f - fluff | a - angst | 18+ - nsfw | s - suggestive | hc - hurt/comfort | cr - crack | tw - trigger warning
— last updated : 07/19/26
✎ Allie Hayes
i’m so obsessed with your ex — s
No, you’re not obsessed with Allie Hayes—and you’re definitely not feeling inferior. It’s just… you can’t help but compare yourself to her, especially because Dean was so enamored with her. Who wouldn’t, really? | 1.09k words
nobody but us, bodies together — 18+
“Rough practice?” You ask, reaching out to Dean as he practically slams the bedroom door open, slamming it back closed behind him. You reach a hand out, tugging the hem of his shirt slightly to let him fall onto the bed between you and Allie. “You wouldn’t want to know,” he growls, his eyes darkening with that familiar fiery gaze. | 1.7k words
‘cause when the stars align, you might bring the beast out — 18+
Dean’s eyes finally drift over to you, and he smirks. That wordless expression conveys all he wants you to hear—that could have been you on his lap if only you weren’t such a brat, pissing him off, stressing Allie out. | 1.3k words
✎ Dean di Laurentis
it’s time to lose your mind and let the crazy out — s
It’s one thing to rile you up—after all, you get riled up rather easily—but to piss Dean off is another. Dean—your voice of reason with the patience of a saint when it comes to you—is different when he is triggered, especially when it involves you. | 1.4k words
tell me where you’re hiding your voodoo doll ‘cause i can’t control myself — f, cr
He barely knows you, so why does he feel so strongly for you? It’s not love (yet), but maybe it’s something dangerously close—no, he barely knows you. It should not be possible to like you like that. | 3k words
nobody but us, bodies together — 18+
“Rough practice?” You ask, reaching out to Dean as he practically slams the bedroom door open, slamming it back closed behind him. You reach a hand out, tugging the hem of his shirt slightly to let him fall onto the bed between you and Allie. “You wouldn’t want to know,” he growls, his eyes darkening with that familiar fiery gaze. | 1.7k words
‘cause when the stars align, you might bring the beast out — 18+
Dean’s eyes finally drift over to you, and he smirks. That wordless expression conveys all he wants you to hear—that could have been you on his lap if only you weren’t such a brat, pissing him off, stressing Allie out. | 1.3k words
you picked a dance with the devil and you lucked out — 18+ (to be uploaded)
“Relax,” he hums, stroking your skin gently. “Such a gorgeous girl—even more beautiful tonight. It’s a shame you had to be a bad girl, hm?” He wonders out loud. “Did you think you could get away with flirting with the waiter right in front of me? Think you can pull that stunt and end the night unscathed? Think you can be a brat and I will let you sleep it off?” | 1.05k
✎ Garrett Graham
suddenly i see — f, cr, slight hc
“I don’t think you do, baby.” He crawls closer, holding your face delicately in his large hands. “I’m not trying to humiliate you by revisiting your most embarrassing moments. I want you to understand where I’m coming from and why I say that you need to wear your glasses. Every time you tell me you’re fine, you end up squinting, rubbing your eyes, missing details unless you are standing close. I don’t want you to keep hurting when there’s something that can help.” | 2.6k words
know wherever you will be, so too shall i be — f, hc
Home really is where the heart is, he realizes as he finally looks at you—not from the tiny screen on his phone, not from the photos you send him throughout the days, not from the video calls you sneak in during your free time—as you stand right in front of him. | 4.3k words
like a fantasy in front of me, i know that something special’s going down — 18+
“May I?” He asks quietly, his voice deep and rough from lust, and you nod wordlessly. He groans into your mouth as his lips finally meet yours, his hands wandering around your skin over the fabric of your dress. “I’ve been wanting to do this since I saw you in this damn dress—been wanting to kiss you senseless, to fuck you in this very dress until your mind goes blank. That what you want, baby? To be fucked stupid?” | 2.2k words
spent a lifetime looking for somebody to give me love like you — f, hc (to be uploaded)
A lot of people know Garrett Graham as the burly, relentless captain of Briar U’s hockey team. They see the drive and the passion to chase after the puck, the goals he scores, the games he wins. But very few people know the man who softly, lovingly, patiently wakes at the ass crack of dawn to run you a bath, quietly change the sheets while humming his favorite song, and wash your clothes by hand for you without so much as a complaint. You think you’re by far the luckiest woman in the world to know this version of Garrett. | 1.1k words
✎ Hannah Wells
to be written — requests are closed!
✎ John Logan
say my name and everything just stops — a, hc
“Okay, baby.” His eyes never stray from your face—he can deal with everything else later. “Where do you want me?” He asks, and you know that it is his way of asking whether you are okay with him sitting with you. | 2.2k words
‘cause it’s real once everyone knows — a, hc
It was weird—your heart was shattered into a million pieces, and you couldn’t even turn to anyone because nobody knew. A part of you thought that since nobody else knew, then that might have meant that whatever it was between you was not real. | 4.5k words
you know i’ll be there when you call me, whether you like it or not — f
You love John Logan—the man who goes out of his way to make sure you are comfortable and safe, who will drive through terrible weather to pick you up from a night out, who drops everything to come fix something as simple as your door hinges creaking when you open them. You love John Logan, and he loves you. You know that because he always goes the extra mile to make sure you do. | 0.9k words
in a swirling day, you’ve given me a piece of happiness — tw, a, hc (to be uploaded)
Before everything escalates, you quickly grab your things and go straight for the front door with a quiet, rushed, “I’ll see you later,” to no one in particular. You do not stay long enough to witness the inevitable—or what you think is the inevitable. The heat of Logan’s anger, the raised voices, the tense emotions of the rest of the guys, and the growing certainty that you’ve somehow ruined everything have become too much for you to comprehend. | 1.3k words
✎ John Tucker
i’m floating around in ecstasy, so don’t stop me now — f, cr
“Of course she’s alive, dingus.” Allie rolls her eyes from beside him, snatching the phone from his hand, eliciting an offended, ‘Hey!’ from Dean, which she effectively ignores. “She had a wisdom tooth extraction, not an open heart surgery.” | 1.09k words
without saying anything, you are the only one who knows me — f
“Here, why don’t you eat some breakfast, darling?” He presents you the plate of the sandwich Logan had tried so hard to fight for. “Here is a sandwich for you, milady, no pickles, no onions, no mayo, no mustard, the crusts are cut off, and most importantly, the egg yolk is perfectly cooked.” | 0.4k words
like a fantasy in front of me, i know that something special’s going down | garrett graham
“May I?” He asks quietly, his voice deep and rough from lust, and you nod wordlessly. He groans into your mouth as his lips finally meet yours, his hands wandering around your skin over the fabric of your dress. “I’ve been wanting to do this since I saw you in this damn dress—been wanting to kiss you senseless, to fuck you in this very dress until your mind goes blank. That what you want, baby? To be fucked stupid?”
contents — 18+ content, fluff to smut, public sex, unprotected piv, degradation, brief fingering, dirty talk, there’s not much of a foreplay eueueue, reader wears a dress | word count — 2.2k | title — confident by justin bieber
request — what starts out as a picnic for yall ends up in picnic sex!!!! snacks and drinks pushed to the side as he fucks you on the iconic white and gingham blanket
gabby says — this is a repost from my old blog, @fictionallygabby. i have decided to start my blog all over, so please feel free to read here for the explanation.
gabby also says — reposting a fic as a compensation for the lack of updates until sunday :)
“Hi, I’m ready!” You grin as you exit your bedroom. Garrett is waiting on the couch in your living room, his eyes trained on his phone as he scrolls through Instagram.
He looks up from his screen when he hears your voice, and his eyes immediately trace your figure standing by the door of your room, wearing a floral sundress that hugs your frame just right. The color of your dress complements your skin almost perfectly, and he notices that it matches the color of his polo shirt. “Damn,” he whistles with a smirk on his lips as he finally looks back up at your face. “You think we can reschedule the picnic?” His tone is mostly joking—mostly.
“Babe!” You groan, glaring at your boyfriend, who is still sitting there with that cocky, infuriating, but attractive smirk. You nearly cave in—nearly fold under his heated gaze, but you stay strong, crossing your arms over your chest. You see how his eyes drop back to your chest at your gesture, and you smirk inwardly. “We’ve waited a week for this, Garrett, we cannot reschedule.”
“I was joking, baby.” He laughs quietly, stands from the couch, and walks towards you. He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you flush against him so suddenly you have no choice but to let your hands fall on his broad shoulders. “But I hope you know that your dress is doing wonders for your body,” he growls under his breath, his lips finding the corner of your mouth.
“Thanks, but we have to go.” You giggle as he digs his face into your neck stubbornly. “Babe, we have to go before it gets too hot.”
“It’s so hot in here already,” he mumbles into your skin, pressing featherlight kisses everywhere he can reach.
“Garrett,” you whine, but you don’t push him away. Your fingers tighten against his shoulders, nails digging into his skin through the tight-fitting polo shirt he’s got on. “We’ve got to go. I’ve been waiting for this for days.”
He chuckles, kissing your neck one last time before pulling away. “We’re going, baby.”
“Finally!” You grin excitedly. “Have we gotten everything?” You eye the basket on the coffee table. “Food, drinks, dessert, the blanket—Gare, we can’t forget the blanket.”
“They’re all packed and ready to go, baby, don’t worry about them,” he says, his smirk softening into a smile as he keeps his gaze on your face.
“Are you sure? The lake is about an hour away—we can’t afford to forget something.”
He gently dabs the sweat forming on your brow with a facial tissue from a pack he had apparently been carrying in his pocket. “We’ve got them, sweetheart. Don’t worry about them, okay? I’ll handle everything,” he says, letting you keep the pack of tissues in your bag.
