garrett graham's mouth thing

brooklyn | USA | 30 reading off campus fics quickly, writing them slowly

[dos-bit]

Masterlist

**As of late July, I have multiple fics half-finished, lol -- I hope to finish and post them soon! I'm also planning to do Flufftober as best I can (for Garrett/Logan, mostly). I've had other Tumblr blogs over the years and have posted many other fics for other fandoms, but this is my first time writing for Off Campus (haven't read the books but obsessed with the series) and it's been so much fun. Stay tuned!

Off Campus

Garrett Graham

Did It Work? (smut)

Garrett Graham x endometriosis!reader (in progress)

Garrett Graham x migraine!reader (in progress)

John Logan

John Logan x depression!reader

John Logan x graham!sister

[rafessecret]

What about step!bro!rafes friends talking about his step!sister in a very explicit way and step!sister walks in and step!bro rafe makes her sit on his lap and has his hand moving very high up on her thigh and his friends are just watching

⋆˚࿔ step¡sister reader && rafe cameron

SAY GOODNIGHT TO MY FRIENDS.

The air in the room was thick with cologne, whisky, and something else—something darker. The low murmur of voices, the occasional clink of ice against glass, the lazy sound of Rafe chuckling under his breath—it all blended together into a space that felt hazy, heavy, dangerous. 

Topper let out a low breath, shaking his head, his voice tinged with something between disbelief and fascination. ❝Man, it’s fucked. You’re fucked. Your own stepsister? And she just—what? Let's you? ❞

Kelce scoffed, shifting uncomfortably, but his eyes gleamed with something dark. ❝Let’s be real. She isn’t just letting him. You’ve seen her, man. She’s built for it. All soft and sweet, prancing around the house in those little skirts, acting like she doesn’t have a clue. Like she isn’t begging ’for it. ❞ He let out a slow chuckle, shaking his head. ❝Swear to God, Rafe, she’s the kind of girl that doesn’t even need to know what she’s doing to drive a man insane.❞

Rafe just grinned, stretching out lazily, like he hadn’t already thought about this a thousand times over. ❝She doesn’t even realise,❞ he murmured, tilting his head like he was indulging in a fond memory. ❝Doesn’t get why I always want to touch her, always want to spread those pretty thighs open. Have you ever seen a girl cry when she comes? Fuckin’ sob for it? She gets all wet and shaky, like she can’t handle it, but then she’s grinding down, chasing it. ❞ He exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. ❝Shit, man. You should hear the noises she makes when I stuff her full. Little gasps, like she’s struggling to take it—like she knows she shouldn’t.❞

Kelce cursed under his breath, shifting where he sat. ❝Fuck, bro. What’s she like when you really wreck her? ❞

Rafe smirked, biting his lip, eyes dark with something possessive. ❝You ever fuck a girl so dumb she can’t even speak? Just little whimpers, eyes all glossy, like she’s ruined for anything else? ❞ His fingers tapped lazily against his thigh. ❝She sucks my fingers just to keep quiet. Like she knows she shouldn’t be moaning my name like that. Fuckin’ clampsaround me like she’s trying to keep me inside. ❞ He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. ❝And the way she looks afterwards? All fucked out, all mine? Man, I don’t even think she gets how dirty she is. ❞

You hadn’t been paying attention at first, padding barefoot through the hallway, the sleeves of Rafe’s old t-shirt hanging long past your wrists, your body warm from sleep. You just wanted to find him. You hadn’t even thought about whether he’d have company, not when he’d spent all of dinner teasing you under the table, slipping his hand onto your thigh just to watch you squirm. But then, just before you pushed open the door, you heard them.

❝—so fuckin’ tight, huh?❞ Kelce laughs, voice dripping with disbelief.

❝Nah, man, you don’t get it.❞ Rafe’s voice was low and drawling, each word rolling slow and smug from his lips. ❝She cries when I put it in. Every single time. Like a good girl.❞

You froze.

Kelce made a strained noise, somewhere between disbelief and something much filthier, and Rafe only chuckled. ❝Yeah, yeah, I know. I thought it was fucked up at first too, but she’s just so sweet about it, man. Always getting all wet just from me playing with her. Can’t help myself. ❞

Your stomach plummeted. A silence stretched. Heavy. Loaded. Like they didn’t quite know what to say, like maybe they should speak up, but maybe they didn’t want to.

And then Topper, voice rough and barely there, muttered, ❝You’re saying she lets you do whatever you want?❞

Rafe scoffed. Amused. ❝Let me? Bro, she fucking needs it. I get her worked up, and she’s a mess. It’s adorable. She looks so guilty about it too, but the second I start touching her, she’s mine. I swear, I could get her to do anything.❞

Heat rushed to your face, humiliation prickling in your chest. They were talking about you, talking about what Rafe did to you, laughing about it like it was some kind of joke. But before you could run, before you could even process it, Rafe’s head turned toward the doorway. He saw you.

And he smirked.

❝Speak of the fuckin’ devil,❞ he drawled, and just like that, three pairs of eyes snapped toward you.

For a second, everything was silent. You felt it, the way their gazes drifted, the way they took you in—bare legs, soft thighs, the hem of Rafe’s t-shirt barely skimming the tops of your panties. The way your skin still had that post-sleep glow, a little too flushed, a little too warm, a little too wrecked from how Rafe had kept you up last night.

Kelce was the first to swallow hard, like he had to physically force himself to hold his tongue. Topper shifted, jaw clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek, but he didn’t look away.

Rafe, lounging back with a whisky in his hand like he owned the room, crooned, ❝C’mere, baby.❞ And before you could think, before you could process what a terrible fucking idea it was, you obeyed.

Rafe pulled you straight onto his lap the second you got close, arms winding around your waist, possessive, like he was staking his claim. You went rigid, barely breathing, hyperaware of the way his friends were still watching—watching his hands drift beneath the hem of your borrowed shirt, watching the way he spread his thighs beneath you, making sure you were settled perfectly between them.

Kelce swore under his breath, and Rafe chuckled, gaze flicking between his friends. ❝What? Thought I was making it up? ❞ You squirmed, breath hitching as Rafe’s fingers dragged higher, too high, teasing the band of your panties.

Topper exhaled sharply, the kind of sound someone makes when they know they should look away but can’t. Kelce wasn’t even pretending not to stare anymore, his fingers curling into his knee like he was holding back something filthy.

Rafe’s hand flexed over your thigh. ❝You shy, baby? You weren’t shy last night.❞ Heat rushed through you, mortification curling hot and heavy in your gut. Your lips trembled, but Rafe tilted your chin up, forcing you to look at him. ❝Don’t you, baby?❞

You swallowed, and when Rafe raised a brow, you nodded. Topper cursed, running a hand through his hair, but he still didn’t look away. Kelce had his hand over his mouth now, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, like he wasn’t sure if he was jealous of Rafe or of you.

And then, slowly, deliberately, Rafe kissed you. Not soft. Not innocent. Not like a brother should kiss his sweet little stepsister.

He devoured you, lips sliding over yours with an obscene amount of hunger, tongue pushing into your mouth, tasting you, making sure his friends saw exactly how you melted for him, how you didn’t even try to resist. Kelce shifted, jaw tight. Topper exhaled sharply, almost like he was in pain.

And Rafe?

Rafe just grinned against your mouth, breaking the kiss with a lazy, smug, victorious smirk. ❝Yeah, I think they get it now.❞ His fingers skimmed between your thighs, teasing.

❝Go on, baby. Say goodnight to my friends.❞ Your voice barely came out. ❝…Goodnight.❞

Kelce cleared his throat.

Topper finally stood. Rafe just chuckled, already dragging his fingers beneath your panties, whispering, ❝That’s my girl. Letting me show you off like that. ❞

Then the door slammed, leaving you alone with him. And before you could catch your breath, he was already ruining you again.

── ⋆ 𝐲𝐚𝐩 : ohhh, anon, you filthy thing thank you for this idea—i had way too much fun with it! sorry it got a little long, but you know i had to do it justice 😌 rafe is such a smug, possessive perv, and you?? you’re just his sweet little thing, letting him have his way.

── ⋆ 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔 : @scne-vampire

©RAFESSECRET ⋆˚࿔ est. 2025

[rafescherie]

✮⋆˙ becoming super needy and clingy during ovulation with rafe.

warnings — 18+. MDNI. cunnilingus (f. oral receiving), mentions of ovulation + being extremely 'needy', fingering, overstimulation.

cherie's note — ily c:

you'd been following him around the house like a shadow all afternoon — fingers brushing over his lap, soft whines slipping past your lips, pressing your body up against him at every opportunity. he hadn't said anything about it at first, just watched you with that curious little tilt of his head, that crooked grin plastered across his face. but after the third time you wrapped your arms around him from behind, nuzzling your cheek into the firm muscle of his back like a clingy little kitten, he couldn't find it in himself to ignore it anymore.

there was something wrong — seriously, wrong.

"baby," he muttered, blinking down at you. "what the fuck's going on with you?"

you shrugged, cheeks hot. you couldn't explain it — you just needed. every nerve in your body felt like it was under your skin and screaming for his. you rubbed your thighs together unconsciously, letting out soft whines and frustrated sighs.

you were too warm. too tight. too empty.

so you climbed into his lap without a word, straddling him like you were supposed to be there — like your entire body was aching for the drag of his cock against your cunt and you couldn't stand another second without it. you ground against the bulge in his sweats with a breathy, helpless moan.

you blinked down at him, pupils blown wide, lips wet from where you'd been biting them. "what do you mean?" you asked, like your aching cunt wasn't already soaking through your sleep shorts.

"you've been acting weird all day," he said, trying — failing — not to look down at where your tank top had slipped off your shoulder, showing the swell of your chest. he tried his best to ignore the way your nipples seemed to pebble under the fabric the further his hands moved against your hips, reacting dangerously to his touch. "horny as fuck. all over me."

you just blinked again, lips parting slightly, then leaned in close and dragged your tongue up the side of his throat like you were trying to mark him.

"you smell so good," you whispered, voice shaky. "i can't help it…"

he jerked back slightly, brows drawn tight. "okay, what?"

but you didn't answer. your mouth was already moving again — lips brushing his neck, teeth dragging down to his collarbone. you rolled your hips into him again, slow and filthy, a broken little moan slipping out as the pressure caught your swollen clit just right.

"i've been aching all fucking day, rafe." you breathed. "i can't stop thinking about your fingers in me. your tongue. i need it — i need you so bad."

his whole body went still, cock hardening instantly under you.

"jesus christ," he muttered, half-stunned, half-turned on. "you've been walking around the house like a cockdrunk little slut all day, and this is why?"

"feel how warm i am, baby," you whined, taking his hand and dragging it between your trembling legs. you pressed his palm against your soaked pussy, the thin fabric clinging to your folds. "i'm so fucking wet for you. i'd let you fuck me raw right now — i don't even care."

something in him snapped.

"you wanna act like a bitch in heat?" he challenged, rough hands dragging your shorts down your thighs. "i'll treat you like one"

you whimpered as the fabric peeled away from your soaked core, the cool air hitting your slick skin and making you tremble. his gaze dropped immediately — the mess you had made of yourself only inches from his wet mouth.

he yanked down your panties without warning, the fabric stuck between your folds, clinging from how wet you were, and he groaned as he pulled them off.

"jesus, baby," he laughed teasingly. you couldn't help it — your hips rocked up toward him, needy and instinctive, your plush thighs falling open wide like your body was begging to be used. your cunt was glistening, flushed and swollen, twitching under his stare. "you're dripping."

you were already so fucking close.

rafe's hands slid under your thighs, fingers curling in a firm, possessive grip as he dragged you to the edge of the couch. he didn't say anything at first — just stared.

"gonna ruin you," he muttered.

rafe buried his face between your soft thighs. he didn't start gentle. didn't tease. just buried his tongue between your slick folds and licked like he'd been starving for it — long, slow drags that sent jolts of heat down your spine, your body jerking in response. arousal dripped from you, messy and obscene, and he groaned into your cunt like he loved it.

and the sounds — oh god, the sounds were disgusting. wet and obscene, the kind of sucking and slurping that made your face go hot with shame, even as your body arched up into him.

your thighs twitched around his head, but he didn't let up — shoved them open wider and held them there like a punishment, tongue circling your clit in slow, cruel strokes.

and then his fingers — two of them — slipped inside of your soaked hole, and you whined.

"god, rafe—! please—"

"this what you wanted?" he rasped, voice muffled between your thighs. "walkin' around the house actin' like a needy little fuckdoll? you want me to stuff you full, baby? fill up this messy little cunt?"

you nodded frantically, face flushed, tears threatening behind your lashes. "y-yeah — fuck! please—"

he grinned against you.

"cum for me, sweet girl."

he didn't give you a choice. his mouth sealed over your clit, tongue lashing fast and precise while his fingers fucked into you deep and hard, curling just right, just right—

the sound of your moans bounce off all four walls, body shaking, thighs clamping tight around his head as you gushed around his fingers. your head dropped back, mouth falling open in a silent sob, whole body locking up as you rode it out.

and still, he didn't stop.

"rafe—rafe—too much!"

he growled into your cunt, "you said you didn't care, remember? begged me to fuck you raw. don't act shy now."

your second orgasm hit before the first had even finished — more intense, more desperate, blinding — your slick dripping down to the cushion below you, your body convulsing as each of your limbs twitched.

"gonna give you one more," he murmured against your clit, voice wrecked. "just one. want you cryin' when i finally fuck you."

[rafescherie]

✮⋆˙ . bsf!rafe keeps 'accidentally' slipping inside after promising to just rub against you.

warnings — 18+ MDNI. bestfriend!reader x bsf!rafe pairing. name is self explanatory. manipulative tone & fake apologies.

cherie’s note — loosely based on this p!link.

your knees are bent, thighs open for him, trembling slightly from how real this feels — arms curled near your chest, lip caught anxiously between your teeth, breathing too fast for someone who's supposedly not having sex.

things had always been… complicated with you and rafe. secrets whispered in the dark, your body tucked into his bed more often than your own. he’d even taught you how to kiss — unforgivable, in hindsight. because now, whatever this was… it felt like the point of no return.

rafe kneels between your legs, stroking himself in slow, lazy pulls. deliberately. "just relax," he murmurs, voice low like he's talking you through something innocent. like this was something every best friend did — and you could definitely be convinced of such when it was him doing the talking. "i'm not gonna put it in. i told you."

he presses the head against your slit, sliding it up your folds, gathering the wetness along the underside of his throbbing cock. the squelch that bounces off the walls is unmistakable, a clear indicator of just how much you wanted this, despite the way your pulse raced. you jump at the first pass and he smiles — quick, hidden, gone before you even get the chance to look at him.

"how're you this worked up already?" he teases under his breath, more to himself than to you. "barely even touching you."

you squirm underneath him, embarrassed. "you're... rubbing on me..."

"mhm." he drags the swollen head down again, circling your entrance with soft precision — though his mind is anything but soft. not with you, sprawled out beneath him, eyes wide like a prey caught in a trap. his trap.

you gasp, a soft sound that shoots up his spine — and that's when he lets the tip catch you. not fully. just enough to make your body pull him in that tiny, helpless way you can't control. the thick head of his cock breaches the tightness of your cunt, and your thighs tremble slightly from the pressure.

"sorry," he breaths, pretending to pull back. "didn't mean— you're so warm, and wet. hard to aim."

you believe him immediately, like you always do, nodding. your cheeks burn, "it's okay. just... just be careful."

"i am," he promises, thumb stroking the soft skin of your knee. "i got you."

except he keeps doing it. that same slow glide, catching on you again, the head pushing just barely inside before he rocks back like it's truly accidental. each time, you make this soft, strangled sound that goes straight to his cock.

"you okay?" he murmurs.

you nod quickly, swallowing away at the nerves. "it just feels... weird."

"good weird?"

you nod again — and the way you do it, wide-eyed and trusting, makes him exhale shakily.

he strokes himself harder, a little faster, hips following the rhythm. the spongy tip of his cock keeps bumping and sliding against your slit with every pass, the feeling so dizzying you swear you could see stars. your slick coats his hand, helping the slick grip glide effortlessly against himself — makes everything sloppy and hot and impossible for him to 'aim'.

rafe swears he can lose himself in the sight of you alone. swears he'd give anything to see this everyday — you, eyes glassy and blinking slow, completely fucked-out and trembling under his guidance. so vulnerable. so trusting. pliant, too — keeping your thighs perched open enough to allow him the space he demands, without having to be asked.

you force a tiny breath out, shaky and full of shame, and he rewards you by rolling the head down again. and this time, when it catches, it sinks just a little deeper than before. enough to make your eyes fly fully open. enough to make your hips lift before you can stop yourself, telling him everything he needs to know.

he freezes. not really. just enough to pretend he's surprised.

"shit," he mutters, voice going hoarse. "that—that was deeper than i meant. m'sorry, baby."

and despite his apology, he stays there a beat too long — buried millimeters inside of your warm heat, throbbing. he pulls out slowly, letting a slick string stretch between where he’d previously pushed inside of you.

your heart jumps into your throat, "it's okay, ray," you whisper quickly, like you don't want him to feel bad. "was just an accident, right?"

cherie's taglist ₊˚⊹♡ — @sexybr9nette, @fawnfate, @bonjourjiminie, @bunniecouture, @kaydennnn, @rafessbaby, @girldisrupted, @vunhun, @mattyskies, @rafestoothbrush, @harrrrystylesslut, @grstarkeydrew, @loverliner, @skankhvnt42, @bloodybloodyvalentine, @rafesbambiangel, @berryblunts, @julicameron, @alikarma, @nomss.

[rosiecherie]

rafe loves overstimulating you!

you woke up as he kissed you, soft at first, almost sweet. but his hand was already sliding down your body, his rough fingers slipping between your thighs before you were fully awake. you made a sleepy sound, trying to cuddle into him, and that's when you felt it, the cold press of silicone against your clit.

"rafe?" your voice came out confused.

"shhh baby," he murmured against your neck, clicking the vibrator on low. "just let me."

you moaned before you could help it, your body responding to the sudden pleasure. he pushed inside you slow, filling you up while the toy buzzed against your sensitive and swollen clit. it felt good, too good, and you were already clenching around him. "fuck, rafe, that's—"

"i know, honey." he cut you off with a kiss, starting to move inside you. "that's the point." the pleasure built fast. too fast. your hands gripped his shoulders as your back arched, and you came with a broken cry, your walls fluttering around his cock. but he didn't stop. he kept fucking you, kept the vibrator pressed right where you needed it least.

"wait, wait—" you gasped, trying to push his hand away. "it's too much, rafey."

"no it's not." he pinned your wrist above your head, his pace never slowing. "you can take it."

your second orgasm crashed built inside you before the first had fully faded. tears slipped down your cheeks as you shook beneath him, a loud moan came out of you. he watched you fall apart, his eyes dark and hungry, and he didn't let up. "r-rafe, seriously please, i can't—"

"you're gonna." he pressed harder with the vibrator, fucking you deeper. "you're gonna keep coming for me until i say stop."

your pussy was soaked, making wet squelching sounds with every thrust. you were already overwhelmed, oversensitive, and he was right, he made you come again, a third time, your body jerking through it as a sob broke from your lips.

"good girl." but he didn't even slow down. his hips kept slapping against yours, the vibrator never leaving your clit. you were shaking so hard you could barely breathe, every nerve inside of you on fire.

"please, rafe, please stop, i can't, i can't do another one" you begged, your voice cracking. tears were streaming down your face now, and you tried to move away, but his weight pinned you down. "yes, yes you can, baby." his voice was low, almost gentle, but his eyes were cold. "you're doing so good for me. just one more. give me one more."

"no, no, please" you sobbed, but your body betrayed you. the fourth orgasm ripped through you again, violent and uncontrollable. you screamed into his shoulder, your nails digging into his back as you shook around his cock. "that's it." he groaned, fucking you through it. "that's my girl."

you were a total mess. soaked, shaking, crying. every muscle in your body was tense, and the vibrator felt like fire against your clit. but he still didn't stop. he turned the toy up a notch. "rafe, no! i swear i can't—" you barely choked out, trying to clamp your thighs shut. he forced them open with his knees.

"you can and you will." he thrust harder, faster. "you're gonna come on my cock until i'm satisfied." the fifth one came without any warning, a sharp and painful surge of pleasure that made your vision go white. you couldn't even scream anymore, just a broken whimper as your body tensed up, pussy clenching so tight it almost hurt him. rafe groaned, pace finally faltering.

