“My pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand. Taking mine, but it’s been promised to another. I can’t stop you putting roots in my dreamland. My house of stone, your ivy grows, and now I’m covered in you.”
Michael Robinavitch and Jack Abbot have always been something impossible to define. You’re a nurse who has become one of the only comforts and constants in their lives, watching them orbit around something neither of them has ever been brave enough to name. When those boundaries begin to blur, the three of you have to decide what happens when the thing you’ve been avoiding is maybe also the thing you need most.
6. You Are In Love
“Morning, his place, burnt toast, Sunday. You keep his shirt, he keeps his word. And for once you let go of your fears and your ghosts. One step, not much, but it is enough. You kiss on sidewalks, you fight then you talk. One night he wakes, strange look on his face. Pauses, then says ‘you’re my best friend.’ And you knew what it was, he is in love. You can hear it in the silence, you can feel it on the way home. You can see it with the lights out, you are in love.”
You can find the masterlist to this ongoing series here.
This is canon divergent set between season 1 and 2, aspects will be kept and referenced, but this is largely set in a fictitious season 1.5 or so. Keep that in mind if you notice differences!
If you see a typo, no you don’t. Please pretend it’s not there, I’m not going back to find and fix it. Your girl is too tired.
Comment or message me if you want to join the taglist :)
⋆˚࿔ tina's note 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ I realized I have too much to do in the next few days before I leave for my trip and I’ll have no time to write a full chapter before that so i sat down and made these, enjoy the little treat for now! 🫶🏽
Summary: Somehow you find yourself co-parenting with the biggest manwhore in all of Briar U.
⋆˚࿔ tina's note 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ Surprise! I'm back from my trip (that Noah Kahan concert genuinely changed my life and also I flew by myself for the first time ever please be proud of me I was a ball of anxiety but I pushed through) and whipped this up real quick for you, we're finally in line with the show timeline, so fun! Next chapter should be better since maybe I won't be sleep deprived and on my period anymore (hopefully) (and maybe mom gets to go on a date and we get jealous Dean, I don't know)
College Baby masterlist
Malone's - Friday night.
The bar is loud with the sounds of After Hours set as you get ready to leave after your shift, you'd love to say you're going home to see your baby and sleep but you told the guys you'd come over for their party at the hockey house tonight and you are really grateful for a night out without Seb for once. Della having taken a day off from Malone's offered to take him for the night after Dean pleaded for you to go to the party while you were on shift a few days ago and you only accepted after securing the babysitter.
You have everything in your bag ready to head out but first make a stop at the counter to say your goodbyes to Hannah and Allie who have the closing shift tonight.
"Be a Taylor and do something about it" You catch the last of Allie's sentence.
"Be a Taylor?" You ask, but have a feeling it has something to do with Hannah's crush on the singer on stage based by the look she's giving him.
"For the pop showcase" Allie tells you, you nod.
"But have you seen him? He's so much easier to watch than to talk to" Hannah finally turns around to you two.
"He's just a guy" You tell her "With a hot accent and a guitar"
"Exactly, that doesn't make him some kind of an untouchable god" Allie agrees with you "What are you afraid of?"
Hannah tells you both about her fears and just as you're feeling sad by her words she drops something that changes the whole mood "I walked in on Garrett Graham on the shower and I fell over a laundry cart"
"You did what?" both you and Allie let out with surprise and while Allie looks more shock than anything, you're amused by the whole thing.
"I don't want to talk about it"
"You saw Garrett Graham naked?" Allie questions, then turns to you and back to Hannah "What did he look like?"
"I don't think I need that image of my kid's favorite uncle in my mind actually" You try to stop them but Allie just rolls her eyes.
Hannah chuckles "He looked… naked" She closes her eyes in embarassment making you laugh "And then I fell, which is my point, I… I can't do this"
"Okay I have an idea, literally everybody's going to block party tomorrow" Allie says.
"I'm not" You say and then continue when Allie throws a look your way "I have Seb, plus I'm going to this party tonight and that's for sure going to drain my social battery"
"Fine" The brunette rolls her eyes "She's not going because she's responsible, but I'm betting Justin will be there, when's an easier time to talk to a guy than a party?"
"And on that topic, I'm off" You push yourself off the counter with a smirk "Enjoy the rest of your shift and the block party I'll see you Monday"
"Bye babe, enjoy your night off, have some good sex with someone hot for both of us" Allie hugs you.
"Be careful" Hannah adds hugging you two.
You chuckle and wave goodbye before leaving.
Hockey house - Friday night.
You're in the kitchen helping Tucker with snacks for the party, the house has all the lights off with only lamps on for ambiance and there's a soft murmur that cuts through the music someone's playing on the speakers, Dean's got a girl on top of the island and is making out with her there in front of everyone. You're not bothered by it, you and Dean are not together and you don't expect him to stop hooking up with other girls just because you're around, this is the way he has always been, plus you've not been completely celibate either you just don't do public hookups like he does.
"These the right size?" You show Tucker the slices of toast you've been cutting, he hums in agreement after a quick look and goes back to carefully pouring the tomato sauce into tall shot glasses.
"Deano" Garrett walks into the kitchen and slaps the blonde's ass as he passes by to put his beer in the fridge "Hey" He bumps his hip into yours you retaliate and then remember Hannah's story from earlier.
"Hey G" You chuckle but decide not to say anything for Hannah's sake.
"Smells good Tuck"
"Thank you" The curly haired roommate moves the tray of shot glasses to the island "Dean, Dean. Dude can't you see I'm cooking man?"
"Same bro" Dean smirks, you roll your eyes at Garrett who looks amused.
"I just fixed the shower, again" Logan walks in and lifts up a used condom in his hand "Give you one guess"
Your face screws up in disgust "Oh jeez" Garrett stares at Dean, Logan moves to lean over the counter dangling it in front of Dean as Tucker tries to push him away
"Hey, it could've been anyone" Dean smirks.
"Fuck dude" Logan chuckles.
"It's obviously yours bud" Garrett tells him laughing as he sips on his beer.
"Don't look at me" The girl Dean was making out with says.
"What?" Dean rolls his eyes "Okay, shower sex is hot"
"You're disgusting" You shoot him a look and hand Tucker the plate with toast you cut up "I'm moving away from this depravity, good luck" You tell the cook and pat his shoulder walking away to a group of girls you recognize from a few of your classes.
Later after you've had a few drinks, enough to give you a light buzz but not enough to be drunk, you find yourself in the middle of the improvised dance floor grinding into a football player that transfered at the beginning of the year, one of the few who don't care about you being Dean Di Laurentis' baby mama.
"Wanna get out of here?" He asks, his voice raspy and breath hot fanning into your neck.
"Mhm" You decide since you don't have Seb for the night, why not have some fun "Let me just get my bag"
Your bag is, as usual, up in Dean's locked bedroom, but when you get up there you don't have to unlock it because Dean's already in there "Oh hey"
"Hey, where's Crystal?" You ask confused on why he's alone.
"Downstairs, I'm just comming to get some of these" He lifts up a strip of condoms with a smirk.
"Presumptuous of you to think you'll need this many" You raise an eyebrow picking your bag up from his desk where you left it earlier "I'll take these" You rip the bottom two off and drop them into your bag.
He gives you a raised eyebrow "Leaving with someone?"
"New football player" You nod.
"Be safe, call me if you need anything, I'll keep my phone on me"
"Yeah, same, Seb's with Della, I'm picking him up in the morning if you want to stop by at some point" He nods, you leave.
Off campus apartment - Saturday afternoon.
"Okay, here we go" You place the plate of smushed steamed broccoli Tuck prepared for him on his high chair, you're trying to teach him how to use a spoon and so far he's gotten two succesful spoonfuls into his mouth before abandoning it and just going in with his hands "We gotta eat now so we can take a shower and be ready for daddy's game" His face lifts up at you when he hears the dord daddy, a gummy smile on his face "Oh you wanna go see daddy huh?" He kicks his little legs in answer.
Getting him into clothes after giving him a bath is a challenge, he truly is his father's son in more ways than you can count and that does include his preference for going around in only a diaper, in fact, most nights he doesn't even let you get him into pajamas and then you get him dressed while he's asleep in the mornings.
"No no no no no" He babbles shaking his head as you try to get a tiny, custom made, Briar's Hawks jersey over his long sleeved onesie.
"Baby you've gotta put your clothes on" You tell him with a sigh, the side of your stomach still hurts from the kicks you received while getting him into sthe onesie and then a pair of sweatpants "I promise if you put this on we can go see daddy" You're not sure he understands you, in fact, you're pretty positive at one year old he has no idea what you're actually saying, but you still try "In fact, the faster you put this on, the faster we get to the arena and maybe just maybe we'll get to see him before the game"
Briar's hockey arena - Saturday afternoon.
You do not make it before the game, in fact, by the time you make it to the arena it's the end of the second period, you wave at Hannah who's working the food stand tonight and rush to your seat knowing that the puck bunnies saved you one by the glass.
"I thought you wouldn't make it" Alice, one of the first girls you met when you were first introduced to the group greets you as you sit down adjusting Seb's noise cancelling headphones on his head grateful that Dean and you decided to get him used to them from when he was tiny so now he keeps them on without a struggle.
"Yeah, he didn't want to get dressed after bath time so…" You explain, she laughs.
"Following on his daddy's footsteps huh?" Everybody knows Dean Di Laurentis thinks of clothes as restrictive, he'd live naked if he could and every chance he gets to take his shirt off, he'll take.
"I swear he's more Dean everyday" You sigh but there's no bite in your words, you love to see all the little traits and personality form as he gets older "How're they doing?"
"The start was rocky" She tells you "They kept playing like shit, Garrett was missing passes left and right, but they pulled through this period…" She continues explaining the plays because contrary to what everyone thinks, the puck bunnies actually know a lot about hockey, maybe it's only because they want to impress the guys, maybe it is because of how much time they spend in these games, whatever it is, you're still surprised when you hear them talk strategies during the games.
"I hope they have a good season, Garrett deserves it as captain after busting his ass for two years straight" While you have never been a big hockey fan and never really knew much about it before Seb, you always heard tales about Garrett Graham, how his dad is a hockey superstar and he seems to have inherited all of his talents, you know he loves to work for everything and how hard he pushes himself to become a betetr version of himself every day, so yeah, you really hope this season goes well for them.
"Mmmhmm" Alice agrees, the buzzer goes off and the teams start to skate off the ice and back to their dressing rooms for the second intermission, before disappearing though, Dean who seems to have noticed you skates your way and stops abruptly in front of you sending ice flying into the glass, the puck bunnies around you cheer but he pays them no attention as he takes his helmet off and taps his stick against the glass to get Sebastian's attention, the second the little guy's eyes meet his dad's he starts bouncing on your legs and Dean gives him a wave before skating off.
"That was the cutest thing ever" A girl in the row above you gushes.
"He's such a good dad"
"God I'd give him all the kids he wanted"
"Truly daddy Dean"
"And he makes the cutest babies"
You don't pay them much attention, while you're in good terms with all of them, well, most, you wouldn't call yourself friends with them simply because of comments like those, they don't bother you per se but you wish they'd keep them for when you weren't around.
By the time the final buzzer sounds Seb's about ready to knock out, but you know he's trying to stay awake to see his dad so you make your way down to the locker rooms and wait outside the home one.
"There they are!" Dean exclaims as soon as he walks out, hair damp from a shower and bag hanging from his shouler, still he gives you a hug and takes the baby from your arms "Hey bud, enjoy the game?"
"He's been fighting sleep for at least twenty minutes now" You tell him "Great game by the way"
He nods "Had a shit start but we made it work" Seb's now curled up into his chest "Let's get you home yeah?"
One thing about Dean? If he can, he will do bedtime with Seb, you think it's his favorite part of the day but he will never admit it. He would, if you asked him, he'd absolutely tell you about how much he enjoys the quiet time while he rocks Seb on the chair his mom bought for you to put in the nursery, he'll also tell you about how the weight of your son against his chest always ground him after whatever bullshit he went through during the day, how he sleeps better after holding his son in his arms until he hears the soft snores and feels the little puffs of air escape his tiny lips, he'd only admit that to you though, no one else ever gets to see that side of him.
After an hour, bedtime could've lasted only 15 minutes realistically but Dean didn't let go until an hour later, he finally places Seb in his crib with a whispered "Good night buddy, I love you" And leaves the room with the door almost shut to find you already in your pajamas with a book on the couch, he thinks about if he really has to go to the block party because staying in with you sounds pretty nice right now. Then he remembers the conversation after Seb's first birthday and decides against it.
"Okay, he's down, I'm leaving for the block party" He announces "I've got my phone if you need something"
"Alright, thanks for doing bedtime" You thank him even though you know he did it more for his own enjoyment than Seb's or yours "Have fun, text me if you need anything"
"Bye" He kisses the top of your head from above your seat on the couch and leaves.
Off campus apartment - Sunday afternoon.
"You what?" You choke a little on the sip of water you'd taken.
"I had to" Hannah replies fidgeting with Seb's car he handed her when she sat down on the ground next to him "It sounded like the best plan"
"Fake dating Briar hockey team's captain Garrett Graham sounds like the best plan to get your crush's attention?" You question with raised eyebrows "Hannah are you insane?"
She groans and buries her face in her hands "Probably"
You laugh "This is going to be fun to watch but it'll probably end up a mess" You tell her "Have you not watch or read enough rom-coms in your life to know this is the worst plan ever"
She throws her head back "This is not like that"
"Sure" You say "Who else knows?"
"No one"
"Not even Allie?" She shakes her head "Okay"
"I just… it sounds ridiculous" She admits, you nod.
"But you know Allie wouldn't judge you for this right?"
"Yeah" She nods "I'll tell her, I just need a few days. But I thought I'd tell you because I was with Garrett earlier and we were trying to come up with a plan to convince people that we are together so I thought you could help, I mean, you're a part of this world"
You grimace "I'm on like the very edge of the world, but I think I can probably help with Jules and once you convince Jules, you''ve got this in the bag"
"That's exactly what Garrett said"
"Okay" You nod "So we sell this to Jules, easy"
Hockey house - Tuesday night.
