Discover Top Posts Tagged with #off campus imagines

ON TOP

pairing — dean di laurentis x fem!reader

summary — when you admit you’ve never been on top before, dean decides there’s no better place to learn than his bed.

warnings — 18+ mdni, explicit smut, established relationship, insecurity, first time riding, protected sex, praise, dirty talk, boob play, clit stimulation, missionary, soft aftercare.

word count — 3,468.

(TAGLIST) | (MASTERLIST) | (ORIGINAL MASTERLIST)

#fanfic #one shot #off campus imagines #off campus series #off campus x reader #smut #x reader #dean di laurentis imagines #dean di laurentis smut #dean di laurentis x reader #off campus oneshot #off campus smut #dean di laurentis #off campus

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 ✪

𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐞 : john logan x fem! econ! reader 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐤 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 : tipsy! reader- but not during sexy time, established sober like 500 times, m!cum in pants, f!fingering, teasing!, m!praise, wet making out (is that a warning?), grinding. 𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐮𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 : It's the end of finals week! that means that John Logan's long time girlfriend can finally let loose at the first party post-exams, but letting loose, means a whole lot more for this man than he thought. OR you teasing Logan by calling him pretty alot. 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐜𝐞 : 3.6k words 𝐛𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲’𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫 : thank you so much for the love on my first fic of the blog!! 1.2k likes [as of now] is wild. I know this wasn't on the WIPs, but a Drabble turned into this and I thought it would be cruel to deprive the John Logan smut girlies for so long. gif credit: @firstprinced; divider credit : @digilatte

Casual is never Casual | Dean Di Laurentis

summary: dean was the one who asked for things to be casual, so why does it feel like torture watching you be okay with that?

request: yes/no

warnings: drinking, swearing

word count: 2.90k

authors note: this one was honestly so much fun to write, because the second I got the option of Jealous Dean, I was going to make it happen. For the fellow Dean girls I give you this!

The first mistake Dean made was when he said he wanted to keep things casual.

#fanfic #dean di laurentis #dean di laurentis imagine #off campus x reader #off campus imagines #off campus series #dean di laurentis x reader #oneshot

a summer secret | beau maxwell ✶

summary: in which dean notices the quiet, suspicious intimacy growing between beau and his sister.

pairing: beau maxwell x fem!dilaurentisreader

notes: hi!! thank you so much for your request. i hope i've done your idea justice <3 💌

ˋ°•*⁀➷ in other words, four times dean notices moments between beau and y/n that feel a little too intimate to ignore, and the one time he finally catches on.

ꪆৎ

the car ride

the thing about cape cod was that it had always felt like tradition.

same beach house, same salt-heavy air, same worn wooden deck that creaked under bare feet, same maxwells, same di laurentis family.

for as long as you could remember, summers were spent in cape cod. beach days, late-night bonfires, shared dinners, too many drinks, too much laughter.

it was familiar in the kind of way that felt permanent, except this summer, everything had changed. somehow, somewhere between classes at briar and now, beau maxwell had stopped being just your brother’s best friend and started becoming yours.

secretly, quietly, completely.

which meant one thing.

dean could absolutely never find out.

the first time dean nearly catches on, it happens before you even reach the holiday house, which in hindsight, should've been a clear warning. luckily, he brushes it off as nothing.

dean drives, claiming it’s because he knows the route better, but really, it’s because he has control issues, deeply mistrusting anyone else behind the wheel.

you sit in the backseat, legs tucked beneath you, sunglasses pushed up into your hair, one hand wrapped around an iced coffee.

beau sits in the passenger seat. too close, yet too far all at once.

he looks unfairly good for someone who’d been awake since six that morning, like he hadn’t spent half the night before in your dorm room, his hands warm against your waist as he kissed you breathless against the wall until you’d both lost track of time.

his hair is still damp from a shower, one arm resting against the open window, tanned skin catching the late morning light. every now and then, his gaze flicks to the rearview mirror, meeting yours.

never long enough for dean to notice, but always long enough to make your pulse jump.

“so,” dean says, one hand loose on the wheel. “ground rules for the week.”

you immediately groan from the backseat. “oh my god.” beau’s mouth twitches in amusement.

dean glances at you in the mirror. “don’t start.”

“we haven’t even arrived and you’re already lecturing me.”

“because i know you.”

“you know nothing.”

“i know enough to know you make questionable decisions near large bodies of water.”

you sit forward slightly. “that was one time.”

“you fell off a paddleboard while it was still tied to the dock, y/n.”

"i was nine years old!"

beau coughs into his hand, attempting to hide his laughter. you narrow your eyes, gaze landing on the back of his head. “don’t laugh.”

he glances back at you, eyes warm. “i didn’t say anything.”

“your shoulders moved.”

beau turns to look out the window, still smiling, feigning innocence.

you hate him a little for how easily he can do that. how easily he can sit in the front seat, acting as though nothing is happening. like he hadn’t slipped his fingers around your waist for one fleeting second while dean loaded the cooler into the trunk. like he hadn’t whispered, “i miss you,” even though you had been standing two feet apart.

dean keeps talking. something about not getting lost, not swimming too far out, and not letting joanna convince you to jump off the dock after midnight.

you hear maybe half of it, because beau’s hand has shifted. casual, at first, resting near the centre console, then lower. closer to the gap between the seats.

your eyes drop instantly. his fingers hang loosely there, hidden from dean's direct line of sight.

an invitation.

you stare at his hand for a second too long before reaching forward, pretending to grab something from the cupholder. your fingers brush his gently. the action so brief, yet enough for beau to react.

you notice the smallest flex of his hand, like he wants to catch yours and hold it.

“you listening, y/n?” dean asks suddenly.

your head snaps up. “yes.”

your brother looks at you in the rearview mirror. “what did i just say?” you blink. beau turns his face towards the window once more.

traitor.

“you said...” you start slowly, buying time. “to make good choices.”

dean stares at you. “that is the vaguest answer you could’ve possibly given.”

beau loses the internal battle he must've been having with himself, laughing under his breath.

dean glances at him briefly, “what?”

beau shakes his head in response. “nothing.”

dean's eyebrows furrow temporarily, looking at his best friend for a few seconds more. not suspicious yet, just watching. you feel beau’s hand pull back instantly, and the absence of it makes your chest ache.

an hour later, somewhere after the second gas station stop, dean brings up a topic that almost ruins everything.

“oh y/n,” he says casually, like he hasn’t just lit a match in the middle of the car. “someone asked about you last week.”

you look up from your phone. “me?”

“yeah.”

beau’s body stills, not much, but enough that you notice. dean reaches for his drink. “a guy from hockey. matthews.”

your face blanks slightly. “who?”

“exactly,” dean says. “which is why i told him no chance.”

you frown. “you told him no chance?”

“obviously.”

“dean.”

“what?”

“you can’t just police every interaction that may come my way.”

“i absolutely can.”

beau stays facing forward, but you catch the way his jaw ticks, fingers tightening briefly where his arm rests against the window. it's subtle, small enough that dean misses it entirely, however you don’t, of course you don’t.

“he asked if you were seeing anyone,” dean continues, completely unaware of the way your pulse had started to climb. “i told him no, and that he should probably leave it there.”

you stare at him. “that’s insane.”

“that’s brotherly.”

“that’s overstepping, dean.”

“same thing.”

beau joins the conversation before he seems to think better of it. “you told him she wasn’t seeing anyone?”

the car goes quieter, not silent, but quieter.

dean glances sideways at him. “yeah.”

beau keeps his gaze on the road. “right.”

your fingers tighten around your phone, anxiety coursing throughout your body. dean’s brows pull together slightly. “why?”

beau shrugs, attempting to be casual. “just asking.”

“since when do you care who my sister’s dating?”

there it is, the first crack.

you feel yourself almost stop breathing. beau doesn’t look at you, doesn’t move, doesn’t panic. he just leans back against the seat and says, “i don’t.” a beat passes, then he adds. “i just think maybe y/n can answer for herself.”

your heart twists. dean’s eyes narrow slightly, caught somewhere between amused and confused. “wow,” he says. “that's very noble of you."

you kick the back of his seat. “shut up.”

dean laughs, and the tension breaks, barely, but not completely. beau looks in the rearview mirror a few seconds later, and this time, when your eyes meet, there’s something there.

something possessive, something frustrated, something almost apologetic.

dean sees just enough of that glance to go quiet, only for a second, but you notice, so does beau.

2. the annual di laurentis & maxwell beach volleyball match

the second time dean nearly catches on, it happens during the annual beach volleyball match, which is ridiculous, because the annual match is usually the least romantic event of the entire summer.

the teams change every year, mostly because dean insists on drafting like he’s building an olympic roster instead of playing barefoot volleyball with relatives and family friends on a beach. this year, you end up on a different team to beau. which is both a blessing and a curse.

a blessing because standing beside him would have been dangerous. a curse because standing across from him somehow turns out to be worse.

he's shirtless, which shouldn't matter, because you've seen him shirtless before, many times.

recently, privately.

with your hands against his chest, his mouth at your throat, his voice soft in your ear telling you to stay quiet. you should have been immune. unfortunately, you're not, not even close.

beau stands on the opposite side of the net beside joanna, sunlight catching on his shoulders, hair pushed back messily from the ocean.

you’re wearing a bikini you had almost talked yourself out of wearing. dean had barely glanced at you before immediately pointing at the sunscreen bottle, “don't make me remind you again.”

you had thrown a towel at his head.

beau, on the other hand, had looked once, only once, then very deliberately looked away, which told you everything.

the game starts messy.

dean is competitive in a way that makes everyone want to either laugh or throw something at him, joanna cheats shamelessly, and beau keeps failing at pretending he isn’t watching you, his attention drawn to you like instinct.

then the guys arrive. not your guys, not anyone’s guys.

just a group from a nearby beach house. loud, sunburnt, carrying beers they definitely should have finished slower. they linger too close to the edge of the game, watching. mostly you.

you feel it before you see it. that prickling awareness of eyes staying too long. one of them says something under his breath to another, and they both laugh.

you miss the ball, dean notices immediately. “you good?” he calls from beside you.