"fuckkk, there you go." he pressed down on the vibrator, grinding it against you as he came inside you, hot and thick. you felt every pulse of his release, your oversensitive cunt milking him dry.

when he finally pulled out and turned off the toy, you were limp, gasping, tears still wet on your cheeks. he kissed your forehead, soft and possessive. he smiled down at you, a perfect mess, all wrecked just for him. "see, baby? you can take it."

~~~

check out my masterlist here!

[glossiercheek]

logan makes you comfortable for your first time . ♡

warnings: 18+ (mdni), there's no smut, but there are allusions to it, inexperienced!reader, playful, fluffy banter + obvi inspired by hannah and garrett :)

you're currently sat up on the bed, the jittery feeling of what's about to happen coursing through your veins, pooling in the pit of your stomach. your knees are bent and just a tiny bit spread, as logan stares at you.

you've already taken off your jeans; they're reduced to a lifeless heap of denim on logan's bedroom floor. next to your jeans lays logan's tee he insisted on taking off so that you wouldn't feel like you were the only one undressing.

"are you cold? should i turn the heater on?" he asks calmly, softly raking his nose along your calf. oh my god. he's so close to you- so, so so, so close. "no." your voice comes out tiny, but still sure, still certain.

"no?" logan repeats, his eyes flicking up to you.

"you're warm? you're good?" he slowly caresses your calves with both hands, thumbs rubbing over your kneecaps. his fingers are calloused, but still so safe, staunch, almost. like he's got you.

then, so light and soft you almost don't notice it, logan presses a kiss to your knee. the echo of his lips on your skin sounds so delicious. you feel the sparks building, the tension that has been palpable the moment your heated kiss transitioned into taking off your clothes.

"that okay, baby?" logan asks, his big eyes again peering up at you for your consent. you suck in a deep breath. "yes— yes, it's really good," you whisper with eager nods of your head.

and your body language is telling. logan had his fill of women in his bedroom, but with you it's different. he can see your tense shoulders, your fast breathing. the way you bite your lip at the fact you don't know what's coming.

that's the reason why he sits up, his hands coming up to rest on your shoulders. "hey- hey- easy, baby," he says, laughing gently in that lighthearted way. he drags his hands over your shoulders with weight, as if washing the tension off of you. "you're juuuust okay, right? you're the boss now, okay?"

he continues palming your shoulders, and a part of you thinks it really works. he really drags the stress, the anxious feelings away, only leaving behind a filter of comfort, of warmth. of knowing you're here, with the right person for you.

"you comfortable enough?" he questions then, reaching behind you to fluff up one of his pillows, placing a slow kiss to your forehead when he's close enough to your face. readjusting your oversized tee over your shoulders. and when you nod your head yes, he smiles. a little dopey.

"you gonna let me know if you aren't?" logan says pointedly, holding your chin between two fingers. you sigh out, "i will, loge. can you just-" you push his head down a little, not all the way between your thighs, but just enough for logan to get the hint. "get back to it-" you admit breathily, shyly smiling down at him.

"yes, ma'am," logan drags himself down, back to his spot between your legs. you flex your thighs open a bit more. "i'll just be here then." he presses another wet kiss to your other knee. a quick one to the side of your thigh. his thick brown hair tickles your skin as logan massages your legs while he prods his nose into your skin. he's holding your legs open with deliberate power, but light enough for you to close your legs if you wanted to.

the closer he gets to your pussy, the wetter you get. your hands clench around his sheets, all awkward and crampy. at this point, logan's halfway between your knees and pussy, already able to smell your arousal.

"logan- john, wha- what should— where do i put my hands?"

logan pulls his face from between your legs, looks up at you with his full attention. your jaw is slack, your hair a little messy from all the writhing you're doing against his pillow.

"you can put them here-" he takes your hands, puts them on his head, feeling the soft of his hair on your fingertips. "or here," he moves down more, your hands resting on the back of his head.

it is then, you realise that logan does it all for you. he takes it slow for you. you want to do something in return. "what do you like?"

"whatever you like, baby." logan shrugs, a crooked grin on his face.

eventually your hands settle on the back of his head, logan's head lowering between your thighs again. this time, he's closer to where you need him the most. you can already feel your pussy quivering under the thin cotton of your panties, a wet patch blossoming on the gusset.

still, logan keeps kissing your very inner thighs, occasionally pinching your skin between his teeth which makes you moan lowly. and you just can't take it anymore. truly. he's driving you crazy. you're not sure if this is the teasing they talk about in the bedroom, but you truly feel yourself going insane.

"logan- why aren't you-"

the brunet huffs lowly against your covered pussy.

"i'm not gonna take them off unless you ask for them to come off," he simply says without looking up, now blatantly ignoring your pussy, pushing up your tee instead to pepper kisses over your stomach. "you decide when what happens, baby."

"don't tease, john," you whine, tugging on the thick brown locks between your fingers out of desperation and slight frustration. you're frustrated because he's so respectful. everything accustomed to your tempo, your wants and comfort.

as if logan's sole job is to please you. the sudden tug on his hair makes him grunt, tongue rolling against the skin of your stomach. "that's good- keep doin' that."

your entrance clenches around nothing, and you draw the line there. "can you take them off, please, john?" just the feeling of his warm breath between your thighs turns you on.

logan releases a warm chuckle. he places one last, chaste kiss on your abdomen before hooking his thumbs under the elastic string of your underwear.

"see, baby?" he smiles, "that wasn't so hard..."

a/n: the logan bedtime fic is almost done, just finishing up the last paragraph </3

[glossiercheek]

john logan wants to know you’re completely his ♡

warnings: 18+ (mdni) + the jersey stays on + jewelry with initials

a/n: a little thing before i work on fluffier stuff!

logan likes it when you make it known you’re his in small ways.

this results in the fact that his jersey stays on. stays on you, specifically, when you’re sprawled out underneath him, eyelashes fluttering coyly because you were all proud and satisfied as you waited for logan to get home. there you were, sitting on his bed in nothing but his deep blue jersey.

he wasted no time in manhandling you on your hands and knees.

“fuck, look at you,” logan now croons from above you. well, not like you can see him. you’re currently pressed down into his soft bed, the rough material of his hockey jersey loosely hanging over your figure.

his own name stares back at him in bold, white letters, but with your hair sprawled over your shoulders, your cute heart-shaped ass jutting out from under, shiny slick coating your inner thighs.

“my girl with my name on her back.” logan continues, his eyes low and voice slow, but still with a small grin on his face. his heavy hand presses down your lower back, making you curve your back into a deeper arch.

“‘m proud of you for knowin’, gorgeous,” he mumbles, nosing the side of your neck from behind. “for knowing you’re my baby.”

or when logan pushes your legs over his shoulders as he feeds you fast, long strokes of his cock. the anklet with the “J” and “L” charms clinking right next to his ear.

your latest addition— you just had to surprise your boyfriend with it. and logan being logan, couldn’t keep his hands to himself.

mixed with the sounds of your pretty moans, logan swears he’s in warm paradise. “know i’m big, honey— know you can take it,” he coos, a hint of reassurance evident in his deep voice. he presses a chaste kiss to your anklet-covered ankle. “such a good, competent girl for johnny.”

he delivers one sharp, hard thrust, your pussy squelching, sucking him further into your narrow tunnel. “prettiest girl on the planet.” he says profoundly, his gaze warm and sweet like a treacle as he watches you take him with glassy eyes and puffy lips.

it’s also the way he loves fucking up into you from under, loving to see the thick tip of his dick move under the thin skin of your belly. his flannel is wrapped around your naked frame, your tits lightly bouncing as you swirl your hips down his cock.

“y’love being mine, huh?” logan teases slightly as he slides his large hands over the curve of your hip. he pulls you closer to his face by your necklace, adorned with a dainty charm of his ‘69 camaro, a subtle hint you’re logan’s. “‘m aaall over you.”

you continue to push yourself further down his soppy dick, whining and nodding. “yes—” you whimper, placing your hands on top of his own on your hips, “i’m yours— i’m yours.”

“yes, you are,” logan takes over, guiding you up and down as you feel your climax milk out of you. small tears from pleasure well up in your eyes, your legs all tingly and soft as you ride out your orgasm.

“that was a big one, huh, baby? did s’good for me.”

[rosiecherie]

𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔’𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐊...

𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐡𝐚𝐦, 𝐣𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧, 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐝𝐢 𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐬, & 𝐣𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐭𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫

GARRETT GRAHAM...

garrett knows you're getting sick before you do. it starts when the two of you are sitting in the library, supposedly studying for your biology exam. he's trying, he really is, but every couple of minutes his eyes drift away from his notes and back to you.

normally you're the one reminding him to focus. today, though, you've barely said a word.

your chin is resting in your palm as you stare unfocused at your textbook, blinking a little slower than usual. every few minutes you quietly sniffle, rubbing your nose with the sleeve of your sweatshirt before apologizing under your breath.

garrett watches you for another minute before reaching across the table and laying the back of his hand against your forehead.

you blink up at him. "what are you doing?" his brows furrow. "checking to see if you're dying."

you let out the smallest laugh, rolling your eyes. "i'm not dying, silly."

"you look like you could fall asleep face first into your textbook."

"i'm just tired." he studies your face for another second. there are faint bags beneath your eyes, and your usual bright smile is nowhere to be found.

he sighs softly before closing both of your textbooks. "garrett.."

"nope." he's already standing, shoving everything into his backpack. "we're leaving."

"i have to study," you protest. you really did. otherwise your whole schedule would be thrown off and it would mess you up.

"and you're gonna study better after you've slept for twelve hours." you cross your arms. "you're so bossy."

he flashes you one of those effortless smiles that always makes it impossible to stay annoyed. "only because i reallyyy like you."

~

by the time you get back to your apartment, he's practically taken over. he's opening cupboards looking for soup, muttering to himself when he can't find any, before grabbing his keys.

"where are you going, baby?" he looks your way once before grabbing putting on his shows. "grocery store."

"garrett, you don't have to—"

"baby." he walks back over, gently cupping your face between both hands. his thumbs brush softly over your warm cheeks as his smile turns into something much gentler. "let me take care of you. the way you always take care of me." the way he says it makes your heart flutter. not even because he's trying to be dramatic. because he genuinely means it.

~

about a half hour later, he's back with two grocery bags balanced in one arm and a paper bag from your favorite bakery tucked beneath the other.

"they had those chocolate muffins you like." you smile sleepily from beneath the blanket. "i'm so sick."

he smiles sarcastically replying, "oh yeah, i know." you roll your eyes playfully at him. he starts unpacking everything onto the counter. "you being sick doesn't mean you stop liking blueberry muffins."

while the soup sits on the stove, he quietly moves around your apartment cleaning little things without saying a word. he folds the blanket you'd left crumpled over the arm of the couch. waters the tiny plant on your windowsill because he'd noticed the soil looked dry. when you ask what he's doing, he simply shrugs.

“nothing baby. go to bed, please.”

~

later that evening, the two of you are curled up on the couch watching some terrible reality show he'd insisted would make you laugh. every few minutes he glances away from the tv to check on you. "you warm baby?."

you nod, leaning into him more if possible. "want another blanket?"

"garrett.." you say with no intention, staring up at him quietly.

"yeah?" he asks while playing with a strand of your hair. "i already have three." he grins, trying not to laugh. "could make it four."

you can't even force yourself to laugh. "you're so ridiculous." his eyes light up immediately. "there she is."

you tilt your head. "what?"

"that's the first real emotion i've gotten out of you all day." he smiles to himself like he's just won the lottery, even though to him you mean more. "worth it."

~

at some point your head slowly droops onto his shoulder. he smiles down at you. god, you looked so adorable even when you were sick. his eyes soften as he continues glancing at you, watching your eyelids grow heavier with every passing second.

without saying anything, he carefully shifts so you're lying more comfortably against him before reaching for the blanket pooled at your feet and pulling it up around your shoulders.

his fingers brush through your hair. slow and gentle, the way he was only with you. you sigh quietly in your sleep, snuggling a little closer.

garrett's smile only grows. "comfortable?" he whispers. you don't answer, instead, your hand finds his without even waking up, your fingers lazily curling around his.

his heart feels like its gonna explode. he looks down at your intertwined hands and lets out the smallest, most lovesick laugh. he murmurs mostly to himself. "i'm definitely not going anywhere."

JOHN LOGAN...

john logan realizes something is wrong the second you pick up the phone. it’s not even what you say. it’s how quiet everything is around you.

normally, when he calls, there’s chaos in the background, some sort of music too loud, you laughing at something stupid, maybe complaining about your project parter or even telling him about your day before he’s even finished saying hello.

today, there’s just some sort of stillness, almost like a long pause. then he hears your voice, a little rough. “hey.”

logan sits up straighter immediately, phone pressed closer to his ear. “hey, baby. you okay? is everything good?”

another pause that’s way too long for you. “yeah..” he doesn’t buy it for a second. he’s already grabbing his hoodie and his shoes. “that answer sounded like it came from a dying cricket.”

on the other end, you almost let out a laugh, but not quite. “i’m fine. all good.” but john knew you better. “yeah, sure baby.”

he’s already at his door now, keys in hand. “how long you been sick?”

you hesitate again. that tells him everything. “don’t lie to me, sweetheart.” you let out a small sigh at his worried voice. “since like yesterday.”

logan closes his eyes for a second like he expected it and still doesn’t like it. “why didn’t you just tell me?”

“cause it’s literally not that bad, like at all.” you try to insist.

“you’re calling me sounding like that and saying it’s not that bad?”

there’s a soft shuffle on your end, like you’re curling up deeper into your blankets. “i- i just didn’t want to bother you, i guess.”

that makes him pause a little. then his voice slightly drops. “you could literally call me any time, while i’m doing quite literally anything and i would still show up”

you already knew he would. “logan.”

“what?” he says, like it’s obvious. “i’m coming over.”

you should’ve never admitted to being sick, you knew he would do this. drop whatever he’s doing just to take care of you. “please, no. you don’t have to!”

“yeah, i do.” he shuts the door behind him already heading out.

“stay where you are. don’t move. don’t suddenly try to act like you’re okay. i’m five minutes away.”

a tiny, tired laugh slips through your voice. “you’re dramatic.”

“yeah, yeah. love you too. see you soon.” and he hangs up before you can argue.

~

when he gets there, he doesn’t even wait for a proper invitation.

he knocks once, then unlocks the door how he has a thousand times before. you’re on the couch immediately in his line of sight.

the hoodie of his you have on is way too big, blanket wrapped around you like a burrito, your hair messy but somehow still perfect, and your cheeks and nose look a little rosier.

logan just stops for a second, taking in the sight of what he should’ve been taking care of. “jesus.” you stare at him nervously. “hi.”

he crosses the room in two steps and presses the back of his hand to your forehead. “you’re burning up.” you touch his hand for reassurance. “i told you i was fine.”

“you’re literally microwaving yourself.” you try to glare but it comes out weak and unfocused, which only makes him sigh harder. he kisses your forehead while thinking about his next steps.

“okay. couch stay is over.”

“logan..”

he’s already gently pulling the blanket tighter around you.

“nope. bed, hydration, soup, and i’m in charge.”

you smile at him trying to act tough. “since when?”

“since you got sick and decided to hide it like it’s a secret that i can’t be aware of.”

you try to protest again, but he just leans down slightly, softer now. “come on. i’ve got you, honey.”

~

your bed is instantly taken over. not even in a messy way, john is weirdly efficient. he fixes your pillows first, stacking them so you can actually breathe comfortably. he tucks your blanket in properly like you’re about to survive winter in a cabin. then he disappears into your kitchen without asking again. you hear cabinets opening. then closing.

then he mutters “why do you always buy sad crackers?”

from the bedroom, you mumble, “they’re not sad.”

you hear him open the fridge. you hear him moving around again, and despite the state you’re currently in, you relax a little deeper into the mattress.

~

when he comes back, he’s carrying a mug of tea and a bowl of soup that smells like it actually came from someone who cares about you. because it quite literally did. he sets it carefully on your nightstand carefully.

then he sits on the edge of your bed, elbow resting on his knee as he looks at you. “sit up a little.”

you groan. “i can’t move.”

“yes you can, miss dramatic.” he helps you anyway, slow and careful, like he’s scared to break you.

once you’re settled and sitting up, he hands you the mug first. “sip.” you do, actually enjoying the way the hot tea hits the back of your throat. it feels like its killing the soreness.

he watches like it’s his job.

“that’s…acceptable, i guess.” he decides.

you squint at him. “are you grading me on how i drink tea?”

he smiles at you. “absolutely.” he places a kiss to your hand, taking the tea and placing it on the nightstand beside you.

you manage a small laugh, and his entire face changes, like that was the goal the whole time.

you look down at your blanket instead of answering right away. logan shifts a little closer. “hey,” he says again, gentler. you glance up your eyes glossy from rubbing them.

his voice drops a little. “you don’t have to pretend you’re okay with me. ever.” something in your chest tightens at that.

“i just hate being sick so much,” you admit quietly.

“yeah,” he nods immediately. “me too, it’s annoying. and unfair, but i’m always here to get you through it.”

~

after you eat a little and drink most of the tea, you lie back down. logan stays sitting there, he doesn’t move, doesn’t leave. you watch him through half opened eyes. “you don’t have to stay the whole time,” you mumble.

he raises a brow. “who said i’m staying the whole time?”

you frown slightly. he leans back in the chair a bit, like he’s settling in. “of course i’m staying the whole time,” he corrects.

your eyes soften. “you didn’t have to come over either.”

“yeah,” he says simply. “i did. you’re my baby, i’m always gonna take care of you.” he reaches over, brushing your hair away from your forehead again, slower this time, planting a kiss on the corner of your mouth.

“you feel so warm, honey,” he murmurs.

you smile at him “you already said that a dozen times.”

“i’m saying it again.” you roll your eyes weakly. he could he so corny sometimes. he smiles. “ did you sleep, okay?”

“why? are you gonna leave?” he looks offended you would even think that. “no.”

“promise?” he looks at you like the answer is obvious. “ i promise.”

~

when you wake up again, you feel different. you’re warmer, your throat doesn’t feel as awful, and john is still there. exactly where you left him. scrolling on his phone quietly, occasionally glancing at you like it’s instinct.

when he notices you’re awake, his face softens immediately. “hey, sleepyhead.” you blink at him adjusting to the light. “you stayed.” he scoffs lightly. “yeah, that was kind of the plan.” you shift a little bit. he immediately adjusts your blanket again without thinking.

“how you feeling?” you think about it. “way better.” his shoulders relax like he’s been holding that answer in for hours. “good, good. i’m glad.”

he leans forward, resting his forearm on the bed beside you. “because i was getting ready to cancel all your plans for the week.”

you laugh properly this time, still weak, but real. logan grins. “don’t disappear on me like that again, yeah?” he says softly.

you nod at him, “okay..i won’t, i swear.” he smiles, satisfied. “good.” and then, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, he stays exactly where he is.

DEAN DI LAURENTIS...

dean doesn’t realize you’re sick at first. not because he’s oblivious, he’s just used to you being..you. you’re always moving, always talking, always teasing him for something. even when you’re annoyed, you’re expressive about it.

so when you sit next to him on his bed while he’s half studying, half scrolling his phone, and you’re just..quiet, he assumes you’re tired. at least at first.

“you good?” he asks without looking up. “mhm, yeah.”

he pauses and finally looks up. you’re curled into one of his hoodies, blanket around your legs, hair slightly messy. your eyes are half lidded like you’re trying to stay present but losing the fight. dean immediately sits up straighter. “okay, that’s not normal.”

you sniff quietly. “what?”

“you.” he gestures at your face. “you’re doing the sick thing.”

“i’m not doing a thing.” you say as convincingly as possible.

“you’re doing it right now baby.” you try to roll your eyes but it turns into a slow blink instead. dean narrows his eyes.