“Okay.” You nod slowly. It’s not that you do not trust your man, but you have been looking forward to this day for a week—maybe more—and it has to be perfect. Everything has to be planned accordingly beforehand. “I’m sorry I’m such a mess over this.”
“You’re allowed to be excited, baby, and if you go a little crazy, then that just means you care.” He smiles at you. He so badly wants to kiss you breathless until every negative thought is banished from your head, but he knows you have spent time on your makeup, and he is not about to ruin that for you, so he settles with a sweet smile. “It’s really sweet. You’re sweet, and I love you.”
The drive to the lakeside park takes about forty-five minutes, and for the whole time, Garrett does not keep his hands off you. His hand keeps finding your thigh throughout the drive—thank the heavens for automatic cars—stroking and squeezing the fat of your thigh over the fabric of your dress.
When you finally arrive, he parks his jeep near the spot you had agreed on earlier. He does not immediately kill the engine; instead, he keeps the air conditioning unit turned on. “Stay here while I set up, baby,” he murmurs with a quick kiss to your cheek. He exits the car and sets up outside, while you watch as his polo shirt rides up every time he moves and the fabric tightens around his bicep deliciously.
By the time he finishes, he has sweat dripping down his face. Without thinking, he raises his shirt to wipe at his sweat, revealing his toned stomach, down to his v-line that trails beneath his low-slung chino shorts.
You are too busy staring at Garrett to realize that he has started walking towards the jeep, and by the time he opens your door, your eyes are still trained on him.
He chuckles softly at your reaction, reaching out to cup your cheek affectionately to ease you back to reality. “Where’s your head at right now, gorgeous?” he whispers, his voice slightly teasing and rough. “Come back to me, baby.”
Your breath hitches as you snap out of your hot-boyfriend-induced trance—Garrett is closer than you have anticipated, and one small move has your lips pressed against his.
His grin widens, his eyes darkening as they drop to your lips, but you pull away before he can lean in any further.
“No, Gare, we have a picnic to attend to.”
Your words make him groan. “Baby, you’re killing me here, but fine. I’ll back off—for now.”
You spend the next hour eating and chatting—well, you are talking while he listens, responding when the conversation calls for it, but most of the time, his eyes are staring into yours as you talk.
“I can’t believe you tried to postpone this,” you say as you pluck a grape from the bunch. “Gare, I love you so much, but I would have actually broken up with you.” You joke, and he gasps, mocking offense.
“Excuse me? You would have done the same thing if you were in my position,” he says, flicking your forehead as gently as possible. “You are being such a brat right now, you know that?”
“I have every reason to be a brat.” You laugh. “I just got what I want—I’m having the best picnic with my silly boyfriend who does not let me lift a single finger. I’m eating good food in a great place. You’re spoiling me, Garrett Graham, so don’t blame me for being a brat.”
“Wow, okay.” He bursts into laughter. “Maybe we should have just stayed home. If I knew you were going to be this insufferable, we wouldn’t have left your dorm room.”
“Whatever, dick.”
“Don’t ‘whatever, dick’ me right now, you spoiled brat.” He stands, walks toward you, and easily throws you over his shoulder, careful not to let your dress ride up. “We’re going home right now. The picnic is over.”
“Gare!” You squeal and burst into laughter, swatting his back as you dangle from his shoulder. “Baby, I’m sorry, please put me down!”
He chuckles before sitting you back down on the blanket gently. He smiles at you, his eyes twinkling as he pecks the corner of your mouth, still mindful of the makeup you have left on your face.
Later on, there is a lull in the atmosphere as soon as you finish putting everything away after eating. You are silently gazing into the calm water of the lake, while Garrett has his eyes on you.
“It’s so beautiful here,” you murmur, in awe of what you are seeing.
“Yeah,” Garrett whispers back, his eyes still focused on your face. “Yeah, it is.”
You have an inkling that he is not talking about the same view you are focused on, so you tilt your head, diverting your attention to him, and you are right. He has not taken his eyes off you for the past several minutes you had been looking around the place.
“You’re staring.” You chuckle, but he does not return the gesture. He instead leans closer until his lips are only a hairsbreadth from yours, his darkened eyes dropping to your slightly parted lips.
“May I?” He asks quietly, his voice deep and rough from lust, and you nod wordlessly. He groans into your mouth as his lips finally meet yours, his hands wandering around your skin over the fabric of your dress. “I’ve been wanting to do this since I saw you in this damn dress—been wanting to kiss you senseless, to fuck you in this very dress until your mind goes blank. That what you want, baby? To be fucked stupid?”
“Yes,” you whimper against his lips softly, but he’s not having it.
One of his hands trails up from your torso to your chin, squeezing firmly as he pulls away from your mouth. He laughs darkly at the sight of your smudged gloss all over your lips. “You’re going to need to speak louder than that if you want to get what you want, baby.” He grins when you whine, squirming on the blanket. “What? Is your pretty little head all empty now? But all I did was kiss you,” he coos mockingly, his other hand crawling beneath your sundress. “Your pussy’s all wet, baby, holy shit.” He laughs as his fingers nudge your damp underwear. “You’re soaking your panties, gorgeous.”
“Gare,” you whine, your hips unconsciously bucking against his hand. “Please.”
“You’re already humping my hand, and I haven’t even done anything.” He grins, his hand moving from your chin to wrap around your throat loosely. “Please what, baby? Have you lost your manners over the simplest touch?”
“Please touch me.” You gasp when he swipes your panties to the side, his finger immediately finding your clit.
“Like this, baby?” He whispers into your skin, slipping a finger inside you. He pumps it slowly into your hole, his eyes fixed on your face—his shorts tightening as your face twists and contorts into an intense expression of pure pleasure. He inserts another finger into you, curling them just right to nudge that spot inside, but it’s still not enough.
“More,” you whine, “I need more. Please, Gare. I need you to fuck me.”
“Aw, baby, all you had to do was ask.” He slips his fingers out of you, laying you gently on your back. His hand crawls back under your dress to slide your panties down your legs, before slotting himself between them. He raises the skirt of your dress, letting the fabric bunch around your hips. He unbuttons his chinos, pushing them down along with his boxers enough to free his cock.
You watch with bated breath as he strokes his cock, and he immediately notices your stare.
“Like what you see, pretty?” He grins, slapping his hard dick against your throbbing clit, making you twitch in his hold, and he laughs. He gently maneuvers your legs over his shoulder, your hips raising slightly. His cock is now lined with your hole, but his eyes soften ever so slightly as he gazes down at you. “Are you absolutely sure you want this? We can stop right now, baby.”
You roll your eyes at his words. “Garrett Graham, if you don’t fuck me right now, I will—” You don’t get to finish your statement as he pushes into you in one thrust, knocking a choked up moan out of your throat, while he groans audibly above you. “Fuck, baby.” You gasp as you look into his eyes now devoid of any softness. “God, you’re so fucking big.”
“Yeah?” He is breathless as he leans down and braces his forearms on either side of your head, nearly folding you in half. He starts thrusting shallowly, letting you adjust to his size. You meet his movements with an upward force, and he laughs under his breath. “My impatient girl.” He drives his hips all the way, pinning your hips down on the blanket.
“Gare, please move.” You squirm beneath him anyway, your nails digging into his back. Your legs are already trembling in the air, and he has not even done much yet. “Please, I’ve been so good.”
“Oh, have you?” He teases you with a few more shallow movements. “Have you been a good girl?”
“Yes! I’ve been such a good girl for you, baby, please, please fuck me.”
He wordlessly leans back, pulling away from you. He wraps his thick arms around your legs, and starts thrusting into you, pulling out until only his tip remains inside you just to push back all the way in. He pauses for a second to readjust himself, but before you can whine, he is thrusting back into you from a different angle. He is driving straight into that spongy spot inside you, and he knows it.
“Fuck, you just got tighter, baby,” he *whimpers above you, his hips stuttering slightly. “You’re choking my dick, sweetheart. Are you close? I know you are.” He pants, thrusting harder into you.
You can’t do anything but let out nearly pornographic sounds as your thighs tremble even harder around his hips. “Gare!” You scream and your cunt starts quivering.
“You’re right there, baby,” he groans, “Come for me, baby. Milk my cock just like that.”
You finally come with a sob, and he continues thrusting into you, letting you ride your orgasm, before he pushes all the way into you, groaning as he comes.
Just as you thought he would pull out, he manhandles you into sitting on his lap, his cock still nestled inside your pulsing walls.
“If you think we’re done, you’re wrong,” he whispers into your ear as he starts thrusting upwards. “We have the whole day to ourselves, baby. We’re far from over.”
say my name and everything just stops | john logan
“Okay, baby.” His eyes never stray from your face—he can deal with everything else later. “Where do you want me?” He asks, and you know that it is his way of asking whether you are okay with him sitting with you.
contents — protective logan, protective friends too <3, hurt/comfort, harassment (not by main characters), misogynistic behavior, brief sexual implication, very brief mention of aaron delaney | word count — 2.2k | title — dress by taylor swift
request — Hello! If you have the time could you do a loganxreader where they go plus the group going out and maybe some players from other team start to make you unconfortable and Logan protects you and the after that, the super cute and caring logan
gabby says — i love protective logan so i really loved writing this. i hope you love this just as much, anon!! 🫶🏼
“Damn.” Logan whistles as soon as you step out of his room after changing. He pushes off the wall, and his hands instinctively find your waist, skimming the dress appreciatively. “You look absolutely gorgeous, sweetheart. The color looks perfect on you.”
“Thank you.” You smile bashfully up at him, placing your hands on his shoulders as he pulls you closer. “Is it not too short? Does it not bother you?”
“The length is perfect as long as you are comfortable wearing it,” he says softly, “And no, I am not bothered, and I will never be. You can wear whatever you want, whenever you want to, baby. You look gorgeous in anything, I can assure you that.” His eyes now have that look in them, but you quickly shut it down, knowing where it’s going.
