angry. Her nails bit harder into his ass as she rolled her hips up, grinding him deeper. “I want it. Don’t pull out.”
Garrett’s control snapped.
He slammed back into her hard, burying himself to the root with a filthy, wet sound. Her pussy was so fucking wet, soaked from her orgasm and his pre-cum, creamy and messy around his cock every time he moved. He could feel it coating his balls, dripping down between them as he started fucking her again in short, desperate thrusts. “Shit, you’re really keeping me in,” he groaned against her neck, voice rough and filthy. “You don’t want me to leave, don’t you?”
She made a frustrated, desperate sound and pulled him in even harder with her legs and hands, forcing him as deep as he could go. “Just come,” she gasped, voice breaking as he fucked into her. “I want you to fill me up.”
Garrett’s rhythm turned frantic. He drove into her hard and deep, the wet slap of skin loud and obscene. He could feel every inch of her, the way her walls fluttered and clenched around him, the way her slick coated every inch of his cock, making everything messy and loud. His hand slid under her ass, gripping hard and angling her so he could pound into her even deeper.
“Yeah,” he growled, voice wrecked. “Gonna fill this tight cunt up. Gonna take every drop like a good girl even though you hate me right now?”
“Yes,” she moaned, legs locked tight, hips jerking up to meet every thrust. “Do it. Come in me. I want it, I want all of it.”
Garrett buried himself as deep as he could go and came with a low, guttural groan. His cock pulsed hard inside her, thick ropes of cum flooding her in heavy spurts. He kept grinding through it, shallow and desperate, pushing every drop as far as he could while her walls milked him. The mess was obscene, his cum mixing with hers, leaking out around his cock and dripping down her ass every time he moved.
He didn’t pull out.
Even as the last waves hit him, he stayed buried deep, breathing hard against her neck, one hand still gripping her ass while the other slid up to tangle in her curls again. His hips gave one last slow, possessive roll, pushing the cum deeper inside her. "Go on a date with me?"
pairing: dean di laurentis x coachsdaughter!reader
synopsis: admittedly, dating a hockey player your father is coaching was not one of your best ideas. but you love him and he loves you. he loves you so much he can't help but beat up a player from the other team when he dares comment about you... in front of your dad.
words: 4k+
disclaimer: english is not my first language!
warnings: brief smut (fingering, p in v, shower sex). forbidden relationship trope. hockey talk. fighting, blood mentioned! romantic!dean, yearner!dean, fluff, angst. second person, no use of Y/N, the images are purely for aesthetic purposes, no explicit description of the reader. not proofread!
chye's corner: based on a comment by @lightdragonrayne left on no hockey boys! this can be considered as a follow-up of this and bounce on it, but it can absolutely be read as a stand alone!! pls consider a reblog, a like, or a comment! thank you for choosing to read my words (((:
chye's grimoire (masterlist)
requests are open!
You stood under the spray of the shower in the empty locker room, warm water cascading over your bare skin as steam curled around you both. The rest of the team wouldn’t arrive for another half hour, giving you this stolen pocket of time. Dean had you pressed against the tiled wall, his tall, muscular body caging you in, water sluicing down his broad shoulders and carved abs. His hockey shorts lay discarded on the wet floor, and his thick, heavy cock jutted between you, veins pulsing, the flushed head already glistening with precum that mixed with the shower water.
You smiled up at him, fingers tracing the line of his jaw as you teased, voice soft and breathy. “You’re really breaking the rules for me, huh? No sex before a game. No distractions, right?”
Dean’s blue eyes locked onto yours, intense and full of heat, but there was something deeper there, raw need and affection that made your chest tighten. “Fuck the rules,” he murmured, voice low and rough, but his thumb gently stroked your cheek. “I need you, baby. Not just your body… I need this. Us. You make me feel alive before I step on that ice.”
He leaned in, capturing your lips in a deep, hungry kiss that was equal parts desperate and tender. His tongue slid against yours as one large hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you closer. When he broke the kiss, his forehead rested against yours, breaths mingling in the steamy air.
Your hand wrapped around his thick shaft, stroking him slowly from base to tip, feeling every ridge and vein throb under your fingers. “Then take me, Dean. I’m yours.”
He groaned, the sound vibrating through his chest. With one swift motion, he lifted your leg, hooking it over his hip and opening you to him. His fingers slid through your slick folds, parting your swollen pussy lips. “So fucking wet already,” he whispered reverently, circling your clit with his thumb while two thick fingers pushed inside you. He curled them deep, stroking that sensitive spot until your walls clenched and fluttered around him, your arousal coating his hand and dripping down your thighs, washed away by the shower.
You moaned his name, hips rocking against his hand. “Dean… please. I need you inside me.”
He pulled his fingers out and replaced them with the blunt, girthy head of his cock. Eyes never leaving yours, he pushed in, slow at first, letting you feel every inch as he stretched your tight pussy open. The delicious burn of his thickness filling you made you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders.
“Fuck, you feel incredible,” he breathed, voice strained with pleasure and emotion. “So hot… so tight around me. Like you were made for my cock, baby. I love you. God, I love being buried inside you like this.”
Once he was fully seated, balls-deep, his heavy sack pressed against you, he paused, forehead still against yours, sharing the moment. Water streamed over your joined bodies. Then he started to move, deep, rolling thrusts that ground his pelvis against your clit with every stroke. His cock dragged along your inner walls, hitting that perfect spot over and over. The wet, obscene sounds of your pussy sucking him in mixed with the spray of the shower.
You clung to him, leg wrapped tighter around his waist as he fucked you against the wall. Each powerful thrust lifted you slightly, your breasts bouncing, nipples hard against his chest. “I love you too,” you gasped between moans. “Only you, Dean. Always.”
His pace quickened, hips snapping harder, driving his thick cock into you with relentless need. The explicit slap of wet skin echoed, his heavy balls smacking against your ass, your creamy arousal coating his shaft and leaking out around him with every withdrawal. He reached between you, thumb rubbing tight circles on your swollen clit while he pounded deeper, stretching you wide.
“Look at me,” he commanded softly. Your eyes met, and the intimacy of him watching every flicker of pleasure on your face as he fucked you sent you spiraling. Your orgasm crashed over you hard. Your pussy spasmed violently around his cock, milking him in rhythmic waves as you cried out, soaking his length with fresh gushes of your release.
Dean groaned your name like a prayer, his thrusts growing erratic. “That’s it, baby… come all over me. Let me feel you.” A few more deep, punishing strokes and he buried himself to the hilt, his cock swelling and pulsing inside your clenching heat. Thick, hot ropes of cum flooded your pussy, filling you until it overflowed and dripped down your thighs, mixing with the shower water.
He didn’t pull out right away. Instead, he held you close, still buried deep, kissing you tenderly, slow and loving, while the water rained down on you both. His hand stroked your hair, his breath warm against your ear.
“You’re my good luck charm,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. “I wish you could wear my number out there. Fuck, I’d give anything to see you in my jersey, number 66 across your back, everyone knowing you’re mine.”
The words hit you with a bittersweet ache, deepening the intimacy between you. You slid your fingers into his wet hair, pulling him closer as you kissed him softly, tasting the water on his lips. “I know,” you murmured against his mouth, your voice breathy and full of love. “I wish I could too. I’d wear it proudly… let everyone see who I belong to. But this, us, right here, is enough. It has to be.”
Dean’s eyes darkened with a mix of frustration and raw possession. He rolled his hips slowly, still half-hard inside your cum-filled pussy, pushing his load deeper as it leaked out around his thick shaft and down your thighs. “Doesn’t stop me from wanting it. Doesn’t stop me from fucking you like I own you anyway.” He winked.
He kissed you harder this time, tongue claiming your mouth while his hand slid down to grip your ass, holding you tight against the tiled wall. Even after coming, he stayed buried inside you for a long moment, savoring the slick, messy heat of your joined bodies. The water continued to rain over you both, washing away the evidence of what you had just done, but not the connection.
Finally, he pulled out with a low groan. A thick trickle of his cum immediately spilled from your swollen, well-fucked pussy. He watched it for a second, thumb gently spreading it over your clit, before lifting his gaze back to yours. “Tonight, after the game,” he promised, voice low and intense, “you’re wearing nothing but my jersey. Just us. No rules. No hiding.”
You smiled, legs still shaky as you leaned into him. “Deal, Di Laurentis. Now go win that game for me.”
The arena was electric, the crowd roaring as the teams battled it out on the ice. You sat right behind the bench, close enough to hear the shouts from the players and the sharp scrape of skates. Your dad paced along the boards just a few feet away, clipboard in hand, barking orders. Every time Dean flew past, his eyes flicked toward you for a split second, that intense blue gaze locking on yours like a promise.
He played like a man possessed. Number 66 cut through the opposition with powerful strides, shoulders checking bodies out of the way, stick handling the puck like it was an extension of himself. You could still feel the ghost of him inside you from the shower, pussy still tender and slick with his cum, thighs pressed tight together under your coat as you watched him dominate the ice.
The first period was brutal, but in the second, Dean stole the puck in the neutral zone. He deked left, exploded past a defender, and fired a perfect pass to a teammate. The puck whipped back to him on the rush. Dean wound up and rocketed a slapshot from the blue line. The goalie barely had time to react before the net bulged.
The arena erupted.
Your dad threw his arms in the air in celebration, then turned and yanked you into a crushing hug right there against the glass. “Hell yeah!” he laughed, squeezing you tight, beaming with pure pride. “That’s how we do it!” You hugged him back, smiling into his shoulder as the team piled onto Dean on the ice. It was innocent, just a coach celebrating a big goal with his daughter in the stands.
As your dad finally released you and turned back toward the bench to shout instructions at the players, you glanced out onto the ice. Dean skated out of the celebration huddle, helmet still on, breathing hard. His eyes scanned the stands until they locked directly on you. For a brief second, when your father’s back was turned, Dean’s intense blue gaze softened with heat and affection. The corner of his mouth curled into a quick, cocky wink meant only for you, a silent reminder of the shower, of his cum still inside you, of everything filthy and secret between you.
Your cheeks flushed. You bit your lip and gave him the tiniest nod in return before looking away, heart racing.
But across the rink, one of the opposing players, a tall, smug forward who’d been chirping Dean all night, glided to a stop near the boards. His eyes locked on the two of you. The prolonged hug. The way your dad’s arm had stayed wrapped around your shoulders a second longer than necessary. The player’s gaze shifted to Dean, then back to you, and a slow, knowing smirk spread across his face. He tapped his stick twice on the ice before skating away, clearly filing the information away.
Play resumed, and the tension on the ice thickened. Dean was a storm. Faster, meaner, hunting the puck like he had something to prove. But the forward was waiting for his chance.
It happened fast.
Dean barreled into the offensive zone with the puck on his stick, eyes locked on the net. The rival forward came flying in from the side at full speed and slammed him violently into the glass, right in front of the home bench, barely ten feet from where you and your dad stood.
The impact was brutal. The boards shook. Dean’s body crushed against the plexiglass with a loud thud, helmet rattling, right in your direct line of sight.
The opposing player pinned him there for a split second, leaning in close through the glass so only Dean (and you and probably your dad, standing just behind the bench) could hear his filthy words. “Fuck, Di Laurentis… so that’s Coach’s daughter? I bet that little slut lets you wreck her cunt before every game. She looks like she needs a real dick, maybe I should fuck her next and show her what a winner feels like.”
Dean snapped.
Pure, explosive rage took over his face. In one violent motion, he shoved the rival forward off him with enough force to send the guy stumbling backward on his skates. Dean’s gloves hit the ice with a slap, and he dropped his stick, launching himself at the other player like a man possessed.
“You shut your fucking mouth!” Dean roared.
The fight was brutal and immediate. Dean threw the first punch, a hard right that connected solidly with the rival’s jaw, snapping his head back. The other player recovered quickly and swung back, his fist glancing off Dean’s helmet before landing a heavy blow to his ribs. They crashed into the boards again, gloves grabbing jerseys, elbows flying. Dean’s fist connected twice more, once to the cheek, once to the mouth, splitting the guy’s lip open. Blood sprayed across the white ice.
The benches erupted. Players from both teams spilled over the boards as the refs blew their whistles frantically, trying to break up the chaos. Your dad was shouting, face red with confusion and anger, clearly stunned by how viciously Dean had reacted to what he assumed was typical trash talk.
Dean was relentless. Even as Garrett tried to pull him away, he landed one final heavy punch that sent the opposing player sprawling onto the ice. His chest heaved, eyes wild with fury as two of his own teammates finally dragged him back toward the penalty box. Blood trickled from a cut on his lower lip, and his jersey was twisted and torn at the collar.
Through the glass, Dean’s gaze found yours instantly. The possessive fire in his blue eyes burned hotter than ever. He was breathing hard, jaw clenched so tight the muscle jumped. Your heart hammered wildly in your chest. A twisted mix of shock, worry, and dark arousal flooded through you. You pressed your thighs together under your coat as you watched him defend you so savagely. No one had ever gone that far for you before. The raw possessiveness made your pussy throb despite the public chaos. At the same time, fear gripped you, your dad was right there, and Dean had just lost control in front of the entire arena.