then reaches over and presses his palm to your forehead. you don’t even fight it. that’s his first real clue. “oh shit” he says almost in a worried tone.

you tilt your head at him slightly. “what?”

he exhales through his nose. “you’re actually sick, baby.”

“i told you i was fine.”

“yeah,” he says, already standing. “and i’m telling you i’m a professional hockey player. doesn’t make it true.”

you watch him start grabbing random things, your water bottle, his hoodie off your shoulders, the blanket he somehow thinks isn’t enough.

“dean..baby.”

“nope,” he says immediately. “bed. come on.”

you blink slowly at him, he was such an idiot. “i’m already on the bed.”

“then stay on it better.” that makes you laugh a little which he notices instantly.

his expression softens a little. “first time i heard you laugh today.”

you frown slightly. “what?”

“you’ve been quiet all day. it’s weird. your laugh is like music to my ears and soul, baby.”

you giggle at how pathetic he sounds, but the roughness in your throat immediately punishes you.

“you feel like crap, huh?”

“a little bit, but don’t we all?”

“okay.” he quickly gives you a kiss before he walks towards the bedroom door, “stay here.” he disappears out of the room before you can argue.

a few minutes later, he comes back holding soup and a mug like he’s done this a hundred times. you were 100% tucker helped him assemble whatever this was.

he sits next to you on the bed, hip pressed against the mattress. “eat.” you stare at him, not buying it. “you made this?”

“i helped assemble it,” he corrects. “don’t get too excited, but i made the tea myself!”

you take a sip anyway. it’s actually good. your eyebrows lift slightly. dean notices immediately. “yeah,” he says all smug. “shocking, right?”

you roll your eyes as he grins. “there you go. some of your personality returning.”

you lean back against the pillows after a few bites, tiredness creeping back in. dean watches you for a second longer than necessary. then reaches over, tugging the blanket higher around your shoulders.

“you’re so warm,” he notes.

“didn’t you say that already?” he pokes your side, “i’m making sure.”

he looks at you, almost sympathetically. “you should’ve just told me you were feeling it yesterday.”

you shrug slightly. “didn’t want you to worry.” dean looks at you like that answer doesn’t make sense to him. “that’s literally my job.”

you glance up at him, he’s not joking. he leans back a little, arm resting along the headboard behind you.

“you don’t get to disappear on me when you feel like garbage, okay?” his voice is calm, but there’s something protective underneath it. you nod softly. “okay.”

he pulls you into his chest and begins to play with your hair, as you fall into a deep sleep.

JOHN TUCKER...

tucker notices something is off about you before you even say a word. not because he’s psychic, but because you’re texting him. and you are never just “texting him.”

normally your messages are chaotic, voice notes, memes, gifs, half finished thoughts, random updates about your day that make no sense unless he’s already talking to you in person.

today it’s so short, too short.

you: “i’m home.”

you: “tired.”

that’s it.

tucker stares at his phone for a second like it insulted him personally. then immediately types back.

tucker: “that’s it? that’s all i get?”

no reply, he waits. still nothing. now he’s sitting up in bed. typing again.

tucker: “are you okay?”

three dots appear and then disappear.

you: “yeah. just not feeling great.”

his expression changes instantly, a little worry rushing through him.

he’s already out of bed.

~

by the time he calls you, he’s halfway dressed.

you pick up after two rings. “hey” you say softly.

and that’s all it takes for him to know.

your voice is smaller and slower. like you’re conserving energy just to speak.

“hi,” he says immediately, gentler now. “what’s going on?”

“nothing serious.”

“that’s what everyone says right before they turn into a disaster.” a faint exhale on your end,

almost a laugh, but it stops halfway.

tucker frowns. “where are you?”

“my dorm.”

“stay right there.”

“tuck, i’m fine.”

“you’re not fine, you sound like you chipmunk.”

“rude.” you mumble while pressing your face into the blanket.

he softens immediately. “how long you been sick?”

“since last night.”

tucker is already grabbing his hoodie. “why didn’t you tell me?”

“didn’t want you to come all the way over here.”

he cuts you off without hesitation. “too late. already in motion.”

you hear rustling on your end. “no, no, no, you don’t have to!”

“baby,” he says, quieter now, like it’s obvious. “i want to. trust me.”

that makes you go silent. he pauses at his door.

“just stay in bed, okay? i’ll be there soon.”

“okay.”

“good girl. don’t fall asleep and leave me on read, i will break your door down.”

a small laugh comes out of you. “you’re being insane.”

“yeah, yeah. see you soon.”

~

tucker shows up like he lives there. knocks once. opens the door anyway.

“you should really lock your door,” he calls out immediately. you’re on the couch, curled under a blanket, hair messy, face tired.

you look up at him slowly. “hi.”

he freezes for half a second. “yeah, okay, nope.”

his hand goes straight to your forehead. “you’re hot.”

you blink at him, a smile playing on your lips. “you always say that.”

“not like that,” he says instantly. “like fever hot. don’t get weird.”

you give a tiny wink, your eye barely moving. he exhales.

“you feel awful, don’t you?”

you hesitate. “not really..kinda.”

he’s already moving toward your kitchen before you can protest. “do you have anything to eat that isn’t just comfort food? you need like sick food.”

“i have crackers.”

he runs a hand through his hair. “i’ll figure something out.”

~

he comes back out like ten minutes later with soup he definitely didn’t fully “make” so much as assemble aggressively. he sits next to you on the couch, immediately pulling your legs gently into his lap like it’s instinct.

you blink at him. “what are you doing?”

“helping.” he smirks at you.

“with my legs?”

“yes. they looked lonely.” you roll your eyes at him.

~

later, you’re tucked into your bed properly. tucker has somehow taken over organizing your entire space without being asked.

he’s stacking your meds, refilling your water bottle, folding the blanket you weren’t even using right.

you watch him from under your covers.

“you don’t have to stay the night, i feel bad,” you mumble.

he doesn’t even look up. “i know.”

“are you going to anyway?”

he doesn’t even spare you a glance, “yep.”

you stare at him intently. “why?”

he pauses, finally looking at you, like the answer is obvious.

then he walks over and sits on the edge of your bed.

“because you texted me the word tired like it was a personality trait,” he says.

you let out a small laugh, and he smiles back at yoi.

then his voice softens again. “and because i like you better when you’re not trying to do everything alone.”

your expression softens too. “you’re so annoying.”

“yeah,” he says easily. “but i’m your annoying.” you roll your eyes, but there’s no real menace in it.

when you finally fall asleep, it’s fast, tucker notices right away. he slows down, stops moving around.

just sits there for a second watching you breathe.

then carefully pulls your blanket up a little higher.

“sleep well, baby. i love you.”

~ ~ ~

a/n: i absolutely adored writing the same scenario but from each boys perspective and now they would handle it! definitely open to doing more of these!

john logan masterlist can be found here.

[puckmegirl]

MAGIC MIKE (ft. John Logan)

blurb: after a wild girls’ night out with hannah and allie to a local magic mike show, logan bites off more than he can chew when he shows up to pick up his tipsy girlfriend who’s feeling handsy…

warnings: fem!reader, suggestive, alcohol, established relationship, abs abs abs

John Logan prided himself on being an impeccably patient and responsible boyfriend.

You, however, incessantly challenged that on a daily basis.

Tonight was no different.

Allie, heartbroken and possessed by the recent breakup with Sean, exploded into action and dragged you and Hannah to a Magic Mike show run by a local dance company.

“Support the arts! Dance lives matter!” Allie all but chanted as the three of you had gotten ready in the dorm.

You and Hannah, in much need of a girls’ night, and of course, determined to help your friend recuperate after the messy separation, took it all with an easy stride and a mischievous craving for tantalizing fun.

Hence why the three of you were now stumbling outside the theatre post-show. All giggles and airy thoughts.

Logan arrived not long after your first call of distress.

Distress, perhaps, was not a fitting word for someone who so willingly submitted to the promising rush of the three pinkity drinkities you consumed.

“Hello?” You had hiccuped.

Logan could hear the knowing smile you had on your face even through the speaker.

“I take it girls’ night was a success?” He asked, already getting up from bed and putting on a jacket.

“A slam dunk, a home run, a goal in the net,” you replied with a breathy laugh.

“Where are you?”

He heard some rustling, your voice getting fainter as you presumably turned to speak to your friends. “Allie, where are we?”

Allie squinted at the sign, “It says Lexington and 6th Street.”

You returned to your phone, “Between Lexington and 6th.”

“By Rockside theatre and arts center!” He heard Hannah’s voice chime in.

Logan nodded despite you being unable to see it. “I will be there in 15 minutes. Are you girls outside or inside?”

“Outside,” you replied, watching as Hannah had to wrestle Allie’s phone away before she broke the 36 hour rule with Sean.

“Can you go back inside for me, please?” Logan asked nicely. You could hear the rumbling growl of his jeep’s engine starting.

“Back where the shirtless boys are? Tempting.”

You could practically picture the fond eye roll he probably made at your remark. “Back where it’s safe, gorgeous.” He clarified.

“The place is closed now, silly.”

He hummed in thought. “Okay. Sit tight. Don’t wander without Allie and Hannah.”

True to his word, he arrived 15 minutes later. You raised your arms up in celebration at the sight of the familiar car pulling up in front of you three.

He stepped out the jeep and rounded around to you. Your arms remained upright, awaiting your welcome hug. “Logan!”

He pulled you in with a soft kiss on your head. His eyes quickly assessed your whole body, silently running a prompt diagnostic to evaluate what level of tipsy you were currently exhibiting. His conclusion? A solid 4/10. Manageable.

His gaze turned to the other two musketeers; Hannah at a 3, and Allie at a striking 9. Not so manageable.

“Come on, let me get you guys back to the house,” Logan said, gesturing his head to the jeep.

Hannah shook her head, “Garrett’s coming to take Allie and I back to our dorm.”

“Guess I’m all yours,” you said in the sexiest tone you could muster in your state, running a finger down Logan’s chest.

Logan let out a huff of amusement and looked at the girls. “He say when he’s coming?”

“Should be another 10 minutes,” Hannah replied, now holding Allie’s head that kept lulling off to the side.

Logan, being the responsible and excellent man that he was, planted himself right there against the wall of the theatre and waited until Garrett arrived. He was not leaving Hannah and Allie to wait alone, in the dark, at night. Over his dead body.

“Aww, thanks, Logan,” Allie cooed, swaying in her step.

“Do you wanna wait in the car, Al? You’re moving very precariously,” he suggested, glancing at her from top to bottom with caution and care.

She shook her head, “Fresh air soothes me.” Though Logan didn’t think her statement was entirety factual, he let it slide, nodding politely.

You giggled, “You should’ve seen her on stage, Loge. She was a star.”

Logan raised his brows, “Oh yeah?”

Hannah nodded with an impressed smile, “Allie gave those boys a run for their money.”

Logan always knew Allie belonged on a stage, so hearing this was not shocking at all. He gave a supportive smile, “I bet.”

Allie raised her head off Hannah’s palm and looked at you and Logan, “Your girlfriend was the real stunner. Two of the dancers wanted her to come up for crowd work, but she declined both times.”

Logan froze.

He had to remind himself that he was not a possessive man so easily threatened by other males. Yet, Allie’s slurred comment raised alarm bells.

“Yeah?” His eyes settled on you.

Your cheeks warmed a little, and you shook your hand dismissively. “Audience participation is a big part of these strip shows. I was probably just the most convenient target since I sat by the aisle.”

“Once is convenience, twice is favoritism,” Allie sang.

Hannah looked at you, “I sat by the aisle too and they didn’t ask me,” she reminded.

“Face it, babes. You’re hot stuff,” Allie said with a wink before nearly tripping on her own feet if Hannah hadn’t been holding her arm.

This was all such useful information for Logan.

You hummed, appreciating the compliment and reveling in the flattery. “Thanks, Allie baby. But like I told you during the show, I don’t need a shirtless guy grinding up on me.”

Logan’s jaw ticked.

He was now leaning his arm on a spot on the wall that was by your head. You looked up at him through your lashes. Your wandering hand didn’t think twice before your palm settled on his abdomen. “Unless it’s you.”

Hannah and Allie giggled in that way only girls did when they were truly giddy.

Logan’s lips tugged into that easy smirk he mastered; not cocky enough to be a douche, but definitely not humble enough to pass for innocent.

His fingers wrapped around your wrist, keeping your hand right where it was. “Yeah?” His voice was lower, dangerously charismatic.

“Mhm, we got Magic Mike right here,” you responded, and he did not stop you when you lifted his cotton shirt up to reveal those glorious abs of his, sculpted from relentless hockey mornings and restless nights at the garage.

Logan had to bite his bottom lip to stop his mouth from splitting into a smug bastard’s grin. He shook his head in unserious exasperation, but really it was an excuse to lock in.

The girls and you chuckled freely, high off the drinks and fun night. Suddenly, the idea of Logan being a Magic Mike dancer seemed to be the most hilariously entertaining thing the three of you could imagine.

And because Logan was Logan—and what is Logan if not a devious charmer in sheep’s clothing—he put his free hand on the wall by the other side of your head, caging you in. The girls’ laughter doubled with accompanying squeals of hysteria.

You giggled too, feeling very much content and fine with this strapping 6 ft something hockey player holding you hostage against the wall with his fit body. You did not need any saving here.

Hannah snapped a quick photo that she would most definitely be sending into the group chat once morning comes.

Logan dipped his head down, teasing you by not kissing you, but staying right there in the crook of your neck. You felt his soft breathing against your skin. Goosebumps rippled through you, and you felt yourself squirm in place. Such sweet torture.

“Did they do this in the show?” Logan whispered by your ear.

You shook your head, “No, but now I wish they did.”

Logan pressed a kiss below your ear and pulled away, just in time, too, as Garrett’s black car pulled up right next to them.

Hannah and Allie sighed, “Our savior!” Allie breathed out in relief.

Garrett shot a curious and amused look Logan’s way, but did not ask follow-up questions. He simply guided his girlfriend and friend into his car. In similar fashion, Logan walked you over to his jeep with a hand on the small of your back.

Logan left you on aux duty, and he regretted his decision immediately when you played Pony by Ginuwine.

He shot you a look, but you were too busy dancing in the passenger seat to the music. Your eyes met his and you played oblivious to his reaction. Defeated, Logan simply shook his head with a smile and clipped his seatbelt on.

You were so getting it tonight.

this lowk sucks but i need to beat the writer’s block

[puckmegirl]

john logan loves watching you play with yourself as he talks you through it

warnings: 18+, smut, fem!reader, masturbation (f.), some assistance from him tho, PRAISE, lowk condescending hehe

“show me.”

you squirmed on the bed. you weren’t used to this; being watched, not having logan between your legs.

“come on. be a good girl.”

you slowly spread your legs apart, opening up for logan to see from where he sat on the comfortable chair across from his bed.

“there she is,” he cooed. “look how pretty.”

you whined, feeling embarrassed. “logan…”

his eyes flicked from between your legs to your face, “what’s wrong, baby? is my baby shy?”

you nodded with a cute pout.

“don’t be,” logan assured. “I’ve seen it before.”

“not like this,” you reasoned.

logan nodded, “you’re right; not like this.” his gaze settled back to your pussy. “this is way better.”

“logaaaan,” you hid your face with your hands.

he smiled, “sorry, honey.” he was not apologetic in the slightest.

you withdrew your hands from your face and bit your lip nervously. logan stifled his smile to make you feel better.

“touch yourself, baby.”

your fingers complied, albeit hesitantly. your fingertips ghosted over the skin between your thighs, making delicate work.

“push them in.”

you choked on a moan when you felt the protruding pressure fill you up. logan’s heated gaze darkened.

“that’s right, just like that.”

your cheeks were flaming from mortification. as a result, your fingers were clumsy, messy. this made you whine in frustration.

“you can do better than that,” logan said.

you frowned a little, “i’m trying…”

“try harder.” he responded. “i need to make sure my baby can take care of herself when i’m gone for away games.”

“b-but my fingers don’t feel the same…”

logan fake pouted, “they don’t? awh, that’s too bad, honey,” he cooed.

he was being condescending yet loving at the same time. the contrast made your head spin in the best way possible.

you sped up your movements and logan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“keep going. don’t stop unless i say so.”

“i’m close.”

“hold it.”

“but—“

“hold. it.”

you whimpered but obeyed. begrudgingly.

“i thought you wanted to be my good girl.”

“i do,” you replied.

“then act like it, baby.”

you let out a small huff, feeling tears brim up on your lash line. logan noticed and dialed it back a bit.

“awh, don’t cry, sweetheart.” he said. “come on, don’t cry. you know i don’t mean it like that.”

he abandoned his seat on the chair and came to sit next to you on the bed, his hand joining yours and rubbing slow circles on your clit.

you melted and leaned onto him for support, burying your face against his shoulder. logan guided you through it, whispering soft praise.

“you are my good girl,” he confirmed. “doing so well for me, listening to me…”

you batted your lashes up at him. “can i cum now? please?”

logan’s heart was gonna burst from how sweet you were. he kissed your lips, his thumb moving faster without noticing.

he pulled back, “of course you can, baby. but you have to do it yourself, okay?”

you whined but he quickly added, “i’m right here, i’ll be right here. okay?”

only when you nodded did he retract his hand away and rub your shoulder, supporting you as you worked to bring yourself to climax.

“such a good girl,” he kissed the crown of your head. “making me so proud. i’ll give you whatever you want after this, baby. whatever you want.”

it’s not much but it’s honest work

[jupitercomet]

Challenge Mishap | Love Island!Garrett

SUMMARY A freak accident during a challenge may not be the worst thing in the world if it means you get all of Garrett’s attention.

CONTENT love island au, fem reader, use of pet names (baby), descriptions of injury, reader sits in Garrett's lap and wears his clothes, reader's kinda a loser but it turns Garrett on, a tiny bit suggestive, Dean yet again being used as entertainment lol, barely edited

A/N this is inspired by these requests, but I changed it a little bit and I was already almost done writing it when I got the second request (if that situation specifically is something people wanna see I can write it in another part, but I think it would be similar to this haha) anyway please enjoy!

love island masterlist

“You know, if you keep pouting that hard, your face is gonna get stuck like that.”

Garrett doesn’t take his eyes off the gauze wrapped around your calves.

“I’m not pouting.”

“You’re definitely pouting.” Dean chimes in. Garrett’s head snaps up with a glare and Dean holds his hands up quickly, having enough sense to have already started backing away. “Right. Sorry. Going.”

Garrett grumbles something under his breath and you flick him lightly on the forehead. “Don’t be mean.”

“There is more of your skin on the pool deck than on the back of your legs, I’ll be as mean as I want.” His jaw clenches, one of the muscles ticking in annoyance.

“Even to me?” You bat your lashes at him teasingly.

Garrett softens, cupping your cheek like you’re something fragile, his thumb stroking the delicate skin under your eye. 

“I’m still deciding.”

“Hey!” Your mouth drops open in shock. “You’re not allowed to be mean to me, I almost died today.”

At the reminder that your legs currently look like a 3rd grader’s paper mache project, Garrett’s eyes darken and the small smile he was wearing drops as his hand falls from your face.

Your face falters in confusion. “What?”

“Don’t say shit like that,” he chides you softly, his body hovering over yours awkwardly, like he’s unsure where to touch you without hurting you more. “It’s not funny.”

Truthfully, you thought it had been a little funny, but you wisely keep that to yourself.

It had all started with a simple challenge where you were all given a stack of cards that had various quotes said by different Islanders during your time in the Villa. Each Islander would read a quote out loud before guessing which person said it by pushing them into the pool. 

Unfortunately for you, during Paul’s turn, he picked you as the Islander who had said his quote—you hadn’t—and, before you even had a chance to process it, he was pushing you into the pool. The problem was that, as you had not been expecting to be pushed into the pool, you had not been standing remotely close enough to the edge.

While the top half of your body hit the water just fine, your calves hit the lip of the pool instead, scraping painfully against it as you fell in—essentially skinning the back of your calves in the process.

The challenge came to a swift halt after that as the on-site medic tended to your injuries. Luckily it was nothing more than a couple large scrapes and, since you’d already had your turn and most of your quotes had already been read, production decided to continue the challenge without you and allowed you to go back to the bedroom to rest.

The only person left out of this decision—and deeply offended by that fact—was Garrett, who production realized was pointless to argue against, and just let him leave with you after he refused to go back to the challenge.

While you’ve been keeping a pretty positive attitude about the whole thing, laughing about it with everyone when they came to check on you after the challenge was over, Garrett did not share the sentiment, growling like a guard dog at anyone he deemed too disruptive—(Paul had smartly made himself scarce.)

Your jovial demeanor drops at Garrett’s words and you frown slightly, sitting up before he can stop you and crawling into his lap.