“Nope.” You laugh, pushing his face away playfully. “We’re going out, baby, so maybe after the club?” You grin. “And also, you’re not going to tell me I can wear whatever I want because you can fight?”
“Sweetheart, I am a six-foot hockey player—I can bodycheck someone without blinking if they even look at you wrong, but I’m sure that’s not what you want to hear from me,” he murmurs, looking into your eyes.
“You’re right, it’s not.” You can’t help but feel moved by how much Logan knows and understands you. “But anyway, that’s enough softness for tonight. I need to drink and dance the night away!” You pull away and take Logan’s hand, tugging him towards the stairs.
“Easy, baby, we’ll get there.” Your boyfriend laughs behind you, stroking the back of your hand with his thumb soothingly.
“I know, but it’s almost ten, so we have to get there now.”
“Alright, I’m sorry.”
—
It’s half-past eleven when you start feeling the buzz from the alcohol grow stronger. You, Hannah, Allie, and Dean are on the dance floor, while Logan, Garrett, Tucker, and Beau are in the booth you and the group had reserved for tonight.
You are engaged in a dance battle with Dean—who is absolutely winning—when it happens.
“Damn, Di Laurentis!” You whistle as Dean outdances the three of you. “What did your mother feed you?”
“I did eat a lot of those corn flakes as a kid—they were all I ate for, I think, a year.” He laughs when you all gape at him.
“Criminal.”
“Is Lori okay after raising a barbarian?”
“Hey!”
You watch as Logan excuses himself from the booth to walk over to the bar, and with the three of your friends bickering, you barely notice the unfamiliar man sliding into the small space beside you, nearly pressing himself against you. None of you thought badly of it at first—the dance floor had just gotten more crowded, so you simply shift closer to your group to give the man some more space.
But he clearly has other plans.
He moves even closer to you, and that is when the fun around you dies down. You fidget uncomfortably, Hannah’s smile fades instantly, Allie turns to glare at the seemingly unsuspecting man trying to press himself up against you, and Dean moves between you and the unfamiliar person, effectively shielding you and the girls away from the guy. He is facing the man, his imposing presence making him seem larger than the stranger despite their similar height.
“Hey, dude—” The guy says, but Dean cuts him off swiftly.
“Walk away, man,” Dean says calmly. “The club is big enough for you to be in someone’s personal space like this.”
“Come on, I was just trying to—”
“Nope.” Dean crosses his arms, unflinching as the man tries to reason his way out of the mess he created—or into your pants, probably. “She clearly looks uncomfortable. Just walk away, and we’ll have no problem here.”
“Whatever,” the guy grumbles, “She’s not worth it anyway.”
Your friends’ brows raise at his words, but they do not say anything, not wanting to escalate the situation.
You wait until the grade-A asshole is out of earshot before speaking, “Guys, I’m gonna go back to the booth.”
They all turn their heads to you, smiling at you with sympathy.
“I will too,” Hannah says, slipping her hand into yours.
“Han, you don’t have to,” you say, squeezing her hand gratefully. “You guys stay here if you want to. I’m okay, I promise.”
“No, you’re all good, babe,” Allie says, pulling Dean off the dance floor to walk back with you and Hannah. “It’s getting too crowded in there anyway.”
“Okay, but can we please not make a big deal out of this? It’s all handled anyway. I just don’t want to spoil the rest of the night,” you say, your clammy hand still in Hannah’s warm, grounding grip.
“You know you’re going to have to tell Logan, right?” Dean notes, uncharacteristically soft.
“I know, I know.” You nod. “But give me time to process, please?”
Your friends reluctantly agree, and as you walk back to your table, they try their hardest to stay calm and act as if nothing happened. Thankfully, the rest of your group see nothing out of the ordinary.
You keep replaying that encounter in your head. Every time you think about it, you feel like you should have done more—maybe stepped away, spoke up instead of letting your friends deal with your problem, or did literally anything other than freeze. You are grateful that Dean and your girls were there with you, but you could not help but let your mind drift to what could have happened if you were alone.
Logan, having gone back from the bar holding a tray of glasses filled with water, immediately notices your glum expression—a stark contrast to the buzzed, giddy expression you had when you left the booth to dance. He slides into the booth beside you after putting the tray down on the table and places a grounding hand on your thigh. “You okay?” He leans close enough that only you can hear. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing, baby,” you mumble, nuzzling your face into his shoulder. “Just tired.”
He stays silent for a few beats, his hand still stroking your thigh soothingly. “Are you sure?” He asks.
You hesitate. Part of you wants to brush it off and put it all behind you, but the other part of you feels like he deserves to know. Ultimately, you decide to be honest, so you pick your head up to look at Logan. “There was this guy on the dance floor… well, he was, like, right up against me, so that made me uncomfortable.” Your words have your friends turning to you, alarmed, while your boyfriend’s grip tightens on your thigh—not enough to hurt, but enough to have you saying, “But it’s all good. Dean handled it, and he’s gone.”
“Okay, baby.” His eyes never stray from your face—he can deal with everything else later. “Where do you want me?” He asks, and you know that it is his way of asking whether you are okay with him sitting with you.
“Right here,” you murmur, shifting closer.
“Alright, sweetheart,” he hums, moving away briefly to remove his jacket and drape it over your shoulders. He hands you the last glass of water from the tray—you end up drinking the entire glass once you realize how thirsty you have been. He places the glass back on the tray and leans back to wrap his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close to him.
You stay wrapped up in his jacket and his arms for about twenty minutes, while your friends return to their respective conversations after making sure you are alright. Then you start pulling away from Logan, and he automatically follows you, but you stop him. “I’m okay, babe, I just need to get some water.”
“I’ll get it for you.”
“No, please let me. You’ve done enough already, plus I need to stretch my legs for a bit,” you say as you stand.
He reluctantly lets you go alone, but he keeps a careful eye on you.
Meanwhile, your gaze is fixed on the bartender as he attends to another customer, so you do not notice the man from earlier standing beside you by the bar.
“Hey,” he drawls, and you freeze as you recognize his voice, a chill running through your spine. “Finally got you alone, huh? Your boytoy finally let you out of his sight?”
“He’s my friend,” you say weakly, willing the bartender to finish with the other customer faster and turn to you, but alas, the position you are in does not look compromising from the outside—just a woman looking nervous beside an attractive man. Nothing suspicious, nothing dangerous, but in reality, it’s anything but harmless.
“Your friend, huh?” He chuckles, leaning closer to you. “That’s what they all say, sweetheart. Now, how many of those boys have you fucked yet?” He nods towards your table.
You decide that you are not that thirsty anyway, and abandon your hunt for a glass of water completely. You push off the bar with a quiet, “Excuse me.” You hope he will just drop it and leave you alone, but you quickly learn that hope is a dangerous thing to hold on to during times like this.
“You look a little tense, beautiful. Why don’t you smile a little for me?” He drawls from behind you, making sure to keep his distance so as not to look too suspicious.
However, Logan catches on to what is happening as soon as you are close enough that he sees the panicked expression on your face, and he is on his feet to meet you halfway. He had been watching you since you stood from the booth earlier, but he had chalked up the tension in your posture while standing at the bar to the traces of panic and discomfort left behind by your encounter not even an hour prior.
“John,” you call out to him, your voice tinged with a deep sense of discomfort, and Logan’s heart drops almost violently, but he willed himself to stay calm for you as he lets you step behind him.
Your friends spring into action—Hannah and Allie gently pull you into the booth, while the guys stand behind Logan.
“May we help you with something, buddy?” Logan asks, stepping closer to the other man.
“No, I—” He stammers, your group’s sharp gazes making him feel small. “I didn’t know she was yours.”
“Huh,” Logan wonders aloud, “Why does it matter who someone is with for you to respect their boundaries?”
“Look, I’m sorry.” The guy raises his arms in surrender. “It was all just a misunderstanding, and I’d gladly apologize to your girl.”
“Don’t you think it’s a little too late for apologies, bud?” Dean chimes in from his place. “We’ve told you to cut your shit earlier, but you still didn’t listen. I think it’s time for a conversation, dude, just a man-to-man conversation. No big deal.” He shrugs.
“Hey, aren’t you the dude from Eastwood?” Beau pops in casually, and the guy pales.
Of course he knows who they are—he had seen Garrett Graham pummel Aaron Delaney into the ice for messing with his girl, so he knows how these men get when it comes to their women.
“Eastwood, eh?” Tucker grins wolfishly, mirroring Dean’s and Garrett’s expressions, while Logan remains completely serious.
“What a great coincidence, buddy!” Dean claps the guy on his back rather roughly.
“It’ll be a fun game for us, you think so?” Garrett teases, still grinning, while the guy does nothing but stand there awkwardly—and rather weakly.
“Baby, do you want this guy’s apology?” Logan turns to you, his eyes softening, but his expression quickly hardens back when you shake your head. He turns back to the guy. “It’s settled then. I’ll see you on the ice, buddy.”
“If he ends up playing,” Beau quips. “Dude’s been benched since the start of the season. Guess that’s both his damnation and his saving grace.”
Before anyone else can speak, the guy quickly walks away with a shameful expression on his face.
Once he is gone, your friends leave you and Logan to give you some privacy.
Your boyfriend slides into the booth beside you. “Hey,” he murmurs, hooking his pinky with yours on your lap—he is not sure how much skinship you can take right now. “I’m sorry, angel.”
“Why are you apologizing?” You ask quietly, taking his hand into yours. “It wasn’t your fault. You defended me, even.”
“Bare minimum,” he says, offering a hand as he stands, “Wanna get out of this place? I think the rest of us are ready to leave too.”
“Yes please.” You nod, taking his hand. “Thank you again for defending me.”
“I am hating your exes even more now,” he says, half-joking.
“What a weird turn of conversation, babe.”
