• She/Her • Multi fandom • Cabin 5 • Fall • Pinterest • Guitars • Cats • Leo • 19 going 30 • 777 • 444 • Formula 1 • Reader • The Sick • Lizzy McAlpine • Conan Gray • Taylor Swift • Gracie Abrams • Future Surgeon •
I write Headcanons, Fics, One shots and Imagines.
Fandoms🪩:
-> Percy Jackson
-> Marvel
-> DC
-> Harry Potter ( Including the "Slytherin boys")
-> Celebrities ( Obviously only some )
-> F1 Drivers
-> The Pitt
• Dennis Whitaker
• Jack Abbot
• Frank Langdon
• Mateo Diaz
-> HOTD
-> AKOTSK
(I would write for others if someone requested it but these are my hyper fixations)
Ruless🪩:
I accept requests and anonymous inbox suggests and I write fluff and hurt/comfort and smut and angst but I'm not good at it😭 but I'll try for you guys😛.
Please be respectful guys and I love interacting with people so don't be shy to say something in my inbox or ask me something in my dm's.
I'm mostly gonna write requests soo drop some guys bc I struggle to validate my ideas and I feel like I don't know if people would like it soo very much writing based on requests.
Heyy guys completely unrelated but i have decided to learn italian (yayayayaa) so a tip i’ve seen is to immerse urself in the language so anything media wise i would love it if you could give me any recommendations or suggestions of movies and tv shows and music to listen to and watch as i can’t find anything that seems interesting.
I’m mainly focused on it being actually good and decent enough that i don’t mind watching thanks guysss💗🫶🏼
Hellooo everybodyy, as yall can telll i’ve not been active for a while now i mostly get on here read fics and stuff but not write or interact with people, which is quite sad actually but i have been busy with life and wasn’t doing too well and haven’t really had any motivation to write or even interact with my moots and i really do miss it.
SO i have decided to come back and really try to get active again as always my inbox is always open for my mooties to chat to and for requests as well.
You can see what i write for in my intro post on my page, and yeah i’m so excited to be back and motivated to really get active again.
To the court, to his brothers, to the hushed corridors of the Red Keep, Aerion Targaryen is what everyone knows he is. The prideful prince, prone to cold fury and darker whims. There’s no way the amethyst-eyed monster could be loving to his pretty lady wife. You.
Your maidens pity you, highborn ladies give you comforting looks and even your father—who sold you off to the crown at the very chance he had—felt bad for you.
And you understood that, of course. You yourself could see how he treated anyone he thought was inferior to him. But with you it was different, you didn’t even know if there was any way to explain it. It just happened.
He only shows it when the candles burn low in your shared chambers, long after the servants have gone. When the fire has softened to embers and the dragonglass flask of strongwine sits half-empty between you. That’s when his hand, the one that’s always clenched, always reaching for a sword or a goblet or a threat, loosens. And he lets you hold it.
In private, Aerion speaks quietly. As if the loudness he wears like armor might crack something fragile in him if he lets it out here. He won’t say “I love you” in public, he would whisper it to you in High Valyrian. “Avy jorrāelan.”
He’ll rest his forehead against yours and murmur, “You are the only thing I have not burned.”
He has nightmares, like all of his brothers do. Unlike theirs, about fallen dragons and fire, his is silence. Of waking up and finding you gone, or cold, or looking at him the way everyone else does: with fear. On those nights, he doesn’t demand comfort. He simply curls around you, one arm draped over your ribs like a dragon guarding a single egg, and breathes until the shaking stops.
And the softest thing? He lets you touch his hair. That silver-gold mane he keeps immaculate for the court, the one he threatens to have a maid beaten for simply breathing on—he’ll lay his head in your lap and close his eyes while you run your fingers through it.
When you scratch lightly behind his ear, a gesture you once joked made him look like a cat, he didn’t sneer. He almost chuckled.
He also remembers things. Not grand romantic gestures, those are for winning loyalty. But small things: the way you take your tea (honeyed, not spiced), the song you hum when you think no one is listening, the name of your childhood horse. He’ll drop these into conversation like secrets, offhand, just to watch your face soften.
And once, just once, after a nightmare so violent he threw a goblet at the wall and shattered it, he let you see him cry. Hot streaks down his cheeks while he gripped your sleeves and mumbled about the damn nightmares. Wildfire…his skin burning…your look of horror.
Later, he built the fire back up, wiped his face, and became Aerion again. But before he left the room, he paused at the door. “If you ever leave… take the knife from my bedside. You’ll need it.”
And you knew: that was his way of saying “Don’t let me hurt you. Kill me first”
cuddles - theodore nott
just fluff. i can't believe i wrote fluff. what is happening to me? i must be sick. for @theladyriddle and @puddlesoffrogs
You sink further into the pile of blankets you’ve got spread across your bed; quill in your hand scratching steadily across parchment that’s in your lap. In the corner of your dorm, a fire crackles softly in the hearth while outside, rain taps against windows that frame Mother Nature’s reckless abandonment of what should have been your date night plans rather discreetly.
Why not stay in and study when the weather is meek? The best thing about all this? Well, attached to your side, like a particularly stubborn parasite is Theodore.
Soft. Warm. His heavy sighs making your heart race and your pulse weak.
“You’ve read that page three times already...” his voice murmurs with a groan.
“I haven’t.”
“You have.”
Rather than arguing, you flip a page in the textbook beside you and continue to scribble down notes for an upcoming quiz you have on celestial bodies for Astronomy later in the week. Then you pause; swiping your tongue across your bottom lip before smirking slightly at the fact he’s right. Merlin, he’s always right.
“...alright - maybe twice.”
His laugh, warm and cozy like pancakes drowned in syrup that you've been craving since breakfast, vibrates against your shoulder and creeps up your neck, heating your skin. He’s curled into your side shamelessly. Needily. One arm draped around your waist; his face tucked into the crook of your neck as though that’s simply where he belongs.
With every word he speaks, his hair brushes against your jaw making it very hard to focus.
Very.
“Can you move?” you ask softly.
“Nope.”
“Theodore, I have a test to prepare for.”
“How tragic.”
His grip tightens around you and he kicks a leg over your own to shuffle an inch closer. You sigh dramatically yet secretly love the attention. You’ve been dating for months and whenever date night plans get ruined, he always gets like this.
Needy. Affectionate. Entirely unwilling to function unless he's touching you somehow. At first, it was cute. Now… just adorable.
“You are actively ruining my future, you know that?”
“I think my presence enriches it actually”, he adds.
“It doesn't.”
“It does.”
“Theodore.”
“Mhmm?”
You fight the smile threatening to pull at your lips although it’s a battle you don’t win. He notices immediately.
There’s another pause from you as you take a deep breath to sigh, but then low and behold – his nose nudges softly against your neck. You immediately lose your place in your notes. Fuck. Your eyes scan the same sentence three times. Then four. Merlin’s beard… five times.
You fail to absorb a single bloody word. This idiot lying beside you knows exactly what he's doing.
“You did that on purpose, Nott.”
“Did what babe?”
His voice is muffled against your skin as he speaks and you feel a spark rush down your spine as without noticing, your body begins to curl itself into him.
“That!”
“What is that, exactly?”
You glare at the page you’re trying to read… then at him.
“Theodore.”
His shoulders shake with quiet laughter as he tightens his grip on your more so. Instead of responding, he just stays silent and buries his face further into the crook of your neck.
“Silence is not an answer.”
Neither happens to be the way that his fingers begin tracing absent minded patterns against your sides. His touch is nothing scandalous. Nothing inappropriate. It’s just lazy circles through the fabric of your jumper as he spells out your nickname with a warm touch.
It’s comfortable. Familiar. The sort of touch that somehow distracts you more than anything else ever could and ugh, it feels perfect. Outside over the castle, thunder rumbles somewhere in the distance as mother nature boils with emotion at the world.
Inside your dorm, Theodore lets out another content sigh and settles even closer than he had been before. For the love of Merlin.
You are never passing Astronomy at this rate.
“You should be doing something productive too”, you mutter hoping to buy yourself a few moments to actually study.
“I am.”
“You're practically lying on me.”
“Exactly.”
You huff. He’s won. Theodore grins. He knows. You can hear his victory without it even being announced.
A minute passes. Then another. The another. Then – yeah you guessed it: another. Your quill begins to slow. The it stops scratching words out entirely. The parchment in your lap remains blank for far longer than it should.
Theodore notices and perks up as he begins to press kisses against your skin that pepper up the side of your neck.
“Giving up already babycakes?”
How you hate that nickname.
“No.”
“Mmm.”
“No.”
“Mhmmm.”
You place the quill down, half tossing it on the bed and feel the way his grin widens against your skin. Then you huff in absolute defeat.
“I actually hate you some days.”
“You are a terrible liar, babe.”
Unfortunately… yeah; you are. You let your head fall back against the pillows with a groan and the second you do, Theodore moves. Like this has been the permission he’s been waiting for all evening. His arm slinks further across your waist as he knocks anything you’re still holding out of the way and shifts to make himself comfortable on top of you.
You whimper unexpectedly. The pleased noise he makes is downright embarrassing and you’re so freaking glad you’re both in your dorm room alone. He gets comfortable between your legs and brushes his lips across your own. You want to be frustrated, annoyed; maybe hex him, but the feeling of him against you like this....
You whimper. He smirks.
“There we go.”
He settles down for another cuddle and clings onto you like you’re heaven sent on earth.
“Theodore, you're ridiculous.”
“…and you love me.”
You roll your eyes so hard they may as well almost get stuck in the back of your head permanently. Either way, out of habit, your hand finds his hair to stroke through the soft locks anyway. His reaction is immediate. Theodore’s eyes flutter shut. Then his entire body visibly relaxes. He melts into you and you embrace him completely.
The sight is so unfairly adorable that it nearly makes you laugh. Nearly.
“Oh, you’re the most pathetic wizard there is...”
“Don't care”, he murmurs softly; heart beating against your chest.
“You’ve practically melted.”
Your hand stops stroking his hair for a second and he shifts to chase the feeling.
“Mhmm.. keep doing that.”
Your fingers thread through his hair again. Slowly. Carefully. As if the move is some sacred little ritual that you’ve got reserved only for him and yeah… truth be told, it actually is. Theodore lets out a satisfied hum that settles somewhere beneath your ribs and you smile at the mess you’re making of him. Gone in the wind is the sharp tongued Slytherin who can talk circles around professors and scare half the school with a single look that is lowkey terrifying.
In his place… just your boyfriend.
Who is comfortable. Who is sleepy. Who is annoyed that date night got cancelled, however seems completely content all because he’s melted into your arms and you’re playing with his hair.
Puppy dog style pathetic.
“Merlin Theodore”, you whisper. “You really just wanted cuddles huh?”
One of his eyes cracks open as he grins mischievously. “I've been trying to hint at it forhours.”
You laugh softly. It’s sweet. To Theodore – the noise sounds like both a lullaby and a daydream. Outside; the rain gets harsher and begins to hammer against the windows. You really couldn’t care though. Your homework now sits abandoned. Your textbook drops off the side of the bed without a care. The Astronomy quiz you were trying to prepare for suddenly feels like a problem for tomorrow.
Because right now… Theodore is warm. Warmer than the fire. Warmer than the syrup you’ve been craving and before long you even register it, his breathing begins to slow against your neck. Soft. Warm. Sleek.
You glance down with a subtle shift.
He is fast asleep. Looking like an angel. Looking like sin. Of course he bloody is. The slytherin parasite got exactly what he wanted. You shake your head with a giggle before rolling your eyes and pressing a gentle kiss into his hair. Then you stroke your fingers through it once last time.
Tomorrow you'll study. Maybe. Maybe. For tonight however; you’ll let your boyfriend win.
SUMMARY - You receive a message from a random number and you two begin texting frequently. However, you accidentally figure out who it is.
CONTAINS - banter (crack to a point), aerion is aerion, modern AU, peep the small details!!
A/N - i keep getting vague modern aerion requests soo!
Your phone vibrated against your mattress late at night.
You rolled over, the glare of the screen hitting your eyes in your dark room. It was an unsaved number.
UNKNOWN: where the fuck is the link for davis’s class
You stared at the screen for a few seconds. You were wide awake, and you definitely didn’t have the energy to start on your own work.
You giggled at your own message before hitting send.
YOU: I sold it oops
The reply came before you could even exit the app.
UNKNOWN: stop fucking around man im not in the mood
YOU: I dont think this is the right number lol
A minute passed with the typing bubbles flickering on and off a couple times.
UNKNOWN: the fuck
YOU: If ur stuck on his class just check the 2022 archive
There was no response after that. You eventually drifted off to sleep, figuring that was the end of a weird interaction.
Four days passed, and you completely forgot about the random text until friday when you received a notification from the same number.
UNKNOWN: it worked
You blinked at the message, trying to remember who it even was.
YOU: Yeah
UNKNOWN: howd you know about that
YOU: I saw his desktop open with that site and took my chances
UNKNOWN: youre actually not michael?
YOU: No im pretty sure im not a guy
You thought the conversation would end there, but about ten minutes later, you got another text.
UNKNOWN: any other shortcuts u know about
YOU: Maybe
Over the next two weeks, the texts became a weird regular thing. It wasn’t a constant back and forth, but it turned into a daily routine.
You’d get a text in the middle of the afternoon about whatever, or you’d send a quick message about random things in your life.
You didn’t know each other. There was no pressure. You didn't have to put on a performance to try to impress whoever it was you were talking to.
UNKNOWN: what were u saying
UNKNOWN: just got to the gym
YOU: Tf didnt you just leave ur room
UNKNOWN: yeah
YOU: Is the gym right next to ur house or smth
UNKNOWN: the gyms downstairs
YOU: Oh you live in an apartment??
UNKNOWN: no
UNKNOWN: i have a gym in my house dumbass
YOU: Oh!!!!!
YOU: Different tax bracket
UNKNOWN: funny
You found yourself looking forward to those short, blunt messages. He was definitely arrogant, but he was always honest and that pulled you in.
By the third week, the conversations started stretching later into the night. You’d be lying in bed, messaging your friends, and a text would pop up at 1 AM.
👻: why the fuck are you awake
YOU: Im readingg
YOU: why are YOU awake
👻: driving
YOU: Ur gonna die
YOU: Get off ur phone
👻: You sound like my dad
👻: He’s the reason im driving
YOU: Shit is he at the hospital??
👻: no im clearing my head
YOU: Oh
YOU: You okay?
👻: family dinner was so fucking annoying
👻: just micromanaging my schedule like im some kid
YOU: I feel that, my parents keep controlling my life its so stupid
👻: exactly its pathetic
👻: honestly its weird talking to you
You: Ok whyd i catch a stray hello
👻: no i mean its off talking to someone who isnt trying to get something out of me
YOU: idek who u are so theres nothing to get
👻: keep it that way
Then during one morning, you walked into the lecture hall for Professor Davis’s class.