Having the hockey team at the house on random nights is nothing new, a fact that surprised you when you first started coming around was how much the team acts like a family, in fact, the door is never locked and people parade through the house at the most random times. A few days after Dean started bringing you constantly, you had been scared to death by Simms running in straight to the bathroom because he couldn't hold it anymore, you'd been alone in the living room while Dean got something from his room and the scream you'd let out had made him think you'd gone into labor, you were only 18 weeks by then.
Tonight, the guys were scattered through the house, you were in the kitchen with a few of the players, Jules and Seb while Logan and Tucker played videogames in the living room, Garrett took a shower and Dean probably hooked up with one of the girls who had came in earlier, most of them had left after realizing the guys weren't interested in hooking up tonight, but you remember a blonde hanging to Dean's arm.
"I'm just saying, diet everything makes me shit my pants" Nico, one of the defense men said "But zero sugar is gross"
"So just drink the regular" Another player suggested.
"Not in my meal plan" Nico shrugged.
You noticed Jules attention drift away before thet walked out and you followed wondering if it was because of who you thought it was, you were right.
"Hey" The blonde introduced themselves "I'm Jules, pillow chucker's sibling" Logan turned to send Jules a kiss that turned into a middle finger "Who are you? What's your deal"
"Careful, don't tell Jules anything you don't want the whole school knowing" Tucker interrupted before the brunette could say anything.
"I only report the facts" Jules said
You could see Hannah's hesitancy and decided to step in and try to help "Hannah! Hey!"
Your friend turned with a grateful smile, nervous about whether or not she could fool Jules but feeling better that you were around, as it turned out you didn't need to help Hannah much because at that moment Garrett walked down the stairs fresh out of the shower and wrapped only in a tower covering his lower body.
"Ga!" Seb exclaimed from your arms at the sight of his favorite uncle, Garrett still awkward around the boy but not as much as before gave him a small smile and wave before turning to Hannah.
"Wellsy" You raised your eyebrows at the nickname, thankfully Jules couldn't see you from where they stood "Hey" Hannah's expression at almost naked Garrett almost made you lose it and you were sure she was having flashbacks to seeing him naked in the locker room a few days before "We can just study in my room"
"I- down here is fine" Hannah stuttered and you decided to just let it play from afar so you moced to the couch next to Logan, Sebastian taking the opportunity to detach himself from you and crawl behind the guy to sit in the space between him and Tucker who ruffled his blonde locks.
"No no, it's better up there, don't worry" You heard Garrett try to convince her. Hannah stood for a second and then nodded and followed "Jules" Garrett guided her up.
"What was that?" Jules immediately turned to you with curiosity.
"Huh?" You played dumb.
"That" They pointed towards the stairs "Garrett and her, you know her? What was that?"
"Oh, that's Hannah, we work together at Malones"
"Uh-huh" They narrowed their eyes.
"And what's the deal with Garrett?" Oh if they only knew.
"I'm not sure actually" You shrugged "But she tutors people some times so probably that"
"That was not just tutoring" Jules said "He was literally naked and she looked like a deer caught by headlights"
"I mean… he's nice to look at"
"No" They pointed at you "Don't fall into his clutches, you already did so with Dean, you do not need this"
You raised your hands in surrender "I'm just saying, Garrett's not ugly and Hannah's not blind"
"Right. I'm keeping my eye out for those two" They left to go back to the kitchen.
"So…" Logan trailed, you hummed in question "What do you actually know"
"Literally just what I said to Jules, but I am questioning Hannah next time we get together" Mostly because you had to tease her about her reaction to Garrett walking down the stairs in nothing but a towel but you couldn't tell Logan that.
Summary: Somehow you find yourself co-parenting with the biggest manwhore in all of Briar U.
⋆˚࿔ tina's note 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ *taps on the microphone* is this thing on? Hiiiii I'm back with this series! (kinda) I tried forcing myself to incorporate an ask into it and for some reason my brain short circuited and decided i could no longer write lol but a few days ago I decided to scratch the ask (sorry nonnie, I might do the ask as a blurb at some point) and just write whatever, I also said there would be like 3 chapters until the story reached the show storyline but actually, next chapter will probably be at the beginning of the show so yeah, sorry for the wait, I can't promise I won't take another month for the next update because I have things happening irl for the next two weeks but yeah enjoy!
College Baby masterlist
New York City - Wednesday at noon
The rooftop garden had been transformed so beautifully you wouldn't have believed you were in the middle of the city if it weren't for the surrounding buildings, there were stacks of hay, barrels, wood fixtures, hats, cow print all around and little horses decorating the entire place. Dean's mom had gone all out and spared no expenses for her grandchild's first birthday, she'd insisted on throwing the party and had made sure to include you in every step of the planning.
Now, Sebastian is toddling around dresses in an adorable cowboy outfit completed with the tiniest cowboy boots gifted to him by his uncle Tuck.
"He looks like he's enjoying himself" Dean stands by your side and you both look out at Sebastian laughing as he plays on the ball pit.
"Yeah he does" You sigh "The boys here yet?"
"Logan just texted, they're on their way from the airport right now"
"Think Tuck will show up in full cowboy get up?" You joke.
He laughs "One hundred percent"
Tucker does show up in a full cowboy outfit complemented with the hat and buckle belt and all of Dean's mom's friends go crazy for the young handsome cowboy and treat him as if he were the entertainment.
When it is time to cut up the cake you all stand around the table with Sebastian in Dean's arms and sing Happy Birthday to him, you had been scared that he wouldn't like it, but once again, he proves he is his father's son and loves the attention he's getting, you let him have his own smash cake that he demolishes completely and laugh when he gives you the biggest frost covered smile ever.
You're trying to clean him when Garrett finally approaches, as usual it takes him a bit to warm up to the baby, and he's still awkward around him a year after, Seb doesn't care about his uncle's clear unsure attitude towards him though because he reaches for him every time he can and today is not the exeption.
His hands are covered in frosting still but he makes grabby motions at Garrett who freezes "He's not an explosive you know?" You chuckle at his reaction.
"I know, but I don't want to… break him" You almost choke at his words.
"I'm sorry what?"
"I don't know how to hold a baby, I don't want to mess up and drop him or something"
"Garrett, he's pretty sturdy" You tell him "Plus he's sadly not a tiny baby anymore, he'll adjust himself until he feels safe and comfortable"
"Right"
Sebastian shrieks at Garrett not picking him up and then lets out a "GA!"
"He's calling for you Ga" You chuckle and hand him over.
Garret's face scrunches up in disgust when your son puts his hands on it "He's sticky"
"It's just frosting" You shrug and hand him a wet towel "Here"
You're getting a glass of lemonade when you notice Tucker's call for help, he's stuck in between a group of older women, Mrs. Di Laurentis' friends for sure. He smiles at them with the politeness that only Tucker can conjure and then when he notices you looking at him gives you a pleading look to get him out if there.
Laughing a little you approach them "Hello ladies, I have to steal our resident cowboy for a minute to get some pictures before the birthday boy gets the sugar crash"
"Oh okay, but you're returning him to us after!" One of them says.
You nod "Yes ma'am" And grab his arm pulling him away.
"You're my life saver, I could kiss you right now" He tells you.
"Let's not do that at our kid's first birthday huh bud?" Dean appears out of nowhere and stands in between the two of you.
You turn to him immediately at that "Dean, are you jealous?"
"No, I just think we should have some decorum and you two making out at a one year old's party is the right move" The blonde shrugs nonchalantly.
"Okay but what about a little peck?" You question, Tucker has a small smirk pulling on his face that he's trying to stop.
"Mmm no, still don't think you should do that"
"Damn, I was about to suggest you two did a couple pictures with Seb and one of the poses might have included a little peck between his parents" Jules materializes out of thin air like they have the whole day as the designated photographer "But if this is a kiss free zone then oh well…"
You know they are baiting him so you just bite down a laugh and say "What a shame, that sounded kinda cute actually"
"Well no, see, that would be different"
"How exactly?" Tucker asks crossing his arms.
"We're his parents!" Dean argues "We should have all the cute family pictures!"
"But you just said no kissing during a first birthday party, something about lacking decorum" Tucker reminds him.
"Between you two" The dad points out "Because you are not together so you'd be just kissing without a relationship and that's just…"
"Okay but we're not together either so…" You say, Jules nods beside you.
"But we're his parents and-"
He gets cut off by Garrett holding Seb away from him as if he were toxic "Right, so as his parents please take the kid, he kinda stinks"
Dean grabs the baby without fight "You're weak bro, he doesn't even smell that bad"
Tucker gets a step closer and gags making you all laugh "Holy fuck, he smells worse than the locker room"
"Who smells worse than the locker room?" Logan joins the group.
"Seb"
"He can't be that bad"
"Wanna check?"
"Nope"
New York City Apartment - Wednesday night
The apartment's living room looks like a toy store. Sebastian is asleep in his room worn out from all the excitement of the day, your friends are in the guest rooms and you and Dean are going through the photos Jules sent you on his laptop in the middle of the living room.
"We did good" Dean smiles looking at one picture where Seb looks to be having the time of his life while eating his cake.
"Yeah, we're doing a pretty good job" You agree and change the picture to one of you holding him "Look at how happy he looks"
"So pretty" You look up to find Dean looking at you now.
Your face softens "Dean"
"I know" He says "But… I mean what if? We never even tried"
"Dean, I adore you, you're the best dad I could've asked for for Seb, and you're a great guy all around but we can't risk this not working out when there's a whole other person who depends on us" You tell him and see him frown.
"But how do you know it's not going to work out? We do great together, we're a great team, today was clear proof of that"
"You don't want this, not really, at least not now. Today was great, but we're going back to school next week and things will change, you are not ready for the kind of commitment that comes with a relationship, let alone one with so much on the stake" You try to explain, he looks defleated.
"You don't get to speak for me" He doesn't raise his voice and that hurts more because you've never seen him look like this "Maybe I am ready for the commitment, you don't know that"
"You love sex, you love one night stands, you never hook up with the same girl twice unless you've deemed enough time has passed and you make a face every time one of your friends mentions anything relationship related" You point out.
"What face? I don't make a face" He argues "But that's besides the point, yes, I love sex but if we were together then we could have sex, so much sex, great sex, I remember, we're great together in that too"
"Stop saying sex please" You stop him "Just answer me this, if I hadn't come to you and tell you I was pregnant, would you have even considered calling me again?" He thinks about it "Exactly, we can't risk it Dean" You stand up leaving the laptop by his side "Goodnight Dean"
Off Campus apartment - Saturday morning
You haven't seen Dean that much in the past week, he was supposed to help you move but then had to help Summer with something last minute and had recruited the guys to help you instead, you know he was lying about it. The guys barely looked at you while helping you bring everything into your new apartment, not because they were mad at you for rejecting their friend but because every time they tried to say something it came out too awkward.
So now you're left to unpack everything by yourself, at least Tucker offered to babysit Seb for a few hours so you didn't have to worry about him for a bit, you have the suspicion he's actually taking your son back to the hockey house so Dean can see him because he's been weird about visiting too, he's seen Sebastian of course, he can't go more than a day without seeing him, but usually the guys would ask to take him or he'd pick him up for the day without saying much to you even though you were practically living together, yes, he also slept in his family's apartment instead of your shared one.
"Super important favor to ask" Hannah speaks into the phone when you pick up.
"Shoot" You're unpacking the kitchen.
"My bike seems to have gotten banged up on the trip back, any chance you know how to fix the uh… is it the chains? I think its the chains" She sounds like she's moving the bike around and it doesn't seem to sound too good.
"No idea, actually, I don't even think I know how to ride a bike" You admit "But I have someone who can probably fix it for cheap for you"
"Great! can I drop it off at yours? It's closer than the dorms and-" She stops herself "Wait, did you just say you don't know how to ride a bike?"
"Yeah?"
"You can't not know how to ride a bike. How old are you? Three?"
"I just never learned" You shrug not seeing the big deal "I have bad balance"
"You have a whole child, who's gonna teach your kid how to ride a bike if you don't know how to?" Hannah sounds personally offended by your lack of knowledge in riding a bike.
"His dad probably, he's the athletic one" You answer.
"Absolutely not, you're learning how to ride a bike this semester, mark my words, we're getting my bike fixed and then I'm teaching you"
"Why is this a semester activity? Don't kids learn in like a week?"
"Well yes, but I have like three jobs plus school and you have a kid and work and school so we'll probably not have that much time and therefore we'll take it slow whenever we can" She explains.
"Hannah, if it takes longer than a week for you to teach me how to ride a bike I'm giving up"
"Nooo"
"Yes"
"No"
"Yes"
She sighs "Fine, a week" And accepts "But it can't be this week cause I need to get my schedule set"
"Okay, just let me know"
"Cool, I'm going to be the best teacher ever, we're getting matching helmets and I'm getting you knee and elbow pads and-"
"Hey Han" You interrupt her she hums "Just bring your bike over so we can get it fixed hopefully before classes start on Monday"
"Right, be there in five"
Hockey house - Tuesday afternoon
"Dude, this is getting ridiculous" Logan passed Sebastian to his dad, you'd just dropped him off before your shift at Malone's "She gave me the baby, we said three words and she left, you're telling me you can't exchange three words with her?"
"Of course I can, I just needed to pee" Dean defended, Logan raised his eyebrows.
"And you couldn't hold it for like one minute?"
"No"
"Maybe I'll get you adult diapers for your next birthday then" The roommate scoffed and walked away.
"I do not need adult diapers" Dean mumbled "You have enough diapers for the both of us right bud?" Seb blinked at him.
"Dada!" He happily clapped his dad's cheeks between his little hands.
"You are too strong for your little body, you know that?" Dean winced at the hit "Maybe we'll start you on hockey early, or football, rugby maybe? A contact sport for sure dude"
Hockey house - Thursday morning
Something the four roommates had been blessed with this semester was their schedules lining up perfectly on Thursdays, well, not to the dot, but none of them had any lectures in the morning. Last night you'd dropped Sebastian off with them since you were planning on going for a job interview before your first class of the day and thought it better to let Sebastian sleep fully at his dad's rather than wake him up earlier than needed.