“Wait—Baby—Please—,” Garrett panics, his hands gripping your body in a confusing battle of pushing you away and also pulling you closer as he tries to stop you from putting any weight on your calves.

You ignore him, settling in his lap and cupping his jaw with your hands apologetically. “I’m sorry,” you say quietly.

Garrett melts beneath you, turning his head to press a kiss into your palm. His lips brush against your skin, “Don’t be sorry, I know you’re trying to make me feel better. I just… I didn’t like watching you get hurt.”

“I mean, it would be kinda concerning if you did—,” You clamp your mouth shut when Garrett raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “Sorry. No more jokes, promise.”

Garrett lets out a thin sigh that sounds suspiciously like he’s holding back a laugh. “Somehow, I seriously doubt that.”

You stick your tongue out. “I can’t help that I’m a natural born comedian, Garrett.”

“Mmm.” He lets out a teasing hum.

“I am!”

Garrett’s hand travels up to the back of your neck, massaging the muscles as a way to coax you into lying down against him. “Agree to disagree, baby.”

You bite down lightly on his bare shoulder in protest—which Garrett is far too used to at this point—but let the empty bedroom fall into silence as Garrett shifts to get comfortable against the headboard of your bed. His hand falls to your back, tracing up and down your spin in large circles. 

“Does it hurt?” He asks softly.

You freeze. “...No.”

“Baby.”

“A little.” You concede. 

“Where?”

“Everywhere,” you pout. “It’s not awful, it just… burns.”

“‘M sorry,” he coos, pressing gentle kisses along the skin of your neck that’s peeking out of the hoodie you’re wearing—which is definitely his. “Is there anything that’ll make you feel better?”

You let out a shy noise, craning your neck to give him more access. “I mean, this feels nice.”

“Yeah?” Garrett’s lips move to explore the new skin, his hands curling under the hem of your sweatshirt to continue caressing your bare back. “How ‘bout I keep doing this and you finish telling me about that game you were talking about this morning.”

You shiver when he sucks softly at the spot just under your ear. “You’ll distract me.”

“Mm, I think you can get through it,” Garrett says in that somewhat condescending tone that makes your thighs clench.

It takes the squeeze of his hands against your hips to spur you into speaking and you pick up where you had left off earlier in the day when you were explaining the convoluted lore of the Five Nights at Freddy’s franchise to Garrett. The feeling of his lips on your neck causes you to lose your train of thought a couple times, but Garrett prompts you back into it with a verbal reminder to keep talking or another squeeze of your hips. Eventually, he gets genuinely interested enough in what you’re saying that he gets distracted, pulling back in confusion to ask multiple questions as you keep explaining, the pain in your legs now the furthest thing from your mind.

You keep talking until the rest of the Islanders come into the bedroom, everyone saying their ‘goodnight’s as the lights turn off and Garrett pulls the blankets over you both.

“Oh,” you lift your head up suddenly. “I forgot to tell you about—,”

Garrett’s large hand covers your mouth, muffling the rest of your sentence. “Tomorrow. I need sleep to prepare myself for how whiny you’re going to be in the morning when I have to disinfect your cuts.”

You pull his hand away with a raised brow.

“I thought you said you like when I’m whiny.”

“...Go to bed.”

BONUS

“Ow, ow, ow—!”

“I’m not even pressing that hard—!”

“Yes, you are!” You whine, your fingers digging into the granite sink of the bathroom as Garrett presses a cotton ball drenched in rubbing alcohol against your wound. “Stop, Garrett, it stings!”

Garrett grits his teeth as you try to kick your leg away from him. “I’m almost done.”

“You said that 30 minutes ago!”

“Baby. It hasn’t even been two minutes since we started.” When he meets your pitiful eyes, Garrett sighs. “Just one more, okay? I promise.”

He stays still until you give a hesitant nod and then lifts the cotton ball back to your leg.

“Wait, wait, wait!” You cry before it touches your skin. “Dean, hold my hand.”

You turn pleadingly to the aforementioned blond, who had been pretending to brush his teeth while he and Allie watched the two of you in amusement.

The toothbrush falls out of his mouth and clinks against the sink. “What? Why do I have to—?”

“Please?”

“Dean, just do it!”

Both your and Allie’s words overlap as Dean continues to object.

“Hold her damn hand, Dean.” Garrett interrupts all of you with a finality that has Dean shuffling his feet over to you begrudgingly.

Unsurprisingly, the picture Allie takes of Garrett crouched down by your leg with a focused expression as you and Dean both wince in pain—you, because Garrett is disinfecting your last cut and Dean, because you’re squeezing his hand hard enough for his fingers to overlap—is posted to the Love Island USA Instagram account as soon as the episode airs.

please don't copy, repost, or feed my work into ai, thanks!

[jupitercomet]

You’re Too Nice to Me When I Tell You Things | Love Island!Garrett

SUMMARY In the morning after your fight, Garrett finally opens up to you.

CONTENT love island au, fem reader, this is kinda from Garrett's pov so that's fun! hurt/comfort (reader comforting Garrett—I wanted to show a bit of a different side of their relationship bc our silly yapper girl does take care of him too), love island relationship dynamics, use of pet names (sweet boy, baby), if you recognize a section of this from something I wrote on my old account... no you didn't :) , this probably isn't how the filming of love island works but for Garrett's privacy let's pretend, talks of Garrett's canon childhood (child abuse, domestic abuse, parental death), Garrett cries and has a panic attack (but it's not graphic), there's one line that could be interpreted as suicidal ideation but it's not explicit and very brief, happy ending, barely edited

A/N this is a direct part two to this fic, which I recommend reading first. this got way sadder than I meant for it to, like this is the first time in a while I've actually cried while writing something, but I hope that it's a satisfying reconciliation for you guys and gives you a bit more insight into (this version of) Garrett :) anyway, please enjoy!

love island masterlist

For the few hazy seconds between sleep and wake, Garrett forgets.

He stretches out slowly, searching for the familiar warmth of the body next to him, the feeling of a leg wedged between his own because “I can’t sleep if my thighs are touching” but somehow being sandwiched between both of his is fine. Instead he feels the empty cushion of the daybed, the slightly cool morning air because he kicked his blanket off at some point in the night, and the weight of a stuffed white tiger lodged between the crook of his elbow and his bicep. 

And then Garrett remembers.

He sits up with an exhausted breath of air, rubbing two hands over his face. It’s so early that the sun still seems to be deciding on whether it wants to start rising or not, the Villa unusually quiet, like he’s woken up before time has actually started yet. 

Garrett’s surprised that he doesn’t feel tired. He thought that he wouldn’t be able to sleep, that he’d be up tossing and turning the whole night, but the day before had left him so exhausted that it took him about as long as it took his head to hit the pillow to slip from consciousness entirely. And now, much more rested and removed from the situation, he’s able to look back on your fight with much more clarity.

He looks down, his eyes landing on the stuffed animal flopped awkwardly next to him.

“I fucking suck, huh?” He laughs hopelessly. And then, because it feels inconsiderate not to, he grabs Snowy and places her on his lap, fixing her limbs until she sits more comfortable.

With a touch lighter than he’s ever touched anything, Garrett traces the fur right above one of her glass eyes. He remembers a day, probably only a few days after you had coupled up for the first time, when you’d been feeling especially homesick. You curled up on one of the couches, Snowy on your chest and your chin resting on her head—which was unusual since you usually never brought her out of the bedroom—a wistful look on your face, your mouth scrunched in the way it does when you’re sad about something but trying to tell yourself that you’re not.

You’d explained it to him then, when he sat down next to you and rested his head on your shoulder, that you’d taken Snowy with you everywhere with you when you were younger. That she was a tapestry of your childhood. Through a bittersweet smile, you showed him the coffee stain on her paw from when your dad had knocked over his mug and you weren’t able to snatch her off the table fast enough. You showed him the blot of nail polish on her nose from when you’d come to your mom crying because Snowy’s nose had chipped. She grabbed one of the small, fancy bottles of expensive nail polish she only used on special occasions and layered on the lacquer until Snowy’s nose was fixed. 

You told him about the time you and your sister had watched 101 Dalmatians for the first time and she thought Dalmatians were way cooler than tigers and sharpied black polka dots on the side of Snowy’s stomach. You showed him the small stain of detergent at the base of her tail from the time you’d accidentally spilled foundation on her and an ex-boyfriend had spent the day with a YouTube tutorial and a Dollar Store toothbrush trying to get it out. The sky blue thread just under one of her arms your best friend had used to stitch up a hole that had torn there.

You swore that her left ear smelled like your grandmother’s perfume and your grandad had been the one to get her for you in the first place. You told him that Snowy was a collection of everyone you’d ever loved.

And then you said that you knew it was probably silly, that you didn’t expect things like giant sharpie polka dots and your mom’s expensive nail polish to matter that much to people who weren’t you, but since that day, anytime anyone tried to tease you about your stuffed animal, he’d tell them to shut up in a tone that left no room for misunderstanding.

Because he wanted those things to matter to him too. And he wanted to maybe—hopefully—one day be one of those things that mattered to you.

The air shifts suddenly when the quiet of the morning is interrupted by the sound of someone leaving the bedroom. Garrett’s breath stutters when he sees you walk out, wiping sleep from your eye with one hand as the other holds on to your empty water bottle. Your gaze gravitates to the daybed you know he’s sleeping on and when you realize that he’s awake—and watching you too—you freeze in surprise.

For a moment neither of you moves, you just look at him, eyes flicking down briefly to your stuffed animal in his lap. And then you turn away and walk to the kitchen to fill up your water bottle. Garrett looks down defeatedly, letting out a quiet breath as he tries to calculate how many more hours he has to just sit and get lost in his head before everyone else wakes up and the day actually starts. 

He hears you finish in the kitchen, the sound traveling over the silent dawn, but your footsteps don’t immediately retreat back to the bedroom. Instead you walk until you’re a few feet away from him before you stop.

“I, um, I’m ready to talk about yesterday if—If you need more time, that’s okay—I’ll just… I’ll be here whenever you’re ready.” You can’t meet his eye and Garrett hates it, that ugly feeling sinking into his chest again.

You turn to go.

“Now,” he says suddenly, his voice cracking from lack of use. “I’m—I’m ready to talk about it now.”

You nod slowly and move to sit down on the daybed across from him. It’s probably the most privacy the two of you will have, it’s too early for either of you to have your mic packs on and no one’s awake to make sure that they have multiple cameras at multiple angles filming a spot as inconsequential as the daybeds. Garrett thinks he realizes this at the same time as you and he rolls his shoulders out before letting out a breath.

“I’m sorry.”

It doesn’t feel remotely enough and you must know that because you stay silent.

“I shouldn’t have—I said a lot of stuff that wasn’t true and… And I took something out on you that isn’t your fault and that wasn’t fair. I, um, I do need you and you do take care of me and I promise I never thought that you didn’t. I mean, I spent one night without you and I fucking hated it, I just—That scares me more than anything, honestly.”

He swallows, one of his hands wrapping around the other as he squeezes his knuckles. “But that’s not a good reason—I don’t have a good reason. But I…” He looks up and you’re finally looking at him, worry heavy in your gaze as you watch his hands start to shake. “I have to tell you something about… About me.”

You nod again, your voice a soft whisper. “Okay.”

Garrett takes a deep breath.

“You know what I’ve told you about my dad? How he—Well that wasn’t—That wasn’t all of it,” he squeezes his hand harder, fingers curling into a fist. 

His mouth opens, but the words get clogged in his throat, like suddenly every thought is impossible to articulate. You don’t rush him though, or interrupt to push him through it. You listen, like even his silence matters enough to listen to.

“My… My mom died, when I was 11, and my dad wasn’t… He was never a good dad. Or husband. He, um—,” Garrett lets out a humorless, uncomfortable chuckle. “Sorry, I don’t really know how—,”

You reach out for him slowly, like he’s a stray dog whose hackles could raise if you move too quickly—or maybe that’s just what he feels like. Whatever it is, it doesn’t scare you out of wrapping your hand around his.

“That’s okay.”

He runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “No, it’s—I should be able to just say it.”

“It’s okay if you can’t,” you tell him gently.

It feels like a lie to Garrett, but you’re looking at him in such earnestness that he has to believe you. He nods, letting out a shaky breath.  

“She never really talked about it. I know—I know that she was just trying to protect me, but I wasn’t stupid… I knew she was miserable. I knew he made her miserable. And I kind of… Fuck—,” He looks up as his eyes water, sniffing loudly to push through it. “I, um, I kind of resented her sometimes? For not leaving. For… For not taking me with her when she did.”

He’s biting the inside of his cheek so hard he can taste copper in his mouth. Your hand leaves his suddenly, the warmth of your palm replaced by cool air. You get up before he can question it and for a sinking, devastating second he thinks you’re going to leave. But then you’re crossing the short distance to his daybed, curling up on the cushion next to him. 

You grab his hand again, tracing soothing strokes across the bones of his fingers as you gently coax them out of his curled fist and tangle them with your own. Wordlessly, you squeeze—though not as forcefully as he had been—like you know he needs the pressure to ground him. He’s not quite sure how you know, but somehow you always do.

He stares at your interlocked fingers as he continues, “I—I don’t feel that way now, I know it’s more complicated than that. That it’s not as simple as I thought it’d be when I was a kid. I know that it was hard for my mom. Taking care of a kid is a lot and, even if she did leave, courts suck, and my dad had money, and there wasn’t really anywhere we could go. It’s… It’s harder when you have to take care of someone. And maybe if my mom didn’t have to take care of me, it would have been easier for her to leave him. Like, if I didn’t need her so much, she could’ve—Maybe she would’ve been happier.”

“And sometimes it scares me because what if one day you’d be happier? Or—,” He clears his throat, though it doesn’t really do anything. “I do think in some dark, fucked up way, my dad needed my mom too and what if—What if I need you the way he did and you care about me too much to leave?”

“Garrett…” Your voice breaks in understanding, your arms wrapping around him tightly.

He melts into your chest and something about the way you’re petting his hair and letting him hold onto you like a lifeline—even after everything—has the tears streaming down his face before he can stop them.

He shakes his head fervently. “I don’t look at you like you’re a ‘damsel in distress’. I wish I—You’re not scared to—Feel things. Even the bad stuff. And you know how to—How to tell people so that they understand and I don’t—I can’t—I—I got mad and I threw it in your face—And I’m so sorry!”

Each breath feels like it’s cracking open his ribcage, causing each one to be more short and shallow than the last, puffing raggedly against your arm.

“Garrett. Hey.” You cup his face gently, your voice calm as you force him to look at you. “I need you to breathe, sweet boy. You’re okay.”

“No. No.” Garrett pushes away from you suddenly, wiping uselessly at his eyes. “I—I’m not saying this to—To guilt-trip you into forgiving me. I fucked up—You’re allowed to be mad at me—You should be mad at me—!”

“I know that’s not what you’re doing, baby. I’m not mad at you.” You reach for him again, but he’s still fighting it.

“How can you say that?”

“Garrett, you made a mistake,” you tell him firmly. “I did too. But that’s not—Look, if you won’t do it for you, then… Do it for me please because I really need a hug right now.”

Your lips curl into a sad smile, your eyes glassy. And maybe if Garrett were a stronger man, he’d refuse, because he knows he doesn’t deserve it. But he isn’t a stronger man. Just like every other time, he takes one look at your pleading eyes and complies instantly. 

He’s wrapped in your arms just as quickly as you take on the full force of his body weight without complaint—if anything, you’re insisting that you do, hugging him tightly as you rest your chin on the top of his head.

“I’m sorry too,” you whisper through the kiss you press to the crown of his head. “I shouldn’t have said what I said and I shouldn’t have accused you of not caring about me. I was just hurt and wanted you to feel hurt too and that was wrong. You didn’t deserve that.”

Garrett’s arms tighten around your middle and when you clear your throat, it sounds congested.

“And I… I am so sorry that you went through that, and that—You never should have had to experience that. You or your mom. But, Garrett... I promise you that your mom would choose this life with you over every life where she couldn’t have you.” He feels one of your hands move to stroke gently at the side of his neck as you cradle his head.

“And I know that because, even though I never knew her, I know you. I know there’s nothing I wouldn’t do if it meant I got to have you and I know your mom feels the same because… Because you’re better than everything, Garrett.”

It’s somehow the worst and best thing Garrett’s ever heard in his life. His shoulders shake as you run your fingers through his curls. The tank top you wore to bed is probably covered in wet patches and he’s sure he’ll feel embarrassed about it later, but right now, Garrett just needs you. And he needs you to hold him, and run your hands through his hair, and take care of him, and do all the things he’s tired of pretending he doesn’t.

“I, ugh, I feel like such an asshole.” You let out, what sounds like, a mix between a wet chuckle and a sniffle. “I shouldn’t have said any of that. You’re literally always so good to me, I should’ve known that something bigger was bothering you.”

Garrett shakes his head against your collarbone. “You didn’t know. I could’ve just talked to you.”

“Yeah, maybe.” You gently work through one of his tangled curls with your fingers. “But I’m not going to hold it against you that you weren’t exactly jumping at the opportunity to talk about it directly into a microphone and camera.”

When Garrett finally tilts his head, so that his cheek is pressed against your clavicle, he finds that you’re already looking at him knowingly.

You smooth a thumb tenderly against one of his brows. “Look, this isn’t exactly a normal situation people find themselves in. I don’t know about you but, usually, if the guy I was seeing was also kissing my friends every other day, that would kind of be a dealbreaker for me.”

You smile when Garrett makes a slight face at your words—he’s never exactly been subtle about the fact that, if it were up to him, you wouldn’t be doing that in here either.

“So I think it’s okay for us to be understanding,” you continue your point. “And, yeah, if this is something that keeps happening then we’d need to have a bigger conversation about it, but it happened once. And you messed up and you know it and I messed up and I know it. And I know now that it wasn’t really about me, you needed me to be more understanding in that moment and I wasn’t—,”

“No, you didn’t do anything wrong. I should’ve—,”

You smush your palm against his mouth with a playful groan. “Oh my god, would you please put aside your Atlas complex for five seconds—I feel like I’m talking to Batman. How about we both could’ve handled it better? Can you accept that?”

“Batman’s cool.” Garrett ignores your questions to pout against your palm.

He watches as you move your hand from his mouth to his cheek, drying his tear tracks with your fingers as you look at him fondly.

You reach up with your other hand to push a loose curl away from his forehead. “He also needs an SSRI and a court-mandated therapist.”

In the quiet air of the morning, with the rising sun lighting you up in a golden angelic glow, Garrett finally laughs.

“Yeah, you’re right. I think Nightwing’s cooler anyway. He’s like if Batman had more hope.” When your eyes suddenly darken, Garrett cocks his head slightly. “What?”

“That was actually the hottest thing you’ve ever said.”

Garrett’s eyes widen in amused disbelief. “That was the hottest thing I’ve said?”

“Uh-huh,” you nod, lids dropping as you lift your neck. Garrett takes the hint and drops his head to press his lips against yours. “Talk nerdy to me, baby.”

Garrett lets out a loud, surprised laugh against your mouth. “Okay, you’re done. You’re done.”

“What?” You’re giggling when he pulls away.

He just shakes his head endearingly, letting his body drop back on top of you as you stretch out on the daybed. Your fingers make their way back to his hair, carding through it gently as you both watch the sunrise.

After a few minutes of silence, you let out a quiet laugh. “Our fight didn’t even make it to sunrise.”

“You say that like it wasn’t the longest day of my life,” Garrett grumbles and tightens his arms around you. 

“How much do you wanna bet that the producers are gonna make us re-enact making up when they realize they missed it?”

Garrett grunts against the strap of your tank top. “They can get the version where I drop to my knees in front of everyone and beg you to take me back.” He presses a chaste kiss to your shoulder when you laugh. “Also, we’re never fighting again.”

You raise your brows in amusement. “We’re gonna fight, Garrett. That’s just how life works sometimes.”

“...Fine.” He relents. “But we have to take a nap first. Together.”

“Yeah, okay.” You have that fond look on your face again as you look at him. “And then we make up.” You hold your pinkie out for him.

Garrett shifts so he can wrap his pinkie around yours, your smiles practically identical as you look at each other.

“Yeah, then we make up.”

please don't copy, repost, or feed my work into ai, thanks!