The refs blew the whistle repeatedly. After a quick conference, the announcement came over the speakers: Dean was ejected from the game for fighting and assessed a game misconduct. He was done for the night.
Your dad was furious. His face turned beet red as he stormed toward the tunnel, yelling at Dean as he was escorted off the ice. “What the hell was that, Di Laurentis?! You cost us your shift for some bullshit chirp?! Get your ass to the locker room and cool the fuck down! We’ll talk about this later!”
You stayed rooted in your seat while he skated towards the locker room, breathing fast, cheeks burning. Your mind raced with worry about what your dad would say later and whether anyone else had caught on. But underneath it all was a powerful wave of emotion for Dean, for how fiercely he had protected you, consequences be damned.
You couldn’t sit there any longer. The game continued without him, but your focus was entirely on Dean. Heart pounding, you slipped out of your seat as quietly as possible, murmuring a quick excuse to the person beside you about needing some air. You kept your head down, weaving through the crowd and heading toward the restricted hallway that led to the locker room area. Luckily, most of the staff and security knew you as Coach’s daughter, so no one stopped you.
Your footsteps echoed softly in the empty corridor as you broke into a light run, the distant roar of the crowd muffled behind you. When you reached the locker room door, you hesitated for only a second before pushing it open.
Dean sat alone on the wooden bench in front of his locker, elbows resting on his knees, head slightly bowed. His jersey was still on but torn at the collar, and his face was a mess: a deep split in his lower lip still oozing blood, a bruise already forming along his jaw, and a small cut above his eyebrow. His knuckles were raw and bloodied. He looked exhausted, angry, and wired all at once.
The moment he heard the door, his head snapped up. Those intense blue eyes met yours, and the hard tension in his shoulders eased just a fraction. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you felt thick with everything that had just happened, the shower, the game, the fight, the secret you both carried. “Dean…” you whispered, stepping closer. Your voice trembled slightly with the rush of emotions. You stopped just in front of him, aching to reach out but unsure how hurt he really was.
He straightened a little, wincing as he did, and looked up at you. The possessiveness and fire from earlier on the ice still burned in his gaze, but there was something softer underneath it now, relief at seeing you, and a quiet vulnerability he rarely showed anyone else.
A tired, crooked smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, careful of his split lip. “Well… shit,” he said, voice rough but trying for lightness. “Think your dad’s gonna kill me, or should I start writing my will first?”
You let out a small, breathless laugh despite everything, stepping closer until you stood between his spread knees. Dean reached out slowly, his bloodied knuckles gentle as his fingers brushed against your waist, pulling you in until you were standing right in front of him.
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he murmured, the humor fading as his thumb traced a soft circle on your hip. “But when he started talking about you like that… I just lost it. Couldn’t let him say those things about you. Not about my girl.”
Your hand came up instinctively, hovering near his injured face before gently cupping the uninjured side of his jaw. “You scared me,” you admitted quietly, voice thick with emotion. “But… no one’s ever stood up for me like that before. It means everything, Dean. Even if it was reckless.”
He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes for a moment as if soaking in the comfort. When he opened them again, the softness in his blue eyes made your chest ache. “I’d do it a hundred times over,” he whispered. “You’re worth every penalty, every lecture, every bruise. I know we have to keep this quiet because of your dad… I'm willing to risk it. You’re not just some secret. You’re my reason.”
The tender moment shattered when your dad cleared his throat loudly behind you.
You both froze. Dean’s eyes widened slightly as he shot up from the bench, trying to put some distance between the two of you. The sudden movement made him wince sharply, a low hiss escaping through his teeth as pain flared across his bruised ribs and battered face.
Without thinking, you reached out automatically, your hand gently cupping his uninjured cheek in a soft, instinctive attempt to console him. Your thumb brushed lightly over his skin, worry etched across your face. “Dean, c’mon, be careful…” you started, voice full of concern. Only then did reality crash back in. You snatched your hand away as if burned, turning quickly toward the doorway. Your dad stood there, arms crossed over his chest, his expression a mixture of confusion, anger, and something unreadable. His gaze flicked between you and Dean, narrowing slightly.
“What the hell is going on here?” Coach asked, his tone low and heavy with suspicion.
Dean straightened as best he could despite the pain, jaw clenched, trying to look composed even with blood still drying on his lip and chin. You stepped back, heart racing, the weight of almost being caught pressing down on both of you.
“So?” Coach repeated, his voice low and dangerous at first. But as the truth sank in, his face turned a deep, furious red. “And don’t you dare lie to me, Di Laurentis,” he snarled, his voice rising sharply. “I saw the way she was touching you. The way you’re both looking at each other. You’ve been sneaking around with my daughter?!”
He took a furious step forward, jabbing a finger at Dean’s chest. “I had ONE rule! One goddamn rule for her, stay away from hockey boys! Especially not one of my own players! And you, you piece of shit, you go behind my back and do this anyway? After everything I’ve done for you? I trusted you with my team, with my daughter, and this is how you repay me?!” Your dad’s voice boomed through the locker room, echoing off the walls. He was shaking with rage, his usual controlled coaching demeanor completely shattered.
“You get ejected like some hot-headed idiot, and now I find out you’ve been, what? Defiling my little girl? I should bench you for the rest of the season! Hell, I should cut you from the team right now!”
You felt your stomach drop. Tears stung your eyes as you watched your father’s furious, betrayed expression. Dean’s hand found yours and squeezed it tightly, grounding you even as your heart pounded. “Dad, please…” you started, voice cracking.
But he cut you off, turning his glare on you. “And you! I raised you better than this. I told you what these boys are like. And you still went and fell for one of them anyway?”
Dean stepped forward slightly, wincing in pain but refusing to back down. His voice was steady, though thick with emotion. “Coach, I know I broke your trust. But I love her. This isn’t some fling.”
Your dad let out a harsh, bitter laugh. “Love? You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Get your ass out of my sight before I do something I regret, Di Laurentis. And you,”he looked at you, disappointment cutting deeper than the anger, “we are going to have a very long talk when we get home.”
Something inside you snapped.
You stepped forward, eyes blazing as you faced your father. “No. You don’t get to talk to him like that. Or to me. Dean was defending me, Dad. That player was saying disgusting, horrible things about me, and Dean stood up for me when no one else did. He got ejected because he refused to let someone disrespect me. And instead of asking what happened, you’re just screaming at him like he’s the villain here.”
Your voice rose with every word, raw emotion pouring out. “You always say you want me to be happy, but the second I find someone who actually treats me like I matter, who loves me and protects me, you shut it down because of some stupid rule? That’s not fair. You’re being completely unreasonable right now.”
Your dad’s face darkened even further, his jaw tightening as he opened his mouth to argue back, but you kept going. “Dean has been nothing but good to me. He makes me feel safe. He makes me feel loved. And you’re acting like he’s some kind of criminal for caring about me. I’m not a little girl anymore, Dad. You don’t get to control who I love.”
The tension in the locker room was thick enough to choke on. Your dad looked stunned for a split second before his anger flared hotter, his voice rising again as he started to argue back.
Dean quickly stepped between you and your father, wincing in pain but raising his hands in a calming gesture. “Coach, please,” he said, voice low and steady even though his split lip was still bleeding. “She’s upset. I’m upset. Let’s all just take a breath before this gets worse than it already is.”
He turned slightly toward you, his eyes soft but pleading. “Baby" he cringed, forgetting to rein himself in front of her father "it’s okay. I can handle this.” Then he looked back at your dad. “Coach, I know you’re angry. I know I broke your trust. But yelling at each other right now isn’t going to fix anything. Let me clean up, and we can talk about this later when everyone’s calmed down.”
Dean’s hand found yours behind his back, giving it a gentle, hidden squeeze, a silent reminder that he had you, even in the middle of the storm. Your dad stared at both of you, chest heaving with barely contained fury, clearly struggling between his anger and the fact that Dean was trying to de-escalate.
“Fine,” he said tightly, voice still edged with anger. “I’m too pissed off to deal with this right now. Di Laurentis… you’re coming over for dinner tomorrow night. We’re going to sit down and talk about this like adults. No more sneaking around. But right now…” he looked at you, tone leaving no room for argument, “you’re leaving with me. Let’s go.”
You nodded, though your heart was still racing. Before turning to leave, you stepped closer to Dean. Rising onto your toes, you gently cupped the uninjured side of his face and pressed a soft, lingering peck to his lips, careful of his split lip. “Take care of those cuts,” you whispered against his mouth. “Clean them up properly and ice your ribs, okay? I love you.”
Dean’s eyes softened, his thumb brushing over your knuckles one last time as he whispered back, “I love you too.”
Your dad made a loud, annoyed sound in the back of his throat. “For fuck’s sake,” he muttered, clearly irritated by the open display of affection. “I’m standing right here. Let’s move it.”
pairing: john tucker x fem!reader
synopsis: your friends can't believe you like john tucker that much, but nobody knows the side of briar's southern sweetheart only reserved for you. nobody knows how john tucker is under the sheets, and it better stay that way.
words: > 1k
disclaimer: english is not my first language!
warnings: smut! very little plot, hookup culture. oral (f! receiving). missionary + doggy style. implied dom!tucker but no dialogue! second person, no use of Y/N, the images are purely for aesthetic purposes, no explicit description of the reader. not proofread!
chye's corner: no one was writing about my guy, i had to whip out something! for my ppl who asked more john tucker, here it is!!!!! pls consider a reblog, a like, or a comment! thank you for choosing to read my words (((:
chye's grimoire (masterlist)
requests are open!
When you began this… thing with John Tucker, your friends had looked at you and laughed. They said you should’ve picked someone else to have your fun with. They said that Dean could’ve given you the ride of your life, that Logan was really good with his hands, that Garrett could have held you up in any position. That was probably true.
But the first time Tucker came over to talk to you, the golden boy everyone adored spilled his drink all over himself from pure nervousness. His cheeks flushed, his usual smooth southern charm completely gone as he fumbled and stammered. You found it oddly endearing… and hot. And that's why, without hesitation, you had grabbed his hand and took him straight upstairs, away from the party and prying eyes.
Now, sex with John Tucker hits like a secret explosion of raw need hidden behind his perfect public mask.
In front of everyone he’s the ultimate warm, sweet golden boy with gentle smiles, soft-spoken southern charm, respectful hands that never linger too long, always the attentive, kind presence that makes people feel safe and seen. But the moment you’re alone, that carefully built facade shatters completely. The pent-up tension from maintaining that image all day unleashes in a flood of primal passion.
He grabs you with strong, demanding hands, shoving you against the wall or door as his mouth crashes into yours. His kisses are deep, sloppy, and possessive, tongue thrusting aggressively into your mouth while he yanks your clothes off, groping your tits, squeezing your ass, and grinding his already rock-hard bulge against you. Thick fingers waste no time sliding between your thighs, rubbing your slick pussy lips before plunging two, then three digits deep into your cunt. He fingers you roughly, curling and pumping fast, stretching your tight walls while his thumb grinds circles on your swollen clit until your juices are running down his wrist.
John drops to his knees like he’s desperate for it, spreading your legs wide and burying his face in your pussy. His tongue is relentless, broad licks dragging from your leaking hole up to your throbbing clit, then sucking that sensitive bundle of nerves hard between his lips. He eats you out with messy hunger, groaning into your cunt as he fucks you with his tongue and fingers at the same time, lapping up every drop of your arousal, sucking and slurping noisily while your thighs shake around his head.
When he finally stands, his thick, veiny cock is flushed dark and leaking precum, you know it's intimidating. He pushes you onto the bed, spreads your legs obscenely wide, and slams into you in one brutal thrust, burying every inch of that fat cock balls-deep into your clenching pussy. The stretch is intense, filling you completely as he starts pounding with powerful, punishing strokes. Skin slaps loudly against skin, his heavy balls smacking your ass with every deep drive. He fucks you hard and fast, hips snapping, sweat dripping down his chest, muscles flexing as he rails your cunt like he’s releasing every bit of daily restraint.
He flips you onto your stomach or all fours, gripping your hips bruisingly tight as he re-enters you from behind, pounding even deeper. One hand fists your hair, pulling your head back while the other reaches around to rub your clit roughly. His cock drags against your g-spot with every savage thrust, stretching and owning your pussy until you’re dripping and creaming all over his shaft. Your orgasm rips through you violently every single time, walls spasming and squeezing his thick cock like a vice, juices gushing as waves of pleasure make your whole body shake.
John doesn’t stop. He keeps fucking you through it with deep, stuttering thrusts, chasing his own release until he buries himself to the hilt. His cock throbs and pulses hard inside your fluttering cunt as he unloads, flooding you with thick, hot ropes of cum, pumping every drop deep into your pussy until it’s overflowing and leaking out around his shaft.