Dean woke up around nine and while still half asleep reached around his bed to find Sebastian who'd been sleeping next to him, he jumped up when he couldn't feel him."Seb? Buddy?" He was panicking leaving the room in just his briefs when he realized the baby wasn't there. His head was pounding as he sprinted down the stairs, probably from the way he jumped off his bed.
"Seb?" He repeats looking around "Sebastian Di Laurentis where the hell are you?"
"Dada?" His little head peaked over the couch, blonde strands of hair a mess and sleepy eyes.
"Oh my god, Seb what are you doing here?" Dean approaches the sofa and finds an image he never thought he'd see in his life.
Garret's sprawled over the surface of the couch fast asleep and Seb's lying on top of him. The tv is on showing some cartoon show and one of Garrett's arms secures the little boy so he doesn't fall off.
"Ga!"
"Yeah, you hanging out with Uncle Garrett?" Sebastian nods and snuggles back into Garrett who mumbles something in his sleep and tightens his hold "Oh I need like 20 pictures of this or no one will believe it's true"
Unfortunately for Garrett, all his friends wake up before he does and get to see just how cuddly and soft their captain can get for his nephew. At some point in the morning Dean decides that although this is something he hates to break up, Seb probably needs a new diaper, he already ate breakfast on top of Garret because he refused to move, but now the father needs to get his son.
"Maybe I'll lie on top of him when you take Seb away and he won't notice the difference" Logan offers.
"Let me just…" Dean stands in front of them, Seb's big eyes looking up at him with a sleepy smile that he's had all morning from how comfortable he's gotten "Okay bud, you need to come with daddy now okay? Promise I'll bring you right back"
Thankfully Sebastian doesn't hate the idea of his dad's arms and goes easily, Garrett however, is a complete different story. The hockey player mumbles angrily in his sleep and tightens his hold, when Dean pulls gently he tugs back.
"Why is he not letting go?" Tucker asks in disbelief "He can barely hold him when he's awake but asleep he's like velcroed to him"
"Garrett, dude" Dean sighs and pushes him "You have to let go, you can't steal my kid"
"Mmm no" Garrett turns away taking a giggling Sebastian with him.
"I'm waking him up" Logan says before leaning down and pinching his shoulder hard, Garrett jumps up and they bump heads "Aw fuck!"
"What the fuck!" Garrett exclaims holding his head in pain finally letting go of the baby who burts out laughing at his uncles being in pain, Dean takes him rolling his eyes.
"You're on babysitting duty next time I need someone to look after him by the way!" Dean shouts as he walks up the stairs back to his room for the diaper change. In the background he can hear Tucker dying of laughter and the other two idiots complaining about their hit
Off campus apartment - Thursday night.
Dean finally decides to start acting like an adult again, meaning he's actually dropping Sebastian off at your apartment instead of just sending one of the guys over to do it. "I can do this" He says to Seb, or himself, he doesn't really know "It's just mama, no need to be nervous right?"
You open the door right after he knocks and greet him with a simple hello before taking Sebastian and saying goodbye. Dean stands frozen but reacts last second and pushes his foot to wedge the door and keep it open.
"I'm sorry" You give him a confused look "I've been an asshole these past few days, I'm kinda proving your point and I don't want it to be like this for the next 17 years"
Your face softens "Now you understand me then?"
"Well no, I still think we could've given it a try" He says "But I'm not pressuring you into anything"
"Dean, I barely saw you this week even though Sebastian was with you every other day, I can't do that for however many years we have to, it's not fair to anyone. I want to have a good civil relationship with you for as long as we are taking care of Sebastian, whether that is for the next 17 years or until he's 30, but you deciding you're no longer talking to me for a week because I told you I didn't want to risk that with a relationship doesn't exactly make me want to change my mind about it"
"I hear you, I'm sorry" He looks down at his feet "I- yeah, I'm sorry, I'll try to go back to the way it was before, let me just process the double rejection" He jokes.
"Sure man, take your time, just please don't send the guys to come pick and drop Seb off anymore, my pantry is screaming from how empty it is, they always take the good snacks"
It's safe to say Dean makes the guys go to the store and get you all the snacks they took from you and more the next day threatening to ruin all their chances of scoring in their next game if they don't.
Summary: Somehow you find yourself co-parenting with the biggest manwhore in all of Briar U.
⋆˚࿔ tina's note 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ helloo first I wanna say thank you for all the love you're all giving the story, next I want to let you know we're like 2-3 chapters away from entering the show/book timeline and I'm so excited for that! Also so sorry to disappoint but I did decide to close the taglist for those still asking to get added. Enjoy! I also have a Tucker story in plans so if you don't get any college baby for the next few days it is because I'm writing that one (little sneak peak, it's called part of your world and it has some angst)
Oh, and if you send in some ideas of what you want to see I might add them to later parts, I have something sitting in my asks that will for sure be featured in the next part! ◡̈
College Baby masterlist
Malone's - Monday afternoon
It's pouring so hard by the time you make it into Malone's you're drenched head to toe, you hadn't accounted for the rain earlier when you left the apartment so you didn't have an umbrella and you're paying the price now.
"Oh hell no" Della scowls as soon as you are inside "Go back and put on some dry clothes before you get sick. There should be extra shirts in there"
"Thanks" You call out rushing to the back bcause in your head if you move fast enough you'll drip less water on the floors.
Della rolls her eyes "Jean do me a favor and mop the floors, again" It has been a common occurence for wet students to walk in in the last 20 minutes or so and poor Jean is on mopping duty.
"Damn is it raining already?" Hannah asks when you get to the break room in the back, her and Allie are getting their things from their cubbies clearly being done with their shifts already.
"No, it's national baptism day" You reply sarcastically getting a chuckle out of both girls "I waited for it to clear out after my lecture and it didn't so I had to run all the way here in the rain"
"Aw babes" Allie hands you a clean hand towel that you work through your hair to squeeze out as much water as you can "Here change your shirt"
"Thanks" You do "So, you guys done for the day? Any plans?"
"I'm going to Sean's for a movie marathon and hopefully some action" Allie wiggles her eyebrows, you shoot her a wink.
"I have this compossition assignment I have been working on for forever and haven't been able to get quite right, hopefully the rain will serve as good ambiance" Hannah shares.
"Well, stay safe in the rain"
"We will" They nod and say their goodbyes leaving you in a now dry shirt but still wet everything else, sighing you decide to just get it over with and start your shift, at least the towel dried you enough so you're not dripping water anymore.
A few orders later a few of the football players walk in, Beau sending a smile your way and once they're seated you walk to their table to get their order "Okay guys, what can I-"
"Why are you all wet?" Beau interrupts you with a frown.
"You can't just ask girls that" Another player scolds him and you laugh alongside them but Beau still lookss concerned.
"I walked from campus and it was raining" You shrug "Most of it is drying already, don't worry"
But of course Beau couldn't not worry because if you kept the wet pants and socks you'd get sick and if Dean found out he hadn't helped you then he'd get mad but also he had grown to love you as a close friend ever since Seb and so he couldn't just let you get sick so after the team ordered he snuck out and got a pair of clean sweats and socks from the football bag he kept in his car.
"Here" You were trying to make sense of badly written orders when he presented you with the dry clean clothes "They might be a bit big but at least you won't get sick"
Your entire expression softened and you understood then that these people were not only there for your son but also for you.
Your apartment - Wednesday morning
"Shit you look rough" Are the words that come out of Tucker's mouth when you open the door for him.
You give him a glare "Just take the baby please" You motion to the playpen where Sebastian sits, thankfully unaffected by your cough attacks.
"Does Dean know you're dying here?" You don't reply and thats answer enough for the hockey player "Oh, that's the reason you asked me to pick him up instead of dropping him yourself huh? Don't want Dean to find out you're sick"
"You were around!" You argue but the raise in your voice just makes you cough more and Tucker give you an 'uh huh' look "Fine, I just don't want him to be here right now and we both know the second he knows I'm sick he won't leave me alone"
"You two still fighting?" He picks Sebastian up, the baby instantly regarding him with a big smile.
"No" You admit "But that doesn't mean I'm happy with him"
"I get it" Tucker nods "What he did was kind of shitty, but you know he did it because he cares right?"
"Sadly" You say "Still, I need some space from him"
"Gotcha" He picks up the baby bag by the door and moves to go but before exiting the apartment he turns to you "I'll bring by some soup after practice"
"Thanks Tuck" You smile at him and wave at your son, normally you'd be all over him with kisses and hugs but the last thing you want is to get him sick too "Bye baby, be good"
Briar U's hockey rink - Wednesday afternoon
The tupper in Tucker's locker is calling his name, ever since he'd started preparing it earlier and the house filled with the smell of homemade chicken noodle soup Dean had been dying to have a bowl, and when Tucker had slapped his hand and told him it wasn't for the house it had only fueled the desire, so now, while his teammates showered and prepared to go home after a brutal practice, all Dean could think of was who his roommate had made soup for and what were the chances he could eat the soup before Tuck came out of the showers (they were pretty high if he was being honest)
"Dean!" Logan shouts bringing him out of his trance "I've been calling you for like 5 minutes dude, Jules is asking you know where Seb's pink hat is"
"If they are planning on another photoshoot to post on the fifth line tell them the hat's at his mom's, if it's for anything else it should be on the bottom drawer of my dresser" The blonde replies absentmindly before turning back to the soup container "Hey, you got any idea who Tuck's cooking for now?"
"No idea, why? He make your favorite and didn't give you any or what?" Logan asks.
"He made chicken noodle soup and wouldn't let me have a drop"
"Huh, someone sick then?"
"I guess"
Hockey house - Wednesday night
Dean's in the middle of a heated makeup session with a redhead when Tucker walks in the house, used to his ways, the curly haired man walks past and to the kitchen where he dumps a few things he was carrying, Dean turns slightly as the redhead kisses his neck, fully intending on greeting Tucker and going back to what he was doing but then he freezes deattaching himself from the girl on his lap.
"Why do you have Geoff?" He questions his roommate who freezes halfway inside the fridge, slowly Tucker closes the door and turns around with wide eyes that he disguises as quickly as he realizes what he's doing.
"Geoff?" He plays it dumb, like he doesn't know the ridiculous name of the toy giraffe standing on the counter.
"Geoff the girraffe" The blonde gets the girl off of him plopping her down on the couch, she whines but doesn't leave, just makes herself more comfortable as he approaches the kitchen counter.
"Oh that's been there all day bro" Tucker lies, or at least tries lying but Dean doesn't buy it.
"Oh my god" He points accusingly "She's sick?"
He's already by the door grabbing his keys when by the time Tuck realizes it "Hey no" He steps in front of the door "She's better but you shouldn't go because then you'll get sick and who's gonna take care of Seb then?"
"Not you you traitor!" Dean argues "Get out of my way Tuck"
"Dean-"
"What the fuck are you two idiots doing?" Logan walking down the stairs is distraction enough for Dean to be able to slip past Tuck.
"Seb's sleeping in my room, you're in charge, Tuck's banished!" The dad shouts back as he jogs to his car.
"What just happened?" Logan stares blankly at Tucker, then at Dean's car speeding away.
"So which one of you boys is gonna take over now?" The redhead speaks from the couch reminding the two guys by the door of her presence.
"I'm on babysitting duty" Logan shakes his head and goes back upstairs.
Your apartment - Wednesday night
You've just gone over a cough attack when the knocks on the door start, you pause the movie on your tv and with all the energy you can muster you get up off the couch where you've been all day. In your delirium from how sick you are you don't even think about looking at who's knocking before opening the door.
"How long have you been sick and why didn't you tell me anything?" If your throat didn't feel like there were tiny razorblades scratching against it you would've screamed at Dean to get out that very second, but you're too tired to do anything other than watch him as he practically tornadoes into the apartment.
"What are you doing here?" You manage to let out, voice scratchy and rough.
"No, nooooo. Nope" He shakes his head, picking up a notepad and a pen from your coffee table and handing it to you "This is your new form of communication, no more talking" You give him a look "Have you gone to the doctor yet?"
You shake your head "It-"
"Did your sickness affect your hearing too? I said no speaking" He's so lucky you're not 100% right now because you would've slapped him for speaking to you that way any other time.
'it just started today
it's just a cold'
You write down on your notepad
'i'm fine
you can go'
"No, I'm not leaving you like this are you crazy?" You roll your eyes annoyed at his insistance.
'you're gonna get sick'
"I have an exeptional immune system actually, I don't get sick" He counters "Did you eat your soup?" You roll your eyes again and nod "Good, good" He nods "Are you feeverish? In pain? Should I get you some medicine?"
You don't answer and instead just plop down on the couch and press play on your movie, if he wants to stay fine, you're too weak to stop him right now, but you're still sharp enough to remember you're still upset with him, so you'll just ignore him.
Your apartment - Thursday morning
You wake up in your bed that morning not remembering when you fell asleep, the your sore throat seems to have settled a bit, you don't feel feverish and you're not immediately coughing but a headache seems to have arrived to settle your sickness for sure.
You do your morning routine and then head to the kitchen to refill your water bottle and try to eat a banana or something that won't make your throat feel like you're stabbing yourself again. In your kitchen counter though, lays a bowl of oatmeal next to a bowl of berries with a little note stuck into one of them.
'eat, hydrate, rest. ive got seb'
You know it's from Dean and you choke up a sob at how sweet it is that he tucked you into your bed, apparently stayed the night, made you breakfast and… you do a full 360, cleaned up your apartment? The whole place looks spotless, the tissues you'd left everywhere are now nowhere to be found, the counters look like they've been wiped away recently, the dishes are all stacked neatly on the drying rack and your living room looks the tidiest it has in a while.
Even though you spent last night acting like he wasn't there, he still stayed and took care of you. Does that make you forgive him completely for ruining a perfectly good date? No, but it does make you realize you're no longer mad at him in the way you'd been since it happened.
