Cl16 n1 girl

19y/ brasilian girly🇧🇷

[rougeleclerc]

Off campus imagines

Garrett Graham

Practice: Part 1/ Part2

Dean Di Laurentis

Lipstick : Part 1

John Tucker

COMING SOON!!!

Jonh Logan

COMING SOON!!

I also accept requests and suggestions! Don't be shy to send them ♡

Currently only accepting off-campus applications!

[stinglessnettles]

just once give me a mama’s boy with dark curls and pretty eyes that doesn’t just fucking die? please?

[downbadwellread]

𝐢𝐢𝐢. 𝐰𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩 𝐢𝐧 𝐯𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐬 ⚭ till annulment do us part

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playing · waking up in vegas by katy perry

pairing · dean di laurentis × fem!reader ("sunny") fandom · off campus format · series · part iii of vii word count · 3.3k

warnings · 18+ · MDNI · language · heavy drinking · a blackout · an accidental marriage · one (1) elvis impersonator

⊹ ⠀───────────────⠀ ⊹

The last night is supposed to be the chill one.

That's how Dean sells it at breakfast, anyway, sliding into the seat across from me with his sunglasses already on at nine in the morning. "Low-key tonight," he announces to the group. "We've earned it. Dinner here, a few drinks, an early night. Everyone flies out tomorrow."

"You don't know how to do low-key," I tell him.

"I'm wounded. I'm extremely zen, ask anyone." He steals a piece of toast off my plate, which I let him do. "Low-key. You'll see. I'm a calming presence."

He is not, as it turns out, a calming presence.

Dinner starts civilised but does not stay that way for long. Logan finds the tequila. Sabrina declares she has one more night of being child-free and she's not ready to wind down. Dean keeps the music going and the glasses full, and things take a real turn around the second bottle, tipping from a nice last dinner into the kind of night you don't plan and can't repeat. Allie does the worm on the kitchen floor. Garrett, four drinks deep and feeling extra loving, makes everyone go around the table and say something they love about Hannah, it should be unbearable but it isn't, it's lovely. Hannah cries. I say something about being seven years old in her mother's kitchen, and then I'm crying too.

Dean's quiet when it gets to him. He looks at Garrett and Hannah for a long moment, then he says, "I love that you found this," and he means it, no deflection, no punchline, and I have to look away.

I drink more than I mean to. I can feel it happening and I let it, because I'm having too good a night to slow down. Every time my glass gets low, Dean fills it. Every time his does, I fill his. Neither of us says a word about it. At some point I lose count completely.

One by one, the couples head to bed around midnight.

That part I remember clearly, it's the last clear thing. Tucker carries a half-asleep Sabrina up first. Logan and Grace follow. Garrett tries to get Hannah to bed, but she insists on one more song. They slow dance in the kitchen to a song nobody would call slow, and then they go too. Allie holds out the longest. Theo appears in a doorway and says her name, once, and she's up and going to him without a second thought.

And then it's just me and Dean. It was always going to be me and Dean.

"Last ones standing." He's at the other end of the kitchen, raising his glass.

"I'm going to bed," I say.

I don't move.

"I thought you said you were going to bed." Dean hasn't moved from his end of the kitchen. He's just looking at me, serious in a way he almost never is, none of the usual playfulness in his face. Like he's waiting to see what I do.

"I am. In a minute."

"In a minute," he repeats, one brow lifting. He doesn't believe me for a second.

I should go. My room is right up the stairs, one door down from his, that thin wall between our beds I've thought about more than I'll admit. All I have to do is set my glass down and walk away.

I close the distance instead. I don't let myself think about it, I just move, until I'm standing right in front of him, closer than we got the other night, close enough that he has to tip his head down to hold my eyes. Neither of us speaks. The house is dark and quiet and there's nothing left for me to hide behind.

"Finally," he breathes. "You came to me."

"This is a bad idea."

"I'm not doing anything." But his hand comes up, giving me every chance to pull back, and he tucks a piece of hair behind my ear. His thumb settles at my jaw and stays there, and I don't stop him, after all this time of never really letting him close enough to try. "I've been so patient, gorgeous. You have no idea."

My heart is going so hard I'm sure he can feel it. "Dean."

"One word and I stop." He's so close the space between us has all but disappeared, close enough that I feel his breath on my lips. "Tell me to walk away and mean it. I dare you."

I open my mouth.

That's the last memory I've got that's clear. My mouth opening, and no idea what I was going to say, and the look on his face while he waited to hear it.

After that it comes in pieces.

The warm desert air outside, the front door opening, someone laughing, maybe me. Headlights. The back of a cab and Dean's hand holding mine on the seat between us, our fingers laced together like we'd done it a hundred times. Neon. So much neon, the Strip going past the window in flashes of colour. A bright little chapel, white, lit up and waiting. Dean saying something that makes me laugh so hard I have to hold onto his arm. A man wearing sunglasses, indoors, at night. Music, the wrong music, a song I know. Dean's face serious one second, thrilled the next. My own voice saying yes, more than once. Not a trace of doubt in it.

Then it all goes dark. Next thing I know, morning.

⚭ ⚭ ⚭ ⚭ ⚭

I wake up because I appear to have swallowed the entire Nevada desert in my sleep.

That's alarm bell number one, before my eyes are open, my mouth a crime scene and a headache thudding behind my eyes like a second heartbeat. The light coming through the curtains is aggressive. Way too bright, like it's got a personal vendetta. It's late. I've slept in.

The second thing is that I'm not alone in the bed.

I know it before I look, the warmth against my side, an arm heavy across my waist pinning me in place. I freeze and hold my breath. I run through the short list of people this could be, and by short list, I mean list of one, one very bad contender. Finally I gather the courage to turn my head on the pillow slowly, like doing it slow will make it less true.

Dean. Fucking Dean. What have I done?

Asleep, face down, dead to the world, one arm thrown over me, his hair everywhere and his mouth slightly open, taking up most of the bed the way I always suspected he would. We're both still mostly dressed, which is the only mercy of the entire morning, his shirt gone but my dress still on, twisted but on.

I don't move. I just lie there and try to put the night back together and come up with nothing, a black hole where the end of it should be, and then the pieces start drifting up the way they did right before everything went dark. The cab. The neon. The little white chapel.

That's when I see my hand.

It's resting on the pillow near my face, and there's a ring on it. Not a ring I own. A gold band, plain, and above it, jammed onto the same finger like whoever put it there was in a hurry, an enormous, gaudy, absolutely deranged diamond that has no business being on my hand.

I feel sick.

"Dean." I shove at the arm across my waist, hard. "Dean. Wake up."

He groans into the pillow. "Five more minutes, gorgeous."

"Dean, look at my hand."

"I've seen your hand. Beautiful hand." Then he catches on. His head comes up, squinting, rough and hungover as I am. He looks at my hand. Then down at his own, which I hadn't even thought to check. There's a matching gold band on it.

Silence.

And then Dean Di Laurentis, in the wreckage of the worst morning of my life, starts to smile.

"Holy shit," I whisper. I'm staring at the diamond. It's the size of a knuckle. "Holy shit, is this a real diamond?"

"Of course it is." He props himself up on one elbow, delighted, looking at me like I'm the best thing that's ever happened to him. "I'm not cheap."

"That's the part you're proud of." I'm still staring at it. "You remember buying this? You actually remember?"

"I remember a pawn shop." He says it like he's reporting a beautiful dream. "I remember the man behind the counter telling me I was making a mistake and me telling him to bring me the biggest one he had."

"Dean." I sit up too fast and the room lurches. I'm holding my own hand out in front of me like it belongs to someone else. There are two rings on it. Two. A wedding band and a diamond I could signal a plane down with. "Dean, why do I have two rings. Why do we both have wedding bands. What the hell did we do?"

He looks at me, and there's the matching band on his finger, and somewhere buried deep in my skull the white chapel lights up again, the man in the sunglasses, my own voice saying yes, saying it more than once.

"Well, wife," Dean says gleefully, and I watch him enjoy every single syllable of the word, "I think we got married."

⚭ ⚭ ⚭ ⚭ ⚭

"No." I'm out of the bed before I've decided to move, standing on unsteady legs in my twisted dress, gaping at him. "No, no, no. We didn't. We can't have. People don't just get married, that's not- you can't just do that, there's paperwork, you have to plan it, you have to mean it, there's a whole- you need a licence, Dean, you need a licence and a witness and, oh god, did we have a witness? Was there a witness? Please tell me there wasn't a witness."

"There was a witness." Dean sits up, unbothered, the sheet pooling around his waist, and has the audacity to stretch. I refuse to look any lower than his face, on principle. God, I want to strangle him. "Lovely woman, she works at the chapel. She witnessed the certificate and gave us a pen on the way out. I think it's in my jacket somewhere."

"Oh god." I press the heels of my hands into my eyes. "There's even a souvenir."

"In most places this would be hard to pull off. In Vegas it's basically the main attraction." He leans back on his hands, at ease with the entire situation. "There are chapels everywhere, gorgeous. They're very efficient."

"We were drunk."

"Extremely." He nods.

"You can't get married drunk, it doesn't count." I'm pacing now, which makes the headache worse, but I can't bring myself to stop. "It's not legal, it can't be legal. We'll undo it. People undo these things all the time, it's a Vegas thing, it happens, we'll call someone, it's fine, it's completely fine, this is fine."

"You're spiralling."

"I am not spiralling. This is a perfectly reasonable response to waking up married to you."

He laughs. He actually laughs, like this is the best morning of his life, and I want to throw something at him except every object in this room is probably worth more than my rent.

I look down at my hand again, hoping the rings have magically disappeared in the last thirty seconds. They haven't. SHIT. The ridiculous diamond sits on my finger, smug, enormous, and underneath it the plain gold band, and the longer I look at the band the more of last night comes back to me. The chapel. The carpet, red and bloody hideous. A bouquet of plastic flowers, where did I get plastic flowers. The man in the sunglasses had been wearing a white jumpsuit, I realise now, with a sick lurch, because of course we were married by an Elvis impersonator.

"We were married by Elvis," I say, faintly.

"He was wonderful." Dean's looking at his own ring now, turning his hand in the light, and there's a look on his face I don't have the energy to work out right now. "We got the full Elvis wedding experience. He sang, did the vows, the whole works. You laughed through most of yours."

"You remember the vows?"

"Bits." He glances up, and his grin drops. "You said some things, Sunny."

"I was blackout drunk," I say, which is not the defence I want it to be.

"You still said them."

I sit down on the edge of the bed, because my legs have decided to give way. I put my head in my hands, which means the diamond is right there next to my face, impossible to ignore.

"Okay," I say, into my palms. "Okay. We need a plan."

"I've got a plan. We stay married. I think we'd be great at it. We're already great at the bickering, that's most of it."

"Dean." I groan.

"I'm just saying the foundation is strong, we would be a great married couple."

I lift my head and look at him, this beautiful, infuriating man sitting in bed wearing my, no, wearing his wedding ring that matches the one on my hand, beaming at me like Christmas came early, and I make the only decision I'm capable of making in this state.

"No one finds out," I say. "Do you understand me? No one. Not Hannah, not Garrett, not Allie, none of them. We are downstairs in twenty minutes acting completely normal, we fly home. We are going to deal with this quietly and fix it, and not one single person ever knows this happened."

Dean considers me for a long moment. Then he holds up his ring hand, wiggling his fingers at me, and the look on his face turns wicked.

"Sure." He doesn't look away. "Your secret's safe with me, wife." And the way he says it, like he's already won something, tells me this is going to be so much harder than undoing a piece of paperwork.

⚭ ⚭ ⚭ ⚭ ⚭

Twenty minutes later I'm downstairs, showered, sunglasses on, having hidden both rings in the zip pocket of my bag like contraband, which they are. My hands feel naked without them. It makes no sense, I've had them on less than a day, but I keep rubbing the bare spot where they were anyway.

The kitchen feels like a graveyard. Everyone's moving slow, quietly ashamed of themselves after a night that got away from all of us.

Allie is face down at the island bench. "If anyone in this family loved me, they'd end my suffering," she says, to the bench.

"I need everyone to communicate in whispers for the next four hours," Sabrina says, easing onto a stool like sudden movement might kill her. "That's not a request."

Tucker is making eggs for anyone who can stomach them. Nobody looks at me twice, which is the only thing that's gone right all morning.