So yeah, you could’ve definitely picked Dean, Logan or Garrett, but none of them would have given you what John Tucker does the second you’re alone.
pairing: bruin!garrett graham x fem!reader
synopsis: garrett graham hasn’t been able to take his eyes off you all night. not when you’re wearing that sinful cream dress that looks like it was poured over your body. the second he gets you alone in a coat closet, the golden boy drops to his knees and shows you exactly how obsessed he really is.
words: 3k+
disclaimer: english is not my first language!
warnings: smut! very little plot: oral! (f receiving), multiple orgasm, sex in a public place. there is a guest appearance i hope you’ll like. garrett is in a suit. garrett worships. dirty talk!!! they are honestly so in love it makes me sssssssssick. third person, no use of Y/N, the images are purely for aesthetic purposes, no explicit description of the reader. not proofread!
chye's corner: several people have been asking for more garrett. you ask, i deliver!!! pls consider a reblog, a like, or a comment! thank you for choosing to read my words (((:
chye's grimoire (masterlist)
requests are open!
Garrett Graham stood near the marble bar of the sprawling rooftop terrace, nursing a whiskey that had gone lukewarm in his grip. The NHL’s annual charity gala, hosted this year at a waterfront estate owned by one of the league’s biggest benefactors, hummed around him with crystal clinking, low laughter, and the occasional flash of cameras from the press still lingering near the main ballroom. Tuxedos and gowns glittered under strings of warm lights woven through the pergola, but none of it held his attention.
Not when she was standing twenty feet away in that dress.
The cream satin clung to every curve like it had been poured over her skin. The halter neckline plunged so deep between her breasts that Garrett’s mouth went dry just looking at it, the fabric draping and twisting around her waist before falling in liquid folds to the floor. A high slit sliced up one thigh, flashing smooth leg with every subtle shift of her weight. Her hair was swept up into a soft, elegant knot that left the long line of her neck bare, a few loose strands brushing her shoulders. Gold bangles caught the light on her wrist as she lifted a champagne flute to her lips.
Fuck.
He’d seen her get ready earlier in their hotel suite, but seeing her here, under the night sky, surrounded by tuxedoed teammates, sponsors, and WAGs, hit different. She looked like sin wrapped in silk. He wasn’t supposed to touch her in public but his mind decided to go to forbidden places, desperately wanted to ruin her.
Garrett’s eyes tracked the way the dress moved when she turned slightly to greet someone, the deep V shifting just enough to reveal the inner swell of her breast. His cock twitched against the zipper of his tailored pants. He adjusted his stance, trying to play it cool, but his gaze kept dragging back to her. The way the satin hugged her ass. The bare expanse of her back he knew was completely exposed. That slit that kept teasing him with the promise of easy access if he could just get his hands under it.
She caught him staring after a while. Her eyes met his across the terrace, and a slow, knowing smile curved her lips. She tilted her head just slightly, the movement drawing his attention straight back to the plunging neckline. Heat flared low in his gut. Garrett didn’t smile back, he couldn’t. He was too busy imagining shoving that expensive fabric up around her waist and burying himself inside her.
She excused herself from the conversation with graceful ease and started toward him, hips swaying, the slit flashing with every step. The soft click of her heels on the stone tiles cut through the party noise like a siren call. When she reached him, she leaned in just enough that he caught the scent of her perfume, something expensive he bought her that made him want to bury his face in her neck.
“See something you like, hot shot?” she murmured, voice low enough that only he could hear.
Garrett’s hand flexed at his side, fighting the urge to grab her right there. His voice came out rough. “You’re killing me in that dress.”
Her smile widened, wicked. She glanced around at the glittering crowd, then back at him, eyes dark with the same hunger he felt. “Then maybe we should find somewhere a little more private before you do something reckless in front of all these cameras.”
Garrett’s gaze dropped to her mouth, then lower, tracing the deep V of the dress again. His mind was already racing… coat check room off the main hall, the empty executive office he’d passed earlier on the second floor, or that shadowed corner of the massive wraparound balcony where the lights didn’t quite reach and the hedges gave just enough cover.
He set his whiskey down with a decisive clink. “Lead the way, baby.” His hand brushed the small of her bare back, thumb stroking along her spine. “Before I drag you into the nearest dark corner and fuck you in front of the entire league.”
His hand stayed glued to the small of her back as they slipped away from the main terrace, his palm burning against her bare skin. The silk of her dress was cool under his fingers, but the heat radiating from her body made his blood run hotter. Every step she took sent the high slit flashing open, revealing the smooth line of her thigh, and it was taking every ounce of his self-control not to push her against the nearest pillar and kiss her senseless.
They moved through the crowd with practiced casualness, nodding at a few teammates, avoiding eye contact with Rozanov who always seemed to know when Garrett was up to something, smiling politely at a sponsor’s wife, while the tension between them crackled like static. The moment they cleared the main gathering and stepped onto the quieter upper balcony walkway, Garrett couldn’t wait any longer.
He tugged her gently toward a shadowed alcove framed by tall potted hedges and dim string lights, turning her to face him. His free hand came up to cup her jaw, thumb brushing her lower lip as he leaned in, hungry for her mouth.
She turned her head at the last second, his lips catching only the soft skin of her cheek. “Not yet, Graham,” she whispered, a teasing lilt in her voice that made his cock throb.
Garrett let out a low, frustrated groan, his forehead dropping to rest against her temple. “Baby… you’re torturing me.” His hand slid down her neck, fingers tracing the delicate chain of her earring before drifting lower, skimming the edge of that sinful plunge in her dress. “I’ve been hard since the second I saw you in this thing.”
She laughed softly, the sound warm and affectionate, but she still pulled back just enough to deny him. Her fingers curled into the lapels of his tuxedo jacket, holding him close but keeping that maddening inch of distance. “You’ve never been good at patience. This is my way of teaching you.”
He tried again as they continued walking, ducking deeper into the semi-private stretch of the balcony where the party noise faded into a distant hum and the ocean breeze carried the scent of salt and night-blooming flowers. This time he caught her wrist, spinning her toward him beside a wide marble column. He dipped his head fast, aiming for her lips, desperate to taste her.
She tilted her chin up at the perfect angle so his mouth landed on the corner of hers instead. Her breath ghosted warm across his lips as she murmured, “Oh, my my. Just wait one more second!”
“Fuck,” he breathed, voice rough with need. He pressed his body closer anyway, letting her feel exactly what she was doing to him through his pants. One arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against him, the satin of her dress sliding deliciously against his suit. “I need you. Need to kiss you properly. Need to feel that pretty mouth while I…”
She placed two fingers over his lips, eyes sparkling with mischief and heat. The gold bangles on her wrist chimed softly. “Shh. You’ll get what you want when we’re somewhere no one can interrupt us.” Her voice dropped, softer, more intimate. “I’ve been thinking about you all night too, you know. How good you look in that tux. How much I want your hands on me.”
The words hit him like a spark to gasoline. Garrett’s grip tightened on her hips, and he tried one more time, backing her gently against the column, crowding her with his taller frame as he leaned in slow and deliberate.
This time she let him get close enough that their lips brushed, a ghost of a kiss that made his heart slam against his ribs… before she turned her face again, pressing a lingering, open-mouthed kiss to his jaw instead, right below his ear. “Almost there,” she promised, her voice husky now, the teasing edge melting into something sweeter, more loving. Her hand slid down his chest, nails lightly scraping over the fabric. “I want you just as badly. But I want you all to myself.”
Garrett exhaled shakily, his forehead pressed to hers, breathing her in. The affection in her tone, the way she was drawing this out, it only made the hunger sharper. He was completely gone for her. Not just the dress, not just the body underneath it, but her. The way she could unravel him with a look and a few teasing words.
“Next corner,” he growled against her skin, already steering them further down the secluded balcony path toward a small service alcove he’d noticed earlier, one with a heavy door that looked like it led to a private storage or coat room. “And if you deflect again, I swear I’m throwing you over my shoulder.”
She laughed, low and delighted, threading her fingers through his as they moved. The promise in her eyes told him she was every bit as wound up as he was.
Garrett’s pulse hammered in his ears as he finally pushed open the heavy wooden door to the small private coat room off the upper balcony. It was dimly lit by a single wall sconce, lined with hanging garments and shelves of linens. Quiet, secluded, and blissfully empty. The second the door clicked shut behind them, he turned the lock with a decisive twist.
No more teasing. No more deflections.
He spun her toward him, backing her against the nearest wall between two rows of hanging coats. His hands framed her face this time, thumbs stroking her cheekbones as he finally, finally, captured her mouth in a deep, hungry kiss. She melted into it with a soft moan that went straight to his cock, her fingers twisting into his tuxedo jacket as if she’d been waiting for this just as badly.
When he pulled back for air, his forehead rested against hers. “God, look at you,” he whispered, voice wrecked with awe. “You’re unreal in this dress.”
His hands slid down slowly, reverently, mapping every inch of her. He traced the delicate straps of the halter neck, then followed the plunging neckline with his fingertips, dipping into the warm valley between her breasts. The satin felt like liquid under his palms. He dipped his head and pressed open-mouthed kisses along the exposed skin, tasting her, breathing her in.
“You wore this knowing exactly what it would do to me, didn’t you?” he murmured against her collarbone, nipping gently before soothing the spot with his tongue. “Killing me all night. Every time you moved, that slit…” His hand dropped to her thigh, sliding up through the high cut of the dress until he was gripping bare skin, pushing the fabric aside.
She shivered under his touch, and it only made him more desperate to worship her properly.
Garrett sank to one knee in front of her like she was something sacred. His large hands smoothed up both of her legs, pushing the heavy satin higher and higher until the dress pooled around her waist. He pressed his lips to the inside of her knee, then trailed slow, deliberate kisses upward along her inner thigh, savoring the way her breath hitched.
“Fuck, baby… you’re perfect,” he groaned, voice thick with reverence. He looked up at her, eyes dark and adoring, as he hooked one of her legs over his shoulder. “This dress should be illegal. The way it hugs you right here…” He kissed the crease where her thigh met her hip, then higher, nuzzling against the lace of her panties. “I’ve been thinking about this all night. About tasting you while you’re still wearing it.”
He didn’t rush. He worshipped her with slow, open-mouthed kisses over the fabric, then pulling it aside so he could drag his tongue along her folds in one long, reverent stroke. A low, satisfied sound rumbled from his chest as he savored her. His hands gripped her hips, holding her steady while he devoured her with patient, devoted focus: licking, sucking, circling her clit like he had all the time in the world, like nothing else existed except making her feel good.
Every soft gasp and whimper from her lips fueled him. He pulled back just enough to look up at her again, lips glistening, eyes burning with pure adoration. “I can’t get enough of you,” he breathed, pressing a tender kiss to her mound before diving back in. One hand slid up her body, palming her breast through the thin satin, thumb brushing over her hardened nipple. “So beautiful. So fucking mine.”
He could feel her trembling, her fingers threading into his hair, and it only made him more intent. He worshipped every inch, the soft skin of her thighs, the curve of her hips, the way the dress still clung to her waist like it was painted on. When she came undone with a broken moan, he held her through it, murmuring praises against her skin.
“That’s it, baby… let me hear you. So good for me.”
Garrett stayed on his knee like a man at prayer, eyes locked on her as he slowly pushed the cream satin higher up her hips until it bunched messily around her waist. The contrast of the elegant dress hiked up so indecently only made her look hotter. He ran his palms up the backs of her thighs, feeling the fine tremor already running through her muscles.
“Easy, baby,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “I’ve got you.”
He hooked her right leg over his shoulder, opening her to him once more, then leaned in and dragged the flat of his tongue in one long, slow lick from her entrance up to her clit. Her sharp inhale and the way her fingers instantly tightened in his hair sent a bolt of heat straight to his cock.
He did it again, slower this time, savoring her taste, letting his tongue press firmer against her folds. Her hips jerked forward involuntarily. A soft, needy sound escaped her throat, half moan, half whimper, and Garrett groaned against her in response, the vibration making her thighs clench around his head.
“Fuck, you taste so good,” he rasped, pulling back just enough to speak before diving back in. He alternated between broad, languid strokes of his tongue and teasing flicks right over her clit, learning exactly what made her breath hitch and her knees weaken. When her breathing grew ragged, he sealed his lips around her clit and sucked gently, then harder, flicking his tongue at the same time.
Her free hand flew to the wall behind her for balance, nails scraping against the paint. “Garrett… oh god…” Her voice cracked, thighs starting to shake around his ears. He could feel the tension coiling in her body, her hips rolling helplessly against his mouth as she chased the pleasure.
He didn’t let up. One of his big hands slid up to grip her ass, kneading the soft flesh and pulling her even closer while the other slipped between her legs. He teased her entrance with two thick fingers, circling, pressing just inside before sliding them deep in one smooth thrust. Her back arched hard off the wall, a broken moan spilling from her lips. The sound went straight to his groin, making his cock leak against the front of his tuxedo pants. He curled his fingers, searching for that spot inside her while his mouth stayed devoted to her clit. Sucking, licking, humming praises against her slick heat.