“No, seriously. They made you feel like you had to thank me for standing up for you,” he says, all worked up now. “That’s not even the bare minimum.”
“Babe, babe.” You smile softly, squeezing his hand. “I couldn’t care less about them, okay? You’re undoing every expectation I have of love by simply being you, and I love you for that.”
No, you’re not obsessed with Allie Hayes—and you’re definitely not feeling inferior. It’s just… you can’t help but compare yourself to her, especially because Dean was so enamored with her. Who wouldn’t, really?
contents — profanities, brief smut scenes, suggestive, no dialogues lol this is almost completely descriptive, not proofread | word count — 1.09k | title — obsessed by olivia rodrigo
gabby says — this is a repost from my old blog, @fictionallygabby. i have decided to start my blog all over, so please feel free to read here for the explanation.
Being in a casual relationship—if you can even call it that—with Dean di Laurentis after his breakup with the Allie Hayes is a fucking feat in itself.
Having broken up for reasons between only the two of them, you somehow feel like a placeholder, but not really at the same time. After all, who can replace Allie Hayes—the one with perfect lips, perfect hips, the life of every party? Exactly.
No, you’re not obsessed with Allie Hayes—and you’re definitely not feeling inferior. It’s just… you can’t help but compare yourself to her, especially because Dean was so enamored with her. Who wouldn’t, really?
The outspoken political science major who just happens to be one of the most popular players of Briar U’s hockey team suddenly breaks up with the theater department’s perfect angel after a year of a very public relationship—and possibly more, according to Dean di Laurentis himself.
And then there was you.
It does not help that Di Laurentis is a charming man who gets what he wants when he wants it, and he apparently wanted you two weeks after the infamous breakup. It does not help that you are easily charmed by a man who knows what he wants. It does not help that the reasons for the breakup are not for public knowledge. It does not help that Dean is very open about his affection towards you—in and out of his bedroom. It does not help that it’s only been two weeks since he parted ways with Allie. It does not help that Allie is not upset with you or Dean anyways. It does not help—
Absolutely nothing is helping your case here. The turns of events are making you look like a homewrecker who can’t keep it in her pants, and yet…
And yet you do not hear a single negative word about you from Allie, which is absurd—not because you want her to hate you. She should hate you, but she does not, which is totally fucking nuts.
She smiles at you in passing, she greets you by your name, she looks you in the eye when you talk, and holy fuck, she knows when your classes end during her shifts and knows your usual order at Malone’s.
She does not seem to give a flying fuck that you’re hooking up with her ex-boyfriend not even a month after the breakup, unlike the entirety of Briar U apparently.
Okay, fuck, you are obsessed with Allie Hayes, and it’s unreasonable to be. It’s just that Dean takes such good care of you—before, during and after sex—that you can’t help but wonder if he was that way with Allie too, especially when you lie on the side of his bed she surely lied on before.
You can’t help but wonder, especially when Dean grunts a hot, little—
“Fuck, Allie,”
—into your ear as his hips jerk erratically against your skin. It makes you wonder about Allie—how she is in bed, how she sounds, how she looks.
He does not seem to notice his little slip up, but he notices the way you come harder than usual—your teeth leaving deeper, darker marks into his skin to muffle the sounds you make.
He does not say anything about that—not when he is pulling out of you, not when he is cleaning you up, and definitely not when he is collapsing beside you on his bed. You talk about anything and everything that does not even remotely relate to Allie Hayes, yet your mind seems to drift off to the thoughts of the very woman you are supposed to avoid thinking about, not when her ex-boyfriend has just fucked you on his bed—on her side. You think you should probably be upset—at Dean, or maybe even at Allie. You should probably ask why it is that her name is on his tongue—and his head. But instead, you forget about that—and think about her.
You lie awake that night for hours, staring up at his ceiling. It’s her name on your mind when sleep finally takes over, and it’s her name you’re thinking of the moment you regain consciousness the next morning.
She does not escape your head for a second, even as you pick up your soiled clothes from the floor of Dean’s bedroom, not when you’re walking back to your dorm wearing Dean’s clothes, not when you take a shower almost absentmindedly, not when you sit in class for three hours.
You think you’re going crazy.
And she certainly does not leave your mind when you pass her by in the hallway, catching a whiff of the sweet, gentle smell of her perfume. Your whole body feels like a live wire as her arm brushes yours as you walk past each other, and then your mouth acts before your brain can even catch up to the fact that you have just seen your hookup’s ex-girlfriend, whom you are definitely not obsessed about.
You turn just in time, calling out to her, and she does not ignore you, which does not help. She turns to face you fully, her bright eyes finding yours, her lips curled up into a sweet, sweet smile.
You’re definitely going crazy.
Later that night, you find yourself sitting across from Allie in a bar. You find yourself talking about anything and everything, the conversation flowing surprisingly naturally between you—two women pitted against each other by basically the whole campus. You find yourself interested as she retells the story of her own breakup. You find it surprising when she reveals that she swings the other way, which has caused the very healthy, very mature breakup between two people who have never really liked each other romantically beyond the hot sex and the fun—one who likes the same sex, one who cannot commit to save his life.
And God, she learns about you—she listens intently, her bright eyes trained on you, she remembers. You find her inching towards you as the bar fills with more people, and eventually louder sounds.
You later find yourself leaving the bar with her, walking out in the crisp night air after she invites you into their empty dorm room. You find yourself pressed against the closed door of her room, your lips locked and your hot breath mixing with hers.
You are obsessed with Allie Hayes, but not in the way either of you initially thought.
And when Dean sees you together in the party, he only laughs freely and claps your shoulder as he says, “Congratulations on figuring your shit out, champ.”
tell me where you’re hiding your voodoo doll ‘cause i can’t control myself | dean di laurentis
He barely knows you, so why does he feel so strongly for you? It’s not love (yet), but maybe it’s something dangerously close—no, he barely knows you. It should not be possible to like you like that.
contents — told in dean’s pov, just dean being absolutely down bad | word count — 3k | title — voodoo doll by 5 seconds of summer
gabby says — this is a repost from my old blog, @fictionallygabby. i have decided to start my blog all over, so please feel free to read here for the explanation.
Dean di Laurentis—who thinks he knows every woman in Briar, considering he had… made an acquaintance with about half of them—is first made aware of your existence at a block party. After three years in Briar University, he only knows about you—at a stupid block party, no less.
He approaches you with his usual charming smile that disarms women—and men—and tears even the highest walls down. You see, the key word this time is usually. Really, he should have known that there is a reason why he is only finding out about you now instead of three years ago during freshman orientation where about a third of the freshman class had thrown themselves at his feet, eager to get to know him.
“Hey.” He grins easily, holding a hand out for you to shake. “Dean di Laurentis, but I’m sure you know about me.”
Real smooth, di Laurentis, real fucking smooth. Holy shit, did he suddenly forget how to talk to women that he fumbles that badly? Oh, this is bad, he thinks, he can’t have himself failing when he has just found who he (very irrationally) thinks is the love of his life.
And while Dean is too busy having an internal conflict, you give him a once over before walking away with a snicker, leaving him standing there alone, with his hand still outstretched.
Only when his friends clap his back does he realize that you are no longer in front of him and are nowhere to be found. Great. He meets the love of his life and loses her in under ten minutes.
He leaves the party grounds later that night with you still in his head. His heart skips a beat every time he remembers the color of your eyes, the slope of your nose, and the curve of your lips—which is silly because he had literally *just met you, and he does not even feel this way about sorority girls he has known for years, or ex-hookups he sees around the campus. Hell, he does not even know your name. All he knows is that you are gorgeous and breathtaking and stunning and beautiful and captivating and mesmerizing and—
Oh.
He had just described you in more than two words that did not include hot and sexy.
Dean di Laurentis is completely, utterly, totally, absolutely fucked.
—
Dean, to his utmost delight *and horror, sees you again after a week—at another fucking party. Why is this a recurring theme in his life right now?
You step into the off-campus hockey house wearing an outfit that is so simple yet so elegant, especially on you. As soon as you step in, everyone else looks underdressed in his eyes, including himself.
He forces himself out of his thoughts with a vigorous shake of his head. He starts building his confidence and charm—which is ridiculous because he is Dean fucking di Laurentis, one of Briar U’s most sought-after bachelors. Why the fuck does he need to build his confidence any more? He is confident, he is charming, he is attractive, he is calm, he is cool, he is not fucking this up for the second time.
At one point during his self-affirmation, you walk past him. He catches a whiff of your perfume—faint, fleeting, but *there—and freezes up like an idiot. Of fucking course.
It is only when you are far enough for you not to hear him does he snap out of his trance, feeling like an absolute wreck. Instead of walking over to you and striking a conversation like a normal human being, he watches you from across the room, his heart beating like crazy even though you had done nothing but exist.
He watches as you chat with your friends and laugh freely, fetch yourself some drinks, and rock slightly to the beat of the music. He wants so badly to talk to you, make you laugh, refill your drinks for you, dance with you like there is no one else in the room, but every time he even *thinks of standing within three feet away from you, he chickens out—something he never thought was possible. Dean di Laurentis, the very epitome of a ladies’ man, chickening out? That will sound impossible, no matter who you ask, so why is it happening now?
He barely knows you, so why does he feel so strongly for you? It’s not love (yet), but maybe it’s something dangerously close—no, he barely knows you. It should not be possible to like you like that.
—
The next time Dean sees you is in an academic setting—a symposium on international relations and global politics. Thank fuck because he can surely strike up an intelligent conversation with you, unlike in parties, where he comes across as nothing but a dumb jock or a dumb blond—or even worse, a dumb blond jock.
He grins to himself, and walks over to where you and your friend (presumably) are sitting—the seat beside you is conveniently empty. He does not immediately take a seat; instead, he stands in front of the empty spot, perched adjacent to you with a hand outstretched.
