Summary: After you accidentally ingest some powerful love gummies, Dean has to deal with the aftermath.
Pairing: Dean Di Laurentis x Reader (Always horny for you Dean x Modest!Reader turned frisky by aphrodisiac)
Warning: Mentions of recreational gummies, accidential consumption of love drugs, reader is hopped up on love drugs
Note: This isn’t explicit, but Reader is feeling the effects of the love drugs. So I kinda toe the line. I wrote this after my coworkers had a conversation about recreational gummies and then for the next week I kept getting ads for love gummies. Also I was trying to do my best to establish that this is a crazy situation, that’s also serious, but also a little bit ooh la la what will happen yk? Hope y’all enjoy 🫶
The silence in the apartment was a rare, heavy luxury. Usually, the dorm you shared with Hannah and Allie was a revolving door of chaotic energy, bursting with the sounds of Taylor Swift, overlapping FaceTime conversations, and the occasional thunderous laughter of hockey players raid-searching your fridge. But tonight, it was quiet. The only sound was the low, muffled commentary of a hockey game broadcasting from the television and the rhythmic, aggressive scratching of your yellow highlighter against a crisp page of printer paper.
Sprawled across the couch with your math textbooks, color-coded highlighters, and a massive binder, you were entirely in your element. You were a casual, laid-back girl, usually found in oversized sweaters, thick wool socks, and a messy bun held together by sheer willpower and a claw clip. You poured your heart into your studies because you had a dream. A dream you had visualised for years: to finally become a kindergarten teacher. You loved kids, you loved art, and you loved taking care of everyone around you.
In fact, you were notoriously known as the "mom friend" of the group. If Allie needed a safety pin, you had three. If Hannah forgot to eat during a mid-term crunch, you were there with a tupperware container of cut-up fruit. You were always taking care of everyone else, often to the point of forgetting to take care of yourself.
On the couch just a few feet away sat Dean Di Laurentis.
To the rest of Briar University, Dean was the definition of a walking heartbreaker. He used to be a notorious player, a major f-boy who ran with girls who were fast, loose, and easily forgotten by Sunday morning. He had never dated. He had never wanted to. But that was before he met you. The moment you two started dating a few months ago, Dean dropped everything else. He didn’t just turn over a new leaf; he threw the whole tree away. He was still the confident, wildly attractive, silver-tongued hockey player, but now, he was horny just for you.
Dean couldn’t seem to exist in a room with you without reaching out to establish some form of physical contact. He was, by definition, a creature of touch. Whether it was the heavy, possessive drape of his arm over your shoulders, his fingers tangled in your belt loops, or just the casual, grounding weight of his palm resting on your thigh, he needed his hands all over you. It wasn't just physical affection; it was an innate, territorial instinct. He liked to anchor you to him, reminding both you and the rest of the world exactly who you belonged to.
Even now, as he watched the game on TV with the volume dialed down to a near-whisper so he wouldn't disturb your studying, he was keeping that vital connection alive. His long, muscular legs were stretched entirely across the couch cushions, his thighs resting heavily over your lap. His bare feet were lightly, rhythmically nudging against your leg as you sat curled up on the opposite end of the sofa, buried under a mountain of textbooks, scratch paper, and colorful sticky notes.
He had wanted to take you out on a proper date tonight. He’d been talking about it all week. Dinner at that upscale Italian place downtown, drinks at a rooftop bar, the whole romantic, dressed-up routine where he could show you off. But the moment he walked through the door and saw the absolute, tear-inducing panic in your eyes over your upcoming math exam, his plans evaporated. Without a single complaint, he had willingly sacrificed his night out. He chose instead to strip down into a pair of comfortable grey sweatpants and simple tee shirt he had stored in your dresser, and sit in supportive silence. He was content just to keep you company while you battled your way through calculus.
"Ugh, my brain is melting. Literally turning to absolute mush," you mumbled, dropping your yellow highlighter onto the open page. It rolled off the desk and bounced onto the carpet. You let out a dramatic, soul-weary sigh and stretched your arms high over your head, flexing your spine against the hard back of the couch.
As you arched your back, your oversized, faded college t-shirt lifted high, revealing a smooth, bare stretch of your stomach and the soft curve of your waist.
On the couch, Dean’s eyes instantly zipped away from the television screen. The low-volume hockey game was entirely, utterly forgotten. A slow, hungry, look spread across his handsome face as he eagerly ogled you. His dark gaze lingered heavily on the exposed, soft skin of your waist, tracing the line of your ribs up to the hem of your shirt. He was practically drooling at the sudden show of skin.
You caught him staring, his eyes dark and dilated, and your cheeks flushed hot. Reaching down, you snatched up the discarded yellow highlighter from the floor and threw it directly at his head.
"Keep it in your pants, Di Laurentis!" you scolded, though a fond, exhausted smile tugged at the corner of your lips. "Stop being so damn horny for me for five seconds. I am literally just stretching!"
Dean caught the highlighter easily with one hand, tossing it onto the coffee table before leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "That is physically and biologically impossible with you looking as hot as you do right now, baby girl. You're weaponizing that midriff against a defenseless man."
You looked down at yourself, gesturing wildly to your outfit. You were wearing an oversized college t-shirt that you’re pretty sure belonged to him, barely visible stained denim shorts, and your hair was piled on top of your head in a messy, chaotic bun that looked more like a bird's nest than a hairstyle. "Hot? Right. Look at me, Dean. I look like a disgruntled troll who hasn't seen daylight in three years. I'm calling your bluff."
"You think I'm bluffing?" Dean scoffed, his voice dropping an octave, shifting into that deep, gravelly register that always made your toes curl and a sudden shiver race straight down your spine. He slid his legs off your lap and patted his thighs invitingly, his eyes locking onto yours with terrifying intensity. "Come take a break baby. Let me take care of you for a minute. You've been staring at those stupid numbers for three hours straight." When you didn't immediately move, he let out a pathetic, exaggerated whine, pouting his lower lip out like a giant, spoiled puppy. "Come on. I’m dying over here. I'm suffering from severe lack of attention."
"If I sit in your lap, Dean, I won't get any studying done for the rest of the weekend, and you know it," you teased softly, turning your head to look up at him through your eyelashes. "I have a strict schedule. I need to pass this exam."
"Who cares about calculus?" he groaned, reaching out to wrap his large hand around your ankle, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against your skin. "Calculus is a scam invented by sadists. Skip it. Come cuddle."
"I can't just skip it," you laughed, swatting at his hand. "Think of the kids, Dean!"
Dean blinked, his eyebrows furrowing in genuine, utter confusion. "The... kids? What kids? The little gremlins you’re going to be teaching?"
"Yes! The future of the country!" you declared dramatically, throwing your hands in the air. "It is incredibly, profoundly important for me to pass this math class because I need to be legally qualified to teach those children that one plus one equals two. If I fail, an entire generation of kindergarteners will grow up mathematically illiterate, and it will be entirely your fault because you wanted to cuddle."
Dean's gaze softened, but a wicked, dangerous spark flared to life in his eyes. He leaned closer, his voice dropping into a low, intimate purr. "Oh, now I'm thinking of the kids, sweetheart. But I'm not thinking about a bunch of random kindergarteners."
You raised an eyebrow. "Then what are you thinking about?"
"Our kids," he murmured smoothly, a cocky, breathtaking smirk spreading across his face. "Your kids with me. That's the only math I'm interested in right now. Because in my version of arithmetic, one plus one equals three. Or four. Or however many you want." He winked, his hand sliding up and pulling you just an inch closer to him. "And let me tell you, I would love nothing more than to spend the rest of the weekend practicing that specific equation with you. We can start right now. I'll even help you do the manual labor."
Your heart did that familiar, joyful little flutter it always did when Dean talked like that. When he looked at you like you were the absolute center of his universe, the only person in a crowded room. A deep, dizzying warmth bloomed in your chest, but you forced a laugh to hide how much his words actually affected you.
"You are shameless," you breathed, rolling your eyes. "And completely unhelpful. I can't think straight. I just need a quick snack to jumpstart my brain. A little sugar hit to get through this last chapter."