"Coffee." Dean appears beside me, pressing a mug into my hands, and I take it before I remember I'm furious with him. He's showered too, infuriatingly fine, like he didn't drink his body weight in tequila and marry me. "You look well, wife."

"Say that again and I'll drown you in the pool."

"So romantic." He's smirking into his mug. "We should renew our vows here. The lighting's incredible."

"Dean." I groan into my coffee.

"Too soon. Noted."

I'm halfway through my coffee and starting to believe I might survive when Hannah slides onto the stool next to me, sunglasses on, hair in a bun that says she feels almost as bad as I do, and looks at me a second too long. She's assessing me, and my heart rate kicks up.

"You disappeared last night," she says.

My stomach drops. "I went to bed."

"Did you?" She's still looking at me. Hannah's hungover, but Hannah hungover is still sharper than most people at their best, and I can feel her reading me. "You and Dean were the last ones up."

"Were we?" My voice does something unnatural. I sound almost like one of those squeaky dog toys. "I don't really remember. I was pretty wasted."

"Mm." Her eyes drop, just for a second, to my hands wrapped around the mug, and my heart stops, actually stops, because the rings are in my bag but what if there's a mark, a tan line, a dent, what does a wedding ring even leave after one night? I wouldn't know. I've been a wife for all of twelve hours. "You okay? You're being weird."

"I'm extremely hungover, Han. This is my hungover and hurting face."

She holds it a moment longer, long enough that I'm certain she's about to say it, whatever it is she's put together, and I've got no lie ready for the version of the question I'm dreading.

Finally Tucker puts a plate of eggs in front of her and she's distracted. I can breathe again, and across the kitchen Dean catches my eye and mouths that was close, delighted, and I want to wipe the look off his face so badly my hands shake.

She doesn't know. She can't know. But Hannah doesn't forget things, and I watch her tuck it away, and I know with a sick certainty that this isn't the last I'll hear of it.

⚭ ⚭ ⚭ ⚭ ⚭

We all fly out separately, and it's the only thing that goes my way all day. The Boston crew leaves together in the afternoon. I'm on a later flight back to New York, and so, because the universe is committed to ruining my life, is Dean.

We're not even sitting near each other, thank god, because we booked separately weeks ago and someone up there granted me that one small kindness after royally fucking me on everything else. He's somewhere up the front; I'm in a middle seat by the wing with a stranger who wants to tell me his life story. But Dean finds me at baggage claim at JFK, because we both fly into the same city we've spent five years avoiding each other in, and stands next to me watching the carousel go round with my bag and his somewhere on it.

"So," he drawls.

"No. Whatever it is, just, no."

"I'm just thinking." He's got his hands in his pockets, easy, like he's not a man with a wedding ring in his carry-on. "We only live twenty minutes apart. We never see each other unless Hannah and Garrett bring us together. And now we've got a small legal situation to sort out."

"Quietly," I whisper. "We sort it out quietly. I find out how to undo it, I send you some paperwork, you sign it, we never speak of it again."

My bag comes round. He grabs it before I can, sets it at my feet, and for a second he's close again, close like the kitchen, close like the last thing I remember before everything went dark.

"Sure." He shrugs. "Whatever you want, gorgeous." Then, quieter, just for me: "For what it's worth, I'm not in any rush, wife."

He walks off toward the taxi line before I can come up with a response, his bag over his shoulder, wedding ring in it, and I stand at the carousel in the city that's about to feel a lot smaller than it used to and watch him go.

I'm in so much trouble.

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← series masterlist · next chapter →

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please let me know what you think, it's going to get better from here. yay. also a big thank you to everyone who has liked, reblogged and commented, i appreciate you all so much ♡

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taglist ⚭ comment or send an ask to be added

@wheenerrr @jujubes888 @choppedlamphandscowboy @maybankslover @ethanthequeefqueen @bootyliciousbutterfly @purplerainx1 @amanduh6 @bookluver114 @beautiful-creatures-xo-blog @lastonestandingastheplaywright @chrissisheadisinclouds @st-ev-ie @lostinhisworld

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[jetblackashx]

⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢 orbiter // part ten - the phone.✦݁˖

it's no secret that where garrett graham is, you're likely close behind. and everyone knows where you are, garrett graham is too. that’s the outcome of growing up best friends.

throw in the messy deal between garrett and hannah, it has you wondering if your so called ‘best friend’ even realises he's left you behind.

⤷ aka off campus social/text au! - garrett graham x fem!reader

series masterlist

Most people who know Dean Di Laurentis do not consider him serious. Dean is lightweight; he’s carefree, fun, and loud. He’s a breath of fresh air after a hard test or a ray of sunshine through the clouds. 

Most people didn’t truly know Dean Di Laurentis, though, did they?

Because if there’s one thing Dean Di Laurentis takes seriously, it’s his friends. 

Dean has never been one to fuck around when it comes to the importance of friendships in his life. Yes, Allie is his girlfriend, and he loves her, but Beau is his day one, his ride or die. Garrett, Tucker, and Logan were close behind. Hannah had formed a solid spot in Dean’s heart in the few months he’s gotten to know her. 

But you? The girl he’d come to know and care about so deeply? Not only was Dean open with you about things he hadn’t been with other people, but you cared for him in a way that healed unspoken wounds. And knowing how important you were to Garrett made the relationship with you even more of a priority. 

So getting a call that something had happened, and that it involved you? Dean was not fucking around. 

Any ounce of him that was interested in partying was gone. He’s keeping Allie on the line while desperately searching the room for the people he came with; the only goal in his mind is to get to you as soon as he can.

He catches sight of Tucker, easily chatting it up between familiar faces in the kitchen. Dean’s grabbing him by the sleeve and yanking without a word, barely giving his friend enough time to call out a rushed goodbye. 

“Yo?” Tucker’s asking, but not really, as he follows Dean through the crowd. The music is giving him a slight headache anyway, so he’s not opposed to leaving at the moment.

Dean isn’t offering any explanation as he weaves his way through. His heart is nearly in his throat from the tone Allie gave him over the phone, and knowing that she was supposed to be picking you up.

“Dude.” Dean is grabbing the front of Logan’s t-shirt this time to redirect his attention from a girl leaning against the wall. “It’s Bug, we have to go.”

Logan’s mumbling an apology, to which the girl (Gracie, Grace maybe?) nods in understanding. Dean still doesn’t give his friends any details as they exit the newly forming party to the outside air. 

“Dude, what the fuck is going on?” Logan’s asking in between greetings and goodbyes as they depart the busy house.

Dean’s BMW is parked close by, thankfully, and he doesn’t hesitate to climb in the driver’s seat, finger pressing the ignition. Allie’s call connects to the speakers shortly after.

“Okay, baby, explain it again?” Dean’s asking as he pulls away from the house. Logan is in the passenger seat next to him, with Tucker leaning over the center console in concern.

Allie’s voice is practically a whisper over the speakers. “I showed up to get her, right? And-and I get in here, and she’s not answering me, so I come in her room, and there’s just… there’s a note, Dean. And messages, and she said Garrett is mad at her, so I didn’t know who else to call and-”

“Wait, wait, slow down,” Logan is taking over the conversation, taking responsibility for Garrett’s adjacent place as they drive through campus streets. “Is she okay?”

There’s a pause. 

“Physically?”

The three boys curse. Tucker sits back in his seat, mentally cataloguing the instances of what they’re about to walk into. There isn’t much information to go off of until they can see it for themselves, but is it enough for Allie to be panicking in this way? And for Dean to be ripping them out of a party? There’s zero doubt that it’s serious.

“Where’s G?” Dean’s question is directed to the people in the car this time as he turns the corner onto your street. Nobody asked how fast he drove, or if he even stopped at the stop signs, because their minds are set on getting to you as soon as they can.

“Location says the house, I’ve texted and called,” Logan offers, pulling his phone away from his ear once he hits voicemail again.

Allie crackles to life again on the other line. “Hannah isn’t answering either. Her phone says it’s out of battery on Life360.”

“Fuck,” Dean curses this time as he pulls into a parking spot, shutting the transmission off as they pile out of his car with zero hesitation. “Okay. Baby, open the door. We’re on our way in.”

--

Garrett wouldn’t say he’s attached to his phone. He wouldn’t outwardly say that, but he’s not gonna deny that he’s on it a lot. Between puck bunny notifications, team chats, and the possibility of a Bruins contract, he does, however, check it pretty often. 

The missing weight of it in his sweatpants pocket is enough that he notices the device isn’t with him.

The call from Hannah came shortly after he’d nearly smashed his forehead into his steering wheel from fighting with you. Why the fuck would he do that? To you, of all people. So, while he was stewing in self-hatred, Hannah called.

Her date with Justin hadn’t gone as well as she thought, not in a bad way, Garrett, I promise. But also not great, and the girl didn’t really feel like riding home in a car with Justin after it was all said and done. Her phone was almost dead, and she felt like that was a sign to avoid walking in the dark. So, she called Garrett when Allie didn’t pick up.

Garrett, who had no idea that his friends were literally running to get to your side while actively blowing up his phone that he didn’t have.

The silence in the Jeep isn’t necessarily uncomfortable. Garrett keeps one hand on the steering wheel while the other drums absently against his thigh. Some acoustic song plays through the radio as he drives through a green light. The streets are mostly empty, minus the occasional passing Uber or college student driving home from work. 

Beside him, Hannah stares out the window with her arms crossed over her chest. Her phone is dead now, another great addition to her night. She doesn’t seem too upset, which made Garrett feel a little better, but she wasn’t exactly energetic either. 

“So.”

Hannah groans but smiles. “Oh, my God, please don’t.”

Garrett can’t stop the small laugh that slips out at her reaction. “That bad, huh?”

“That bad,” She certifies. The tension leaves her body with the casual conversation, and she finds herself really grateful he answered the phone.

Hannah wasn’t a liar. She’d been through her fair share of shit to protect herself, but she wasn’t a liar. She liked Garrett. It was easy to fall for him while they were faking a relationship, and it was even easier to feel comfortable around him and his friends. After what happened in high school, Hannah didn’t know if she’d ever really be able to have relationships like that anymore. But with Garrett, it was easy. So yeah, she liked him. She didn’t know if it was necessarily a crush, per se, but it wasn’t just friendship either.

“We just, uh… we just don’t work,” She offers up, picking the loose skin near her nails. The answer isn’t necessarily frustrated or sad, just disappointed. 

Garrett understands that more than he would like to. Sometimes you can like someone, really care about them, and want things to work. But you still end up standing in a parking lot saying all the wrong things to the person who matters most.

The thought arrives uninvited, jarring, and the guilt follows soon after. He tries to shove it away, but Hannah notices anyway.

“You’re thinking about her.”

“No.”

“She’s right, you are a terrible liar.”

He doesn’t answer because, honestly? He doesn’t want to think about you right now. He doesn’t want to think about the look on your face. Doesn’t want to hear himself say hovering over and over like a complete asshole. 

“You should call her.”

Garrett’s hands tighten on the steering wheel. He tries to breathe through the tightness in his chest, but it’s useless. He fucked up. The loss of you weighed around every inch of him in ways he never really noticed. You had blended in so easily into his life that he didn’t even realize how much of you was there until you weren’t. 

By the time they’d reached his house (where he figured everyone was, btw), neither of them had said anything else. It’s the kind of exhausted quiet that settles after a long day.

Garrett expects to walk in on someone pouring shots in the kitchen, and he has already prepared a half-ass decline, but he’s even more shocked when the floor is empty. The TV is still playing an NHL game, and there’s evidence of drinks getting poured, but there’s nobody around.

“Do you think they already left for Hudson’s?” Hannah asks, taking in the scene. She’s met with silence. 

Something feels off, and Garrett tries not to act like it, but it settles deep in his gut. He catches sight of his phone on the counter where he’d likely set it when he pulled his shoes on to get Hannah. 

The second the screen lights up, that gut feeling turns into panic lacing his veins. 

Notifications fill the lockscreen from various chats. Missed calls, texts, voicemails, Dean pinging his Find My Friends app. The group chat icon has so many messages that the number can’t even fit on the screen. Garrett’s used to a lot of notifications, but this is different. This is wrong. 

He clicks the boys’ group first.

--

For a second, he just stares at the words on the screen and then slides to the next chat. Allie. 