“Yes, G, right there,” she gasped, her grip in his hair bordering on painful now. Her hips were grinding against his face, chasing every stroke of his tongue and thrust of his fingers. He could feel her walls fluttering around his fingers, slick and hot and getting wetter by the second. Her breathing came in short, desperate pants, little whimpers escaping with every exhale.
Garrett looked up at her without stopping, eyes dark with lust and adoration. The sight of her, head tipped back, lips parted, chest heaving, that sinful dress still clinging to her breasts while the rest was shoved up around her waist, was almost enough to make him come untouched.
He doubled down, sucking her clit harder, fucking her steadily with his fingers, curling them with every thrust. Her thighs started trembling violently around his head. Her moans grew louder, less controlled, echoing softly in the small coat room.
“Garrett…fuck, fuck, I’m gonna…”
He growled against her, the sound vibrating through her core, and that was all it took. Her entire body seized, back bowing sharply as her orgasm crashed over her. Her walls clamped down rhythmically around his fingers, pulsing hard while she cried out his name in a broken, breathy moan. Her hips jerked against his mouth in erratic little thrusts as wave after wave rolled through her, thighs squeezing his head tight enough that he could barely hear anything except the pounding of his own heart and her desperate sounds.
He worked her through it, slowing but not stopping, gentle licks and soft thrusts of his fingers, drawing out every last tremor until she was whimpering, oversensitive, and weakly pushing at his head. Only then did Garrett ease her leg down and rise to his feet, kissing his way up her body as he went. His mouth was slick with her, chin glistening, but he didn’t care. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her steady as her legs trembled beneath her.
He pressed his forehead to hers, breathing hard, voice full of raw emotion. “You’re so fucking beautiful when you come for me,” he whispered, thumb stroking her flushed cheek. “I could do that all night.”
She let out a soft, breathless laugh that turned into a needy whimper, her body still pulsing with aftershocks. Her hands framed his face, thumbs brushing his cheekbones as she stared straight into his eyes, her gaze dark and shining with love and raw desire. “I need you inside me, Garrett,” she whispered, voice trembling with urgency. “I want to feel you stretching me open. Please, baby, I’m so wet for you.”
Her fingers were already working open his belt and pants with impatient tugs. The second his thick, heavy cock sprang free, she wrapped her hand around the hot length, stroking him root to tip in firm, needy pulls. Garrett hissed through his teeth, hips jerking forward into her grip.
“Fuck, look at you,” he groaned, but she was already guiding him, rising onto her toes and rubbing the swollen head of his cock through her soaked folds.
She was drenched, slick and dripping from his mouth and her orgasm, coating him instantly. She teased the head against her swollen clit, moaning softly at the contact, before lining him up at her entrance. “Inside me,” she begged, eyes locked on his. “I need to feel every inch of you filling me up while I’m still in this dress.”
Garrett gripped her hips, and with one powerful thrust he sank deep inside her in a single stroke, burying himself to the hilt. A guttural moan tore from his throat at the same time she cried out, her walls clenching tight and fluttering around his thick cock.
“Oh god… yes,” she gasped, her head falling back against the wall for a heartbeat before she forced her eyes back to his. “You’re so deep… I can feel you everywhere.” Her inner muscles squeezed him deliberately, rippling along his length as she adjusted to the stretch.
She pulled him into a messy, desperate kiss, tongues sliding hotly as she rolled her hips forward, fucking herself on his cock. Her hands roamed everywhere, tangling in his hair, clawing at his shoulders through his shirt, sliding down to grip his ass and pull him even deeper. “I love you,” she breathed against his lips between kisses, voice breaking on a moan as he started thrusting. “I love how you feel inside me. How you look at me like I’m yours.”
Garrett’s grip tightened on her hips, driving into her with slow, powerful strokes that made the satin of her dress bunch and slide between them. Every thrust pushed her back against the wall, the wet, filthy sound of her soaked pussy taking his cock echoing in the small coat room. “You are mine,” he rasped, forehead pressed to hers again so they could share every breath. “All fucking mine. This tight, perfect pussy… wrapped around me like you were made for my cock.”
She whimpered at his words, clenching harder around him. One leg hooked higher around his waist, opening herself more as she met every thrust with eager rolls of her hips. Her hand slipped between them, fingers spreading herself wider so her clit ground against his pelvis with every deep stroke. “Harder, Garrett,” she moaned, eyes glassy with pleasure but never leaving his. “I want to feel you tomorrow.”
The emotional intensity between them crackled, raw love mixed with pure lust. He could see it in her eyes, feel it in the way she kissed him like she needed him to breathe. Garrett fucked her deeper, grinding against her clit on every thrust, one hand sliding up to cup her breast through the plunging neckline, thumb teasing her stiff nipple. “I love you so fucking much,” he growled against her mouth. “You’re everything.”
She came again with a sharp cry, her walls spasming and milking his cock in rhythmic pulses, soaking him as her whole body shook in his arms. She kept her eyes on his the entire time, lips parted, moaning his name like a prayer while she rode out every wave.
Garrett held her through it, slowing just enough to savor the way she clenched and fluttered around him, kissing her tenderly even as his hips kept moving.
When she finally came down, still trembling and clinging to him, she smiled against his lips, voice soft and full of love. “Don’t stop, G… I want you to come inside me.”
A low, guttural groan tore from his chest. He gripped her hips harder, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he drove into her with long, powerful strokes. The wet, obscene sound of her soaked pussy taking every thick inch of his cock filled the small coat room. “Fuck, baby,” he rasped, voice wrecked. “You want me to fill you up?”
“Yes,” she moaned, eyes locked on his, completely open and vulnerable. She hooked one leg higher around his waist, opening herself even more as she met his thrusts with eager rolls of her hips. “I want to feel you come deep inside me. Want to be dripping with you while I’m still wearing this dress.”
Garrett’s rhythm faltered for a second at her filthy, loving words, then he fucked her harder, slamming against that perfect spot inside her with every thrust. The plunging neckline of her cream satin dress had slipped slightly, one breast nearly spilling out. He leaned down and captured her nipple in his mouth, sucking hard as he pounded into her.
She cried out, back arching, nails raking down his back through his half-open shirt. Her inner walls clenched rhythmically around his cock, milking him, pulling him impossibly deeper. “I love you,” she gasped between moans, one hand tangled tightly in his hair while the other gripped his ass, urging him on. “I love feeling you lose control inside me. Give it to me, G.”
He released her nipple with a wet pop and straightened so he could watch her face. Their foreheads stayed pressed together, breaths mingling as he fucked her with everything he had. The satin of her dress bunched around her waist rubbed against his skin with every thrust. Her pussy was so wet it was dripping down his balls, coating him completely.
“You’re mine,” he repeated, voice thick with emotion. “This perfect pussy is mine. I’m gonna fill you until you’re leaking my cum down your thighs for the rest of the night.”
Her eyes fluttered but stayed on his, glassy with overwhelming pleasure. “Yes, yours. All yours. Please, G… I need it.”
The coil at the base of his spine tightened unbearably. Garrett’s thrusts grew erratic, harder, chasing his release while still grinding against her clit every time he bottomed out. He could feel her getting close again, her walls fluttering wildly around his cock. “Come with me,” he demanded, voice breaking. “Want to feel you coming while I fill you up.”
She shattered first, her entire body seizing as a sharp, breathless cry of his name tore from her throat. Her pussy clamped down on him like a vice, pulsing and gushing around his cock in powerful waves.
The sensation pushed Garrett over the edge.
With a deep, broken groan, he buried himself as deep as he could go and came hard. Thick, hot spurts of cum flooded her pussy, pulse after pulse as he kept grinding into her, emptying himself completely. The pleasure was blinding, his hips jerking with every aftershock while she clung to him, moaning softly as she took everything he gave her.
They stayed locked together, foreheads pressed tight, breathing each other in as the intensity slowly ebbed. Garrett’s arms wrapped around her, holding her close while soft tremors still ran through both of them.
“I love you,” he whispered against her lips, voice raw and reverent. “So fucking much.”
A sharp knock on the door made them both freeze.
“Graham!” A familiar voice with a thick Russian accent called through the wood, sounding far too amused. “I know you are in there, you horny bastard. Whole party is missing the golden boy.” Garrett cursed under his breath, instinctively pressing closer to her as if he could shield her from the interruption. Another knock, followed by a low chuckle. “Come on, man. I can hear you breathing like bull. Did you at least last more than two minutes this time?”
Ilya Rozanov. Of course.
She bit her lip to stifle a laugh, eyes sparkling with mischief even as her cheeks burned darker. Garrett pressed a quick, possessive kiss to her lips before reluctantly easing out of her. He helped smooth the cream satin back down her thighs as best he could, though the dress was now deliciously rumpled and there was no hiding the flush on her skin or the way she was still glowing.
“Rozanov, fuck off,” Garrett growled toward the door, voice still rough.
Ilya’s laugh was loud and unrepentant. “Is that any way to speak to your captain? You’re lucky I find you. They want photos, big sponsors, all that boring crap. And you are hiding in the coat closet like a teenager with his girlfriend. Very classy, Graham. Very romantic.”
Garrett zipped himself up and adjusted his tuxedo jacket, running a hand through his messy hair while shooting her an apologetic but heated look. She stepped closer, fixing his bowtie with gentle fingers, her touch lingering.
Ilya banged on the door again, clearly enjoying himself. “You have thirty seconds before I open door and see things I cannot unsee. Unless you want me to tell everyone you are too busy fucking your beautiful woman in the coat room to do your job. I do not mind. Very funny.”
“Give us a minute, asshole!” Garrett called back.
A dramatic sigh from the other side. “One minute. Then I am dragging you out by your dick if I have to. And fix your hair.”
Garrett groaned, pressing one last deep kiss to her lips, his hand cupping her jaw tenderly. “I’ll find you as soon as this is over,” he promised, voice low and full of heat. “We’re not done tonight.”
She smiled, still a little breathless, and whispered, “Good. Because I can already feel you dripping down my thighs.”
Garrett nearly groaned again. He stole one more kiss before reluctantly stepping back. “Roz, you Russian prick, I’m coming,” he muttered, unlocking the door.
The second it cracked open, Ilya’s smirking face appeared, eyebrows raised in exaggerated judgment. His gaze flicked between Garrett’s disheveled state and the woman behind him, and his grin widened. “Ah. I see dress worked exactly as planned. Well done.” He winked at her, then clapped Garrett on the shoulder. “Now move your ass, lover boy. Some of us are trying to win charity awards while you are busy winning ‘most pathetic horny man’ award.”
pairing: john logan x dilaurentis!reader x garrett graham
synopsis: you should receive a medal for keeping your relationship with john logan a secret for six whole months. you’ve grown skilled at stealing moments and hiding cuddles. that’s why you didn’t expect someone to walk in on you while your boyfriend is having the time of his life between your legs. what happens when that someone is garrett graham and seeing him walk aways isn’t at all what you want?
words: 3k+
disclaimer: english is not my first language!
warnings: secret relationship. smut. fluff. p in v (unprotected). second person, no use of Y/N, no physical descriptions, the pictures are just for aesthetic purposes. dom!reader at one point. THREESOME!!! oral (f and m receiving), fingering. dom!logan(?). just dance with tucker and dean! garrett is kinda sick… but not really. awkward!garrett. not proofread, as usual.
chye's corner: i’ve been working on this since last week, i didn’t know honestly how to make this work. hopefully this is what @pinkpantheris wanted… this was honestly soooo fun and cute to write, just gave me a headache. i just want to remind you that REQUESTS ARE OPEN!! pls consider a reblog, a like, or a comment! thank you for choosing to read my words (((:
chye's grimoire (masterlist)
requests are open!
The off-campus house buzzed with the bass from the TV speakers thumped through the living room as the Just Dance menu glowed brightly on the screen. The lights were dimmed low, pizza boxes and drinks scattered across the coffee table, and the whole place smelled like popcorn, cologne, and the faint trace of Garrett’s cough medicine drifting down from upstairs.
You were in the middle of it all, laughing as you stood in the cleared-out space between the sectional and the TV, controller in hand. Logan was right beside you, both of you still in comfy sweats and hoodies. Dean and Tucker, on the other hand, were fully hyped, already half-dressed for the party they were heading to later, shirts unbuttoned, hair styled, smelling like fresh body spray.
“Yo, next song!” Tucker yelled, bouncing on his toes. “I’m about to destroy all of you.”
Dean smirked, spinning his controller like a microphone. “Big talk for someone who didn’t get a single perfect last round.”
“You two are literally getting ready to leave,” you teased, adjusting Logan’s oversized hoodie on your frame. “Why are you even playing?”
“This is absolutely your fault,” Dean shot back, pointing at you. “I need to embarrass my baby sister one more time before I dip.”
Logan chuckled beside you, his shoulder brushing yours. Under the noise and flashing lights of the game, his fingers grazed your lower back for a second, in a quick and secret, gesture. Six months of sneaking around, and that little touch still made your stomach flutter.