The room was already buzzing with students and you took your usual seat next to Tanselle who was busy drawing sketches on her paper.
“Did you finish the reading he gave last week?” Tanselle asked, not looking up from her page.
“Barely,” you muttered, pulling your laptop out of your bag. “I read like two pages.”
Down in the fourth row, right near the aisle, Aerion Targaryen was slouched back in his seat. He had his dark leather jacket slung over the back of his chair and was surrounded by his usual crowd.
One of them said something, and Aerion let out a short laugh. The guy looked around the group with triumph all over his face, proud that he managed to impress Aerion.
Just then, your professor began talking and it didn't take long for you to lose focus.
Bored out of your mind as Professor Davis started droning on about the text you guys were supposed to read, you pulled your phone out under the desk.
YOU: Im bored entertain me
You hit send.
You kept your eyes on your screen, but then out of habit, your gaze drifted back down toward the front of the room.
Down in row four, you watched Aerion reach into his pocket. He pulled out his phone, a small smirk tugging on the corner of his lip.
His jaw set as he read something, and his thumbs immediately typed out a fast response before he shoved the phone face down on his desk.
Your phone vibrated in your palm.
👻: go entertain yourself
Your breath hitched. You stared at the screen, your heart doing a weird thud against your ribs.
No way, you thought. The lecture hall is massive. At least forty people were on their phones. It’s a coincidence.
Your fingers hovered over the keyboard. You needed to be absolutely sure. You typed out a reply, keeping your eyes glued directly on the back of his silver head.
YOU: Ok unkind
YOU: So ur actually paying attention to class?
The exact moment your text delivered, you watched as Aerion’s head tilted down. He picked his phone back up, scoffing under his breath. His thumbs moved around the screen, typing quickly.
Buzz.
👻: no im looking at my phone because a dumbass is texting me
A cold wave of panic hit you.
Your eyes darted from the screen to the back of his leather jacket. Your mind was short-circuiting, trying to connect the dots.
Aerion Targaryen.
Aerion Targaryen who had a reputation for being, well, himself— was the exact same person who had been texting you until midnight.
You spent the remaining minutes of that lecture staring into the wall. Every time Aerion shifted, your eyes snapped straight to him.
When the bell finally rang, the sudden noise of chairs scraping against the floor made you jump.
“Thank god,” Tanselle muttered, slamming her notebook shut. “You coming to the library?”
“I don’t think so,” you replied after a beat, shoving your things into your bag.
At the front, Aerion was already walking. One of the guys threw an arm over his shoulder and Aerion swatted him off with a grin.
He didn’t look back once. He had absolutely no idea.
For the next three days, every time your phone buzzed, your stomach did a flip. You knew exactly who was on the other side of the screen now, while he remained clueless.
During a late saturday night, you were eating with your friends when your screen lit up.
👻: this movies terrible
👻: why would you recommend this
You stared at the text. Knowing it was Aerion, reading the texts felt completely surreal.
YOU: Ok my bad ill just die
YOU: Its good tho idk what ur on
👻: its not
You: Lol turn it off then
👻: im already an hour in
👻: wouldnt wanna hurt your feelings
YOU: Aww how sweet
YOU: Stubborn bitch…
You bit your lip as you sent the second message. No one would dare to call him that in person, it was thrilling.
👻: lmao
👻: what are you doing anyway
YOU: Eating cheesecake
YOU: Wait have u done the assignment due next week
👻: nah im dreading the partner assignment on monday
👻: if i get paired with one of the idiots im doing it alone
You swallowed hard, grabbing your glass to drink the strain away.
YOU: Maybe youll get someone decent
👻: doubt it
You closed your phone and pressed it onto your chest. He was so different in real life.
When monday came, the room was silenced as Professor Davis tapped his microphone, turning on the massive projector behind him.
“Alright, I’ve randomized the pairings for the research,” he announced. “Check the board, find your partner, and spend the rest of the period discussing with them.”
Your eyes scanned the list, stopping as you found your name near the center column.
Your lungs locked up.
Aerion Targaryen was written right next to it.
“Oh, jeez,” Tanselle said, looking at you with worry. “You got Aerion… Good luck babe.”
Down in row four, Aerion didn’t even bother looking back to find his partner. He simply opened his laptop, ignoring the rest of the room while his friends started moving around. He clearly expected whoever his partner was to come to him.
You took in a deep breath, grabbing your bag.
Walking down the steps felt like walking a plank. As you got closer to his seat, a couple of his friends looked up at you. One of them nudged the guy next to him to clear a seat for you, leaving an empty chair next to Aerion.
You gave them a light smile before sliding into the seat, setting your laptop on the desk. Up close, he smelled like expensive cologne and musk.
“You’re my partner?” he asked, his voice a careless drawl. He still didn’t look at you, opening a blank document.
“Yeah.” You kept your voice as even as possible.
“Type in your email,” he said, turning the laptop just an inch so you could see the screen. “I’ll do the body and everything else. You do the outline and introduction.”
You blinked at him, the contrast hitting you like a physical punch. No jokes, no banter, no casualty.
You were aware he had a reputation for being a ‘womanizer.’ So why was he so cold to you?
“Okay,” you mumbled as you awkwardly reached out to type in your email.
He didn’t say another word to you for the rest of the hour. You sat right next to him, occasionally looking at the side of his sharp profile, realizing this was the same guy who had texted you about the miserable movie you recommended to him just two nights ago.
By 10 PM that same day, you were sitting on your bed, staring at the shared Google Docs. He had already finished his sections before you did.
Your phone buzzed on your blanket.
👻: just wrapped up that history project early so i dont have to deal with it later
You read his message, a sour feeling building up in your chest. You picked it up, your expression hardening.
YOU: Lucky, im still doing mine
You lied.
👻: thats sad
Chewing on your inner cheek, your thumbs moved before you could stop.
YOU: Hows ur partner
The typing bubbles appeared immediately.
👻: its some girl in my section i didnt pay attention
👻: she didnt mess anything up, shes whatever
She’s whatever.
Your eyes fixed on his message until they blurred. You had spent weeks listening to him, laughing at his texts, sharing personal concerns to each other—and yet in real life, you were just a boring, insignificant whatever to him.
The irritation flared up. You tossed your laptop onto your bedside table and sat back against the headboard of your bed.
YOU: Cool
A minute passed without a response.
👻: just cool?
YOU: Yeah
👻: youre acting weird
You left the text on read. Not like it mattered, his read receipts were off. Throwing the phone somewhere in your bed, you didn’t reply.
For the next few days, you struggled returning to how you normally were.
He didn’t text you the next morning but eventually did at night, and you left it unreplied for two hours before sending a short answer.
👻: you alive?
YOU: Yes
👻: ok whats wrong then
YOU: Nothing
👻: ???
YOU: What
👻: fine
It felt petty, but each time you looked at your phone, you remembered him sitting right next to you and not even glancing your way. You felt stupid, but his words hurt too.
If you were just a blank space to him in person, you figured it would be better if you were that way on every platform.
By the end of the week, the silence between your texts was heavy. He didn’t text you back after the last chat, and you definitely weren’t going to break first.
You were sitting in class when Tanselle walked in, settling in the chair beside you.
Professor Davis cleared his throat before speaking. “Alright, before we start today’s lecture, I’ve set up a group thread for the upcoming peer reviews. Click on the link and make sure you’re in it by the end of the day.”
You opened your phone to join the chat, then automatically shoved the phone back into your bag. You had no intention of participating.
The period of the lecture ended with a few minutes remaining and your phone started vibrating nonstop.
You tried to ignore it, but the constant noise was getting frustrating. You reached into your bag and pulled it out, looking to mute the group.
A new message popped up at the bottom of the chat. A classmate tagged your number directly because you hadn’t put your name on the sheet yet.
Too annoyed with the whole class to care, you swiped the app and locked your screen.
Then, your eyes subconsciously drifted toward Aerion. You watched as he pulled his phone out.
He was scrolling through the mass text thread when suddenly, he froze.
His head tilted slightly. Narrowing his eyes, he looked at the only text tagging a number. The number he’d been texting every day.
Up front, the classmate who had sent the message lost his patience. He turned around, looking up at where you and Tanselle were sitting.
The guy called out your name, his voice turning multiple heads in the quiet room. “I just tagged your number in the group, you need to upload your topic.”
The sound of your name echoed through the lecture.
Aerion’s head snapped up.
He didn’t look at the guy talking to you. His eyes darted straight up until they locked dead onto you.
The usual expression on his face dropped away. His eyes searched your entire face, his brows drawing in closer.
He saw the phone in your hand before going back to your face.
It clicked.
You stilled under his gaze, the blood rushing loud in your ears.
Beside you, Tanselle nudged your shoulder. “Babe. Babe? He’s talking to you?”
“Yeah,” you managed to choke out. Your fingers felt like wood as you uploaded the topic into the sheet. “Done. It’s in there.”
The classmate muttered a quick thanks and turned back around.
But Aerion didn’t.
He stayed shifted in his seat, his body turned toward your row. One of his friends said something, laughing and clapping him on the shoulder, but Aerion blindly shrugged the guy’s hands off without looking at him. His dark gaze remained on you.
You looked down at your screen, pretending to type, but you could feel the weight of his stare.
A quick glance back down confirmed it. He was staring at you like he was seeing you for the first time, his mind putting the pieces together.
Some girl in my section, she’s whatever. He finally understood why you had iced him.
When the bell rang, you instantly stood up, already packing your bag.
“Why are you in such a rush?” Tanselle asked, shaking her head with confusion.
You gave her a tight smile. “I just need to get back.”
You wanted to wait out the crowd, hoping he’d leave first, but Aerion was already standing by the row exit.
He leaned his back against the desk, ignoring his friends as they stood confused as to why he was still there.
Panic flared in your chest. You didn’t think this through properly.
Without thinking, you threw yourself into the small crowd shuffling through the other exit at the top of the hall.
You basically sprinted across the stone of the parking lot, your keys already clutched in your hand. Unlocking the car, you threw your bag into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut.
You slumped on the headrest, gripping the steering wheel as you finally let out a breath.
Then, your phone lit up with two notifications.
There were two missed calls and above them another notification popped up. It was a text.
garrett graham x hyper-feminine black gf headcanons 💋🏒
okay but can we talk about how garrett graham mr. “i don’t do relationships” will be an absolute simp with a hyper-feminine black girl?? the contrast is lethal and i’m here for every second of it 😩😋he’s still very much the garrett graham everyone around campus knows (cocky , competitive as hell,not easy to open up ), but he’s down BAD for you.
—how you meet
it was a group project in one of those upper-level business/marketing classes garrett was taking to fill credits. the professor randomly paired everyone. garrett got matched with you.
he’d seen you around campus before, always put together, mini skirts or tailored dresses, heels clicking, never a hair out of place. the running joke around circles was that you were “all aesthetics, no substance.” when your name got called with his, garrett internally groaned. he figured he’d end up doing the whole thing himself while you talked about lipstick or whatever. he mentally anticipated the worst collaboration ever.
except it wasn’t.
first meeting at the library, you showed up right on time with a sleek planner, color coded tabs already separating the project requirements, and a calm confidence. garrett was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, ready to carry the load. he kept it polite but distant, throwing out basic ideas while lowkey waiting for you to contribute fluff.
except you didn’t. you listened, then calmly broke down market analysis points he hadn’t even considered yet, referencing actual case studies from the textbook and suggesting a campaign angle that was genuinely sharp. when he pushed back on something (testing you), you countered with data and with a smile, “what? dressing cute doesn’t mean i’m brainless. brands win when they get the look and the actual strategy. it’s not that crazy.”
he sat up straighter after that. the judgment quietly crumbled over the next few sessions. you weren’t performing intelligence you just happened to look like a beautiful doll and have the brains to back it up. by the end of the project you two had the highest grade in the class. garrett asked for your number under the excuse of “future group work,” but really he just wanted to keep talking to the girl who’d quietly wrecked his preconceptions. you made him wait two days before replying. in the end he respected it.
the soft/domestic vibes:
— he’s obsessed with watching you get ready. sits on the counter or leans in the doorway in just grey sweatpants, arms crossed, smirking while you do your edges, set your lashes, and put on that glossy lip gloss you love almost nearly as much as him “you’re really the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.” then he’s wiping gloss off his mouth after he kisses you senseless anyway.
— carries your heels the second your feet hurt. doesn’t even hesitate to stoop down as you gather on his back, your acrylics on his chest, your mini dress riding up a little. he mutters “should’ve worn the comfy ones, fancy girl” but he’s grinning.
— he likes to keep a piece of you with him anywhere which is why he steals your scrunchies for his wrist during practice. the team teases him relentlessly but he just shrugs: “mind your business.”
—protective but not controlling. some guy stares too long at your legs or tries to flirt while you’re in your cute little outfit? garrett’s arm slides around your waist, thumb brushing under the hem of your skirt, voice low and calm but firmly“she’s with me.” then kisses your temple like nothing happened.
smutty filth
— the size kink is REAL. he’s 6’3”, built like a wall, and you’re all soft curves, tiny waist, pretty brown skin, and killer heels. he loves manhandling you picking you up to bounce on his cock, pinning your wrists with one hand while the other grips your thigh. “look at you taking me so fucking well.” pretty noises would leave your mouth as you clutch his chain as his takes you over and over again.
— loves the visual of his rough hands on your smooth skin. spreads your thighs slow, kisses up your legs, then eats you out like he’s starving until your curls are messed up and you’re shaking.
— he loves it when your nothing but in your heels, as he throws both legs on his shoulders pushing in you deep making you feel every. inch. of. him.
— quickies before parties becomes the norm (sometimes even during) garrett doesn’t hesitate to hike your tight dress up, pulls your thong aside in the bathroom, fucks you deep and messy so you’re walking around the whole night full of him. “don’t let it drip, baby. be a good girl for me.”
— you leave lip gloss prints on his dick every single time you go down on him. he’s obsessed. has a hidden album on his phone of those pics for away games.
— reverse cowgirl in nothing but knee high socks and one of his jerseys? his favorite. grips your ass, guides your hips, groans about how pretty you look stretched around him.
—aftercare is top tier. runs you a bath, helps with your hair (he learned the whole routine, no complaints), rubs lotion into your skin, then pulls you onto his chest. but let’s be real he’s hard again in twenty minutes and sliding back in slow and lazy while you’re half asleep, murmuring “can’t help it… pussy feels too good.”
extra thoughts
— buys you lingerie in rich jewel tones and your exact skin tone just so he can ruin it later. the man has expensive taste when it comes to spoiling you.
—team dinners where he fingers you under the table because you wore that skirt he likes. you’re trying not to moan while he’s casually talking stats with the guys, smirking at you the whole time.