Briar U's hockey rink - Thursday afternoon.
"Okay bud, let's try this" When Dean asked if he could bring Seb into practice with him he had been fully prepared to have to recruit Beau to help babysit, because Jules wasn't available, but then coach Jensen had gruffly said
"Sure, you idiots take practice as a joke anyways so why the hell not?"
For most of the practice, Seb had sat on the bench with whoever was not being personally attacked by the coaching staff called out for drills and combinations but as he energy started to calm down and the team was split into small groups to run easier drills or stretch cooling down, Dean decided it was time to bring Seb out to the ice.
You'd both brought him to the rink last month but he had missed his naptime and was cranky so Dean didn't get to actually skate with him properly, today he was planning on changing that.
"Here we go" He slides smoothly through the ice making sure not to go too fast as to not startle him "Yeah, see, nice huh?" His voice is soft as he keeps skating, Sebastian looking unconvinced still but not upset.
"Look at you!" Logan skates to the father and son "Soon you'll be in skates bud"
"He's gotta learn how to walk first" Birdie points out skating past.
"As soon as he learns balance on solid ground he's moving to the ice" Dean says "But no pressure right?" He bounces the baby "Let's try a spin" As he moves he feels the tiny body tense up and clutch his jersey tighter "Don't worry Seb, I've got you" He reassures.
A couple minutes later most of the team has gone into the locker room to change and it's only the roommates on the ice with the baby, Dean and Tucker over their misunderstanding of the night before. Sebastian's more comfortable, giggling when Dean spins or one of the guys skates past him now.
"Time to do a lap with uncle Logan" The brunette announces taking the baby from his father's arms.
"Logan I swear to god if you drop him" Dean points accusingly, he has an immense amount of confidence in his teammates, that's why the team is so good, and he knows they would never do anything to intentionally harm Sebastian, but it still makes him nervous to not be the one in control when so many accidents happen in hockey rinks every day.
"I'm not going to drop him" Logan frowns "Don't worry Dean, I've got him"
And at first, he truly has him, the duo skate a few laps smoothly and easily at a slow-ish pace that is comfortable for the baby while Dean, Garret and Tucker watch from the side and talk about practice, then in seconds Logan decides to speed up and as soon as he does so Sebastian cries out, Logan stops at the other side of the rink and is trying to calm him but in just two seconds Dean's already there and taking the baby into his arms.
"Shh" The blonde tries to calm the baby who clutches him like his life depends on it, which, Dean supposes is what it actually feels like for him "You're okay, I've got you, Daddy's got you" He throws a dirty look at Logan and starts slowly skating away knowing they are clearly done with this now "I'm sorry, I know that was scary, uncle Logan is just an idiot"
"Dude, I'm so sorry I didn't mean to" Logan follows, face full of regret "I didn't realize I was going too fast, I'm sorry"
"You're good" Dean tells him once they're off the rink, Sebastian's cries have calmed down now and he's just sniffling into his chest "Just… hearing him cry like that scared the shit out of me"
"I get that" Logan nods "Really, I'm sorry"
"Don't sweat it dude" The blonde pats his shoulder "He's okay, you're okay, it's all good"
"Hey bud, why don't you come have a snack while your dad showers huh?" Tucker joins them, equipment half off, with a baggie of baby snacks from the baby bag, Seb's eyes tracking every one of his movements before putting his arms out to get carried by him "I'll keep him out here so he doesn't have to suffer through the stink of the locker room while you get ready"
"Traitor" Dean hums at his child who's already stuffing his mouth with snacks happy in his uncle's arms "Thanks Tuck, I'll be quick" Tucker waves him off.
Summary: Somehow you find yourself co-parenting with the biggest manwhore in all of Briar U.
⋆˚࿔ tina's note 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ I'm so glad people are liking the series, like I said I will be writing this kind of in my free time so updates might not be super consistent (but also if I am in the mood I'll write and right now this seems to be the only thing I can manage to write), let me know if you have any ideas you'd like to see and I might incorporate them in somehow! Also we'll probably get to the show timeline in the next 2 or so chapters! (And I don't plan on making these series super long so idk how many chapters there'll be)
taglist is closed (for now) (sorry)
College Baby masterlist
Start of the spring semester - your apartment - early morning
"Alright, you're going to be fine, I'm going to be fine, we're all going to be fine" You say to Seb who stares at you with those wide curious eyes and gummy smile.
"You realize he's been to the daycare before and you have had college classes before as well right?" Dean gives you a weirded out look.
You narrow your eyes at him "What are you even doing here anyways?"
"Contrary to popular belief, I am not a deadbeat"
"Literally no one believes you're a deadbeat" You tell him picking up your tote and triple double checking for the 20th time this morning if you have everything.
"Okay, either way I wanted to drive you for your first day of school" He rolls his eyes taking the baby into his arms, Seb immediately becoming distracted by the chain under his shirt.
"You do realize I've had college classes before right?" You throw his words back at him making him scoff.
"Let's go" He turns to the door and then whispers loudly to your son "Your mom is not good at firsts, I should know, I've been there for a few of them"
"For fuck's sake Dean, I was not a virgin the first time we slept together!"
"I didn't say anything about that, get your head out of the gutter, I meant your first time skating, and your first time in New york, oh and get this… Your first time giving birth!" He makes jazz hands that get him a roll of the eyes and a push as you walk ahead of him through the door, he just laughs and makes sure the door is locked behind him.
Malone's - Later the same day
"I think I might just find myself a sugar daddy" You sigh stacking napkins, you're in the middle of a shift complaining to your co-workers and new friends, Hannah and Allie "I forgot how much I disliked school"
"Okay" Hannah drags on the word "And what's that supposed to mean exactly?"
"Well… we share a kid so anything else would only complicate things" You tell them.
"Okay but what if it doesn't?" Allie perks up "Like what if you two fall madly in love and it all works out and you end up being the perfect little family? You should always give love a chance"
"Or, we find out we don't work out as a couple and maybe we realize it too late and then we have a nasty split that leaves Seb in the middle of a custody battle" You shrug "It's too big of a chance to take, plus Dean Di Laurentis? Not a settling down kind of guy"
"But-" Hannah doesn't let Allie keep arguing.
"Listen, Allie is a romantic, she's going to keep arguing for you to give it a chance, so I'm going to play devil's advocate" Allie frowns "And say, if you think it is not a good idea then don't force anything, but if you choose to give it a chance, we'll back you up"
You're surprised and moved by her words, you have not known the two for that long but the best friends have basically adopted you in the short time you've been around "Thank you guys" You say "But Hannah, I'm not sure that's how devil's advocate works"
"Whatever" She shakes her head "You still got my point"
Hockey House - Wednesday night
The house is filled with chatter when you walk in, the guys have probably the entire hockey team plus a good amount of football players plus girlfriends in here.
"Hey! You're here" Logan greets you as you're setting your things on the table by the door.
"Yeah, something smells good" You say walking towards the smell curious on what Tuck's preparing for the group they've assembled tonight.
"Oh! Thank god you're here!" Beau exclaims, there's a crowd of around 10 guys in the kitchen, your son in a football's player you can't remember the name of arms throws himself your way the second he spots you, thankfully the football player has good reflexes and grips him tighter before safely passing him over.
"I am! What's all this?" You eye the kitchen counter while Seb slaps you with a wet 'kiss' that's more of a blubbering smack with his whole face "Oh thank you"
"Last night I couldn't sleep so I called my mom and she gave he all the baby pureed food recipes I ate as a baby and then I also got some more from a mom website so I thought we could run a taste test with Seb and find out what he likes" Tucker explains with an excited glint in his eyes "But we wanted to wait for you"
"Okay" You nod "And the party you have going on here?" You look at the full house.
"Oh, some of the guys on the team heard about it and were curious"
"And then Dean mentioned it and I might have invited my teammates" Beau adds.
"Cool" You resign yourself, at least you knew people would show up for your son if ever needed.
Some time later Dean has Seb in his lap while you sit infront with a spoon and the bowls, so far you've discovered he loves peaches, bananas and carrot and hates squash and apples.
"That looks like diarrhea" Beau grimaces at the bowl Tucker hands you next.
"It's literally just pumpkin" The curly haired chef narrows his eyes at the quarterback "And if your shit looks like that I think you should get checked up"
"Can we not talk about shit while feeding the baby?" Garrett complains.
You ignore them and give Seb a taste of the puree, he doesn't even give it a chance, as soon as it touches his pursed lips he slips his tongue out letting whatever little food had gone in out and squirming when you try to give him some more.
"See" Beau points "Diarrhea"
"I'm actually curious about the taste" Nick, a football player says and you hand him the bowl with a disgusted look, you've tried not to make faces so Seb tries all the new flavors unbiased but he's already decided he doesn't like this one and the smell is quite frankly, nauseating. You all pause and look at Nick as he takes a big spoonful into his mouth, the regret is instant and he runs to the sink to spit out and rinse his omouth making you all laugh, Sebastian joining in.
"Okay this is the last one" Tucker hands you the bowl, this one's bright green and when you look up you can already see Beau making a face at it "It's broccoli"
"All right, open up Seb" Dean grimaces behind as your son tries reluctantly, surprising you all when he opens up his mouth for more, giving you a satisfied hum as he savors it, you offer him more half expecting him to throw it out but he eats it and claps his hands "Oh he likes broccoli"
"There's no way" Beau shakes his head "Give me some" He takes the bowl and spoons some up bringing it to his mouth, Seb screams then making grabby hands at the bowl clearly angry at Beau for taking his food "Yeah, no, all yours kid" The quarterback grimaces handing the food back to you as everyone laughs.
Hockey house - Thursday afternoon
Garret has been awkward around the baby ever since he was born, being an only child and not having any younger cousins he had never been around kids that small before. Today he's the only one in the house, Logan out with Jules, Dean on a quick trip to New York for a family emergency and Tucker probably still on campus. His plans? To melt into the couch while watching as many of the Jurassic park movies he can get through until he falls asleep.
His plans, however, get interrupted only a few minutes into the first movie when you burst in through the front door with the baby bag in one arm and the baby in the other.
"Tuck!" You call out.
"He's not here yet" Garrett lets you know from his spot on the couch.
"Shit" You curse contemplating your options before walking his way "Okay, I'm so late, Tuck agreed to watch him over and-" Your phone buzzes, Tucker letting you know he's late and will be there in 15 minutes "Oh, he'll be here in 15 minutes but I can't wait so can you just-"
Garrett almost jumps when you plop the baby on his chest "Uh-"
"Tell Tuck I said thanks and I'll Dean will be here in a few hours! Thanks G, bye!" You don't let him get any words out before you're gone.
The brunette blinks at the baby who stares back at him with a gummy smile devouring his own fist, drool spilling down into Garrett's chest. "Okay… um… no, yeah, we're okay" He sits up slowly making sure to keep Sebastian as safe as possible "Do you uh… you like Jurassic Park?" The baby makes a noise and slaps him on the chest "No… okay sure, no dinosaurs how about um… what the fuck do babies like?" He whispers to himself "Oh i meant frick, shit, no, I'm sorry, don't tell your mom"
He pulls out his phone and texts a 'hurry your ass home' to Tucker who replies with a thumbs up and nothing more.
For the next ten minutes Garrett awkwardly sits on the couch with the baby in his lap, his duck plushie clutched in the hand he's not chewing on as he stares curiously at the man holding him and every time the baby so much as shifts Garrett holds his breath, eventually Sebastian grows tired rubbing his eyes and settling into his uncle's chest, droopy eyes closing and soft snores escaping.
"Great, now stay like that until Tuck gets home and we'll be fine bud" He whispered settling back into the cushions and pressing play on the movie again.
Just a few minutes later, under the heat of the baby on his chest, Garrett falls asleep too.
It's not until hours later that he wakes, Sebastian now turned the other way around, eyes wide on the screen that's now playing cartoons but still on his lap and Dean, Tucker and Logan sit around him with plates of food with their attention also on the tv.
"Welcome back to the land of the living G" Dean greets him shoveling a forkfull of steak into his mouth.
"How long have you guys been home?" Garrett asks all confused "And why didn't you take your kid?"
"I tried" The blonde shrugs "But every time I got close to getting him off of you he'd cry so I just let him do his thing"
"Okay well, take him" Garrett motions to the baby that's now looking up at him with a smile, completely unaware of the awkwardness coming from the man holding him.
"Fine, look for yourself " Dean puts his plate down, by now Logan and Tucker are watching intently "Hey bud, come with daddy" The baby's smile disappears the moment his dad puts his hands under his armpits to get him up and instead he complains with a screech and flailing of his arms "See? Seb, son, we need to change your diaper at least before you leak all over uncle G"
Garrett grimaces at the sentence "Get him off please"
"I'm trying!" Dean argues picking Sebastian off finally, the baby wailing immeidately "Yeah, yeah, I'm such a bad dad for not letting you stay with Garrett even though your diaper is full and you can get a rash" He rolls his eyes "So dramatic, you get this from your mom"
Your apartment - Saturday afternoon
"So this one then?" You're on a facetime call with Allie and Hannah while trying on different outfits.
"Yeah, that one makes your boobs look fricking amazing" Hannah says, Allie agrees.
"Okay great, and then do we think hair up or down?" You're getting ready for a date, your first one since before having Sebastian, a date with a guy from the Tennis club "Wait, I think Dean's here"
Lo and behold, when you open your apartment door Dean stands there with a bright smile and a paper bag he lifts proudly "Uncle Tuck sent some snacks for Seb"
"God bless uncle Tuck" You say letting him in "Thank you so much for agreeing to babysit him tonight"
"I'm his dad" Dean deadpans "It's not babysitting, just taking care of my kid while his mom has a deserved fun night out, so you going out with friends? Hitting Malone's, someone's apartment, what is it?"
"See, most guys don't see it that way, especially on a Saturday night when they could be out partying" You point out "And neither, I'm going on a date"
Dean chokes on nothing "A date?"