The messages blur together. Dozens of them with questions, updates, like they’re narrating what’s happening in front of them so he can catch up like a TV episode. His heart is racing in his chest, and he’s so focused that he can’t hear Hannah calling his name.

“Garrett!” She’s shaking his shoulders now, and he finally blinks back into reality. She’s staring at him with wide eyes and concern. “What happened?”

This can’t be real. 

Because while everyone was searching for him, while Dean and Tucker and Logan and Allie were blowing up his phone, you were crying and terrified in your apartment.

And Garrett had been halfway across campus, completely unaware, with Hannah.

“We have to go.”

He doesn’t give any explanation, but there’s only one thing running through his head right now: For once in his life, you’d needed him, and he wasn’t there.

--

[fandomgummi]

I thought I would be fine bc the worst of jaces death was over but NO I already started crying when ep 2 JUST started lmao 😭😭😭 I literally SOBBED through half of the show, and what made me cry even harder was when I noticed when Rhaenyra was hugging his body it was parallel to when she hugged him when luke died I WANNA CRY AGAIN

[targlocket]

THE SEA SHALL NOT HAVE ME, FOR I AM ALREADY YOURS

jacaerys velaryon x wife!reader

cw: hotd season 3 spoilers, fix-it fic!, heavy angst, hurt/BIG comfort, fluff so much fluff, mention of violence, mourning but no death, yearning, kissing, jacaerys loves his wife more than anything, (3.8kw).

synopsis: He promised. To you, to himself, right before giving the order. "I will come back to you," Jacaerys whispered, pressing warm lips to wood, as if sealing his silent vow through the door.

a/n: mama will hold ur hand through this. it'll ALL be okay! bawled my eyes out at this but god i needed it. translations for the high valyrian used at the end!

He had never felt so cold before.

A chill seeping into the marrow of his bones and encrusting muscle and tissue, making it hard to move; to breathe.

His eyes battled the shroud of darkness, yet no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t halt the certainty, which in that instant appeared like his end. Not slumber, not unconsciousness, but his demise’s unyielding grip curled around him like a serpent and squeezed until it wrung every bit of life out of him.

Jacaerys felt the bite of the arrows like a brand, pulsing like another denominator of what was to come, to swallow him whole. One in his neck, one near his heart, and others in places he couldn’t name, but remembered your hands and mouth touching countless times before.

The Gods were cruel to punish him right where your sweetness had been, where your love had touched and imprinted itself onto him, now stained by sharp steel and blood.

He hopes you’ll have it in your heart to forgive him, for he cannot do so for himself. The more the world feels like a distant memory, the more his heart aches, its beating slowing, as if trying to mimic the syllables of your name one last time before it inevitably stops. One last call out to you, willing to see if you would answer, even if he knows that to be impossible.

Would you cry, he wonders, as if he doesn’t already know the answer. Would you curse him? Would you hate him? Would you damn every moment you’ve spent together, turning it into poison and ash?

Jacaerys would not fault you if you did, but his chest feels hollow at the prospect of causing such vile emotions to bloom in your tender heart, most of all towards him.

You are his most precious jewel, and losing his life is one thing, but knowing that means losing you as well? It tears at him more than those arrows have.

He thinks of his mother, who was so delighted knowing he had found someone to love, and someone to be loved by in return, truthfully and wholeheartedly. You two were meant to have a Valyrian wedding in a few moons, as it is custom, and he had been ardently awaiting to see how beautiful you would look in traditional garments. Trying to imagine it now, just as he had many times before, feels like another arrow aimed straight at his heart, plunging deep. Now, he will never get to teach you how to recite the vows in High Valyrian, won’t get to see the sparkle of joy in your eyes when you’re face to face, exchanging them, binding your destinies together for all eternity, even in death.

Death. Jacaerys supposes that if he dies without binding his soul to yours before his ancestors, he won’t have any pieces of himself that he knows will certainly be kept in the sanctity of your heart.

But maybe it is better this way, for you will not have to carry such a heavy burden ensnared in the crevices of your chest, reminding you of all you’ve lost; of all he’s made you lose.

It might seem callous of him to think so, but the thought of you mourning him brings warmth to his veins, even through the chill of the sea. Knowing you have loved him enough to let tears fall from those pretty eyes of yours makes the inevitable hurt a little less.

Someone had cared for him and felt strongly enough to weep at his departure. That, in itself, is a gift. One of the many you had given him. You yourself have been the greatest one, blessing his days and easing his worries with nothing but a look, a word, a kiss. It had come like breathing to you, and he had never felt like he was out of air until now.

The sea is seldom merciful, and no matter how much he tries to beg the Gods to spare him, Jacaerys knows this time it might be in vain.

But how can he not beg? How can he not plead? If not with his voice, then with the remaining beatings of his heart, with the last vestiges of the memories he has of you.

He wishes he would’ve said I love you more often, for it seems like he had been scarce in his vocalization of it. Now, every day doesn’t feel like enough, because no matter how hard he tries, his throat is clogged with water and the words he means to say, if only for the last time. He would’ve hoped it enough to ease the grievances he knows you would feel upon hearing of his demise.

Jacaerys wonders if you would eventually surrender yourself to another. If there would come a day where another man would sweep you off your feet, chipping away at all the parts of Jace burrowed deep in your flesh and blood. The thought makes him want to weep. You forgetting him, replacing the memories you have of him with those of another, as if painting anew on an old canvas one has no use of anymore.

If his promise would’ve rung true, Jace would be by your side now, celebrating the victory at the Gullet, hugging his mother, then you so tight it would’ve knocked the air out of you both. He would’ve twirled you around while laughing, leaning in to press a multitude of kisses onto every patch of skin he could reach, knowing it’ll make you laugh, cheeks flushed, looking at him like he’s your whole world.

May that be the last thing he wishes for before the sea takes him. May your face be the last thing on his mind before there is nothing but darkness, engulfing every bit of light that was you. May he always remember you, even when buried beneath the sea and the sand, wishing for nothing than to hear your voice saying his name one last time, your gaze softening upon looking at him, and maybe, if the Gods allow him one last mercy, the feel of your soft lips upon his own.

He knows he is not worthy, for if he were, Jacaerys would’ve held onto his promise to come back to you, to his mother, to the Realm. But he couldn’t. The Gods were ever cruel and took from him the very essence of his being, cursed to wait for his impending doom.

And wait, he had. Was it another punishment to still feel like he was hanging on but never sinking deep enough? To will him to replay every single memory of you and imagine thousands of others? To feel so close but so far away from the object of all his affections and desires?

Jacaerys would know you anywhere, he thinks. Even blind, hard of hearing, or sinking into nothingness, he would not fail to know you are close.

So why does it feel like you are? Is this another cruel trick before the ancestors welcome him to them? He swears he can feel the soft lilt of your voice somewhere in his vicinity, and it makes him want to move, to lean towards it and taste it. Make sure it’s real.

Please let it be real. To the Old Gods and the New, let it be real. Don’t dangle such hope in front of him only to take it away, for it would feel like getting speared with arrows again and again and—

“I shall watch him,” your voice sounded, just as sweet and lovely as he remembered, but also tired, croaky at the edges. What had happened? Why were you — “You need rest, my queen. Let me, for now.”

My Queen? Mother?

The sounds were a bit muted, but he could hear footsteps, then the creaking hinges of a door, followed by a thud.

A long, hitched sigh followed, the one people do when they try not to let it show they were hurting, right before the tears inevitably fall.

Were you crying? He couldn’t bear when you were. That pretty face he loved so much, marred by tears, undid him every time.

Jacaerys had to see, had to make sure you were okay, that nothing had befallen you too, that the Gods had been merciful to an angel such as you.

He was struggling. His body was not responding the way it should, barely able to feel his hands and feet properly. But that didn’t matter now, for he only needed his eyes to will open so he could glimpse you, even if it was all a cruel fiction of his imagination, probably allowing him one more wish before taking him to the depths forever.

Please.

Please let him see his wife. His lady. His love.

Please.

One last time is all he asks.

If the Gods had ever looked down upon him and smiled, let them look down and smile once more. Grant him this one mercy. Just this once. Only this once.

He knows he’s begging, but what is there to do other than implore with all the strength left in him for one last look at you? In case he is to meet his end soon, let the sight of you be what he goes down feasting upon.

Blessed be The Mother, for I beg for one last mercy, for I shall gaze upon the one I hold most dear before my death and meet my end with a settled heart—

Jacaerys wonders if you are wearing one of your soft gowns, the ones he loves most, for you look like a Fae from the library tomes you so love. Would you still wear the necklace he had given you, or have you thrown it away in a fit of grief and anger because of his recklessness? He wouldn’t fault you for it. Just wished he could give you another to atone for his many sins, for how much sorrow he must’ve brought you.

But he is wrong.

You are wearing the pendant. Your fingers are wrapped around it, settled at the base of your throat, holding so tight your hand shakes, lips pressed to it, murmuring to yourself, eyes closed in prayer.

Are you praying for him to come back to you, just as he was? The thought makes warmth bloom beneath his ribs, licking upwards towards his chest, weaving until it finds his heart, willing it to beat faster. Even so close to dying, he supposes, you still manage to affect him just the same.

If this is but a dream, he hopes he never wakes up. Because standing here, looking at you, just as beautiful as the day he lost you, brings him more peace than any prayer he could’ve uttered. You are so pretty. His pretty girl. Always, always so very pretty. Even now, looking worn out, expression pinched, and hands shaking.

He wants to see your eyes, at least once, before he can't do so again.

"M-may you look at me, my love? For I want to—"

Jacaerys is startled from finishing his sentence by the loud gasp you let out, body jumping beside him, startled and alert, like a doe sensing hunters on its tail. Your eyes are so, so wide with disbelief, watching him with the sort of bewilderment one would when seeing a creature unknown or some oddity come to life. Why were you looking at him like that? If this were but a dream, then why—

"Jace," you whisper, shaky and soft, like a petal swept by the wind, hands trembling so hard the pendant slips through your fingers. "Jace," he hears you repeat, as if the sound of his name in your mouth is something foreign you have to taste again. "Gods, Jace!" Your voice cracks along the syllables of his name, before moving closer, gazing at him with those pretty eyes he near plead to see, now teary and wide, sweeping over him as if checking to see if he's whole. He knows he isn't, for the battle must've left him with more than grievances and a hollowness in his chest that could only be filled if he still had a chance to live.

Your movements are shaky and hesitant, wanting to reach for him but shackled by a fear he does not know yet. Why won't you touch him? He can tell you want nothing more than to feel him beneath your palms, and yet you waver. Why? If this is to be the last mercy before his death, why is he imagining his beloved faltering instead of pressing close, so close and grasping at him like the air one needs to breathe?

Jacaerys tries to lift a hand, grimacing when his body again does not count him as its master, and makes it hard to move properly, feeling a sharp pain lance through his forearm, pulling a hiss from between his teeth. One to which you react instantly, shaking your head as you plead with him not to move, cradling his hand between both of yours, letting Jace feel the softness of your skin again. "No, no, my love, do not move," you sniffle, blinking back those stubborn tears lining your pretty eyelashes. "Please, you must rest. The Maesters said you are not to tire yourself any further."

The Maesters? What ever could you mean?

Blinking his eyes rapidly to dwindle the fog clinging to his vision, Jacaerys's breath catches when your own room comes into view, surrounding both of you. He supposes his imagination could not help but want to remember you in the place where you felt most at ease, the one where you shared your first kiss, first bedding, and many, many other milestones that now feel like a vice around his heart, squeezing tight. Will this be the last time he gets to pine for what once was and for what could never be again?

"H-how do you feel?" Your voice shakes again, snapping him out of his reverie, gaze finding its way back to yours, feeling himself melt just at the sight of you anew. Gods, you couldn't be more gorgeous. "You had been asleep for half of a fortnight. We didn't know if you would ever wake—"

And oh, his heart shatters into pieces when your words trail off into hiccuped sobs, soft chin wobbling, not being able to hold the weight of your grief and sorrow. His sweet wife was crying beside him because of his own foolishness, and there was no punishment severe enough for his transgressions. He could be put to the sword, and it would never erase the guilt in his chest at making you shed even a tear.

It takes him but a few moments to rear his mind from blame to the words you spoke, eyes widening in bewilderment as he registers the information you bestowed upon him. "Asleep?"