"Whatever you want, gorgeous," he murmured, his thumb lightly stroking the fabric of your top where your hip met the cushions, his touch possessive and lingering. "Go get your sugar."
You pushed yourself up from the couch, your legs a little stiff, and walked over to the coffee table. A large, communal glass bowl sat in the center, usually filled with a random assortment of peppermint patties, half-eaten bags of chips, and leftover Halloween candy. Rummaging through the wrappers, your eyes caught onto something new. Nestled near the top was a small handful of cute, sparkling pink gummy bears. They looked sweet, heavily coated in glittering sugar crystals, and completely harmless.
Without thinking twice, you popped one into your mouth. It was surprisingly gourmet, tasting faintly of fresh strawberries and expensive champagne, with a sharp, tangy kick at the very end.
"Ooh, these are actually really good," you murmured, heading back toward your nest of textbooks on the couch. Sitting back down, you grabbed a couple more and popped a second, and then a third one into your mouth before chewing and swallowing them down.
Dean watched you with an amused, affectionate glint in his dark eyes. He leaned over the length of the couch, to gently squeeze your leg, his fingers embedding into your skin with comfortable warmth. "Save some for your roommates, gorgeous. You're raiding the stash."
"They have plenty," you teased, sticking your tongue out at him before turning back to your notebook, determined to power through one more chapter of calculus.
But within ten minutes, a strange sensation began to ripple through your body.
It started insidiously as a low, creeping warmth in the absolute pit of your stomach. At first, you thought it was just the sugar hit, but then the warmth began to expand, radiating outward through your veins until it reached your fingertips. Your skin felt suddenly, acutely hypersensitive. The cotton fabric of your tee shirt, which had felt perfectly fine a moment ago, now felt heavy, abrasive, and agonizingly tight against your chest.
Your breath hitched. You swallowed hard, but your mouth was suddenly dry. Your heart began to hammer a frantic rhythm against your ribs, and your vision felt a little fuzzy, a heavy, intoxicating weight settling directly behind your eyes.
What the hell? you thought, a sharp spike of panic slicing through the warm, golden haze that was rapidly filling your brain.
You hadn’t drank any alcohol tonight. You hadn't taken any medication. You definitely hadn't touched anything sketchy or illegal. All you had done was sit on the couch, highlight three chapters of calculus, and eat a couple of...
Uneasy, trembling slightly, and feeling a sudden surge of heat bloom across your collarbone, you pulled out your phone. Your thumbs felt incredibly heavy, thick, and clumsy on the glowing glass screen. Your vision blurred slightly as you tapped open the roommate group chat, the letters dancing under your fingertips.
You: Hey guys, did someone buy those pink sparkling gummies in the bowl? Are they expired or something?
You: Because I feel kind of weird lol. Like super hot and dizzy. And my chest is literally vibrating. Someone please tell me they aren't from like three Halloweens ago.
Hannah: Pink sparkling gummies? I don't buy just any candy. I only buy the sour worms.
You: They look like little glittering crystals. I ate like three of them because my brain was melting from calculus.
Allie: Y/N. PLEASE TELL ME YOU DID NOT EAT THOSE.
Allie: I had them in my purse in a Ziploc baggie and I think they spilled out when I dumped my keys on the table earlier! Don't eat them!! Spit them out if you are still chewing!!!
You: Too late... I chewed and swallowed three. Maybe four? I don't know, they tasted like champagne and strawberries. Why? What are they? Am I going to get food poisoning? Allie, answer me, the room is starting to sparkle.
Allie: They're my special gummies!! The ones from that high-end online shop!
Allie: They are supposed to awaken your senses, increase blood flow, and ignite pleasure. Y/N, they are literally concentrated horniness in a pink sugar coating! They are meant for a wild weekend getaway, not a casual study break!
You: Allie, no!!! My body feels like it's vibrating. My skin is literally burning hot right now. And why on earth did you buy these in the first place?!
Hannah: Allie! Are you serious right now?! Why do you even have those? You aren’t even seeing anyone right now!
Allie: Okay, first of all, do NOT judge me! Being single is hard, okay?! 😭 You and Garrett are practically married, and Y/N has Dean treating her like a literal queen. Give a single girl a break! I bought them because I wanted to see if they worked for solo time, okay? I didn't mean to poison our resident angel!
You: Allie, sweetie, we are not judging you for that, but we have a system! This is exactly why I keep telling you to zip your purse completely closed! You’re going to lose your wallet one day, and now you’ve accidentally drugged your roommate! What if a guest had eaten those?!
Hannah: Exactly! Thank God it wasn't a random study partner. Jesus, Allie. Hold on, don't panic, Y/N. I'm googling the brand ingredients right now to make sure you don't need a stomach pump.
Allie: Oh god, don't say stomach pump, I’ll cry. Y/N, I am so sorry! Please don't hate me! 😭😭😭
Hannah: Okay, found the website. Four is a totally safe dose medically, Y/N. There are no dangerous chemicals, just highly concentrated herbal aphrodisiacs. You're not going to overdose or go to the hospital.
Hannah: But... uh... you're gonna feel it. Big time. It says full effects peak in 15 minutes. Allie, you are officially on dish duty for a month.
Allie: I will gladly do the dishes! I will scrub the floors with a toothbrush! I am so sorry Y/N! But also... oh my god, I am kind of freaking out for you but also low-key excited? It’s DEAN. The man is totally obsessed with you, and he’s sitting right there! Get your freak on, girl! Have fun! 😉🔥
You: ALLIE! This isn't funny! I’m nervous, I’m worried I’m going to do something totally freaky! You know how I get when I lose control! I’m usually so quiet, what if I completely embarrass myself?! My heart is beating so fast I can hear it in my ears. I am in the dorm ALONE WITH DEAN. He's literally right there looking at the TV. If I look at him right now I think I might melt.
Hannah: Allie, stop encouraging her, she’s actually panicking. Y/N, babe, breathe. Honestly, Dean has been an absolute saint since you guys started dating. He looks at you like you hung the moon. But you under the influence of an aphrodisiac? Praying for Dean’s soul. He’s going to need it. The man is already obsessed with touching you when you're sober.
You: Hannah, help me!!! What do I do?! Should I chug water? Should I take a cold shower?! He’s looking over at me right now. His legs are on my lap. I can feel the heat of his skin through his sweatpants and it's making my brain short-circuit.
Allie: Do NOT take a cold shower, you’ll just ruin a good time. Seriously, Y/N, you always take care of everyone else. You study twenty hours a week, you're always stressing about lesson plans for the kindergarteners. Just let loose and let Dean take care of you tonight!
Hannah: Just stay calm. I’m texting Dean right now to give him a heads-up so he doesn't think you're having a medical emergency when you start climbing him like a tree.
Your thumbs froze over the screen as a sudden wave of heat rushed up your neck, coloring your cheeks a deep, vibrant crimson. You stared at the little three dots bouncing on the screen, signaling that Hannah was typing again. Your heart skipped a beat.
Hannah: Too late, I already sent it. I just told him you accidentally ate Allie's weird love candy and that he needs to keep you contained.
You: HANNAH. WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT. 😭 Now he's going to be weird!
Allie: Uh, hello? Dean's not going to be weird with you, but his protective instincts are about to go into overdrive. I bet you twenty bucks he's already looking at you right now. Look up!
You: I can't look up! If I look up, he'll see the sheer terror and horniness in my eyes, Allie! I am literally staring at my math textbook but the numbers are starting to look like little hearts. This is a nightmare. I cannot be compromised by pink champagne bears!
Hannah: Y/N, seriously, stop panicking. Take a deep breath. Drink some water. Dean loves you. If anything, he's probably going to be incredibly sweet about it. And possessive. Mostly possessive. You know how he gets when anyone or anything alters your mood.
Allie: Oh, absolutely. Remember when you had that one extra espresso shot at the coffee shop and later you were vibrating at the library, and Dean literally carried you out of the library because he said you were 'too energized for public consumption'? 😭 This is going to be ten times better.