— he’s still the same competitive asshole on the ice, but comes straight to you after games, sweaty and adrenaline-high, looking for kisses and to bury his face in your neck (and later between your thighs).
garrett graham fell stupidly hard for the prettiest, girliest, high-maintenance girl on campus and has zero regrets. scratches down his back, your lip print on his collar, your heels by his door he’s living the dreammmmmmm🎀
every time you went out in public with your husband, you earned a significant amount of stares. i mean, who wouldn't? a grouchy, silver fox with his stunning girl, who seemed a little young for him, but still clung onto him regardless.
you never asked for anything outrageously lavish. sure, there were small things like overpriced hair appointments, boutique dresses, and new makeup drops. but that’s just how it was in your relationship! and of course, dex never cared. he would spend endlessly on his girl without hesitation.
you paused in front of the new boutique that had just opened downtown. your soft fingers that laced through dex’s calloused ones slipped through for just a moment to move towards the glass display. a mannequin wearing a soft, pearl slip dress that would be perfect for a night on the bayou. the straps were thin, and no padding was in sight.
you could imagine dex’s hands masquerading all over your figure before he shed the winded silk. you peeked at the price tag and turned back to dex, lacing your hand back together with his.
you kept walking, but dex did not.
“go try it on,” he urged.
“it’s okay, dex, ‘s too much.”
“you ain’t the one buying it, doll,” he simply said before gently pulling you towards the entrance.
you bit the flesh of your cheek to hold back your cheeky grin.
the dress looked like it was sculpted around you, fabric spilling in all the right places. when you came out of the dressing room, dex was sitting on the chaise with arms crossed, legs spread wide, and curved lips.
“spin for me, princess.”
you did a little twirl, looking behind you in the mirror. the posterior side of the dress was open-backed and quite low-cut. thank goodness you wore a thong.
“do you like it, dex?”
“looks beautiful on you, baby. c’mon.”
you silently squealed, rushing back inside the dressing room to change back.
once you came out, dex took the dress from you and pulled out his card. you held onto his bicep with a bright smile, pressing a quick kiss to it. dex handed the cashier his card without looking at the white plastic tag.
on the way home, your legs were propped up with a gift bag and the sparkliest tissue paper possible. you leaned across the center console to lay a kiss on dex’s cheek, leaving a little shine of pink lip gloss.
🗡*ೃ༄ 𖣠
sunday mornings may have been your favorite part of the week. everyone was gone for church in the neighborhood, so it was just you, dex, and the sunrise of the south. golden light came through the bay window where you sat, reading a new romance novel your friend had recommended to you. the record player was spinning Tanya Tucker at a low hum.
your hair was loose, not bothering to style it until later, when you went to the farmer’s market. around you, dex’s shirt draped over, as well as a pair of his old boxers.
dex came into the kitchen and put down his cup of coffee before making his way to you. he sat at the edge of the window seat. he was still in his sweatpants and an old shirt from quantico that he wore last night.
dex stared at you like you hung the moon, never getting tired of you. his beautiful north star.
you looked up and smiled, seeing dex stare shamelessly at you. “what?” a giggle escaped.
his cheeks warm, “nothing.”
dex now put his legs up, facing across from you.
you looked up from your novel, “whatcha thinking about?”
“just you.”
you put your thumb between the pages you were between and climbed into dex’s lap, resuming your slow sunday morning.
🗡*ೃ༄ 𖣠
you had a decent amount of followers on your instagram, mainly because of your old sorority sisters and your aesthetic. you never posted anything too dramatic, just lifestyle, some things you found cute, and your husband. last night, you posted a photo of you two at dinner. you were leaning into dex’s arm, with his other hand on the back of your chair. it was candlelit and golden, just like the natural glow of your town.
dex had instagram, but it was the most plain and boring account you’ve seen since you stalked your professor from your freshman year. he had a profile picture that consisted of you and him, no posts, like a hundred followers at most, and a bio that consisted of your handle with a heart next to it.
you read him the comments on your post, lying your bare legs across his lap on the couch.
“this one says, ‘the age gap is a need’.”
a pause, “what does that mean?”
“it means she wants a relationship like ours!”
“here,” you said, showing him. “thus one says ‘he definitely carries all her shopping and grocery bags.’”
“i do carry all your bags.”
“that’s why i love you. anyways, this one says ‘my roman empire.’ aw, karen commented that!”
“why?”
“‘cause we’re cute and i guess matt isn't from her roman empire, i don’t know,” you laughed with no ill intent.
he looked down at you with raised brow, but he wasn’t displeased by the comments on your posts. his old man self just didn’t understand the new slang.
realizing you never showed dex the original post, you faced your phone towards him. he took the phone and squinted, yet looked at it from far away, something you noticed older people did a lot.
“you look gorgeous, angel.”
“we both look good.”
“you do,” he doubled down, stroking your thigh.
🗡*ೃ༄ 𖣠
you knew it was summer in the south when it started raining while the sun was still shining brighter than ever. you didn’t look at the weather beforehand, causing you and dex to stand under the awning of the shop. you also decided to make dex park all the way at the end of the street, even though he advised against it.
you frowned, upset that you did a full face today and now it was going to be ruined. dex removed his coat before you could even look up at him and put it around your body.
“dexy, you’re going to get soaked!” you whined, pulling the coat tighter anyway. it smelt so much like him, like stained mahogany wood and engine oil.
“don’t worry about it, princess. you got all dolled up. don’t wanna ruin your look.”
you smiled, silently thanking him with the flutter of your eyes.
you both walked to the car as quickly as possible. you looked up at him, and he was gazing ahead, completely undisturbed. you grabbed onto his hand, but soon let the jacket just fall onto your shoulders.
he immediately reached to put it back over your head to avoid your hair getting wet, but you jerked back.
dex nodded, understanding that you wanted to let loose a little. the cold rain washed the sticky sweat and cream that clung to your body. you held onto his hand and skipped along the sidewalk, splashing your kitten heels into puddles.
your husband was just happy you were having a fun time, not minding a little water either.
both of you got into the car, soaked as can be, but laughing joyfully. your hair was damp and starting to stick up as dex’s graying strands flattened. your mascara was slightly running, and your lip gloss was mixed with rainwater, but neither of you cared.
dex looked at you and said you were still beautiful anyway, and drove you home.
you walked onto the driveway holding your face in his coat lapel to avoid the nosy old ladies next door.
🗡*ೃ༄ 𖣠
the bullfrogs croaked on the logs and fireflies soared as the night settled. you were tucked into bed with dex, your head on his chest and his arm around you. his strong legs tangled with your soft ones. you were drifting off to sleep, tired from a long day of shopping.
he stroked your head and pressed a kiss on your forehead. his voice slightly above a whisper, “you know you’re the best thing i’ve got, right?”
although you were already whisked away in wonderland, you leaned into dex more and found his hand in the darkness of your room and held it. he exhaled slowly and said no more.
🗡*ೃ༄ 𖣠
memorial day weekend was always a pleasure in your town. grandkids of the old ladies next door visited, causing the yearly ruckus that you forced dex to ignore. you were invited to a multitude of barbecues and bar nights. parades down the town hall and holding babies that you had no relation to.
you dragged an old cushion from a chair on the patio and fluffed it out before lying flatly against it on the porch swing. you were lying across it with your hair fanned out, sunglasses on, and dress pooling across your lower thighs. one arm was folded behind your head as the other dangled off the side of the swing.
down the street, someone was mowing the lawn, creating a distant white noise.
dex was sitting straight up against the swing, legs stretched out. his eyes were half closed, sipping on a sweet tea you made him. your legs were laid out across his lap, feeling the soft fabric of his linen pants.
you felt his hand loosely around your ankle, resting there. you didn’t open your eyes to study his fidgeting behind your oversized sunglasses.
dex then lifted your ankle and pressed his mouth to it. his soft lips on your silky skin made you coo. he brought it back down and rubbed circles into your feet.
you softly spoke, “dex.”
he hummed in reply, and neither of you said anything, because there wasn’t anything to say. he then leaned over and kissed the curve of your knee that was propped up, feeling the soft stubble on you.
you lifted your sunglasses for a moment to look at your husband and smiled, whispering a soft ‘love you.’
“love you more, doll.”
you pushed the shades back on and leaned your head back, basking in the domesticity of your life.
author's note — this is my first time writing for Off Campus, let me know if you'd like to see more <3
"Baby," Garrett practically croons when he sees you, leaning his elbows on the railing of the staircase. "Where've you been?"
You try and fail the urge to let your eyes travel downwards, the trail of hair from his chest to the waistband of his sweatpants, the ridges of muscles very much evident, especially because he isn't wearing a shirt.
"Studying," you reply, in a duh tone of voice, taking the steps one at a time to reach him. He winds his arms around your waist, fingers splaying on the exposed skin of your abdomen, brushing your hip bone.
You melt at the soft touch, and he leans down to press a kiss to the tip of your earlobe. "Do you have no shirts?" You tease quietly, letting out a soft gasp when his kiss grows fervent. "... I should buy you some."
Your boyfriend lets out a little scoff, tugging you closer to his front. "I have enough shirts, honey," he breathes, lips moving up to the underside of your jaw. "C'mon," he coaxes, pulling away much to your chagrin; to you letting out a soft, irritated whine. "Upstairs. Don't you wanna get comfy?"
How can you possibly resist, especially when his hands are on you, and he's using that tone, which begs to be listened to? You let out a little hum of affirmation.
Garrett grins, the corners of his lips tugging up in what looks to be a mix of amusement and pleasure at your easy obedience. "Good girl," he murmurs, fingers slipping off your waist, only to intertwine with your loose ones by your side. "Up," he says in the softest voice possible.
You blink up at him through your lashes. He tilts his head at you, resembling a bit of a golden retriever with those brown eyes fixed on you, solely on you. You're warm under his attention.
"Didn't anyone tell you it's rude to stare, baby?" Garrett says softly, a teasing chide to his words.
It's your turn to let out a scoff now, mirroring his, and his eyebrows soften in appreciation of the soft sound from your lips. "You're my boyfriend, I think I'm allowed to admire you."
His grin widens. "Oh, is that what you're doing? Admiring me?"
"Mhm."
"Huh," Garrett murmurs, lifting his free hand to cup your cheek, watching the way you melt in real time with adoring eyes. "When did you get so smooth?"
You smile prettily up at him, your best smile, and his breath catches in his throat. "Learned from the best."
"Did you?" he brushes your cheek with a calloused thumb, so gentle it makes something in your heart splinter and crack in two.
"Come on, sweetheart," he gentles his voice even further, giving your cheek a gentle pat. "Let's take a nap. You look exhausted."
You frown up at him, lips jutting out in a pout. "That's so mean, do I not look pretty?"
Garrett curls his arms around you, picking you up with an ease that still surprises you. Your legs naturally wind around his waist, head lolling forward to find rest on his shoulder. "You always look pretty, baby," he hums, kissing the side of your head. "My gorgeous girl, hm?"
Letting out a pleased sound of acknowledgement, you let Garrett climb the rest of the stairs and make his way down the hallway. You pass Dean's room on the way, and the door is wide open.
You don't bother lifting your head from Garrett's shoulder, you're already sure what's going on in there. Your boyfriend wrinkles his nose above you. "Dean, how many fucking times! Close the door, yeah?"
Dean lets out a sound to the affirmative, but makes no move to get up from where he's got a pretty girl perched on top of him.
Garrett pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out an annoyed sigh, shifting you on his hip to close the door with one hand. "Idiot," he mutters under his breath. He hitches you higher against his chest, and you go willingly, boneless and warm under his affections.
The floorboards creak under Garrett's weight as he moves to cover the distance from Dean's room to his. "Tired, sweetheart?" He asks, voice soft again, a low rumble to the timbre of his words.
"No," you mumble against his neck, pressing your nose against the space between his jaw and shoulder.
He lets out a laugh, opening his door with his foot, shifting you in his arms a little so he can flop onto his bed, back against the headrest, with you in his lap. "You're lying."
"Am not."
"Are too," he grins, watching you peer up at him with half-lidded, obviously sleepy eyes. "You're barely awake, pretty."
You let out an annoyed whine, hands finding home on his chest. "I'm awake, thank you very much. And I want a kiss."
Garrett's smile widens. "Do you now?"
"Don't be a jerk," you reply, narrowing your eyes at him. "I'm allowed to ask for a kiss."
"You are," he hums, tugging you closer, one big hand lifting from your waist for your neck, brushing idly at the tender skin of your jaw. "You do have to say please, though, honey. Manners."
Groaning frustratedly, you add, "please can I have kiss?"
Your boyfriend smiles, thumbing at your cheekbone. "You can, baby," he murmurs, leaning down to meet you halfway. Your hand slides up to the nape of his neck, thumbing at the baby hairs there, and he sighs against your mouth, deepening the kiss.
It's lazy, the kind of kiss that isn't going anywhere, and doesn't need to, either. His tongue brushes your lower lip, seeking entry, and you open for him. He tastes like mint, the gum he's always chewing.
"Garrett," you breathe when he pulls away for a second to get air.
"Shh." His lips trail to the corner of your mouth, your jaw, the soft spot below your ear. "Just relax, sweetheart."
garrett is possessive as fuck. don’t get me wrong, he loves to show you off but he doesn’t like when someone’s eyes linger for a second too long. the muscle in his jaw twitches and his breathing turns heavy as he resists the urge to curse them out in front of you.
he’s not into taking you to uptight, expensive restaurants as a date. dates with garrett consisted of him teaching you how to skate, ordering food and dancing around to music in his room like idiots, huddling around his laptop to watch stupid videos on youtube.
garrett didn’t expect you to show up to all of his hockey games, but he felt like could finally relax whenever he sought you out in the stands.
following on from this, he dedicated all of his goals to you. pointing up at you with that smug grin on his face, chuckling at the way you slid down in your seat when the whole crowd turned to look at you.
pda is his middle name! garrett needed his hands on you at all times. whether it was innocently holding your hand, or not so innocently pressing kisses against your neck in the lecture hall. he’d whisper dirty things in your ear so he could watch on in amusement as you squirmed in your seat.
he gets grumpy 🥺🥺🥺 like when you’re laughing a little too hard at something dean says, garrett huffs and rolls his eyes. he’s happy that you’re happy, but he draws the line at someone else being able to make you laugh like he does.
Vacation with Damian includes… him ABSOLUTELY refusing to buy one of those tourists straw hats at the beach while you head is burning 40 degrees under the sun.
You end up getting it anyways. He caved and burrowed it from you after 30 minutes under the tropical sun.
Damian’s more of a cabin in the woods/rental rather than a hotel kind of guy because it’s far more private. Damian’s idea of comfort and relaxation most definitely isn’t a place crowded with people.
Also, he’ll be closer to nature that way and can be his inner Snow White in peace.
No zoos, definitely no zoos. But you both do end up visiting a couple of wildlife sanctuaries. By the end, you’ve successfully gotten 200 pictures of Damian getting his cheeks pulled at by a monkey.