His voice is rough and unpolished from disuse, and he's watching you like you brought both salvation and perdition to his door.

But you only nod, squeezing his hand tighter, bringing it up to your mouth to press warm lips upon his skin, feverish and lingering, before cradling the back of his hand against your tear-streaked, warm cheek. "Yes, my love," you confirm, tone lightening with pure relief. "The Gods were watching over you, breathing life into you anew, just like we prayed for."

Breathing life back into you.

Does that mean—

But he cannot hope yet. What if this is nothing but another trickery? The cruelest way to tear his heart asunder by making him believe he escaped from the unforgiving claws of the sea and is now granted another chance at spending a lifetime with you?

Jacaerys can feel a lump form in his throat, near choking him, his lashes dampening rapidly. "Do not forsake me, please," he pleads, willing his hand to clutch at your fingers again, with what little strength he has. "I cannot bear knowing this is but a dream." It is hard to speak as his chest heaves, blubbering like a child as he begs for a miracle from you, who he now hopes is all flesh and bones and not smoke and ash in front of him.

Your expression pinches, studying him carefully, as you so often used to do with your tomes and books in the low candlelight before bed, thumbing each page as you uncovered the secrets written through the dried ink. He feels like one now, as your eyes narrow, before those soft lips part in a round shape, understanding dawning on you.

"Oh, my sweet prince," you whisper, voice damp from your tears, but then the sweetest sound of all accompanies the wetness of your eyes.

A laugh.

Amidst all this confusion, all this befuddling turmoil between dream and reality, you laugh as if a weight has been lifted off your shoulders, and your mouth dared to form the shape of happiness again.

You turn your head to press a fervent kiss to his hand before moving closer, cradling his face between your palms. Thumbs soften the traces of tears onto his own pale cheeks from being under slumber for so long, willing to see a flush to them soon. "I am flesh and bone, not a mere mirage," you assure, another soft, disbelieving laugh tinkling between you, as if the mere thought of him believing this to be a play of the mind is ridiculous. "The Gods brought you back to me, just as I wished for, my love."

Gods, he thought he'll never get to hear that sound fall from your lips again. It makes his vision blur with tears, lips trembling as he chokes back from babbling again like a babe, but eager to quiet the ghosts of his mind that insist this is a delusion.

"P-prove it to me," he hiccups wetly, no longer preoccupied with how weak he must look, nothing like a prince and all like a man at the end of his hope, begging you to pull him towards salvation. "Please, ñuha jorrāeliarzy," his tongue wraps around the endearment like it never forgot it, full of longing and desperation. "Show me I still have you, for I cannot bear the thought of losing you again—"

He feels his heart breaking and mending itself back together over and over, waiting for you to grant him this one certainty in his hopelessness.

And Gods, you do.

Your lips are on his before he can blubber another supplication, palms tilting him the way you want to as you slot your mouths together so, so tenderly, like two wings of a butterfly touching while they flutter.

He feels it. He tastes it. Your tears, his tears, your promise, his desperation.

Jacaerys wishes he were stronger, for his body is weakened by the tragedy that befell him, not being able to grasp you as fiercely as he would if his limbs had not forsaken him. He can only will his fingers to brush against the folds of your skirts onto the bed, curling into the material until his hand shakes with the ardent want of closeness; of wanting to do more but being cursed into only hoping.

"You have me," you whisper against his mouth, branding the truth on his lips as you continue kissing him. He can feel you smiling into it, and it is unbecoming of him how that only makes him weep harder, his own tears trailing down your cheeks and chin now, too, from how close your faces are pressed together, smushed in your eagerness to prove what he so feared was nothing but a cruel twist of his mind. "And I have you, dārilaros ñuha."

Gods, your tongue tangles around the words so clumsily, no matter how many times he had patiently taught you the right way before, and still, he would never trade it for the world. Jacaerys wants to hear it a thousand times more, and then tenfold that, for the rest of his days.

He's overwhelmed. All the hopelessness he felt before, thinking he would never get to hear the sound of your voice, taste the sweetness of your lips, feel the warmth of your love. And now you are offering him all of those and more, and he feels like he cannot breathe if you dare stop for even a moment.

"Avy jorrāelan, " he sobs, trembling lips barely able to return the soft kisses you so kindly confer to him still. "Avy jorrāelan. Always," the words tumble from his mouth, choked and utterly devout. "Not a moment went by when I did not plead with the Gods to bring me back to you. I curse the sea for trying to wrench me from your side. For its greed and its cruelty, for—"

But you silence him with a firmer press of lips, swallowing the last of his blubbering with the sweetness of your mouth, tasting salt and love and life. You exhale shakily, drawing back so your gazes meet, lips brushing, leaning to nuzzle your noses together as you whisper, voice fervent with conviction. "No more talk of misfortune," you say, nudging his cheek in reprimand with the tip of your nose. "Let me rejoice in having you again."

Jacaerys had always been weak to your whims, never one to deny you anything, least of all when spoken with such longing, such relief, bodies close and shaking with lingering grief and solace alike.

He nods, gathering strength enough to nuzzle you back, eyes fluttering at the feeling, to which you shakily let out another one of those honeyed laughs as you whisper. "But do not think I shall forgive you for trapping me in mine own chambers before rushing to battle with such recklessness."

Oh.

In the midst of all this, he forgot the events that led him to this whole predicament. Closing his mother's door, then yours, vowing to come back in the end, no matter the cost.

"But I have—"

"Coming back in such a state is hardly enough for me to count this as you honoring your vow," you say, eyes narrowing, even teary and full of adoration as they were. And he couldn't find it in himself to feel anything, but the fullness of his chest as it filled with so much love for you, it damn near burst open. "We shall discuss more of this when you've healed properly."

"Yes, my lady," he whispers, having the gall to look a bit sheepish, but alas, a small smile curls at his lips, the normalcy of your reprimand willing his senses into solace.

You harrumph, trying to show displeasure, but he knows there is too much relief blooming between you two now, softening even this attempt at being stern.

He makes an effort to tilt his chin up until his lips brush your tear-streaked, warm cheek, kissing it softly, not moving for a very, very long time.

"I'm sorry," is pressed against the damp skin, and he knows it'll take time and an exuberant amount of grovelling to will you to forgive him, but he wouldn't have it any other way.

Now that he has escaped death's grasp, he has a lifetime ahead of him to try to gain your favour.

And Gods, what a fortunate way to live out the rest of his days.

tag list: @silkaurum @oldtowrs @mademoisellepetite @dreamgirlevill @0nlybitt3r4may @rhaenyras-crown @ghostlybfgf @pinkdoeweirdo

ñuha jorrāeliarzy — my love

dārilaros ñuha — my prince

Avy jorrāelan — i love you

[rougeleclerc]

Practice pt2

part 1

Garrett came back from his workout with his body still warm, the muscles in his shoulders and arms defined from the intense session.

He dropped his bag on the floor with a dull thud and headed straight to the kitchen, drawn by the smell of toasted bread and coffee.

You were standing with your back to him, now wearing a very short black cotton shorts and a loose white tank top. You stretched up to grab a mug from the top shelf.

The sight made Garrett stop in the doorway for a couple of seconds, just admiring.“Fuck…” he muttered, almost to himself.You turned your face, smiling innocently.

“Hi, babe. How was the tr—”

You didn’t get to finish. Garrett was already behind you. He spun you around with his big hands on your waist and lifted you effortlessly, sitting you right in the middle of the kitchen counter — exactly where he’d promised earlier.

“Hey! I was making a snack for us,” you laughed, trying to protest.“The snack can wait,” he replied, his voice hoarse, already settling between your spread legs.

“I warned you I was gonna use this counter when I got back.”He didn’t waste any time. He cupped your face with both hands and kissed you hungrily. It was a wet, urgent kiss, almost rough. His tongue invaded your mouth as he pressed his sweaty body against yours.You felt his heat, the mix of soap and raw masculine scent.

Garrett’s hands slid down your thighs, gripping them firmly, then moved under your top to cup your breasts. He squeezed them, brushing his thumbs over your already hard nipples, and you moaned into his mouth.

“Changed clothes just to drive me crazy, huh?” he teased, biting your lower lip.

“You knew I’d be thinking about you the whole time at the gym.”He yanked your top up and off in one motion, tossing it aside. He leaned in and closed his hot mouth around one of your breasts, sucking hard while his hand moved down to squeeze your ass.

You arched your back, grabbing his chain with one hand and burying the other in his damp hair.

“Garrett…” you sighed.He smiled against your skin.“That’s it. Pull harder. You know I lose it when you do that.”You tugged harder. He let out a deep groan and kissed you again, this time sliding one hand between your bodies.

He pushed your shorts and panties to the side without even removing them and ran two fingers along your already soaked entrance.

“So wet for me…” he murmured, voice low and dirty. “Were you thinking about me during my workout too?”He pushed both fingers inside you at once, deep, curling them against that spot that made you moan loudly.

While he fucked you with his fingers, he rubbed slow, precise circles on your clit with his thumb. You gripped his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.After leaving you trembling, he pulled his fingers out, shoved his sweatpants and boxers down, and gripped his thick, hard cock. He rubbed the swollen head slowly against your entrance, teasing you.

“Garrett, please…”“Please what?” he taunted, looking into your eyes with that wicked little smirk. “Tell me what you want, baby.”

“Fuck me. Now.”

He thrust in hard, all the way to the hilt in one stroke. You both moaned together. The counter creaked under the force. Garrett held your thighs open, pulling you against him as he started pounding into you with a strong, steady rhythm.

Each thrust made your whole body shake.Your breasts bounced up and down, his chain swinging between you, the cool metal hitting your hot skin. He looked down, mesmerized by the sight of his cock sliding in and out of you.

“Look at that…” he growled. “Look how you take every inch of me.”He sped up, gripping your waist tightly, fucking you deep and fast.

The wet sounds of your bodies colliding filled the kitchen along with your moans.At one point he pulled you even further forward, almost off the counter, and changed the angle, hitting that perfect spot that made you see stars.

“Right there…” you moaned, digging your nails into his back.Garrett let out a guttural groan when he felt your nails marking his skin.He fucked you harder, deeper, one hand dropping to rub your clit while the other squeezed your breast.

You felt your orgasm building fast, your legs shaking around his waist.“Cum for me, baby,” he ordered, voice rough. “I want to feel you squeezing my cock.”You came hard, moaning his name, your whole body trembling.

Garrett kept thrusting through your orgasm, drawing it out, until he couldn’t hold back anymore.With a long, deep groan, he buried his face in your neck and came inside you, pulsing hard, his hips still giving short, deep thrusts as he emptied himself.

You stayed like that for a while, breathless and pressed together. The kitchen counter had definitely been put to good use, just like he’d promised.Garrett lifted his head, gave you a lazy kiss, and smiled against your mouth.

“Now… we can have that snack.”He kissed you again, slow and deep, still buried inside you.“But after the second round in the bedroom.”

[toonice113]

How to win an argument (G.Graham)

Pairings: Garrett Graham x fem!reader

Summary: you find out a new way to win an argument against your boyfriend. Based on this request.

Word count: 570

⋆˚࿔ tina's note 𝜗𝜚˚⋆  Short little blurb that I'm guessing nonnie wanted to be a bit spicy but I can't help myself but to make everything fluffy, my bad, hope it's still something you like.

Off Campus masterlist.

You're tired, exhausted in fact, it's been one of the longest days you've had in a while. Your professors synced up to be the biggest assholes ever, lectures running long making you late to the others, You had a long shift at your job at the library that resulted in missing your boyfriend's hockey game and now you two were fighting, you don't even know what the beginning of the argument had been, just that it had been going on for too long and it was making your headache worse but you refused to lose.

"We've been through this before" Garret huffed.

"And I've told you before, I'm not interested so drop it" You retaliated.

"We've gotta compromise here babe" He uses the pet name as a weapon.

"You have to compromise" You're not even trying to make sense anymore "I dont care, I'm done with this argument" You sit down on the desk and pull the makeup remover wipes you keep there out to start getting out of your makeup.