“Hi,” he says in a slightly pitched voice, and immediately cringes inwardly, because Dean fucking di Laurentis does not say hi like that. “Sorry, *hey.” Even worse—why did he have to deepen his voice like that? It sounded more like a kid imitating his father’s voice more than anything.
He wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole—with not a single strand of hair left anywhere—when you pause your conversation with your friend—who he now recognizes as a campus journalist named Charlotte—to turn and look at him. Although there is amusement dancing in your eyes when your eyes trail down to his outstretched hand, you don’t keep him waiting for long.
You shake his hand briefly, and he thinks he can die happily now that he’s held your hand—even if it was just a short moment. Your hand is smoother than his hand that’s calloused from gripping hockey sticks for practically his whole life. He does not really know what you do with your hands, but he wants to find out, just like how he wants to know everything about you.
Then you state your name, your tone casual—nothing special, but he feels like dying then coming back to life from just a literal second of you saying your name.
“Hi, Dean,” he says with a dopey, not-very-him smile on his face. He quickly realizes that he had just said that in a completely wrong way. “I mean, hi. Dean—like hi, I'm Dean. Not like hi, you're Dean. I'm Dean di Laurentis, and I should probably stop talking now,” he says, all in one breath, his brain spiraling with every word that comes out of his mouth. He feels like a 12-year-old boy who runs away at the sight of women, which he's not, obviously. He's a 21-year-old man—a six-foot-something hockey defenseman, a very loud and proud supporter of women’s rights and wrongs who's got himself acquainted with quite a number of women, but here he is: blushing and stuttering like a complete idiot.
“I know who you are, Dean di Laurentis.” You look absolutely, drop dead gorgeous, even with an amused smirk—especially with an amused smirk.
“You do?” He can’t help the hopeful look and tone, but he quickly catches himself. He clears his throat and straightens his face as nonchalantly as possible. “I mean, yeah, a lot of people do—know me, I mean.”
“We know that too, Dean di Laurentis.” You chuckle softly, and he feels like he is in heaven.
“You don’t have to call me by my whole name, you know? You can just call me Dean,” he says, “Or anything you’d like, really.”
“That is duly noted, Dean.”
“Say, Dean, what are you doing here?” Charlotte interrupts as gently as she can possibly do, “I mean, no offense, but considering you’re a PolSci student, and this is a symposium on child psychology…”
“Oh shit, for real?” He looks around, and sees the LED wall on the platform displaying an entirely different topic than what he originally signed up for. “Fuck, sorry, I, uh, I got lost. I mean, I got the rooms mixed up, obviously. I’ll… see you around?”
“I’ll see you around, Dean.” You smile, and he feels like he has just died, gone to heaven, and then gone back to life.
He is absolutely, completely, entirely disarmed by just your smile, but he at least knows your name now.
—
The fourth time Dean sees you is during lunch at Malone’s. Puck bunnies surround them and their table, flirting and giggling and twirling strands of their hair around their fingers. Normally, Dean would have flirted back—maybe he would have invited them over to the hockey house after lunch, or invited them into the restroom for a quick one.
But Dean is not himself—he hasn’t been for a week now—not since the *accidental encounter with you in the lecture hall. He does not believe in fate, but he thinks he might after that run-in with you.
After those few, special minutes in the hall, Dean found himself walking towards the *actual venue of the symposium he had signed up for extra credit. He hadn’t listened—he immediately pulled up Charlotte’s profile on Instagram, and went through all of her 1,978 followers to look for you. He hadn’t been successful in the first hour of the symposium, and so he goes through your other friends’ (again, presumably) profiles: Emmett and Ivy from the block party, Megan and Bridget from the house party.
He had somehow found you after about two hours, and debated whether or not to send you a follow request after another hour.
You had accepted his request just a few hours prior.
So here he is, going through your Instagram profile. He probably has all 9 of your posts memorized by heart, and he is scrolling through them for what feels like the first time for him, but it has been at least three hours for the rest of the world.
“Dean,” a puck bunny—Ashley, if he remembers correctly—purrs beside him, running her perfectly manicured nail down his arm slowly. “What’s got you so distracted, gorgeous? Are you not enjoying this?”
He reluctantly looks up from the screen of his phone—he does not even bother to turn it off as he forces his gaze towards Ashley. He is about to respond when the bell above the door jingles. He does not know what compelled him to look over, but he’s glad he did, because walking into the diner is you.
You are wearing a simple shirt with a pair of washed jeans, as well as a pair of obviously well-loved sneakers. Your outfit is nothing out of the ordinary—something you’d see on more than half the population of Briar U—but it looks different on you. You look absolutely stunning in simple clothes.
His tense body sags with relief, and without thinking, he finds himself weaving through the small crowd consisting of his friends and women he barely knows. He passes through with a brief, quiet, ‘excuse me’, and walks towards you with an easy smile on his face.
“Huh,” Ashley hums in thought as she watches Dean part from the group. His friends all watch him, incredibly weirded out by his undeniably weird behavior.
“Hi, Hannah,” he hears you greeting as you lean against the bar. “I sent in an order about forty-five minutes ago, and I was hoping that it’s ready.”
“Oh, absolutely!” Hannah smiles at you, wide and bright as she hands you a paper bag. “Here you go—extra everything for Malone’s favorite regular.”
“Thanks a lot, gorgeous!” You beam, taking the bag, and looking through it briefly to make sure everything is in order.
Before you push away from the bar, Dean calls out your name. “Hey.” He smiles at you—a wide smile that deepens his dimples. “It’s great seeing you again.”
“Hi, Dean.” Your grin widens as you turn to him. “It’s great to see you too. How have you been?”
“Good, really good.” He nods, and he suddenly does not seem to know what to do with his hands. “You look great.”
“Thanks,” she says, her grin softens into a little smile now. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”
“Thanks.” His smile, in turn, widens.
There are a few moments of slightly awkward silence—just a few beats of you two looking at each other—before you break it.
“I have to get going.” You point to the door behind you. “I’m kind of on the way to class. I just picked up lunch real quick.”
“Yeah, no, for sure.” He watches you take a few steps back, just as stiffly. “I’ll see you around?”
“Of course.” You nod, taking another step back.
Before you can turn away from him, he says, “I’ll, uh, keep in touch.”
He sees surprise flashing across your face, but you quickly recover, and you grin. “It’s up to you,” is all you say before walking out the door.
His eyes follow your moving form until you disappear from his sight, and only then does he release a breath he doesn’t realize he was holding. He runs a hand over his face and lets out another sigh. “Holy fuck,” he whispers, mostly to himself.
“You’re down bad,” he hears Hannah say from behind the bar as she wipes the countertop.
“Yeah, whatever, Wellsy.” He ignores Hannah’s words, finally turns to her, and sits on the stool directly in front of her. “May I ask how long you’ve known her for?”
“Since we were freshmen. She was one of the first people I knew, along with Allie,” she says, looking up at him.
“And may I ask how I’ve never met her before?”
“Dean, why are you asking me?” Hannah raises her eyebrows, both in surprise and in exasperation. “But if I’m going to answer your question, I’d say it’s because you were too busy being, well, you.”
“Okay, fair.” He raises his arms in surrender. “But I want to know her. Tell me what she likes, what she doesn’t, what she loves—please tell me everything.”
“Dude, you can literally ask her yourself.”
“I am so intimidated by her!” He almost begs. “Wellsy, help me out here. I am literally dying.”
“No, you’re not. Don’t be dramatic,” she says easily. “You just find her hot.”
“No, she’s not just hot. She’s absolutely drop dead gorgeous, and she’s objectively the most beautiful person in every single room she walks into, and—”
“Okay, point taken!” Hannah interrupts. “If it helps, she does literally nothing else during her free time but study and doomscroll through Instagram.”
Dean’s eyes literally light up at Hannah’s response. “Wellsy, you are an absolute lifesaver.”
“Holy shit, di Laurentis, you are more than down bad. You are abysmally, horrendously down.”
“Now, Wellsy, that’s an exaggeration.”
It’s really not that bad, really. He just wants to get to know you because he’s interested in you. Sure, they can all say he’s down bad, but you’re you. You’re beautiful and intelligent and overall an extremely interesting person. His infatuation is really not that bad.
Right?
—
*Wrong.
“Okay, who else thinks this is weird?” Logan says from the tall stool by the kitchen counter.
“What is?” Garrett asks from the couch, his eyes still glued to his phone screen.
“Dean.”
“He’s always weird. What’s new?” Tucker does not even pause from throwing a ball in the air.
“No, dude, he hasn’t brought anyone home in weeks, and he’s always on his damn phone.”
Tucker catches the ball, and turns to Logan. “So maybe he’s sexting? Or in a long distance situationship? Who even knows at this point, man? That’s Dean, and Dean’s not Dean if he’s not weird in his own, Dean way.”
“Yeah, but not this weird,” Logan argues. “Look, do you remember the girl from two weeks ago? Hannah’s friend?”
Realization dawns upon Garrett, and he finally peels his eyes off his phone. “You’re right.” He nods. “Hannah talked about how Dean had been asking about that friend for a week straight before he suddenly stopped.”
“Fucking finally!” Logan cheers. “You guys are slow as fuck.”
Just then, the front door opens, and in comes the man himself, carrying a large paper bag in his hand and his phone in the other.
“No way, an impromptu house meeting?” He speaks as soon as he steps into view. “What’s this one about?”
“You,” Tucker deadpans.
“Me?”
“Specifically,” Logan says loudly, “You and Hannah’s friend.”
“She has a name, thank you very much.” He says your name, his voice unconsciously turning softer. “What about her?”
“See, that’s fucking weird!”
“Man, what is?” Dean rolls his eyes. “Stop talking in codes, dude, just say it.”