Definitely see Damian as the type of guy that dresses like a local to the point where people know you’re tourists only because of you. Also because you’ve dragged him through hundreds of local shops and now he’s got his hands full of bags.
Damian is the type of man on vacation that doesn’t bother leaving space in his suitcase because he knows he’s only bringing back MAX 3 souvenirs.
He keeps his second suitcase empty for you.
Vacations with Damian quickly turn passionate because he enjoys the fact that no one is here to bother or interrupt the two of you. No work, no saving Gotham, just uninterrupted time with you in a a foreign bed.
He’ll give you the night of your life and leave you limping but still expect you to be up and running by 5:30am sharp because you guys have a hike that needs doing.
Damian pretends like he didn’t plan much when whole time he was hunched up on the Batcomputer night and day trying to plan the best vacation for you.
He’s had to fight his family not to intrude your trip, but he doesn’t tell you that much because then you’d feel bad and in turn it’ll make him feel bad. You already know the end, and next thing you know, the whole family would be there cramping up your cabin.
Vacation with Damian Wayne includes feeling bummed out on your beach chair because every woman in the vicinity is staring at him since the second he slipped his shirt off.
You can’t blame them, setting sun rays shinning on those delicious abs, there’s even drops of water dripping down to his v-line and you lowkey have to restrain yourself not to bone him in front of all these women.
Queue a confused Damian as to why you’re sulking at him for ‘being too hot’. He rolls his eyes at first but then he starts thinking that he’s actually ruining your trip and pulls you to his lap.
In front of…everyone.
You’re ashamed that Damian had to go out of his comfort zone just to appease your childish sulking but there’s something so satisfying in the way the women roll their eyes at the sight.
Also, your back against his brick-wall of a chest feels amazing and you’re not sure you care about anything else at that moment.
Damian’s utterly embarrassed when you ask some grandma passing by to take a picture of you both along the shore with your digital camera, but the sight of you so giddy makes up for it.
She did take killer pictures though.
He does everything. From surfing, to jet skiing, to parasailing. You’ve got to have a strong heart to date someone like Damian.
Vacation with Damian means seeing that side of him that he rarely shows, even to you. He’s relaxed and offguard and it makes your heart swell all the most.
He definitely ends up befriending the local cat and HAS to end up saving one animal while he’s there.
Also, you have to fight him not to bring back every damn stray he sees back to the manor.
You’re not sure how you’re supposed to fit 6 dogs, 2 cats and one huge fuckass iguana back in the jet, but apparently that’s something you’re supposed to figure out.
“Don’t worry about it” becomes your favorite line on vacation. There’s nothing too expensive for Damian Wayne, and nothing too heavy that those beautiful muscles you’re currently drooling over can’t carry back to the room for you.
Damian opted out of a tour guide so you both could take all your time exploring. Also, so he could stop at every single point of interest to sketch them out.
He definitely sketches you secretly every time your eyes are lost on the horizon. He even writes little notes at the bottom like “She’s entranced by a toucan, might have to get her one back home” or “ Fell in a river slipping on a mossy rock after i told her 15 times to be careful. Still looks beautiful as ever, even with algae in her hair.”
If you two aren’t already married yet then Damian would definitely consider proposing to you on holiday. He doesn’t want to do anything half-assed though, so when you do end up going back home, he’ll spend the next months planning the best trip for you and start looking into rings.
Don’t expect to spent the whole day lazing about though. Even if Damian means to be relaxing, his routine makes it so that he’s never idle for too long.
If you want to spend one day resting up in your rental, don’t be surprised when he’s gone by 5am to go hiking or at the closest gym.
Anyways…just make the mental image of Damian with one hand on the wheel and the other on your thigh. He’s got sunglasses on and the sunsets’ hitting his complexion perfectly. You’re surrounded by greenery and you’re absolutely in love.
-
A/N: fun fact that nobody gaf abt but english isn’t my third language after creole and french.
pairing: garrett graham x girlfriend!reader, dean di laurentis x reader
synopsis: adrenaline can be difficult to shake off after a game like the one they just had. maybe that's why garrett is being careless and taking care of his girl while dean is right in the bathroom. and maybe that's why dean doesn't immediately run away from the hotel room as he should.
words: 6k+
disclaimer: english is not my first language!
warnings: there's very little plot. smut!!! my very first time writing a threesome, i apologise! fingering, getting caught, p in v (unprotected). no description of reader, no use of Y/N, the pictures are only for aesthetic purposes. third person. oral (m receiving, double blowjob). doggy style, cowgirl. dom!garrett, soft!garrett, dom!reader (???), somewhat of a sub!dean but not exactly. dean calls you princess, garrett calls you baby. this is my decision. dirty talk all around!! good girl!reader. you know the deal, not proofread.
chye's corner: only 3 off campus drafts remain... the title, larry stylinson anyone? room 517. and that's all i'm going to say (even if there's literally nothing in common). i just want to remind you that REQUESTS ARE OPEN!! pls consider a reblog, a like, or a comment! thank you for choosing to read my words (((:
chye's grimoire (masterlist)
requests are open!
On the fourth floor of the latest hotel they’d been sent to, the room Garrett and Dean were sharing was quiet except for the low hum of the air conditioning and the occasional sound of traffic far below. It was a standard away-game setup, two queen beds separated by a nightstand, soft lighting from the lamps, and the curtains half-drawn over the city view. Garrett was lying down on the bed closest to the window with his eyes closed, shirtless in just a pair of black sweats, one arm tucked behind his head. Dean lounged on the other bed, scrolling through his phone in a hoodie and gym shorts he’d changed into without showering the sweat off.
“Bro, that hit in the second period? I swear the guy saw his life flash before his eyes,” Dean laughed, still riding the high.
Garrett grinned, stretching, and opened his eyes. “Had to remind them who runs this league. You weren’t exactly subtle either with that last assist. Show-off.”
“Me? Never,” Dean shot back with a smirk. “Just doing my job. Someone’s gotta make you look good out there.”
She smiled to herself hearing the conversation and rolled her eyes at the useless testosterone display as she finished freshening up in the bathroom. The hot shower had felt amazing after a long night at the arena. She changed into her soft silk pajama set, a little navy camisole and matching shorts, and stepped out, towel-drying the ends of her damp hair.
Dean looked up first and grinned. “Finally. I thought you drowned in there or something,” he said, his tone light and teasing. “You were in that bathroom for like twenty minutes.”
She rolled her eyes with a smile. “Some of us actually wash ourselves. Sorry I didn’t want to smell like popcorn and beer.”
Garrett turned his head toward her, and his expression softened instantly. A small pout formed on his lips as he took her in. “You changed,” he said, voice quieter than Dean’s, almost disappointed. “You were wearing my shirt earlier.”
She walked over to his bed, the carpet soft under her bare feet. “As much as I love wearing your hoodie, it isn’t exactly what I would sleep in.”
Garrett reached out and gently caught her hand, tugging her closer until she was standing between his knees. His thumb brushed softly over her knuckles affectionately. “But I like you in my clothes,” he murmured, looking up at her with that familiar, gentle gaze he saved only for her. “Especially after a win. You looked like a cute little cheerleader.”
She smiled and ran her fingers through his messy hair. “You’re such a baby sometimes.”
He leaned forward and pressed a slow, soft kiss to her stomach through the thin silk, his hands settling warmly on her hips. “I’m your baby,” he corrected, voice low and sweet. He rested his forehead against her for a moment, breathing her in. “Come here.”
She climbed onto the bed and settled beside him. Garrett immediately wrapped a strong arm around her waist, pulling her close so her head rested on his chest. His skin was warm, and she could feel the steady beat of his heart under her cheek. He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head, his fingers tracing lazy circles on her lower back.
Dean cringed visibly and watched them from the other bed with an amused smirk, but there was no mockery in it. “You two are disgusting you know that?” he said, shaking his head. “Absolutely no pity for me.”
Garrett didn’t even look at him, just held her a little tighter. “Jealous?”
“A little,” Dean admitted with a laugh. “But mostly nauseous. Get a room, guys… wait, you already have one. And I’m stuck in it.”
She giggled softly against Garrett’s chest. His hand slid up to cradle the back of her neck, thumb stroking tenderly along her hairline. The room felt warm and comfortable, the post-game adrenaline slowly shifting into something softer and more intimate.
Garrett tilted her chin up gently and kissed her slowly. His soft lips were just expressing how much he loved her without any words needed. When he pulled back, his voice was barely above a whisper against her lips. “Missed you during the game,” he said. “Kept thinking about coming back here to you.”
One of her eyebrows shot up. “Garrett… I was literally in the stands.”
“Not close enough,” he shrugged.
She nestled closer into Garrett’s side, her cheek pressed against the solid warmth of his bare chest. His arm stayed wrapped securely around her, fingers tracing slow, soothing patterns along her spine through the thin silk of her camisole.
Dean let out a long, dramatic sigh from the other bed. “Jesus Christ,” he groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Remind me again why I switched room with Logan?”
Garrett chuckled softly, the sound rumbling under her ear. He didn’t loosen his hold on her. “Cry harder,” Garrett teased. “Maybe next game they’ll finally give you your own room.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Dean muttered, rolling off his bed. “I’m gonna go take a shower before I throw up from how sweet you two are. Try not to fuck while I’m in there, alright? These walls are thin.” He grabbed a towel and headed into the bathroom, closing the door behind him with a loud click.
The moment the door shut, the energy in the room shifted. Garrett’s hand slid lower on her back, slipping just under the hem of her camisole to touch bare skin. His closeness felt more… intentional, somehow. His touch was still gentle, but there was heat behind it now.
He tilted her chin up with two fingers, his blue eyes soft but darkening with want as he looked at her. “I meant what I said earlier,” he murmured, voice low. “I was thinking about you the whole game. Every time I got hit, all I wanted was to come back here and feel you.”
He kissed her deeply, his lips warm and unhurried. One big hand cradled the side of her face as his tongue gently teased hers. She melted into it, her fingers tracing the hard lines of his chest and abs, feeling the faint ridges of old bruises.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against hers. “I love when you wear these little pajamas,” he whispered, his hand sliding down to cup her ass through the silk shorts. “But I still wish you were in my shirt. Nothing looks better on you than my name.”
She smiled, brushing her nose against his. “You’re really stuck on that, huh?”
“Mhm.” He kissed her again, slower this time, then trailed his lips along her jaw to her neck. His breath was warm against her skin as he gently sucked on the sensitive spot just below her ear, making her shiver.
His hand moved between them, slipping under her camisole to cup her breast, thumb brushing lazily over her nipple until it hardened under his touch. The touch was soft, but his breathing was getting heavier.
“Garrett…” she whispered slightly worried, pressing closer.
“I know Dean’s right there,” he murmured against her throat, voice husky. “But I need you, baby. Been thinking about being inside you since the final buzzer.”
He rolled them slightly so she was half underneath him, one thick thigh pressing between hers. His hand continued its gentle exploration, sliding down her stomach and dipping just under the waistband of her silk shorts. His fingers brushed lightly over her, teasing, feeling how warm and soft she was. “I’ll be quiet,” he breathed, kissing her again, deeper this time. “Just let me touch you… let me make you feel good. You know this ‘s gonna be quick.” He winked.
He kissed her again languidly, swallowing her soft sigh as his middle finger gently traced along her slit. “Shh, baby,” he whispered against her lips, voice low and husky. “You have to stay quiet for me. Dean’s right in the bathroom… we can’t let him hear.”
She nodded, biting her lip as his finger slowly parted her folds. He took his time, stroking her with feather-light touches, spreading the slickness that had already gathered. The pad of his finger circled her clit lazily, drawing gentle, teasing patterns that made her hips twitch. “Good girl,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. “Just breathe through it. Let me take care of you.”
He dipped lower and slowly pushed one thick finger inside her. The stretch was delicious, just what she needed. He curled it gently, stroking along her inner walls with sensual precision, feeling every flutter and clench around him. His palm pressed against her clit as he worked her slowly, pumping in and out with unhurried strokes.
She buried her face into his neck, muffling a whimper against his skin. The sensation of his thick finger moving inside her, combined with the heat of his body pressed against hers, made her tremble.
“Fuck, you’re so wet already,” Garrett breathed, barely audible. He added a second finger, stretching her a little more. The slow drag of both fingers sliding in and out of her soaked pussy was torture. He scissored them gently, exploring her, curling them upward to press against that sensitive spot inside her with every careful thrust.
Her breathing grew shaky. She gripped his shoulder tightly, nails digging into his skin as she fought to stay quiet. A tiny, broken sound escaped her anyway.
Garrett’s free hand came up to cradle the back of her head, pressing her face more firmly into the crook of his neck. “Quiet, baby,” he soothed, voice rough with arousal even as his fingers kept their slow rhythm. “I know it feels good… I can feel how tight you’re getting around my fingers. But you can’t moan like that. Not yet.”
He angled his hand slightly, pressing deeper while his thumb found her clit again, rubbing slow, firm circles in time with the thrusting of his fingers. The dual sensation, his thick fingers stroking inside her while his thumb worked her clit, sent warm waves of pleasure rolling through her body.
She panted softly against his neck, her hips rolling subtly against his hand, chasing the pleasure he was giving her. Every slow thrust of his fingers made wet, quiet sounds beneath the silk of her shorts. Her thighs trembled, clenching around his wrist as the pressure built.
“That’s it,” Garrett whispered, kissing the top of her head tenderly even as his fingers continued their never-ending teasing. “Just let go, yeah? I’ve got you.”
The wet sounds of his thick fingers moving through her slickness were barely audible under the hum of the air conditioner. He kept her face tucked into his neck, one hand gently stroking her hair while the other worked between her thighs. “You’re getting soooo tight, baby,” he whispered lovingly against her ear. “Does that feel good? Just my fingers stretching this pretty pussy?”
She nodded frantically against his skin, biting down on her lip to stay quiet. Her hips rolled in tiny, desperate circles, chasing the slow pleasure he was giving her.
Just then, the bathroom door clicked open. Her eyes shot open.
Dean stepped out wearing nothing but a white towel slung low around his hips. He froze mid-step when he saw them, her pressed against Garrett’s chest, Garrett’s hand clearly moving under her silk shorts. “Woah, okay!” Dean exclaimed, immediately slapping a hand over his eyes. “My bad, my bad! I definitely just walked in on something I shouldn’t have.” He peeked through his fingers, a playful grin spreading across his face. “Jesus, Graham. Couldn’t even wait ‘till I was asleep?“
At the exact moment her eyes landed on Dean, something shifted unequivocally.
Water still clung to his broad shoulders and chest, slowly tracing glistening paths down the defined ridges of his abs. The white towel hung dangerously low on his hips, revealing the sharp V-lines that disappeared beneath the fabric. His hair was damp and tousled, a few droplets sliding down the side of his neck. Her body betrayed her instantly.