"Well I'm not, and while we're on this topic-" You cut him up by turning around, sighing and lifting your shirt to flash him, it stuns him for a second and that's enough for you to decide the discussion's over, you turn back to the little mirror and start wiping away "No… no, you can't just use your boobs as a weapon" He frowns "We're still talki-"

You turn around and do it again "I swear to God if you keep talking I'll just take it off and do the rest of my nightime routine shirtless"

"Is that supposed to make me shut up? Because it feels more like an insentive to keep-"

You cut him off once more "Garrett, I have a pounding headache, have had the longest day ever and all I want is to crawl into bed and pass out for a few days, keep talking and I'm putting you on a sex ban"

His face melts, he realizes how tired you look and instead of fighting back he nods and leaves the room, you think it is because he's still mad and finish your routine with a frown on your face, you would go downstairs and look for him but you're exhausted, so instead you get into his bed and bury yourself into the blankets, you'll talk to him tomorrow, apologize and compromise or whatever it was he wanted you to do.

Garrett was't angry though, he wasn't looking for apologies and he hadn't left to give you space, he makes his way back upstairs and enters his room with a pill in one hand and a glass of water in the other "Here baby" His voice is soft, a complete contrast to the volume he'd been using before while you were arguing "Take this before you fall asleep, so you don't wake up with a headache"

You take the pill, swallow it with some water and then move aside signaling for him to lay next to you "'m sorry" You mumble.

"I'm sorry too" He kisses your forehead "But don't think flashing me your boobs will win you every argument ever"

You hum into his chest "We'll see"

He chuckles and lets you sleep, he knows he's so wrong, you already win any and all arguments most of the time and with your newly discovered strategy he's sure he'll never stand a chance again.

[boyfiefleur]

PLEASE LET ME MAKE YOU JUNO !

pairing : garrett graham john logan dean di laurentis john tucker x 𝒇 ! reader

𝗢𝗥 𓈒 𓈒 they overhear you singing the lyrics to juno

contains : established relationship fluff & smut unprotected sex cumming inside dirty talk gif credits to @lerabova 𝘄 ｡ 4.2k

GARRETT GRAHAM : 

“Wanna try out my fuzzy pink handcuffs?” You quietly sang along to the song playing through your earbuds as you scrolled through your Pinterest feed, saving all the cute pictures in their proper sections. You were lying on your stomach in your boyfriend’s bed, your freshly pedicured feet were absentmindedly swinging to the tempo of the song.

Your boyfriend was sitting at his desk, his hair messy from him constantly running his fingers through it in frustration as he tried to understand what he was studying. His laptop and notebooks had his full attention, or at least you thought it did. When Garrett invited you over after practice, he made it clear that he had to study before he could give you all the attention you deserved. But his attention was stolen by you the moment he heard you singing those provocative lyrics. 

He quietly slipped off his headphones and set them on his desk before he got up from his chair. His lips twitched up into a small smirk at how cute you looked in his shirt, wearing nothing else but your fluffy socks and your baby blue panties that were barely peaking out from under the shirt. As soon as the two of you got up to his room, you were undressing and changing into your favorite shirt of his. 

“Gare?” You hummed in confusion at the sudden warm touch of his hands on your ankles, softly pushing your elevated legs down on the bed so he could straddle your thighs. You giggled at the feeling of him pressing his chest against your back, holding himself up with one hand while the other pulled out your earbuds for you. 

Garrett smiled at the sound of your laughter, leaning down to place soft kisses along your shoulder and neck, all the way up to your ear, where he teasingly nibbled at before whispering huskily, “The answer is yes.”

You felt chills go down your spine at your boyfriend's tone and the feeling of his warm breath tickling your neck. You tilted your head to the side, your breath hitching from how close his face was to yours. You swallowed slowly and sassily responded, “To what question?” 

His smile quickly changed into a cocky smirk when he noticed your body's reaction to him. His eyes dropped to your lips before slowly looking back into your eyes, his tone teasing, “I’d love to try out your fuzzy pink handcuffs.” 

+

“Fuck, Baby,” He groaned, a wonton moan quickly following after through his parted lips. The fuzzy pink handcuffs he had pulled out of the drawer of his bedside table with a smirk held him taut against the headboard. The soft plush of the handcuffs mocked the raw tension in his restrained muscles. He took pleasure in the feeling of the cuffs digging into his skin. 

His gaze that burned into you was filled with desire and amusement as he watched you move up and down on him, your boobs bouncing with your every movement, creating a mouthwatering, hypnotic sight. His jaw clenched as he watched you move so perfectly, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. 

The headboard creaked rhythmically with your movements as Garrett strained against the restraints. A satisfied smirk on his face despite being restricted. 

“Fuck—you feel so good,” your voice was strained as you breathed out, your hips rolling in a deliberately slow grind as you felt your thighs trembling from how deep he felt, your fingers digging into his chest. Your voice is a breathless, shaky exhale that caught in your throat with each movement as you went faster, your words barely holding together between the pleasure, “So deep inside me…holy shit, baby—“ 

“Jesus.” A low, rough moan escaped his lips, his head falling back against the headboard at the feeling of you clenching around him. His gaze never once leaves you as you roll your hips faster, dragging another ragged moan from his throat. Your words, the sight of your boobs bouncing in his face, and the look on your face, crumbling in pure pleasure, had him absolutely wrecked. 

“Fuck, baby—I’m gonna cum.” He growled through clenched teeth as he planted his feet on the bed, his hips bucking up to meet your frantic pace. His abs contracted as he tried not to break the restraints. His face was twisted up in an intense pleasure, his eyes locked on where the two of you were connected, watching himself disappear inside you. Your tight heat and lewd pace made it impossible for him to hold back. 

The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed lewdly through his room, mixing with their moans and grunts. Your thighs burned and trembled uncontrollably as you rode him with frantic desperation while his core ached from his frantically bucking up into you, both of you chasing your highs. His biceps bulged and ached, the cuffs biting into his skin as he fought the overwhelming urge to break free and grab your hips to fuck you properly. 

A choked-out cry of pleasure tore from your throat as your orgasm slammed into you and rippled through your body. Your walls clench viciously around him like a vice, triggering his own undying. Garrett threw his head back against the headboard, a loud moan ripping from his chest as his hips jerked sloppily off the mattress, as he buried himself to the hilt, as he emptied himself deep inside you. 

Your tired body immediately leaned forward in exhaustion as you came down from your shared highs. Your boobs were heavy and soft against his broad, hard chest, sweaty bodies melting against each other. Your breath was hot against the sweaty skin of his neck, pants leaving your parted lips. Your eyes fluttered closed, your eyelashes creating shadows across your cheeks. 

Garrett grinned cockily at the sight of you so completely fucked out on top of him, how you nuzzled your face into his neck, scrunching your nose at the ticklish feeling of his slightly damp curls from sweat, brushing against your forehead. His chest vibrated against yours as he chuckled breathlessly, the handcuffs rattled against the headboard as he shook his hands, whispering teasingly, “You gonna let me out of these?” 

JOHN LOGAN : 

Logan caught on fast. He knew what you were doing before you even played that damn song; the ‘subtle’ hints you were dropping weren’t so subtle. For days, you had been sending him cute videos of babies throughout the day, during class, during his practices…all the parents looked to be close to your guy’s age. He noticed the change in you ever since the two of you babysat your baby nephew; you wanted a baby…with him. 

“One of me is cute, but two though?” You sang along to the song of your choosing, that way playing through the speakers of your boyfriend's truck. Your fingers fiddled with the bracelet you wore—a gift from Logan—as you looked out the window so Logan wouldn’t see the mischievous smile on your lips. 

The corners of Logan’s lips twitched up into a knowing smirk as he listened to you sing, glancing at you before focusing back on the road. He shook his head as he let out a small chuckle, his right hand moving to rest on your thigh, softly gripping into your plush skin. He spoke smoothly over the music, “You know, all you had to do was ask.” 

“Hmm?” You did your best to hum in faux confusion, as you turned to look at him, your breath hitching at the sight of your boyfriend’s toothy grin. Your eyes traveled slowly across his features, his brown eyes that you fell in love with, the perfect slope of his nose, his dark scruff, his brown curls brushing against his nape, and down to his Adam's apple, you loved to nip at. 

Your eyes dropped even lower, down his neck, you wanted to kiss, to the gold chain you loved to tug on, to a little of his chest hair that was peaking out from his loose flannel, the first few buttons being unbuttoned. Something he had done on purpose because he knew it drove you crazy, especially when you were sitting across the table at Malone’s, just counting the minutes until the two of you left your friends and you could finally pounce on him. 

His hand on your thigh moved up, squeezing harder. Your eyes went back to his lips, watching as he slowly licked them before they twitched up into a cocky smile as he repeated his words so smoothly, “All you had to do was use your words and ask me to put a baby in you.” 

Logan chuckled as he felt you squeeze your thighs together, his words clearly affecting you. He slipped his fingers under your skirt, so close to where you wanted him the most. His cocky smile turned into a smirk as he continued in a seductive whisper, “But you have to be a good girl and say please.” 

+

The cold night air that slipped through the slightly opened window did nothing to cool their heated passion in the steamy truck. The truck rocked back and forth as Logan thrust deeply into you. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the truck along with their mixed moans and heavy breaths. The sound of a Bon Jovi song playing faintly on the radio. 

“Look at you, angel—so pretty for me.” Logan cooed with a breathy moan, his breath hot on your chest as he mouthed at your tits and collarbone. Your dress collar was pulled down, giving him the perfect sight of your sweaty, bouncing tits. 

“Logan, please—don't stop!” You cried out, that hand tangled in his hair softly tugged on his strands while the other held onto his waist, pulling him in deeper if that was even possible. A loud groan left his lips at the pleasurable sting of your tug on his hair. He used the momentum of his hand resting on your head on the seat—his other hand was cradling the top of your head, protecting it from hitting against the door from his heavy thrusts—to quicken his pace. 

“Yeah?—want me to make you a mommy?” Logan grunted in your neck with a low moan, his eyes nearly closing in pleasure at the thought of you, round with his baby. You nodded fast, mind too clouded with pleasure to find the words. He moved his hand from the bench of the truck to grip your chin, turning your face back towards him. His face is so close to yours that when he speaks, his lips brush against yours.”Tell me.” 

“Please—please, I want your babies…fill me, John.” You sobbed desperately, your voice broken and whiny. The heat, the feeling of his sweaty body pressed against you, the pleasure—it was all too much and just what you wanted. Your hand on his waist moved lower, your nails digging crescents into the plush skin of his ass. 

”That’s all you want, baby?—to be filled?” He rasped, his voice thick with lust and want. His breaths were getting faster against your neck as he felt your walls clamp around him, milking them both closer to their release. Logan's eyes nearly rolled back at the sound of your babbling begs, leaning in to capture your lips in a messy, passionate kiss. One of his hands travels downwards, grasping the curve of your ass and pulling your hips up to meet his frantic thrusts.  

“Take it.” He manages through clenched teeth, his voice strained as he breaks from the kiss, a string of saliva still connecting him. His forehead dropped to your shoulder as he let out guttural moans, his balls slapping hard against your ass as he spilled deep inside of you. You felt everything, every pulse, every twitch, and hot jets of cum filling you up. 

Your vision went white as intense waves of ecstasy went through your body, your hands pawing at him and your eyes rolling back. You cried out his name, a shaking, sobbing mess of pleasure as you reached your peak, incoherent babbles leaving your lips as your mind went blank. Logan didn’t stop, fucking you through your orgasm and into a blissful high with lazy thrusts until the two of you were whimpering and trembling messes. 

DEAN DI LAURENTIS :

Dean bit his bottom lip as he quietly stopped in his tracks in the doorway of the kitchen, trying to blink the sleep from his eyes as fast as he could as his eyes zeroed in on you, his jaw nearly going slack. He had woken up alone in his bed from a nap—he was exhausted after practice and convinced you to get back in bed with him—to the sound of you singing and dishes clinking. 

You stood at the counter, whisking something in one of those fancy bowls Tucker had bought them as a housewarming gift. From where he was standing, you seemed to only be wearing one of his shirts, his eyes lingering on the way your hips swayed to the beat of the song that was playing from the Bluetooth radio on the counter. 

Dean was quiet as he walked up behind you, smiling at the cute gasp of surprise you let out when you felt his arms wrap around your waist. You paused on whisking the cookie dough when you felt your boyfriend's strong arms wrap around you. Dean groaned dramatically as he dropped his forehead to your shoulder. “You are driving me fucking crazy.” 