The song started, Candy by Robbie Williams (who even choose that?), and the four of you launched into it. Tucker was fully committed, hitting every move with dramatic flair, while Dean kept trying to sabotage him by bumping hips. You were laughing too hard to be graceful, but Logan stayed close, mirroring your steps with that effortless grace he possessed. Every time you spun, he’d catch your eye, his brown gaze soft and amused, lips curved like he was enjoying this way more than the game.
“Get it, sis!” Dean hollered mid-dance, nearly tripping over the rug.
“You suck at this!” you fired back, breathless and grinning.
Halfway through, Logan “accidentally” stepped behind you during a turn, his chest brushing your back as he whispered near your ear, “You look so cute when you’re laughing like this.” His hand squeezed your waist under the cover of the chaotic movements, hidden from the others.
Your cheeks heated. “Behave, J,” you whispered back, but you leaned into him for half a second anyway.
From upstairs came a raspy, miserable groan. “Can you animals keep it down? Some of us are trying to die in peace.”
“Sorry, captain!” Tucker shouted without missing a beat, still dancing. “We’ll send up some soup after this song!”
“Fuck all of you,” Garrett called weakly, making everyone crack up.
The song ended and the scores popped up. Tucker won by a ridiculous margin. Dean threw his hands up dramatically. “Rigged. I demand a rematch.”
“No rematch,” Tucker laughed, already buttoning his shirt properly. “We gotta bounce soon. That party’s not gonna pregame itself.”
“Aww, come on, one more song!” Dean begged, giving his best pout. “Please? Just one. I need redemption before I leave. I’m not walking out of here a loser. Aaaand, I’m your driver, you better listen to me.”
Tucker groaned but gave in with a laugh. “One song, Di Laurentis. Then we’re gone.”
Dean cheered and selected ‘Feel this Moment.’ The house music blasted through the living room again as the four of you jumped back in. Dean was going full dramatic mode, throwing his whole body into the choreography while Tucker hyped him up and tried to out-dance him.
Halfway through the song, Garrett’s raspy voice called down weakly. “Soup… I’m dying up here. Someone take mercy on me.”
“I’ll heat some up, you big baby!” you called out, setting your controller down.
Logan immediately put his down too. “I’ll help her. You two keep destroying the dance floor,” he said casually, flashing a grin at the boys.
Dean didn’t even look over, too busy hitting the moves. “Absolute legends! Don’t burn the house down!”
The second you stepped into the kitchen, Logan was right behind you. The moment you were out of sight, he grabbed your waist from behind and spun you around playfully, backing you against the counter with a mischievous grin.
“Logan!” you laughed, trying to sound stern but failing miserably. “Stop, they’re right there!”
He didn’t stop. Instead, he crowded you closer, hands planted on the counter on either side of you, brown eyes sparkling with that signature charm of his that he only let slip with you. “Oh come on, love,” he teased, voice low and flirty. “They’re too busy being idiots to notice. You know how hard it is to ignore you in my hoodie, shaking your ass to Just Dance? Cruel and unusual punishment, if you ask me.”
He leaned in and nipped at your jaw, then pressed a loud, playful kiss right below your ear, making you squirm and giggle. “J, I swear…” you whispered, half-laughing as you gently pushed at his chest. “They’re literally twenty feet away. Stop!”
But your protest was weak, and he knew it. He grinned wider, that cocky, charming smile that always got him in trouble. “Make me,” he murmured before capturing your lips in a flirty, teasing kiss. It started playful, quick and smiling, but quickly turned warmer as he tilted his head and kissed you deeper, one hand sliding down to squeeze your hip. He pulled back just enough to whisper against your mouth, “I love it when you call me J, you should do it more often.”
You were breathless, cheeks flushed. “You’re going to get us caught, you idiot,” you scolded playfully, even as your fingers curled into his hoodie.
“Worth it,” he said with a wink. He stole another quick kiss, then one on the tip of your nose, then your forehead, being extra annoying and adorable about it. “Can’t help it. My girl looks too cute when she’s all flustered.”
You rolled your eyes fondly and turned back to the soup, trying to focus on pouring it into a bowl. Logan refused to give you space. He stayed glued to your back, arms wrapped around your waist, chin on your shoulder as he pressed lazy, teasing kisses along the side of your neck.
“Logan,” you warned again, giggling softly. “Dean’s literally there”
“Mmm, but you’re here,” he hummed playfully against your skin. “Priorities.”
With Dean and Tucker finally gone, the had house settled into a deep, peaceful quiet. Logan had been building an elaborate lie about a huge project for one of his classes due on Monday for the entire week. Just to have an excuse to have some time with you, undisturbed. The only sounds were the soft crackle of the old leather couch, the low murmur of the movie soundtrack, and the occasional gentle creak of the house as it cooled down for the night. Garrett was sound asleep upstairs, door closed, leaving the entire living room to you and Logan.
You were curled up on the massive sectional, wrapped together under a thick, fluffy blanket that smelled faintly of laundry detergent and the faint trace of woodsmoke from the last time they’d used the fireplace. You wore only Logan’s oversized hoodie and some shorts, the fabric soft and well-worn against your skin, carrying his masculine scent, clean body wash, a hint of cedar, and that unmistakable Logan warmth that made you feel completely safe.
Logan had pulled you flush against him the second the front door shut. Now you were half-draped over his chest, your cheek pressed to the steady thump of his heartbeat, strong and rhythmic beneath the thin cotton of his t-shirt. His body radiated heat like a furnace, perfectly warming you from the inside out. One of his strong arms was wrapped tightly around your waist, fingers slowly slipping under the hem of the hoodie to trace lazy, feather-light patterns across the bare skin of your lower back, warm fingertips against cool skin, sending pleasant shivers racing up your spine with every slow stroke.
His other hand held yours, fingers intertwined, his thumb brushing slow, tender circles over your knuckles. Every now and then he’d give your hand a gentle squeeze, and you’d squeeze back, your secret little code.
The living room glowed in soft golden lamplight mixed with the cool, shifting blue hues from the TV screen. The faint buttery aroma of popcorn still lingered in the air, mingling with Logan’s cologne and the subtle menthol cough-drop scent drifting down from upstairs.
“You feel so good like this,” Logan murmured, his voice low and husky, vibrating through his chest into your cheek. His breath was warm against the top of your head as he pressed a slow kiss into your hair, lips lingering.
You nuzzled deeper into him, inhaling the comforting scent of his skin at the collar of his shirt. “Mmm… you’re so warm,” you whispered, your fingers tracing the firm planes of his chest through the fabric.
Logan shifted slightly, pulling you even closer until your legs were fully tangled with his. The coarse hair on his legs brushed against your smooth thighs under the blanket, a delicious contrast in texture. His hand slid higher under your hoodie, palm broad and slightly calloused from hockey, gliding slowly up the curve of your spine and back down again in long, soothing strokes that left trails of heat everywhere he touched.
He tilted his head down and captured your lips in a slow, deep kiss. You tasted the faint sweetness of cherry cola on his tongue, warm and addictive. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, noses brushing, sharing the same heated breath.
“I love having you all to myself like this,” he whispered, voice rough with affection. His fingers continued their gentle exploration under the hoodie, mapping every inch of your back like he couldn’t get enough of the feel of your skin. “No sneaking around. Just us...”
You melted further into him, letting out a contented sigh as his heartbeat thrummed steadily beneath your ear. The blanket trapped your combined body heat, creating a perfect little cocoon. Logan’s hand eventually settled on your hip, fingers gently kneading the soft flesh there in a rhythmic, soothing motion while his lips kept finding you, pressing slow kisses to your temple, your cheekbone, the sensitive spot just below your ear, each one sending tiny sparks across your skin.
Outside, a cold wind whispered against the windows, but inside everything felt impossibly cozy, the weight of his strong body beneath you, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the warmth of his breath against your hair, and the quiet, intimate sounds of the movie playing softly in the background. “God, I wish we didn’t have to hide”
You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his collarbone. “Well, have now and I’m not moving.”
Logan let out a low, rumbling chuckle that vibrated through his chest. “Good. Because I’m not letting you.”
He shifted beneath you, strong hands gripping your waist as he smoothly rolled you onto your back. The blanket slipped down to your hips, and suddenly he was hovering over you, bracing himself on his forearms. His middle-length dark hair fell messily around his face, framing those deep, stormy brown eyes that had gone darker with want. The golden lamplight caught in the strands, making them look almost black.
“Hi,” he whispered playfully, a wicked little grin tugging at his lips before he dipped his head and kissed you.
This kiss wasn’t slow or sweet like the ones before. It was hungry. His mouth moved against yours with purpose, tongue teasing the seam of your lips until you opened for him. He tasted like cherry cola and heat, and the soft groan he let out when your tongues met sent a rush of warmth straight between your legs.
Logan settled more of his weight on you, pressing you deliciously into the soft couch cushions. One of his hands slid under your hoodie again, palm hot against your ribs as he pushed the fabric higher, exposing your stomach to the cool air. His fingers explored greedily, brushing the undersides of your breasts before cupping one fully, thumb circling your nipple until it pebbled under his touch.
“J…” you breathed, arching into him.
He smirked against your mouth. “What’s wrong, baby? Thought you weren’t moving.” His voice was husky.
Before you could answer, he rolled his hips forward, grinding his growing hardness against your core through the thin layers of fabric separating you. A low, rough moan escaped his throat at the contact, deep and needy. He did it again, slower this time, dragging himself against you with deliberate pressure.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned, burying his face in your neck. His lips and teeth grazed your skin as he kissed and nipped his way down your throat, sucking lightly at your pulse point. Every roll of his hips was accompanied by another quiet, gravelly moan that made your stomach tighten.
You clutched at his shoulders, fingers threading through his thick, dark hair as he rocked against you again, harder this time. The friction was perfect, teasing and maddening all at once.
“Look at me,” he murmured, lifting his head. His eyes were nearly black now, heavy-lidded with lust. He braced himself on one arm and used his free hand to push your hoodie all the way up, exposing your breasts to his hungry gaze. “So fucking pretty under me like this.”
He leaned down and took one nipple into his mouth, sucking gently while his hips kept up that slow, sinful grind. The wet heat of his tongue combined with the steady pressure of his cock rubbing against your clit through your shorts had you whimpering beneath him.
Logan pulled back just enough to grin down at you, playful and cocky even as his breathing grew ragged. “Been thinking about this all night,” he confessed, voice low. “Knowing I couldn’t touch you the way I wanted… drove me crazy.”
He kissed you again, deep and messy, while his hips continued their teasing rhythm, slow rolls turning into more purposeful thrusts, grinding against you like he was already inside you. Another deep moan vibrated from his chest into your mouth as he rocked harder, one hand sliding down to grip your thigh, pulling your leg higher around his waist.
“Oh J…” you gasped, tugging at his hair.
“Yeah?” He nipped your bottom lip, then soothed it with his tongue, eyes sparkling with mischief even as they burned with desire. “You want me to stop teasing, baby?” He rolled his hips in a particularly slow, filthy circle, pressing right where you needed him most. “Or should I keep going until you’re begging?”
You let out a shaky breath, fingers tightening in his thick, dark hair. The weight of him on top of you, the relentless heat of his body, and the delicious friction between your legs were driving you crazy.
“Logan…” you whispered, tugging at the hem of his t-shirt. “Get rid of your shirt. I want to feel you.”
A wicked grin spread across his face. “Yes, ma’am.”
He sat up just enough to reach behind his neck and yank the t-shirt off in one smooth motion, tossing it somewhere onto the floor. The sight of him shirtless above you made your mouth go dry. His toned chest and abs were illuminated by the soft golden lamplight and flickering TV glow, every ridge and muscle shifting as he moved. His brown hair fell messily over his forehead, and his eyes locked onto yours.
The second the shirt was gone, he dropped back down onto you, skin to skin. The heat of his bare chest pressed against yours was intoxicating. He felt so warm, so solid, the light dusting of hair on his chest brushing teasingly against your breasts as he settled his weight over you again.
“Better?” he asked, voice low and teasing, before capturing your mouth in another deep kiss. You could feel every inch of his warm skin, the hard planes of his muscles, and the way his heart hammered against yours. Logan groaned softly into your mouth, then began kissing a slow, deliberate path down your body.
He pushed your hoodie higher, bunching it just below your collarbone so he could trail wet, open-mouthed kisses between your breasts, down your stomach, and over the soft skin of your lower belly. His hair tickled your skin as he moved lower, those stormy eyes flicking up to meet yours with a wicked, playful glint.
“I don’t know how I survived without you,” he murmured, voice husky. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your shorts, slowly dragging them down your thighs along with your panties in one smooth motion. He left them tangled around one of your ankles, too impatient to remove them completely.
Logan settled between your spread thighs, broad shoulders keeping your legs open for him. He pressed a soft kiss to the inside of your thigh, then another higher up, teasing you with the heat of his breath against your soaked core.