You: That was different! I was just jittery! Right now, my skin feels so sensitive that even the fabric of his old t-shirt feels like it's dragging across my skin. And he's shifting his legs. His foot just brushed my shin and I think I gasped out loud. Did he hear me? Oh my god, I think he heard me.
Hannah: Did he look over?
You: I don't know! I'm staring at my phone like my life depends on it! My eyes are glued to this chat! Do not leave me alone in here!
Allie: We aren't leaving you! We are currently parked outside the diner getting burgers, but we will stay on the line. Give us the play-by-play. Has the peak hit yet? The website said 15 minutes. How long has it been?
You: It feels like it's been an eternity, but it's only been like seven minutes. My hands are sweating. Guys, seriously, what if I say something totally embarrassing? What if I tell him I want to marry him? What if I try to take his clothes off right here in the living room? Allie, I am going to murder you when you get home.
Allie: If you're alive to murder me, that means you survived the night with Dean Di Laurentis, which means you should be thanking me! Honestly, consider this an early anniversary gift. 🎁
Hannah: Allie, shut up, you're making her more anxious. Y/N, look at me—well, read this. Dean is not going to judge you. He worships the ground you walk on. Just be honest with him if it gets too overwhelming.
You: It's already overwhelming! The room feels so warm. I want to turn on the AC but I can't move my legs because his heavy-ass hockey legs are anchoring me to the couch. And he's petting my leg. His thumb is doing this little circular motion on my skin and it's making me want to cry. Why am I emotional? Why am I horny and emotional at the same time?!
Allie: That's the microdose, babe. It intensifies your emotions. Just ride the wave! Tell him he's pretty or something.
You: He IS pretty. That's the problem. He's stupidly pretty. His jawline is so sharp it could cut paper. And his eyes are so beautiful. Guys, I just peeked over the top of my phone. He's not looking at the TV anymore. He's looking at his phone. Hannah, did your text go through?!
You: Oh my god. OMG. I really don’t want him to read it. Help. HELP. 🚨🚨🚨
Your fingers were shaking so violently you could barely keep a grip on the sleek metal of your phone. The group chat was a blur of incoming messages, Allie sending a string of laughing emojis and Hannah trying to type out soothing manifestos that your brain was entirely too compromised to process.
Hannah: Y/N, put the phone down and talk to your boyfriend.
You: No! If I look up, the trap snaps shut.
Allie: RIP Y/N. You lived a good life. You died doing what you loved: being aggressively loved by a hockey player. 🪦❤️
You: Allie, I hate you so much. I am going to delete your Pinterest boards. I am going to hide your favorite shoes.
Hannah: Okay, Allie, stop typing, let her handle this. Y/N, text us tomorrow morning if you're alive. We love you. Don't forget to drink water.
You: WAIT DON'T LEAVE ME—
"You guys are terrible!" you whispered fiercely under your breath, silently cursing your friends as you slammed your phone face down on the arm of the couch, the screen cutting to black.
The silence of the room rushed back in, but it wasn't the peaceful, academic silence from twenty minutes ago. It felt heavy, charged with a sudden, thick tension that made the air feel like honey. Every breath you took felt deep and weighted.
You pressed your palms against your burning cheeks, trying to cool yourself down, but it was entirely useless. Your blood was rushing like a roaring river, your senses were heightened to an agonizingly intense degree, and suddenly, the only thing your brain could focus on was the sound of Dean’s steady, deep breathing right behind you. The scent of his expensive cologne, mixed with laundry detergent, was suddenly overwhelming, filling your nose and making your mouth water.
Dean caught you staring. He had been tracking your shifting posture for the last ten minutes out of the corner of his eye, but now he frowned slightly, sitting up straight on the couch. The hockey game on the television screen was completely lost to him. His brow furrowed with a deep, instinctive concern as he looked across the cushions at your flushed skin, your wide, dilated pupils, and your shallow, rapid breathing. You looked like you were running a marathon while sitting completely still.
"Y/N? Baby, what's wrong?" Dean asked, his voice instantly dropping an octave, softening into pure, protective boyfriend mode. He moved with a lazy, athletic grace, sliding across the fabric of the sofa until he was right in your space. He reached out, his large, cool hand placing itself gently against your forehead, his long fingers brushing against the stray, messy hairs of your bun. "Your face is completely flushed. Are you getting a fever? Do you feel sick? Talk to me, gorgeous."
The contrast of his icy palm against your burning, over-sensitized skin sent an incredible, electric shockwave straight down your spine. A soft, pathetic whimper escaped the back of your throat, and you subconsciously leaned into his touch, your eyes closing as your brain turned into complete mush.
Before you could even begin to process the sheer magnitude of the heat blooming in your chest, Dean’s phone buzzed aggressively in his free hand.
He blinked, tearing his worried gaze away from your face for a fraction of a second to look down at the glowing screen. A text from Hannah. Then another. Then a flood of notifications that practically took over his lock screen.
Text Messages: Hannah & Dean
Hannah: Dean. Emergency. Do not panic, but read this immediately.
Hannah: Y/N accidentally ate Allie's aphrodisiac/love gummies. They were in a baggie in the communal candy bowl because Allie is a chaotic gremlin who can't keep her purse zipped.
Hannah: She is currently hopped up on legal lust. She ate like four of them.
Hannah: Do not take advantage of our sweet girl, I know you won't because you worship the ground she walks on, but also... good luck surviving what's about to happen.
Dean: What the fuck are you talking about, Hannah? Love gummies? Is she poisoned? Do I need to take her to the ER? I'm literally holding her forehead right now and she's burning up. Answer me right now or I'm putting her in the truck.
Hannah: NO! Do not take her to the ER! She is medically totally fine! And you know how she hates hospitals if she can help it. I literally just looked up the brand ingredients and called a hotline. It’s completely organic, safe, and legal. There are no toxic chemicals. She is just going to feel... extremely enhanced.
Hannah: Meaning her inhibitions are gone, her skin is super sensitive, and she is basically a walking ball of concentrated affection and desire right now. The peak hits in 15 minutes.
Dean: You've got to be kidding me.
Hannah: I wish I was. Allie is currently crying into a box of chicken nuggets because she thinks she ruined Y/N’s life. Just keep her contained in the apartment. Don't let her run outside or do anything crazy.
Dean: Contained? She’s a human being, Hannah, not a feral raccoon.
Hannah: Dean, trust me. You haven't seen her on these things. Granted I haven't either, but the website reviews say users become 'highly tactile, aggressively affectionate, and completely relentless.'
Hannah: Just be a good boyfriend. Protect her from herself. Praying for your soul, Di Laurentis. You're going to need a lot of willpower.
Dean stared at the screen, his jaw literally dropping. The words blurred for a second before his hockey-player brain fully processed the sheer magnitude of the situation. He slowly, deliberately looked up from his phone, his dark, sharp eyes landing directly on you.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," Dean muttered under his breath, a sudden, sharp spike of adrenaline hitting his system as he realized the immense, terrifying danger he was currently in.
Dean loved you more than anything in this world. He wanted you constantly, That was a baseline, unshakeable fact of his existence. He was a creature of touch, a possessive, territorial man who couldn't sit in a room with you without needing his hands on your skin. But he was also hyper-aware of your past. He knew the ghosts you carried. He knew about the heavy intimacy trauma from your toxic, terrible ex-boyfriend. The guy who had pressured you, manipulated you, and made you feel like your body wasn't your own, like your boundaries didn't matter.
Because of that, Dean had made a sacred, silent vow to himself from the very first day he kissed you: you were always 100% in control. You set the pace. You made the rules. He made absolutely sure you were entirely comfortable, entirely consenting, and entirely sober whenever things got hot and heavy. He refused to be the guy who took advantage of a compromised situation, even by a fraction of an inch.
He was trying to be a proper, honorable boyfriend, which meant he had to survive whatever storm was about to hit this living room without giving in to his own roaring, primal desires. He needed to protect you, keep you safe, and make sure you didn't do anything you'd blush about out of regret tomorrow.
But you? You were completely under the influence.