iylm taglist (this taglist is now full): @staticgladiatordesolation @anyasthoughts @ethanthequeefqueen @legendarychrattgirl @haylee04 @ivysprophecy @avengersheart @jchameleon @serendididy @whysoanxious @prisciliamunoz @saamanthaag3 @nikfigueiredo @waitingforsmartpeople @plants-w0rld @canupourme14theroad @ivy-stuffs @donaldsonsgirl @yazzy1004 @rrosiitas @queenmariahh816 @kennedy-brooke @moonymoo1 @outpostsworld

[jupitercomet]

Peace and Quiet | Love Island!Garrett

SUMMARY The Hideaway is finally open but, for you and Garrett, the night does not go as expected.

CONTENT love island au, fem reader, use of pet names (baby, good girl, pretty girl), Allie and Dean being menaces to the Villa, sexual content (mdni), fingering, slight possessive Garrett/dominant Garrett, reader is technically blindfolded, reader and Garrett def have a praise kink, reader is implied to be smaller than Garrett, slight edging, kinda exhibitionism (they do it in the shared bedroom but no one actually catches them), minimal aftercare, barely edited

A/N this is for all the french fry baddies out there ✊😌🍟 and LISTEN it's been a minute since I've really written anything smutty (and I also have no idea what I'm talking about) so everyone better talk about how hot and sexy and horny this is or else I will get embarrassed and never write smut again (it's also kinda short sorry). anyway, please enjoy!

love island masterlist

No one was surprised when Allie picked Dean—and sent home Sean—at the last recoupling.

As much as Allie insisted otherwise, and you’re sure on some level she did genuinely believe it, there was absolutely no competition between the two. You’re pretty sure that the only person who didn’t know exactly what was going to go down at that fire pit was Allie herself.

On some level you felt bad for Sean, it obviously sucks being sent home, but honestly, you and him were never close and he and Garrett definitely weren’t either, so it wasn’t entirely heartbreaking to see the back of him.

Also, Allie is your girl and getting to see her finally be in a relationship that lets her be who she wants instead of who she thinks she should be, had made you Team Dean from the moment she first confessed showing interest in him. So while losing an Islander is always a bit sad, you were happy that it at least meant that Allie and Dean could couple up.

You are starting to become less happy about Allie and Dean coupling up. 

“Oh my god, my concealer can’t even cover my eyebags anymore!” Kendall complains, borderline slamming setting powder into her skin.

Your response comes in the form of a yawn so big it makes your eyes water.

Dionne tries to swipe on mascara and almost misses. “Allie, I love you, but if you and Dean spend one more night hooking up so loudly that all of us can hear, I’m putting a fucking chastity belt on that man and supergluing his hands together.”

The problem was that none of you had anticipated just how excited Allie and Dean would be to finally be coupled up. The first night, you all let it slide, cheering Allie on and demanding details when she walked into the dressing room that morning. The second night, you’d laughed about it, joking that the two need to do laps in the pool or something because they have way too much stamina. By the fourth night, it was no longer funny.

Allie winces as she takes in all of your exhausted expressions. “I’m really sorry, guys. It’s just—Dean can be—,”

“Nope, not listening to this again.” Hannah holds her hand up resolutely. “I don’t care what Dean can be—I know what Dean can be, I have to hear it every night!”

You take a tired sip of your breakfast smoothie that Garrett had only had the energy to set down in front of you, press a kiss to your head, and grumble about how he was going to go pass out somewhere, while glaring at Allie.

“I like Dionne’s chastity belt idea. Does anyone think they’d be able to swallow a key?”

“Guys,” Allie whines, but when none of you fold she sighs. “Okay, fine, no more tonight. I promise.”

None of you fully believe her, but you go back to getting ready nonetheless. (Hannah nods off while doing her blush and you almost line your lips with eyeliner.)

“I hate that he’s fucking smiling,” Garrett grumbles into your neck. “He doesn’t deserve to be happy.”

“Who—? Oh.” You cut yourself off when you get your answer in the form of Dean walking past you with a large grin on his face. 

The two of you are stretched out on one of the daybeds, Garrett’s arms wrapped around you as you fiddle with his fingers. All around the Villa, the energy is subdued, everyone having reached that point of exhaustion where they’re too tired to keep pretending that they aren’t.

Everyone except Dean, apparently, who must have been on his way to work out when he passed you, because he’s in the gym now, taking a few weights off the weight rack.

“Cocky fuck,” Garrett mutters under his breath and you laugh.

“Dionne was saying we should get him a chastity belt.”

Garrett nods a bit too seriously. “I’ll hold him down while you put it on.”

You tilt your head to look at him. “You want me that close to another guy’s dick?” You ask playfully.

“...I’ll hold him down while Tucker puts it on.”

You trace Garrett’s ring finger with two of your own, bending and stretching it in a way that would almost seem medical, if you knew anything about anatomy. “Allie promised the girls they’d let us sleep tonight.”

“I’ll believe that when I hear it.”

“If you want, I can be on earplug duty tonight,” you offer. Garrett had graciously adapted to your new, unwanted, bedroom soundtrack by sacrificing his own sleep to cover your ears for you while you tried to fall asleep, in his best attempt to muffle the noise. “So you can actually get some rest.”

Garrett presses his lips to the place where your neck meets your shoulder. “Nah, you need your beauty sleep.”

“Oh, I need it, huh?”

Clearly Garrett is too tired for your teasing and he nips your skin in response. “Stop.”

You reach your hand behind you, tangling it in his curls so you can play with his hair, and you feel him physically relax against you. He lets out a sigh of relief as his eyes flutter closed.

A familiar chime cuts through the air and you hear Dionne’s tired groan.

“I got a text!”

Garrett genuinely whimpers, burying his face into your neck for another moment longer before forcing himself to get up.

“‘Islanders, tonight the Hideaway is open! Please vote for the couple you think deserves a special night in the suite #AllNightNoSleep #AloneAtLast’”

The Hideaway announcement rejuvenates you all with just enough energy to get excited about it, each couple splitting off to decide who to vote for. You’d been waiting for an opportunity to go to the Hideaway since pretty much the moment you coupled up with Garrett, but as you move back to the daybeds to talk, you can’t help the way your stomach twists shamefully. 

“Don’t be mad.”

Garrett raises a brow as you sit down. “About what?”

You hesitate, squeezing your eyes closed like you hate the words coming out of your mouth. “I think we should let Allie and Dean go to the Hideaway.” Before Garrett can react, you continue. “It’s just—We’ve barely been able to sleep, you know? I just think I’m gonna be so tired that I’m just gonna pass out the second we get there and if we let them go then everyone will be able to sleep—,” You look at him and wince guiltily. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

You tuck your bottom lip into your teeth and start biting at the skin of it nervously. “I know you were looking forward to this…”

“I mean, yeah, I always look forward to being alone with you and I am definitely looking forward to doing other things… But—,” He leans forward, catching your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb and gently removing it from your gnawing teeth. “I also look forward to spending time with you, and sharing a bed with you, and cuddling with you, and actually sleeping. I don’t want you to feel like you have to do more than that, just because I want to.”

“I don’t—!”

“I know you don’t.” He assures you. “But I also wanted you to hear it from me, too.”

You pout, before flopping on the daybed and flinging the back of your hand over your forehead dramatically. “This is literally the worst thing that has ever happened to me!”

“That cannot be true,” Garrett snorts.

You peek at him through your fingers. “When we finally go to the Hideaway, I’m gonna suck you dry.”

Garrett chokes on his own spit.

After you and Garrett selflessly bow out of the running, everyone’s able to come to an agreement quickly—Allie and Dean should go to the Hideaway.

“As much as I don’t want to reward you, this is the only way any of us are guaranteed sleep,” Dionne sighs when Allie does an excited dance at the results.

Garrett claps Dean on the shoulder, digging his fingers in until the blond is wincing. “You have no idea what I’ve sacrificed for this,” he tells him flatly.

As conflicted as you all are about it, the fact that you know you’re sleeping tonight does raise everyone’s spirits and you’re able to end the night on high, sending Dean and Allie off to the Hideaway with a lewd chant you and the girls had come up with during your first week in the Villa.

As soon as Dean and Allie disappear from sight, you all get ready for bed quickly.

“Goodnight!” Kendall calls out as she gets comfortable in her and Tucker’s bed. “Everyone better get at least nine hours!”

You all cheer through yawns in response and you let Garrett throw an arm over your middle as the lights of the bedroom turn off.

You shift your legs to get comfortable, lift your head and fold your pillow to be more firm under you, and tuck Snowy in about seven different positions under your arm for at least half an hour before you come to the horrific realization that you can’t sleep.

Garrett groans quietly when you shift again. “Baby, stop moving.”

And you really try not to, forcing yourself to stay still and squeezing your eyes shut. But then your legs are touching each other weirdly, and the angle your neck is at is driving you crazy, and something in the pit of your stomach feels hot, and you can’t stay still anymore. You flip onto your back with a huff.

“I can’t sleep…” You whisper.

Garrett’s already half asleep, your words sounding more like they’re coming from a dream than from you. “Mm?”

The air is too hot and your spine feels crooked and no matter which way you arch or round your back, it still feels wrong. You thrash around in annoyance, shoving your face into your pillow to whine, and it’s enough to make Garrett more coherent.

“Okay,” he wipes a heavy hand over his face to wake himself up. “Okay, I’m up.”

You decide that the duvet is stupid and fling it from your body, causing it to fold awkwardly over Garrett.

“I just wanna sleep,” you plead helplessly.

Garrett shushes you gently, taking in your squirming body and the pinched pout on your face, and he tightens his grip around you to keep you from moving more. He uses his other arm to pull the blanket back over you, shushing you again before you can grumble a complaint.

“Okay, I got you,” he murmurs, fighting back a yawn as he shifts closer until his chest is pressed tightly against your back. “I got it.”

You want to argue that he definitely doesn’t “got it” because you’re still very much awake, but any argument dies in your throat when the hand he has wrapped around your middle starts moving down to the waistband of your sleep shorts.

“Garrett…”

“Shh, shh, shh.” His lips find your neck as his fingers slide under your shorts and, suddenly, the heat in your stomach intensifies and you realize why you can’t fall asleep. You lift your hips slightly, trying to get his fingers closer to where you want, but Garrett’s teeth sink into your skin warningly. “Stay still or I’m stopping.”

Your hips fall immediately and obediently and Garrett rewards the action by finally giving you what you want, rubbing a slow circle over the cotton of your panties. You only get one though, before his fingers crawl down farther to explore the wet patch growing on your gusset. 

“Poor baby,” he coos condescendingly. “This why you can’t sleep?”

You’re about to nod hastily—anything to get him to keep going—before you remember his earlier threat and stop yourself.

You feel his smile grow against your neck. “Fast learner,” he praises.

He guides you to lift up one of your legs, stretching it behind you until it’s hooked over his hip. It gives him more room and he climbs his hand back up your body until he’s able to slide it under your panties, his thick fingers pressing against the bare skin of your pelvis. He lets out a strained breath against your ear that causes a shiver to break out across your body. You let out a small whimper and he makes a soft noise of disapproval.

“I’ll give you what you want, baby, but you have to be quiet for me.”

His whole hand is cupping you, palm resting—but not moving—against your clit as he gathers some of your slick with his middle and ring finger. He teases your entrance slowly, every so often dipping a finger in, but never pushing past the cuticle. Whenever his palm shifts to follow the action it sends a jolt to your clit.

It takes everything you have not to arch into it and buck your hips until he’s three knuckles deep. Your thighs are shaking with effort, your breath is coming out in soft pants, but you force yourself to stay still.

“Good girl.”

You can hear the soft breathing of the Islanders sleeping around you. You know the room is covered in hidden cameras and microphones. Nothing about this bedroom was created with privacy in mind.

But your sleep mask is snug against your eyes and Garrett’s face is tucked into your neck and his hand is moving so slowly, it’s not even disturbing the duvet. At a glance, the two of you looked like you were—semi-innocently—spooning.

Without your sight, everything else feels heightened. The slight scratch of Garrett’s stubble on your skin, the feeling of his boxers pressed against your inner thigh, the puffs of his breath against the shell of your ear. You’re surrounded by the clean, pine scent of his body wash and hints of his cedar cologne linger on the sheets, filling your senses with nothing but Garrett.

Your jaw drops open in a silent moan when his middle finger finally slips inside of you. You have to clamp down on your bottom lip when he curls it, dragging the pad of his finger against your walls. You clench tightly around it and Garrett has to shift his hand so that his thumb can stimulate your clit in pressured circles until you’re relaxed enough that he can insert another finger.

One of your hands claws at his wrist desperately.

His fingers are big, thicker and longer than yours and effortlessly reaching spots that you can’t on your own. You can feel the rough callouses you’d spent the afternoon studying, the memorized knowledge of exactly where they are on each finger heightening the feeling of them entering and exiting you.

Garrett pushes his fingers in as far as they can go, only stopping when his palm is pressed tightly against your opening. He curls them until they’re pressing into a spot that rips a strangled moan out of your lips. Garrett stills instantly and you think you might cry, the knot that had slowly been tightening in your stomach now starting to fade away. 

“No, no, please…”

Garrett ignores your begging with a simple instruction whispered in your ear, “Pull the blanket up.”

You comply quickly, shaky hands gripping onto the edge of the duvet and pulling it up until it’s just above your nose. As soon as the blanket is in place, Garrett’s hand comes from behind you and wraps around your mouth, his fingers digging slightly into the fat of your cheeks as his palm presses tightly against your lips.

“One more chance, baby.”

His fingers start moving inside of you again, faster this time, and his other hand keeps any noises that slip out of your mouth muffled underneath the blanket. His thumb moves back to your clit, rubbing it in tight circles as his fingers pump in and out of you, crooking into that spot that Garrett has somehow already memorized. 

It all overwhelms your senses and you can’t focus on anything for too long—flooded with Garrett’s scent, and his body heat, and the feeling of sweat perspiring from your hairline and the backs of your knees, and his hand muffling your whimpers, and his callouses.    

“You gonna cum for me, baby?” He whispers, his voice hoarse with effort. “You gonna let me watch you fall apart on my fingers?”

He almost sounds drunk, his voice slurred and rushed, exhaustion loosening his lips as they murmur breathy words into your ear. He flexes his forearm in an effort to let his fingers penetrate you deeper.

“You’re doin’ so good bein’ quiet. Can’t wake anyone up, yeah? ‘Cause you know I don’t share, baby. Only I get to see you like this.”

You don’t even totally realize when you’re orgasming—instead it’s the distinct change of feeling like you’re being surrounded by Garrett to suddenly Garrett being everything. One second, Garrett’s pine body wash is filling your nostrils and the next, Garrett is just the air you breathe. Your back arches into him, and your thigh muscles contract, and that tight cord in your stomach snaps, and Garrett’s hand keeps you quiet through all of it.

He keeps his fingers inside of you, soothing you with slow, gentle strokes as you come down from your high. You breathe heavily through your nose and he removes his hand from your mouth, using it to pull the blanket away from your face. You welcome the cool air as your orgasm subsides.

Your muscles have entirely relaxed, your body sinking heavily into the mattress and your eyes finally feel like they’re supposed to be closed, no longer fighting stubbornly against the padded fabric of your sleep mask. You use your last bit of energy to flip over and bury your face into Garrett’s chest. 

You feel him brush his thumb over your forehead to wipe away some of the sweat that’s accumulated there. “You okay, pretty girl?”

You nod—or at least, you think you do, exhaustion hitting you so suddenly that your body doesn’t totally feel real anymore. Whether or not you actually nodded, the dopey, satisfied smile on your face is answer enough and Garrett tilts your chin up gently to press an attentive kiss to your lips, before his hand moves to wrap around the back of your neck to massage it lightly. 

“Okay. Sleep, baby.”

You remember slotting your knee between his thighs, and thinking that the muscle of his bicep is finally a firm enough pillow, and that Garrett found where you’d discarded Snowy on the bed and placed her between you both in just the right position, and then you’re asleep.

BONUS

The morning finds everyone much more rested and in much better moods. Allie and Dean should be coming back from the Hideaway any minute—probably a bit more tired than you all, but also much more satisfied. You’re in the kitchen, half-watching Tucker as he shows you his perfected method to boil the perfect egg as you all eat your breakfast.

You look up when Kendall—who’d been the last to wake up—hops into the kitchen happily. She holds her arms up in triumph. 

“We slept!”

You giggle and you and the girls join her celebrating from where you’re sitting by the kitchen counter.

“And I needed it too,” Hannah emphasizes in agreement, taking a bite of her avocado toast. “I think I was actually starting to go crazy because last night I swore I heard, like, the ghost of Allie and Dean hooking up in the bedroom.”

Your breakfast smoothie goes down the wrong pipe and Garrett hides his smirk behind his coffee mug.

please don't copy, repost, or feed my work into ai, thanks!

iylm taglist (this taglist is now full): @staticgladiatordesolation @anyasthoughts @ethanthequeefqueen @legendarychrattgirl @haylee04 @ivysprophecy @avengersheart @jchameleon @serendididy @whysoanxious @prisciliamunoz @saamanthaag3 @nikfigueiredo @waitingforsmartpeople @plants-w0rld @canupourme14theroad @ivy-stuffs @donaldsonsgirl @yazzy1004 @rrosiitas @queenmariahh816 @kennedy-brooke @moonymoo1 @outpostsworld

[thebriarbunny]

soooo i kinda need to lowkey maybe get eaten out by beau maxwell sorta

+18 || a/n: oh babyyyy so do I!!!! 💕😛🫶🏽✨

“You’re so perfect. You know that?” Beau asks as he kisses your neck, chuckling against your warm skin, doing absolutely nothing but making your need for him worse.

“Beau, c’mon…”

“Goddamn, baby…” he mumbles as his big hand roams over your curves. “You want somethin’?” His palm squeezes your breast before he catches your bottom lip between his, sucking on it nice and slow. “Seem pretty desperate,” he taunts, letting his hand slip lower to cup your pussy and pulling another moan from your lips.

“Please…” you pout.

“Why are you so fuckin’ needy for me, huh?” he chuckles deeply, his rough thumb rubbing dangerously close to where you need him. “You gotta be fuckin’ wet—how messy are you right now?”

“You’re being mean,” you whisper breathlessly as he glides two thick fingers up your soaked slit.

“Don’t be like that,” he mumbles, his slick smile spreading across his lips before he steals another kiss. “I can feel how much you need me, pretty. You’re shit at hidin’ it.” His hand moves higher, teasing your clit with the rough pads of his fingers.

Beau hisses out a breath when you reach between you, wrapping your fingers around the base of his thick cock, stroking him slow.

“Now,” you mumble, feeling his hard cock twitch in your hand, catching some of the precum on his tip before bringing it to your lips.

“Yes, ma’am,” he whispers, his voice breaking as he watches your lips close around your finger. His mouth twitches, but whatever smart-ass comment he had ready dies before it makes it past his lips.

Beau plunges two fingers into your soaked core, making your head sink back into the pillow as he presses kisses across your chest and starts fucking his hand into you.

He doesn’t stay there long—his mouth trails lower and lower down your body until your heart is pounding in anticipation.

Your legs instinctively start to draw together, but Beau catches your thighs in his hands and pushes them back against his mattress, holding you open while he looks down between them.

You gasp when he spits, the wetness sliding over your pussy before he leans closer, the warmth of his breath brushing over you.

His big biceps and thick shoulders flex from the angle of his body—his hands keeping your thighs spread while his eyes stay locked on yours from between your legs as he gives you one long, teasing lick.

“Holy shit,” you moan, and Beau barely gives you time to recover before his arms wrap around your thighs and pull you closer, burying himself between your legs.

Beau kisses your clit before sucking hard, making your fingers lace into his hair and tug at the roots, guiding him closer. He moans into you at the pull, the vibration making your eyes roll back as your hips press helplessly toward his mouth.

“Ride it, baby,” he hums, his voice barely audible over your breathing as he begs you to move your hips, so you do, grinding your pussy up into his face as he groans at the taste—his hips rutting into the mattress for relief.

“Beau, fuck,” you squeal, hips bucking off the bed when he drops one arm and pushes two thick fingers back inside you without taking his mouth away.

Your heart starts to race as the pleasure builds fast—the wet sounds of his mouth on your pussy filling the room while his fingers curl inside you.

“I’m close,” you whimper, and Beau groans against you.

“Fuckin’ cum around my tongue,” he mutters, voice deep and husky before his tongue slips lower and pushes through your entrance. His greedy fingers move up to your clit instead, rubbing so quickly that your hands slap against the mattress before fisting the sheets beneath you.