“It’s weird that you’re in love because Dean ‘Six Flags’ di Laurentis does not fall in love,” Tucker finally says, and the rest of his friends nod along with him.
“You froze the first time you saw her at that block party. It’s like the world disappeared around you, man. You did not hear us calling you for at least five minutes. You made a complete fool of yourself the first two times you met her,” Garrett says with an amused smirk on his lips. “And you were pretty inconsolable for the first half of the day before Malone’s, and it’s like your entire being lit on fire the moment she walked through the door. You chased after her like a lovesick puppy, man, it’s honestly sickening to see.”
“And now, you barely hang with us because you’re either too busy on your phone with her or with her, like in person,” Logan adds.
Meanwhile, Dean rolls over all the information.
“And where’d you get those goods?” Tucker adds, eyeing the paper bag in his hand.
“From the café near campus,” he mumbles. Your favorite café.
Oh.
Oh.
Dean di Laurentis is definitely, undeniably, wholly, irrevocably in love with you.
nobody but us, bodies together | allie hayes + dean di laurentis
“Rough practice?” You ask, reaching out to Dean as he practically slams the bedroom door open, slamming it back closed behind him. You reach a hand out, tugging the hem of his shirt slightly to let him fall onto the bed between you and Allie. “You wouldn’t want to know,” he growls, his eyes darkening with that familiar fiery gaze.
contents — 18+ content, smut, graphic descriptions of sex, porn without plot, profanities, established polyamorous relationship, slightly mean dom!dean, switch!allie, sub!reader, one (1) slap, teasing, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, dirty talk, slight orgasm delay, finger sucking, untouched ejaculation, dean is an eater™️who eats for his pleasure, allie is a tits girl, mention of period, mention of blood, all acts are completely consensual! kindly let me know if i missed anything!
word count — 1.7k | title — pillowtalk by zayn
gabby says — this is a repost from my old blog, @fictionallygabby. i have decided to start my blog all over, so please feel free to read here for the explanation.
You and Allie perk up from your places in her bed, tangled beneath the sheets as you watch TikToks of animals on your phone.
“Rough practice?” You ask, reaching out to Dean as he practically slams the bedroom door open, slamming it back closed behind him. You reach a hand out, tugging the hem of his shirt slightly to let him fall onto the bed between you and Allie.
“You wouldn’t want to know,” he growls, his eyes darkening with that familiar fiery gaze.
He looks between his girls, and Allie immediately raises her arms in surrender.
“I can’t, babe, I’m on my period,” she murmurs, sitting up to place tender kisses along his jawline, down to his neck. “I’m sorry.”
“You know I do not mind a little blood,” he whispers, turning his head to meet her lips in a rough, almost bruising kiss that leaves her in a daze when he pulls away. “But I’m not forcing you, babydoll.”
Due to Allie running her fingers through them, Dean’s hair is already a mess when his darkened eyes flit over to you, and a shiver runs down your spine at the intensity of his gaze.
“Come here,” you whisper, holding your arms out, but he does not take them. Instead, he grabs a hold of your legs and tugs you towards him with a wolfish grin. You squeal, your hands flying to his shoulder.
Your hands stay on his shoulders when he leans in, crashing his lips to yours in another rough kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth. You moan into his mouth, your back arching towards him.
“My girls taste so fucking good,” he groans, his lips trailing down to your jawline, then lowering to your neck. He nips at the sensitive point right below your jaw, and you let out a shaky breath. He chuckles darkly at your response to his kisses. “Sensitive already? Our sensitive girl.”
“Isn’t she so sweet?” Allie coos, crawling across the bed over to you. She holds your chin delicately, gently tilting your head and pressing a sweet kiss to your lips.
The stark contrast between Dean’s rough treatment and Allie’s sweet indulgence is making your head spin, and it is evident in the way your words turn incoherent as you babble, “please”.
“Please what, sweet girl?” Allie whispers against your lips, “Tell our Dean what you want, baby.”
Your brain does not immediately process her words, and Dean tuts, crawling back up to hold your face in his larger hand. His palm connects with your cheek in a light slap—not enough to hurt but enough to catch your attention. “You were asked a question, baby. Do you want to be punished?”
You moan at the sudden, slight sting, and they both laugh at that. Answering his question, shake your head with a feeble, “No.”
“Then tell me what you want, baby,” Dean whispers, looking intently into your eyes that are now glazed over with lust and want. “What does our baby want?”
Meanwhile, Allie is peppering kisses all over your skin—everywhere she can reach: your face, your neck, the exposed skin of your shoulder.
You so badly want to respond, but your mind keeps coming up blank. “Fuck,” you gasp anyway, “Please touch me.”
“But he is touching you, pretty,” Allie croons teasingly, trailing featherlight down your torso until she reaches the waistband of your shorts. “Do you want to be touched right here…” She trails her hand lower. “…or lower?”
“Right there—” You gasp as her palm cups your wet heat over the fabrics. “I need more, please.”
“Good girl,” Dean groans, finally crawling back down. “Good fucking girl, babydoll.”
Meanwhile, Allie nudges you to sit up with a soft, “Sit up for me a bit, baby.” She then takes her place behind you and pulls you close, your back now pressed to her chest. While Dean is hooking his fingers into your shorts and sliding them down your legs, Allie is pulling your shirt over your head, leaving you completely bare in your partners’ hold.
“So beautiful,” Dean murmurs, spreading your thighs and placing your legs on each of his broad shoulders. He kisses down from your knees into your inner thighs, close enough to feel his hot breath on your pussy. “And all ours. Isn’t that right, Allie-cat?”
Allie giggles in reply, brushing your hair to the side to kiss your neck and your nape sweetly, purring—
“All ours,”
—in between kisses, her free hand toying with your pebbled nipple.
The sensation Allie is giving, along with the cool air breezing over your pussy, makes you shiver and arch into your girlfriend’s touch. Your lips part in a silent moan.
“We’ve got you, sweetheart,” Dean murmurs, stroking your thighs as he watches Allie touch and kiss you. “We’ve got you. Just relax for us.”
“Dean, please,” you whine, your hips lifting off the bed in an attempt to shift closer to your boyfriend’s face. “Please do something. I need it—I need you.”
“I got you,” Dean groans out before diving in between your parted thighs. You cry out as soon as his mouth comes in contact with your throbbing cunt, his tongue swiping up and down, side to side, everywhere.
Your hips buck, grinding yourself against his face. He does not stop you—instead, he moans and groans into your cunt, the vibrations sending jolts of electricity straight into your core.
Meanwhile, Allie’s hands continue twiddling with your nipples, her lips kissing and whispering filth into your skin as you whimper and moan into the heated air of the bedroom, “you are doing so, so well for us, good girl. That’s it, fuck Dean’s face, baby, hump his face. Does that feel good? Yeah, I bet it does. Uh-huh?”
The multiple continuous sensations all over your body are enough to make your body tremble, your thighs close in around Dean’s head, and one of your hands grip Allie’s forearms, your nails leaving crescent marks in their wake, while your other hand is buried in Dean’s hair, pulling and tugging at the right moments. The slight sting of his scalp is pleasurable enough to make him whimper into your pussy.
As if swiping his tongue all over your clit is not enough, Dean wraps his lips around the sensitive bundle of nerves and sucks. You cry out in response, jerking in their hold and arching as far as humanely possible.
“Oh, yeah,” Allie moans at the sight of your pleasure skyrocketing. “Fuck, baby, if only you can see how so fucking good you look right now—both of you.”
Dean grins into your cunt, his eyes trailing up to meet both of yours from between your thighs. He sucks again to see your reaction, and god, he gets even more turned on at the sight: your body jerking and trembling, your lips parting in a silent scream, your eyes rolling back in pleasure. He moans louder into you as you tug harder at his hair.
He pulls away for air and reprieve, causing you to whine at the loss, but your disappointment does not last long as he dives back in, doubling down on his efforts this time.
“Oh God,” you cry out, the knot in your core tightening with every passing second Dean spends between your legs. “I’m so close, Dean!”
“He knows, baby, he knows,” Allie coos, also intensifying her efforts on pleasuring your tits. “You are so, so close, aren’t you, baby? Should we let you cum?”
Dean grins against you, pulling away just as you reach your peak. His hands stroke your thighs soothingly, while you groan in frustration, your eyes snapping down to where he lies on his stomach beneath you.
“Relax, sweetheart,” he murmurs, slipping two fingers into your mouth. “Suck my fingers like you’re sucking my dick, pretty. Get them nice and wet for me. That’s it, good girl.” He groans at the sight of you sucking his fingers, swirling your tongue all over the digits.
He slowly pulls his fingers out and lies back down between your legs, placing them on his shoulders once again. He prods at your entrance teasingly before pushing his thick fingers slowly into your pussy. His dark eyes do not leave your face as he watches every single expression that flashes across. He curls his fingers just right and watches as you struggle and thrash in Allie’s hold. “You can take it, sweetheart. You wanted this, remember? That’s it. You’re doing so well.”
Meanwhile, Allie has her arms tight around you to prevent you from moving too much and potentially hurting yourself or them. She strokes your skin soothingly, whispering sweet nothings into your ear, “Just a bit more, baby. You’re almost there, we know. Good girl—so sweet and beautiful for us.”
To add to your pleasure, Dean takes your clit back into his mouth and sucks as he pumps his fingers into you, the tips nudging that sweet spot inside you. His hips rut against the sheets as he moans into your clit.
The knot in your core coils tighter and tighter until they finally snap. You stiffen in Allie’s arms for a few moments before your body spasms as the waves of your orgasm crashes and flows through you.
Allie holds you through it, still whispering into your ear as she soothes you with her touch.
Dean continues pumping his fingers slowly into you, but he parts from your clit, letting you ride your high until the overstimulation turns into sharp jabs of pain with every move and your hands are tapping his shoulder urgently.