“What did I do now?” You couldn’t help but giggle at your boyfriend's dramatic grumpiness in his tone. Dean moved his arms from around your waist to rest his big, warm hands on your hips, pulling you back flush against his chest, letting out a small groan at the feeling of you pressed against his hot skin. 

He pouted and rubbed his nose against your neck needily before muttering with an accusatory tone, “You singing those lyrics! God, I can’t concentrate on anything.” 

You bite your lip to stop yourself from smirking triumphantly. Instead, you put on a faux innocent smile before licking the cookie dough off your finger, shrugging, “Oh!…oops.” 

“Oh, that’s all you have to say, princess, hmm?” Dean teased you with a playful, dramatic huff as he slipped one of his hands under your shirt to softly caress your stomach. He admired your side profile, how pretty you looked as you smiled, clearly enjoying his dramatics. 

His eyes dropped to your hands, watching how you put perfectly sized circles of cookie dough on the cookie pan. There was just something so domestic about seeing you wear his shirt, hair messy from their shared nap, baking in their kitchen, and singing those naughty lyrics about wanting a baby. He wanted nothing more than to have a family with you. He rested his palm on your stomach, just imagining. 

Dean let out a loud groan as his imagination started to run completely wild with more thoughts about you. His hold on your hips tightened as he closed his eyes and whined needily, “Fuck now, all I can think about is putting a baby in you.” 

You smirked at how whiny your boyfriend sounded. You tilted your head to the side so he could hear you better as you slowly whispered flirtatiously, “If you let me finish these, maybe you can.”

+

You pulled away from the messy kiss with a small gasp, your eyes fluttering open at the sound of silverware hitting the floor, echoing through the kitchen along with the lewd sound of skin slapping on skin. Dean didn't seem to care about the interruption; his thrusts didn’t falter as he now started kissing and sucking down your neck. Your words barely forming with all the moans slipping through your parted lips, “Dean—fuck! Be careful.” 

“You feel like fucking heaven.” Dean purred in your ear with a cocky grin, teasingly nipping at the sensitive skin on your neck, making you whine and purposely clench around him. The rhythm of his thrusts faltered as he let out a choked-out whimper that he would never admit to making. The cocky look on your face was gone as soon as it appeared. One of his hands that gripped your hips slid up to grip the back of your neck, tilting your head back. 

“You’re taking me so well, such a good little slut for me.” Dean moaned breathlessly against your lips, moving his hand from your neck to grip your jaw, forcing your mouth open. You let out a needy whine at the feeling of him thrusting into you deeper. He leans in closer, not breaking eye contact as he spits in your mouth, a slow grin spreading across his face at the sight of you eagerly swallowing it with a loud moan. 

“That’s it.” He praises you, his thumb pressing down on your tongue to keep your mouth open, the sounds of your gag going straight to his cock. He thrusted into you faster, using his grip on your jaw to hold you in place, not breaking eye contact, watching as you galled apart on his cock. The wet, lewd sounds of their passion filled the kitchen. 

He gave your jaw a gentle squeeze before he moved his hand back down to your hip, sliding his hands down to dig his fingers into the plush of your ass, pulling you closer to meet his thrusts as he changed his angle to fuck into you deeper. He could feel your thighs trembling around him, the way your walls were clamping around him, how your moans got louder. 

“Cum on my cock, baby, feel me filling you up.” His voice was husky with want, holding himself from cumming deep inside of you; he wanted to feel you fall apart on his cock first. His demands and frantic pace push you hard over the edge. Your back arches, eyes rolling back as your orgasm crashes into you, everything about it was loud and intense. 

“Dean, don't stop!” You cried out, a small hiss of pleasure leaving your boyfriend's lips at the feeling of your nails digging into his skin. Your pussy clamps around him, speaking his cock as you completely fall apart around him. Your head lolled back against the cabinet, tits bouncing with his hard thrusts, the sound of deans grunts and loud moans mixed with your whines and high pitched moans. 

“God, you’re milking me, princess—fuck!” Dean lets out a loud guttural moan at the feeling of your walls holding onto him for dear life. It pushes him deep into your sweet spot, flooding your walls with his hot cum as he continues to fuck you through both of your orgasms’ aftershocks. Not stopping until it was too much for your sensitive bodies. 

Dean placed wet, lazy kisses across your shoulder and neck, his hands softly rubbing your trembling hips and sides, your body still clinging to him. He slowly pulled away from your sweaty skin to grin teasingly at you, softly bumping his nose against yours “Think those cookies are ready? We’ve worked up quite the appetite.” 

JOHN TUCKER : 

Tucker watched you with a small smirk as he leaned against the doorframe of your bathroom, watching as you leaned over the bathroom sink to look closer into the mirror as you did your eyelashes. He pushed himself off the doorway and moved to stand behind you. You were so used to his touch that you didn’t flinch when he rested his hands on your hips. He softly caressed your sides with a smile as he asked: “Who’s Juno?”

You pulled the mascara wand away from your eyes and set it down on the counter as you pulled back from the mirror, gaping at your boyfriend in disbelief. "You're kidding—you've never seen Juno?”

You watched as he shrugged carelessly, shaking his head no with that cute smile you loved. You roll your eyes playfully with a dramatic sigh of false disappointment as you stand up straight. You keep your eyes locked with his eyes through the mirror as a teasing smile decorates your face. “Remind me why I'm dating you?” 

Tucker chuckled and moved one of his arms up from your waist, flexing his muscles at you in the mirror with a wink. He wore that slutty muscle tank that he knew drove you crazy, showing off his stretch marks you loved to kiss. He smirked as he answered you with a flirty tone, “Oh, my muscles definitely.”

You giggled at his flirting as you turned around to face him, leaning back against the counter as you tilted your chin to look up at him. Tucker rested his hands on the counter as he leaned in closer to you, successfully trapping you. He licked his lips, clearly enjoying how you looked up at him through your eyelashes.

He leaned even closer, his accent thicker as he whispered: “So are we?” 

You rest one of your hands on his hip, fidgeting with the waistband of his sweatpants, before you lean forward to place soft kisses on the little sliver of skin not covered on his shoulder. You raised your eyebrow and let out a small hum of confusion, “Hmm?”

Tucker let out a small groan with a mixture of a moan at the feeling of your lips on his now warm skin, along with the feeling of your fingers teasingly slipping under the band of his sweatpants. All thoughts of joining your friends at Malone's were long gone in their minds. He moved one of his hands from the counter to cup your jaw, whispering with a faux innocent smile, “Gonna try out some freaky positions?” 

+

Your body felt beautifully spent with an ache that settled into your limbs from the intense, flexible position he coaxed you out of. Your body practically melted into the sheets as he carefully rolled you onto your stomach. The sudden shift made your body protest, but the weight of his sweaty body pressing against your back as he placed a wet kiss on your shoulder made the soreness completely worth it. 

Your chest was smushed against the sheets of your dorm bed, makeup no doubt dirtying your soft sheets. Your boyfriend let out a desperate moan at the sight of your wet pussy. Your ass was perfectly hiked up in the air. Tucker's rough hands gripped your hips with a bruising force as he fucked into you with one heavy thrust. 

“Tuck!” Your loud cry of pleasure was muffled by the sheets, the sound vibrating through the sheets. The thrust stole the air right out of your lungs as you let out a choked-out whine, your fingers scrambling desperately to grip onto the messy sheets. The feeling of him thrusting deep into you was too much; everything felt so sensitive, you were so close to your high before Tucker changed the position. 

”That’s it, baby, you can take it.” Tucker whispered in your ear; his voice was low, and you could hear his smirk. How could he not feel cocky at the sight of you, a mess on his cock. Your face smushed against the mattress, your mouth parted as filthy moans left your lips. A thin string of drool escaped the corner of your mouth, and your eyes glazed over in lust. 

”Tuck…oh god, John!—so good!” You moaned loudly, mixing with the sound of his pelvis slapping against the plush of your ass, echoing through your room. Neither of you cared about being quiet. You reached back, your trembling fingers gripping onto his wrist and pulling him forward with a desperate whine. 

You didn't need to say anything else; he knew what you wanted. 

He slipped his arm under your neck, guiding you into a hot and sweaty headlock that had your head spinning and your body melting into his. He wasted no time as he began to thrust into you with an intense hunger, that coil in his stomach getting tighter. 

“Fill me up—please, John!” You begged him, your words slurred and broken as you continued to babble on about how bad you needed it. You were nothing but a trembling, drooling mess beneath him, completely lost in the pleasure from his cock and praise. Your nails dug into his arm, nearly sobbing as you tried to grind back against him, you couldn’t even finish your thought, so cock drunk, “Please! John, can I—ahh!” 

“Since you asked so nicely—my greedy girl,” he rasped in your ear, his voice thick with lust as he let out a guttural moan. He felt your walls clenching around him, desperately milking him and pulling him over the edge. Tucker moaned into your ear, his hips going still with a choked-out whine as you felt thick ropes of his cum fill you up in heavy spurts. 

The feeling of him filling you up, along with his sloppy thrusts, brings you to your peak. You were completely gone, your body trembling and brain completely going blank as your orgasm ripped through your body. Leaving you a moaning and whining mess. 

Tucker chuckled breathlessly at the small whimpers and pants leaving your lips as the two of you tried to catch your breath, minds still foggy in pleasured haze. He placed a wet and long kiss on your shoulder, smiling as he mumbled: “Wanna watch that movie now?”

┊࿐ ❛❛ continue on to my…. 𝙢𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 ❜❜

Ი𐑼 actually obsessed with the layout for this one , I wanted to post this sooner but I was just oh so busy to finish it !! I really hope you guys like it , writing smut is always so hard for me 💔 please tell me your thoughts , feedback is always appreciated and so are comments and reblogs , luv you bbys 🐇

also I am a proud lover of them em dash <3

᧔᧓ if this seems familiar it’s because I’ve taken it from my old blog and rewrote and added to it !

taglist : @pixiebratz @lovings4turn @minikiiikiii @toasttt11 @avreated @fantillisgirl @cixrosie @abbottjunior01 @corvusmorte @rougeleclerc @take-it-on-the-run @portalofpandas @itsskavya @justkeepingitpeachy @whydontyouputyourseatbelton @yournaughtyandcutelittlegirl @gojodaddy1029 @sentryvvorld

۶ৎ taglist is open

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[rougeleclerc]

https://www.tumblr.com/rougeleclerc/820681794518122496/lipstick?source=share

READ HERE: LIPSTICK, DEAN DI LAURENTIS.

[rougeleclerc]

Lipstick

The party was packed, music blasting through the house while colorful lights flashed across every room. The theme was iconic duos in costume, and Dean and Beau had shown up as Maverick and Goose. Dean, of course, was Maverick: a flight suit, aviator sunglasses perched on top of his messy blond hair, and a grin capable of destroying anyone's common sense.

You were standing in the kitchen, leaning against the island as you reached for a cold drink, hoping it would distract you from the heat steadily rising through your body.

Your Poison Ivy costume was flawless—a form-fitting green bodysuit decorated with vines and leaves, dramatic makeup, and, most importantly, a bold matte red lipstick. The kind that left unmistakable marks.

Dean found you in less than two minutes.He walked toward you slowly, just like he'd been doing all week—always a little closer, lingering a little longer. The flirting had become the sweetest kind of torture. Long stares. Fingers brushing "accidentally." Midnight texts that had you squeezing your thighs together before you could stop yourself.Now he stood directly in front of you, his broad shoulders filling the space and blocking out the rest of the party.

His blue eyes sparkled with amusement—and something far more dangerous."Would you look at you..." he murmured, his gaze slowly traveling down your body.

"Poison Ivy. Planning on poisoning someone tonight, gorgeous?"You smiled, tilting your head as you took a sip of your drink."Maybe. But be careful, Maverick. My poison is pretty strong. One kiss from me and your lips will be covered in red lipstick. Can you imagine how much the guys will tease you?"

Dean took another step forward until there was barely any space left between you. His scent—cologne, leather, and something uniquely his—wrapped around you.

The kitchen suddenly felt like its own little world in the middle of the crowded party. Rihanna's Kiss It Better pulsed through the speakers, the slow, sensual beat matching the tension humming between you.Without saying a word, Dean placed both hands on your waist.

His large hands were firm and possessive, his fingers pressing gently into the fabric of your Poison Ivy bodysuit.Then he pulled you against him in one swift movement, leaving no space between your bodies.