Her pussy clenched hard around Garrett’s thick fingers, a deep, involuntary spasm that made her inner walls flutter and squeeze greedily. A fresh rush of warm wetness flooded around his knuckles, coating his hand as her slick heat pulsed rhythmically.
Garrett noticed immediately.
He let out a low, amused breath against her neck, his fingers still buried deep inside her. “Whoa… what was that, baby?” he whispered, voice soft and teasing, though she could hear the dark delight underneath. He curled his fingers slowly, pressing against that sensitive spot as he felt her continue to throb around him. “Your pussy just told me something very interesting.”
She buried her flushed face into the crook of his neck again, embarrassed heat blooming across her cheeks, but her hips gave a tiny, helpless roll against his hand.
Garrett chuckled quietly, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple while his fingers continued their slow, sensual strokes. “Shh, it’s okay,” he murmured lovingly, clearly enjoying her reaction. “You don’t have to hide it from me. I felt every little pulse. You got so much wetter just looking at him fresh out of the shower.”
Dean, still with his hand over his eyes, laughed quietly. “Well damn,” he said, voice light but growing huskier. “Did I just cause a reaction over there? Is that what’s happening over there? I can’t see, but I must say that’s a little flattering, princess.”
Garrett’s fingers kept moving, drawing quiet, wet sounds from between her thighs as he kept her tucked against his chest. “Tell him the truth, baby,” Garrett whispered teasingly against her ear, nipping gently at her lobe. “Tell Dean what your pussy just did when you saw him.”
The blonde slowly lowered his hand from his eyes, the playful smirk on his face deepening as he watched them. Droplets of water still rolled lazily down his chest, catching the low lamplight before disappearing into the edge of the towel.
She finally met Dean’s gaze, embarrassed but unbearably aroused. Her walls fluttered again around his fingers as another rush of wetness coated his hand. “I… I couldn’t help it,” she breathed, voice shaky. “You looked so… slutty. The towel. I just…”
Dean let out a low, amused chuckle, stepping closer to the edge of the bed. The towel clung to his hips, doing very little to hide the growing bulge beneath it. “Aw, princess,” he said, tone playful but his eyes darkening with heat. “You really liked the view that much? That’s cute as hell.”
Garrett smiled against her temple and slowly withdrew his fingers from her dripping heat. She felt empty for a moment, her pussy clenching around nothing. He brought his glistening fingers up to her lips. “Open,” he whispered.
She obeyed, tasting herself on his fingers as he slid them into her mouth. The sweet, musky flavor coated her tongue while Garrett watched her with hooded eyes.
Dean’s gaze was locked on her as well, the smirk fading into something more intense. Garrett pulled his fingers from her mouth and kissed her deeply, tasting her arousal on her tongue. When he pulled back, his voice had grown rougher. “Get up, baby.”
She slid off the bed on slightly unsteady legs. Garrett stood behind her, tall and solid, his hands settling on her waist. He guided her forward until she stood right in front of Dean.
She looked up at Dean, heart pounding. The scent of his fresh shower gel mixed with the clean, masculine smell of his skin filled her senses. Without thinking, she rose onto her toes, placed her hands on his warm, damp chest, and kissed him.
The first touch was tentative, soft lips brushing, testing. Then Dean exhaled against her mouth and tilted his head, deepening the kiss with unhurried curiosity. His lips were thinner and slightly warmer than Garrett’s, moving with the confidence of a man who knew what he was doing, but was trying to rein himself in. He tasted faintly of mint and something uniquely him.
He kissed her like he was discovering her, gently sucking on her bottom lip, then teasing it with the tip of his tongue before sliding inside. His tongue moved differently, more playful and curious, stroking against hers in long caresses, retreating only to return with a gentle flick or a teasing swirl. One of his hands cupped the side of her face, thumb brushing her cheekbone, while the other rested on her lower back, pulling her closer until her body pressed against his mostly-naked, heated skin.
It felt new. Different. Exciting in its unfamiliarity. Every slow movement of his mouth and tongue felt like a question, learning how she liked to be kissed, savoring her reactions. When she let out a tiny, involuntary sound, Dean smiled against her lips and kissed her deeper.
While she was still lost in the newness of Dean’s kiss, Garrett moved in closer from behind.
His tall, muscular body pressed flush against her back, the heat of his bare chest searing through the thin silk of her camisole. She felt the hard ridge of his erection nestling firmly between her ass cheeks, his strong hands gripping her hips as he kissed the side of her neck with slow, open-mouthed kisses.
She was deliciously caught between them.
Dean’s warm, still-damp chest pressed against her front, while Garrett’s hotter body molded against her back. The contrast in their scents, their heat, and their touch made her head spin. Dean’s fresh shower smell mixed with Garrett’s deeper, more familiar, masculine scent, surrounded her completely.
Dean slowly pulled back from her lips, his eyes dark with lust. Without breaking eye contact, he leaned down and began kissing her chest. His warm lips trailed along the swell of her breasts, visible above the neckline of her camisole. He kissed the soft skin tenderly at first, then used his tongue, tasting her as he slowly dragged it along the curve of one breast.
She gasped softly, arching into his mouth.
Garrett’s grip on her hips tightened from behind, his voice low and rough against her ear.
“On your knees, baby.”
His words sent a fresh wave of heat through her. He gave her hips a light but firm squeeze, guiding her down. She slowly sank to her knees on the soft carpet between them. Both men towered over her now. Garrett shirtless in his sweats, eyes dark with lust, and Dean in nothing but a towel that was doing a poor job of hiding how hard he already was.
Garrett reached down and gently stroked her hair, his voice softer again but still carrying that edge of dominance. “She’s a good girl, isn’t she?”
Her boyfriend was the first to move. He pushed his sweats down just enough to free his thick cock, already leaking at the tip. He wrapped a hand around the base and guided it toward her mouth.
“Open,” he said, voice low and commanding.
She parted her lips obediently and he pushed forward, sliding his cock deep into her mouth in one smooth motion. Garrett didn’t ease her into it. He held the back of her head firmly and started fucking her mouth with slow, deliberate thrusts, pushing toward the back of her throat.
“Fuck… that’s it,” Garrett groaned, eyes half-lidded. “Take it deeper, baby. Let me feel that throat.”
She moaned around him, eyes watering slightly as she tried to relax her throat. The velvety weight of him stretched her lips wide, and the salty taste of his precum coated her tongue with every thrust.
Dean watched for a moment, then let out a low whistle.“Damn, Garrett. You’re not playing around tonight,” he said with a amused chuckle. He tugged his towel off, letting it drop to the floor. His cock sprang free, curving slightly upward.
Dean stepped closer and gently tapped his cock against her cheek. “My turn, princess. Don’t forget about me.”
Garrett reluctantly pulled out of her mouth, a string of spit connecting her lips to his glistening cock. She turned her head and took Dean into her mouth next. He was slightly thicker, but not longer than Garrett’s, and she had to stretch her jaw wider to accommodate him.
Dean groaned. “There we go… fuck, look at those pretty lips wrapped around me. You’re doing so good, princess.”
He let her set the pace at first, gently rocking his hips while she bobbed on his cock, sucking and swirling her tongue around the head. But then he grinned down at her. “C’mon, don’t be shy. Take a little more for me,” he teased, pushing just a bit deeper. “That’s my girl. You look so cute with your mouth full.”
Garrett stroked himself slowly as he watched her suck Dean. Then he grabbed her hair and guided her back to his cock.“Back to me,” he ordered, voice rougher. He pushed back into her mouth and immediately started thrusting deeper, more intensely than before. “Good fucking girl. Suck harder.”
She alternated between them, saliva dripping down her chin as she worked both cocks. When she was on Garrett, he was possessive and intense, holding her head steady, fucking her throat with deep, controlled strokes while praising her in a low, gravelly voice.
“That’s it. Choke on it, baby. You can take me.”
When she switched to Dean, he was more… wicked and teasing, lightly tapping her cheek with his cock when she pulled off to breathe, grinning down at her.
“Aw, look at you gasping for air. Too much cock for you, princess?” he teased, then groaned as she sucked him back in. “Yeahhh, just like that. You’re such a greedy little thing tonight.”
Garrett looked down at her with hungry eyes, thumb brushing her stretched lips. “She’s perfect,” he murmured, almost to himself. Then louder, “Keep going, baby. Show Dean how well you take care of us.”
At one point she had both of them close together, licking and sucking the heads of their cocks at the same time, her tongue swirling around them messily. Garrett’s hand tightened in her hair while Dean let out a breathy laugh.
“Fuck, man… your girl really knows what she’s doing,” Dean said, voice strained with pleasure but still amused.
“Mmm… you’re so thick,” she murmured breathlessly when she came up for air, still pumping Garrett’s cock with her hand. “Both of you… I can barely fit you.”
Dean chuckled, gently threading his fingers through her hair. “Flattery’s gonna get you everywhere, princess. Keep talking like that and I might cum down that pretty throat.”
Garrett finally pulled her up to her feet. Without warning, his mouth crashed down on hers in a deep, hungry kiss, his tongue claiming hers as one hand gripped the back of her neck. Then he spun her around and bent her over the edge of the bed.
“Stay right there,” he ordered, voice low and rough.
She braced her hands on the soft mattress, arching her back and pushing her ass up for him. Garrett hooked his fingers into the waistband of her silk shorts and slowly dragged them down her thighs, letting the fabric pool around her ankles. Cool air kissed her exposed, dripping pussy as he kicked her feet wider apart.
Dean climbed onto the bed, kneeling in front of her on the mattress so his thick cock bobbed heavily right in front of her face. “Open up again, princess,” Dean said with a wicked grin. “Don’t neglect me while your boyfriend fucks that pretty pussy.”
She parted her lips obediently and took him into her mouth just as Garrett rubbed the thick head of his cock up and down her soaked slit, coating himself in her wetness.
In one powerful thrust, Garrett buried himself deep inside her. A muffled cry tore from her throat around Dean’s cock as Garrett stretched her open. The sudden, burning fullness made her toes curl against the carpet.
“Fuck” she gasped breathlessly when she pulled off Dean for a second, voice trembling. “Garrett… you’re so deep. I can feel you everywhere.”
Garrett let out a low, guttural groan, his fingers digging hard into her hips as he started fucking her with heavy strokes. Each thrust slammed into her with force, the wet slap of his hips meeting her ass echoing through the suite. The sensation of his thick cock dragging against her sensitive walls, still slick from earlier, made her eyes flutter.
“That’s it, baby,” Garrett growled, voice dark and strained. “Take every fucking inch while you suck his cock.”
She moaned loudly around Dean’s length as Garrett picked up speed, pounding into her harder. The force of his thrusts pushed her forward, forcing Dean’s cock deeper into her throat with every stroke.
Dean stroked her hair tenderly, groaning with pleasure. “Holy shit, listen to how sloppy she sounds. You’re taking him so well, princess. Such a greedy little slut.”
She pulled off Dean’s cock with a wet gasp, strings of spit connecting her lips to his glistening shaft. Her voice came out shaky and desperate. “Harder, Garrett,” she begged, pushing back against his thrusts. “Please… fuck me harder. I need it.”
Garrett’s grip on her hips turned almost bruising. “You want it harder?” He slammed into her with a brutal thrust that made her cry out. “Like this?”
“Yes! Fuck, yes,” she moaned, before eagerly sucking Dean back into her mouth, bobbing her head sloppily while Garrett railed her from behind.
Dean let out a breathy laugh, gently guiding her head. “Goddamn, she’s loving this. Your girl is soaked and shaking, man. I can see why you can’t get enough of her.”
While Garrett fucked her with punishing strokes, she focused on Dean’s cock in front of her. She took him deeper into her mouth, hollowing her cheeks as she sucked him with wet, eager pulls. Her tongue swirled around the thick head every time she pulled back, teasing the sensitive underside before sliding down his shaft again.
She pulled off just enough to speak, her voice breathy and filthy between moans. “You taste so good,” she purred, looking up at Dean with glassy eyes. “I love how thick you are… stretching my throat while Garrett fucks me.”
Dean’s breath hitched.
She dove back down, sucking him messily, saliva dripping down his shaft and onto the sheets. She moaned around his cock as Garrett slammed into her particularly hard, the vibration traveling straight through Dean’s length. “Fuck, you’re so hard for me,” she gasped during a brief moment she pulled off, stroking him fast with her hand. “I want you to use my mouth. I want to choke on this cock while my boyfriend ruins my pussy.”
Garrett groaned behind her, clearly loving her sudden confidence. His hips snapped forward harder, driving his thick cock even deeper. Without warning, his large hand landed on the back of her head. He pushed her down firmly onto Dean’s cock, forcing her to take him all the way to the back of her throat.
She gagged wetly around Dean’s length, eyes watering, but didn’t pull away. Garrett held her there for a few long seconds, buried deep on his roommate’s cock while he continued fucking her senseless from behind. Garrett looked up at Dean and winked full of amusement.
Dean was completely hypnotized.
His lips were parted, eyes wide and glassy as he stared down at her. The sight of her choking on his cock while Garrett held her head down and fucked her had him frozen in lust. His usual playful demeanor had melted away, replaced by raw, stunned arousal. “Jesus Christ…” Dean whispered hoarsely, voice barely working. “Look at her. Fuck, man… she’s actually taking all of me.”
Garrett finally released the pressure on her head, letting her pull back just enough to gasp for air, thick strings of spit connecting her swollen lips to Dean’s throbbing cock. She looked up at Dean with teary, lust-drunk eyes and smiled.
“You like that?” she asked, voice raspy. “You like watching Garrett shove your cock down my throat?”
Dean let out a shaky, broken laugh, still looking completely mesmerized. “I think I just forgot how to speak,” he admitted, gently brushing her messy hair out of her face. “You’re so fucking filt…”. His words were cut off by her going back to greedily suck his shaft.
Garrett’s thrusts grew harsher and more desperate behind her, his hips slamming against her ass with wet, punishing slaps. His breathing was rough and ragged, low growls vibrating in his chest as he drove into her harder.
“Fuck, baby… I’m so close,” he groaned, voice strained and dark. “This pussy is squeezing me so fucking tight.”
He leaned forward, one hand sliding up her back and gripping her shoulder for leverage as he pounded into her with brutal strokes. The wet sound of his thick cock driving into her pussy was filthy and loud. Every thrust pushed her further onto Dean’s cock, making her choke and moan around him.
Suddenly, Garrett’s rhythm faltered. His fingers dug painfully into her hips as he slammed in deep and stayed buried to the hilt. “Shit, I’m cumming,” he growled through clenched teeth.
She felt it instantly.
Garrett’s cock swelled and throbbed violently inside her. Then came the first hot spurt of his cum, flooding deep into her pussy. He groaned loudly, hips jerking against her ass as thick ropes of cum pulsed out of him in heavy waves. She could feel every twitch and throb of his cock as he emptied himself, pumping load after load of warm, thick seed deep inside her.