The sweet, innocent, modest girlfriend Dean knew was gone. The girl who blushed crimson when he complimented her in public, the girl who studied diligently to teach kindergarteners was currently staring at him with heavy-lidded eyes. The aphrodisiac had completely shattered your usual reservations, stripping away every single inhibition you possessed. You knew how to party, and you knew how to let loose, but it was usually a slow, careful burn. Right now, a wild, untamed minx had taken complete control of your body.
Before Dean could even lock his phone, it buzzed again. A message from Allie.
Text Messages: Allie & Dean
Allie: DEAN!!! I AM SO SORRY!!!! 😭😭😭😭😭😭
Allie: Please don't murder me! Please don't check-mate me or whatever hockey players do! It was a total accident! They spilled out of my purse when I came home earlier and I didn't realize they landed in the candy bowl!
Dean: Allie, what the actual hell? Why do you even have candy that turns people into insatiable maniacs?
Allie: BECAUSE BEING SINGLE IS A DESERT, DEAN! You and Y/N are constantly being cute and couple-y, and Hannah and Garrett are basically an old married couple!
Dean: She ate four of them, Allie. FOUR.
Allie: 😳 Okay, well... on the bright side, the website says four creates a 'highly euphoric, deeply bonded romantic experience.'
Allie: Look, I know you're Mr. Honorable, and I love you for how well you treat her, seriously. But she's safe with you. Just... let her have fun? She works so hard, Dean. She’s always stressing. Maybe this is a good thing! Just cuddle her extra hard!
Dean: Cuddle her? Allie, she is currently looking at me like… Idk what but something. I am fighting for my life here.
Allie: I am SOOOOOOOOO sorry! Seriously I take these things so seriously! Sorry! Please forgive me. I’ll buy you a case of beer.
Dean: I'm locking my phone now. If she breaks any furniture, you're paying for it.
"Okay, baby," Dean said, his voice dropping into a smooth, deliberately grounding frequency. He kept his large, cool palm flat against your cheek, his thumb sweeping back and forth over your burning skin in a slow, hypnotic rhythm. "Hannah just told me what happened. You ate some candy that belonged to Allie, and it's making you feel a little crazy right now. It's totally fine, you're safe, but I need you to breathe for me, okay? Just sit back against the cushions, relax, and let it pass—"
But you didn't want to sit back. You didn't want to relax. You wanted Dean. You wanted the heavy, possessive weight of his hands on you, and you wanted it right this second.
Slowly, deliberately, you shifted your weight. Your knees pressed deep into the soft fibers of the couch, your body moving with a fluid, lazy grace as you looked up at him with dark, heavily dilated eyes. The sharp, frantic text notifications that had just been buzzing on your phone were entirely vaporized from your memory. A small, utterly shameless smile spread across your lips. It was a warm, heavy, and completely loose smile that entirely dismantled the tight, defensive coil of anxiety that usually dictated your posture whenever you were stressed about school.
"Dean..." you whined softly, the syllable trailing off into a breathless sigh.
The sound of your voice sent a physical jolt right through him. It shocked him to his very core. It was completely stripped of your usual quiet, polite, and modest cadence. It was thick, syrupy, and absolutely dripping with an unadulterated desire that sent a fierce, primal shockwave straight down his spine, settling deep in his gut.
"You talk too much," you whispered, leaning in until your breath fanned hot, uneven, and sweet against his mouth. "Stop talking, Di Laurentis. Just kiss me."
Dean swallowed hard, his throat clicking loudly in the quiet space of the room. His large hands automatically came up, his long fingers wrapping around the soft curve of your waist. Every single protective boyfriend instinct he possessed screamed at him to pull you into his chest and hold you tight, but his honorable, fiercely protective morals slammed the brakes. He compromised, locking his elbows and holding you firmly at a strict distance so you couldn't press your lips against his.
"Baby girl, listen to me," Dean grunted, his jaw tight, the tendons in his neck straining as he fought the near-overwhelming urge to just lean forward, wrap his arms around you, and completely devour you. "I want to kiss you. You have no idea how badly I want to kiss you right now. I want to kiss you until neither of us can breathe, until the sun comes up. But you're not in your right mind, sweetheart. You're buzzed on weird love drugs. We need to wait. We need to let this wear off."
You pouted, your lower lip sticking out so dramatically it made his chest ache with a mixture of affection and sheer torture. "I don't want to wait! Waiting is for people who do math, Dean. I hate math. I hate calculus. I love you. Look at your arms... they're so big. Why are you keeping them around my waist if you aren't going to pull me closer to you?"
To emphasize your point, and entirely driven by the liquid fire currently racing through your veins, you wiggled forward. Your chest pressed directly against his solid, muscular torso. Dean let out a sharp, ragged breath, his fingers tightening on your hips, his knuckles turning stark white against the grey fabric of your sweatpants as he held you back by force.
"I'm keeping my hands right here to keep you steady, gorgeous," he rasped, his voice dropping into a rough, strained register under the immense pressure of his own willpower. "Come on, cooperate with me just a little bit. Let's just watch the game. Look, look at the TV. The power play is happening. Harvard is on the defensive." He pointed a desperate, shaking hand toward the television screen where a bunch of blurred hockey players were skating around in low volume.
You didn't even glance at the screen. Instead, you reached up, your small hands sliding up his chest until your fingers tangled deep into the short, thick hairs at the back of his neck, tugging playfully, demanding his attention. "I don't care about hockey right now. I care about you. You're my hockey player. You're my big, strong, territorial boy. Aren't you going to take care of me? You promised me earlier you wanted to take care of me."
"I am taking care of you!" Dean protested, a breathless, desperate laugh escaping his lips as he stared at you. "This is literally me taking care of you, baby! I am performing a miracle of modern self-restraint right now! If the guys walked through that door right now, they'd give me a medal for heroism!"
Dean’s hands left your waist and gripped the edges of the leather sofa cushions so tightly the material groaned under his strength. He was in so much trouble, and he knew it. Every primal, deeply buried instinct in his athletic frame was roaring at him to give in. To pull you up, pin you down, and give you exactly what you were demanding. The heat coming off your skin was palpable, radiating against his own body, but his fierce, protective love for you held him entirely in check. He wanted you to be fully, 100% present whenever you gave yourself to him.
"Hey, baby girl," Dean said, trying to stabilize his ragged breathing, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "Why don't we... why don't you drink some water? Let’s get a giant glass of ice water from the kitchen and flush this stuff right out of your system, okay? I'll go get it for you."
Dean looked up at you, completely transfixed, his breath catching in his throat. You looked breathtakingly beautiful. Your cheeks were flushed a deep, vibrant rose, your chest heaved against the cotton of your t-shirt, and your eyes were entirely locked onto his face, completely enamored with him.
"You're so handsome, Dean," you whispered, leaning forward until the heat of your body completely enveloped him. You cupped his sharp jawline with both of your hands, your fingers feeling like liquid fire against his stubble. A small, desperate whimper escaped your throat as you buried your face directly into the crook of his neck, inhaling the intoxicating scent of his sandalwood cologne and clean detergent. Your fingers drifted upward, once again burying themselves into his hair, tugging just enough to pull him closer. "I want you. Dean, please. You're always touching me. You always have your hands all over me. Why aren't you touching me right now?"
"Baby, you ate... you ate love drugs," Dean choked out, his eyes darting toward the ceiling, the wall, the television—anywhere but your plush, parting lips. His jaw was so tight it physically ached. "You're not in your right mind right now. I'm not doing this to you. We need to get you down the hall and into bed so you can sleep it off."
Dean didn't pull you closer; instead, he held you at a strict, unyielding distance to keep you from rolling your hips against his. His heart was hammering a million miles an hour against his ribs, a frantic, heavy thud you could feel vibrating against your own chest. It was both utterly stunning and excruciatingly painful for him to see his gentle, self-sacrificing girl acting like such an absolute, uninhibited minx.
"Noooo," you pouted, your lower lip trembling slightly as you resisted the heavy, iron weight of his hands on your hips. "Don't be mean to me, Dean."