You barely had time to breathe.He tilted his head, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your neck, his fingers tangling confidently in your hair. His other arm wrapped securely around your waist, his open palm resting against the small of your back, holding you flush against his chest.

It was a strong grip—confident, controlled—as though he were silently telling you, You're not going anywhere.Then he kissed you.The kiss wasn't gentle.It was hungry.His lips crashed into yours with unmistakable urgency, warm and demanding.

A heartbeat later he deepened the kiss, tilting his head even more. He kissed you like he'd been waiting days for this, gently catching your lower lip between his teeth before kissing you again.

The taste of your red lipstick mixed between you as you felt the warmth of his body through his leather jacket.His hold on you only tightened. The hand at your neck kept you exactly where he wanted you, angling your face perfectly.

His other hand squeezed your waist, his fingers firm as though he needed to feel every inch of you.You could feel the tension in his arms, the muscles flexing effortlessly as he held you close.When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathing hard.Your lipstick had absolutely destroyed him.Bright red stained his full lips, smudged across his chin and even brushed against one cheek.

Dean smiled, his eyes darker now, filled with satisfaction as he kept you tucked against him."Damn..." he murmured hoarsely, his voice low enough for only you to hear. "I knew it'd be worth it."He stayed close, his blue eyes still dark with desire, your vivid lipstick leaving him looking delightfully ruined.

"I warned you, Dean..." you whispered with a quiet laugh, brushing your thumb across the corner of his mouth. Instead of cleaning it off, you only smeared the red even more.

"Now you're completely poisoned."He flashed that dangerous smile."And I told you I don't care."Before you could tease him again, he pulled you back in by the waist and kissed you once more. Deep. Urgent. Like he couldn't get enough.When you separated, his face looked even worse—in the best possible way.

Red lipstick covered his lips, his jaw, and the edge of his cheeks.The two of you laughed, still slightly out of breath.But Dean wasn't finished.He lowered his lips to your neck, deliberately pressing his lipstick-stained mouth against your skin. Slow kisses. Unhurried. Intentionally transferring the red color onto you.

Every kiss left another vivid mark, as if he were signing his name across your skin.You felt the warmth of his lips against the cool lipstick and let out a shaky sigh.

"Dean... you're getting lipstick all over me...""Good," he murmured against your skin, his voice rough with satisfaction.He placed another lingering kiss just beneath your ear, leaving another crimson imprint behind.

"I want everyone to see that Poison Ivy wrapped me around her finger... and that I surrendered willingly."He leaned back just enough to admire his work.Several bright red lipstick prints decorated your neck—some bold, some faint—all unmistakably the shape of his lips.It looked like art.

He smiled proudly, his own face still completely stained with red."Now we match," he said, resting his forehead against yours. "And I'm not wiping any of it off."You laughed, running your fingers through his blond hair before pulling him close again.

"You're impossible.""And you love it," he replied with a grin before stealing one more kiss, smearing even more lipstick between the two of you.

[rougeleclerc]

Lipstick

The party was packed, music blasting through the house while colorful lights flashed across every room. The theme was iconic duos in costume, and Dean and Beau had shown up as Maverick and Goose. Dean, of course, was Maverick: a flight suit, aviator sunglasses perched on top of his messy blond hair, and a grin capable of destroying anyone's common sense.

You were standing in the kitchen, leaning against the island as you reached for a cold drink, hoping it would distract you from the heat steadily rising through your body.

Your Poison Ivy costume was flawless—a form-fitting green bodysuit decorated with vines and leaves, dramatic makeup, and, most importantly, a bold matte red lipstick. The kind that left unmistakable marks.

Dean found you in less than two minutes.He walked toward you slowly, just like he'd been doing all week—always a little closer, lingering a little longer. The flirting had become the sweetest kind of torture. Long stares. Fingers brushing "accidentally." Midnight texts that had you squeezing your thighs together before you could stop yourself.Now he stood directly in front of you, his broad shoulders filling the space and blocking out the rest of the party.

His blue eyes sparkled with amusement—and something far more dangerous."Would you look at you..." he murmured, his gaze slowly traveling down your body.

"Poison Ivy. Planning on poisoning someone tonight, gorgeous?"You smiled, tilting your head as you took a sip of your drink."Maybe. But be careful, Maverick. My poison is pretty strong. One kiss from me and your lips will be covered in red lipstick. Can you imagine how much the guys will tease you?"

Dean took another step forward until there was barely any space left between you. His scent—cologne, leather, and something uniquely his—wrapped around you.

The kitchen suddenly felt like its own little world in the middle of the crowded party. Rihanna's Kiss It Better pulsed through the speakers, the slow, sensual beat matching the tension humming between you.Without saying a word, Dean placed both hands on your waist.

His large hands were firm and possessive, his fingers pressing gently into the fabric of your Poison Ivy bodysuit.Then he pulled you against him in one swift movement, leaving no space between your bodies.

You barely had time to breathe.He tilted his head, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your neck, his fingers tangling confidently in your hair. His other arm wrapped securely around your waist, his open palm resting against the small of your back, holding you flush against his chest.

It was a strong grip—confident, controlled—as though he were silently telling you, You're not going anywhere.Then he kissed you.The kiss wasn't gentle.It was hungry.His lips crashed into yours with unmistakable urgency, warm and demanding.

A heartbeat later he deepened the kiss, tilting his head even more. He kissed you like he'd been waiting days for this, gently catching your lower lip between his teeth before kissing you again.

The taste of your red lipstick mixed between you as you felt the warmth of his body through his leather jacket.His hold on you only tightened. The hand at your neck kept you exactly where he wanted you, angling your face perfectly.

His other hand squeezed your waist, his fingers firm as though he needed to feel every inch of you.You could feel the tension in his arms, the muscles flexing effortlessly as he held you close.When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathing hard.Your lipstick had absolutely destroyed him.Bright red stained his full lips, smudged across his chin and even brushed against one cheek.

Dean smiled, his eyes darker now, filled with satisfaction as he kept you tucked against him."Damn..." he murmured hoarsely, his voice low enough for only you to hear. "I knew it'd be worth it."He stayed close, his blue eyes still dark with desire, your vivid lipstick leaving him looking delightfully ruined.

"I warned you, Dean..." you whispered with a quiet laugh, brushing your thumb across the corner of his mouth. Instead of cleaning it off, you only smeared the red even more.

"Now you're completely poisoned."He flashed that dangerous smile."And I told you I don't care."Before you could tease him again, he pulled you back in by the waist and kissed you once more. Deep. Urgent. Like he couldn't get enough.When you separated, his face looked even worse—in the best possible way.

Red lipstick covered his lips, his jaw, and the edge of his cheeks.The two of you laughed, still slightly out of breath.But Dean wasn't finished.He lowered his lips to your neck, deliberately pressing his lipstick-stained mouth against your skin. Slow kisses. Unhurried. Intentionally transferring the red color onto you.

Every kiss left another vivid mark, as if he were signing his name across your skin.You felt the warmth of his lips against the cool lipstick and let out a shaky sigh.

"Dean... you're getting lipstick all over me...""Good," he murmured against your skin, his voice rough with satisfaction.He placed another lingering kiss just beneath your ear, leaving another crimson imprint behind.

"I want everyone to see that Poison Ivy wrapped me around her finger... and that I surrendered willingly."He leaned back just enough to admire his work.Several bright red lipstick prints decorated your neck—some bold, some faint—all unmistakably the shape of his lips.It looked like art.

He smiled proudly, his own face still completely stained with red."Now we match," he said, resting his forehead against yours. "And I'm not wiping any of it off."You laughed, running your fingers through his blond hair before pulling him close again.

"You're impossible.""And you love it," he replied with a grin before stealing one more kiss, smearing even more lipstick between the two of you.

[seventiesaces]

I looookve your Logan fics, but Garrett has my heart. Could you write something like Garrett and the reader having a casual relationship, because he don't do girlfriends and she don't do boyfriends. But he gets jealous of her because he's starting to fall in love, and acts like a boyfriend at various times!

Loved writing this! Thank you for your request!

Ahead: Mentions of smut, Garrett Graham x Reader, jealous Garrett

Relationships were nothing but unnecessary drama. That was something both you and Garrett Graham agreed upon when you met.

You met at a party. Garrett was peeved because his recent hook up, Kendall, had used an array of expletives after he turned down being her boyfriend. You were have a similar night. After hooking up with a baseball player named Cole Miller for a few weeks, he wanted to make things "real".

You firmly rejected this idea, even asking him, "Aren't baseball player suppose to me sluts? How did I get the one monogamous one?" Which he did not like at all.

You're a big fan of easy. Casual sex leaves you with enough time to spend on your real commitments. You're the president of your sorority, a full time student and you volunteer at a local animal shelter. Overall, a pretty good amount of you time is spent not on boys, and you prefer it that way.

Meeting Garrett Graham was like all the stars were aligning. You were like two non-monogamous puzzle pieces fitting together perfectly. It was fantastic.

Garrett Graham was a beast in bed. He had a reputation for his skills, but actually experiencing it was a whole other thing. He was strong, throwing you around like a ragdoll in the sheet in a way that made your breath catch and adrenaline pumping. He was the perfect way to blow off steam after a hard day.

As time went on, you got to know each other a bit better. The more you knew about each other, the better the sex was. It wasn't about becoming closer for sappy reasons, at least that's what you told yourself.

You started coming to his games. Not because you were being supportive, but because he was so high on the win he was likely need you to take it out on. He would show up to sorority events, buying raffle tickets and whatever else you were selling, giving you that dashing smile and a wink as he did so. Obviously, he wasn't doing it for you. He was donating to a good cause, that's all.

There were no labels. Not even when both of you stopped seeing other people subconsciously. Not even when he would sneak into your sorority house to spend the night. Not even when you wore his jersey to a game. Not even when you spent entire parties in his lap, playing with his hair and him playing with your fingers. You were not dating, and that should be obvious to anyone with common sense.

It was until you were setting up your most recent philanthropist event with your Vice-President.

She casually asked you, "Isn't your 6 month anniversary coming up soon? What are you guys doing?"

You were in the middle of hanging the balloon arch and didn't fully register her question, humming a quick. "With who?"

She scoffed, looking at you like had sprouted a second head. "With Garrett?"

You froze, the arch slipping out of your hands. It had not only been 6 months, but even one of your close friend thought you were dating. This wasn't supposed to be happening. You weren't supposed to be so attached to one guy that you have an unofficial anniversary.

That night you came to a conclusion that made you stomach flip. You convinced yourself the queasy feeling you had was due to some bad sushi from earlier. You had to convince the rest of the student body you were not dating Garrett Graham.

The next day was a major philanthropist event for your sorority. You were raising money for a local organization that supports at-risk youth, and you needed it to be a success.

There was live music, lots of socializing and few spiked drinks floating around as donation fluttered in.

As usual, Garrett and the other hockey boys showed up fashionably late. They likely had practice before this, you thought, as Garrett's curls were damp from a recent shower. He looked good with his hair not perfect and a fitted tee shirt defining his chest.

"You're drooling." Your Vice-President whispered, a smirk on her face.

You scoffed, turning away quickly and focusing on the refreshments in front of you. Some guy from the football team approached you, a big dumb grin on his face like he knew he was hot shit. It made you eye twitch.

"Ladies," He nodded at the two of you. "Looking good, as usual."

Your Vice-President gave him a thin lipped smile and you fought the urge to roll your eyes. You caught Garrett's eye over the meathead's shoulder. He was watching you, his own lips pursed in a way that worried you. Was that jealousy?

You forced back you disgust, plastering a smile on your face would put a beauty queen to shame and held out a cup of punch. "Thanks, Jeff."

He looked surprise at your reaction, eyes widening as he took the cup. "It's Jake."

"Uh huh." You lightly acknowledged, glancing at Garrett again. His fists were clenched around the neck of his beer bottle so hard you feared it would shatter.

Jeff left, accepting your pitiful excuse for conversation. You weren't done though. Everyone had to know you were still out there, as free as ever to flirt and fuck whoever you wanted. Despite this mission, none of the guys appealed to you. They were good looking, sure. But everytime your eyes scanned the room for you next victim, they landed on Garrett.