“Take it all,” he rasped, voice hoarse with pleasure. “Fuck, baby… take every drop.”
His body shuddered hard against her back as he kept grinding deep, pushing his cum further into her with slow rolls of his hips. Another thick spurt shot into her, then another, until she felt overly full, the warmth of his release spreading through her core. Some of it already began leaking out around his cock, dripping down her thighs in messy rivulets.
Garrett stayed buried inside her for a long moment, panting heavily against her shoulder as the final pulses of his orgasm faded. His cock continued to twitch inside her sensitive walls, milking the last drops of his cum into her.
“Goddamn,” he breathed, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the back of her neck. “You feel so fucking good when I fill you up.”
He finally pulled out slowly, a thick gush of his cum immediately spilling from her stretched pussy and running down her thighs. Garrett ran two fingers through the creamy mess, pushing some of it back inside her with a satisfied groan.
She moaned around Dean’s cock at the filthy sensation, then suddenly pulled her mouth off him with a wet pop. Breathing hard, she turned her head and pushed firmly against Garrett’s abs with one hand, gently but decisively moving him back. “Move,” she said, voice hoarse but commanding.
Garrett blinked in surprise but stepped back, watching her with curious eyes. Slowly straightening up, she looked up at Dean, her lips swollen and shiny with spit, strands of saliva still connecting her to his throbbing cock. Her eyes were hazy with lust. “Dean… lay down on the bed,” she told him, voice low and breathy. “I want to ride you.”
Dean froze.
For a second, he looked completely stunned, eyes wide, lips parted in shock. The usual playful smirk had vanished, replaced by pure mesmerization. He stared at her like he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. “You… you serious?” he asked, voice rough. “Right now? After Garrett just filled you up?”
She nodded, licking her lips as she sat back on her heels. “I want to feel you,” she said, a little more softly but no less hungry. “I want to ride you while his cum is still inside me.”
Dean let out a stunned, breathless laugh, clearly hypnotized by her boldness. He quickly moved back and lay down in the center of the bed, his hard cock resting thick and heavy against his stomach, still glistening from her mouth.
“Fuck me,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair as he stared at her in awe. “I think I’m in love with you right now. Come here, princess.”
She climbed onto the bed and straddled him, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips. Garrett stood beside the bed, watching with something close to possession in his eyes as she reached down, wrapped her hand around Dean’s thick cock, and lined him up with her cum-slick entrance.
Dean’s hands settled on her thighs, gripping tightly as she began to slowly lower herself onto Dean, feeling the thick head of his cock part her cum-slick folds. A long, breathy moan escaped her as she sank down, taking every inch of him. Because she was already so wet and full of Garrett’s load, Dean slid in easily, but the stretch was still intense, his slightly thicker cock forcing her walls open again.
“Fuck… princess,” Dean groaned, his head falling back against the pillow, eyes locked on where they were joined. “You’re so fucking warm. I can feel Garrett’s cum all over me.”
She braced her hands on his chest and started riding him. Slowly at first, rolling her hips in circles, savoring the way his cock stirred Garrett’s release inside her. Then she grew bolder, lifting herself up until just the tip remained inside her, before slamming back down, taking him to the hilt with a wet slap.
The obscene sound of her soaked pussy riding his cock filled the room. Dean’s hands were gripping her thighs hard, fingers digging into her flesh as she bounced on him. “Shit, look at you… you’re fucking starving for it.”
Behind her, Garrett moved onto the bed. He reached around and slowly pulled her camisole up and over her head, tossing it aside. Her breasts spilled free, nipples already hard. Garrett pressed his chest against her back, one arm wrapping around her as his large hand cupped her breast, squeezing it firmly. His fingers pinched and rolled her nipple, sending sharp sparks of pleasure straight to her clit.
“You look so good riding him, baby,” Garrett murmured hotly against her ear, voice dark with lust. He kissed and bit along her shoulder while continuing to play with her tits, kneading them, tugging her nipples until she whimpered.
She rode Dean harder, her pace turning frantic. The wet sounds of her pussy sliding up and down his thick cock grew louder as she chased her pleasure. Garrett’s other hand slid down her stomach. His fingers found her swollen clit and started rubbing slow, firm circles around it, occasionally pressing down directly on the sensitive bundle of nerves.
“Oh my god…” she cried out, her rhythm faltering as overwhelming pleasure shot through her.
Dean was breathing hard beneath her, thrusting up to meet her bounces. “Keep going, princess. Fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight. You gonna cum on my cock?”
Garrett’s fingers moved faster on her clit while he pinched her nipple hard at the same time. His voice was low and commanding in her ear. “Cum for us, baby.”
The combination was too much.
Her orgasm hit her like a wave. She slammed down hard on Dean’s cock and cried out, her walls clenching and fluttering violently around his thick length. Her entire body trembled as sharp, intense pleasure ripped through her. Garrett kept rubbing her clit through it, drawing out every pulse and spasm while Dean groaned loudly beneath her, fucking up in her, feeling her pussy milk his cock.
“Fuck, she’s cumming so hard,” Dean gasped, his hands gripping her hips as her body shook on top of him. “I can feel her squeezing me… holy shit.”
She kept grinding down on him through her orgasm, riding out every wave until her thighs were shaking and her breath came in broken sobs, but Dean was not content with her just riding it out by herself. With a low groan, he tightened his grip on her hips and started thrusting up into her hard and fast, fucking her through her climax. His thick cock drove deep into her spasming pussy with powerful strokes, prolonging her pleasure.
“Fuck, princess, you feel so fucking good.” Dean growled, voice strained.
Her orgasm intensified, her walls fluttering and squeezing violently around him as sharp waves of pleasure ripped through her body. Broken moans fell from her lips while Dean continued railing her from below.
Then Dean’s rhythm started to falter. “Shit, I’m so close,” he gasped desperately, hips snapping up harder. “I’m gonna cum…”
“Pull out,” Garrett ordered sharply, his voice dark and commanding.
Dean blinked, his thrusts stuttering as confusion clouded his face. “Huh?” he panted, still buried deep inside her, clearly dazed and struggling to process the command. “What?”
“Pull out,” Garrett repeated firmly. “Don’t cum inside her.”
Dean let out a tortured, frustrated groan, his expression torn between pleasure and disbelief. With obvious reluctance, he lifted her hips and yanked his throbbing cock out of her still-spasming pussy at the very last second. “Jesus Christ!” he hissed through clenched teeth.
He quickly moved up onto his knees in front of her, stroking his slick, swollen cock furiously. His face was flushed, eyes wild with lust and lingering confusion as he aimed at her face and chest. “Open your mouth, princess,” he rasped.
The first thick rope of cum shot across her cheek and lips. He then painted her tits, dripping down her nipples, and landing on her tongue as she obediently opened wide for him. Dean groaned loudly, his cock twitching hard with every spurt as he unloaded onto her flushed skin.
When he finally finished, he stared down at her cum-covered face and chest, still breathing heavily, looking both satisfied and slightly dazed. Dean let out a low, exhausted chuckle, watching them with hooded eyes, wiping the sweat off his forehead.
“Next round,” he said, still catching his breath, “I’m asking humbly and respectfully if I can cum inside her.”
pairing – garrett graham x nursing student!reader
summary – garrett graham doesn’t do girlfriends. she knows that. but after a heated trip upstairs turns into bruised ribs, nursing-student instincts, and accidental tenderness, whatever they’re doing starts feeling a lot less casual.
warnings – suggestive content, alcohol, swearing, hockey injuries, wound care, casual hookup dynamics.
notes from me – idk i just thought this pairing was cute because what’s better than a hockey boy who keeps getting beat up and a girl who actually knows how to look after him??? requests are open!
word count – 5.4k
navigation – masterlist
By the time Garrett gets her upstairs, she’s already decided she’s going to be normal about it tonight. This is, obviously, a lie.
Normal would be letting him lead her through the party by the hand without staring at the back of his neck. Normal would be not noticing the flex of his fingers around hers every time someone bumps into them in the hall.
Normal would be not feeling the whole noisy, beer-sticky, post-game mess of the house narrow itself down to his thumb moving once over her knuckles as he guides her past a cluster of girls outside the bathroom and two guys shouting about somebody’s fantasy lineup near the stairs.
Normal would be remembering that this is what Garrett Graham does. The easy attention. The grin over his shoulder.
The way he touches like he’s not thinking too hard about it, like putting a hand at the small of her back or catching her fingers in his is just what his body does when she’s near enough. The way he makes a person feel briefly, stupidly singular, even in a house full of people who know his name and want a piece of him.
She knows better than to turn that into meaning. She really does.
She’s a nursing student. She has clinical placement at seven on Monday morning and three half-finished flashcards on cardiac meds shoved into her bag and a lab partner who keeps texting her about their assessment.
She understands symptoms. She understands pattern recognition. She understands that if a man who doesn’t do girlfriends makes you feel like a girlfriend for three to six hours a week, and then smiles at you after like he hasn’t just rearranged your entire nervous system, that’s not necessarily pathology. Sometimes that’s just Garrett.
His hand is warm around hers, and she’s a little drunk, and the game had been brutal, and he’d scored twice, and there are girls downstairs wearing Briar colours and looking at him like he’s something they could win if they stood in the right place long enough. And she’s the one he’s taking upstairs.
So. Normal. Definitely. Totally.
Garrett pushes his bedroom door open with his shoulder, tugging her inside after him, and the noise of the party drops at once to a muffled, bass-heavy pulse through the floorboards.
His room smells like clean laundry, cold air from the cracked window, and him underneath it, that warm boyish mix of soap and deodorant and whatever he uses in his hair when he pretends he doesn’t use anything.
There are textbooks stacked badly on the desk, a hoodie thrown over the chair, tape and a half-empty Gatorade bottle on the dresser. Evidence of a life being lived at full speed and cleaned only when Tucker threatens violence.
She gets half a second to take it in before Garrett closes the door behind her. Then he turns, catches her by the waist, and backs her against it.
The breath leaves her in a soft, embarrassing little rush. Garrett, for all his size and all the speed he carries on the ice, is annoyingly good at knowing exactly where someone’s body is in space.
He presses her back into the door with just enough weight, one hand braced near her head and the other sliding to her hip, his mouth already curving like he knows the sound she just made has ruined any chance of her acting composed.
“Hi,” he says, close enough that the word brushes her lips.
She looks up at him. “Hi.”
His grin deepens. “You’ve said that, like, six times tonight.”
“You keep appearing near me.”
“I live here.”
She tilts her head. “That’s probably part of the problem.”
He laughs under his breath, and then he kisses her before she can decide whether that was too honest to have been funny.
It starts the way it always starts, like he’s going to be patient just to prove he can. His mouth settles over hers slowly, warm and confident, one hand still at her waist, thumb slipping over the soft fabric of her dress.
She can taste beer on him, faint and bitter, and the peppermint gum he’d been chewing earlier because Dean had made some deeply unnecessary comment about post-game mouth and Garrett had thrown a bottle cap at his head.
His lips are soft in a way that always feels vaguely unfair, especially against the rest of him, the broadness of his shoulders and the hard line of his body still wired from the game, and when she opens for him he makes a small sound in his throat that goes straight through her like heat.
Her fingers climb into his hair before she can pretend restraint was ever on the table. His curls are a little damp at the roots from the party, from the shower he must have taken after the game, from whatever warmth still clings to him after the crush of bodies downstairs. She tugs, just lightly, and Garrett’s hand tightens at her waist.
“There she is,” he murmurs against her mouth.
She would like to say something clever to that. Something dry and immune. Instead she sucks his bottom lip between hers and feels him go briefly still. Then he groans. It lands low and rough in the small space between them, and something in her stomach tips clean over.
Garrett’s hand slides from her waist to her back and pulls her in harder, until there’s very little room left between the door and him and her body has to make several immediate decisions about survival. Her hands stay in his hair. His mouth opens over hers, deeper now, less patient, and the kiss turns messy in that private familiar way it gets when they are both pretending this is simple.
His tongue against hers. His thumb at her jaw. The scrape of his teeth, quick and careful, when she nips at his lip again because he’s rewarded it once already and she likes the sounds he makes against her mouth.
He kisses down her jaw, and her head tips back into the door before she can help it. His mouth moves warm over the hinge of it, then lower, to the line of her throat where her pulse is doing something medically ridiculous. He finds it with the kind of precision that feels almost insulting. His lips press there once, then again, open-mouthed and slow enough that her fingers tighten in his hair.
“Garrett,” she breathes, and immediately hates herself a little for sounding like that.
He hums against her skin, smugness practically vibrating off him. “Yeah?”
“Don’t be annoying.”
His smile touches her throat. “Be patient.”
She laughs, which comes out unstable because he chooses that exact second to kiss back up her neck, along her jaw, to the corner of her mouth. He catches her there before she can fully get the breath back, and this kiss is less patient from the start. His hand moves up to her jaw, fingers gentle but sure, thumb resting near the corner of her mouth in a way that makes it very hard to remember that she has bones.
She thinks he likes her.
It arrives abruptly, in the middle of his mouth on hers and his hand spread over her back and his knee sliding between her thighs like he already knows where she’ll make that soft sound for him. She thinks it, and then the thought sits there glowing, horrible and warm.
Garrett Graham does not do girlfriends. Everybody knows that.
It’s practically public information. He has hockey, classes, training, games, and the kind of attention that follows him around campus like bad weather. He’s just been made captain, which means half his life now belongs to the team in a more official capacity than it already did. He spends mornings on the ice, afternoons in class, nights pretending he’s not exhausted while some girl in a mini dress lets him drag her upstairs by the hand and tries not to care when he looks at her like this.
And she’s busy too. She is. She has lectures and placement and exams that make her want to peel her own face off. She has care plans to write and competencies to get signed and older nurses who can destroy a person with one look if they prime an IV line too slowly. She’s not wandering around with free time and delusion looking for somewhere to put both.
But Garrett’s hand’s at her throat, careful and warm, and his mouth is on hers like he has nowhere else to be, and she likes him so much that for a second it’s genuinely inconvenient to breathe.
His knee shifts higher between her thighs. The feeling catches before she can stop it. A little drag of pressure through the thin fabric of her dress and the heat already sitting low in her body, and her hips move once, almost by accident, chasing it.
Garrett’s response is immediate. His breath breaks against her mouth, not quite a laugh and not quite a groan, his fingers flexing at her jaw. “Fuck.”
The word should make her feel powerful. And it does. Unfortunately, it also makes her stupid.
She does it again, on purpose this time, and Garrett kisses her harder, his free hand sliding down her side, over the curve of her hip, to pull her closer against his thigh. The door is cool at her back. His body is hot everywhere else.