Beau’s name tears from your lips as you flutter around his tongue, your vision blurring at the edges while your ears start to ring.

You tremble against his hold when it becomes too much, but Beau only pulls you closer, tongue and fingers working you through every last second of your orgasm until hot tears slip from the corners of your eyes and disappear into his sheets.

“That’s my baby,” he mumbles, pressing teasing little kisses against your clit and watching your body jump with every touch.

“Beau…” you whimper, finally managing to look down at him.

He lifts his eyes to yours and smiles, lips glistening with your slick as he presses another kiss against your inner thigh. “Yeah, pretty?”

“Fucking kiss me.”

[garrettgrahamswhore]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ 𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚 ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

garrett graham x fem!reader

summary 𓂃 after overhearing garrett bet that he can get you to wear his jersey, you decide to play along.

warnings 𓂃 18+ mdni, explicit smut, car sex, public-ish setting, dirty talk, praise, teasing, unprotected sex, creampie, cliffhanger.

word count 𓂃 2,653.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Wearing Garrett Graham’s jersey hadn’t been part of the plan.

If anyone had asked you, you would’ve said you’d rather wear a rival team’s hoodie to a Briar game than give Garrett the satisfaction of seeing his name on your back — not because you hated him, despite what Logan kept saying, but because Garrett already walked around like half the campus was wrapped around his finger. You weren’t about to join the list of girls making that worse.

Which was exactly why you nearly dropped the case of beer when you heard his voice from the kitchen. “She’ll wear it.” Garrett sounded far too confident for someone who had absolutely no business talking about you like he had you figured out.

You stopped outside the doorway, brows furrowing as you balanced the case of beer against your hip. “You’re actually delusional.” Logan laughed, and a bottle clinked against the counter. “She called you a walking ego problem yesterday.”

Garrett chuckled. “Yeah, and ten minutes later, she stole my fries.”

“That doesn’t mean she likes you,” Tucker pointed out, sounding amused.

“It means she likes annoying me,” Garrett corrected, and you hated how easily he said it, like it was a fact he kept in his back pocket.

Dean scoffed. “Yeah, no. There’s no way in hell she’s wearing your jersey.”

Your stomach tightened when you heard your name.

There was a beat of silence before Garrett spoke again, slower this time, like he was smiling around the words. “Fifty says she does.”

And that was the moment you decided Garrett Graham was going to suffer. Not because you wanted him to win the bet. He absolutely wasn’t going to win the bet. You weren’t about to become a pawn in whatever stupid male-ego competition the hockey team had going on before the playoffs. Still, the idea had already lodged itself in your brain, and suddenly, refusing to wear the jersey felt like letting him think he’d gotten under your skin.

So you wore it — but on your terms.

The thing was ridiculously big on you, because of course it was, the navy fabric falling over your frame and nearly reaching mid-thigh. His last name stretched across your back like some terrible joke, bold white letters that made Allie stop chewing the second you stepped out of your room.

“Oh, my God.” She slapped a hand over her mouth, already laughing. “You’re evil.”

“I’m supporting the team,” you said, grabbing your bag from the counter.

“You’re actually trying to kill Garrett Graham.”

You shrugged. “Then I hope the team has a backup captain.”

The rink was already loud by the time you got there, the student section packed and buzzing with the kind of preseason excitement that made everyone forget about homework and actual responsibilities. You found Dean immediately because he waved like he hadn’t spent the last twenty minutes texting you to ask where you were. But the second his eyes dropped to the jersey, his entire face changed.

“No.” Dean shook his head before you even sat down. “Nope. Absolutely not.”

“What?” you asked, glancing around like you had no idea what he meant.

“Take that off.”

“In public? Dean, there are children here.”

Allie snorted beside you while Logan, who’d come up into the stands for two seconds before warmups, looked like Christmas had come early. “Oh, Graham’s going to be useless.”

“Why would he be useless?” you asked, all wide eyes and fake innocence.

Logan’s grin only got wider. “You’re a menace.”

The payoff was immediate, the second Garrett skated onto the ice.

He didn’t see you at first, too busy saying something to one of the first-years near the boards. Then Dean yelled something, Garrett glanced up toward your section, and his eyes landed on you — or more specifically, on his jersey.

The puck slid clean off his stick.

You smiled and gave him a little wave.

Garrett stared at you for a second too long, mouth slightly parted like his brain had short-circuited, before Logan shouted something from the bench that made half the guys turn to look. Garrett blinked, caught himself, and shook his head, but the tips of his ears had gone red.

It was the best thing you’d ever seen.

The whole game felt like that. Every time Garrett skated by, his eyes found you. Every time they did, you pretended to care about literally anything else — the scoreboard, your phone, the girl in front of you. Dean was losing his mind when Garrett took a cheap hit and immediately got back up like he hadn’t just given half the arena a heart attack.

But when he scored in the third period, his eyes went to you first. Not the bench. Not the crowd. You, wearing his name.

The grin on his face was dangerous — all adrenaline, ego, and something that made your thighs press together before you could stop them.

By the time the game ended, Briar had won, Dean had yelled himself hoarse, and you were starting to think this might’ve been a terrible idea.

“I’m riding with Allie,” Dean announced as you walked toward the parking lot, still glaring at your jersey as it had personally betrayed him.

You frowned. “Congratulations?”

“You need a ride or what?”

“I drove here.”

Dean narrowed his eyes like he already knew you were going to ignore him. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

You pressed a hand to your chest, deeply offended. “I would never.”

Allie coughed like she was hiding a laugh, but Dean was too distracted by Tucker calling his name to notice, which left you standing by your car in the half-empty parking lot, pretending very hard that you weren’t waiting.

You were shifting your bag higher on your shoulder when you heard his voice.

“Cute jersey,” Garrett said, sounding far too pleased with himself.

Your lips pressed together before you turned around, trying not to react to Garrett walking toward you with his gear bag slung over one shoulder, damp hair curling from his shower, and his suit jacket open like he hadn’t just spent sixty minutes trying to ruin your life on ice.

“Thanks,” you said, looking down at yourself. “Some guy gave it to me.”

Garrett stopped in front of you, his gaze dragging over the jersey slowly enough to make your stomach tighten. “Some guy?”

“Yeah. Tall, annoying, thinks he’s charming.”

His mouth curved. “Sounds like your type.”

“You wish,” you said, trying very hard not to smile.

He stepped closer, the smell of soap and cold air coming with him. “I think you wearing my name proves I don’t have to wish all that hard.”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself. I only wore it because I overheard your stupid little bet.”

Garrett’s brows lifted, but the surprise lasted only a second before amusement settled over his face. “You overheard that?”

“Every single word.”

“And you still wore it?” he asked, like that proved something.

“To make a point, obviously.”

“What point?” he asked, voice dropping as his fingers caught the hem of the jersey and brushed your bare thigh.

The touch was light, barely there, and still made your breath catch.

Garrett noticed, because of course he did. His eyes flicked to your mouth, then back to your face with a look that made you want to kick him.

“That I can make you look stupid whenever I want,” you said, though your voice wasn’t nearly as steady as you’d hoped.

Garrett laughed quietly. “You think I looked stupid?”

“You dropped the puck,” you said, trying not to smile.

“I scored,” he said.

“Eventually,” you said, unable to hide your smile this time.

Garrett moved closer, and suddenly your back was against your car, his hand still caught in the hem of the jersey like he was trying to remind both of you whose name was on it. “You know, for someone who claims she doesn’t like me, you watched me pretty closely tonight.”

“You take up a lot of space.”

“And you like looking.”

“I like judging,” you said, even though your voice had gone a little too soft.

His thumb slipped beneath the fabric, brushing your hip, and your body betrayed you again with the smallest shift toward him. “You gonna keep lying to me out here, or are you gonna get in the car?”

Your eyes went wide.

Garrett tipped his head toward his truck a few spots over, expression far too calm for someone who’d just dropped that into the conversation. “Because if you want to prove another point, pretty girl, I’m all ears.”

You should’ve told him to fuck off. You should’ve gotten in your own car and gone home. Instead, you walked to his.

The second the door shut behind you, Garrett kissed you like he’d been holding himself back for hours. Messy and impatient, like every look across the rink had been building toward this. His hands found your waist and pulled you across the backseat until you were half in his lap, and your fingers immediately went for his tie because you’d been thinking about that since the parking lot.

“You’re so fucking smug,” you breathed against his mouth.

He smiled against your mouth. “You’re in my car wearing my jersey.”

“I hate you,” you muttered.

“No, you don’t.”

Garrett’s hand slid up your thigh, slow enough for you to stop him if you wanted to. You didn’t. You only parted your legs a little more, hating the way his breath caught like that alone could ruin him.

“Can I?” he murmured, his forehead pressed to yours.

You nodded, but his fingers stayed still.

“Words.”

“Yes,” you breathed, face burning. “Touch me.”

His mouth curved against your cheek. “Good girl.”

Your body reacted before you could be embarrassed, hips shifting into his hand as his fingers slid beneath your shorts and pressed against the damp lace of your underwear.

Garrett went quiet for half a second before laughing under his breath. “All this attitude, and you’re already soaked?”

“Don’t make me regret this,” you breathed.

“You won’t,” he said, like a promise. He pushed your underwear to the side, fingers sliding through your wetness. “I’ve been thinking about this since you walked in with my name on your back.”

A moan slipped out when his fingers circled your clit, slow and steady, and Garrett kissed you again to swallow the sound. His hand moved like he knew exactly what he was doing, fingers dipping lower to tease your entrance before pushing one inside.

Your head fell back against the seat. “Garrett.”

“There she is,” he murmured, mouth moving along your jaw. “I was wondering when you’d stop pretending.”

You wanted to respond. Really, you did. But then he added a second finger and curled them both, hitting a spot that made your hand fly to his wrist.

His grin turned infuriating. “Right there?”

“Shut up,” you breathed.

“That’s not what you meant.”

His thumb worked your clit as his fingers moved inside you, slow at first, then faster when your hips started chasing his hand. It was obscene — the sound of it in the quiet car, the fogged windows, the fact that you were riding his fingers in a parking lot because you’d been stubborn enough to wear his jersey.

“Look at you,” Garrett said, voice rough now, less teasing as his eyes dragged over your face. “Acting like you didn’t want this.”

“I wanted to prove a point.”

“You did.” He kissed the corner of your mouth. “Now come for me.”

The words pushed you over faster than you wanted to admit, pleasure snapping through you so sharply your thighs shook around his hand. You buried your face in his shoulder to muffle the sound, and Garrett kept going until you grabbed his wrist, too sensitive and breathless.

He moved slowly, eyes never leaving yours, and your stomach turned over at the expression that crossed his face.

“You’re disgusting,” you whispered.

He smiled. “You’re staring.”

You kissed him before he could say anything else, hands already reaching for his belt because one more smug comment would’ve ruined you completely. Garrett helped you, breath catching when your palm brushed over him, and suddenly, nothing was funny anymore.

“Condom?” he asked, voice rough as you shifted in his lap.

“I’m on the pill,” you murmured against his neck. “And I’m clean.”

“Me too.” His hands settled on your hips, thumbs brushing beneath the jersey. “You sure?”

You looked at him then, really looked at him, at his flushed cheeks and dark eyes and the way he was still waiting, even though tension sat in every line of his body beneath you.

“Yes,” you said, looking right at him this time. “I’m sure.”

The first stretch made your mouth fall open, Garrett’s grip tightening on your waist as you took him slowly, inch by inch, until your thighs were pressed to his and both of you were breathing like the game had only just ended.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his head falling back against the seat. “You feel so good.”

You braced your hands on his shoulders and started moving before you could think too hard about it. The angle was too much and still not enough, every roll of your hips dragging a rough sound out of him while the jersey bunched around your waist.

Garrett watched you like the sight of you was slowly undoing him.

“You look good like this,” he said, voice low and rough. “Wearing my name while you take my cock.”

Your walls clenched around him, and he cursed under his breath, hands tightening on your hips as he guided you faster. “Yeah? Does that do something for you?”

“Garrett,” you breathed, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“No, come on,” he said, thrusting up into you and cutting off whatever you’d been about to say. “You had a lot to say earlier.”

“You’re annoying.”

He laughed softly against your mouth. “And yet here you are.”

The worst part was that he was right. The even worse part was that it only made you move faster. His hand slipped between your bodies, thumb finding your clit, and your whole body jolted.

“There you go,” he murmured, voice rough with satisfaction. “Give me another one, pretty girl.”

You shook your head, even though your body had already started chasing it.

Garrett kissed you, softer than his voice, like he knew you were close before you did. “I’ve got you.”

That was what did it. Not the smugness. The softness. The way his hand held your waist like he was keeping you together while he let you fall apart.

Your orgasm hit hard, pulling a broken moan from you as you clenched around him, and Garrett followed with a groan against your throat, his hips jerking beneath you as he came.

For a few seconds, neither of you moved. Your forehead rested against his shoulder, his hands warm beneath the jersey as his fingers traced slow lines up your back like he’d forgotten this was supposed to be a joke. A bet. A bad idea.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

You nodded against his shoulder.

His hand stilled instantly. “Words.”

“I’m okay,” you breathed.

He kissed your temple, gentle enough to make your chest ache.

“You know,” he said after a moment, voice quieter now, “the bet was bullshit.”

You lifted your head enough to look at him properly.

Garrett’s eyes met yours, and for once, there was nothing smug about him. “I just wanted an excuse to see you wearing it.”

Before you could answer, Garrett’s phone lit up on the seat beside you.

Dean.

Then your phone buzzed too.

Dean: Where the hell are you?

Garrett glanced at the message, then back at you with a look that was dangerously close to a grin.

A knock sounded against the window, and both of you froze instantly.

Dean’s voice came from outside the truck, suspicious and entirely too close. “Graham?”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

💌: reblogs & comments are deeply appreciated ♡

[garrettgrahamswhore]

MOVIE NIGHT

pairing — beau maxwell x girlfriend!reader

summary — you only wanted beau to pay attention to you during movie night. unfortunately, once he realizes exactly what you’re doing, he has no intention of staying sweet about it.

warnings — 18+ mdni, explicit smut, established relationship, teasing, brat-taming, clothed grinding, thigh riding, fingering, oral sex both ways, unprotected sex, creampie, praise, dirty talk, hair pulling, spanking, light choking, rough but consensual sex, overstimulation & aftercare.

word count — 4,011.

author note — honestly, what did i just write?? i hope you like it, because i think i need holy water after this one. also, will i be seeing some of you at the Off Campus convention in Paris next year? 👀

(TAGLIST) | (MASTERLIST) | (ULTIMATE MASTERLIST)

The movie had lost you twenty minutes ago.

Technically, that wasn’t Beau’s fault.

He’d picked the movie because you said you wanted something easy, the kind neither of you had to think too hard about. Something that could play in the background while you curled up together on his couch and pretended every small touch didn’t feel like it might turn into something else.

Three months in, and it still didn’t take much for things to get out of hand.

It was his hand on your thigh, his mouth brushing your temple, the low warmth of his body behind yours as he pulled you closer under the blanket because you’d claimed you were cold.

You weren’t cold, not really.

But your sleep shorts were tiny, Beau’s apartment was dim, and the movie had been playing for almost forty minutes while Beau kissed your temple, held you close, and acted like being sweet all night was a reasonable thing to do.

Which was nice.

It was.

Beau was good at being nice, too good sometimes. He had a way of making you feel taken care of without making a whole thing out of it — quiet touches, easy patience, his thumb moving lazily over your hip while the television flickered across the room.

The problem was that his version of nice had started to feel like a challenge, so you shifted against him.

At first, it was subtle, just a small shift under the blanket as your hips settled back against his and your thigh slid over his. Beau gave you nothing, except for the way his arm tightened around your waist.

A few minutes later, you did it again, slower this time, a little less like an accident and a little more like a question.

His hand stilled on your hip, and you kept your eyes on the screen like you hadn’t done anything at all.

Behind you, Beau took a slow breath, his chest rising against your back.

“You good?” His voice was low.

“Mhm,” you hummed, still watching the movie.

“You sure?”

“You sure?”

“I’m just trying to get comfortable,” you said, still not looking at him.

His thumb started moving again, slower this time.

You hid your smile against the blanket.

For a little while, Beau let you pretend you were getting away with it.

That was the part that got under your skin.

Beau stayed quiet behind you, warm and solid, one hand resting low on your stomach while his breath brushed the back of your neck. He let you shift, let you press back, let your fingers trail along his forearm like you weren’t very obviously testing him.

One more shift of your hips, and you felt him getting hard behind you.

Beau’s hand tightened low on your stomach while the movie kept playing like either of you still cared.

Neither of you moved until the screen froze, and you blinked at it before realizing Beau had paused the movie.

The silence that followed was awful in a way that made your whole body go hot, especially when his mouth brushed the shell of your ear.

“You’re either going to sit still,” Beau murmured, his voice calm against your ear, “or you’re going to tell me why you keep pressing back against me.”

You kept your eyes on the frozen screen. “Maybe you’re just too close.”

“No?” His hand tightened low on your stomach. “You want me to move?”

“I told you,” you murmured. “I’m cold.”

Beau’s hand slipped from your stomach to your thigh, fingers spreading slowly over the bare skin your shorts didn’t cover.

“Funny.” His voice was low against your ear. “You keep saying cold, but you feel pretty warm to me.”

“What, I can’t cuddle with my boyfriend?”

“You can.” His hand moved higher. “But if you keep rubbing against me like that, I’m going to stop letting you act innocent.”

You swallowed hard.

The change in his voice made your thighs press together before you could stop them, and Beau noticed that too.

A quiet breath left him, almost a laugh, before he pulled you fully into his lap. Not rough, not yet — just firm enough that your body went where he wanted it, your back against his chest and your legs tucked over one of his thighs beneath the blanket.

“There,” he said. “If you want to move so badly, use my thigh.”

Your breath caught around his name. “Beau.”

“No, don’t get shy now.” His mouth brushed the side of your neck. “You were brave enough when you thought I wasn’t going to do anything about it.”

The words went straight between your thighs.

You tried to turn your face away, but his hand came up to your jaw, gentle and firm at once, guiding you back just enough for him to watch what his words did to you.

“You wanted my attention.” His voice stayed low. “Now you have it.”

“I wasn’t trying to—”

His thigh shifted beneath you, just enough to make the rest of your sentence disappear.

Beau’s hand left your jaw and trailed back down, over your stomach, until his fingers reached the waistband of your shorts.

“No?” His voice stayed low. “You didn’t want to feel me getting hard against you?”

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out.

His fingers slipped just beneath the elastic, close enough to make your whole body tense, but still not where you needed him.

“Use your words, sweetheart.”

You hated how quickly those words undid you.

“Maybe,” you got out. “A little.”

“A little?” His voice stayed low. “Sweetheart, that didn’t feel like a little.”

You moved before you could stop yourself, grinding down against his thigh as Beau’s fingers flexed at your waist. The pressure hit immediately, dirty and unfairly good for how little Beau was actually doing. You could feel him behind you, hard against your ass, his breathing low and controlled at your ear, letting you use his thigh because you were the one who had started this.

“That’s it.” His voice was low against your ear. “You wanted to move so badly, sweetheart. Don’t stop now.”

The blanket was still pulled over both of you, the paused movie casting pale flashes across the room, and from the outside, it might have looked almost innocent.

It wasn’t. Not with your shorts riding up your thighs, Beau’s mouth against your neck, and his voice dropping lower every time your hips dragged over him.

“Good girl,” he said. “Look at you, acting innocent while you grind against my thigh.”

You made a small, helpless sound.

His hand slipped beneath your shorts, and every part of you went still.

Beau pressed his mouth to your shoulder. “Still cold?”

“You’re mean,” you said.