Even though you couldn't find someone to peak your interest, you seemed to have caught the eye of someone else. A tall guy approached you, his floppy dark hair and eyes were at least appealing. You spoke to him for a while, letting him eye you up like you were a slab of meat being served to him. Did you used to like this? Being eyed this way? Maybe you did, but right now your brain was screaming at you to find an excuse to slip away covertly.

A crash came from somewhere in the room make some people gasp. Although you didn't know where it came from, and didn't care about it in general, you used as a get out quick scheme, "Excuse me." You said, smiling gently. You walk away like a lady, wiping your sweaty palm on your pink dress as your expression shifted to one of annoyance.

You escaped into the back of the kitchen by the pantry, taking the moment to breath. You hated this. Why did you hate this?

Footsteps approached, slapping on the hard tile of the room and echoing off the walls. You prayed it wasn't whatever his name is, following you into the pantry like you were implying wanting a quickie.

You let out a sigh of relief as Garrett came into view, his hands in his pockets. You couldn't help yourself. You threw your arms around his neck, holding him tightly.

"You have no idea how happy I am to see you." You promised, letting the scent of his woodsy body wash float around you.

Garrett's big hand held you, but he was tense. "You sure? You seemed determined to talk to every guy here but me."

You pulled back, studying his face. He was angry, but was great at masking it. "Are you jealous?" You blurted out before you could stop yourself.

He took in a deep breath, pacing in a little circle in deep thought. "I didn't like seeing you with other guys."

You bit your lip, the statement making you buzz with an odd happiness. "Why? We're casual-"

"I know," Garrett interrupting, putting a hand out to stop you. His tongue poked the inside of his cheek, "I'm not sure I want that anymore."

You cocked your head, "You're a boyfriend-girlfriend guy now?"

Garrett shook his head. "No."

You snorted, crossing your arms. "Then why-"

"Only for you," He was developing a habit of interrupting you. "I only want to a boyfriend for you."

You felt like someone knocked the wind out of you. As you stared at the brunette before you, something clicked. You didn't want to talk to those guys because you wanted to talk to Garrett. You didn't find any of them attractive because you only found Garrett attractive. Just like when you met, all the puzzle pieces were fitting together perfectly.

"Oh honey," You breathed, stepping forward to hold his hand. He took in a deep breath, anticipating your rejection. "I only want you be your girlfriend too."

Garrett's cold exterior cracked, a grin appearing as his hand grabbed your waist, picking you up with ease. You always loved when he picked you up like a ragdoll, but now it was for that sappy romance stuff. He kissed you, a soft sweet kiss that made your brain feel all floaty. Maybe you could like all this sappy romance stuff.

[rougeleclerc]

Lipstick

The party was packed, music blasting through the house while colorful lights flashed across every room. The theme was iconic duos in costume, and Dean and Beau had shown up as Maverick and Goose. Dean, of course, was Maverick: a flight suit, aviator sunglasses perched on top of his messy blond hair, and a grin capable of destroying anyone's common sense.

You were standing in the kitchen, leaning against the island as you reached for a cold drink, hoping it would distract you from the heat steadily rising through your body.

Your Poison Ivy costume was flawless—a form-fitting green bodysuit decorated with vines and leaves, dramatic makeup, and, most importantly, a bold matte red lipstick. The kind that left unmistakable marks.

Dean found you in less than two minutes.He walked toward you slowly, just like he'd been doing all week—always a little closer, lingering a little longer. The flirting had become the sweetest kind of torture. Long stares. Fingers brushing "accidentally." Midnight texts that had you squeezing your thighs together before you could stop yourself.Now he stood directly in front of you, his broad shoulders filling the space and blocking out the rest of the party.

His blue eyes sparkled with amusement—and something far more dangerous."Would you look at you..." he murmured, his gaze slowly traveling down your body.

"Poison Ivy. Planning on poisoning someone tonight, gorgeous?"You smiled, tilting your head as you took a sip of your drink."Maybe. But be careful, Maverick. My poison is pretty strong. One kiss from me and your lips will be covered in red lipstick. Can you imagine how much the guys will tease you?"

Dean took another step forward until there was barely any space left between you. His scent—cologne, leather, and something uniquely his—wrapped around you.

The kitchen suddenly felt like its own little world in the middle of the crowded party. Rihanna's Kiss It Better pulsed through the speakers, the slow, sensual beat matching the tension humming between you.Without saying a word, Dean placed both hands on your waist.

His large hands were firm and possessive, his fingers pressing gently into the fabric of your Poison Ivy bodysuit.Then he pulled you against him in one swift movement, leaving no space between your bodies.

You barely had time to breathe.He tilted his head, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your neck, his fingers tangling confidently in your hair. His other arm wrapped securely around your waist, his open palm resting against the small of your back, holding you flush against his chest.

It was a strong grip—confident, controlled—as though he were silently telling you, You're not going anywhere.Then he kissed you.The kiss wasn't gentle.It was hungry.His lips crashed into yours with unmistakable urgency, warm and demanding.

A heartbeat later he deepened the kiss, tilting his head even more. He kissed you like he'd been waiting days for this, gently catching your lower lip between his teeth before kissing you again.

The taste of your red lipstick mixed between you as you felt the warmth of his body through his leather jacket.His hold on you only tightened. The hand at your neck kept you exactly where he wanted you, angling your face perfectly.

His other hand squeezed your waist, his fingers firm as though he needed to feel every inch of you.You could feel the tension in his arms, the muscles flexing effortlessly as he held you close.When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathing hard.Your lipstick had absolutely destroyed him.Bright red stained his full lips, smudged across his chin and even brushed against one cheek.

Dean smiled, his eyes darker now, filled with satisfaction as he kept you tucked against him."Damn..." he murmured hoarsely, his voice low enough for only you to hear. "I knew it'd be worth it."He stayed close, his blue eyes still dark with desire, your vivid lipstick leaving him looking delightfully ruined.

"I warned you, Dean..." you whispered with a quiet laugh, brushing your thumb across the corner of his mouth. Instead of cleaning it off, you only smeared the red even more.

"Now you're completely poisoned."He flashed that dangerous smile."And I told you I don't care."Before you could tease him again, he pulled you back in by the waist and kissed you once more. Deep. Urgent. Like he couldn't get enough.When you separated, his face looked even worse—in the best possible way.

Red lipstick covered his lips, his jaw, and the edge of his cheeks.The two of you laughed, still slightly out of breath.But Dean wasn't finished.He lowered his lips to your neck, deliberately pressing his lipstick-stained mouth against your skin. Slow kisses. Unhurried. Intentionally transferring the red color onto you.

Every kiss left another vivid mark, as if he were signing his name across your skin.You felt the warmth of his lips against the cool lipstick and let out a shaky sigh.

"Dean... you're getting lipstick all over me...""Good," he murmured against your skin, his voice rough with satisfaction.He placed another lingering kiss just beneath your ear, leaving another crimson imprint behind.

"I want everyone to see that Poison Ivy wrapped me around her finger... and that I surrendered willingly."He leaned back just enough to admire his work.Several bright red lipstick prints decorated your neck—some bold, some faint—all unmistakably the shape of his lips.It looked like art.

He smiled proudly, his own face still completely stained with red."Now we match," he said, resting his forehead against yours. "And I'm not wiping any of it off."You laughed, running your fingers through his blond hair before pulling him close again.

"You're impossible.""And you love it," he replied with a grin before stealing one more kiss, smearing even more lipstick between the two of you.

[toonice113]

How to win an argument (G.Graham)

Pairings: Garrett Graham x fem!reader

Summary: you find out a new way to win an argument against your boyfriend. Based on this request.

Word count: 570

⋆˚࿔ tina's note 𝜗𝜚˚⋆  Short little blurb that I'm guessing nonnie wanted to be a bit spicy but I can't help myself but to make everything fluffy, my bad, hope it's still something you like.

Off Campus masterlist.

You're tired, exhausted in fact, it's been one of the longest days you've had in a while. Your professors synced up to be the biggest assholes ever, lectures running long making you late to the others, You had a long shift at your job at the library that resulted in missing your boyfriend's hockey game and now you two were fighting, you don't even know what the beginning of the argument had been, just that it had been going on for too long and it was making your headache worse but you refused to lose.

"We've been through this before" Garret huffed.

"And I've told you before, I'm not interested so drop it" You retaliated.

"We've gotta compromise here babe" He uses the pet name as a weapon.

"You have to compromise" You're not even trying to make sense anymore "I dont care, I'm done with this argument" You sit down on the desk and pull the makeup remover wipes you keep there out to start getting out of your makeup.

"Well I'm not, and while we're on this topic-" You cut him up by turning around, sighing and lifting your shirt to flash him, it stuns him for a second and that's enough for you to decide the discussion's over, you turn back to the little mirror and start wiping away "No… no, you can't just use your boobs as a weapon" He frowns "We're still talki-"

You turn around and do it again "I swear to God if you keep talking I'll just take it off and do the rest of my nightime routine shirtless"

"Is that supposed to make me shut up? Because it feels more like an insentive to keep-"

You cut him off once more "Garrett, I have a pounding headache, have had the longest day ever and all I want is to crawl into bed and pass out for a few days, keep talking and I'm putting you on a sex ban"

His face melts, he realizes how tired you look and instead of fighting back he nods and leaves the room, you think it is because he's still mad and finish your routine with a frown on your face, you would go downstairs and look for him but you're exhausted, so instead you get into his bed and bury yourself into the blankets, you'll talk to him tomorrow, apologize and compromise or whatever it was he wanted you to do.

Garrett was't angry though, he wasn't looking for apologies and he hadn't left to give you space, he makes his way back upstairs and enters his room with a pill in one hand and a glass of water in the other "Here baby" His voice is soft, a complete contrast to the volume he'd been using before while you were arguing "Take this before you fall asleep, so you don't wake up with a headache"

You take the pill, swallow it with some water and then move aside signaling for him to lay next to you "'m sorry" You mumble.

"I'm sorry too" He kisses your forehead "But don't think flashing me your boobs will win you every argument ever"

You hum into his chest "We'll see"

He chuckles and lets you sleep, he knows he's so wrong, you already win any and all arguments most of the time and with your newly discovered strategy he's sure he'll never stand a chance again.

[seventiesaces]

I read ur hockey sandwich fic of dean I lived it and I wanted to ask I u could write more parts where dean is being annoying and the other guys would always help her and defend her and make dean stop annoying her

absolutely!! I'm glad you liked it!! I enjoy writing these types of cute/funny stories.

Dean is one of the clingiest people your have ever met. He constantly hangs off of you, not being particularly picky in regards to manner in which he clings. He clings to your shoulders, your hands, even your feet. In a perfect world, he'd be able to lay with his head in your lap or cushioned against your breasts with your fingernails scratching his scalp all of the time. Alas, that was not an option.

"Dean," You grumbled, your textbook hovering over his blond head that lays in your lap. "I need to study."

Dean peeked up at you, one eye narrowly opening dramatically. He was pretending to be asleep, but not very well. Truly, the dead weight of his giant frame was the only thing preventing you from rolling him off your lap.

"Dean." Your tone was warning, making him open his eyes further.

He pretended to yawn and stretch, a smug look on his face. "Sorry, babe. I'm just so tired."

You roll your eyes. "Uh huh," You attempt to move your legs but Dean doesn't move. "Dean!" You shout, close to using the open textbook as a weapon.

Garrett walked through the living area, heading for the kitchen. "Damn, Dean. I've never heard a girl whine your name with so much anger before."

"First time for everything!" Dean quips, lifting his head to grin at his friend.

In that moment, you catch Garrett's eye. He winks at you, gesturing to Dean. You grin mischievously, realizing he was distracting Dean on purpose.

With a firm push, Dean tumbles to ground. He groans like an old man as you and Garrett laugh. You hop up, hurrying to escape the couch and plop onto one of the stools at the counter before Dean could peel himself off the floor.

As gets up, his arms outstretched to cling to a different part of your body, Garrett catches one of his arms by the bicep.

"You know what, Dean," Garret starts, a twinkle in his dark eyes. "I think we need your help outside."

"With what?" Dean asks, easily distracted like a puppy with a toy.

"You'll see." Garrett remarks, steering his friend out the backdoor. He glances back mouthing, "You owe me."

[rougeleclerc]

The way Dean reacts the instant he realizes like Allie is going to talk to her... I NEED THIS MAN!!!