Cl16 n1 girl

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.

--

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

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"

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

© boyfiefleur | all rights reserved.

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."

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"

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.