The party downstairs has become a distant, irrelevant animal. She can feel the dull beat of music through the wood, the pressure of his hand at her waist, the soft roughness of his lips when he drags his mouth from hers just long enough to breathe and comes right back like leaving was a mistake.
He turns them without really breaking the kiss, one hand moving to her back, walking her backward across the room. It’s smooth for approximately three steps, and then her knees hit the edge of the bed. She drops onto it with a soft, inelegant oof.
Garrett pulls back just enough to look at her. For one second, neither of them says anything. She’s sitting on the edge of his bed with her dress riding higher than she left the house intending, boots planted on his carpet, hair probably already a mess from his hands. Garrett stands between her knees, flushed and grinning down at her like this night has gone exactly where he wanted it to.
God help her, she grins back.
“Smooth,” he says.
“You shoved me.”
“I guided you.”
She has just enough time to roll her eyes before he pulls his shirt over his head, and then the entire mood changes.
The heat’s still there, because Garrett Graham shirtless is, objectively, not a situation a girl can be expected to process with clinical detachment.
His shoulders are broad and strong and his chest is exactly as unfair as she remembers from the other times she’s had the opportunity to lose her mind about it. There are abs. Obviously there are abs. Annoying, well-defined, deeply unnecessary abs that make some extremely unhelpful part of her brain go momentarily blank.
But over all of that, dark and yellowing and fresh and ugly, are bruises. A lot of them. Across his ribs. One spreading along his side in a purple smear that disappears toward his back. Another near his shoulder. Smaller marks scattered over his chest and stomach, some fading green at the edges, some new enough that the skin around them still looks angry. There’s a cut near his collarbone she hadn’t noticed downstairs and another thin scrape along his ribs, red, but not bleeding now.
She knew the game had been rough. Everyone had known. The hits had been loud enough from the stands that one of her friends had flinched into her shoulder and muttered, “Jesus, is that legal?”
She had watched Garrett get slammed into the boards and get back up like irritation was the only possible consequence. She had seen him grin through blood on his lip after the second period and had thought, with equal parts lust and alarm, that hockey players were not right in the head. But seeing it like this, close enough to touch, is different.
“Whoa,” she says, before she can soften it. Her hands come up instinctively but stop short of his skin. “Garrett. Hey. Hold on a second.”
He glances down like he has forgotten his own torso exists, then gives a small frown. “Oh. That.” His gaze lifts back to her, careless in a way that would be more convincing if she hadn’t spent half her week learning exactly how many bad decisions people described as nothing right before they became triage paperwork. “Yeah, you get used to it.”
“Do you?”
“Yeah.”
“Because that looks insane.”
“It’s fine.” He bends toward her, one hand already coming to her jaw, under the impression that his very stupid body can simply be kissed out of the conversation. “C’mere.”
He kisses her, and she lets him for about two seconds because she’s only human and his mouth is still his mouth. Then she makes a small, involuntary squeak of disapproval against his lips.
Garrett pulls back, forehead dropping to hers, jaw tight with the particular frustration of a man who can feel the night slipping out of his control and doesn’t appreciate the medical profession’s role in it. “What?”
She blinks up at him. “Can I at least look at them?”
His eyes narrow. “At what?”
“At your ribs, Garrett.”
“Jeez. They’re ribs. They’re still there.”
“Are we sure?”
That gets the corner of his mouth, barely. “Pretty sure.”
“Are you sure you didn’t break one or some shit?”
He lets out a groan and then, with all the theatrical suffering of a man denied his constitutional rights, flops backward onto the bed beside her. The mattress bounces under his weight. “We’re not gonna fuck, are we?”
She stares at him. Garrett looks over with the aggrieved expression of someone who believes he’s asked a very fair question.
She rolls her eyes so hard it almost hurts. “Can I just look? Please?”
“This feels like a trap.”
“You took your shirt off and revealed a fucking crime scene.”
He gives her a look so flat she nearly laughs at his stupidity. “It’s hockey.”
“It’s bruising over your ribs.”
He sighs, long and dramatic, then lifts one hand and gestures vaguely down at himself like a monarch granting access to disputed land. “Fine. Nurse me.”
“I’m not a nurse yet.”
“Great. So this is amateur hour.”
She shoots him a look, eyes narrowing. “Oh. Would you like me to stop touching you?”
“No,” he says too quickly, and then has the audacity to look slightly offended when she smiles.
She shifts onto the bed properly, one knee tucked under her, trying very hard to keep her attention on the task and not on the fact that Garrett is lying shirtless under her hands with his jeans still slung low on his hips and his hair a mess from her fingers.
The bedside lamp is on, yellowing the room softly, catching over the bruises and the lines of his stomach. Downstairs, someone yells, followed by laughter and a dull thud that neither of them bothers to investigate.
She presses two fingers gently along his lower ribs first. “How’s this?”
“Fine.”
She moves slightly higher. “Here?”
“Fine.”
She pulls her hands back and looks at him. “Garrett.”
“What?”
“Use a word that isn’t fine.”
He looks at the ceiling like she’s placed an enormous burden on him. “Manageable.”
“Wow. Thank you for your courage.” She presses again, lighter this time, watching his face. “Here?”
His mouth tightens before he can stop it.
She catches it immediately. “That hurt.”
“No.”
“Your entire face just did a thing.”
“My face does a lot of things. Girls usually love it.”
“Garrett.”
He exhales through his nose, then gives in by about one inch. “It’s… tender.”
“Tender like sore, or tender like don’t touch me there again unless I’m dying?”
He rolls his eyes.
“Answer.”
“Sore,” he says, then adds, because he’s incapable of letting her have anything cleanly, “but if you wanna touch me there again under different circumstances, I’m totally open-minded.”
She presses her lips together, trying not to laugh, and fails. “You’re actually the worst patient I’ve ever had.”
“I’m your hottest patient.”
She tilts her head. “Mm. Unfortunately.”
His grin flashes, quick and pleased, before she moves her hand higher and finds another spot that makes the muscles in his stomach tense under her fingertips.
Her brain, horribly unprofessional, registers the abs again. A full, useless, warm-body register of the hard give of him under her hand, the smooth heat of his skin, the fact that his stomach jumps a little when her fingers pass too close to the waistband of his jeans.
She’s touched him plenty of times. In significantly less educational contexts. But this feels different because she’s trying to be careful, and careful, with Garrett, is its own kind of intimacy.
“You’re staring,” he says.
She looks up and finds him watching her with one brow raised. “I’m assessing.”
“You’re assessing my abs?”
“They’re in the way of the bruises.”
He grins, head pressing back into the mattress as he adjusts his hips. “Tragic for you.”
“Deeply.” She drags her gaze back to the bruising near his side because if she keeps looking at his face while touching his stomach, she’s going to become useless to both medicine and feminism. “This one’s ugly.”
“Yeah, that guy was huge.”
She glares at him, one eyebrow raising in disapproval.
Garrett huffs. “What? I didn’t just let him hit me.”
“Sorry. I forgot he was supposed to ask for approval first.”
He laughs, then winces, one hand coming toward his ribs before he stops himself. “Ow. Jesus. Don’t make me laugh.”
Her face changes at once. “See?”
“I’m fine.”
She clicks her tongue once in frustration. “You just winced.”
“Because you’re funny.”
“Because your ribs hurt when you laugh,” she runs her hand across his chest again, genuinely concentrating on the damage now.
“Could be both.”
She gives him a look and reaches up to brush his hair back from his forehead, more because she wants to than because it serves any medical purpose.
His curls slip through her fingers, soft and warm, and his eyes do something quieter for half a second. Eyelids dropping halfway. Then the usual Garrett comes back over it, but not quite fast enough.
Her hand lingers. “I’m gonna get you some meds, okay?” she says, voice lower now.
He groans. “Can I get head first, or…?”
She huffs and smacks him lightly on the chest before she thinks. Garrett winces.
“Oh shit.” She jerks her hand back immediately, horror punching through the laugh. “Sorry. Sorry, my bad. My bad.”
He turns his head on the pillow and gives her a look of grave betrayal. “Jesus. Some nurse you are.”
“I said I wasn’t a nurse yet!”
“Yeah, and thank God. Accreditation board dodged a bullet.”
“I hate you.” But she’s smiling when she says it, which rather ruins the effect. She climbs off the bed, tugging her dress down as she stands because it’s migrated during the assessment with absolutely no respect for her professionalism. “Stay here.”
Garrett lifts his head slightly. “Where else would I go?”
“Knowing you? Back onto the ice to get punched again for sport.”
He opens his mouth to object. She points at him from the doorway. “Stay.”
His grin turns slow and irritating. “Bossy.”
“You like it.”
His mouth opens again, probably to say something dirty, but she slips out before he can.
The hallway is louder than his room by several degrees, music and shouting rushing back in around her. She shuts his door behind her and stands there for a second with her hand on the knob, blinking herself back into the party version of the house. Two girls come up the stairs laughing into each other, one of them barefoot, both of them carrying cups. A guy she vaguely recognises from one of Garrett’s classes is sitting on the floor by the wall, looking solemnly into a bag of chips like it might answer something for him.
The bathroom is blessedly empty when she gets there. She flips on the light and starts opening cabinets.
Condoms. More condoms. A suspiciously ancient bottle of hair gel.
“Ew,” she mutters, pushing aside something at the back of the cabinet that may once have been a protein shaker lid and may now qualify as a biohazard. “Men should not be allowed storage.”
More condoms, because this house is prepared for everything except basic first aid. A packet of painkillers finally appears behind a half-used tube of toothpaste, and then antiseptic wipes in a box that looks like it has survived three tenants and a small war. She checks the date, then grabs them along with a clean washcloth from the stack under the sink.
When she gets back, Garrett is still on the bed, thank God, though he’s propped himself against the pillows now and is holding his phone above his face. He looks up when she comes in, and the expression on him changes in a way she wishes she hadn’t noticed.
The grin comes first, of course. It always does. But underneath it, there’s something softer. Something almost pleased. “You robbed our bathroom?”
“You own, like, ninety-three condoms and one bottle of painkillers.”
“Sounds balanced.”
“One of the condoms was in the medicine cabinet stuck to expired hair gel.”
He frowns. “That’s probably Dean’s.”
“Everything disgusting in this house cannot be Dean’s.”
“It actually can.”
She shuts the door with her hip and comes back to the bed, setting the supplies on his nightstand. “Sit up.”
He obeys, but makes it look like he’s doing her a personal favour. She hands him two tablets and the Gatorade from his dresser because hydration is hydration, even if blue sports drink feels questionable as medicine. Garrett takes them, eyes on her the whole time, then swallows with a grimace.
“See?” she says. “So brave.”
“I’ve been through a lot tonight.”
“You almost got laid and instead got ibuprofen. Devastating.”
He presses his lips together in an attempt not to laugh. “Finally, someone understands.”
She sits beside him, half-turned toward him, and tears open an antiseptic wipe. “This might sting.”
“Baby, I play hockey.”
She presses the wipe lightly to the cut near his collarbone.
Garrett hisses. “Fuck.”
She pauses, looking at him. He stares back, offended.
She smiles sweetly. “Baby, you play hockey.”
“Yeah, well, hockey doesn’t usually come in… little wet napkin form.”
She laughs despite herself and keeps going, careful now, dabbing around the scrape rather than dragging across it. He watches her while she works. She can feel it. The weight of his attention moving over her face, the line of her mouth, the way her hair keeps falling forward no matter how many times she tucks it back. The room feels warmer than it did before she left. Smaller, too, with him propped against the pillows and her sitting close enough that her knee presses against his thigh.
For a while, the party fills the places where neither of them speaks. Bass downstairs. Footsteps in the hall. A sudden burst of Dean’s voice somewhere below them, unmistakable even through the floor, followed by what sounds like Logan yelling, No, absolutely not, in a tone suggesting absolutely yes.
Garrett’s fingers touch her hair before she realises he’s lifted his hand. He brushes it back from her cheek, slow and absent, tucking it behind her ear with more care than the gesture needs. His hand doesn’t leave right away. His thumb grazes once near her temple, barely there, and when she looks at him, the grin is gone.
“You’re so pretty,” he murmurs.
The words are quiet enough that the party almost swallows them. Almost.
Heat rises immediately under her skin, stupid and quick. She looks down at the antiseptic wipe in her hand like it’s become fascinating. “You’re concussed, I think.”
Garrett shakes his head. “Mm-mm.”
“Garrett.”
“Was thinkin’ it before the game too.”
That makes something in her chest go inconveniently soft. She tries very hard not to let it show. She really does. Unfortunately, her face has chosen this exact moment to resign from service. Her mouth wants to smile. Her skin is warm. Her hands, which were perfectly capable five seconds ago, are suddenly very interested in folding the used wipe into a tiny, useless square.
“That’s probably still, like, concussion-adjacent,” she says.
He laughs, softer this time so it doesn’t hurt as much. “Why do you always do that?”
“Do what?”
“Make a joke when I say something nice.”
She looks up at him then. Her mouth opens, then closes.
Garrett’s expression shifts, not smug now. Curious, maybe. Careful in a way that sits strangely on him because he wears confidence so easily that it’s easy to forget he can be gentle without making a performance of it.
“I don’t know,” she says finally, because it’s the most honest answer she has and still only half of one.
His thumb moves once over the strand of hair between his fingers. “Okay.”
She huffs a small laugh. “Okay?”
“Yeah.” His mouth curves faintly. “I can work with I don’t know.”
“That’s very generous of you.”
“I’m a generous guy.”
“You asked for head while actively bruised.”
The smile comes back properly then, and the room unclenches around them.
She reaches for another wipe, but Garrett catches her wrist before she can open it. “Hey.”
Her pulse gives a small, irritating kick. “What?”
He doesn’t say it immediately. That’s unlike him enough that she notices. His fingers stay around her wrist. “You looked good at the game. You were… you were wearing that little Briar sweatshirt.”
She narrows her eyes. “Are you making fun of my sweatshirt?”
“No.” His eyes flicker across her face. “I liked it.”
The warmth under her skin gets worse.
“You scored twice,” she says, because deflection is now a survival tool.
His grin tilts. “I know.”
“Cocky.”
“You brought it up.”
She rolls her eyes, but her smile gives her away again.
His fingers slide from her wrist to her hand. “You looked pretty in my colours.”
Her heart does one of those hard, stupid beats that feels less like romance and more like a medical event.
She looks down at their hands because his are big and warm and bruised at the knuckles, and because looking at his face suddenly feels like stepping too close to the edge of something. “You can’t just say things like that when I’m trying to, like, provide healthcare.”
“Why not?”
“Um, boundary confusion.”
“You’re sitting on my bed in a tiny dress.”
“And administering antiseptic.”
“Mixed signals all around.”
She laughs, and Garrett smiles at her like he meant to make that happen, like getting laughter out of her is its own private stat he’s keeping somewhere in his head.