You shrug "Yeah" And walk back to your room to finish getting ready and say goodbye to Hannah and Allie. Dean's already texting Beau about it.
"So… do I get to meet the date?" He asks trying to act nonchalant and failing.
"Well, I'm meeting him at the movie theater so no" You tell him putting on your shoes "But if it all goes well maybe next time"
"He's not even picking you up?" The blonde asks in disbelief "Who is this guy?"
"Goodbye Dean!" You ignore his questions and walk out the door.
The movie theater - Just a bit later
"Dude, I've always wanted to do espionage" Beau whispers loudly to Dean, both guys looking obvious as hell as they stand in the movie theater lobby dressed in black and with sunglasses even though they are inside, Seb sporting his very own little pair strapped into his dad's chest too.
"Lowkey, me too" Dean admits "Probably not for this but hey, we have to make sure she's not dating a complete douche"
"Look! There she is" Beau points at you, the two wait until you're walking into the room and follow a minute later, somehow managing to make it to their seats, three rows behind you without you noticing "Are you sure you won't just think whatever guy she dates is a douche anyways?"
"No" The blonde frowns "Only the ones who deserve the title" Beau hums unconvinced.
The movie, as it turns out, is an action one that has Beau hooked, but Dean can't stop looking at you and your date, noting every move he makes and scoffing at them. Then, something in the screen explodes loudly, Beau gasps, Seb wails in fear, that's when you turn around and notice them, Beau looks scared, Dean is trying to calm the baby down and you sigh offering your date an apology and telling him you have to go before walking up to Dean, taking Seb and walking out of the movie.
Dean immediately follows behind but you don't turn, too busy trying to calm your baby down until he stops you by your elbow, finally you look at him with anger "What?" You snap.
"I'm sorry" Is all he can say.
"Oh yeah?" You chuckle and that's when he understands how badly he fucked up "For what exactly? For bringing our seven month old baby into a loud action movie and scaring him to death or for ruining a perfectly fine date for me?"
"Everything"
"No Dean, I don't think you understand" You sigh, Seb's cries have calmed now and he tucks his little head into the crook of your neck as you continue to rock softly "That" You point to the movie room where you left your date "Is probably the only guy in all campus that's not repulsed by me being a mom and you've ruined it for me"
Dean's heart breaks a little at your words "No one is repulsed by you"
"You don't get it" You are about to cry out of frustration "You are Dean Di Laurentis, girls bow at your feet, you can have your pick every single night, you get to keep your perfect body. I don't have that Dean, guys won't even give me a second look, I can't just date around or sleep with someone because they all know I am Dean Di Laurentis' baby mama" He hates the way his name comes out of your mouth like it's venom "And if they do, they see someone with stretch marks, and loose skin and-" You choke on your words "You'll never get it Dean, how can you?" He says your name and you don't let him say anything more "Can you just drive us home?"
Now, Beau did notice you two leave earlier, but he didn't think you'd forget about him, I mean, surely you didn't just abandon him at the movie theater right? Well, now that the movie is over and he's done two laps around the parking lot with no luck finding Dean's BMW he realizes he's been left behind.
"Damn blind idiots" He mutters pulling his phone out to order an Uber "God how I hope they get their heads out of their asses and realize they love each other so they stop doing this shit"
Summary: Somehow you find yourself co-parenting with the biggest manwhore in all of Briar U.
⋆˚࿔ tina's note 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ welcome to the series that will hopefully become something! taglist is closed!
College Baby masterlist
Hockey house - Thursday afternoon.
"Yo, whoever flushed the blue package baby wipes when they clearly say do not flush next time you're the one's unclogging the toilet" Logan wipes his sweat covered forehead with his forearm and points at his two teammates sitting in the living room "And where the hell is Dean?"
"Seb emergency" Garrett answers without looking up from his textbook "Apparently he lost his ducky and wouldn't stop crying"
"I will never get over you saying the word ducky" Tucker snickers.
"Dude, you've been singing the itsy bitsy spider for days" Garrett shoots back.
"She's a ver determined spider" The curly haired guy almost looks offended at the quip.
"I'll take the itsy bitsy spider over baby shark any day" Logan's putting his toolbox away in the cabinet under the sink when he notices the bright yellow plush he's all too familiar with "Hey I found ducky!" He lifts it up with a triumphant smile.
The baby's cries are loud against his ear when he calls Dean "Fuck you want?" The clearly stressed dad answers the phone, in the background Logan can hear you yelling at him for swearing in front of the baby.
"Now, that's no way to talk to your savior" Logan frowns.
"I stopped going to church when I was 12" Dean snaps back "But maybe I need to take this kid in for an exorcism"
"Stop talking about our son like that!" You complain, probably taking the crying baby out of his arms because Logan notices the cries are more distant now.
"Anyways, I found ducky" Logan says.
"I fucking love you" The blonde sounds so relieved, already moving to get his car keys "Seriously, this weekend, drinks on me and you get first dibs"
When you, Dean and Seb show up at the house a little while later you look like you've been in combat for weeks. Both your hair desheveled, your clothes crumpled and faces flushed and if it wasn't for the milk stain on your shirt and the crying child in Dean's arms, your friends would be sure that you had been fooling around in Dean's car before walking in.
"Hey bud" Logan regards the squirming kid belting his little heart out "Look what your favorite uncle found for you"
"You're not the favorite shithead" Garrett says from the couch.
"Neither are you" Tucker adds.
Sebastian stops crying when he notices the yellow duck plushie in Logan's hands, instead of loud wails he just hiccups with big wet blue eyes as he's handed the stuffed animal.
"I would so get mad at you for cursing in front of him but I'm too tired for that" You tell Garrett already on your way upstairs to Dean's room, probably for a well deserved nap.
"Here" Dean plops the now calm child into Tuckers lap ignoring the laptop he was working on "You're the least likely to let him die" And walks away "He's due for a feeding in like an hour"
"So when do you think mom and dad will realize they're soulmates?" Logan asks the sleepy baby over the couch.
Malone's - Saturday morning.
"You know, you could always just bring him in with you" Della offers, you're going over your new job as a waitress.
"That won't be necessary" You tell her "He's going to the campus daycare and Dean's looking after him when he's free, but thank you so much"
"Of course hon, just know the option is there if you ever need it. As long as you do your job I have no problem with the little dude joining you" She sends a smile your way and walks away leaving you at the counter with your breakfast.
"Here you go, sorry for the wait" Hannah, who you've learned you're going to be sharing many shifts with places a glass of orange juice in front of you.
"Thanks" You say back.
The bell on top of the door dings and you hear the rowdy hockey players that have become your baby's family and therefore your family walk in.
"Hey mama" Dean plops down next to you, Seb strapped into that ridiculously expensive baby carrier he insisted on buying "What are you doing here so early?" He steals your glass of juice and drinks it whole in one big gulp, you give him an annoyed look.
"I was coordinating everything with Della" He looks confused "The job? As a waitress? I told you about it last night when I dropped Seb off?"
"I was half dead by the time you dropped by" He admits "I woke up at 4 am for the roadie and didn't get to nap at all in the bus, sorry" He then waves Hannah over "Can I get the big daddy breakfast with extra sausages and another orange juice please? Oh and a coffee, one cream two sugars"
"You got it" Hannah mumbles.
Dean turns back to you at the same time as he grabs Seb's hands that are outstretching towards the napkins in front of you "Anyways, why the hell are you getting a job?"
"Because I have things to pay?" You deadpan "I also have a meeting with the financial advisor in 40 minutes, the school agreed to let me hold onto my scholarship but even then, the rest of the money is still a little too much and I don't want to drain all my savings like that so… job" You motion to the place.
"Thanks" He tells Hannah when she places the three big plates, orange juice and coffee cup in front of him "Why didn't you tell me you needed money?"
"Because I don't need money from you" You shrug "Don't worry, Seb's getting all he needs, this is just for my stuff"
"You know I've gotchu whatever you need" He says, your mom reflexes save his breakfast from Sebastian's curious hands smashing into it.
"Thanks but I'm good" He doesn't like this, but he knows he's not going to win the argument so he just hums already planning how he's going to increment the money he sends you for Sebastian in a way that you won't instantly notice "Hand him over so you can eat before he faceplants into the eggs"
Your apartment - Monday night
"So I was thinking" Dean starts, he's on the floor doing tummy time with Sebastian.
"Oh no"
"Shut up" He shakes his head "I was thinking, if we make it to the frozen four this year, this little guy will be old enough to come see daddy play"
You make a face "I don't know"
"Oh come on, we can get him those huge earmuffs and get the puck bunnies to bodyguard" See, the thing about the puck bunnies is you shouldn't like them, but you can't help it. Sure, they are known for sleeping with the hockey players, but if you really think about it, they have a type and a limited dating pool in the school but they really don't harm anyone and they are nice once you get to know you. Oh and they love your kid because he is Dean's kid so really, you have no problem with them.
"How about this" You sit next to him with a yogurt cup that will most likely be stolen from your hands in just a few seconds "If you make it to the finals and the trip is not too long we'll make it"
"Great, going to order the ear muffs now" You know he's being truthful because he's already pulling up Amazon on his phone, the season is barely halfway through.
The Hockey House - Tuesday afternoon
"Dean if you don't pick your shit up I will throw it away" Tucker's yelling up the stairs when you walk into the house with Seb in your arms "Oh hey guys!"
"Hey Tuck" You give him a tired smile, at only six months old, Seb's decided that sleep is no longer something he's interested in.
"You look like you're about two seconds from collapsing" He frowns taking both the baby and baby bag from you.
"Feel like it too, he's decided he's allergic to sleeping more than 20 minutes at a time" You drop onto the couch with a sigh.
"I can watch him for a bit if you wanna nap" You throw up a thumbs up, your eyes already closed "Okay bud, today you're learning how to make a peach cobbler"
A while later you wake up to find Tuck cleaning the kitchen whit the baby strapped into his chest while humming a country song you don't recognize, the surprising thing? Seb's totally asleep, mouth open, little snores, drooling all over Tucker's chest asleep.
"Holy shit" You whisper making your way to the kitchen "You are magical Tuck"
"Huh?" He looks confused, then notices your gaze on the baby "Oh! He's been asleep for a while, I was explaining how to pick the perfect peaches to him and he just conked out" He shrugs as if it's nothing.
"John Tucker I think I might be in love with you" Of course that's the moment your baby's father decides to walk into the room, furrowed brows in annoyance at your words because although you two are not together he's not sure how he feels about you saying those words to one of his best friends.
"What the fuc-" He doesn't get to finish his sentence though because you practically throw yourself into him to cover his mouth, he catches you by your waist pressing you flush against him, frown still present in his face.
"Shut up" You whisper shout at him "I've been trying to get him to sleep for forever and he wouldn't settle now look at him"
Econ 201 - Wednesday morning
"Dude I have a problem" Dean's sitting next to his new friend, Beau, in class.
"You have a lot of those" Beau keeps taking notes of the board "It's the reason you're a hockey player"
"This is serious" Dean insists.
"What level of serious?"
"Camille tried sexting me last night and I didn't text back" Beau's pen basically drops from his hand and suddenly he's not into class at all becuase his buddy needs serious help if this problem is stopping him from sexting Camille freaking Green back.
"You have my undivided attention" The brunette says, his whole body turned to the blonde.
When your name comes out of Dean's mouth Beau gasps, yes, this is very clearly a serious problem if you're involved.
"Yesterday she told Tuck she was in love with him" Beau's eyes go impossibly wide at Dean's words "And it's been bugging me ever since"
"No bro like that's totally valid" Beau nods "If my baby mama said she was in love with my best friend I would go crazy too. So what happened next?"
"She told me to shut up because the baby was sleeping" Dean continues with his story "And then the other guys got home and we had dinner and then she left so we didn't get to talk but-"
"Gentlemen" The professor called, the class eerily quiet around them, all their classmates staring at the two "Anything to share with the class?"
Malone's - Wednesday night
"So" Garret plops down next to Tucker in the booth, throwing his arm around him "How's it feel to be a step dad?"
"Fuck you talking 'bout?" Tucker asks confused.
"It's all everyone on campus is talking about, John Tucker, the dad that stepped up" Logan says teasingly sitting on the other side of the booth, Tucker's still confused.
"Word on the street is that you'r dating Dean's baby mama" Garrett finally explains making the curly haired guy choke on his water.
"Where the hell is that coming from?" He asks "Wait, is that why everyone's been giving me weird looks?"
Dean arrives then with Beau by his side, the quarterback dapping him up before joining his own teammates leaving Dean to find his roommates.
"Why do you two look like you've pulled the prank of the year?" He asks Logan and Garrett who can't help but to cackle.
"Hey Tuck, I can give you a baby of your own if you want" A girl walking by winks at the Texan who gives his friends a mortified look.
Dean gives the table a questioning look "Apparently someone's been saying Tuck's dating your baby mama and has become" Garret starts, Logan joins with a big smile and at the same time they both say "The dad that stepped up"
"Wait… what?"
"Dean!" You barrell towards their table "What the hell did you do?"
"I didn't do anything" The blonde raises his hands.
"Then why is the whole campus thinking I'm in love with Tuck?" That's when it dawns on Dean.
"Beau you motherfucker!" The named looks up with confusion and then fear when he sees you by his friend's side "I'm going to break both your legs!"
You swallow hard, blinking against the tears clouding your vision before forcing your feet to move. Your shoes feel strangely heavy as you make your way toward the staircase, your breathing uneven no matter how hard you try to steady it.
The first stair creaks beneath your weight as you sniffle, scrubbing impatiently beneath your eyes with the sleeve of your sweatshirt, but the tears keep coming anyway.
The staircase is dim, lit only by the warm glow from the kitchen downstairs. Your vision swims again, forcing you to focus on the next step before carefully lowering your foot.
You catch yourself against the railing before you can stumble, your fingers wrapping so tightly around the wood your knuckles ache.
You draw in a slow breath through your nose, willing your heartbeat to settle, but it only makes the ache spread further, every beat reminding you of his voice and the words he’d whisper to her.