“yeah,” you say, shaking it off. “sun got in my eyes.”

beau’s gaze has already shifted. not to the ball, not to dean, to them.

his expression changes so subtly most people probably would have missed it. his shoulders square slightly, jaw tightening. the warmth in his face completely gone.

you feel your stomach dip, because beau can’t do anything, not really. not without making it obvious, not without stepping into a role nobody is supposed to know he has.

that might be the worst part of keeping something secret. it's not the sneaking around or the lying, it's the consistent restraint. the way love has to sit quietly inside your chest even when every instinct tells it otherwise.

the next serve comes hard, and you dive for it, sand scraping your knees as you manage to bump the ball up. dean shouts something triumphant, joanna yells that it doesn't count.

you laugh breathlessly, pushing yourself up onto your hands. following your action one of the guys whistles. low, obvious, clearly directed at you. your smile falters.

beau hears it, everyone hears it, but he reacts first.

“you wanna keep your eyes on the game?” he snaps.

the beach stills slightly. your head lifts, dean turns. the guy raises his hands, laughing. “relax, man.”

beau doesn’t smile. “then stop being fucking weird.”

beau is usually easy, relaxed, charming when he wants to be. this is different. this is sharp, personal.

dean looks between beau and the guys, then back to you. you can practically see the pieces moving in his head. you stand quickly, brushing sand from your thighs.

“beau,” you say softly, too softly. his eyes cut to you immediately, not like a family friend, not like someone who has known you forever. more like someone who belongs to you, like he forgot, for one second, that he wasn’t allowed to.

dean sees that too, his expression shifting, just slightly.

“you okay?” beau asks.

you swallow. “yeah.”

dean’s brows lift. “why wouldn’t she be okay?”

beau’s eyes flick towards your brother, and for one terrifying second, you think he might say something stupid. something honest. instead, he shrugs.

“because those guys are being assholes.”

dean stares at him, then slowly turns towards the guys. “he’s right,” dean says, and just like that, big brother dean takes over.

which should be helpful.

except now beau looks like he wants to murder someone, dean looks like he’s trying to understand why beau cares so much, and you're standing between them in a bikini, wishing the ocean would swallow you whole.

3. 'one double chocolate chip ice cream with sprinkles, please'

the third time dean nearly catches on, it happens because of double chocolate chip ice cream. by now, he knows he's not just simply imagining it

the afternoon starts on the boat. everyone spends hours out on the water. your skin feels warm from the sun, salt drying in your hair, laughter carried away by the wind.

beau looks incredibly good it almost feels painful.

he sits near the back of the boat, sunglasses on, one arm stretched along the seat behind him, t-shirt abandoned somewhere near the cooler. every time the boat cuts over a wave, his stomach tightens slightly, and you have to pretend very hard that you're looking out at the horizon.

you're of course not looking out at the horizon. you're looking at your boyfriend, from beneath your sunglasses, like a coward, like a girl undeniably in love.

later that evening, beau docks the boat. everyone wanders into town for ice cream.

the shop is crowded, sticky floors and bright menus, families packed shoulder to shoulder, kids running around with melting cones already dripping onto their hands. before you can order, joanna tugs you back outside, insisting she needs your opinion on a bracelet in the little store next door.

which leaves dean and beau inside, alone, with your order.

it should mean nothing.

however, when you and joanna finally meet them outside, beau is already holding two cones. one mint chocolate for himself, one double chocolate chip for you.

complete with rainbow sprinkles. your favourite order. exactly.

dean’s gaze drops to the cones in beau’s hands before settling on his best friend, an unreadable expression on his features.

“how’d you know that?”

beau looks at him. “know what?”

“y/n's order.”

you step forward quickly. “everyone knows my order.” dean turns to you. “no, i know your order.”

“congratulations?”

“why does he know your order?”

beau’s face remains calm, infuriatingly calm. “she gets it every year.”

dean points at him. “i do not like how reasonable that answer was.”

joanna laughs from behind you. “dean, you’re being insane.”

“am i?”

“yes.”

dean looks at you again as you take the cone from beau carefully.

your fingers brush his. a mistake, another one. beau’s thumb moves, not much, just a small, instinctive stroke over your knuckle before he lets go.

dean’s expression goes blank. not angry, not yet. just very, very still.

you immediately shove the ice cream toward your mouth like that can somehow undo the last three seconds.

“good?” beau asks quietly. too quietly.

you nod. “yeah.”

dean stares, his gaze moving between you and beau, something unreadable settling over his features.

for the rest of the afternoon, he watches, and once he starts noticing, he can’t seem to stop.

he notices the way beau instinctively walks behind you on the crowded sidewalk, one hand briefly brushing your back to steer you away from a cyclist. the way you pass him your water bottle without even looking, and he takes it without question, like it’s something you’ve done a hundred times before.

dean isn’t entirely sure what he’s seeing yet, but he knows enough to realise this isn’t nothing.

4. jealousy, jealousy

the drinks night is supposed to be casual, which in hindsight, is exactly why it becomes a problem.

it’s just you, beau, dean and joanna at your favourite beachside bar in town, tucked around a small table beneath warm string lights, the air sticky with salt, and music low enough that everyone still has to lean in slightly to hear each other.

dean is, predictably, thriving.

he’s halfway through a beer, leaning against the back of his chair with that stupidly charming smile on his face while some girl at the next table over keeps glancing at him.

joanna notices first.

“oh my god dean" she mutters into her straw. “she’s been looking at you for ten minutes.”

dean’s brows lift. “has she?”

you snort. “don’t act humble. it doesn’t suit you.”

dean's gaze shifts to yours as a smirk graces his features. “what can i say...i’m naturally magnetic, y/n.”

“you’re naturally annoying.”

beau laughs quietly beside you, the sound brushing over you in the way it always does. low, familiar, private even when everyone else can hear it.

you don’t look at him. you can’t.

his knee is pressed lightly against yours beneath the table, hidden by the shadows and the angle of joanna's chair. it has taken every ounce of self-control in your body not to lean into him properly.

dean catches the girl’s eye and smiles. that’s all it takes, within five minutes, she’s at the table. pretty, confident, already laughing at something dean says before he’s even finished saying it.

then, because apparently the universe has decided to punish you personally, two of her friends follow suit.

one of them looks directly at beau and you feel your stomach drop.

she’s tall, sun-kissed, wearing a white linen dress. she has the kind of easy smile that comes from knowing it’s almost always returned.

“hi,” she says, leaning slightly towards him. “i’m natalie.”

beau glances at her politely, tipping his head in greeting. “beau.”

“beau,” she repeats, like she’s testing how it sounds. “that’s cute.”

your fingers tighten around your glass. joanna's eyes flick to you immediately. she knows, of course she does.

dean is too busy flirting to notice anything yet, but joanna sees the way your smile stills. the way you look down at your drink instead of across the table. the way beau’s knee presses a little more firmly against yours, like he feels the shift before you even say a word.

“are you here for the summer too?” natalie asks.

“just the week,” beau says.

polite, short, safe.

not rude enough to raise questions, not warm enough to invite anything. still, it burns.

she doesn’t know he’s yours.

she doesn’t know that his hand had been at your waist fifteen minutes ago in the hallway outside the bathrooms, thumb brushing beneath the hem of your shirt while he whispered that you looked beautiful.

she doesn’t know anything, and you hate that she’s allowed to look at him like she might.

“you should come by our place later,” natalie says, smile widening. “we’re having people over.”

beau pauses and you feel your throat tighten instinctively. dean, finally tuning back in, glances over with lazy amusement. “look at that, maxwell. making friends.”

your nails press lightly into your palm beneath the table.

beau doesn’t look at dean. he looks at you, just for half a second, too quick for anyone else, long enough for your heart to twist.

he turns back to natalie. “thanks, but we’ve already got plans.”

your chest loosens slightly. natalie tilts her head. “all of you?”

beau’s mouth lifts faintly, but his voice stays steady. “yeah.”

dean narrows his eyes slightly. “do we?”

joanna immediately kicks him under the table.

“ow.”

“yes,” she says brightly. “we do.”

you take a sip of your drink to hide your smile. natalie lingers for another second, clearly not used to being dismissed that gently, then shrugs and lets one of her friends pull her back towards the bar.

the moment she’s gone, dean looks between all of you.

“why are you guys being so weird?”

joanna rolls her eyes. “because you make everything weird.”

you stand suddenly, grabbing your drink. “i’ll be back, i'm going to grab some water.”

you slip through the crowd towards the bar, heart beating too fast for something so small, because it is small. you know it’s small. beau didn’t flirt back, he barely even smiled, but secrecy makes everything feel sharper.

every glance someone gives him feels like a reminder that the world still thinks he’s available.

you’re waiting at the bar when he appears beside you. not touching, not close enough to be obvious, but there.

“y/n,” he says quietly.

you keep your eyes on the counter. “you didn’t have to follow me.”

“yeah,” he says softly. “i did.”

you swallow. for a second, neither of you speak.

beau leans one elbow against the bar, studying your expression. “talk to me.”

your grip tightens slightly around your drink. “it’s silly, beau.”

his voice stays gentle. “i don’t think it is.”

you exhale slowly, trying to put words to the feeling. “it’s not even about her.”

beau stays quiet, letting you speak.

your voice softens, “it’s just… hard sometimes.” finally, you look at him. “having to sit there and act like i don’t care.”

something in his expression shifts immediately. understanding, softness, guilt.

he glances down briefly, then back at you. “i’m sorry, y/n.”

you blink. “for what?”