He slowly withdraws his fingers then, licking his fingers clean with a satisfied groan. He slowly lowers your legs on the bed, gently massaging the sore spots.
When he sits up, you and Allie gasp at the wet patch on his low slung gray sweatpants, right over his clothed erection.
“See how good you make me feel, sweetheart?” He murmurs, kissing your lips softly. “You okay?”
“I’m okay.” You nod, still slightly breathless. You then turn to Allie, kissing her cheek. “Are you okay, gorgeous?”
“Oh, I’m more than okay, pretty.” She grins, leaning in to kiss Dean this time. She groans as she tastes you on his lips. “Fuck, you taste so fucking good together. It’s insane.”
“We’re all insane here, gorgeous.” He grins boyishly, but his eyes soften as they look over you. “Think you can walk? You need to pee, sweetheart.”
“Yeah, I think so.”
Soon enough, the three of you are tangled beneath the freshly changed sheets with you lying in between—their perfect girl.
i made the mistake of having this poll open for a week, but from what i have gathered from 330+ of you, i will be giving you dean and garrett threesome 🙂↕️ thank you everyone for voting!!
Hello! If you have the time could you do a loganxreader where they go plus the group going out and maybe some players from other team start to make you unconfortable and Logan protects you and the after that, the super cute and caring logan
this is was a lovely thing to write. thank you for the brilliant request, nonnie!! 🫶🏼
say my name and everything just stops | john logan
“Okay, baby.” His eyes never stray from your face—he can deal with everything else later. “Where do you want me?” He asks, and you know that it is his way of asking whether you are okay with him sitting with you.
contents — protective logan, protective friends too <3, hurt/comfort, harassment (not by main characters), misogynistic behavior, brief sexual implication, very brief mention of aaron delaney | word count — 2.2k | title — dress by taylor swift
request — Hello! If you have the time could you do a loganxreader where they go plus the group going out and maybe some players from other team start to make you unconfortable and Logan protects you and the after that, the super cute and caring logan
gabby says — i love protective logan so i really loved writing this. i hope you love this just as much, anon!! 🫶🏼
“Damn.” Logan whistles as soon as you step out of his room after changing. He pushes off the wall, and his hands instinctively find your waist, skimming the dress appreciatively. “You look absolutely gorgeous, sweetheart. The color looks perfect on you.”
“Thank you.” You smile bashfully up at him, placing your hands on his shoulders as he pulls you closer. “Is it not too short? Does it not bother you?”
“The length is perfect as long as you are comfortable wearing it,” he says softly, “And no, I am not bothered, and I will never be. You can wear whatever you want, whenever you want to, baby. You look gorgeous in anything, I can assure you that.” His eyes now have that look in them, but you quickly shut it down, knowing where it’s going.
“Nope.” You laugh, pushing his face away playfully. “We’re going out, baby, so maybe after the club?” You grin. “And also, you’re not going to tell me I can wear whatever I want because you can fight?”
“Sweetheart, I am a six-foot hockey player—I can bodycheck someone without blinking if they even look at you wrong, but I’m sure that’s not what you want to hear from me,” he murmurs, looking into your eyes.
“You’re right, it’s not.” You can’t help but feel moved by how much Logan knows and understands you. “But anyway, that’s enough softness for tonight. I need to drink and dance the night away!” You pull away and take Logan’s hand, tugging him towards the stairs.
“Easy, baby, we’ll get there.” Your boyfriend laughs behind you, stroking the back of your hand with his thumb soothingly.
“I know, but it’s almost ten, so we have to get there now.”
“Alright, I’m sorry.”
—
It’s half-past eleven when you start feeling the buzz from the alcohol grow stronger. You, Hannah, Allie, and Dean are on the dance floor, while Logan, Garrett, Tucker, and Beau are in the booth you and the group had reserved for tonight.
You are engaged in a dance battle with Dean—who is absolutely winning—when it happens.
“Damn, Di Laurentis!” You whistle as Dean outdances the three of you. “What did your mother feed you?”
“I did eat a lot of those corn flakes as a kid—they were all I ate for, I think, a year.” He laughs when you all gape at him.
“Criminal.”
“Is Lori okay after raising a barbarian?”
“Hey!”
You watch as Logan excuses himself from the booth to walk over to the bar, and with the three of your friends bickering, you barely notice the unfamiliar man sliding into the small space beside you, nearly pressing himself against you. None of you thought badly of it at first—the dance floor had just gotten more crowded, so you simply shift closer to your group to give the man some more space.
But he clearly has other plans.
He moves even closer to you, and that is when the fun around you dies down. You fidget uncomfortably, Hannah’s smile fades instantly, Allie turns to glare at the seemingly unsuspecting man trying to press himself up against you, and Dean moves between you and the unfamiliar person, effectively shielding you and the girls away from the guy. He is facing the man, his imposing presence making him seem larger than the stranger despite their similar height.
“Hey, dude—” The guy says, but Dean cuts him off swiftly.
“Walk away, man,” Dean says calmly. “The club is big enough for you to be in someone’s personal space like this.”
“Come on, I was just trying to—”
“Nope.” Dean crosses his arms, unflinching as the man tries to reason his way out of the mess he created—or into your pants, probably. “She clearly looks uncomfortable. Just walk away, and we’ll have no problem here.”
“Whatever,” the guy grumbles, “She’s not worth it anyway.”
Your friends’ brows raise at his words, but they do not say anything, not wanting to escalate the situation.
You wait until the grade-A asshole is out of earshot before speaking, “Guys, I’m gonna go back to the booth.”
They all turn their heads to you, smiling at you with sympathy.
“I will too,” Hannah says, slipping her hand into yours.
“Han, you don’t have to,” you say, squeezing her hand gratefully. “You guys stay here if you want to. I’m okay, I promise.”
“No, you’re all good, babe,” Allie says, pulling Dean off the dance floor to walk back with you and Hannah. “It’s getting too crowded in there anyway.”
“Okay, but can we please not make a big deal out of this? It’s all handled anyway. I just don’t want to spoil the rest of the night,” you say, your clammy hand still in Hannah’s warm, grounding grip.
“You know you’re going to have to tell Logan, right?” Dean notes, uncharacteristically soft.
“I know, I know.” You nod. “But give me time to process, please?”
Your friends reluctantly agree, and as you walk back to your table, they try their hardest to stay calm and act as if nothing happened. Thankfully, the rest of your group see nothing out of the ordinary.
You keep replaying that encounter in your head. Every time you think about it, you feel like you should have done more—maybe stepped away, spoke up instead of letting your friends deal with your problem, or did literally anything other than freeze. You are grateful that Dean and your girls were there with you, but you could not help but let your mind drift to what could have happened if you were alone.
Logan, having gone back from the bar holding a tray of glasses filled with water, immediately notices your glum expression—a stark contrast to the buzzed, giddy expression you had when you left the booth to dance. He slides into the booth beside you after putting the tray down on the table and places a grounding hand on your thigh. “You okay?” He leans close enough that only you can hear. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing, baby,” you mumble, nuzzling your face into his shoulder. “Just tired.”
He stays silent for a few beats, his hand still stroking your thigh soothingly. “Are you sure?” He asks.
You hesitate. Part of you wants to brush it off and put it all behind you, but the other part of you feels like he deserves to know. Ultimately, you decide to be honest, so you pick your head up to look at Logan. “There was this guy on the dance floor… well, he was, like, right up against me, so that made me uncomfortable.” Your words have your friends turning to you, alarmed, while your boyfriend’s grip tightens on your thigh—not enough to hurt, but enough to have you saying, “But it’s all good. Dean handled it, and he’s gone.”
“Okay, baby.” His eyes never stray from your face—he can deal with everything else later. “Where do you want me?” He asks, and you know that it is his way of asking whether you are okay with him sitting with you.
“Right here,” you murmur, shifting closer.
“Alright, sweetheart,” he hums, moving away briefly to remove his jacket and drape it over your shoulders. He hands you the last glass of water from the tray—you end up drinking the entire glass once you realize how thirsty you have been. He places the glass back on the tray and leans back to wrap his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close to him.
You stay wrapped up in his jacket and his arms for about twenty minutes, while your friends return to their respective conversations after making sure you are alright. Then you start pulling away from Logan, and he automatically follows you, but you stop him. “I’m okay, babe, I just need to get some water.”
“I’ll get it for you.”
“No, please let me. You’ve done enough already, plus I need to stretch my legs for a bit,” you say as you stand.
He reluctantly lets you go alone, but he keeps a careful eye on you.
Meanwhile, your gaze is fixed on the bartender as he attends to another customer, so you do not notice the man from earlier standing beside you by the bar.
“Hey,” he drawls, and you freeze as you recognize his voice, a chill running through your spine. “Finally got you alone, huh? Your boytoy finally let you out of his sight?”
“He’s my friend,” you say weakly, willing the bartender to finish with the other customer faster and turn to you, but alas, the position you are in does not look compromising from the outside—just a woman looking nervous beside an attractive man. Nothing suspicious, nothing dangerous, but in reality, it’s anything but harmless.
“Your friend, huh?” He chuckles, leaning closer to you. “That’s what they all say, sweetheart. Now, how many of those boys have you fucked yet?” He nods towards your table.
You decide that you are not that thirsty anyway, and abandon your hunt for a glass of water completely. You push off the bar with a quiet, “Excuse me.” You hope he will just drop it and leave you alone, but you quickly learn that hope is a dangerous thing to hold on to during times like this.
“You look a little tense, beautiful. Why don’t you smile a little for me?” He drawls from behind you, making sure to keep his distance so as not to look too suspicious.
However, Logan catches on to what is happening as soon as you are close enough that he sees the panicked expression on your face, and he is on his feet to meet you halfway. He had been watching you since you stood from the booth earlier, but he had chalked up the tension in your posture while standing at the bar to the traces of panic and discomfort left behind by your encounter not even an hour prior.