I like us.
I haven’t stopped thinking about New York.
This feels different.
You’d spent years imagining what it might feel like to hear Dean Di Laurentis confess his feelings to you. You just never imagined you’d be the one he practiced them on before saying them to somebody else.
You weren’t jealous of Allie. You were jealous of the version of Dean she’d gotten to meet.
You didn’t want her life. You wanted the words he’d chosen for it.
The worst part was that the words sounded just as beautiful as you’d always imagined, but they weren’t yours. They were Allie’s.
“I get it now. You love love.” Dean smiles as he admits it, watching her closely. Allie stands almost perfectly still in front of him, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag before loosening again.
She glances up at him, biting her cheek, her eyes going wide before they dart away. He mistakes the color rising into her cheeks for something sweet—like maybe he finally understands what she’d been trying to tell him all along.
“That’s what you said you wanted, right? That night at the fire pit.”
He moves closer to her, the confidence he’d carried out of the house still holding despite his nerves. His hand rests on her hip and her shoulders turn away slightly.
“So, I came here to tell you that, uh… I didn’t complete the assignment.”
“What?” she asks, her expression changing so quickly he nearly misses it. Her lips part, but nothing comes. There aren’t any words that make this better, not when Dean matters to her and she already knows this is going to break his heart.
He sees the confusion but not the panic underneath it. Even now, with her staring at him like he’s said something impossible, he only thinks he’s caught her off guard.
“Why?” Her voice breaks around the word, her head tilting as she tries her best not to cry.
“Because I like you. I like us,” he answers surely, his thumb rubbing absently against her skin. “I know that’s not what we said, but I was hoping—”
“Hey, no, Dean. You can’t,” she blurts as he steps so close she can feel the warmth of his body, the smell of his cologne amplified with the heat of his anxiety.
Her hand comes up slightly between them, but Dean’s too caught up in the rush of finally saying it to notice how rigid her shoulders have become.
He thinks she’s scared. He is too, and somehow that only makes him more certain they’re standing in the same place. Both of them nervous. Both of them trying to figure out what comes after the agreement they’d made. His eyebrows lift as he looks down at her, the confidence returning to his voice before he says, “And yet, I am.”
Allie blinks up at him, her tears balancing on her waterline as the bar rages around them.
But she’s silent.
Dean feels a wave of unease, his eyes drifting around the bar as he realizes just how many people are there, everything closing in a little tighter.
“No, I mean, like, you have to complete the assignment,” Allie whispers, her voice barely carrying over the music. She draws in a shaky breath before finally forcing herself to meet his eyes. “Because—”
“Because why?” he asks quietly, his eyebrows pulling together.
His heart pounds so hard he can feel it in his throat. He’d been terrified she would laugh it off. Terrified he’d stumble over the speech he’d practiced with you. You had cried. You’d called it beautiful. You’d told him to tell her. Somehow, being here now, he realizes there had been one outcome he never once prepared himself for.
She nods once, looking sick to her stomach. “Because I did. I swear, it didn’t mean anything. I—Joanna set me up with this guy, like a total stranger at a bar.”
He stares at her, waiting for her to say there was more to it—that she hadn’t wanted to, that it didn’t matter, that she’d stopped before anything happened.
“You…” His voice comes out quieter than he means it to. “You actually did it?”
“I’m sorry.” The words barely leave her mouth before fresh tears gather in her eyes.
Nothing else comes. She doesn’t take it back. She doesn’t laugh. She doesn’t tell him she misspoke.
Every sound in the bar swells until it becomes one unbearable roar. Somebody bumps his shoulder walking past, muttering an apology he doesn’t hear. A loud bark of laughter cuts clean through the noise.
Dean glances over his shoulder, watching as Hunter steps through the front door, eyes drifting across the room.
Hunter finds Allie almost immediately, a smile tipping at the corner of his mouth as he nods in her direction. The look of someone who’s on the receiving end of an assignment she completed.
Hunter’s smile falters for only a second as his eyes finally land on Dean standing beside her.
They’d spent years trying to get under each other’s skin. Dean sees it the moment it clicks. Hunter understands why Dean’s standing beside her. He doesn’t know the whole story, but the smile curling on his lips tells Dean Hunter’s enjoying every second of it.
Dean turns back to Allie, meeting her gaze. He doesn’t even need to ask—but he needs to hear it.
“Him?”
“No,” she croaks, eyes pinching shut as she shakes her head. “Yes—do you know him?”
And for the first time all night, Dean takes a step back, then another. His hand reaches up, raking through his hair as every sound around him crashes together like a freight train. The rose-colored glasses he’d walked in wearing had been ripped clean off, and all he could see now was red.
His skin crawls with the thought of it, heartbreak clawing at the back of his throat as his stomach sinks. How could he be so stupid? How could he possibly think either one of them would come out unscathed?
Maybe it’s because he never thought it would end like this when he agreed…
Maybe he thought the only person she could see herself with was him. He’d never even been the only option. And it broke his heart because he’d been the only one falling in love.
I like us. Not enough…
I haven’t stopped thinking about New York. I have.
This feels different. And it still isn’t enough.
None of this mattered.
“Dean, I’m sorry,” Allie whispers, taking one careful step toward him before stopping herself. “Dean…”
Dean doesn’t even look at her. His jaw flexes hard enough to ache as he turns away, forcing the people lingering nearby to shuffle out of his way.
“The fuck are you doing here?” Dean asks, grabbing onto the anger before the sadness can split him open in front of everyone as he turns to Davenport.
“I heard your team needs saving,” Hunter says, taking a beer from the bartender’s hand.
He takes a slow drink without taking his eyes off Dean, leaning his body against the edge of the bar like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
“Yeah?” Dean laughs bitterly. “Get the fuck out.”
Hunter huffs out a laugh, the corner of his mouth pulling higher as he sets his beer back down. Dean can see Garrett and Tucker already closing in.
“Hey,” Hunter scoffs, putting his hands up in surrender, his demeanor anything but. “Logan said this was your idea—”
Dean doesn’t answer him. His eyes drift past Hunter instead, landing on Garrett standing a few feet away, confusion written all over his face.
“You weren’t there. Logan had to make a call,” Garrett mumbles.
“I’m not skating with this prick.” Dean squares up to him, stepping closer as Hunter studies him. A crooked grin spreads across his face. Neither one of them looks away.
“Aww. What, are you scared I’m gonna dust your ass again?” Hunter closes the distance until they’re nearly chest to chest.
“You wanna try?” Dean asks, shoving Hunter backward with both hands.
Hunter plants his feet, catches himself, then steps right back into Dean’s space. “Yeah? Yeah, I do.”
Dean grabs the front of Hunter’s shirt, hauling him close enough that their foreheads nearly touch. “I’d like to see you fucking try.”
“Get the fuck out of my face,” Hunter shoots back.
Dean buries both hands in Hunter’s shirt, shoving him hard enough that he crashes into a high-top table. Glasses shatter and beer spills, the crowd parting as he surges forward, driving both palms into Dean’s chest.
Dean stumbles backward into the bar rail, his lower back slamming into polished wood. His fist connects with Hunter’s jaw almost on instinct, snapping his head sideways before Hunter answers with one of his own that catches Dean beneath the eye.
The two of them crash sideways into another cluster of people, chairs scraping violently across the floor as somebody dives out of the way.
Hunter lands a punch deep into his ribs that drives the air straight out of his lungs. Dean grabs onto him as he folds, dragging Hunter down until both of them hit the sticky hardwood in a tangled heap.
Hunter’s elbow catches the corner of Dean’s mouth—his lip splitting, blood flooding his mouth.
“Dean!” Garrett shouts. “Break it up!”
People reach for both of them from every direction, but neither man lets go. Dean tears free long enough to throw another punch that lands against Hunter’s ribs before Hunter answers with one across Dean’s cheekbone, his vision blurring again as people shout over one another.
Beau finally hooks both arms around Dean from behind, hauling him backward across the beer-slick floor while Garrett and Tucker wrestle Hunter the opposite direction. Dean strains against Beau’s grip anyway, shoes scraping against the bar floor as blood drips steadily from the corner of his mouth onto the front of his shirt.
“Enough!” Garrett barks into the space between, breathing hard himself.
Dean glances back, and Allie’s standing exactly where he left her, crying hard enough she has to cover her mouth. He tears himself out of Beau’s grip and storms toward the front door without another word.
“…Hey.”
Your stomach twists. You hadn’t even considered somebody else might still be here.
Logan’s leaning against the kitchen counter, dressed for the bar, absentmindedly eating a bowl of cereal. His eyes squint, taking a better look at you through the dark house, before his expression immediately changes.
Logan lowers the spoon back into the bowl, his eyebrows pulling together as he straightens away from the counter. “Hey, sweetheart…” he says carefully, his gaze moving over your face for less than a second before all the color drains from his own. “What’s wrong?”
You pull your bag a little closer against your side as you force yourself to look anywhere but at him, swallowing hard around the lump already sitting in your throat.
You open your mouth, fully intending to tell him you’re fine, but the words refuse to come, leaving you standing there in complete silence while another tear slips free despite your best efforts.
Logan sets the bowl down without taking another bite. “Hey,” he says again, this time much softer as he walks around the counter toward you. “C’mere.”
You suck in one sharp breath, another tear sliding down your cheek before you can stop it. You shake your head, blinking hard as you try to pull yourself back together.
“I’m okay.”
“No, you’re not.”
He reaches for you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders as carefully as if he thinks you might fall apart in his hands, and for the first time since Dean walked out that front door, you let yourself cry.
The front of his t-shirt grows damp beneath your face while one of his hands rubs slow circles across your back, his other resting gently against the back of your head.
You don’t remember the last time someone held you while you cried. Dean never had to. He’d always made sure you laughed before it got this bad.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs quietly. “I’ve got you.”
The cool night air hits Dean like a slap the second he shoves through the front doors.
His shoes pound against the sidewalk as he puts as much distance between himself and Allie as he can, dragging the back of his hand across his split lip.
Every breath stings his ribs—his left eye’s already swelling shut—but none of it hurts as much as the pressure sitting in the middle of his chest.
“Dean!” He doesn’t look back as he hears her voice. “Dean, wait!”
Allie hurries after him, weaving around the crowd standing outside Malone’s. She reaches for his arm, fingers barely brushing the sleeve of his jacket before he jerks away so fast it startles both of them.
He shakes his head, breathing hard through his nose. “Don’t.”
Her hand falls back to her side as she searches his face, tears continuing to roll down her cheeks. If she’d reached for him five minutes earlier, he would’ve melted into it.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m fine. Go back inside,” he huffs, turning back around to walk away.
He only makes it a few steps before she reaches for him again, her hand wrapping around his arm. “How is this fine, Dean? You’re not okay. We’re not okay—”
“We? We’re not okay?”
“Yes we—us, Dean.”
“Why are you acting like there’s a fuckin’ we here when you clearly… you—you just. Fuck! You weren’t supposed to say that,” Dean cuts her short, the words sounding almost childlike, leaving him mortified.
“…What?” she asks breathlessly, staring up at him.
“You weren’t supposed to say that.” His voice cracks this time. “I was supposed to come here.” He gestures back toward the bar with one bloody hand before letting it fall uselessly to his side. “I was supposed to tell you how I felt.”
“Dean…”
“You were supposed to tell me you felt the same way.” His breathing grows more uneven with every word, his chest rising sharply as he struggles to keep himself together. “You were supposed to tell me I’d been an idiot for waiting this long. We were supposed to laugh about that stupid fucking assignment. We were…”
His voice disappears completely. He swallows hard, looking away for a second before forcing himself to meet her eyes again.
“How do you not feel the same way? How, Allie? I don’t get it. And that's my issue to work through, not yours—”
“I never wanted this to happen.”
“Neither did I,” Dean whispers, his eyes glassy despite how hard he’s trying to keep himself together.
“I’m so sorry.”
“I know you are.” He presses his lips together for a second, his jaw flexing as he tries to steady his breathing. “I just… I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with this now.”
He’d spent so long wondering how good it would feel when he finally told her how he felt that he’d never once thought about what came after she said no.
Allie’s eyes drift back to the cut beneath his eye, another thin line of blood working its way down his cheek. “You’re bleeding.”
Dean reaches up, touching the corner of his mouth before looking at the blood on his fingertips, completely numb.
“It’s nothing.”
“Dean, it’s not nothing.” She fumbles through her purse until she finds a bar napkin, unfolding it with shaky hands as she steps closer again. “Just… hold still for one second.”
She barely gets close enough to lift her hand before Dean takes another step backward. “Please don’t.”
Dean holds her gaze for a moment before letting out a shaky breath, his gaze dropping to the cracked sidewalk.
“Forget it.”
She says something else. He sees her lips move. Another apology, maybe. Another explanation. He doesn’t hear a word of it because the thoughts in his head are so, so much louder.
She never asked him to come tonight.
…Hunter was there.
And maybe, just maybe, that’s exactly where Allie wanted him to be. His throat burns as he swallows hard, his vision blurring again.
The front doors of the bar burst open behind them, music spilling out onto the sidewalk along with a chorus of raised voices. Allie looks back toward the entrance as tears of frustration stream down her cheeks.
“Where is he?” Beau asks, already looking past her.
Allie whips around toward where Dean had been standing, but he’s gone. “He…” Her voice catches before she manages to finish. “I don’t know.”
“You really don’t wanna tell me?” Logan asks against the rim of his beer bottle before he takes a sip.
You shake your head almost immediately, your head resting heavy on his shoulder as you look out onto the empty street.
Logan nods like he’d expected that. He glances down at the porch beneath his feet for a second, tapping the toe of his boot lightly against the wood before looking toward you. “…Alright,” he says quietly. “Then don’t.”
You let out a long breath through your nose before quietly agreeing.
“Mind if I take a guess?” he asks gently.
Your fingers tighten around your sleeve until the fabric bunches in your fist.
You keep your eyes fixed in front of you, blinking quickly as another sting builds behind them, but you can’t quite bring yourself to answer, so you nod.