“J…” you breathed, fingers threading through his dark hair.
He looked up at you with a cocky little smirk, eyes nearly black with lust. “Yeah, baby? Just like that”
Without waiting for an answer, he leaned in and dragged his tongue slowly up your slit, groaning deeply at your taste. The wet heat of his mouth was overwhelming. He licked you again, slower this time, savoring every inch before circling your clit with the tip of his tongue.
“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he rasped against you, the vibration sending sparks through your body. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you open as he buried his face deeper between your legs.
Logan ate you out like he had all the time in the world, and luckily, he supposedly did. He was completely focused on your pleasure. He alternated between long, slow licks and flicking his tongue rapidly over your clit, occasionally sucking the sensitive bud into his mouth with just the right pressure. Every moan he made vibrated through you, low and filthy.
One of his hands slid up your body to cup your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers while his mouth continued its delicious assault. His dark hair brushed against your inner thighs as he moved his head, occasionally glancing up at you with heavy-lidded eyes, clearly enjoying the way you were falling apart beneath him.
“You're so sweet,” he groaned, voice muffled against your pussy. He pushed his tongue inside you, fucking you with it for a few moments before returning to your clit, sucking harder this time. The absolutely filthy sounds of his mouth on you filled the quiet living room, mixing with the soft soundtrack of the forgotten movie and your own shaky moans.
Logan kept one arm draped over your hips, holding you down as you squirmed, while his other hand stroked your thigh soothingly. He was relentless but playful, pulling back to kiss and nip at your inner thighs whenever you got too close, only to dive back in with renewed hunger.
“J, fuck, I hate you,” you gasped, tugging at his hair.
He chuckled against you, the sound sending fresh waves of pleasure through your core. “That’s it, baby. Let me hear you,” he murmured, before sucking your clit into his mouth again and flicking his tongue fast and steady, determined to push you right to the edge.
Your thighs were starting to shake when the creak on the stairs made you both freeze.
“I feel a so much better, thank fuck.” Garrett’s voice carried down as he descended. “That soup actually helped and…”
He stopped dead at the bottom of the stairs.
Garrett stood there shirtless, sweatpants low on his hips, staring at the scene in front of him. Logan still between your spread thighs, your hoodie shoved up, shorts and panties hanging off one ankle. The silence was deafening. “Jesus Christ,” Garrett muttered, eyes wide. He dragged a hand down his face, but he didn’t immediately turn away. His gaze lingered on your flushed skin, on Logan’s glistening mouth, on the way you were still breathing hard.
Logan lifted his head slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His dark hair was messy, eyes still heavy with lust. Instead of panicking, he smirked. “Timing’s a bitch, huh, captain?”
Garrett let out a rough laugh, but it sounded strained. “You two really couldn’t take it upstairs?” His eyes flicked back to you, and this time they stayed, darkening as they traced over your body. “Dean’s sister. On our fucking couch.”
You quickly tugged your hoodie down, embarrassment burning your cheeks, but the heat in Garrett’s stare made your stomach flutter. “You know what, I’m going back to bed. Pretend I saw nothing. Burn the couch later.” He turned and started heading back up the stairs, muttering under his breath, “Fucking animals…”
“Wait,” you called out, your voice breathy and slightly trembling as you sat up on the couch, the blanket pooling around your waist.
Garrett stopped midway up the stairs, his broad, shirtless back going rigid. Logan’s head snapped toward you so fast his messy dark hair fell into his eyes, wide with genuine shock.
“Baby?” Logan said, completely thrown off, his voice low and rough. “What the hell are you doing?”
You looked at Logan first, his flushed face and dark, lust-filled eyes, then let your gaze drift to Garrett’s tense, muscular back, the defined lines of his shoulders and spine illuminated by the warm lamplight. “Well… you told me you wanted a threesome, right?” you said softly, your voice laced with teasing mischief even as your heart pounded wildly in your chest.
Logan let out a stunned, breathless laugh, running a hand through his messy dark hair. “Holy shit. You’re actually calling me on that right now?”
Garrett finally turned around slowly, one large hand still gripping the railing tightly. His expression was a turbulent mix of disbelief, conflict, and unmistakable hunger. “No. Absolutely not,” he said firmly, though his heated gaze kept drifting down your barely covered body. “This is Dean’s sister, man. On our fucking couch! I’m not… I’m going back to my room.”
You tilted your head, biting your lower lip as you looked up at him through your lashes. “Garrett… come here,” you coaxed, your tone sweet but dripping with invitation.
He shook his head, jaw clenched so tight the muscle jumped. “You two are crazy. I’m not getting in the middle of whatever this is.” But he didn’t take another step up the stairs either, rooted in place.
You smiled teasingly and let the blanket slip further down your thighs, deliberately exposing more soft, flushed skin. “You sure about that? You were staring pretty hard before you tried to run away.”
Garrett’s eyes darkened with lust, his breathing visibly heavier, but he stayed stubbornly resistant. “I was sick. My brain isn’t working right. This is a terrible fucking idea.”
Logan watched the entire exchange with growing amusement and raw arousal, his warm hand slowly stroking higher up your bare thigh, fingers teasing the sensitive skin.
You sat up a little more, voice dropping into a soft, coaxing whisper. “You’ve been locked in that room for days feeling miserable… Don’t you want to feel better?” You parted your legs just slightly, teasing him. “I can see how hard you are, Garrett. You really want to go back upstairs all alone?”
Garrett exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face as he fought an internal battle. “You’re evil,” he muttered, but his feet carried him one hesitant step closer anyway. “Dean would fucking kill me.”
“He doesn’t have to know,” you whispered, holding his gaze with heated confidence. “Just come here… Let us take care of you tonight.”
He stood there for another long, agonizing second, clearly warring with himself, chest rising and falling rapidly, before he cursed low under his breath and finally walked over to the couch. “Fuck… alright,” he finally groaned, dropping to his knees in front of you. “But if this blows up, I’m blaming both of you.”
Logan grinned wickedly, pulling you back against his bare chest. “That’s my girl,” he murmured proudly against your ear, voice thick with lust. “You’re a gem.”
Garrett looked up at you with dark, hungry eyes as he slowly pushed your thighs further apart with his big hands. “You’re really okay with this?” he asked one last time, his voice rough and strained with need.
Instead of answering with words, you reached down and gently threaded your fingers through his hair, guiding his mouth closer to where you needed him most.
Garrett groaned in defeat, the sound deep and guttural, and finally gave in. He dragged his hot, broad tongue slowly up your soaked pussy with a filthy, appreciative moan. “Goddamn… you taste too fucking good,” he rasped against your sensitive flesh, before diving in properly.
His mouth was relentless. He licked long, slow stripes from your entrance to your clit, savoring every drop of your arousal like he’d been starving for it. When he reached your swollen clit, he wrapped his lips around it and sucked gently, flicking the tip of his tongue in fast little strokes that made your hips jerk.
“Oh my god..” you moaned loudly, fingers tightening in his hair.
Logan’s deep chuckle vibrated against your back as he held you firmly against his chest, one arm banded around your waist. “No, baby, that’s just Garrett,” he murmured hotly in your ear, voice thick with arousal. “You like having his tongue on you, baby?”
You whimpered in response, unable to form words as Garrett moaned loudly against your cunt, the vibrations shooting straight through your core. He pushed his tongue inside you, fucking you with it in slow, deep thrusts while his nose brushed against your clit.
“Fuck, she’s so wet,” Garrett growled, pulling back just enough to speak, his lips shiny with your juices. “She’s dripping down my chin.” He dove back in, sucking harder on your clit as two thick fingers slid inside you, curling instantly against that perfect spot.
Logan’s hand slid up to cup one of your breasts, pinching your nipple roughly as he kissed and bit along your neck. “That’s it, Graham. Make her squirm. She gets so fucking loud when you hit that spot.”
You cried out, back arching hard against Logan’s chest as Garrett’s fingers pumped faster, his mouth sucking and licking your clit in perfect rhythm. The wet, obscene sounds of his mouth filled the living room, mixing with your desperate moans and the low hum of the forgotten movie.
“Garrett, fffffuck” you gasped, thighs trembling around Garrett’s broad shoulders. “J, this is incredible.”
Logan grinned against your ear, his hard cock pressing insistently against your lower back. “Hear that, captain? She’s moaning both our names already.” He tugged your nipple again, rolling it between his fingers. “You wanted this, didn’t you, baby?”
Garrett pulled back for a second, lips glistening, and looked up at you with dark, lust-drunk eyes. “She’s clenching so fucking tight around my fingers,” he rasped, voice hoarse. “You close already, beautiful?”
Before you could answer, he lowered his mouth again and attacked your clit with fast, merciless flicks of his tongue while his fingers curled relentlessly inside you. Logan’s free hand slid down your stomach, spreading your folds wider for Garrett’s mouth.
“Come on, baby,” Logan coaxed, biting your earlobe. “Let Garrett taste how hard you cum. I want to feel you shaking against me.”
The combination of Garrett’s skilled mouth and Logan’s filthy words and rough hands pushed you over the edge fast. Your orgasm hit you like a wave, crashing through your body as you cried out, hips bucking wildly against Garrett’s face. Garrett groaned loudly, licking you through every pulse and flutter, refusing to pull away even as you trembled violently.
Logan held you tighter, whispering praise against your neck. “That’s my good girl… soaking Garrett’s tongue like that. So fucking pretty when you fall apart for us.”
Garrett finally pulled back, breathing hard, lips and chin shiny with your release. He looked up at you with a dazed, hungry expression and licked his lips slowly.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “I need more.”
You were still sitting on Logan’s lap, back pressed against his bare chest, legs spread wide over his thighs. His hard cock was straining heavily against the front of his sweatpants, trapped between your ass and his body.
You lifted your hips, reached back between your legs, and tugged urgently at the waistband of his boxers. Logan helped you push them down just enough to free his thick, throbbing cock. The moment it sprang out, you lined him up and slowly sank back down onto him with a long, shuddering moan.
“Yeah, baby,” Logan groaned deeply, his head falling back against the couch as your tight heat enveloped every inch of him. His hands gripped your hips hard, fingers digging into your skin. “So fucking soaked… ride me just like that.”
You started rolling your hips in deep movements, fucking yourself on his cock in reverse cowgirl while leaning back against his chest. The position let him fill you completely with every grind and got him the seats with the best view of the house.
Garrett stood up tall in front of you, his bulge now directly in your face. You looked up at him with lust-drunk eyes and eagerly tugged his gray sweatpants and boxers down his hips. Garrett’s cock was impressive, easily one of the thickest you’d ever seen. The shaft was flushed a deep, angry red, with a prominent vein running along the underside. At full hardness, it looked almost intimidating in its size and weight, bobbing heavily in front of your face.
“Fuck…” you whispered, impressed and aching even more.
Garrett let out a low, strained chuckle. “Like what you see?”
You didn’t answer with words. You wrapped your hand around the thick base, your fingers barely able to close around his girth, and guided the fat head to your lips. You swirled your tongue around the leaking tip, tasting the salty precum, before stretching your mouth open and taking him in. Garrett groaned deeply, his hand gently resting on the back of your head. “Shit… that’s it, beautiful. Good girl.”
At the same time, you rolled your hips again, fucking yourself deeper onto Logan’s cock. The dual sensation, Logan’s thick length stretching your pussy while Garrett’s even girthier cock filled your mouth, made you moan loudly around him.
Logan groaned beneath you, thrusting up hard into your soaked cunt. “Goddamn, listen to you moaning on his cock,” he rasped, voice rough with lust. His hands squeezed your hips tighter, helping you bounce on him. “Take him deeper, baby. I want to feel you choke on him while you ride me.”
You pushed forward, trying to take more of Garrett’s thick cock into your throat, your lips stretched obscenely wide around his impressive girth. The weight of it on your tongue, the way it pulsed and throbbed, had you dripping even more around Logan.
“Fuck, that’s hot,” Logan growled behind you, his voice strained as he bucked his hips up sharply, driving his cock deep into your soaked pussy. “You’re making me real proud, baby.”
Garrett’s grip tightened slightly in your hair, not pushing, but clearly fighting the urge to fuck your face. “Easy, beautiful… you don’t have to take it all… shit!” His words cut off in a deep groan as you relaxed your throat and forced another inch down, your nose getting closer to his pelvis.
Tears pricked the corners of your eyes from the stretch, but the fullness in both your holes made you delirious with pleasure. You started moving faster, bouncing harder on Logan’s cock while sucking Garrett with sloppy, wet enthusiasm. Saliva dripped down your chin and onto his heavy balls as you worked him.
Logan reached around and rubbed your swollen clit in fast, messy circles, his other hand slapping your ass with a sharp crack. “That’s my dirty fucking girl,” he praised, panting. “Taking two cocks like you were made for it. Your pussy is gripping me so tight, you love this, don’t you?”