“for putting you in that position.” his voice is low, steady. “for making you feel like you have to pretend none of this matters.”

your chest tightens, “beau-”

“because it does matter.”

his gaze doesn’t leave yours. “you matter.”

your expression softens. his hand shifts on the bar, close enough that his fingers brush yours for half a second. quick. hidden.

“she didn’t matter.”

your breath catches.

his voice stays quiet. “i knew exactly who i was leaving with tonight.”

emotion lodges somewhere in your throat. you look down, a small smile finally pulling at your lips once more.

“i’m sorry.”

beau’s brows pull together slightly. “don’t apologise.”

“i know she didn’t mean anything,” you say softly. “i just… had a moment.”

his expression turns impossibly gentle. “you’re allowed to.” silence settles between you again, but it feels softer now, steadier. “are we okay?” he asks quietly.

this time, your smile comes easier. small. warm.

“yeah.”

some of the tension leaves his shoulders. “okay.”

he says it so softly it almost sounds like relief.

back at the table, dean watches the two of you standing side by side at the counter, not touching, not too close, nothing obvious.

yet, something about it feels strangely intense, serious. your expressions are soft but focused, like you’re having a conversation that matters.

beau says something quietly. you look down, then back up. dean narrows his eyes slightly. he can’t hear a word, can’t see anything concrete, but something about the whole thing feels… off.

a series of tiny moments that finally stop feeling explainable. nothing obvious, nothing he can actually point to.

yet, enough to leave dean with the quiet, unsettling feeling that he’s missing something.

5. uh oh...

back at the house, you find beau in the kitchen, alone. finally.

the whole house is loud around you, music plays from the living room, parents drink wine on the deck, dean somewhere outside arguing with joanna about whether he cheated at cards.

beau stands by the sink, sleeves pushed up, rinsing sand out of a cooler. you pause in the doorway, he looks up. everything in his face softens, quietly, instantly.

“hi,” he says.

your heart aches. “hi.”

for a moment, neither of you move. “dean’s watching us” you whisper.

beau huffs softly, turning off the tap. “yeah.”

“you noticed?”

“it's pretty hard not to.”

you lean back against the counter, a small smirk gracing your features. “you were the one who knew my ice cream order.”

“i do know your ice cream order.”

“that’s the problem.”

his mouth curves faintly. “i'm sorry for paying attention to you.”

you give him a look. he steps closer, not touching, not yet, but close enough that the air shifts.

“i’ve been thinking about what you said earlier.”

your gaze lifts to his. the bar, about how hard this had become.

beau’s jaw tightens slightly. “i hate that you feel like you have to sit there pretending none of this matters.”

your chest tightens. “beau-”

“i mean it.” his voice is calm, steady. “watching you walk away earlier because you felt like you couldn’t react… it sucked.”

your expression softens. "it did for me too.”

“not being able to just…” he exhales, eyes dropping briefly to your mouth before lifting again. “be normal with you.”

your chest pulls tight. “beau.”

his gaze doesn’t leave yours. “i know why we’re doing this,” he says quietly. “i do. dean’s your brother. he’s my best friend. i understand why this is complicated.”

his voice drops. “but i’m starting to hate pretending.”

your throat tightens, you look down. “dean’s already noticing.”

“yeah.”

“he’s smart.”

a faint smile touches beau’s mouth. “unfortunately.”

you let out a small laugh, your face softening once more. “that’s what scares me.”

the words sit between you, honest, fragile. beau’s hand lifts slowly, giving you enough time to pull away. you don’t. his fingers brush your wrist, then settle there gently, hidden below the counter.

beau goes quiet. when he speaks again, his voice is gentler.

“dean finding out doesn’t scare me.”

your brows lift slightly. “it doesn’t?”

he shakes his head. “no.”

you laugh softly despite the seriousness of the conversation. “it should."

he stifles a small laugh before shaking his head. “what scares me is losing this.”

your breath catches, his eyes lock on yours.

“losing you, y/n.”

everything in you stills. beau’s expression shifts, suddenly more vulnerable than before, like the words came out before he could stop them.

he swallows. “i’m serious, baby i-”

dean’s voice sounds down the hallway, growing louder as he nears the kitchen. beau steps back quickly, the action alone looking suspicious. dean appears in the doorway two seconds later, his eyes move from you to beau, then to the space between you, then back again.

“what’s going on?”

you grab the nearest object off the counter. a spoon, for no reason.

“nothing.”

dean looks at the spoon in your hand, then at you. “why are you holding that like a weapon?”

you look down. “because you scared me.”

dean's eyebrows furrow. “by entering a kitchen?”

“aggressively.”

beau coughs. dean’s eyes flick to him.

“something funny?”

beau shakes his head. “nope.”

dean stares at him for one long second. then points between you. “you two are being weird.”

your stomach drops. “we’re not.”

“you are.”

“you think everyone is weird.”

“because lately everyone is being weird.”

he holds your gaze for another moment, and for a second, you think that’s it. that he knows, that he’s about to say it.

but then joanna yells from outside, accusing dean of hiding the cards, and he backs out of the doorway with one last suspicious glance. “this conversation isn’t over.”

you wait until he disappears. then exhale. beau looks at you.

“we’re terrible at this.”

the following day

the time dean actually catches you, it’s the last night, which feels unfair and inevitable at the same time.

the kind of thing summer had been building towards all week.

the house is full of noise behind you. music, laughter, screen doors opening and shutting, someone yelling about missing marshmallows, the distant clink of bottles being moved across the deck.

you slip away after dinner, simply needing some fresh air.

the dock is quiet when you get there, the water black and silver beneath the moon, the old wood still warm from the day’s heat beneath your bare feet. you sit at the edge with your knees pulled up, chin resting against them.

for a few minutes, you're alone, then the dock creaks behind you.

you don’t turn around, already knowing who had come to join you. beau sits beside you without speaking, shoulder brushing yours.

for a moment, neither of you say anything. tomorrow everyone goes home, and cape cod becomes another distant memory, until next year.

“you disappeared,” he says quietly.

“so did you.”

his mouth curves faintly. “followed you.”

you look at him then, bad idea. the moonlight softens him. his hair is messy from the wind, sweatshirt sleeves pushed to his elbows, eyes fixed on you like the rest of the world had become background noise.

“dean’s inside,” you whisper.

“i know.”

“someone could come out.”

“i know.”

you should move away, you don’t. instead, beau’s hand finds yours, his fingers threading slowly through yours like he’s giving you every chance to pull away.

not rushed, not hidden this time.

“i’m tired of pretending i don’t want to do that,” he says.

your eyes sting suddenly. “beau.”

“i don’t want to spend the whole year only looking at you when no one else is paying attention, y/n.”

your fingers tighten around his. “i don’t either.”

he turns more fully toward you. “then we tell him.”

you laugh once, nervous and soft. “you say that like it’s easy.”

“it won’t be.”

“he might kill you.”

“probably.”

you huff a small laugh in response. he smiles faintly, but his eyes stay serious. “i’d rather deal with him than keep making you feel like something i’m hiding.”

that gets you, completely. this is exactly what you had been too afraid to say out loud.

you look down at your joined hands. “you don’t make me feel like that.”

“sometimes this does though, y/n”

you hate that he’s right. you hate that you love him for noticing. the word arrives in your chest before you can stop it.

love.

maybe it had been there for longer than you realised, waiting patiently for you to stop looking away. beau reaches up slowly, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your cheek. you close your eyes for half a second, savouring the moment.

“we should go back,” you whisper.

“yeah.”

neither of you moves. his hand stays on your cheek. your eyes open, and then he kisses you. softly at first, careful, like even now, even after everything, he’s giving you the chance to change your mind.

you don’t.

you lean into him, one hand curling into the front of his sweatshirt. beau makes a quiet sound into the kiss like the week had finally caught up with him all at once.

his arm slides around your waist, yours around his neck. for once, there is no pretending, no careful distance, no stolen almost-touch hidden behind towels or car seats or kitchen counters.

just beau.

warm and solid and yours beneath the summer night.

“you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

you tear apart so fast you nearly lose your balance. beau’s hand catches your waist instinctively, which, unfortunately, does not help your case.

dean stands at the start of the dock. still, silent. your heart drops through your stomach.

“dean,” you breathe.

he doesn’t look at you first, he looks at beau.

to his credit, he doesn’t move away from you completely. beau lets go of your waist, but he stays close. close enough that dean notices. close enough that you do too.

“how long?” dean asks, his voice calm, too calm.

you stand slowly. “dean-”

“how long?”

beau answers. “a few months.”

dean’s jaw tightens. “months,” dean repeats.

you wrap your arms around yourself. “we were going to tell you.”

he laughs once, humourless. “when? at your wedding?”

“that’s not fair.”

“isn’t it?”

his eyes finally move to you, and the anger cracks just enough for hurt to show underneath. that is worse, so much worse. “you lied to me.”

your throat tightens. “i know.”

“both of you.”

beau’s voice stays low. “that’s on me.”

dean turns on him instantly. “do not do that.”

beau stills.

“don’t stand there and try to take all of it like that fixes the fact that you’ve been sneaking around with my sister behind my back.”

“i’m not trying to fix it.”

“good, because it doesn’t.”

you step forward. “dean, please.”

his face softens for half a second at your voice, then he looks away, dragging a hand through his hair. for a while, nobody says anything. the water moves quietly beneath the dock. the house hums behind you, distant and unaware.

finally, dean exhales, long, tired.