“It has something to do with Dean?”
Your chin trembles as you try your hardest to stay still, telling him everything he needs to know anyway.
“Mhmm,” he hums. “…Dean and Allie?” The names hang in the cool night air swirling around you.
You draw in another shaky breath, staring out at the emptiness for another second before the words finally leave you. “I just…” You swallow hard. “I don’t want to lose my best friend.”
Logan shifts toward you, pressing a kiss against your hair before he rests his chin on the top of your head. He draws in a deep breath, letting it out nice and slow.
“That’s not gonna happen,” he whispers.
You shrug helplessly, your voice barely rising above a whisper. “Everything changes when people fall in love.”
He chuckles breathily. “Nah… It’ll change some things,” he admits honestly. “Life always does.”
He turns toward you, brushing a tear away with his thumb.
“You’re not gonna lose Dean.”
His arm tightens around your shoulder, headlights sweeping briefly over the porch, and your heart plummets—the thought of Dean and Allie stumbling out of an Uber, laughing and kissing, tearing away at your last thread of sanity. The car disappears and you blow out a breath, nodding because Logan is waiting for some kind of response.
“You can talk to me, you know? It’s me.”
“How are you so sure?” you whisper.
Logan’s lip pouts a little, so slight you barely catch it out of the corner of your eye, when he hears just how broken you are. He takes another drink from his beer. “You two have been attached at the hip since freshman year. One girl isn’t gonna change that.”
“One girl,” you breathe, the words leaving your lips like you can’t believe he could possibly think that’s all she is—but he doesn’t know Dean like you know Dean.
Like Allie’s no different from the dozens of girls that have walked in and out of that door behind you. Like she isn’t the first one who made him nervous enough to ask for your help—caring enough to ask you for the first time if what he was offering someone else was enough. If he was enough.
Another car turns into the neighborhood and chills fall down your spine. “She’s not just some girl.”
The ring on his finger clinks against the bottle before he speaks. “I just mean Dean’s had people come and go before,” he continues. “You haven’t. He trusts you more than anybody. You know that, right?”
“Yeah,” you manage.
“And he’s always gonna need you.” Logan dips his head, trying to catch your eyes. “That idiot barely knows what he’s feeling until he talks it through with you first. You really think he’s gonna stop calling because he has a girlfriend?”
The word settles between your ribs, sharp and heavy.
“He talks about you constantly,” he adds. “Half the time somebody asks him a question, he starts with, ‘Well, she said—’ like we don’t already know who he means.”
You shake your head quickly, trying to get Logan to stop being so kind because each comforting word he offers to “Dean’s best friend” just pulls the woman who would do anything to mean what he means to her deeper underwater.
“Besides…” Logan huffs quietly, shaking his head. “They’ve been… whatever this is… for what? Five minutes?”
“It doesn’t matter,” you press the words past your lips.
“Exactly. I mean… they literally made a deal to hook up with other people.”
“No,” you whisper. “I mean—I just,” you stumble over your words, trying to put your misery into something coherent but it’s too fucking much. “I’m being stupid.”
“No, c’mon.” His hand slips from your shoulder, lifting to cup your cheek, turning you gently so you finally have to look at him.
His expression softens, his eyebrows pulling together with worry.
“If you think Allie’s gonna have some issue with you being close to him, she won’t,” Logan says, like it should be obvious. As though the possibility is so unreasonable it doesn’t require more than a sentence to dismiss.
“Okay,” you whisper, wanting the honesty to stop, hating how small your voice sounds.
“She knows you.” He gives you a confused little smile, like he can’t figure out how you’ve managed to scare yourself this badly over something so simple. “She knows what you and Dean are like.”
And how is that?
Your breath catches in your chest and your lashes flutter anxiously. A tiny part of you waits for him to say you’ve got it all wrong.
That Dean’s just taking the long way around. That one day he’ll realize he’s been looking at you all this time and finally understand why he could never let you go.
He doesn’t.
“You’re not competition, sweetheart.”
His expression softens when he says it, like he’s finally found the sentence that should make all of this better. The tears fill your eyes, blurring him so much that you can barely see.
“Thank you,” you whimper. You turn away from his touch, face crumpling before you can stop it, wiping away your tears with the heel of your hand.
“Hey.” Logan’s voice drops. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean to make it worse.”
“No.” You shake your head, drawing in a trembling breath as you stand up, crossing your arms tight over your chest. “I appreciate it.”
“She’s not gonna want to take away somebody who’s like family to him.”
“You’re right,” you whisper.
“Hell, you’re probably gonna end up with one of us anyway,” Logan laughs quietly before shaking his head. “I mean…” His cheeks redden ever so slightly as he scratches the back of his neck. “We all love you.”
You barely hear the first part. The last three words only make the ache inside your chest that much harder to bear because you know exactly what kind of love he means.
You nod, forcing the corner of your mouth upward, tight and unsteady, but Logan’s shoulders lower slightly in relief when he sees it.
“I don’t need to go to the bar,” Logan mumbles. “You wanna come back inside? Watch a movie or somethin’?”
And be here when he comes home? You try to keep your expression from changing, terrified that the question is painted all over your face anyway.
“No, you should go.” Your voice cracks at the end, so you clear your throat. His eyes search yours, moving over your tear-streaked cheeks before he finally lets out a quiet breath. “Everybody’s probably wondering where you are—”
“They’ll survive,” Logan stops you, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees as he looks up at you.
Silence stretches between the two of you.
Finally, Logan pushes himself to his feet, studying your face as he slips his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
He watches you for another long moment, and for one awful second you think he can see straight through it. You think he’s going to pull you back into his arms and keep asking questions until the truth spills out of you, but his shoulders slowly loosen.
“Text me when you get home.”
“I will.”
“And if you’re still upset, call me.” He reaches up, rubbing away a tear. “Don’t care what time it is, alright?”
Logan draws you into one last hug, and you let yourself sink into it as the pressure in your chest starts building again. “You’re not gonna lose him,” he whispers once more, pressing another kiss against the top of your head before giving you a final squeeze and letting you go.
He stays near the doorway, watching while you cross the yard, so you keep your shoulders straight and your steps steady. You even lift a hand when he reminds you to text him, pretending you can hold yourself together for another ten steps.
You make it out of sight before your hand flies over your mouth, a sob breaking through as the strap of your bag slips down your shoulder and you struggle to drag air into your lungs.
You were his best friend. His safe space. His family. Close enough to stay beside him through every part of the life he was about to build with someone else.
You weren’t going to lose him.
Dean was still going to choose you.
Just never the way you’d dreamed he would.
Dean runs until his lungs start burning.
His shoes hit the pavement as his heart pounds in his chest. He stumbles off the curb at the end of the block, catching himself before he goes down completely, his hands still trembling with adrenaline.
His phone vibrates against his thigh, but he doesn’t reach for it. He doesn’t want to know if it’s Allie. He doesn’t want to hear Garrett asking where he went or Beau telling him to come back. He can’t go back.
He gasps for a breath, his split lip tearing open more as the cold air bites at his skin. He’s a little drunk, and he hates to admit it. Those beers he threw back to calm his nerves are catching up with him at the worst possible time.
His shoe catches against a raised crack in the sidewalk and he stumbles forward, one palm scraping hard against the concrete. His knee drops to the wet ground, and he stays there for a moment, head hanging between his shoulders.
“Fuck,” he chokes out, shoving himself upright before his body can decide to stay down.
He makes it another block before the street opens in front of him, the familiar intersection finally slowing his feet.
His hands rake through his sweaty hair. He looks to the right, then the left toward the hockey house, before he glances back to where he wants to go.
Dean’s phone vibrates angrily in his pocket. He tugs it out, seeing a string of notifications, and a list of text messages stacked on top of each other. The latest one hits him like a gut punch.
Just talk to me please. Allie Hayes.
What if she comes looking for him? He doesn’t want to fold if she tells him she regrets what she did. He knows he will.
He doesn’t want to cry in front of her. He doesn’t want her to pity him while she patches him up after this stupid fuckin’ fight with Hunter. He doesn’t want to pretend it’s not shattering him while she tries to explain how it meant nothing.
He doesn’t want to fall asleep in sheets that smell like the two of them.
“I can’t fucking do it,” he whispers, because he knows the boys aren’t far behind. He doesn’t want Garrett or Beau. He doesn’t want Allie. He just wants you.
There’s nowhere else he goes.
He hopes you’re home.
You always know how to make things better.
But it’s gonna hurt. He can already picture the look on your face when he tells you he wasn’t enough. He can already hear your voice soften when he tells you Allie chose somebody else. He can already feel the way you’ll fit in his arms when you hug him and tell him he’s gonna be okay. He just wants to be okay…
He just wants to go home.
And so do you.
You keep your head down, not trusting yourself to look up if anyone passes by. Another tear falls, disappearing against the dark concrete before the next one follows.
Your sneakers scuff quietly against the sidewalk while you try not to think about what Dean’s doing or whether he’s already made it back to the house.
And, even though you don’t wanna know, you’re hyper aware of the phone weighing heavy in your pocket. A text from Dean—a social media update from Allie. Some public display of affection that will surely ruin you. But this limbo of knowing and not knowing what happened makes your stomach twist in knots.
What if you turned around right now? What if you went to Malone’s? Would that help? Maybe seeing them together would be the push you’d need to let that want go.
What’s a little more heartbreak?
You stop walking and in that moment you hear footsteps echo behind you. At first, you don’t think much of it. Briar’s campus is never completely empty, even this late, and somebody’s probably headed home just like you are.
You glance over your shoulder, the hair on the back of your neck standing straight as you catch a man walking toward you fast, too fast, so you move.
Your feet pound against the sidewalk as you look over your shoulder just as a pair of headlights rounds the corner.
For half a second, the headlights catch the face of the man behind you, and your heart nearly stops—his split lip, cheeks stained from tears and blood, his eye already swollen beneath blonde locks plastered to his forehead. He’s breathing hard, shoulders rising and falling with every jagged breath.
Your stomach drops and your voice breaks as you call out for him.
“Dean?”
Even from where you’re standing, you watch his head lift before tipping back toward the dark sky for a second, his shoulders sagging as another broken breath escapes him and his eyes squeeze shut.
“Dean…” You try again, your voice catching as you hurry the last few steps toward him. The streetlight finally catches his face, and your chest tightens. “Dean, what the hell happened?”
He doesn’t answer. The second you’re close enough, he reaches for you. His arms wrap around you so suddenly they almost knock you off balance, pulling you against his chest with enough force that you stumble into him.
Before you can even think to hug him back, he’s buried his face against the side of your neck, another broken sob tearing through him as his whole body shakes in your arms.
“Hey… hey,” you whisper, choking back tears of your own.
Your fingers tangle through the hair at the back of his head while your other arm wraps around his waist, holding him as tightly as you can.
“I’ve got you.”
His hands bunch the back of your sweatshirt in his fists. You can feel every tremor that moves through him, his forehead pressed against your shoulder while you continue stroking his hair over and over, your own heart breaking right alongside his.
“What happened?” you whisper. He draws in a deep breath, blowing it out slow.
You pull back just enough to look at him again, your thumb brushing carefully beneath the eye that hasn’t swollen shut.
His lashes lift slowly and the tears on his bruised cheeks shimmer. And, at this moment, you can’t remember a time when you’ve ever seen him this sad… but you know the feeling. You’ve been living it all night.
For a second, all you hear is the rustle of leaves and the uneven sound of the two of you trying to hold yourselves together.
“Just give me a minute,” he whispers.
“Okay,” you nod. “Where were you going?”
His lips draw to the side, his eyebrows softening as he looks at you like you shouldn’t even have to ask. Dean’s hand slips into yours, his fingers closing tightly around your own before he begins pulling you toward your place.
The two of you walk side by side without another word, your hands still linked between you. Dean keeps his head down, staring at the sidewalk as it passes beneath his feet.
You sneak another look at him beneath the streetlights, taking in the blood drying beneath his nose and along the corner of his mouth. He lifts his free hand, wiping at his mouth, hissing in pain before he pulls away.
Dean must feel you looking because his head turns slowly toward you, his bruised eyes finally meeting yours.
And still, he can’t bring himself to speak. Not yet. Normally, he wouldn’t have let the silence last this long. He would’ve made some joke about you staring at him or squeezed your hand until you finally looked over and smiled. He would’ve told you the other guy looked worse, even if you hadn’t asked.
You wish there was something you could say that would make any of this better.
Dean lifts his eyes, staring toward your place before letting out a long, unsteady breath. You fish your keys from your sweatshirt pocket as the two of you make your way up the short walkway.
You unlock the door and pull it open, holding it for him as he steps inside ahead of you.
The apartment is almost completely dark when the two of you step inside. You quietly push the door shut behind you, the soft click of the lock sounding impossibly loud in the silence.
He starts toward the staircase without saying a word, and you follow him just as silently. The steps creak softly beneath your weight as the two of you climb toward the second floor.
You can’t stop checking on him. Every few steps your eyes drift back to his face, the physical pain and heartbreak painted so clearly across it.
And even so, you hate yourself for the relief that’s settled somewhere deep inside you, quiet enough that you tried to keep it buried.
Dean’s heart is in pieces, and somehow a part of you is grateful that he isn’t spending tonight somewhere else. Grateful that he came looking for you instead of her. Grateful that he’s here.
The realization makes you feel sick.
That’s not what best friends are supposed to think. They aren’t supposed to find comfort in someone else’s heartbreak, no matter how desperately they’ve wished for them.
You swallow hard, forcing your eyes back to the steps beneath your feet as another sting settles behind them. This isn’t about you. Whatever’s left of your own heart can wait. Right now, Dean needs someone to put him back together.
The two of you step into your place and Dean kicks off his shoes, still refusing to let go of your hand, leading you toward the bathroom at the end of the hall, nudging the door open before stepping inside.
The room stays dim, lit only by the soft amber glow from the hallway and the faint wash of moonlight filtering through the small window above the shower.
He reaches up for the collar of his jacket, and slowly eases it from his shoulders, wincing in pain as he drags it off one arm then the next.