You moaned loudly around Garrett’s cock in response, the vibrations making him curse and twitch in your mouth. Garrett’s hips jerked forward involuntarily, pushing another inch down your throat before he pulled back slightly, breathing hard. “Jesus Christ… your throat feels too good,” Garrett groaned, staring down at you with dark, blown-out eyes. “Look at those pretty tears. You’re drooling all over my cock like a desperate little slut.”
The filthy words only turned you on more. You started riding Logan with purpose, rising until just the tip of his cock was inside you, then slamming back down, your ass slapping loudly against his thighs with every bounce. The wet squelching sound of your dripping pussy taking him was obscene.
Logan’s head fell back against the couch, a broken moan leaving his lips. “Fuck… I can feel you getting wetter. You’re gonna cum again, aren’t you, baby? Gonna soak my cock while Garrett fucks your throat?”
Garrett started rocking his hips gently, fucking your mouth in shallow thrusts that matched your rhythm on Logan. “You want us to fill both your holes tonight?” he rasped, voice deep and rough. “Want us to take turns stretching this greedy pussy after you cum?”
You whimpered desperately around his thick shaft, nodding as best you could, eyes watering as you looked up at him. The pressure was building fast, Logan’s cock hitting that perfect spot deep inside you with every hard thrust, his fingers rubbing your clit relentlessly, and Garrett’s heavy cock sliding over your tongue.
Logan suddenly pinched your clit and thrust up hard at the same time. “Then cum for us, baby. Right fucking now.”
Your orgasm slammed into you like a freight train. You screamed around Garrett’s cock, body shaking violently as your pussy clenched and gushed around Logan. Your thighs trembled, juices dripping down his balls as you came hard.
“Fuck yes… my perfect girl,” Logan groaned, fucking you through it. “Milk my cock just like that.”
Garrett pulled out of your mouth with a wet pop, letting you gasp for air as you rode out the intense waves, stroking his glistening cock slowly while watching you fall apart.
Logan’s grip on your hips became almost bruising as your pussy clenched and fluttered wildly around him. “Fuck, baby, I’m so close,” he groaned, voice rough and desperate. “You’re squeezing me so fucking tight.”
You kept bouncing on him through your orgasm, riding him hard even as your legs shook. Logan suddenly slammed you down onto his cock and held you there, burying himself as deep as possible. “Shit, I’m cumming,” he growled against your shoulder.
You felt his cock throb violently inside you, then the hot, powerful rush of his release as he came hard. Logan let out a guttural moan, hips jerking up as he pumped rope after rope of thick, warm cum deep into your pussy. His whole body tensed beneath you, muscles flexing, dark hair sticking to his forehead with sweat as he filled you up. You could feel every pulse, every spurt of his load coating your walls and leaking out around his cock as he kept grinding into you slowly, savoring it. “Fuck… take all of it,” he panted, still buried inside you. “Such a good girl letting me fill this pretty pussy.”
You were still trembling on top of him when Garrett stepped closer, his thick cock hovering right in front of your face. He was stroking himself fast, hand slick with your saliva, eyes dark and locked on you. “Look at me,” Garrett rasped, voice strained.
You tilted your head up, lips parted, cheeks flushed, eyes watery from earlier. The sight seemed to push him over the edge.
“Mhm, gonna cum on that pretty face,” he groaned.
Garrett’s cock twitched hard in his fist. With a deep, broken moan, he came. Hot ropes of cum splashed across your face, the first landing on your cheek, the next across your lips and chin, some even catching on your eyelashes. He kept stroking himself through it, painting your flushed skin with his release until it was dripping down your jaw and onto your chest.
“Goddamn,” Garrett breathed heavily, staring at the mess he’d made of your face. “You look so fucking filthy like that.”
Logan let out a low, satisfied chuckle from behind you, still buried deep in your cum-filled pussy. He reached up and smeared some of Garrett’s release across your bottom lip with his thumb, pushing it gently into your mouth.
You licked it off teasingly, making both of them groan.
Garrett’s face turned bright red as the reality of what just happened seemed to hit him all at once. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking equal parts satisfied and mortified. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered, eyes darting away from your cum-streaked face. “I can’t believe I just… on Dean’s sister’s face. What the hell is wrong with me?”
You giggled, still breathless and glowing. Logan laughed behind you, pressing a kiss to your shoulder as he slowly pulled out. “Relax, captain,” Logan teased, voice lazy and amused. “You look like you’re about to have a panic attack.”
“I might,” Garrett admitted, his cheeks still flushed as he quickly pulled his sweatpants back up. He grabbed Logan’s shirt and handed it to you, avoiding direct eye contact. “I literally came downstairs for water and ended up… doing that. I’m never drinking soup again. It’s cursed.”
You smiled sweetly as you wiped your face, still sitting comfortably in Logan’s lap. “You seemed pretty happy about it two minutes ago.”
Garrett groaned, covering his face with both hands. “Don’t remind me. I’m gonna have to bleach my brain. And, like I said, probably burn this couch.”
Logan wrapped the big fluffy blanket around your naked body and pulled you closer, chuckling. “You’re such a drama queen when you’re embarrassed. It was hot, man. Own it.”
“Easy for you to say,” Garrett mumbled, still looking flustered. “You’re not the one who just… did that.”
You reached out and gently tugged at Garrett’s hand until he looked at you. “Hey… I liked it,” you said softly, giving him a playful smile. “A lot.”
That only made him redder. He let out an embarrassed laugh and shook his head. “You’re both dangerous. I’m going upstairs before I do something even stupider.” He paused at the bottom of the stairs, glancing back at you two with a shy, awkward smile. “Uh… thanks? I think? Fuck, I don’t know how to end this conversation.”
“Night, Garrett,” you called sweetly, waving at him with the blanket tucked under your chin.
“Night,” he mumbled, practically fleeing up the stairs.
The second he was out of earshot, Logan burst out laughing and nuzzled into your neck. “Poor guy is dying inside. That was adorable.”
pairing: exhusband!dad!dean di laurentis x fem!mom!reader
synopsis: when your car breaks on the side of the road, late at night and in the middle of a rainstorm, you don't really have any other options but to call him. your ex-husband. the one who’s about to see you helpless after a terrible date and for whom you still have some... feelings.
words: 4k+
disclaimer: english is not my first language!
warnings: fluff and angst, yearner!dean, suggestive at points, divorce talks, co-parenting. no use of y/n or physical descriptions, the images used are just for aesthetic. not proofread! this is suitable to all ages.
chye's corner: my first non-smut piece on off campus. kinda scared about how this came out, but this is based on this ask by anon. thank you for trusting me with your idea and let me know, if you wish, if you liked this! pls consider a reblog, a like, or a comment! thank you for choosing to read my words (((:
chye's grimoire (masterlist)
requests are open!
The date had been a disaster from the moment you sat down.
The guy, Mark, a friend-of-a-friend who swore he was funny and stable, had spent the entire dinner talking about his ex, his cryptocurrency losses, and how women these days “didn’t appreciate a real provider.” He’d ordered the most expensive bottle of wine without asking, then made passive-aggressive comments when you only wanted one glass. By dessert, he was not-so-subtly suggesting you go back to his place “to end the night right,” even though you’d made it clear this was just dinner. You’d smiled through gritted teeth, declined, and practically sprinted out of the restaurant the second the check hit the table.
Now you were driving home in the pouring rain, still in your date night outfit: a deep emerald green wrap dress that hugged your curves and showed just enough cleavage to feel confident when you’d left the house hours ago. The strappy black heels were currently murdering your feet, and your carefully curled hair was starting to frizz from the humidity even before the storm hit.
You just wanted a hot shower, heat up some popcorn and watch a 2000 rom-com in your bed. Yeah, that’s what you needed.
The rain was coming down in sheets, turning the highway into a blurry black ribbon under your headlights. It was well past eleven, the kind of late where the world felt hollowed out and empty except for the occasional flicker of distant taillights. You gripped the steering wheel tighter, muttering under your breath as the engine started making that awful coughing sound again.
Then it just… died.
The car rolled to a slow, pathetic stop on the shoulder, hazard lights blinking weakly against the downpour. You sat there for a second, staring at the dashboard like it might magically fix itself if you glared hard enough. Your son was safe at your mom’s for the night, thank God for that, but you were still twenty minutes from home with no working vehicle and a dead phone battery hovering at twelve percent.
“Perfect,” you whispered, voice tight. “Just perfect.”
You stepped out into the cold rain, the silky green dress instantly soaking through and clinging tightly to your curves. The long halter scarf hung heavy and wet down your front as you popped the hood. Your strappy silver heels sank into the muddy gravel while you shone your phone’s flashlight into the engine bay. You had no idea what you were doing, but you tried anyway. You tried jiggling hoses, checking the oil, tapping some random parts you didn't really know the name of. Steam rose uselessly into the rain. Nothing worked.
Soaked, shivering, and defeated, you slammed the hood shut and climbed back into the driver’s seat, teeth chattering, water dripping from your hair and the saturated green fabric.
It was well past midnight, there was no way you could call your dad who told you no less than fifteen times to get rid of that piece of crap. Or your mom at the risk of waking Beau and having him to be cranky the whole day. You knew you had no other choice and still, something deep in your chest tighten at the thought of him.
You dialed his number.
The phone rang four times before a deep, raspy, disoriented voice answered. “…Hello?” Dean mumbled, sounding like he was still half-buried in sleep. There was a long pause, sheets rustling, then a confused, “Wait… babe? Is that you?”
You winced. “Dean, you can’t just call me ‘babe’ anymore. We’re divorced, remember?”
Another sleepy pause. You could practically picture him rubbing his face, trying to wake up. “…Shit. Sorry. Old habits die hard,” he muttered, voice thick and groggy. “What’s going on? Is Beau okay? Why are you calling this late?”
“I’m on the side of the road,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “My car broke down on Route 9, past the mill. I tried to fix it myself but I couldn’t. It’s pouring and I’m stuck out here.”
There was another long beat of silence as he processed. Then came a low, tired chuckle that turned into a yawn. “You’re kidding… You actually had to call me?” His voice was still raspy with sleep but the teasing was clear. “Out of all the people in your life, your ex-husband is the midnight roadside rescue guy? Damn, that’s gotta bruise the ego a little.”
“Dean,” you warned, though exhaustion stole most of the heat from it.
He let out another soft, sleepy laugh. “I’m just saying. Miss Independent out here needing me to come save the day. Alright, alright… stay in the car, lock the doors. I’m dragging my ass out of bed. Give me twenty minutes.”
You let out a shaky breath, relieved despite the teasing. “Thank you, Dean. Seriously.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled, the teasing softening into something warmer. “Always.”
You hung up the phone, and for a moment the only sound was the relentless drumming of rain against the car roof.
Dean’s voice still lingered in your ear like warm smoke. Even half-awake and confused, it had that same low timbre that used to wrap around you on lazy mornings and late nights. The teasing edge in it, the familiar mix of groggy confusion and reluctant protectiveness, hit you harder than you expected. Your chest tightened with something complicated. A mixture of relief, nostalgia, and a sharp little sting of longing you thought you’d buried two years ago.
You closed your eyes and let your head fall back against the headrest, water still dripping from your soaked hair onto your collarbones. His sleepy chuckle echoed in your mind, the way he’d said “you actually had to call me?” with that lazy, affectionate mockery. It was so undeniably him, the man who used to tease you mercilessly but would still crawl out of bed at midnight without hesitation.
Your fingers tightened around the phone. The green halter dress clung cold and heavy to your skin, but the warmth blooming low in your stomach had nothing to do with the temperature. You hated how easily his voice could still do this to you. How safe it made you feel, even now.
“Damn it, Dean,” you whispered into the empty car, a small, tired smile tugging at your lips despite everything. You knew the love was still there. You could hear it in the rustling of his sheet while he was getting up to come to you, in his little smirk you were sure he was sporting, in the way he would look at you when he would come to pick up Beau.
Your divorce had been quiet and civil, almost painfully so. No explosive fights, just a slow, painful drift. After your son was born, Dean’s demanding schedule as a youth hockey coach had taken over. You’d been exhausted from navigating new motherhood alone while trying to hold everything together. The love never disappeared, but the partnership had quietly frayed under the weight of mismatched schedules and growing distance.
You both agreed it was better to separate before resentment set in, especially for your son. Since then, co-parenting had become a careful dance of polite texts, scheduled handoffs, and strict boundaries.
The heater had died with the engine, and the cold was starting to seep into your bones. You wrapped your arms around yourself, the saturated lime-green halter dress clinging like a second skin, the long matching scarf heavy and dripping down your chest.
Headlights finally cut through the rain behind you. You let out a relieved breath as the familiar truck pulled up. You closed your eyes as you could finally relax, but you missed how the driver’s door opened, and a tall figure stepped out into the downpour.
A sharp knock suddenly rattled the windshield right next to your face.
You jumped violently, a startled yelp escaping your throat as your hand flew to your chest. Dean’s face appeared through the rain-streaked glass, his hair already wet and plastered to his forehead, a half-amused, half-apologetic smirk on his lips.