“i kind of figured.”

you blink. beau’s head lifts slightly. dean looks at you both like you’ve personally exhausted him. “i’m not an idiot.”

you say nothing. he points towards the house. “the car ride? weird.”

“the volleyball thing? very weird.”

beau looks down.

“the ice cream?” dean continues. “please. beau knew about the rainbow sprinkles, y/n.”

“lots of people know i like rainbow sprinkles,” you mutter weakly. dean gives you a flat look, you take it as a sign to stop talking.

“and the kitchen,” he adds. “you were holding a spoon like you’d been caught redhanded”

beau presses his lips together. wrong time to laugh, dangerously wrong.

“something funny, maxwell?”

beau shakes his head. “no.”

“good.” silence again. dean’s shoulders drop slightly, not forgiveness, not completely, but something less sharp.

“i’m not mad because it’s you,” he says, looking at beau. that surprises you, it seems to surprise beau too.

dean’s jaw works once. “honestly, if it had to be someone…” he stops, annoyed with himself for even saying it. “whatever. that’s not the point.”

your voice comes out small. “what is the point?”

dean looks at you, really looks at you, and suddenly he’s not angry in the loud way anymore.

he’s your brother.

the boy who used to carry your beach bag because he said you packed like you were fleeing the country. the boy who scared off guys before you even knew they were interested. the boy who pretended he wasn’t protective while being the most protective person alive.

“the point is you’re my sister, y/n” he says, softer now. “and he’s my best friend. and both of you decided i was the last person who got to know.”

your chest aches. “we were scared.”

“of me?”

you hesitate. dean’s expression shifts, that hurts him too.

“not like that,” you say quickly. “not because we thought you’d be horrible. just because it mattered. because you matter. because beau matters. and i didn’t want everything to change before we even knew what this was.”

dean looks at you for a long moment, then his gaze flicks to beau. “do you know what this is?”

beau doesn’t look away. “yeah.”

your breath catches. dean studies him carefully. “yeah?”

beau nods once. “i love her.”

everything stops. you turn towards him. for a second you forget dean is there, forget the dock, forget the entire summer sitting around you.

beau’s eyes meet yours, steady despite the nerves in his face. “i didn’t want to say it like this,” he says quietly.

your eyes burn. a small, helpless laugh escapes you. “on a dock while my brother plots your murder?”

beau’s mouth lifts faintly. “yeah. not exactly how i pictured it.” dean makes a strangled sound. “i’m literally standing right here.” you look back at him, wiping quickly beneath one eye.

“sorry.”

dean stares at you, then at beau. he sighs like the universe has personally wronged him.

“unbelievable.”

his voice is different now. still annoyed, still protective, but not furious. not anymore.

he steps closer, pointing directly at beau’s chest. “you.” beau straightens immediately. “don’t fuck this up.”

“i won’t.”

“i’m serious.”

“so am i.”

dean’s eyes narrow. “she’s my sister. don’t forget that.” beau’s face softens, but his voice stays firm.

“i never have.”

dean looks away, jaw tight, before pointing vaguely between you both.

“and no more sneaking around.”

you nod quickly. “okay.”

“no more lying.”

“okay.”

“and absolutely no making out on docks while everyone else is inside eating dessert.”

you frown. “that feels very specific.”

“because it just happened.”

beau looks down, hiding another smile. dean points at him again. “wipe that look off your face.”

beau immediately does, you bite your lip. dean turns to you, eyes narrowing. “and you. don’t think you’re getting out of this because you look emotional.”

you blink up at him. he lasts three seconds, maybe four, then his expression breaks. “come here,” he mutters. you step into him immediately.

dean wraps his arms around you, tight and familiar, one hand pressing briefly to the back of your head the way he used to when you were younger, crying over things you didn’t want to explain.

your throat closes. “i’m sorry,” you whisper.

he sighs into your hair. “yeah. you should be.”

his arms tighten. “i just didn’t want to lose you,” you admit quietly.

dean stills, pulling back enough to look at you. “you’re not losing me because you fell for my idiot best friend, y/n.”

beau mutters, “fair.”

dean doesn’t look away from you. “you’re stuck with me.”

your mouth trembles into a smile. “unfortunately.”

“watch it.”

you laugh softly, and dean’s face eases a little at the sound.

he looks over your shoulder at beau. “you can walk her back.”

beau blinks. “i can?”

“don’t make me regret saying it.”

“i won’t.”

dean starts walking backward towards the house, still pointing.

“door stays open.”

“dean.”

“i don’t care if we’re outside right now, the door stays open.”

you groan. “you’re so annoying.”

he turns finally, heading back toward the house, but stops halfway. for a second, he looks back. not at beau this time, at you.

his expression softens. “for what it’s worth,” he says, quieter. “i’m glad it’s him.” he disappears into the noise of the house before either of you can answer.

you stand there for a moment, stunned. beau steps closer beside you. careful now. respectful of the fact that everything has changed, and yet nothing at all.

“you okay?” he asks. you look at him, really look at him. the boy you had spent the whole summer loving in glances, in almost-touches, in quiet corners and stolen seconds. the boy who had just told your brother he loved you without flinching.

you nod slowly. “you love me?”

his face softens. “yeah.”

your heart turns over. “that’s inconvenient.”

beau laughs quietly, stepping close enough for his fingers to brush yours. “very.”

you slip your hand into his, openly, for the first time. “i love you too,” you whisper.

beau’s entire expression changes. he leans down, then stops, glancing towards the house.

you laugh softly. “dean said no sneaking around.”

“this isn’t sneaking.”

“no?”

his thumb brushes over your hand. “not anymore.”

so you kiss him again, softly, briefly. smiling against his mouth when someone from the deck yells, “door stays open!”

dean, obviously.

beau drops his forehead to yours, laughing under his breath. for the first time all summer, you don’t pull away.

#beau maxwell #beau maxwell x reader #off campus #off campus imagines #off campus fic #dean di laurentis #dean di laurentis x reader

۶ৎ stress eating. | d. di laurentis

short summary: where dean is stressed about an upcoming game, and you, being the wonderful girlfriend that you are, offer to help him relax. inspired by THAT scene from off campus. pairing: boyfriend!dean di laurentis x fem!reader word count: 666 (dean would be proud) warnings: porn with almost no plot, explicit sexual content, oral sex (f!receiving), established relationship, dean being obsessed with reader, stress relief taken very literally, praise, excessive use of "baby", mild swearing, teasing, possessive language, body worship, dean di laurentis treating your orgasm like a personal achievement, lots of kissing, lots of touching, emotional intimacy disguised as horny behavior, let me know if i missed any! all characters in this story are adults. english is not my first language, so please forgive me for any errors. a/n: i couldn't get this idea out of my head for days, dean has me so consumed. i don't make the rules. also, i firmly believe he would use the phrase "stress-eating" in this context and think he's the funniest person alive. what's kai listening to: juno by sabrina carpenter.

18+; mdni.

You didn't think, when you walked into Hawks House an hour ago, that you'd end up in this position.

You were on Dean's desk chair, one leg hooked over the armrest, the other digging between his shoulder blades as he knelt between your legs. your panties had long since been tossed to some unknown corner—another one in the graveyard of underwear you'd lost in Dean's room.

There had been signs for days—the fact that he'd been hunched over game footage with Logan almost every night at Malone's, the way he'd been spending every free moment at the rink with Garrett. The lack of his usual Dean-ness. Your boyfriend, you knew, was stressed, and apparently, completely determined to shoulder all of it alone.

But not on your watch.

When you headed up to his room and found him hunched over his laptop, rewatching footage from the St. Anthony's game, you immediately offered to help in any way you could.

Which is how you ended up here, with Dean's fingers parting your folds once more, his mouth closing around your clit. Your back arched, thighs tightening around his head. He'd been at this for God knew how long—you'd lost track after the third time you came.

You bit your lip, whimpering. "Dean, please—"

He lifted his head, flashing his dimples as he smiled. "You're makin' me feel so much better already, baby."

"This is not—" You gasped as he groaned against your core, your hands instinctively tangling into his blonde hair. "Not exactly what I had in mind when I s-said I'd help you de-stress."

He pulled away for a second, large hands wrapping around your thighs, pulling them farther apart. "This is helping me, baby. Have you ever heard of a little thing called stress-eating?"

You let out a breathy laugh, which quickly morphed into a moan as Dean's tongue flicked against your clit again. You were sticky with sweat, sounds of absolute pleasure escaping your lips, the room filled with the scent of your arousal and Dean's cologne.

His hands snaked up your stomach, fingers toying with your nipples as he slid his tongue past your entrance, making your eyes roll to the back of your head.

A needy, almost pornographic whine escaped you. "Dean."

"One more, baby," Dean begged, his brain foggy with the heady scent of you, the way you tasted making him forget all about the stress he'd been under for the past few days. His voice was low, wrecked. "Please. I need this—need you."

You nodded, your cunt clenching around air at the sound of him begging for you. Dean Di Laurentis, drunk on your pussy, pleading for more.

You could feel another orgasm building, blooming in the pit of your stomach as you reached up to grab one of his hands where he was still rolling your nipples between his fingers. He laced his fingers through yours immediately, thumb brushing over your knuckles.

You made the mistake of glancing downwards, and God. His blonde hair fell messily onto his forehead, and when you reached down to push it back out of his face, you nearly lost your mind then and there at the sight of him, his eyes closed, long blonde lashes resting against his cheeks. "You taste so fuckin' good baby. So fucking good for me."

Your stomach tensed, hips beginning to rock against his mouth almost involuntarily. "Fuck yeah, baby, use me. Take what you need."