"I'm not being mean, sweetheart," he rasped, his eyes burning as he looked at you. "I'm trying to be a good guy."
But you weren't listening to logic. Completely driven by the artificial heat flooding your veins, you leaned down, closed the remaining inches between your faces, and captured his lips in a fierce, deeply possessive kiss.
Dean’s brain completely short-circuited. The sheer shock of your mouth on his instantly shattered his mental defenses. His grip on your waist tightened automatically, his large hands sinking into your skin as you finally managed to shift your weight, rolling your hips against his in a soft, needy motion. A whimpering sigh escaped your throat at the contact, and Dean’s iron resolve entirely crumbled into dust.
He didn't just kiss you back; he met you with pent-up, roaring passion he carried for you every single day. Dean let out a harsh, broken sound into your mouth, his arms wrapping tightly around your back to pull your body flush against his. It was a desperate, bruising kiss, thick with a dangerous hunger that he had spent all day carefully managing and keeping under lock and key. For two glorious, dizzying minutes, he completely lost control. His tongue tangled with yours, drinking you in, letting himself taste the wild, unbridled version of the girl he loved so fiercely. His hands slid up your back, his large fingers gripping your shoulders, pulling you so close there wasn't a single millimeter of space between your chests.
But then, the rational, fiercely protective part of his brain screamed at him through the thick fog of lust. No. Stop. Not like this. She won't remember this clearly.
With a monumental, agonizing effort that left his entire athletic frame shaking, Dean pulled his mouth away. He was panting heavily, his dark eyes wide and wild with a deep desire, but underneath the heat, they were filled with that fierce, stubborn protectiveness. His breathing was incredibly ragged as he slid his hands up to grip your shoulders, holding you still against his lap.
"No. No, damn it. Y/N, stop," he rasped, his voice rough, cracking under the strain. "You're killing me, baby girl. We can't do this right now."
You blinked at him, your vision slightly blurry, looking completely and utterly hurt. The sudden rejection stung sharply, amplified tenfold by the chemicals rushing through your hyper-stimulated nervous system. You were used to Dean practically worshiping the ground you walked on, always eager for your touch, always finding an excuse to press his lips to yours whenever you were in the same room. Now, he was actively holding you back, pushing you away.
"Why don't you want me?" you whined, your voice turning into a breathless, tearful pout as a stray tear gathered in the corner of your eye. You tried to lean forward to kiss him again, but his grip on your shoulders was an immovable wall of muscle. "Dean... you don't think I'm sexy anymore? Did I do something wrong?"
"Of course I think you're sexy! You're the sexiest girl on the fucking planet, it’s driving me completely insane!" Dean groaned, dropping his forehead against your shoulder for a brief second to gather his sanity before looking back at you, rubbing a hand aggressively over his face. "But you're high on love drugs, baby! I'm trying to be a gentleman here, I am fighting for my absolute life, and you are making it completely impossible for me to think straight!"
You pouted harder, your bottom lip trembling violently as tears of pure, chemical frustration pricked the corners of your eyes. "You don't want me! Am I not doing it right? Is that why you're stopping?"
"Jesus Christ, baby, I just said I want you! I want you more than my next breath," he rasped, his thumb flying up to gently, tenderly wipe away the stray tear that had slipped down your flushed cheek. "But we're not doing this today. Not like this. You're going to regret it tomorrow if we do, and I am not letting that happen to you. I won't be that guy. I refuse to be him."
But your intoxicated, hyper-stimulated brain was entirely too far gone to process his words or understand his noble intentions. You didn't care about tomorrow; your skin was on fire, every nerve ending was screaming for contact, and you just wanted to touch him, kiss him, and feel the weight of his large body pressing you into the mattress. When logic failed, your altered mind decided to play dirty.
Before Dean could even guess your next move, your hands reached down and grabbed the hem of your oversized t-shirt. With a fluid, confident motion born of pure impulse, you pulled it over your head and tossed it blindly across the living room floor.
It left you sitting directly in his lap in just your form-fitting black tube top and a pair of tiny denim shorts. Your soft, bare skin was completely exposed to him, glowing with a light sheen of sweat under the apartment lamps. Your chest heaved up and down, right in Dean’s direct line of sight. To maximize the impact, you leaned slightly forward, resting your bare forearms against his chest so he had no choice but to look at what you were offering.
Dean’s eyes nearly popped right out of his head. He let out a strangled, breathless sound, his jaw dropping as his gaze traced the smooth expanse of your shoulders, your collarbones, and the soft skin of your chest. He practically shoved his own hands back onto the couch cushions, gripping the leather until his knuckles turned a ghostly gray just to keep himself from grabbing you and pinning you to the sofa.
"Oh, that is cheating. That is absolute foul play, Y/N," he growled, his voice thick, rough, and straining violently against the leash he had put on himself. "You are playing incredibly dirty."
"I'm so hot, Dean," you whispered, shifting your weight on his thighs and leaning into his ear. Your lips brushed against his sensitive earlobe, your breath coming hot, fast, and uneven against his neck. "Help me. Just let me have fun with you. Why are you being so stubborn?"
Dean closed his eyes, his broad chest rising and falling in sharp, jagged movements as he prayed to whatever higher power was listening for just one more ounce of strength. He knew his limits, and you were currently obliterating them one by one. He had to get you out of this living room, away from the couch, and away from the temptation before his control snapped entirely and he forgot all his promises.
"Alright, that's it. Game over," Dean muttered, his eyes snapping open with a sudden, fierce determination. "I'm taking you to bed."
Your eyes lit up with a sudden, brilliant excitement. Your compromised brain completely misunderstood his words, thinking your shameless seduction had finally broken his walls down and that you were getting exactly what you wanted.
"Really? Yay!" You let out a happy, breathy giggle, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck and burying your face into his shoulder, feeling completely victorious. "I knew you loved me."
"Don't get excited, minx," Dean muttered, shifting his massive frame on the couch so he could slide one arm under your knees and the other behind your bare back, lifting you up into a seamless, powerful carry.
You were surprisingly light in his arms, and you immediately reacted to the sudden movement by wrapping your legs tightly around his waist, clinging to his torso like a koala. The feeling of your bare thighs pressing directly into his hips made him bite the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted copper.
As he began the long, agonizing walk down the hallway toward your bedroom, he looked down at your smiling, flushed face. "I mean you are going to sleep. Alone. I promise you, baby girl, when you wake up tomorrow and those damn gummies are out of your system... if you still want to have fun, I will be right here. I will give you absolutely whatever you want, however you want it. But tonight, you're sleeping it off."
You groaned loudly, the sound muffled against his broad shoulder as he carried you across the threshold of your bedroom. The familiar space of your room which was filled with your pastel sketchbooks, hanging fairy lights, and neatly stacked teaching theory textbooks was not helpful. It did nothing to cool the raging fire in your blood. When he lowered you onto the mattress, tossing you with a gentleness that contradicted his massive, athletic frame, you immediately rolled over. Before he could pull away and retreat to the safety of the living room, your fingers shot out, gripping his thick wrist with surprising strength.
"Don't leave me," you pleaded, looking up at him from the pillows. Your hair had completely fallen out of its messy bun, spreading across the sheets in a beautiful, wild halo. "Dean, please. It's cold without you."
"Baby, you just said you were hot two seconds ago," Dean pointed out, a weak, exhausted smile pulling at his lips as he stayed bent over the bed, trapped by your grip on his wrist. "You're contradicting yourself."
"I'm hot on the inside, but I'm cold on the outside," you explained with absolute, drug-induced sincerity, nodding your head firmly. "It's a medical fact. If you leave me alone in this room, I'm going to freeze to death, and then who is going to teach the kids how to count to ten? Do you want that on your conscience?"
Dean let out a low, rough chuckle, shaking his head in sheer disbelief at your rambling. He used his free hand to gently untangle your fingers from his wrist, but instead of walking away, he sat down on the edge of the mattress. He leaned over, bracing his weight on one forearm next to your hip, looking down at you with an expression of pure, unadulterated devotion.