“John,” you call out to him, your voice tinged with a deep sense of discomfort, and Logan’s heart drops almost violently, but he willed himself to stay calm for you as he lets you step behind him.
Your friends spring into action—Hannah and Allie gently pull you into the booth, while the guys stand behind Logan.
“May we help you with something, buddy?” Logan asks, stepping closer to the other man.
“No, I—” He stammers, your group’s sharp gazes making him feel small. “I didn’t know she was yours.”
“Huh,” Logan wonders aloud, “Why does it matter who someone is with for you to respect their boundaries?”
“Look, I’m sorry.” The guy raises his arms in surrender. “It was all just a misunderstanding, and I’d gladly apologize to your girl.”
“Don’t you think it’s a little too late for apologies, bud?” Dean chimes in from his place. “We’ve told you to cut your shit earlier, but you still didn’t listen. I think it’s time for a conversation, dude, just a man-to-man conversation. No big deal.” He shrugs.
“Hey, aren’t you the dude from Eastwood?” Beau pops in casually, and the guy pales.
Of course he knows who they are—he had seen Garrett Graham pummel Aaron Delaney into the ice for messing with his girl, so he knows how these men get when it comes to their women.
“Eastwood, eh?” Tucker grins wolfishly, mirroring Dean’s and Garrett’s expressions, while Logan remains completely serious.
“What a great coincidence, buddy!” Dean claps the guy on his back rather roughly.
“It’ll be a fun game for us, you think so?” Garrett teases, still grinning, while the guy does nothing but stand there awkwardly—and rather weakly.
“Baby, do you want this guy’s apology?” Logan turns to you, his eyes softening, but his expression quickly hardens back when you shake your head. He turns back to the guy. “It’s settled then. I’ll see you on the ice, buddy.”
“If he ends up playing,” Beau quips. “Dude’s been benched since the start of the season. Guess that’s both his damnation and his saving grace.”
Before anyone else can speak, the guy quickly walks away with a shameful expression on his face.
Once he is gone, your friends leave you and Logan to give you some privacy.
Your boyfriend slides into the booth beside you. “Hey,” he murmurs, hooking his pinky with yours on your lap—he is not sure how much skinship you can take right now. “I’m sorry, angel.”
“Why are you apologizing?” You ask quietly, taking his hand into yours. “It wasn’t your fault. You defended me, even.”
“Bare minimum,” he says, offering a hand as he stands, “Wanna get out of this place? I think the rest of us are ready to leave too.”
“Yes please.” You nod, taking his hand. “Thank you again for defending me.”
“I am hating your exes even more now,” he says, half-joking.
“What a weird turn of conversation, babe.”
“No, seriously. They made you feel like you had to thank me for standing up for you,” he says, all worked up now. “That’s not even the bare minimum.”
“Babe, babe.” You smile softly, squeezing his hand. “I couldn’t care less about them, okay? You’re undoing every expectation I have of love by simply being you, and I love you for that.”
i’m floating around in ecstasy, so don’t stop me now | john tucker (ft. allie hayes, dean di laurentis, garrett graham, hannah wells, john logan)
“Of course she’s alive, dingus.” Allie rolls her eyes from beside him, snatching the phone from his hand, eliciting an offended, ‘Hey!’ from Dean, which she effectively ignores. “She had a wisdom tooth extraction, not an open heart surgery.”
request — would you be willing to write a little fic about John Tucker (and the others by default) taking care of his girlfriend after she gets his wisdom teeth out?
contents — tooth-rotting fluff, post-wisdom tooth extraction, bickering, found family <3, reader and dean frenemies confirmed | word count — 1.09k | title — don’t stop me now by queen
gabby says — this is a repost from my old blog, @fictionallygabby. i have decided to start my blog all over, so please feel free to read here for the explanation.
“So is she alive?” Dean asks as soon as the front door opens, his phone in hand as he records the whole thing. “She’s alive, right?”
“Of course she’s alive, dingus.” Allie rolls her eyes from beside him, snatching the phone from his hand, eliciting an offended, ‘Hey!’ from Dean, which she effectively ignores. “She had a wisdom tooth extraction, not an open heart surgery.”
“I was just asking!”
“Yeah, well, ask smarter questions.” Allie’s face softens as she turns to Tucker, who is half-carrying, half-dragging you towards the couch. “Is she okay?”
“Dean di Laurentis!” You grumble angrily, your voice muffled by the cotton stuffed into your mouth post-surgery. You are obviously still loopy from the anesthetic. “I hate you!” You continue throwing profanities and punches his way, while your boyfriend steers you away from your current archnemesis with great difficulty.
Meanwhile, Dean is laughing his ass off behind a camera, filming the whole thing. They don’t even know whose phone he is currently using.
“Man, don’t rile her up, we just got her to calm down!” Logan—who drove them to and from the clinic—complains, punching Dean’s arm.
“We?” Tucker raises an eyebrow at Logan’s claim. “I calmed her down, while you laughed like a fucking idiot.” He turns to Allie as he gently lays you down on the couch. “Yes, she’s very much okay, she’s just very… emotional.”
“Our poor girl.” Allie frowns, leaning down to brush your hair away from your forehead.
“Allie baby!” You cheer, a dopey grin plastered on your face like you weren't just squaring up with her boyfriend a few seconds ago. “I love you so much! Let's run away and get married! Where's Hannah? Where's the other love of my life? She needs to run away with us,” you say solemnly, holding onto Allie's hands tightly.
“Wow. First you engage in a WWE fight with me, then you steal my girlfriend. Very inspirational.” Dean snorts from his place behind the couch.
“Respect the hierarchy, bro.” Logan pats his friend's chest sympathetically.
“Fuck off.”
“Is this what kindergarten teachers feel?” Allie asks no one in particular. “I'm so glad I didn't take up education.”
“You can take me up to your room.” You giggle like crazy, wiggling your eyebrows at her—or at least, you think you are wiggling your eyebrows, but everyone's reactions say otherwise—not that you'd notice.
“So my room,” Dean speaks up once again, “I’m sorry, I know you’re under the influence and all, but can you stop stealing my girl?”
“Fuck off, Dean di Laurentis!” You glare at him as ferociously as you can, which makes him snicker, but a warning glare from Allie shuts him up.
“Seriously, what’s with the government name?”
“Stop terrorizing my girl, di Laurentis,” Tucker says as he descends from the stairs after getting you some fresh clothes to wear, and a washcloth to clean you up.
“Wha—?!” Dean sputters, pointing to you lying on the couch, practically half-dead, “She’s terrorizing me!” He mockingly glares at you. “You better get well quickly because we have a score to settle.”
“Dean, don’t make me put you in timeout,” Allie warns from beside you on the couch.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry, ma’am.”
“Baby!” You chirp upon hearing your boyfriend’s voice. “Baby, where are you? Come here.”
“I’m coming, gorgeous.” He chuckles softly, and Dean lets out a gagging noise, which he ultimately covers with a cough as Allie glares at him (again).
Allie eagerly takes the washcloth from him, so he settles on the couch, placing your head on his lap gently.
“Hi, you’re here!” Hannah greets you from the stairs with Garrett behind her. “How are you? Everything went well, I hope?”
“Han!” You cheer, nearly hitting Allie and Tucker in the face with your flailing hand as you wave enthusiastically at your second favorite person (she and Allie are tied). “Hannah, my baby! I’m better now that you’re here.” You giggle once again.
“Darling, please calm down,” Tucker murmurs, leaning down to kiss your forehead softly. “They’re not going anywhere, I promise.”
“Sorry,” you mumble sheepishly, the word almost incoherent due to the cotton inside your mouth. Your eyes fill with tears, and all of them immediately jump into action. “I’m sorry!”
“Don’t cry, darling, I’m so sorry,” Tucker strokes your hair soothingly.
“I will put Dean into timeout for you, baby!” Allie says, pointing to the wall. “I will make him face the wall, okay?”
“What the hell did I do now?!” Dean gasps dramatically from the dining table
“Do you want some pizza? I’ll go order some right now.” Logan grabs his phone, but stops dead in his tracks. “Oh, shit, you can’t eat solid food until a few days later or something. Uh, what about some oatmeal?”
“Oh, our poor baby.” Hannah says your name sadly with a pout on her face. She walks over and kisses your cheek. “Please feel better soon. We have loads of stuff to try from that new restaurant downtown.”
“Uh…” Garrett swallows when they all look at him, including you. “Hello?” He rolls his eyes when you all groan at him. “What the fuck was I supposed to say? You’ve said everything!”
“Not everything,” you speak, dropping your head back on Tucker’s lap, who catches your head and gently lowers it down. All while he has a small, fond smile on his face. “You didn’t tell me that I can sweep Hannah off of her feet, and we can get married, and we can ride into the sunset together—with Allie, of course.”
“Genuinely, what the fuck?” Garrett laughs. “What the fuck did they give you in there, buddy?”
“For someone who has cottons stuffed into her mouth, you’re awfully talkative,” Dean says, his voice muffled by the wall in front of him.
“Shut it, Dean di Laurentis.”
“Man, not the government name again!”
“Darling, please just go to sleep.” Tucker attempts to soothe you before you lunge at Dean again. “Ignore him, he’s a meathead. Just go to sleep.”
“Man, I am at a great disadvantage here.”
“Don’t patronize me,” you hiss, glaring up at him. “You’re handsome even when your head is upside down, but don’t patronize me.” You point to his face, your hand swaying weakly in the air. “I’m going to sleep, but it’s not because you told me to. Okay?”
“Okay, baby, I understand.”
“Okay, I’m going to sleep.” You close your eyes. “Goodnight, Allie. Goodnight, Hannah. Goodnight, T. Fuck everyone else.”
“Wow, okay. Watch me never let you see Allie again after this.”