You tugged him closer, thighs shaking, vision blurring as your hips bucked against his tongue, your orgasm washing over you, making your toes curl. Dean's muffled voice intercepted the desperate moans of pleasure parting your lips as he murmured from between your legs, "That's it, baby. That's my girl."

Dean finally—finally—sat back, licking the remainder of your juices off his lips. He trailed slow, gentle kisses up your neck, your jaw, your forehead as you slumped back into the chair, spent and exhausted.

"Thank you," he muttered, kissing your lips. You could taste yourself on his tongue. "For always making me feel better, baby."

💌: from kai, with love

#dean di laurentis blurb #dean di laurentis #dean di laurentis fluff #dean di laurentis fic #dean di laurentis x you #dean di laurentis x reader #dean di laurentis x female reader #dean di laurentis x allie hayes #dean di laurentis x y/n #off campus fluff #off campus one shot #off campus x reader #off campus fanfic #off campus imagines #off campus au #off campus fic #off campus smut #off campus series

Don't let me down | John Logan

summary: You've been filming John Logan for many months. Forty seven saved clips, only eleven of them for work. You know his tells, his angles, his best light. You know him better than you probably should for someone who is just the social media girl. What you don't know is that the night he finally asked you out, there was a check involved. A thousand dollars. And three months of the most real thing you've ever felt sitting on top of a secret that was always going to cost someone.

notes: hii i'm back!! after a week of writing between breaks this one finally came to life and i really hope you guys enjoy it, also i've been informed that puck flying accidents are not very common but we're all going to pretend together, also may contain some hockey inaccuracies, i love the game but i'm definitely not a pro. as always thank you so much for reading and please let me know what you think, your comments genuinely keep me writing!!

warnings: swearing, a bet that was a terrible idea, one thousand dollars, dean being dean, forty seven saved clips, angst with a happy ending.

word count: 12.2k

When you started working on the social media position for the hockey team at Briar U, you didn't understand how it was possible for people to take you even less seriously than you already took yourself. But then there would come the moment that they needed you, and things would change, and you would think oh, how the tables have turned.

#off campus x reader #john logan fluff #off campus #john logan angst #john logan x you #john logan x reader #john logan imagine #off campus imagines

Heating Pad & Hockey Boyfriend

Pairing: Garrett Graham x Reader

Word Count: 1979

Request open!

Off campus masterlist

Garrett Graham knew something was wrong the second you walked into the kitchen.

You tried to act normal. You really did. You even gave him a small smile, which would have worked on almost anyone else.

But Garrett had spent enough time around you to know that the smile was fake, your shoulders were tense, and you were moving like every step had to be negotiated with your own body.

He leaned against the counter, one eyebrow lifting. “Okay,” he said. “What happened?”

You blinked at him from the fridge door. “What makes you think something happened?”

“Because you look like you’re about to fight the entire human race,” he said. “And lose. Badly.”

You shut the fridge a little too hard. “I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I am.”

Garrett pushed off the counter and crossed the kitchen in a few easy steps, stopping in front of you. “Sweetheart,” he said, softer now, “that is absolutely not the face of a fine person.”

You opened your mouth, ready with some sharp reply, but another cramp ripped through your stomach so suddenly you had to grab the edge of the counter.

Garrett’s expression changed instantly. “There it is.”

You shot him a glare. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t do that thing where you act like you know everything.”

He gave you a flat look. “You are literally bent over in the kitchen.”

“Not helping.”

“I’m aware,” he said. “I’m trying to help in a very Garrett Graham way, which, for the record, is still better than most people’s way.”

You let out a breath that was halfway between a laugh and a groan. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are.”

You made a face, but the pain hit again, and your hand went to your lower stomach. Garrett noticed immediately. Of course he did. He was infuriatingly observant when it counted.

He lowered his voice. “Period?”

You stared at him.

He stared back, then pointed at your sweatpants. “I’m not asking because I want details. I’m asking because I know the look.”

You exhaled. “Yes.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay,” he said, as if this was the easiest answer in the world. “What do you need?”

You paused.

Because that was Garrett Graham, captain of Briar hockey, loudmouth, smug genius, and somehow also the guy who could go from teasing you mercilessly to gentle in a single second.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “Heat maybe. And painkillers. And maybe to not be perceived by anyone for the next twelve to forty-eight hours.”

He nodded once, all seriousness now. “That can be arranged.”

You gave him a skeptical look. “By who? You?”

“Obviously.”

You huffed. “You don’t even know where the heating pad is.”

Garrett pointed at you like you’d just made his case for him. “You see? This is why I’m asking. Because I am a man who solves problems.”

“You also leave your laundry on the floor.”

“That is unrelated.”

“Is it?”

He stepped around you and opened the cabinet over the sink. “Heating pad’s in here, right?”

You blinked. “How did you know that?”

He looked over his shoulder, that arrogant little grin showing up again. “Because I pay attention.”

You crossed your arms, trying very hard not to smile and failing a little. “You’re unbearable.”

“And yet,” he said, pulling out the heating pad, “I’m the one who knows where the stuff is.”

He plugged it in at the outlet near the counter, then turned back to you. “Come here.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Why does that sound suspicious.”

“Because you’re dramatic.”

“Garrett.”

“Y/N.”

You stared each other down for one beat, then two, until he sighed and held up both hands in surrender. “Fine. No tricks. I just want to get you on the couch before you decide to act tough and pass out dramatically on the kitchen floor.”

“That is not a thing I do.”

He lifted one brow. “Last month you almost cried because your socks were wet.”

“Those socks were the worst socks in the history of socks.”

“Exactly my point.”

You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your mouth twitched. Garrett noticed, because of course he did, and his face softened again.

“C’mon,” he said. “Couch. Blankets. Water. Painkillers. I’ll be your full-time service boyfriend for the evening.”

“That is not a real title.”

“It is tonight.”

He guided you toward the living room with a hand on your lower back, warm and steady. You hated how much that helped. You hated even more that he knew exactly how to move with you without making a big deal out of it.

Once you were settled on the couch, Garrett disappeared into the kitchen and came back carrying a water bottle, a bag of chips, and the heating pad wrapped in one of his hoodies because, apparently, he had decided basic competence was suddenly his brand.

You stared at the pile in his arms. “Did you just assemble a period survival kit?”

“Yes,” he said. “Try to sound less impressed.”

You snorted and took the water bottle. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re pale. Which is a problem, because I prefer you looking less like a Victorian ghost.”

You laughed despite yourself, then winced and pressed a hand to your stomach.

Garrett sat beside you immediately. “How bad is it?”

You shrugged, but it was a useless motion. “Annoying. Sharp. Stupid.”

“On a scale from one to ten?”

You looked at him. “Since when are you so organized?”

“Since I became responsible for your wellbeing,” he said, like it was obvious. “Now answer the question.”

You sighed. “Six? Maybe seven.”

His jaw tightened a little. “Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

“Because I’m not trying to be a problem.”

Garrett turned fully toward you. “Hey.” His voice was gentle, but there was steel in it too. “You are never a problem.”

That made you go quiet.

He rubbed a thumb along the side of the water bottle, then added, “You could’ve woken me up, texted me, yelled across the campus, whatever. I don’t care. I’d rather know.”

You studied him. “You’d really help?”

He looked offended. “Y/N. I am insulted on a spiritual level.”

You laughed again, then made a face as another cramp hit.

Garrett was up in a second, setting the heating pad onto your stomach and adjusting the hoodie around it so it stayed in place. He was careful, almost reverent about it, like he didn’t want to do anything wrong.

“Better?” he asked.

You nodded, already feeling some relief from the warmth. “Yeah. Actually, yeah.”

“Good.”

He leaned back and stretched an arm along the top of the couch behind you. “Now tell me what else I need to do.”

You glanced at him. “You’re taking this very seriously.”

“I’m a serious guy.”

“That is the funniest thing you’ve ever said.”

He looked offended again. “You wound me.”

“You mock me every day.”

“That’s different.”

You smiled into your water bottle and took a sip. The room was quiet for a few seconds, just the low hum of the heater and the distant noise of the guys somewhere upstairs.

Then Garrett said, “Do you want ice cream?”

You stared. “You just asked me that like it was a medical treatment.”

“It is.”

“It is not.”

“It absolutely is. Comfort food counts.”

You bit your lip to hide your grin. “We don’t have ice cream.”

“I’ll get some.”

“You’re not going out just for that.”

He looked at you like you were being unreasonable. “Why not?”

“Because it’s raining.”

“So?”

“Garrett.”

He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Sweetheart, I play hockey. Rain does not scare me. Neither does a grocery store.”

Your eyes narrowed. “It’s 10 p.m.”

“And?”

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re still not answering the question.”

You sighed. “No ice cream. I’m fine.”

He gave you a look that said he did not believe you for one second, then nodded toward the blanket folded on the armchair. “At least let me get you that.”

You hesitated, then said, “Okay.”

He got up, grabbed the blanket, and came back to drape it over you with way more care than he needed to. It covered your legs, your shoulders, and part of the hoodie warming your stomach. You looked like you had been wrapped up by someone who actually wanted you comfortable instead of just out of the way.

Garrett sat back down and crossed one ankle over the other. “There.”

You looked over at him. “You really don’t have to babysit me, you know.”

He smirked. “That’s funny. Because I’m pretty sure I volunteered.”

“I didn’t accept your application.”

“I’m not sure you have the authority to reject it.”

You laughed, then rested your head against the cushion. “You’re smug.”

“Correct.”

“And annoying.”

“Also correct.”

“And weirdly good at this.”

That made him go quiet for a beat.