“Not yet.”

His fingers slipped beneath the fabric and pressed against you through your panties first.

You were already wet enough that there was no pretending otherwise, and the second he felt it, Beau’s breathing changed.

“Fuck, sweetheart.” His voice went rough against your ear. “You were this wet the whole time?”

Your eyes fluttered, and the truth slipped out before you could make it smaller. “I wanted you to touch me.”

“I know.” His fingers dragged slowly over the damp fabric. “You just wanted me to notice first.”

“You were supposed to be watching the movie.”

“I was trying to.” His fingers moved again. “You made that difficult.”

You laughed, but it broke into a gasp when he pushed the fabric aside and slid his fingers through your wetness.

His other hand settled low on your stomach, keeping you pressed back against him.

“That’s it.” His voice had gone rough in your ear. “Don’t hide from me now.”

You weren’t sure you could, not with his fingers circling your clit beneath the blanket and your hips moving helplessly against his hand, the frozen movie still lighting the room like proof of how quickly he’d stopped caring about it.

“You like my fingers here?” His voice stayed rough in your ear. “Touching you under these little shorts?”

“Beau,” you breathed.

“No, answer me.” His fingers dipped lower, teasing your entrance. “You wanted me to feel what you were doing to yourself, didn’t you?”

Your breath came out shakily. “Yes.”

“Good girl.”

He pushed one finger inside you, then another, slow enough that you felt the stretch, deep enough that your head fell back against his shoulder. His mouth moved along your neck while his fingers curled inside you beneath the blanket, slow and deliberate, until your whole body jolted.

“There.” His voice stayed low in your ear. “That’s what you needed, wasn’t it?”

Your fingers closed around his wrist, not to stop him, but to hold on.

Beau knew the difference.

“Next time, tell me you want my fingers.” His mouth pressed to the side of your neck. “Would’ve saved you all that pretending.”

You tried to answer, but his thumb circled your clit again, and the words disappeared.

He touched you until your legs trembled over his thigh, until the blanket was too warm, your breathing too loud, and the hand at your waist the only thing keeping you from squirming out of his lap.

Beau felt it the second you got close, and his fingers slowed.

A frustrated sound slipped out of you, and Beau’s laugh brushed against your skin.

“Needy girl.” His mouth stayed against your skin.

“Don’t stop.”

“Then say please, sweetheart.”

You turned your face into his neck, too embarrassed to look at him. “Please.”

“Please, what, sweetheart?”

“Please,” you breathed. “Make me come.”

Beau’s control slipped just enough for his hand to tighten at your waist.

His fingers moved faster, firmer, his thumb working your clit while he curled inside you, and you came with your face buried in his neck.

“Good girl,” Beau said, his hand tightening at your waist. “Just like that. Keep grinding against my hand. I want to feel you come.”

Your body shuddered against his, the orgasm hitting hard enough that your thighs clamped around his hand.

He slowed, but his hand stayed between your thighs.

You were still breathing hard when Beau moved beneath you and pulled the blanket away.

Cool air hit your skin as he turned you carefully, laying you back across the couch cushions as he’d finally decided to stop being soft.

Your shorts were crooked, your shirt had ridden up, and your hair was messy against the armrest.

Beau looked down at you, and something in his expression went dark.

“You wanted me to stop being nice,” Beau said, his hand pressing against your thigh. “Spread your legs.”

You did.

His gaze dropped, slow enough to make your skin heat, before lifting back to your face. “Pretty girl.”

The praise hit low, making your whole body go hot.

He pulled your shorts down your legs, your panties sliding down with them, and tossed both somewhere near the coffee table. You should’ve felt exposed, but Beau’s hands were on your thighs before the feeling could settle, pushing them apart as he lowered himself between them.

“You were acting like such a brat five minutes ago,” he said, kissing the inside of your knee. “Now you can’t even look at me.”

“Beau,” you breathed. “Please.”

His eyes lifted to yours. “What do you want?”

You hated that he was going to make you say it, and loved even more that he already knew.

“Your mouth.”

His mouth curved, slow and pleased. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

The moment Beau put his mouth on you, your head fell back against the couch.

Beau ate you out like he’d been waiting for the chance, one arm hooked around your thigh to keep you spread while his other hand pressed your hips back down every time you tried to move. He stayed controlled at first, slow and deliberate, licking into you before dragging his tongue back to your clit until every wet stroke made your thighs shake.

Your fingers tightened in his hair, and Beau groaned against you, the sound vibrating through your whole body.

“Oh my God,” you breathed.

You felt his mouth curve against you, right before he sucked your clit hard enough to make you cry out.

Somewhere above you, the movie started playing again.

Neither of you’d touched the remote, but the pause must have timed out, because the movie suddenly filled the room again with some dramatic line from a character you had completely forgotten existed.

Beau didn’t stop.

If anything, his grip tightened, holding you down harder.

“You wanted something easy to watch, right?” His mouth dragged over your inner thigh. “So watch it.”

You tried to cover your face, but Beau caught your wrist and pulled it gently back down.

“No hiding, sweetheart.”

His tongue pushed back into you, and your back arched off the couch.

“You wanted my attention.” His mouth moved against you. “Now come for it.”

The second one hit faster than the first, sharpened by how sensitive you still were from his fingers. You came on his mouth with your hands twisted in his hair, your thighs trembling around his shoulders while Beau held you there through every second of it.

He only eased off when you pushed weakly at his head.

He pressed one last kiss to your inner thigh before crawling back up your body.

His mouth was wet.

His eyes were worse.

You pulled him down and kissed him, tasting yourself on his tongue.

Beau groaned into your mouth, and it sounded like the last of his patience was finally snapping.

Your hands found the waistband of his sweatpants, and Beau let you push them down just enough before you slipped off the couch onto your knees between his legs.

Beau’s hand slid into your hair immediately, not forcing, just resting there.

His thumb brushed your cheek as your hand closed around him. He was hard and heavy in your hand, and the second his jaw tightened, you wanted to hear what it would take to make him lose control.

You looked up at him, your hand still wrapped around him. “Use your words.”

His gaze held yours. “Open your mouth.”

You did.

Beau’s hand tightened in your hair the second you took him, his head tipping back on a rough breath. For once, Beau looked less controlled, less patient, and when you hollowed your mouth around him, his thighs tensed on either side of you, his fingers flexing against your scalp.

“Fuck.” His voice broke roughly around the word. “Good girl. Just like that.”

The praise made your thighs press together before you could stop them, and Beau’s attention dropped there immediately.

“You like this too?” The words came out rough. “Looking up at me with my cock in your mouth?”

You moaned around him, and Beau’s breath left him in a rough rush.

“Careful, needy girl. Keep making those sounds, and I’m not going to last.”

So you did it again.

He guided you a little more firmly, just enough to make heat spread through your whole body. He didn’t push too far or take more than you gave him, but you could feel his control thinning with every pass of your mouth.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart.”

You looked up at him, and Beau’s breath caught.

For a second, you thought he might let himself finish like that.

But Beau pulled you off him with a rough breath, kissed you hard, and dragged you back onto the couch.

“I need to fuck you.” The words dragged roughly against your mouth.

“Yes,” you breathed.

Beau went still, forehead resting against yours. “I don’t have a condom out here.”

“I’m on birth control,” you rushed out. “I’m clean too. Tested last month.”

His breathing was rough, but his eyes stayed on yours. “Me too. Tested last month. All clear.”

His thumb brushed your jaw, careful even now. “You’re sure?”

“Yes,” you said, and this time your voice didn’t shake.

“Words.”

“I want you inside me.”

His control slipped for half a second. “Fuck.”

He laid you back across the cushions and pushed your thighs open again, settling between them. The couch was too narrow and too soft, leaving you tangled together with your leg hooked around his hip, one of his hands braced near your head and the other holding your thigh open.

When he pushed into you, both of you went quiet, and the stretch stole your breath.

Beau sank into you slowly, control pulled tight in every line of him, his eyes locked on your face like he wanted to watch every second of you taking him. You clung to his shoulders, your nails catching against warm skin beneath his shirt.

“You feel so good.” he got out. “Fuck, sweetheart.”

You tried to move your hips, but Beau kept your thigh pinned open.

“Slow.”

“You’re the one who said you needed to fuck me,” you managed.

Beau’s gaze sharpened. “And you’re the one who started this.”

He pushed deeper, and whatever you were about to say disappeared.

He fucked you slowly at first, controlled and heavy, making you feel every inch of him. He kept you spread open across the couch, kissing your mouth, your jaw, your throat, fucking you slow enough to make every inch feel deliberate.

“You’re so wet,” he said against your skin. “Taking me so well.”

Your nails twisted in his shirt.

“So pretty when you stop pretending to be innocent,” he said against your throat. “This is what you wanted? Me fucking you because you couldn’t sit still?”

“Yes,” you breathed.

“No.” His fingers found your jaw, turning your face back to his. “Look at me.”

You forced your eyes open, and Beau’s hand slid up to your throat, not squeezing, just resting there, warm and steady.

“There you go.” His thumb brushed once along your throat. “Take it.”

His rhythm turned harder, heavier.

The couch creaked beneath you, and the movie kept playing, voices and music meaningless in the background while Beau fucked you into the cushions.

One hand stayed warm at your throat. The other held your hip hard enough to keep you exactly where he wanted you.

You were close again too soon, and of course Beau felt it; he slowed just enough to make you whine.

“Already?”

“I’m still sensitive.”

“I know.” His mouth brushed over yours. “Come for me one more time.”

“Beau—”

“Turn over.” His hands found your hips. “I want you on your knees.”

Your knees sank into the couch cushion, your hands catching on the backrest. Beau stood behind you, one hand at your hip, the other pressing between your shoulder blades to keep you bent over the couch.

The first spank landed hard enough to make you gasp, your body jolting forward into the couch.

Beau’s palm followed it, smoothing once over the sting.

“You okay?”

Your breath shook, but your answer was clear. “Yes.”

“Good.” His hand stayed there for one more second before he pushed back into you from behind.

The sound you made was almost embarrassing.

Beau’s hand settled at the back of your neck, firm enough to make your back arch. The angle was deeper this way, rougher, and when his hips snapped into yours, your fingers curled into the couch fabric.

“You were so confident when you were teasing me.” His hips drove into yours again. “What happened?”

You couldn’t answer, and another hard slap landed before you could even pretend to.

“Use your words.”

“I wanted this,” you said, getting out.

“What did you want?”

“I wanted you to be rough with me.”

The sound he made was rough, almost unsteady. “There’s my good girl.”

He fucked you harder after that, rough but controlled, each thrust pressing you deeper into the couch while every filthy word he gave you made your body clench around him.

“You like it when I fuck you like this?”

“Yes.”

“I know.” His rhythm turned sharper. “I can feel how tight you get when I talk to you like this.”

The orgasm built too fast, too sharp, your body still oversensitive from his mouth and fingers. You tried to push back into him, tried to meet every thrust, but by the end, Beau was the only thing keeping you upright, his arm locked around your waist as he fucked you through it.

“Come on, sweetheart.” His arm held you tight against him. “Give me another.”

“I can’t.”

“You can.” His arm held you steady. “I’ve got you.”

His hand slipped between your thighs, two fingers settling over your clit, and your knees nearly gave out.

“Beau,” you gasped.

His mouth pressed to your shoulder. “Come for me.”

You did, hard enough that your whole body shook around him while Beau held you against the back of the couch and kept fucking you, rough praise pressed against your skin: how good you were, how pretty, how well you took him even when you were sensitive and shaking.

His rhythm broke after that, his arm tightening around your waist as he pulled you back into him.

“Inside?” he asked, his control hanging by a thread.

Your breath caught, and you nodded before the word caught up. “Yes.”

“Say it for me.”

“Come inside me,” you breathed.

Beau groaned, low and wrecked, and pushed in as deep as he could when he came, holding you there while his body shuddered behind yours. The heat of it made your knees go weak beneath you once more.

For a few seconds, neither of you moved. The movie kept playing in the background, someone on screen shouting dramatically about something neither of you had any chance of understanding anymore.

Beau exhaled first, his mouth pressing softly to your shoulder.

“You okay?”

You laughed weakly. “You’re asking that like you didn’t just fuck me on your couch.”

“I did.” He pressed another kiss to the side of your neck. “Still asking.”

Your chest went warm. “I’m okay.”

“Color?”

“Green.”

His arms tightened around you for one more second before he eased out carefully and helped you sit. Your legs felt useless. Beau’s mouth curved like he knew exactly why, but he disappeared into the bathroom before you could accuse him of looking smug.

When Beau came back, he had a damp washcloth in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

“Drink,” he said.

You took the glass from him, still boneless against the couch. “You’re bossy.”

“You like it.”

“Unfortunately.”

Beau smiled like he was going to let you have that one and cleaned you up carefully, his touch gentle now in a way that made the roughness from minutes ago feel even hotter instead of less. When he was done, he found your shorts on the floor, looked at them for half a second, then apparently decided against it and handed you one of his shirts instead.

You pulled it on while he settled back onto the couch, and the second you were close enough, he drew you into his side like that was where you’d been meant to end up.

The movie was still going.

You stared at the screen for a few seconds, trying to make sense of the scene playing out in front of you.

“Do you have any idea what’s happening?”

“No.”

“Great.”

Beau kissed the top of your head, his hand resting warm on your bare thigh beneath the hem of his shirt. For a moment, the room went quiet except for the movie and the sound of both of you breathing your way back to normal.

A few seconds later, his thumb moved lazily over your skin.

“Next time you want attention,” he said, low and close, “just ask.”

Your face heated.

You turned your head to look at him. “Maybe I like teasing you.”

Something in his expression shifted, subtle but immediate, enough to make your stomach flip despite the soreness in your body.

“Careful,” he said.

You smiled.

The movie kept playing, but neither of you reached for the remote.

💌 lmk if you want to be added to the taglist

BEAU MAXWELL TAGLIST: @05gwyn @gojodaddy1029 @carlossainzapologist @cosmosnkaz @pearled-wings @parker-barnes-af @idgasb @laceyvt3 @coc4aine @saltyfriendsaladbandit @ethanthequeefqueen @fromasgardandback @stevesxwhore @itmekelpy @nellyboosworld @fandom-princess-forevermore @kmc1989 @biologicallyyours @zoereyna @fentyqloss @aetherysis @chickenburger22 @aarohisharma @homeslices @indigohazardconduit @gingerihardlyknowher17 @sammiib444 @kennedy-brooke @marieisbored @tita004 @infiremejoon @asiahibiscus @cari87 @rexit-mo @jtheteenagewitch @destinyg237 @frizzycurls @voidangxlss @elixirandstars @beebeechaos @aria1108 @nisarelle @niniyuhhh @miya-111 @nikfigueiredo @suns3treading @madi-l0ver @graciesrcklnd @crimsonmapleleaf @nikfigueiredo

minors do not interact with 18+ content.

do not repost, copy, translate, or feed my work into ai.

[garrettgrahamswhore]

BEAU MAXWELL TAGLIST: @suns3treading @sharkfin106 @moonsf4vgrl444 @staystrongsoa @themarvelousbee @madelonnn @run-for-the-hills @raynetargaryan2 @imperfect-paragon @welovenoor @lovelytsunoda @writtenbyeos @alwaysclassyeagle @flusteredmoonn @thefriendlygeist @chrismattnick @haroldpotterson @paige0103 @xnightmarexpunkx @asc09 @fiction-obsessedd @em1ly57 @kayla-rose15 @m21-k @bonsaijoons @eerilyjaggedconstruct @itsreallydamngiving

[garrettgrahamswhore]

DEVELOPING FEELINGS

PAIRING — john tucker x girlfriend!reader

SUMMARY — Seven days apart shouldn’t feel this impossible. But when John starts finding the Polaroids you’ve hidden just for him, missing you becomes a little harder—and wanting you becomes impossible to ignore.

WARNINGS — 18+, nsfw, smut, sexting, phone sex, mutual masturbation, praise kink, light d/s dynamics, ligh dom!tucker, teasing, established relationship. 

author note: this request has been waiting in my inbox for a while, and i’m so glad i finally got to write it! i hope you enjoy reading it. 🤍 i purposely left out their reunion because i couldn’t resist the idea of making it a part 2… so let me know if that’s something you’d like to read! 👀 as for the taglist, i’m not using it for now. i want to see how far my posts reach on their own, and i also think it’s time to refresh my taglists since some haven’t been very active lately. i’ll revisit everything soon. thank you for always being here. i love you. ♡

(NAVIGATION) |(MASTERLIST) | (ULTIMATE MASTERLIST)

John Tucker had gotten used to missing you.

At least, that was the lie he told himself on Monday morning, standing barefoot in the middle of his room with his toothbrush still in his mouth, staring at your side of the bed after it had been empty for two nights.

He was used to early practices, away weekends, and you stealing his hoodies before disappearing into your own schedule for hours at a time. He was used to sharing you with classes, friends, errands, family—with all the small, ordinary things that pulled at both of your lives.

But this felt different.

A whole week. Seven full days with you gone, back home for some family thing you'd sworn would be boring—even though you'd kissed him at the door like you knew exactly what kind of damage you were leaving behind. 

You'd smiled against his mouth and whispered, "Be good while I'm gone."

Tucker had rolled his eyes. "I'm always good."

Your hand had slipped beneath the hem of his shirt, your palm warm against his stomach. "That's not what I meant."

And then you were gone.

Now, two days later, Tucker stood in his room, already late for class, trying not to think about the fact that his bed still smelled like your shampoo.

He grabbed his wallet from the dresser and shoved it into the back pocket of his jeans, only to freeze.

Something peeked out from the fold—not cash, not a receipt, and not the coffee punch card you kept stealing from him because, apparently, his stamps counted as communal property.

A glossy white square.

Tucker frowned, pulled it free, and stopped breathing.

A Polaroid.

You.

Not your whole face, not enough for anyone else to know—but enough for Tucker. Just the curve of your mouth, your lips parted around the hem of his old gray Briar Hockey T-shirt as your teeth tugged it up, revealing the bare line of your waist and the lace sitting low on your hips.

Black lace, of course.

His favorite.

Along the white border at the bottom, you'd written in your familiar, messy handwriting:

Miss me yet? ♥︎

Tucker stared at it for ten solid seconds before glancing toward his closed bedroom door, as if one of the guys might somehow sense what he'd found through the wall.

"Fuck," he mumbled around the toothbrush.

His phone buzzed against the dresser.

You: tell me you found one

You: before you start worrying, those are for your eyes only 

You: I hid them where only you'd think to look 

You: so maybe don't let anyone dig through your stuff, John

Tucker's thumb was moving before his brain had fully caught up.

Tucker: You put a half-naked picture of yourself in my wallet?

You: half? that's disappointing. I'll have to do better next time.

Tucker: You're unbelievable.

You: I think you misspelled thoughtful.

Tucker: I'm supposed to go to class with this in my pocket?

You: good.

Tucker: Good?

You: yeah. think about me.

He did. 

Through the entire econ lecture, Tucker thought about you.

He thought about the smug little smile you were probably wearing miles away, knowing he was sitting in a lecture hall with your body tucked behind his driver's license. He thought about the black lace hugging your thighs, the way you looked in his shirt, and the way you always played innocent when you knew exactly what you were doing.

By the time class ended, Tucker had barely managed to fill half a page with notes, and by lunchtime, he'd already pulled the Polaroid out three more times—always somewhere no one else could see.

His truck. A bathroom stall. The empty hallway outside the athletic offices.

Each time, his jaw clenched a little harder. Each time, he told himself he wasn't going to react like some horny teenager.

And each time, he failed miserably.

That night, after practice, Tucker found the second one.

You'd tucked it inside his textbook.

He found it at his desk later, freshly showered and dressed in sweats, his hair still damp and a highlighter uncapped between his fingers. When he opened to the chapter he'd marked with a sticky note, the Polaroid slipped out onto his notes.

This one was worse.

So much worse.

You were stretched out across his bed, surrounded by things he recognized instantly: the navy sheets, the pillow you always curled around in your sleep, the corner of his headboard behind you. You'd clearly taken it before you left, probably while he was at morning skate, which meant you'd been there alone, in his bed, planning all of this.

Your knees were spread just enough to send heat rushing through him.

Still no full face. Only your mouth, your throat, and the soft curve of your breasts mostly hidden behind your arms. Your panties were visible this time, thin and dark and stretched over you in a way that made Tucker's grip tighten around the Polaroid.

Along the border:

Study hard ♥︎

A low, disbelieving laugh slipped out of Tucker as he reached for his phone.

Tucker: You're actually evil.

You: which one did you find?

Tucker: The textbook.

You: oh good. educational.

Tucker: You expect me to study with this sitting in front of me?