"I don't want that on my conscience, gorgeous," he murmured, his voice dropping into that deep, gravelly register that made your chest tighten with affection. "But I'm not leaving the apartment. I'm just going to sit in the living room and finish watching the game. I'll leave the door cracked open so I can hear you, okay?"
"No, it’s not okay," you whined, your voice dropping into a breathless, desperate register that sounded completely foreign to your own ears. You shifted on the mattress, looking up at him through a heavy fringe of messy, unraveled hair. Your eyes were huge and completely doe-like, reflecting the faint glow of the hallway light. "At least cuddle with me, Dean. Please. I feel so incredibly dizzy. Everything in the room is spinning just a little bit, and I am so, so warm. I just want you next to me. Don't leave me alone in here with my brain feeling like this."
Dean looked down at your pouty, beautiful face, his chest heaving as he fought a losing battle against his own desires. The sight of you stripped of your oversized t-shirt, completely uninhibited, and pleading for him was a masterclass in psychological torture. With a defeated, heavy sigh, he dropped his head back, running his free hand through his hair.
"Y/N, you are playing so dirty right now," Dean muttered, his voice rough and cracking under the strain. He dropped his head back, running a broad, heavy hand through his dark hair, pulling at the strands in sheer frustration. He could never say no to you when you looked at him like that, even when you were completely sober and just asking for an extra bite of his dinner. Right now, under the influence, it was a miracle he was still standing upright on his own two feet. "You know exactly what you're doing to me, don't you?"
"I'm not doing anything," you whispered innocently, blinking up at him. "I'm just a girl who needs her boyfriend. Is it a crime to want a cuddle, Dean?"
"It should be a crime for you to look at me like that," he groaned, shaking his head. "Fine. I'll lay down. I will literally lay right here."
He pointed a stern, blunt finger directly at your face, trying to inject some semblance of coach-like authority into his rapidly melting resolve.
"But you need to listen to me very carefully, baby girl. Promise me right now no funny business. I mean it. We are keeping this completely PG. We stay entirely on top of the floral covers, and we keep things civil. Do you understand the words coming out of my mouth?"
"I promise," you lied smoothly, the words slipping past your lips without a single shred of your usual textbook honesty.
The aphrodisiac flooding your system didn't care about arbitrary verbal contracts or bedroom rules. It only cared about physical proximity, friction, and the radiating heat of the massive defenseman standing over you.
"See? I'm being so good," you added, offering him a sweet, completely manufactured smile.
"Yeah, right. You're a little liar when you're buzzed," Dean grumbled, but he allowed you to use your grip on his thick wrist to pull him down onto the mattress.
With a heavy, resonant thud, Dean kicked off his sneakers, letting them drop to the hardwood floor before he tumbled onto the bed beside you. True to his word, he stubbornly remained on top of the floral duvet, refusing to tuck himself under the sheets where things might get too comfortable. He immediately reached down and yanked a light fleece throw blanket from the foot of the bed, draping it heavily over your bare shoulders. He was deliberately trying to obscure his own view of your exposed collarbones, your smooth shoulders, and the tight black fabric of your tube top.
"There," Dean said, nodding once as if he had just successfully completed a defensive play. "Wrapped up like a burrito. Safe and sound."
"I don't want to be a burrito," you huffed, wriggling your shoulders under the fleece. "Burritos are lonely."
"Burritos are safe from making mistakes they'll regret at eight o'clock tomorrow morning," Dean countered, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look down at you. "Now, what do you want to talk about? Since we're practicing extreme conversational restraint."
"I want to talk about why you look that hot in your shirt," you murmured, your eyes locking onto the collar of his t-shirt. "It's distracting."
"It's a plain t-shirt, Y/N." Dean laughed softly, the sound rich and rumbling in his chest. "Your brain is completely cooked."
The absolute lack of inhibitions made you entirely fearless. You didn't care about his analytical breakdown of his clothing. Instead, you shifted your weight on the mattress, sliding your small, warm hands right under the heavy cotton hem of his t-shirt. Your fingertips, completely sensitized by the high-end luxury gummy ingredients, began to trace the hard, defined ridges of his abs. Your palms soaked in the intense, radiating heat of his skin, and you let out a soft, pleased sigh at the contact.
"Ah, ah, absolutely not," Dean muttered immediately.
His reaction was instantaneous, his hockey reflexes kicking in before you could even slide your hands past his ribs. He caught both of your wrists in one of his massive, heavy hands, lifting them gently but with an immovable, iron firmness out from under his shirt. He pinned your hands securely between your bodies, glaring down at you with a volatile mixture of pure agony and deep amusement.
"Y/N. What did I literally just say to you? Not even two seconds ago. What did we agree on?"
"We agreed to cuddle," you said, twisting your wrists playfully against his grip, completely unfazed by his strength. "This is a form of tactile exploration. I'm studying your anatomy, Dean. For... for science. For my teaching degree."
"Anatomy? For a kindergarten teaching degree?" Dean scoffed, a brilliant, white smile breaking across his handsome face as he shook his head. "Nice try, baby girl. But I'm pretty sure five-year-olds don't need a lesson on my abdominal muscles. Nice hustle, though. Creative angle."
"You're being incredibly uncooperative," you huffed, a deeply frustrated, whiny sound escaping the back of your throat.
If your hands were going to be occupied and pinned down by his iron grip, you realized you still had other options. A few seconds later, you shifted your hips with a sudden, deliberate movement and slung your bare leg directly over his thick, muscular thighs. You dragged your smooth inner thigh flush against the rough fabric of his grey sweatpants, actively seeking out the friction, wanting nothing more than to dissolve the distance between you.
Dean gritted his teeth so hard a sharp, distinct pop echoed in his jawline. His entire athletic body went as rigid as a stone wall. He let go of your wrists, using both of his large hands to manually grab your ankle, lifting your leg entirely off his body and placing it firmly back on your own side of the bed like he was handling live, highly volatile ordnance.
"Baby. Stop moving your legs. I am literally begging you right now," he rasped, his voice vibrating with a dangerous, dark edge that made a delicious shiver race straight down your spine. He closed his eyes tightly, his knuckles turning stark white as he clenched his fists against the floral duvet. "You need to stop testing my sainthood, Y/N. I am a man. A very healthy, very attracted man."
You scrambled closer, entirely invading his personal space until you could bury your face in the warm, delicious crook of his neck. You started whining breathily against his skin, the soft vibrations of your voice sending goosebumps over his collarbone. You leaned up, your vision entirely locked onto the sharp line of his jaw, and deliberately nipped at his skin, leaving a biting kiss right over his pulse point.
Dean caught his breath sharply, a low, guttural growl escaping from deep within his chest. It was a sound of pure, animalistic frustration. His hands flew up in an instant, his large palms gripping the sides of your head to hold you completely, utterly still. He forced you to pull back, making you look directly up at him. His dark eyes were wide, burning with a volatile, heavy mixture of intense arousal and stern, unyielding authority.
"Look at me," Dean commanded, his voice dropping into a deep, authoritative register that made your stomach do a violent, dizzying flip. "You need to lay completely, perfectly still right now, or I swear to God, Y/N, I will get up out of this bed and sleep on the hard living room floor. Do you understand me? Still. No moving. No biting. No wiggling."
The threat hit its mark with terrifying accuracy. The mere thought of him leaving the bedroom entirely was scary. The idea of him leaving you alone in the dark while your body was vibrating with this terrifying, sweet heat was far too much for your hazy, intoxicated mind to bear. You let out a sad, pathetic little whine, your lower lip trembling violently as you realized he wasn't bluffing. He would actually sleep on the floor if he had to.
"Okay," you whispered, completely defeated.
Your eyes welled with sudden, frustrated tears of pure chemical overload, your vision blurring as you looked at him. You felt so rejected, so small, even though a tiny, rational part of your brain knew he was doing it because he loved you.