Then he glanced at you, something softer moving across his face. “Yeah?”

You nodded once. “Yeah.”

He looked almost shy for half a second, which was so unlike him you would have missed it if you weren’t paying attention. Then he cleared his throat and reached for the remote. “Okay. Movie?”

You made a face. “You’re picking?”

“Obviously.”

“That means some ridiculous action movie where people explode for no reason.”

“First of all, there are always reasons.”

“Garrett.”

He grinned. “Fine. Romantic comedy.”

You stared at him. “You? Choosing a romantic comedy?”

“Don’t sound so shocked.”

“You once said love stories were ‘predictable nonsense.’”

“That was before I learned they’re useful for distracting my girlfriend from murdering me with her period cramps.”

Your face warmed. “Your girlfriend?”

He looked at you with that easy, devastating smile that always made your heart stutter. “Yeah. You.”

The words sat in the space between you, simple and warm and unexpectedly perfect.

You looked away first, but not because you wanted to. Because if you kept looking at him like that, you were going to melt into the couch like a stupid puddle.

Garrett, apparently satisfied with the effect he had just had on you, selected a movie and settled in beside you. After a few minutes, you shifted closer without thinking, your head brushing his shoulder.

His arm came around you right away.

“You comfortable?” he asked.

You nodded against him. “Mhm.”

“Pain any better?”

“A little.”

“Good.”

A pause.

Then, in a lower voice, he said, “You know you don’t have to act tough with me, right?”

You went still.

He continued, carefully, “You don’t have to smile when you feel like garbage. You don’t have to pretend you’re not hurting. I’d rather you be honest.”

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten.

You swallowed. “I don’t like feeling helpless.”

“I know.”

“That’s part of it.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “You’re not helpless. You’re just cramping your ass off and pretending you’re not.”

A laugh escaped you, quiet and real this time. “That was terrible.”

“I know.”

“It was very bad.”

“I’m still right.”

You turned your face into his shoulder to hide your smile. “You’re unbearably sweet when I’m miserable.”

“Don’t tell anyone.”

“I wouldn’t survive the embarrassment.”

He snorted softly, then squeezed you a little tighter. “Go to sleep if you want.”

“You’ll wake me up?”

“Nope. I’ll carry you to bed eventually.”

“Eventually?”

He looked down at you with a lazy grin. “Right now, I’ve got the couch. You’ve got the blanket. And I’m winning.”

You shook your head, smiling despite the pain, despite the bad mood, despite the whole unfairness of your body deciding to punish you on a random Tuesday night.

“Garrett?”

“Yeah?”

You hesitated, then said quietly, “Thank you.”

He brushed his thumb over your arm. “Always.”

And for the rest of the night, he stayed right there with you,warm, steady, annoyingly smug, and somehow exactly what you needed.

#off campus #off campus smut #garrett graham #garrett Graham x reader #garrett Graham smut #off campus imagines #off campus series #garrett Graham imagines #off campus x you #off campus x reader #garrett graham x you #garrett graham x reader #Garrett Graham fanfiction #off campus fanfic

Hold It | John Logan

Summary: Logan and the reader had a massive fight a week ago and haven't spoken to each other since. They cross paths at a party in the hockey house and Logan loses his shit watching you talk to someone else.

Pairings: john logan x gf!reader

Word Count: 5.4k (not proof-read)

Warnings: filth. absolute porn with some plot, MDNI (stay away children) little bit of angst. angry sex turned mushy. edging.

💌: I watched a video of angry logan and it made me lose my shit y'all. This is based on what i think angry logan would be like. This might have some plot holes pls ignore i was in the pits. (If y'all wanna watch the video, i reblogged it right before this post 😋) Also might write a short prequel to this, like what exactly happened in the fight, angst central station babayyy

The music from the off-campus hockey house wasn’t just simply filling the room, it was pulsing through the walls, rattling the windows, and vibrating through Logan's boots, the bassline matching the rhythm of his heartbeat. The bass was loud enough to blur conversations into background noise, but somehow every laugh, every shout, every burst of drunken cheering only seemed to increase his irritation.

The hockey house was packed full of drunk students, who were definitely going to regret the decisions made under the influence.

Someone was winning a beer pong game in the kitchen, their teammates erupting into cheers loud enough to make Logan lose his mind; another group was singing terribly to music that wasn't even playing. Couples squeezed past one another in narrow hallways, red cups spilling onto hardwood floors that had long since become sticky with alcohol.

The entire hockey team was there.

Garrett had his arm lazily slung around Hannah while Dean argued with Allie over some ridiculous card game. Tucker was laughing so hard he nearly dropped his drink, and Birdie was already halfway to being completely hammered. To everyone else, it was another Briar party.

But for John Logan, it was pure torture.

He stood near the kitchen island, one hand shoved into his jeans pocket while the other loosely held a sweating beer bottle he had long forgotten, opened twenty minutes ago. His beer was warm and untouched. His jaw had been clenched for so long it physically hurt.

He had plans to get absolutely hammered tonight, a small break after a whole week of extra practice, but all that went down the drain the moment he entered his living room.

Garrett noticed before anyone else did. Every few minutes, his eyes flicked toward Logan with increasing concern. He knew the expression that Logan had written all over his face. Logan wasn't just quiet, he was dangerously quiet, his shoulders completely locked and his jaw tightened, his fingers gripping the beer bottle so hard his knuckles were turning whiter by the second. It meant he was on a warpath.

Eyes fixed on one thing, he wasn’t listening to the music or whatever bullshit Dean was spewing in a drunken haze, his eyes were focused towards the corner of the living room, refusing to look away.

Garrett followed his gaze. ‘Oh, shit.’

His entire universe had narrowed down to a single corner of the living room.

To you.

You looked beautiful without even trying, a simple outfit that somehow made every other girl at the party disappear. Your hair was slightly messy from dancing; your cheeks were flushed with the light pink colour he loved.

For the first time in the past seven days, you looked happy, carefree, and peaceful.

A whole week.

Seven days since your fight.

Seven days since you both screamed until neither of you had anything left to say.

Seven days since he convinced himself that walking away was the mature thing to do.

For one brutal, agonizing week, Logan was trying to do the right thing. He was staying away. After that massive, exhausting fight about his erratic training schedule, the constant media pressure of the upcoming NHL draft, and the heavy cloud of your own insecurities, he convinced himself that you needed space. He thought he was being unselfish. He thought he was protecting you from the chaotic vortex of his life.

He repeated those excuses so many times that he almost started believing in them.

Almost, almost being the key word.

As he stared down at you, he was getting more and more pissed, not at you, rather, at the guy standing next to you.

He was some guy from a fraternity, probably rich, Logan could tell by the perfectly styled hair, the pearly white sneakers, and the expensive casual jacket. He was leaning in way too close, his mouth practically brushing your ear, to be heard over the speakers. He said something to you, flashing a dazzling practiced smile, and you giggled. Not the polite little laugh you gave to strangers. This was a real laugh, your head tilting back, your smile actually reaching your eyes.

The insides of Logan’s stomach twisted violently.

The guy smiled wider, looking at your lips. He said something else. You playfully rolled your eyes before nudging his shoulder slightly. It was innocent, most probably, but Logan couldn’t tell, he was already raging because jealousy had already painted everything in him red.

It felt like a physical blow to his chest. A toxic, overwhelming wave of pure, unadulterated jealousy flooded his veins, turning his blood to fire.

Watching another man step into the vacuum he had left behind, watching someone else try to make you laugh, try to catch your eye, try to charm his way into your life.

‘Who the fuck is he?’ the question echoed inside him.

‘Get the fuck away from her.’ The thought screamed through Logan’s head, obliterating every shred of his logic, his patience, and his self-control.

Garrett quietly appeared beside him, ‘You okay?’

Logan didn't answer.

‘Logan.’

Still nothing.

And then, the frat guy reached out. It was a casual, fleeting movement where he just had his hand resting on the bare skin of your forearm to emphasize a point, but to Logan, it was no less than a declaration of war.

It was gasoline thrown onto an open flame. His breathing had gone frighteningly slow.

The kind of calm that always came right before he lost every ounce of self-control.

Garrett looked from Logan to you, then back again. ‘Oh no, don't do it, Logan.’ Garrett muttered, trying to get him to stop.

He set the beer bottle down on the counter with a heavy clink and started moving.

He didn't politely navigate the crowded room, he cut through it. People instinctively stepped aside as the 6’2 hockey player cut a straight line across the living room, his broad shoulders forcing a path through laughing strangers who suddenly stopped laughing the moment they saw his face. He bumped a freshman out of the way without looking, his eyes locked entirely on the target.

His eyes never left yours. Never leaving the man standing far too close.

Before the guy could slide his hand down to your wrist, Logan stepped directly into the space between you and him, physically blocking the guy from your line of sight, his broad shoulders creating an impenetrable wall. A solid wall of muscle, anger, and barely restrained jealousy, his shadow falling over you.

The conversation around you died instantly.

‘Hey,’ Logan's voice cut through the noise like a blade; it was low, dangerous, and deep with an intensity that made the air feel suddenly thin. ‘We need to talk. Right now.’

Not a request. A demand.

You gasped, stumbling back half a step as the sudden, overwhelming scent of cedar cologne, and familiar warmth filled your nostrils. Your eyes traveled up his chest, past the silver chain resting on his tense collarbone, only to find Logan staring down at you. His dark eyes were flashing, wide and wild with a possessive anger that made your stomach do a violent flip. You knew that look very well, ‘Logan?’, you breathed, your heart suddenly hammering against your ribs. Then, your own defensive walls flew up, ‘What the fuck? What are you doing? I'm in the middle of a conversation.’