You: you're smart. multitask.

Tucker: Baby.

You: yes?

Tucker: You're so in trouble.

You left him hanging for a full minute before his phone finally buzzed again.

Another photo.

Not another Polaroid this time. Fresh. Slightly blurred, like you'd taken it in a hurry in the childhood bedroom where he knew you were staying, your shirt pushed up and one hand covering your chest—barely hiding anything and somehow making the whole thing worse. At the bottom of the frame, your mouth curved into a smile.

You: am I?

Tucker leaned back in his chair, dragging a hand over his mouth.

His room had gone quiet.

Beyond the door, the house was still loud—the guys shouting about something downstairs, music thumping faintly through the floor. But inside his bedroom, all Tucker could hear was his own breathing.

He typed something, deleted it, then tried again.

Tucker: Lock the door.

You: already locked.

Tucker: Good girl.

Tucker: Because I'm about to tell you exactly what I'd do to you if I were there.

You answered almost instantly.

You: please.

Tucker's gaze went dark. 

He looked back at the Polaroid—at your thighs spread across his bed, at the taunt scrawled in your handwriting.

Then he started typing.

Not rushed. Not careless. He took his time, because he knew you. Knew how easily his words got under your skin when they came from him. Knew how much you loved it when he stopped being the sweet, patient boyfriend everyone else saw and let that rougher side of him show.

Tucker: I'd put you right back on my bed, exactly like that.

Tucker: Same panties. Same shirt.

Tucker: Except I'd make you keep your hands above your head.

Tucker: No touching until I told you to.

The typing bubble appeared, disappeared, then came back again.

You: john.

Tucker: Already getting worked up?

You: maybe a little

Tucker: Try again.

You: yes.

Tucker: That's my girl

Nearly a full minute passed before you answered, and when you finally did, it was with another picture.

This one was darker.

Lower.

Your panties had been tugged slightly to the side, just enough to make Tucker's breath catch before it left him in a sharp, quiet curse.

You: am I allowed to do that?

Tucker shot to his feet so fast that his chair rolled back and knocked into the bed. He crossed the room, locked his bedroom door, and sent you a picture back—not fully explicit yet, just his hand low on his abdomen, the waistband of his sweats tugged down enough to reveal the sharp V of his hips and the dark trail beneath his navel. Enough to answer your question. Enough to show you exactly what you were doing to him.

Tucker: Keep going, and you'll find out.

By Wednesday, Tucker didn't trust anything he owned. He checked the pockets of his jacket before leaving the house, opened his laptop carefully, and flipped through his notebooks like they might go off in his hands. You'd turned his entire life into a minefield of temptation, and the worst part was that he loved every second of it.

He loved the anticipation. Loved wondering where the next glimpse of you would turn up. Loved knowing you'd been thinking of him every time you hid one, imagining the exact moment he'd find it. Loved knowing every photo was a deliberate little piece of torture disguised as affection.

The third one was waiting beneath his pillow.

He found it after a long day, exhausted from practice and sore everywhere, wanting nothing more than to collapse face-first into bed—only for his hand to slip beneath the pillow and brush against glossy paper.

Tucker closed his eyes for a second.

"Jesus fucking Christ."

This one was softer, which somehow made it feel even filthier.

You were curled up on his bed wearing nothing but one of his sweatshirts, your bare legs tucked beneath you and the hem riding high over your thighs. The picture cut off at your neck, one hand settled between your legs over the fabric, your fingers pressing just enough for Tucker's imagination to do the rest.

Along the border, you'd written:

Your side of the bed feels empty 

His chest tightened before anything else.

He sat on the edge of the bed, holding the Polaroid carefully between his fingers.

For all the teasing, all the heat, there it was—the reason the photos worked so well. Not because they were dirty, though they definitely were. Not because you knew exactly how to drive him out of his mind, though you absolutely did. 

Because he missed you. 

Because every picture said, I know you. I know exactly where you'll look. I know what will make you laugh, what will make you ache, and what will make you need me.

His phone buzzed against the mattress.

You: did you find another one?

Tucker: Under the pillow

You: that one's my favorite.

Tucker: Is it?

You: yeah. I was missing you before I even walked out the door.

Tucker's throat tightened.

Tucker: I miss you too, baby

You: don't get all sweet on me now. I'm supposed to be seducing you

Tucker: You're allowed to do both

For a moment, neither of you said anything. Then your next message came through. 

You: show me how much you miss me

Tucker let out a slow breath.

This time, he didn't tease you back. He pulled his shirt off, tossed it toward the hamper, and settled against the headboard before taking the photo carefully, deliberately: one hand curled around himself over his sweats, the outline impossible to miss, his stomach drawn tight, and the Polaroid you'd left positioned beside his thigh so you could see it in the frame.

Your reply came almost immediately.

You: fuck.

You: john.

Tucker: You did this

You: I know

Tucker: Are you wet for me?

You: yes

Tucker: Use your words.

The typing bubble lingered on-screen before your answer finally came through.

You: I'm already wet for you.

Tucker: Where are you right now?

You: in bed. door's locked

Tucker: Is your hand between your legs?

You: not unless you tell me to

Tucker: Don't lie to me.

You: ...over my shorts

Tucker: That's what I figured

He pictured you instantly: tucked into bed miles away, your phone glowing in your hand, your thighs pressing together as you waited for whatever he'd tell you next.

Tucker was good at being patient.

Usually.

With you, patience felt less like restraint and more like strategy.

Tucker: Don't take your shorts off yet

You: john...

Tucker: You wanted to tease me all week. Now you're going to listen.

You: okay

Tucker: Good. Over your shorts. Slowly. 

Your reply came back in pieces.

You: you're mean

Tucker: No

Tucker: Mean would be telling you to stop

The next photo came through shaky with the tremor in your hand. Your hand was right where he'd told you to put it, pressed between your thighs over the thin fabric of your sleep shorts. The angle caught the bare stretch of your stomach, your shirt pushed up, your breathing visible in the slight motion of the frame.

Tucker's grip tightened around himself.

Tucker: Fuck, baby

Tucker: God, look at you

Tucker: Doing exactly what I told you

Then a voice message appeared, only three seconds long—just his name, whispered like you were trying not to be heard.

It ruined him.

Tucker played it twice, then a third time, his jaw clenched hard enough to ache. Then he called, and you picked up on the second ring.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. All Tucker could hear was your breathing on the other end—soft, uneven.

"Hi," you breathed.

Tucker's mouth curved despite himself. "Hi?"

A breathless laugh slipped out of you. "Don't make fun of me."

"I'm not." Tucker shifted on the bed, his gaze dropping back to the Polaroid beside him. "I just think it's cute how bold you get behind a camera, and then I get you on the phone, and suddenly you're shy."

"I'm not shy," you protested.

"No?" His voice dropped. "Then tell me what you're doing right now."

Silence answered him, followed by the soft rustle of sheets.

"My hand's still where you told me to put it."

"Still over your shorts?" he checked, voice low.

"Yes," you breathed.

"Are you pressing down for me?" Tucker's voice roughened.

"A little," you admitted, voice barely there.

"Does that feel good?" His voice stayed low, controlled.

You drew in a soft breath. "Not enough."

Tucker squeezed his eyes shut. God, he loved that—the frustration threaded through your voice, the fact that after teasing him all week, you were the one needy now, waiting for permission.

Tucker's voice softened into something cruelly sweet. "Poor baby. You've been teasing me from hundreds of miles away, and now you need me to help you?"

"You like helping me," you whispered.

"I love it," Tucker rasped, his hand sliding beneath the waistband of his sweats. "I love every single picture you left me. I love knowing you were in my room thinking about me. On my bed, spreading your legs for the camera because you knew I'd lose my fucking mind."

Your breath caught.

Tucker's voice dipped, satisfied. "There she's. That's what you wanted, wasn't it? For me to find them and spend the whole week thinking about this?"

"Yes," you breathed.

"Wanted me sitting in class hard because of you?"

"Yes," you admitted, voice shaking.

"Wanted me opening my wallet like an idiot, trying to buy coffee, only to find you half naked behind my license?"

You laughed, but it broke at the end into a small, helpless sound that sent heat curling low in his stomach.

"I almost forgot about that one," you confessed.

"I definitely didn't," Tucker answered.

"No?" you breathed.

"Not even a little." Tucker stroked himself once, slow, biting back the groan that tried to slip out. "I thought about it all day. Thought about that black lace. Thought about pushing my shirt up the rest of the way and putting my mouth on you."

"Oh," you whispered.

"Yeah," Tucker rasped. "Oh."

The silence between you grew heavy before you finally whispered, "Can I take them off now?"

Tucker's grip tightened around himself. "Ask me properly."

A frustrated little sound slipped out of you. "John, please."

"Ask," Tucker said, voice low and unyielding.

"Please," you breathed. "Can I take my shorts off?"

Tucker's eyes slipped shut. "Yes. Keep your panties on."

He listened as you moved—the soft kick of fabric, the rustle of sheets, the little exhale you gave when you settled back into place.

"What color are they?" Tucker rasped.

"White," you answered, voice thin.

A groan slipped out of Tucker. "Fuck."

"You like them?" you asked softly.

"You know I love them."

"I put them on because I couldn't stop thinking about you."

Tucker let out a low, strained laugh. "You're trying to kill me."

"Maybe," you teased.

"Touch yourself over them," Tucker ordered softly.

You obeyed, and he could hear it in your breathing—in the way your next inhale came out shaky.

Tucker's voice cut in, low and firm. "Slow."

"I'm," you breathed.

"Don't lie to me," Tucker warned, his voice rough.

"I'm trying," you whispered.

"That's better," he praised, voice rough with restraint.

For a few minutes, Tucker only listened. There was something obscene about it, something so intimate it made his skin feel too tight. The distance should have made it feel less intense, but instead, it sharpened everything: every breath, every sigh, every slick little sound you tried to muffle against your pillow.

Tucker's voice cut through the line, rough and quiet. "Don't muffle yourself."

"I need to be quiet," you whispered.

"I know," Tucker rasped. "But I still want to hear you."

"You're impossible," you whispered.

"I'm your boyfriend," Tucker reminded you, his voice warming. "I'm allowed."

"You're so bossy," you breathed.

"You love it when I'm bossy."

You didn't answer, and Tucker smiled to himself.

"Yeah," he murmured. "That's what I thought."

Your voice softened. "Are you touching yourself too?"

Tucker glanced down at his hand wrapped around his cock, his sweats pushed low, his body tense and overheated in the dim light of his bedroom.

"Yeah," Tucker rasped.

"Can I see you?" you asked softly.

Tucker pulled the phone from his ear and switched the call to video.

The video took a second to connect. Then your face filled his screen, flushed and soft in the glow of your bedroom lamp, your hair messy, your eyes bright, your lower lip caught between your teeth.

For a moment, Tucker forgot how to breathe.

"Hi," you whispered again.

His expression softened before he could stop it. "Hi, baby."

Your eyes dropped lower, and Tucker tilted the phone down, watching your reaction unfold—the parting of your lips, the way your pupils widened, the way your hand shifted beneath the sheets.

"Fuck," you breathed.

Tucker's grip tightened around himself. "Yeah?"

You nodded, unable to look away.

He stroked himself slowly, letting you watch the movement of his hand, the flushed head of his cock sliding through his grip. Your expression shifted at once, desire leaving you almost dazed.

Tucker kept his eyes on yours. "That's what you did to me. All week."

Your eyes stayed on his hand. "I wish I were there."

Tucker's eyes lifted back to yours. "Tomorrow, you'll be."

"Tomorrow feels too far away."

"I know," Tucker answered, softer this time.

Beneath the blanket, your hand moved.

Tucker's focus snapped back to you. "Show me."

Your eyes snapped back to his. "What?"

Tucker's gaze didn't move from yours. "Move the blanket."

"John..."

"Just for me," Tucker coaxed, gentler now. "Door's locked?"

"Yes," you assured him.

"And you're alone?"

You nodded once. "Yes."

Tucker's voice softened, but the command stayed there. "Then let me see, baby."

You hesitated for a second before pushing the blanket down.

A curse slipped out of Tucker before he could stop it. You were spread out on the bed in nothing but your shirt and those white panties, thighs parted, fingers moving in slow circles over the damp fabric. The sight hit him hard, his hips jerking into his hand before he could control it.

Tucker's jaw went slack. "Jesus, sweetheart."

Color rose higher in your cheeks. "Don't stare."

"I'm going to stare." Tucker's eyes stayed locked on you. "You don't get to send me Polaroids all week and then tell me not to look."

Your laugh broke into a moan as your fingers pressed down harder.

Tucker's focus narrowed on the movement of your hand. "That's it. Right there?"

You nodded fast, too worked up to trust your voice.

Tucker didn't let you off that easy. "Use your words."

"Yes," you managed. "Right there."

Tucker's expression went dark with approval. "Good girl."

Your eyelids fluttered, and Tucker caught it immediately.

Tucker's mouth curved. "Oh, you liked that."

"Shut up," you protested, breathless.

Tucker's smile turned filthy. "No. You love when I call you that."

A soft whine slipped out of you, your hips lifting into your own hand.

Tucker's smile held, dark and knowing. "You do. My good girl. My pretty girl. Lying there touching herself because I told her to."

His name slipped out of you, shaky and desperate. "Tuck."

Tucker went still for half a second. "Say my name like that again."

"Tuck," you repeated, your voice breaking around his name.

A rough sound broke out of him as his hand moved faster. "Fuck, I miss you."

"I miss you too," you whispered back.

Tucker's gaze stayed locked on you. "Pull your panties to the side."

Your hand stilled.

His expression softened. "Only if you want to."

"I want to," you told him, softer now.

Tucker held your gaze. "Then do it."

You hooked your fingers beneath the edge of the fabric and pulled it aside.

For one suspended second, neither of you spoke, and Tucker's mouth went dry.

You were wet, glistening and swollen and perfect, your fingers sliding through yourself in one slow, nervous stroke while you watched his face on the screen.

Tucker's restraint snapped a little more. "Touch your clit."

Your fingers moved exactly where he told you, and your body lifted into the touch, a soft cry catching in your throat.

Tucker watched you like he couldn't decide whether to worship you or ruin you. "There you go. That's my girl. Keep your legs open for me."

Your thighs trembled, but you kept them open. "They're."

"Wider," Tucker ordered.

You obeyed, thighs spreading wider beneath his gaze.

His hand picked up speed.

"Fuck, I wish that was my mouth." His hand moved faster as his eyes stayed fixed on you. "I'd keep you there until you forgot how to stay quiet. I'd lick you until you were shaking, until your hands were in my hair and you were begging me to let you come."

Your fingers moved faster.

Tucker's gaze sharpened. "Not yet."

A needy sound slipped out of you. "Tuck."

"Not yet," Tucker repeated, firmer this time.

"I can't hold it," you choked out.

"You can," Tucker said, slowing his own hand just to prove the point, even though it nearly killed him. "You made me wait all week. You can wait a few more minutes."

A broken little sound caught in your throat. "You're so mean."

"I know." Tucker's smile flickered. "And you like it."

"I do," you admitted, breathless.

The confession came out small and ruined, and Tucker felt it land in his chest.

Tucker's grip eased for half a second. "Yeah, baby. I know you do."

You watched him, breathing hard, your fingers moving in tight, slick circles. Tucker watched every bit of it—the tense pull of your stomach, the tremble in your thighs, the way your face shifted every time you got too close and forced yourself back.

It was the hottest thing Tucker had ever seen.

No, that wasn't true.

Having you in his bed tomorrow would be hotter—you beneath him, wrapped around him, laughing into his mouth because he wouldn't be able to stop touching you long enough for either of you to breathe.

But tonight, this was what he had, so Tucker took what he could get.

Tucker kept his eyes on yours. "Keep one hand on your clit. With the other, touch yourself lower."

Your eyes went wide at the command.

"Tuck—"

Tucker didn't look away. "I want to see how wet you're for me."

The sound that slipped out of you hit him low and hard, and then your other hand drifted lower.

Slowly, you dragged two fingers through your wetness, gathering it there before easing one inside yourself.

Tucker's mouth fell open.

"Fuck," he breathed.

A moan slipped out of you as your head tipped back.

Tucker's focus sharpened. "Look at me."

You forced your eyes open and found his through the screen.

Tucker's hand stuttered over himself. "That's it. That's it, baby. Add another."

You obeyed, and the sound you made almost undid him.

Tucker worked himself harder now, rougher, matching the rhythm of your fingers moving inside you. He could see how slick they were, could see the way your body took them, the way your hips lifted like you needed more.

Tucker's voice came out rough and uneven. "Wish it were me?"

Your voice broke around the answer. "Yes."

"Wish I were there filling you up?"

"Yes, please," you begged.

A broken sound tore out of him. "God, I love when you beg."

"I need you," you said, voice breaking.

"Tomorrow, baby. You'll have me tomorrow."

"I need you now," you pleaded.

"I know." His thumb dragged over the head of his cock, pleasure sparking hot up his spine. "I know, sweetheart. You're doing so good for me."

Your eyes fell shut.

Tucker's voice broke rough through the screen. "Don't stop."

"I'm close," you whispered.

Tucker's eyes stayed fixed on you. "I know."

Your voice broke around the word. "Please."

Tucker watched you tremble, watched your fingers quicken, watched your chest rise and fall with sharp, desperate breaths.

He wanted to make you wait. Wanted to drag it out until you were cursing him, begging for him, so far gone you forgot you'd ever been shy.

But he missed you too much. You looked too perfect like this, and your voice—soft and needy through the phone—had stripped him bare.

Tucker's control snapped. "Come for me. Let me see you."

That was all it took.

Your body seized first, thighs trembling as your fingers kept working you through it, your mouth falling open around a soundless cry. Then your voice caught up—his name spilling out in a shaky rush, again and again, like it was the only word left in your head.

Tucker came seconds later.

Tucker came seconds later, hard and helpless, his hand tightening around his cock as he watched you fall apart. Pleasure slammed through him until his head fell back against the headboard and your name left him in a low, ruined groan.

For a while, neither of you said anything. There was only breathing.

Darkness pressed in around his room.

On-screen, your face had gone soft and sleepy, your cheeks flushed and your lips curved in a small, satisfied smile.

Tucker reached unquestioningly for a tissue on the nightstand, cleaned himself up awkwardly without ending the call, and looked back just in time to catch you giggling.

Tucker looked back at you, still catching his breath. "What?"

"You're cute," you said, smiling at him through the screen.

Tucker shot you a look. "I just came on camera for you, and cute is what you're going with?"

"You can be both," you said, still smiling.

A tired, warm laugh slipped out of him. "Yeah?"

Your smile softened. "Yeah."

You pulled the blanket back over yourself and tucked it beneath your chin while Tucker settled lower against his pillows, the phone propped on his chest so he could keep looking at you.

"You know," Tucker said, eyes still on you, "I'm going to find every single one before you get back."

That wicked little smile came back.

Tucker narrowed his eyes. "How many are left?"

"I'm not telling you," you said, still smiling.

"Baby," Tucker warned.

"Nope," you replied, entirely too pleased with yourself.

"Giving me a number would be the nice thing to do."

"You don't like me because I'm nice."

"That's not true." Tucker's voice softened. "I like you because you're you."

For a second, all the teasing fell away, and your expression shifted, tenderness breaking through the heat.

"I love you," you said softly.

Tucker felt it ache in his chest.

"I love you too," Tucker said, soft and sure.

A smile tugged at your mouth. "Even when I hide dirty Polaroids in your stuff?"

"Especially then," Tucker said, smiling now.

Your laugh came out sleepy now.

He watched you yawn and tried not to think about the fact that tomorrow, you'd be back in his bed for real. Not in a picture. Not as a voice through the phone. Not through a shaky video call with his imagination filling in the rest.

Just you.

Warm and laughing and probably smug as hell when he showed you the stack of Polaroids he'd collected like evidence.

"You should get some sleep," Tucker said gently.

"So should you," you murmured.

"I'll," Tucker promised.

"You're lying," you accused softly.

"Probably," Tucker admitted.

Your eyes narrowed. "Don't go looking for the rest tonight."

Tucker looked far too innocent. "I would never."

"John Tucker," you warned.

Tucker grinned.

You pointed at the camera. "Don't you dare."

Tucker's grin only widened. "I won't."

"You're still lying," you accused, though your smile gave you away.

"Maybe," Tucker allowed, looking entirely unrepentant.

You shook your head, still smiling. "Goodnight, Tuck."

"Goodnight, baby," Tucker said, his voice warm through the screen.

Neither of you ended the call right away. For a few quiet seconds, you looked at each other through the screen, tired and sated and still missing each other.

Then, just before the call ended, you added, "Check your sports bag before practice tomorrow."

The screen went dark, and Tucker stared down at his phone for a second before laughing, dropping his head back against the pillow, and dragging a hand over his face.

"Fuck," he muttered, still smiling.

Tomorrow suddenly felt impossibly far away.

minors do not interact with 18+ content. do not repost, copy, translate, or feed my work into ai.