For a second, she lets herself stay there. Lets herself sit with the warmth of his hand around hers, the lamp light over his bruised chest, the ridiculous intimacy of painkillers and antiseptic wipes and his hair still messy from her fingers.
The whole night has gone sideways. From heat to something softer without losing the heat completely. From his knee between her thighs to her thumb brushing lightly near a bruise on his ribs. From fuck me to don’t make me laugh, it hurts.
Maybe this is what makes her like him so much. Not the obvious things, though the obvious things are doing their best. It’s that Garrett, who has every reason to stay easy and shallow and wanted by everyone, keeps accidentally becoming specific with her. Specific in rooms. Specific with his hands. Specific in the way he remembers what she wore to his game and says she looked pretty like it’s been sitting in him all night, waiting for somewhere to go.
She clears her throat and reaches for the last wipe. “I still need to clean that cut.”
Garrett’s eyes flick down to her mouth, lifting onto his elbow. “Mhm. After?”
She pushes him back down. “No, before.”
“So strict.”
“Alive men get privileges.”
He sighs and leans his head back against the pillows, exposing the line of his throat like he’s submitting to the terrible injustice of being cared for by a girl in a mini dress. “Fine. Do your worst.”
She shifts closer, half in his lap now because it’s the only angle that makes sense and absolutely not because her body has been looking for excuses since the hallway.
His hand lands at her thigh automatically, warm over the hem of her dress. He doesn’t move it higher. He doesn’t make a joke. He just rests it there, thumb slow against her skin while she dabs antiseptic over the scrape near his collarbone.
This time he doesn’t hiss.
“Good boy,” she murmurs before she can stop herself.
Garrett’s eyes open. The air changes instantly. Her hand stills. His mouth curves slowly, and the bruises, the ibuprofen, the entire attempted medical intervention lose significant ground against the expression on his face.
“Oh yeah?” he says, positively beaming.
She points the wipe at him. “Do not.”
His hand tightens lightly on her thigh, amusement low in his voice. “You’re blushing.”
“I’m warm.”
“And you’re in my lap.”
“For medical purposes.”
“Right.”
She gives him a look, but it’s hard to make it stick when he’s smiling like that and when she is, in fact, half in his lap, one hand on his chest, the other holding antiseptic.
Garrett’s gaze softens again, almost unfairly fast. “C’mere.”
“I’m right here.”
“Closer.”
She should say no on principle. She doesn’t. She lets him pull her in carefully, mindful of his ribs even when he clearly isn’t, until her forehead rests against his. The party moves under them, distant and messy and young. Someone bangs on a door down the hall. Somebody else laughs too loudly. Garrett’s room stays dim and warm around them.
His thumb brushes once over her thigh.
“Are you gonna sleep here?” he asks, quiet enough to make it sound casual and not at all like the question has changed shape in his mouth.
She pulls back a little to look at him. “What?”
He shrugs, but it’s a bad shrug. Too careful. “I mean, you can. If you want. Since you’ve already ruined the original plan.”
She stares at him.
Garrett’s brows lift. “What?”
“The original plan being sex?”
“Yeah.”
Her eyes narrow. “And now your backup plan is… a sleepover?”
“Don’t make it sound lame.”
“It’s incredibly lame.”
His eyes move over her face. “You wanna leave?”
She doesn’t. The answer is immediate and sits in her before she can make it sound prettier.
“No,” she says.
His face shifts again, the smallest flicker of satisfaction moving through it before he reins it in. “Okay.”
“Okay.”
For a moment, they just look at each other. She’s waiting for him to make a joke. He’s probably waiting for her to make one. Between them, the thing neither of them has named sits warm and too close, wearing all the shapes of what this is supposed to be and none of them fitting quite right.
Then Garrett leans in and kisses her. Softer this time. Still warm, still him, still enough to make the room narrow, but without the frantic press from the door, without the urgent slide of his knee between her thighs.
His mouth moves over hers slowly, his hand rising to her jaw, thumb touching the corner of her face. The sweetness of it makes her chest ache in a way that’s frankly rude after everything else he’s already done to her tonight.
When he pulls back, he stays close. “You gonna keep nursing me,” he murmurs, “or am I cleared for kissing?”
She looks down at his bruised ribs, then back at his face. “Light kissing.”
He runs his thumb over her bottom lip. “Define light.”
“Um. No additional injuries.”
“So that rules out Dean joining.”
She laughs, louder now, and he smiles against her mouth before kissing her again, like the laugh is something he can catch if he moves fast enough.
Downstairs, the party gets louder. Upstairs, Garrett Graham lets her press one more cautious hand to his ribs and pretends not to notice when she leaves it there longer than she needs to.
Warning(s); Fluff, kissing, edited but not really.
Summary; An afternoon spent in Dean's bed.
Word Count; 2.2k
Author’s Note; Don't really have thing for blondes, but he pulls it off so well, so of course I had to write for him 😄. Another short fic, sorry for that, still trying to get back into the groove of writing. I do plan to write more for Dean, maybe Logan and Tucker too, so if you have any fic requests, you can send those through my inbox 🤍. Hope all is well in your corner of the world. Go Canucks! - Honey
The sun filters through Dean's half-closed blinds in strips of gold, painting bars of light across the rumpled sheets and your bare legs tangled with his. It's that particular kind of day that feels suspended in time, when the whole day stretches ahead with no obligations, no places to be, nothing demanding your attention except the slow, pleasant pull of sleep and the warmth of Dean's mouth finding yours again.
You're not sure what time it is anymore. Late afternoon, maybe? You'd both been awake earlier, properly awake, when you'd first arrived at the house around eleven. There'd been the usual chaos downstairs, Tucker making breakfast for what appeared to be half the hockey team, Garrett playing some sort of video game, Logan sprawled on the couch complaining about a paper he hadn't started. Dean had intercepted you at the door, his hand slipping into yours with easy familiarity, leading you upstairs before anyone could rope either of you into whatever plans were being formed.
That had been hours ago now. Or maybe just one hour. Time feels elastic up here in Dean's room, where the world has narrowed down to just the two of you and the lazy rhythm you've fallen into. Kissing, dozing, waking up to kiss some more. There's no urgency to any of it, no clear destination. Just this slow, meandering afternoon that keeps pulling you both under and back up again like a gentle tide.
Dean's hand is tracing patterns on your lower back, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt. His shirt, actually, one you'd pulled on earlier when you'd gotten too warm in your hoodie. The fabric is soft and worn, smells like him, like laundry detergent and something woodsy that might be cologne or might just be Dean. His touch is relaxed, mapping out the curve of your spine with the kind of attention that makes your breath catch even though you're half asleep.
"You awake?" he murmurs against your temple.
"Mm," you hum, which isn't really an answer but is all you can manage right now.
You feel him smile against your skin, and then his mouth is trailing down to your jaw, pressing lazy kisses there that make you shift closer to him instinctively. Your leg slides between his, and his hand moves from your back to your hip, fingers spreading wide against bare skin where your shorts have ridden up.
This has been the pattern for the past hour, maybe longer. Drowsy kissing that builds into something deeper, more heated, hands starting to wander with clear intent, before one of you pulls back and you both drift off again into a light doze. Then you wake up. Sometimes five minutes later, sometimes twenty, and it starts all over again, this comfortable cycle that neither of you seems particularly motivated to break.
It's different from your usual dynamic. Usually when you're in Dean's bed there's a clear trajectory, a straightforward progression from point A to point B. This thing between you started as purely physical, after all, built on a little chemistry and the convenience and easy attraction that doesn't require much discussion. But lately, and especially today, there's been this softness creeping in. This willingness to just exist together without any particular agenda, to be close for the sake of being close rather than as a means to an end.
You're not examining it too closely. That feels dangerous, like putting a name to something might change it into something else entirely. So instead you just let yourself sink into it, into the warmth of Dean's body against yours and the pleasant weight of his arm around your waist and the way his breath hitches slightly when you kiss the corner of his mouth.
"C'mere," he says quietly, even though you're already as close as two people can reasonably be while still technically clothed.
But you understand what he means. You shift upward slightly, and his hand comes up to cup your jaw, tilting your face toward his. The kiss is slow and deep, the kind that makes your toes press into the mattress and your fingers curl into the fabric of his t-shirt. His tongue slides against yours with lazy confidence, like he's got all the time in the world to explore your mouth, to figure out exactly what makes you sigh against him like that.
Your hand finds his hair, fingers threading through the blonde strands that are messy from sleep and from you running your hands through them repeatedly. He makes a low sound in the back of his throat when you tug gently, and you feel the vibration of it against your lips. His hand slides from your jaw down to your neck, thumb brushing over your pulse point, and you wonder if he can feel how fast your heart is beating.
When you finally break apart, you're both breathing heavier, and Dean's eyes are clouded when they meet yours. He looks at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable, before he leans in and presses a softer kiss to your forehead. Then your nose. Then your mouth again.
"I like you," he says against your lips, affectionate, and uncomplicated.
"Yeah?," you let out a hum before responding, your voice coming out raspier than you intended.
"Yeah," he admits easily, his hand sliding back down to your waist, fingers splaying possessively across your ribcage.
The house is quiet around you, that particular mid afternoon lull when everyone's off doing their own thing. You can hear faint sounds from outside, someone's music playing a few houses down, a car passing on the street, but inside it's just the two of you and the soft whir of the ceiling fan above the bed. The sheets are a disaster, half kicked off, pillows everywhere except where they're supposed to be. Dean's room always looks lived-in, comfortable in its chaos, but right now it looks particularly messy in a way that makes you smile.
Dean catches the smile, his own lips curving up in response. "What?"
"Nothing," you say, but you're still smiling. "This is just nice."
Something flickers across his face. Surprise, maybe, or pleasure, before he's kissing you again, harder this time, with more intent. His hand slides under your shirt properly now, palm warm against your stomach, and you arch into the touch without thinking. The kiss deepens, grows more urgent, and you can feel the shift happening again, that slow build of heat that's been simmering all afternoon starting to intensify.
You roll onto your back and Dean follows, his body covering yours, supporting his weight on his forearms so he doesn't crush you. This position is familiar, well practiced by now, but it still sends a thrill through you when his hips settle between your thighs. He's kissing down your neck now, finding that spot just below your ear that makes you gasp, and his hand is sliding higher under your shirt.
"Dean," you breathe, and your hands find his shoulders, feeling the muscles shift under your palms as he moves.
He pulls back just enough to look at you, his hair falling into his eyes, his expression full of intensity. "Yeah?"
You're not sure what you were going to say. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. But before you can figure it out, he's kissing you again, stealing whatever words you might have found. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, holding him close, and he makes that sound again, that low rumble of approval that you've learned means you're doing something he likes.
The afternoon stretches on, golden and hazy, and you lose yourself in it. In him. In the way his hands know exactly where to touch you, the way his mouth finds all the places that make you forget your own name. There's a languidness to it all, even as things intensify, a sense that you've got all the time in the world to figure each other out.
Eventually, though, the heat peaks and then subsides, leaving you both breathing hard, skin flushed, completely tangled together. Dean's face is buried in your neck, his breath warm against your skin, and your fingers are still in his hair, gentler now, just touching because you can. The room feels warmer than it did before, or maybe that's just the two of you.
"Jesus," Dean mutters into your shoulder, and you feel him smile against your skin.
You hum in agreement, too content to form actual words. Your body feels heavy, satisfied, and already you can feel sleep trying to pull you under again. Dean shifts slightly, enough to look at you, and there's something soft in his expression that makes your chest feel tight.
"You good?" he asks quietly.
"So good," you confirm, and you mean it in about a thousand different ways.
He presses a kiss to your shoulder, then carefully extracts himself from you, rolling onto his side and pulling you with him. You end up tucked against his chest, his arm around you, your leg thrown over his hip in a tangle of limbs that should probably be uncomfortable but somehow isn't. The sheets are even more of a disaster now, but neither of you makes any move to fix them.
"We should probably get up at some point," you say, but you make no effort to move.
"Probably," Dean agrees, also not moving. His hand is back to tracing patterns on your skin, slow circles and figure eights that make your eyes drift closed. "Eventually."
"What time is it?"
He stretches slightly to glance at his phone on the nightstand, then settles back. "Like three thirty."
Three thirty. You've been up here for four and a half hours, just existing in this bubble you've created. It should feel like too long, maybe, like you should be bored or restless or ready to do something else. But instead it just feels natural, like this is exactly where you're supposed to be on an afternoon with nowhere else to be.
"The guys are gonna give you so much shit when we finally go downstairs," you observe.
Dean snorts. "They give me shit regardless. It's like their primary function."
"Fair point."
The fan continues its rotation above you, and outside the window you can hear what sounds like kids playing in a yard somewhere nearby. Normal sounds, the world continuing on while you're suspended here in this room that smells like Dean and sex and easygoing afternoons. Your eyes are getting heavy again, and you let them close, pressing your face into Dean's chest.
"You falling asleep again?" he asks, and you can hear the amusement in his voice.
"Maybe," you mumble against his shirt. "You're comfortable."
His arm tightens around you, and you feel him press a kiss to the top of your head. "Sleep if you want. I'll wake you up in a bit."
It's such a simple statement, but it settles something in your chest anyway. The casualness of it, the ease. The implicit promise that he's content to just stay here with you, that this doesn't have to be anything more complicated than what it is right now. Two people who like each other, who are good together, who've found something that works.
You let yourself drift, lulled by the steady rhythm of Dean's breathing and the warmth of his body against yours. Sleep comes easy, pulling you under like a whisper. The last thing you're aware of is Dean's fingers still tracing those absent patterns on your back, and the thought that you could get very used to this.
When you wake up again, the light in the room has shifted, the sun lower now, the strips of gold across the bed turned to amber. Dean is still beside you, still holding you, but he's awake. You can tell by the change in his breathing, the way his hand is moving gently along your back.
"Hey," you say quietly, your voice rough with sleep.
"Hey yourself," he replies, and there's something warm in his tone that makes you smile.
You tilt your head back to look at him, and find him already looking at you. His hair is an absolute mess, his t-shirt wrinkled, and there's a crease on his cheek from the pillow. He looks perfect.
"We really destroyed your bed," you observe.
He glances around at the chaos of sheets and pillows, then back at you with a grin. "Worth it."
You laugh, the sound disrupting the quiet in the room, and lean up to kiss him, just because you want to. When you pull back, Dean is smiling, and he brushes a strand of hair away from your face with careful fingers.
"You hungry?" he asks. "We could order something. Or go downstairs and see if Tuck made too much food again."
"In a bit," you say, settling back against his chest. "Don’t wanna move."
"Mhm," Dean agrees quietly, his arms wrapping around you again. "Me either."
And so you stay, wrapped up in each other as the afternoon fades into early evening, in no particular rush to return to the real world. This thing between you might still be undefined, might still exist in some gray area between casual and serious, but right now, in this moment, it feels good.
If you made it this far, thanks so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it at least a little bit (: - Honey