‘I don't care,’ Logan breathed, not breaking eye contact with you for even a fraction of a second. He tilted his head just enough to address the guy behind him, his tone dropping into a lethal, quiet growl, ‘Walk away, man, right now. Unless you want a problem.’

And every person standing close enough to witness it immediately understood one thing, the party was about to become the least interesting thing happening in the house.

You stared at him in disbelief. Every muscle in his body looked coiled so tightly you thought he might actually snap.

The guy beside you awkwardly cleared his throat, looked at Logan’s rigid posture, the clenched fists at his sides, and the terrifying look of the massive hockey player ready to tear someone apart. He raised his hands in a mock gesture of surrender, ‘Uh man, I was just- easy man, no trouble,’ he muttered, quickly melting back into the safety of the crowded living room. He disappeared into the crowd so quickly it almost looked like he had been swallowed by it.

You rounded on Logan immediately, ‘Are you completely insane?’, you yelled, the words hitting hard as the sheer audacity of what he just did hit you. ‘You don't get to do that Logan. You can’t just march over here, act like a caveman, and scare off people who I'm talking to! We are on a "break" Logan! Isn’t that what you wanted?’

‘A break does not mean you let some idiot frat guy put his hands on you, in MY house!’, Logan yelled back, his voice thick with a mixture of rage, desperation, and suffocating jealousy.

Garrett leaned against the kitchen doorway with Hannah beside him, both of them watching carefully. Dean muttered something under his breath. Allie stood there with a hand on her mouth. Tucker was in the backyard, tending to a puking Birdie.

The room suddenly felt far too aware of the two of you. Logan noticed it too. He exhaled sharply through his nose.

‘We are not doing this out here’, he said, his voice low enough that only you could hear. ‘Come with me.’

Before you could fire back another retort, ‘I'm not asking.’

‘And I'm not agreeing.’

His hand found your wrist, his fingers curling loosely around it. His palm was warm against your skin, his grip firm enough to stop you from storming off but loose enough that you could've pulled away if you'd really wanted to.

‘Come on,’ he muttered through clenched teeth. You rolled your eyes, giving an exaggerated tug against his hold.

‘Logan.’

‘Five minutes.’

‘You don't get to-’

‘I'm asking for five damn minutes.’

‘John.’

‘Please.’

The word stopped you. Not because it was loud. Because it was broken. He sounded broken and he never sounded like that before.

‘I'll walk.’ you said quietly.

He yanked you forward, turning on his heel and pulling you up the stairs of the hockey house.

He reached the end of the hall, kicked his bedroom door open with the heel of his boot, pulled you inside, and slammed the door shut behind him. He threw the lock with a sharp, definitive click, instantly silencing the outside world in the safety of his room.

The sudden silence in the bedroom was heavy; it felt as if you would explode any given moment, charged with electricity.

‘Don't you dare touch me when you're acting like a lunatic,’ you breathed, pulling your arm back the moment he released his grip. You backed away until the edge of his wooden desk pressed against your lower back, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. You were trembling, a mix of adrenaline, anger, and a deep, agonizing hurt threatening to spill over. ‘You don't own me, Logan. You don't get to dictate who I talk to, who I smile at, who I want.’

‘You think I want to feel like this?’ Logan exploded. He couldn't stay still. He began pacing the length of the hardwood floor like a man losing his bearing, his fingers aggressively gripping and dragging through his dark hair, disheveling it.

He stopped abruptly, pivoting to face you, his chest heaving violently under his shirt. ‘I’ve been going out of my mind for the goddamn week! I haven't slept a full night. I can't focus on the ice, Jensen chewed my ass out twice today because I'm completely checked out. And why? Because every time I close my eyes, I wonder what you're doing. And then I walk into my own living room and see you smiling at some guy who doesn't know a single real thing about you? Some guy who looks at you like you're some prize he can just casually win for the night?’

‘He is my classmate, Logan! We were literally talking about the syllabus for a group project!’, you shouted back, tears of frustration and hurt stinging the backs of your eyes. ‘But you wouldn't know that, because instead of talking to me like a normal human being, you just explode! You panic, you push me out, you tell me you need to focus on your future, walk out on me and then you get mad when I try to just exist in the same room as you!’

‘Because the thought of you not being in my life is killing me,’ Logan bellowed, his voice cracking on the last word. His admission hung in the air, raw and bleeding.

In two long strides, Logan closed the distance between the two of you. He didn't stop until he was looming over you, his shadow completely enveloping you. He was so close you could feel the radiating heat of his body, could see the tiny amber flecks in his dark eyes, wild with an agonizing vulnerability.

‘Even the thought of it makes me physically sick to my stomach,’ he whispered, his jaw trembling, ‘I saw him touch your arm, and I lost my shit, I wanted to destroy everything in sight. I'm sorry I'm a mess. I'm sorry I don't know how to handle this perfectly or calmly. But don't you dare stand there and act like what we have is just some casual thing you can walk away from.’

God, he looked so hot. Jealousy was such a good look on him, it practically made your mouth water. It was as if he sensed you being turned on by his outburst, or maybe he just saw the way you squeezed your legs together when he came closer to you; nothing went past this man.

‘You're mine,’ he muttered, his voice dropping an octave, turning rough and gravelly. ‘I don't share, baby. You know that very well.’

Oh, this motherfucker knew all right. He knew what he was doing; he knew what this was doing to you.

Your breath hitched. The anger in his eyes wasn't a turn-off for you, not even close, and he knew that. The raw, possessive intensity of it sent a thrill straight down your spine, going places that made you want to jump his bones. Your eyes dropped to his chest, focusing on the way the silver chain rose and fell with his heavy breathing. Without thinking, you reached out, your fingers hooking around the cold metal of the chain, tugging him just a fraction of an inch closer.

‘Then do something about it, John,’ you challenged, your voice a sultry whisper, ‘Stop pacing and show me. Prove it to me. Prove that I’m yours.’

The anger was still there, buzzing like a live wire between your bodies, but it was twisting, morphing into a desperate, passionate hunger that neither of you could fight anymore.

Logan’s eyes darkened to black. He clenched his jaw so hard, you could see the muscle tense, and for a split second, the room went entirely still. And then, he snapped.

In one fluid motion, his hands gripped your hips, fingers digging into your supple bottom. He didn't just pull you in, he lifted you completely off your feet from the table, your legs wrapping around his waist like clockwork, and crowded you back onto the mattress. The impact wasn't enough to hurt, cushioned by the heavy blankets, but it was authoritative enough to make you gasp. Before you could even blink, Logan was hovering over you, pinning your wrists on either side of your head with a grip like iron.

‘You want me to do something about it?’ he growled, his face inches from yours. His chest was pressed flush against yours, the ribbed cotton of his tank top hot against your skin. ‘You think this is a game, baby?’

‘I think you're all talk right now,’ you rasped out, intentionally baiting him.

Logan let out a low whisper, ‘Yeah, baby?’ that vibrated directly against your ribs. He released one of your wrists, only to slide his hand up to cup your jaw, his thumb pressing firmly into your cheek to tilt your head back. He stared at your cheeks squished between his fingers, and suddenly he came down on your mouth with a ferocity that stole the oxygen right out of your lungs.

It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was punishing and demanding. He tasted so good. Oh! How much you had missed him.

His tongue parted your lips with zero hesitation, claiming your mouth with a rough dominance that made your toes curl. You tried to arch up into him, but his weight was like a heavy anchor pinning you down. The feeling of his tongue exploring the crevices of your mouth made you unbelievably down bad for him, you moaned against his mouth.

When he finally pulled back for air, his lips were wet and his breathing ragged. The silver chain dangled down, the cold metal brushing against your collarbone, creating a shocking contrast to the burning heat of his skin. Fuck, him looking like this was doing things to you. ‘Logan, off’, you whimpered, your fingers instantly finding the hem of his black tank, wanting it off, wanting to feel him against you.

‘No honey’ he muttered, grabbing your hands and pinning them back above your head. He looked down at you, a wicked smirk playing on his lips despite the lingering tension in his shoulders. ‘I'm still mad at you. You don't get to dictate the pace tonight, you're going to be a good girl tonight and you're going to listen.’

He shifted his weight, his knee forcing your legs apart as he wedged himself between them. The friction of his jeans against you felt unbearable. Logan reached down, his fingers working the button and zipper of your skort with a rough impatience. He didn't bother being gentle as he tugged the fabric down your legs and tossed it carelessly onto the floor, along with your revealing top.

You were left in your underwear, completely exposed to his burning gaze. Logan took a moment to look at you, his eyes sweeping over your body with an intensity that made you flush from head to toe. ‘Beautiful,’ he muttered, though his voice was still rough around the edges, ‘So fucking beautiful and all mine.’ His lips find your neck, finding your sweet spot almost instantaneously, sucking softly which unravels you even more as you wither under him, trying to get a semblance of relief.

‘John, please’

‘You drive me insane, you know that?’, his mouth crashes onto yours as you gasp into him, fingers curling into his black tank which is fitting him so well that it makes your mouth water. You tugged on his hair, eliciting a guttural groan from his throat, his mouth moving from your now swollen lips to your neck, then chest , leaving a string of deep red marks, his hands feeling up your body once more, your nerves heightened with every grab and squeeze. You're whining, teeth clashing as he's biting at your bottom lip.

Your hips moving against him, grinding softly against him and he pulls away, ‘What did I tell you baby? It sure is a shame that you acted out today, you could've gotten my mouth or my fingers, I know how much you love those’ he begins, crawling on top of you, the dip of his weight pushing you back down.

‘But you're just going to get my cock, deep and rough until I make sure you aren't able to walk for a week straight.’