Seeing your crushed, sorrowful expression and the tears brimming in your eyes, Dean’s iron defense instantly melted into nothingness. He let out a long, soft, defeated sigh, his sharp features softening into an expression of pure, unadulterated devotion. He released his grip on your face, his large hands moving down to wrap securely around your waist. With one smooth, powerful tug, he pulled your back flush against his solid chest, tucking you into his larger frame.
"Come here, you little menace," he murmured affectionately, his breath warm against the back of your neck as he pressed his lips to your hair. "Don't cry. Jesus, baby, don't cry. You're killing me over here."
You whimpered, but you immediately snuggled into his massive frame, taking comfort in the sheer size of him. You realized that you could still have his undivided affection.
"You're being mean to me," you mumbled, twisting your head around on the pillow so you could look up at his face again. "You yelled at me."
"I did not yell at you, gorgeous," Dean chuckled softly, the tension finally leaving his shoulders as he realized you were staying still now. "That was my survival voice. There's a difference. I was deploying tactical measures to ensure we both survive the night with our dignity intact."
"I don't care about dignity," you whispered, reaching up a clumsy hand to pat his chin. "Dignity doesn't keep you warm at night. You do."
"Yeah, well, tomorrow you're going to care about dignity a lot," Dean said, pressing a whisper soft kiss to the pad of your thumb as it brushed against his lips. "You're going to wake up, look at me, and want to run away if we don't keep our behavior in check right now."
"I would never want to run away from you," you insisted, your words dripping with a heavy, honest adoration. "I want to be right here. Forever. Can we stay like this until Monday? I'll call into my classes. I'll tell them I have an emergency breakdown."
"An emergency breakdown," Dean repeated, his chest shaking with a silent laugh. "I'm sure the dean of the education department will totally understand that, baby. Very professional."
You turned your body around completely in his embrace, facing him once more, determined to make the most of your current arrangement. If you couldn't move your legs or slide your hands under his clothes, you could still use your lips. You leaned up, peppering his face with soft, sweet, completely uncoordinated kisses.
You kissed his sharp jawline, his flushed cheeks, his chin, and then the very tip of his nose. You were relentless, moving across his skin like a manic puppy, leaving a trail of sweet, butterfly-light affection wherever you could reach.
Dean just lay there, enduring the sweet assault without a single complaint. A small, thoroughly amused smile tugged at the corner of his lips, his dark eyes watching your face with a level of tenderness that was almost overwhelming. He let you kiss his face, entirely content to be your target, his large hand resting heavily on the small of your back to keep you anchored against him. He was hoping against hope that the steady, grounding rhythm of his heartbeat and the absolute physical safety of his arms would finally help the chemical storm in your body pass.
"Are you getting it all out of your system?" Dean teased softly, his voice a low purr as you kissed his left eyelid. "You missed a spot on my forehead, by the way. Very sloppy work for a future educator."
"Shut up," you murmured, leaning up to kiss his forehead exactly where he pointed. "I am executing a highly calculated affection strategy. It requires focus."
"Oh, it's a strategy now?" Dean grinned, his thumb rubbing comforting circles against your hip through the fleece blanket. "What’s the end goal of this play, Captain?"
"To make you love me so much that you forget about the living room floor," you whispered, leaning your forehead against his chin. "To make you stay right here."
"Baby, I am already so far gone for you it's embarrassing," Dean admitted, his voice dropping into a raw, incredibly sincere register that caught you off guard. He squeezed your waist, pulling you just a fraction closer, if that was even physically possible. "You don't need a strategy for that. You won that game months ago."
"I did?" you asked, your glassy eyes blinking up at him through the dim light.
"First period, first five minutes," Dean nodded, his eyes locked onto yours with terrifying sincerity. "You smiled at me, and I was completely finished. I’ve just been playing catch-up ever since."
You let out a soft, happy sigh, your body finally beginning to relax against his. The frantic, electric buzzing beneath your skin was starting to change, shifting from a restless, aggressive urge into something much heavier, thicker, and slower.
"My eyes feel like they have tiny rocks on them," you complained softly, your words starting to slur together just a little bit at the edges.
Dean smiled, a look of profound relief washing over his handsome face as he recognized the signs. "That means everything is wearing off, baby. You're crashing."
Slowly, the intense, frantic peak of the aphrodisiac began to recede from your system. The crash was incredibly swift and decisive. It replaced the wild, restless arousal with a deep, crushing physical exhaustion that seemed to settle deep into your bones in a matter of minutes.
Your frantic movements began to slow down. The kisses became fewer and farther between, your lips lingering heavily against his cheek for long seconds before you had the energy to move again, until finally, you stopped entirely. Your arms felt like lead weights around his neck.
With a clumsy, heavy movement, completely operating on pure instinct, you crawled your way upward. You shifted your weight on the mattress until you were positioned directly on top of him, sprawling your body across his larger, athletic frame like a heavy blanket.
"Hey, what did I say about funny business, minx?" Dean reminded you softly, though there was no heat behind the warning. His voice was nothing more than a low, comforting rumble vibrating directly beneath your chest, his hands instantly coming up to cradle your sides so you wouldn't slide off.
"No funny business," you mumbled, your face buried entirely in the hollow of his neck. Your words slurred together completely, your eyelids growing incredibly heavy, feeling as though they were being weighted down with heavy iron blocks. "Just cuddles now, Dean. My brain is officially broken."
Dean let out a soft, beautiful laugh that vibrated right through your ribcage. He adjusted his position slightly, shifting his weight so he could support you comfortably without crushing your smaller frame. "Okay I'll let you think whatever you want right now."
"Mmm... you're soft," you whispered, your voice barely audible now as the deep sleep began to pull you under.
"I am definitely not soft, baby girl," Dean muttered under his breath, a highly amused smirk flashing in the dark room as he looked up at the ceiling. "But for you, I'll be whatever you need me to be."
He settled his large, warm hands comfortably and protectively onto the small of your lower back, his fingers embedding slightly into the fabric of your shorts, holding you steady against him. You sprawled your body entirely over his chest, your legs tangled with his thick thighs, your heart rate slowing down beautifully to match the steady, rhythmic pulse of his own heart.
Within minutes, your shallow, rapid breathing evened out into long, deep drafts. The tension completely left your muscles, leaving you delightfully heavy and limp in his arms. You fell into a profound, peaceful sleep, safe from the chaotic storm that had taken over your body just an hour prior.
The next morning, the bright, golden summer sunlight filtered through the gaps in your bedroom blinds, cutting long lines of warmth across the tangled sheets.
You slowly began to stir, a soft, groggy groan escaping your lips as your consciousness reluctantly returned to the surface. The wild, overwhelming, electric heat from the previous afternoon was entirely gone, leaving your skin cool and your body feeling normal, if not a little heavily weighed down by sleep. Your eyes were still tightly shut, refusing to face the morning light just yet, but you were instantly aware of your surroundings.
You could feel the rhythmic, steady rise and fall of a solid, muscular chest beneath your cheek, and a pair of warm, incredibly strong arms were wrapped securely around your waist, anchoring you to him. It was a weight you knew by heart.
Even with your vision obscured by sleep and the dark shield of your eyelids, you could feel it. The distinct, heavy sensation of a gaze lingering on your face. A small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of your lips before you even moved a muscle.
"You know, they say it’s scientifically proven that humans can feel when they're being stared at," you mumbled sleepily, your voice dry and cracking slightly from the long night. You didn't open your eyes, instead choosing to nuzzle a fraction of an inch closer into his warmth. "And right now, my radar is going off. Big time."
A soft, deep chuckle vibrated instantly through the chest beneath you, the sound low, intimate, and entirely unbothered by being caught. Dean’s long, blunt fingers began to slowly card through your messy, tangled hair, gently smoothing the stray strands away from your face with a tenderness that made your chest ache with affection.
"Oh yeah? Is that a fact?" he murmured, his breath brushing the top of your head, smelling faintly of the mint gum he must have chewed at some point during the night. "And what exactly is this radar of yours telling you?"
"It's telling me that I have a very handsome, weirdo boyfriend acting like a total creep at..." You paused, squinting behind your eyelids to guess the time. "...whatever ungodly hour of the morning this is."