You shoved the door open, heart still racing. “Dean! You scared the hell out of me!”
He stood there in the pouring rain, wearing a dark hoodie and jeans, a large black jacket folded over his arm. Water streamed down his face, but his eyes were soft with concern. “Sorry,” he said, voice still a little raspy from sleep but warm now. “Didn’t mean to give you a heart attack. You just looked so lost in thought.” He held out the jacket toward you, rain dripping from his sleeve. “Here. You sounded cold as hell on the phone. Figured you’d need this.”
You stared at the offered jacket for a second before stepping out of the car. The moment your strappy silver heels hit the muddy gravel, the rain intensified, soaking you even further. The silky lime-green dress was completely drenched now, the fabric molded tightly to your breasts, the short hem clinging high on your thighs, and the long scarf trailing down your side like a wet ribbon. Your hair hung in heavy waves around your face, water tracing glistening paths down your neck and collarbones.
Dean froze.
The teasing remark he’d clearly been about to make died on his lips. His gaze dragged slowly over you, from the soaked dress that left almost nothing to the imagination, to the way the rain made your skin glow under the truck’s headlights, to the strappy heels sinking into the mud. For a long moment, he was completely speechless, lips slightly parted, rain running down his face as he just… stared.
“Jesus…” he finally breathed, the word barely audible over the rain. His throat worked as he swallowed hard. “You’re… fuck. You look…” He shook his head slightly, like he was trying to reboot his brain, then forced his eyes back up to your face with visible effort. “Here,” he said, stepping closer and draping the dry jacket around your shoulders before you could protest. His hands lingered for a second longer than necessary, adjusting the collar around your neck.
The warmth of the jacket and the scent of him enveloped you instantly.
“You okay?” he asked, voice lower now, rougher. His eyes flicked down to the dress again for a split second before he caught himself. “Besides the car dying and the terrible date you clearly had?”
You raised an eyebrow, pulling the jacket tighter around yourself. “I never said anything about a date.”
Dean gave you a small, crooked smile, water dripping from his lashes. “You didn’t have to. That dress says enough.” He glanced back at your dead car, then nodded toward his truck. “Come on. Let’s get you out of this rain before you freeze. I’ll call a tow in the morning.”
He started walking toward his truck, parked just ahead of your dead car, but then paused, glancing back at you. The rain was still pouring down in heavy sheets, turning the shoulder of the road into a slick, muddy mess. Without a word, he jogged ahead, boots splashing through the water, and rounded the passenger side of his big black truck. He yanked the door open, the interior light spilling out like a beacon in the downpour.
You took a careful step forward in your strappy silver heels, but the moment you did, you realized the problem. A massive puddle had formed right beside the passenger door, wide enough that there was no graceful way around it. Your already-ruined heels would sink straight into it.
Dean noticed at the same time.
“Hold on,” he called over the rain. In two quick strides he was back in front of you, water streaming down his face and dark hoodie. Without hesitation, he bent slightly and slid one arm behind your back, the other under your knees.
“Dean… wait…”
Too late.
He lifted you effortlessly, one arm cradling your back while the other supported your legs, pulling you flush against his chest. A surprised gasp left your lips as your body left the ground. The wet lime-green halter dress rode up even higher on your thighs from the movement, the silky fabric clinging obscenely to your skin. The long matching scarf dangled and swayed in the rain between you two. You instinctively wrapped one arm around his neck for balance, your fingers brushing the wet hair at his nape.
Dean stilled for half a second, holding you bridal-style in the pouring rain. His breath hitched. Up close like this, he could see every detail, the way the rain made your skin shimmer, how the soaked green fabric molded perfectly to the swell of your breasts and the curve of your waist, how droplets traced down your neck and disappeared into your cleavage. His jaw tightened, eyes darkening as they flicked over your face and body.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, barely loud enough for you to hear over the rain. “You’re killing me right now.”
Before you could respond, he carried you the few steps to the open truck door, careful not to slip in the mud. With surprising gentleness for a man who’d just been yanked out of bed, he maneuvered you into the passenger seat, keeping you steady as you settled onto the warm leather. His hands lingered at your waist for a moment longer than necessary, thumbs brushing lightly over the jacket he’d given you.
Once you were safely inside, he stepped back, rain pouring off him. He ran a hand through his soaked hair, pushing it back from his forehead, and gave you a crooked, slightly dazed smile.
“Better?” he asked, voice huskier than before. His eyes drifted down to where the green dress had shifted on your thighs before he forced them back up to your face. “Didn’t want you ruining those pretty shoes any more than they already are.”
You clutched the oversized jacket tighter around yourself, heart racing from more than just the cold. “You didn’t have to carry me.”
Dean leaned one arm against the roof of the truck, still standing in the rain, looking at you with an intensity that made your stomach flip. “Yeah,” he said softly, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips even as his gaze stayed serious. “I did.”
He closed the door gently, then jogged around to the driver’s side, leaving you warm, and completely rattled in the passenger seat. You hated how easily your body remembered him. How the simple act of being carried by your ex-husband could unravel two years of careful distance in a single heartbeat. Relief, desire, and a sharp ache of what used to be all twisted together in your chest as you sat in his warm truck, pulse still racing, trying desperately not to let it show on your face.
Dean climbed into the driver’s seat, bringing a rush of cold air and the scent of wet earth with him. The moment he shut his door, the truck felt smaller, warmer, and far too intimate.
Without warning, Dean shook his head like a dog fresh out of a bath, sending droplets of rainwater flying from his blonde hair in every direction. A few cold specks landed on your bare thigh, making you yelp and laugh despite yourself.
“Dean!” you scolded, half-laughing as you swatted at his arm.
He grinned, unrepentant, running a hand through his now-messy hair. “What? Gotta dry off somehow,” he said, voice still carrying that sleepy rasp. He turned the key and the truck rumbled to life, heat pouring from the vents.
As he pulled back onto the road, the windshield wipers swept steadily back and forth through the heavy rain. Dean kept glancing over at you every few seconds, like he couldn’t quite help himself. His eyes would flick from the dark highway to you, your face, his jacket drowning your frame, the bare legs beneath it, before returning to the road.
“So…” he started, settling into the drive. “You gonna tell me what happened tonight or am I supposed to just sit here wondering?”
You let out a tired laugh, pulling the jacket tighter around your shoulders. “It was bad, Dean. Really bad. The guy spent forty-five minutes talking about his ex-girlfriend and how she was a bitch for not appreciating him. Then he bragged about his crypto portfolio… which he then admitted lost him like thirty grand last month.”
Dean snorted, glancing over at you with raised eyebrows. “Crypto? Seriously?” He shook his head, eyes sliding back to the road for a second before returning to you again. “And he still thought he had a shot with you in that dress? Man’s got balls, I’ll give him that.”
You smiled despite yourself. “I paid for my own dinner and left the second the check came. Then my car decided to die on the way home. Perfect end to a perfect night.”
Dean was quiet for a beat, his thumb tapping lightly on the steering wheel. He looked over at you again, softer this time. “You okay though? For real? You sounded pretty shaken on the phone.”
“I’m fine,” you said, leaning your head back against the seat. “Just cold. And tired. And annoyed at myself for even going on the date in the first place.”
He chuckled low, eyes flicking toward you once more. The warm light from the dashboard caught the sharp line of his jaw and the way his hoodie still clung damply to his shoulders. “Hey, at least you looked incredible doing it. That dress is… something else.” His gaze dropped briefly to the sliver of green fabric visible beneath the jacket before he caught himself and looked forward again. “I mean, Jesus. I almost forgot how to speak when I saw you standing there in the rain.”
You felt heat creep up your neck. “Stop staring at me like that. You’re gonna drive us off the road.”
“Can’t help it,” he admitted with a lazy grin, stealing another glance. “You’re sitting there looking like you just walked off a magazine shoot, soaked green dress and all. It’s distracting as hell.”
He reached over and turned the heat up a little more, his hand brushing close to your leg. “You still freezing?”
“A little,” you confessed. “The dress wasn’t exactly made for roadside breakdowns in a storm.”
Dean’s gaze flicked over to you again, lingering this time. Without saying anything, he reached across the center console and gently placed his large, warm hand on your bare thigh, just below the hem of the soaked lime-green dress. His palm was rough from years of coaching on the ice but incredibly warm, and the sudden heat against your cold skin made you jolt.
You flinched, your breath catching sharply. “Dean,” you said, voice tight as you glanced down at his hand. “We’re not together anymore. You can’t just… do that.”
He didn’t pull away. Instead, his fingers gave a gentle, comforting squeeze, thumb brushing slowly back and forth over your chilled skin in an attempt to warm you.
“Just let me do this,” he murmured, voice low and steady, eyes fixed on the dark, rainy road ahead for a moment before sliding back to you. “You’re freezing. I can feel how cold your leg is from here. Let me help.”
You stared at his hand, heart hammering. The contrast between his warm touch and the damp cold of your dress made goosebumps rise across your skin. Part of you wanted to push him away. The other part, the louder, more dangerous part, wanted to lean into it.
After a long beat, you exhaled shakily. “This is confusing, you know that?”
“Yeah,” he admitted quietly, glancing over at you again. His hand stayed right where it was, radiating heat into your thigh. “Tell me about it. I was dead asleep thirty minutes ago, and now I’ve got my soaked ex-wife in my truck wearing a dress that should be illegal, trying not to stare at her legs every five seconds.”
You let out a soft, surprised laugh despite the tension. “You’re terrible.”
“I’m honest,” he countered with a crooked smile, stealing another glance. His thumb continued its slow, soothing strokes. “So… you really went on a date looking like that? You trying to kill the poor guy, or what?”
“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” you said, shifting slightly in the seat. His hand moved with you, never breaking contact. “I just wanted to feel good for one night. Clearly that backfired spectacularly.”
Dean hummed, eyes flicking between the road and you. “You looked more than good. When I saw you standing there in the rain… soaked, that green dress clinging to you, those heels in the mud…” He shook his head slowly. “I forgot how to form words for a second.”
The cab fell quiet for a moment, filled only by the sound of rain and wipers. His hand felt heavier now, more intentional.“You can’t say things like that,” you whispered, staring at his profile.
“Why not?” he asked, voice dropping. He glanced over again, eyes dark and earnest. “We’re divorced, yeah. But I’m still allowed to notice when my son’s mom looks breathtaking, right?”
You swallowed hard, the warmth from his palm spreading up your leg. “It makes things messy, Dean.”
“Messy’s kind of our thing,” he said with a soft chuckle, giving your thigh another gentle squeeze. “We made a whole kid together in the middle of messy. One late-night car ride isn’t gonna break us.”
You looked out the window at the blurred lights passing through the rain, hyper-aware of every point where his skin touched yours. “I hate that you’re still the person I call when everything goes wrong.”
Dean was quiet for a beat, then said softly, “I don’t hate it. Not even a little.”
The words hung heavy in the warm truck, thickening the air between you. You didn’t know how to respond. The weight of his hand on your thigh, the low rasp of his voice, and the familiar scent of him filled the small space until it felt almost too much. The rain had eased into a steady drizzle by the time Dean turned onto your street. His truck’s headlights swept across the quiet neighborhood as he slowly pulled into your driveway, the tires crunching over wet gravel.
He put the truck in park but didn’t turn the engine off right away. The dashboard lights cast a soft glow over his face as he finally slid his hand from your thigh, leaving a lingering warmth behind. For a long moment, neither of you moved. The tension crackled like static electricity.
“You know,” Dean said quietly, staring straight ahead at your dark house before turning to look at you again, “nights like this make me wonder if we gave up too fast.”
You swallowed, heart twisting. “Dean… we didn’t just give up. We were drowning. You were gone all the time with the kids’ team, I was exhausted with the baby, and we barely saw each other. We agreed it was better this way. For him.”
“I know,” he murmured, his eyes searching your face. “Doesn’t mean I don’t miss coming home to you every night.” His gaze dropped to your lips for a second before lifting again. “Doesn’t mean I stopped caring. Or wanting you.”
The confession settled between you like a stone in still water. You felt exposed in his jacket, in that ridiculous green dress, with your emotions raw after the long night. “I should go inside,” you whispered, reaching for the door handle.
You both stepped out into the light drizzle. Dean walked you to your front door, close enough that his arm brushed yours. When you turned to face him, the words felt stuck in your throat.
“Thank you,” you said softly. “For coming to get me. For… everything.” Before you could overthink it, you rose onto your toes and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek, your lips brushing against the cool, rain-damp stubble there. You lingered just a second too long, breathing him in.
When you pulled back, Dean turned his head slowly, deliberately, until your faces were only inches apart. His breath ghosted across your lips. His eyes, dark and intense, locked onto yours. The world narrowed to just the two of you under the soft glow of your porch light, rain misting around you.
“Wear that dress for me tomorrow night,” he said, voice low and rough with quiet desperation. “Let me take you out. A real date. Just us. No crypto losers. No broken-down cars. Just you in that green dress… and me trying like hell not to screw it up this time.”