With that, your legs are pulled apart, panties practically ripped from your lower half as he throws them to the side like he's tearing open a christmas present.

Your bra is gone in what feels like seconds, making things easier and a lot more satisfying for him. His hands on your body feel hot and rough, but so right in so many ways. His aggressiveness only turns you on more, you're soaked and practically leaking down your thighs, moving and clamping your legs together to get some sort of relief from the emptiness you've felt all week.

His hands grip your tits vicariously as he starts to knead them, suck and bite them, making you whimper out as he runs his hands down your hips. He is latched onto your chest as if it's something he has been craving for so long, leaving red harsh hickeys all over.

‘Such a pretty body baby. I'm going to prove just how much you're mine, can't wait to ruin you.’ Your heart is hammering in your chest so loud you can hear it beating in your ears, and suddenly he's leaning up, one hand cupping your cheek, covering the side of your face as his lips harshly connect back to yours.

‘Will you let me?’ he almost whispers, eyes darkened with desire and hunger. You can't help but to feel warmth wash over your entire body as you look up at him. You know that he's asking for your permission, your consent king. Only John can make angry sex consensual, and the thought makes you giggle a little.

‘Yes john, I want you.’ He didn't waste any more time. He stripped off his own sweatpants, leaving him in all his glory. The sight of him, broad, muscular, clad only in that black tank and the damn silver chain, was enough to make your mouth go dry. He looked completely feral. As he took off his boxers, you saw his cock spring up, looking so hard, all red, angry and delicious.

And in an instant, your legs are being wrapped around his muscular torso, heels digging into his tailbone as he places one arm to your side and the other gripping the swell of your soft hip as teases your clit with it, you arched into his touch, a choked sob escaping you as his dick found your clit, rubbing softly, making you wither under him with a soft string of curses leaving your mouth.

‘John, please,’ you begged, your hips moving instinctively.

He hooked his hands under your knees, pushing them back toward your chest, opening you up completely to him. Taking his cock into his hands, he positioned himself, eyes locking onto yours. There was no hesitation, no slow teasing anymore as Logan pushed forward, driving himself deep inside you in one heavy thrust; he slammed into you.

A loud gasp tore from your throat, your fingers instantly flying up to grip his shoulders as your fingernails dug into the taut muscles of his back, but he didn't even flinch from it. He stayed still for a moment, letting you adjust to his size, his chest heaving against yours. The silver chain swung gently, resting against your throat. You wrapped one hand around the metal links, holding him close, his cock stretching you out and filling you up with a sweet stinging sensation as you got used to the feeling.

‘Fuck, you're so tight,’ Logan groaned, his eyes closing for a brief second as he fought for control, pulling himself out and glancing down at the glistening wetness that is coating his dick before pushing himself back in, your hand clawing his back and holding him even closer by the chain.

The only thing you can focus on is the gorgeous man on top of you, his sturdy body hovering over yours as he begins to pound into you. ‘John, oh god fuck’, you cry out, feeling so full of him. The pace he set was punishingly fast and rough, a brutal, driving rhythm, his hips slamming against yours with a raw force that had the bed creaking loudly against the wall. Every thrust was deep, hitting the exact spot that sent electric shocks of pleasure through your entire body. You were completely at his mercy as he gripped your waist, his large fingers digging into your skin to hold you as he hammered into you. He was taking all his frustration, all his jealousy, and pouring it into you.

‘Look at me baby, I bet you talked with him on purpose huh baby? Just to feel my cock? Just to get me riled up into fucking you till you're shaking like a mess under me? Sneaky princess, ’ he coos, reaching up to stroke your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb as he looks at you as if you're the best meal he's had all week.

You can't even muster any words, not when he's fucking you like this, so hard that the bed is practically moving off its hinges and if you tried to speak, all that came out was whimpers and moans. Your eyes are rolled back as you arch your back, feeling him even deeper inside. He then glances down, slowing his pace as he takes one of your hands off his shoulder and places it on your lower abdomen. He looks back up at you with cocky, treacherous eyes, his large hand placed up on yours as he presses down against your belly, resuming his pace fucking you into the mattress. ‘You feel that baby? I’m all the way up there, princess. Pussy is made for me, isn't it?’

You can't contain the whimper that spills out from your throat as he lets you grip his shoulder again. He takes full pride in seeing you quiver and shake under him, cheeks all red and flustered, eyebrows pulled together as your eyes roll back in pleasure. ‘Please, please don't stop baby, fuck’, you beg, needing to feel full of him for as long as possible. You felt him hit the soft spot inside you and let out a hard whimper, crying out his name.

‘Am I gonna make you cum, baby? Are you gonna make a mess around my cock?’ He's kissing your neck now, warm wet lips on your skin as he nips and sucks at your sweet spot.

‘Yes, y-yes! Fuck, Lo, please let me cum.’, you whimper, trying to hold on to him as best as possible as he fucks you exactly how you like.

‘If you can hold out, I'll let you cum the second.’, he says back, voice husky and rough as his forehead gleams with the layer of sweat making him look ethereal, as his painfully handsome face hovers only inches away from yours. You squeeze out a small yes, one of his hands moving in between the two of you. You suddenly become hyper aware of what he's about to do.

Two fingers are placed on your sensitive clit, before he begins rubbing in harsh, sharp circles. ‘Fuck, Logan, I can't last when you, oh fuck’, you moan, nails digging into his bulging biceps as he holds himself up, one arm between your bodies as he continues to make your mind melt into a puddle.

‘Hold it.’ his voice is demanding and serious, eyes looking into yours with such intensity. Your bottom lip is between your teeth as you struggle to hold in your orgasm. ‘That's it, baby, hold it for me, ’ he encourages, taking his hand off and watching you come back down from the edge.

He dips down, taking your breasts in his mouth to keep you preoccupied before he denies you another orgasm. You moan out, hands flying to his dark array of curls. You nearly cry as he takes his mouth off and brings his hand back down between your legs, taking a hold of your clit. ‘Logan, please, I can't-’ He interrupts you with a rough kiss. You can't help but nod as you look at him, cheeks flushed and lips swollen, pupils blown out in a feral state as his heavy body ruts against yours, hips working at an impossibly fast pace.

Even with how rough he's being, you can still feel warm on the inside from the closeness between the two of you. You can feel every muscle flexing underneath his skin, his tummy pressed up against yours and his thighs rubbing up against the outside of your own. Your walls stretch around him, and wetness makes his movement so utterly smooth, coaxing his cock deeper. He wont admit but he has needed you this whole meek. It felt as if it had been ages since he had you under him like this, a quivering mess. He needed to let out some of the anger, and hell, even the fear.

You are the only thing that makes him feel better, nothing else will ever or could ever put him at ease like you do.

‘Logie fuck, please let me cum.’ you were so wet and incoherent, your wetness leaking all over him, making it so slick and easy.

He clenched his jaw, trying to stay focused as the effects of his own pleasure were getting the best of him. You simply have something no one else does, the feeling of you is not only one of a kind, but something he won't ever be able to get enough of.

‘Hold it baby, just a little bit longer.’ and you did, you tried your best to hold it together, your lower abdomen screaming for release, the build up was such a euphoric high, that everything around you felt unreal, especially Logan, until he stopped for the second time. Leaving you with an empty feeling as his pace shifted once again. You whine at the feeling of another edge that he left incomplete.

He slings your legs over his wide shoulders, the new position allowing his cock to hit the bundle of nerves resting deep within you.

‘Oh, yes Loge- fuck.’, you cry out, his massive hands gripping your thighs as he looks down watching himself disappear in you.

‘Look at how beautiful you are baby, can't even stay mad at you, can I?’ he coos, kissing right above your left knee as he fucks you into oblivion. At this point he couldn't even hold up his act.

You feel that burning pressure in your abdomen again, tingling prickling you in your oversensitive areas. You can tell he's close too, just by the way his face pouts, and his cheeks get sucked in. He gets this look in his eyes and starts making some noises which are music to your ears. The sight of him fucking you with such relentlessness and rigour does something to you, you start to unravel, the buildup becoming too much to handle.

‘I cant- please Logie please- please-’ he cuts you off, rubbing up and down your thighs softly, still fucking you at a pace too hot to handle, ‘Come for me, my sweet girl’

And you're completely done for, your legs attempting to clamp together as the blissful feeling washes over you, hitting you so so hard after two denied orgasms, radiating up your spine as your walls convulse around him. Looking at you unraveling under him, he can't hold it in any longer either, not with moans escaping your lips and his name rolling off your tongue in such a sweet way.

He holds you tight as his chest heaves up and down, body stiffening and breath halting for a moment as his hips bucket into you, filling you up.

‘Oh fuck- Oh fuck baby’, he groans his eyes squeezing shut and lips parting with laboured breaths as his voice becomes shaky.

He slowly pulls out of you, leaning down, taking your body into his arms as he lays down on the bed, as soft kisses are pressed to your shoulder and neck.

‘Baby, you okay? Was that too much?’ he coos in your ear as you pull up to reality, your face cupped in his hands.

‘I'm okay Logie, just a little spent.’ you nuzzle your face in his neck, taking in his warmth.

‘I missed you so much,’ he whispered as his fingers intertwined with yours.

‘I saw him making you laugh,’ he admitted. ‘And I realized something.’

‘What?’

‘I would rather fight with you for the rest of my life than spend another day pretending I don't love you.’

You looked down at your joined hands and then looked back up at him, ‘You don't get to fix this overnight. I'm still very mad at you y’know’

‘I know, you should be.’

‘No disappearing, No deciding what's best for me without talking to me.’

‘Never again baby.’

Outside, the party carried on.

Inside, neither of you cared.