"First of all, it's nine AM, so it's practically noon for an athlete," Dean replied, his fingers trailing down from your hair to trace the line of your jaw. "Second of all, calling me a weirdo and a creep? That hurts, Y/N. Truly. After everything I did for you yesterday, I wake up to slander."
Slowly, reluctantly, you blinked your eyes open, tilting your head back to see Dean smiling down at you. His blonde hair was perfectly messy, sticking up in unpredictable tufts that you secretly loved, and his jaw was shadowed with a light layer of morning stubble. His eyes were incredibly warm, glowing with a soft, hazy light in the morning sun filtering through the blinds. He looked devastatingly handsome, and he absolutely knew it.
"It’s not slander if it's true, Di Laurentis," you teased softly, a small, fragile smile playing on your lips as your eyes adjusted to the light. "Normal people wake up and check their phones, or get a glass of water, or, I don't know, actually get out of bed. They don't just lie in wait, looming over their sleeping partners like a gargoyle."
Dean laughed aloud, the rich, bright sound echoing off the bedroom walls. He squeezed his arms tighter around your waist, pulling you up an inch higher against his chest so he could look directly down into your face.
"A gargoyle? Wow. The descriptions just keep getting better," he chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Excuse me, but I have been laying here for hours acting as your personal, premium, temperature-regulated memory-foam mattress because you physically refused to sleep anywhere else last night. Every time I even tried to shift an inch to stretch my legs, you let out this tiny, pathetic little whimper and clamped onto me like a koala. I think I earned the absolute right to look at your beautiful face."
"I do not whimper," you protested, though the heat rising in your cheeks threatened to betray you. You leaned your cheek heavily into his palm anyway as his large thumb began to stroke your cheekbone in slow, soothing circles. "And it's still a total violation of my morning privacy. I probably have drool on my face and sleep in my eyes."
"You don't," Dean said softly, his voice dropping into that quiet, husky register that always made your heart do a ridiculous flip. His smile softened completely, the humor dropping away to reveal an expression of profound, unadulterated tenderness. "And even if you did, I wouldn't care. You look perfect. You always do."
He leaned his head up slightly and pressed a gentle, lingering kiss directly to your forehead, his lips warm and dry against your skin. He stayed there for a moment, just breathing you in, before pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. "Hey, how are you feeling, sweet girl? How's your head?"
The moment the question left his lips, the dam broke.
The foggy, comfortable haze of sleep evaporated instantly, and the memory of the previous afternoon came rushing back into your brain in a sudden, vivid, horrifying wave of clarity. The aphrodisiac gummies... the sheer, unadulterated chaos that had followed...
A bright, hot, crimson blush exploded across your face, traveling all the way down your neck and burning the tips of your ears. Mortified to your very core, you let out a loud, agonized groan and buried your face right back into the center of Dean’s chest, trying to physically dig a hole into his chest to hide away from the world—and more importantly, from his amused, knowing gaze.
"Oh my god," you muffled into his cotton t-shirt, your hands curling into the fabric, gripping it like a lifeline. "Please tell me that was a fever dream. Please, Dean, look me in the eyes and tell me I didn't actually do any of that."
"Oh, you did," Dean teased, his broad chest shaking beneath you with silent, joyous laughter. He didn't let you hide for long, his arms tightening around your waist, squeezing you flush against his solid frame. "You absolutely did, baby. You were a total little minx. Stripping off your shirt, whining in my ear, nipping at my jaw like a little wild cat... Honestly, like I told you yesterday, I deserve a medal for my restraint, Y/N. A literal, Olympic gold medal. The secular world has never seen a man show the kind of holy discipline I showed last night."
"Stop talking, oh my god, stop mentioning the biting," you squeaked, your voice incredibly small. You felt so ridiculously shy and vulnerable now that your usual, modest, quiet personality had taken back the reins. The contrast between your sober self and yesterday's uninhibited version was giving you whiplash.
You wrapped your arms tightly around his neck, getting sweet and clingy in the way you normally were when you wanted to hide from a reality you weren't ready to face. "I was so crazy. I was out of my mind. I can never look anyone in the eye again. I'm moving to a different state. I'll change my name."
"Hey, don't apologize, and definitely don't move," he murmured, his deep voice vibrating against your collarbone as he wrapped his arms around you, his hand moving to rub soothing, slow circles on your bare back. "It wasn't your fault. You were drugged by a rogue not candy, sweet girl. If anything, Allie is the one who's going to be cleaning the apartment and doing our grocery shopping for the next month to make up for it, believe me. I already texted Allie and told her that she owes us."
But as you lay there, the warmth of his embrace couldn't quite stop a small, nagging insecurity from worming its way into your thoughts. Your mind, naturally prone to worrying about everyone else and putting yourself last, drifted toward Dean’s notorious past. You thought about the girls he used to surround himself with before he met you—the girls from the campus parties who were naturally loud, aggressive, uninhibited, and always forward. You were just a quiet, artsy girl who wanted to teach kindergarten and wore oversized sweaters.
Slowly, you lifted your head off his chest, looking up at him with a hesitant, deeply worried expression, your bottom lip bitten between your teeth.
"Yeah, baby?" he asked, instantly picking up on the shift in your energy, his brow furrowing slightly.
"Did you... did you like me better like that?" you asked softly, your voice dropping to a vulnerable, fragile whisper that barely carried in the quiet room. "You know... when I was acting so forward and aggressive? I know the kinds of girls you used to hang out with before we started dating. They were always like that. Is that... is that what you actually prefer?"
Dean’s playful smile vanished instantly. It was replaced by an expression of intense, heavy seriousness—a look of pure, unadulterated devotion that completely transformed his features. He stopped carding through your hair. Instead, he brought both of his large, warm hands up to cup your face, his fingers framing your jawline, forcing you to look directly into the deep, fierce focus of his eyes.
"Baby, look at me. Listen to me very carefully," Dean commanded gently, his voice dropping into a low, steady rumble, waiting until your anxious eyes locked completely onto his. "Those girls in my past? I might have liked their attention for an hour on a Friday night. But they meant absolutely, one hundred percent nothing to me. There is a reason I never seriously dated a single person before I met you, Y/N. I didn't want them. But you? You are the only one for me."
He leaned down closer, his forehead resting gently against yours, his breath warm on your lips.
"I love your personality exactly the way it is," Dean whispered fiercely, his sincerity vibrating through his words. "I love how sweet you are. I love how you take care of people, how comforting you are, and how you make this place feel like home. I love that you're quiet, and casual, and modest. And God, I love it when you get shy around me. You are everything I ever wanted, Y/N. Everything."
Your breath hitched, your heart pounding wildly against your ribs—not from the lingering effects of any sugar-coated boutique gummy, but from the sheer, staggering weight of his devotion.
"Those girls had my attention for an hour," Dean repeated, his dark eyes burning with a fierce, profound loyalty that left no room for doubt. "But you? I hope you have my attention for the rest of my life."
You stared up at him, completely breathless, your chest tight with a sudden, overwhelming wave of emotion.
"I love you so much, baby girl," Dean whispered, the words falling from his lips with absolute, unshakable certainty.
Your eyes widened in beautiful shock. It was the very first time Dean had ever said those three words to you. You had been falling deeper and deeper for him with every single passing day, but hearing him say it out loud, with so much fierce, protective certainty, completely shattered whatever remaining walls of insecurity you had left.
"I love you too, Dean," you shyly whispered back for the first time, a radiant, tearful smile breaking across your face.
Dean didn't waste another single second. He leaned up, shifting his weight, and captured your lips in a kiss. It wasn't like the frantic, drug-fueled, demanding kisses of the afternoon before; this kiss was slow, deep, reverent, and filled with a lifetime of quiet promises. You melted completely into his touch, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck, pulling his heavy frame down onto you as you gave him the absolute kiss of a lifetime. When he finally pulled back just a fraction, his breathing was ragged, a triumphant, completely smitten grin spreading across his handsome face.
"Yeah," Dean murmured, leaning down to press one final, sweet kiss to the tip of your nose. "I definitely prefer the real you, baby."