He nods toward the shower, waiting for your answer before he reaches for the handle. “Of course,” you whisper. He twists the metal handle until hot water begins pounding against the tile, steam slowly filling the small bathroom.
“…I got blood everywhere,” he whispers, and your eyes flick up to the mirror, the corners already fogging over from the heat.
His t-shirt is stained across the collar, dried streaks trailing down the front where he’d wiped at his face over and over throughout the walk home. There are rusty fingerprints smeared across the sleeves of your sweatshirt too, little reminders of how tightly he’d held onto you in the middle of the street.
“You’re okay,” you whisper.
He reaches for the hem of his shirt first, pulling the bloodstained fabric over himself before dropping it onto the bathroom floor. You quietly do the same with your sweatshirt, leaving it beside his before slipping out of your jeans.
Neither of you says anything about it. By the time the two of you step beneath the spray, he’s wearing nothing but his boxers, and you’re standing in your panties and bra.
The hot water runs over Dean’s hair, wetting dried blood, sending it ribboning down the side of his face. The chain on his chest flickers with every shaky breath, the tanned skin on his ribs a watercolor of purple and blue bruises.
Pink water circles lazily around the drain, carrying away blood and fresh tears.
He simply stands there with his eyes closed while you carefully press the damp cloth beneath the cut at his eyebrow, your other hand resting lightly against his shoulder to steady him. Every now and then he whimpers, but he never pulls away.
You rinse the washcloth beneath the spray before pressing it against the corner of his mouth. Dean’s head tips down slightly to give you better access, his eyes staying closed while you wipe away the blood still caught along his jaw.
“Who did this to you?”
He swallows hard enough that you see the movement in his throat. For a second, you think he might avoid the question but he doesn’t.
“Hunter.”
Your brows pull together in confusion. There are probably a dozen Hunters somewhere on campus, but there’s only one who could make Dean say it like that.
“Davenport?”
He nods, and the answer only leaves you with more questions. You look over his bruised face again, the cut at his eyebrow, the swelling already darkening beneath his eye, and the fresh scrape across his cheekbone that hadn’t been there when he left the house.
Hunter and Dean had never needed much of an excuse to get under each other’s skin, but this wasn’t the aftermath of another stupid chirp taken too far. Dean hadn’t run across campus crying because Davenport made some comment about hockey.
“Why?”
His lips part, but nothing comes out. Dean blinks a few times, unable to put his disappointment into words.
“Do you want me to guess?” you whisper. The question sounds painfully familiar the moment it leaves your mouth. A few minutes earlier, Logan had offered you the same mercy while the two of you sat on the porch, quietly filling in the spaces around everything you couldn’t bring yourself to admit.
Now Dean is standing in front of you with the same helpless look you must’ve worn then, and somehow you already know where to begin.
“She did the assignment?”
Dean bites down on his split lip, turning his face away from you before he nods.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper.
His jaw locks so tightly you can see the muscle jump beneath his skin.
And suddenly, everything starts to fall into place. Allie had completed the assignment. Dean had found out after telling her everything. Hunter had ended up with blood across his fists. But your heart still resists placing the last one where it belongs.
“With who?” you ask.
His nostrils flare and his arm circles your waist, pulling you closer beneath the water.
“No,” you breathe, but you can see Hunter stepping through the bar doors without having been there. You can see the look Dean must’ve caught between him and Allie, the one answer neither of them would’ve needed to say aloud. Your free hand rises to cover your mouth, but it does nothing to hide your emotions. “She couldn’t have known.”
“She didn’t,” he says, his voice breaking beneath the steady rush of the shower. “She had no clue.”
Dean lets out a slow breath, his forehead lowering until it rests against yours. “It…” His voice catches, forcing him to stop before he can get the rest out. “It could’ve been anybody. Would’ve hurt either way,” he whispers. He draws in another shaky breath, his lips flattening into a thin line before he finally forces himself to finish. “It just…” Another pause. “It being him fucking hurts.”
Your palm slides slowly over his shoulder before settling against the back of his neck, pulling him closer when a tremor moves through his body. “I’m sorry,” you whisper again, because there isn’t anything else you can give him.
“I really thought it was gonna go well.” Dean says it so quietly that the words almost disappear beneath the water, but you hear every one.
He had walked into that bar convinced the words he’d practiced with you would be enough to make Allie choose him. And fuck, if those same words had ever left his mouth for you, you think you could’ve lived on them for the rest of your life.
You can’t tell him that. You can’t admit that while he’s standing here broken over somebody else, not when he trusts you to be the one person who will hold him without asking for anything in return.
So you don’t.
“I love you,” he whispers, his voice cracking when he speaks as your fingers continue moving gently through his hair.
“I love you too.”
Your eyes burn all over again. The last traces of blood disappear down the drain beneath your feet, but neither of you makes any move to step away.
“You’re the only person I can count on.”
“Always,” you whisper.
He steps close enough that the tip of his nose nearly brushes yours. His hands slide from your waist, lifting between you to hold your face, his bruised knuckles resting beneath your ears while his thumbs sweep over your cheeks. Your mouth trembles when you try to give him a reassuring smile.
He’d been too consumed by everything that had happened to realize you’d already been crying long before he found you.
And after he’d left you crying on his bed, you’d probably never stopped.
Dean’s thumb slides along your bottom lip, feeling it tremble under his touch. The fact that you’re holding your breath to keep from sobbing makes his heart start to race all over again.
“Babygirl,” he whispers. “Hey.” He stops you when you look away, searching your face for another long moment, looking at you like he’s only just beginning to realize that he wasn’t the only person whose heart was broken. “What’s wrong?”
c/w ᝰ.ᐟ unrequited love, love confession rehearsal, crying, yearning, self-inflicted emotional damage, one-sided love, hurt no comfort, painfully oblivious!dean, pet names (you’re my girl + babygirl; platonic, no y/n), all the right words to the wrong person, reader heartbreak + language
You’re sitting on the couch fully dressed with your shoes already on after changing outfits three times because apparently going to a bar with your best friend now requires a full identity crisis. You drop your phone beside you and let your head fall back against the couch cushion.
You and Dean have been friends for years. Long enough that he has a spare set of apartment keys for himself, free rein to your leftovers without repercussions, and his own little corner in the closet.
Dean never stayed serious about anybody long enough to worry about. There was always another girl, another date, another reason to remind yourself that whatever stupid crush you’d been carrying around wasn’t worth ruining the best friendship you’d ever had.
Until Allie.
For the first time since you’ve known him, Dean actually thinks before he talks about someone. Like she matters enough to make him choose his words carefully.
You spent years convincing yourself you’d get over him eventually. Turns out watching Dean fall in love with somebody else is a pretty effective way to figure out exactly how bad you’ve got it.
Your phone lights up on the coffee table, and you hate how fast you reach for it, rolling your eyes at yourself.
You stare at the messages for a second before typing back.
˗ˏˋ ☏ ˎˊ˗ 𝚈𝚘𝚞: 𝙽𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 💕
A smile tugs at your mouth despite yourself.
That was the other problem. No matter how much this hurt, Dean was still Dean.
Your phone starts ringing before you can answer. Your heart immediately jumps, which is embarrassing considering it’s been doing that for years.
You answer before the second ring.
“Babydoll.”
“Mhmm…” You hum out a breath. “What do you want, Dean?”
For a second all you hear is his breathing before he chuckles weakly, and even though you can’t see him you can feel it. Something’s wrong.
“Can you come over?” His voice wavers a little.
“Yeah,” you answer, gently. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah. M’fine,” he assures quickly, like the concern is completely unnecessary. You hear him shift around on the other end of the line. “I just need somebody to talk to.”
“Yeah,” you say. “Of course.”
“You’re the best,” he hums.
“Be there in ten.” Click.
You grab your purse and step into the warm summer night. Dean’s place is only a few blocks away, unfortunately giving you more than enough time to think.
You don’t dislike Allie. She’s beautiful, funny, smart, and completely capable of keeping Dean on his toes. The problem is that every time he talks about her, he sounds like somebody who’s already fallen.
You don’t want it to be somebody else.
You want it to be you.
By the time you step into the driveway, most of the lights in the guys’ house are on, the front door wide open and music and conversation pouring out onto the street.
You let yourself inside, greeting the boys on autopilot, too worried about how Dean sounded on the phone to think of much more.
You make your way upstairs, following the sound of Dean moving around in his room. His door is half open. You push it the rest of the way and find him standing in front of his dresser, pulling a shirt over his head.
The second he sees you, his face brightens. “Finally,” he huffs out a breath like you had kept him waiting and you roll your eyes.
Dean crosses the room and wraps his arms around you before you can say something smart—a smothering hug. But this time he keeps you there, turning his face into your shoulder and letting out a long breath.
He stays like that for a moment, holding you like he needs it—like he needs you.
“Dean?” You whisper.
“Babydoll,” he mumbles.
“Seriously, are you okay?” You laugh nervously.
He thinks about that for a minute, mumbling something frustrated and small under his breath. You pull back and cup his cheeks between your hands, forcing him to look at you.
“C’mon,” you breathe, and his bottom lip pokes out in a pout. “It’s me… Tell me. What the hell’s going on with you. You told me to come over. I’m here…”
“I know… Thank you,” he mutters.
“So?”
“So…” He sighs as you drop your hands, hanging heavy by your sides. “Mental gymnastics.”
“Over what?” You ask, cocking an eyebrow at him.
Allie.
“Allie,” he whispers the name you saw coming a mile away. “I can’t do it.”
“Like?” You ask, feeling your stomach sink like a rollercoaster drop. “Like the two of you?”
“No—No. Hell no,” he answers fast and breathless. “That assignment. I couldn’t do it. Every girl I talked to, I just kept thinking about how fuckin’ stupid it was. I even thought about asking somebody to lie.”
“Desperate times,” you murmur.
“You got no clue,” he mumbles, tiredly. “I even thought about asking you. Y’know, to lie.” The words hit harder than they should. “Probably the only person I know who’d give a shit enough to help me with that.”
You force a smile, your lips trembling at the corner. “Of course.”
“She’d never believe it.”
Your eyelashes flutter as your heart starts to crack. “Oh?”
Dean laughs, scratching at the stubble on his jaw as he thinks it over. “You’re my girl. She’d know I was lyin’.”
You nod, giving him the only reply you can muster to that. He lifts his hands, running his fingers through his hair, still turning it over in his head.
“I’m just gonna tell her.”
You stare up at him for a moment, and those nerves you heard on the phone start to become crystal clear. “Tell her what?” You ask nonetheless.
He blows out a breath just like before, laughing nervously. “I don’t know how to say it.”
“You’ve never had trouble talking before,” you say, already turning away, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye as he scowls, rolling your eyes away.
“No too much on your boy, alright. I’m going through emotional duress.”
He walks around his bed and crashes down, turning to his side like he’s already waiting for you to settle on the other.
“This feels different.”
Your stomach sinks as you sink into the mattress next to him.
“I keep trying to convince myself we’re casual, but we’re not,” he tells you honestly. “I haven’t stopped thinking about New York.”
“Yeah,” you whisper.
“We didn’t even do anything special. We stayed in, ordered food, watched movies, and it was probably one of the best nights I’ve had in years.”
The best night he’s had in years. All those memories you’d secretly hoped might fill that place already did—for you.
“I keep waiting for this feeling to go away,” he sighs. “I keep thinkin’ eventually I’ll wake up and it’ll be normal again, but it doesn’t.”
You look up at him for a moment, wishing he would stop talking and feeling awful for it at the same time. You hate how much it sounds like everything you’ve spent years wanting to hear.
You hate it even more because none of it is meant for you.
“Well, what are you gonna say?” You whisper, and he scoots a little closer, snuggling into his pillow.
“To Allie?”
You widen your eyes to keep the tears inside—because why the fuck would you want to know? But some part of you knows you need to hear it.
“Tonight?” He asks and you nod. “Like practice on you.”
No.
You look back at him, wishing you could take back those six little words because now he’s not just going to talk through his feelings.
He wants you to feel them. He wants to sit here and practice telling another girl he loves her while looking you directly in the eye, and the worst part is that he trusts you enough to do it—trusts you enough to hand you something this important and never once wonder what it might cost you.
And that might be too much for you to take.
“Mhmm,” the utterance pushes past your lips, and your head falls a little heavier into the pillow, wafting an unfamiliar perfume, just a whisper. Allie’s.
You push off the pillow and sit, and he does the same, meeting you eye to eye.
“Allie,” he breathes. “I, uh….” Dean laughs nervously, so you do the same. The two of you look away for a moment, anxious for different reasons entirely before looking back at each other.
“Dean,” you whisper, extending your hand casually for him to continue.
“I get it now,” he mumbles, taking your hand in his. Your gaze falls as his fingers tighten around yours.
“Get what?” You whisper, eyes lifting back to him.
“You love love.” Your eyebrows soften on his, recalling something he had told you she had mentioned when they first met. “That’s what you said you wanted, yeah?”
“Yeah,” you whisper, and he smiles.
“So, I came here to tell you that I…” He mumbles as his thumb brushes along your knuckles. “I didn’t complete the assignment.”
Silence settles over the room as you already hear something you know to be true.
“Why?” You ask, watching him for a moment, holding your breath, waiting for his four little words he’s so desperate to say to leave his lips and shatter your heart completely.
“Because I like you,” he answers and you force yourself to smile.
Suddenly, Dean is harder to see through the blur gathering in your eyes. You nod, feeling your body starting to tremble with adrenaline.
“I like us.” He laughs softly. “We just kept having all these little moments.”
Dean doesn’t notice the way your stomach twists, looking away as your first tear breaks free. You lift up your shirt, brushing it away before he can see. He drags a hand across his mouth, smiling at the memory, too busy to see you.
And suddenly every fear you’ve spent months trying not to think about becomes impossible to ignore. Because if he talks about her like this now, what happens when she says yes?
The answer comes immediately. You lose him.
Not all at once. Slowly, the way people drift when they start building a life full of beautiful memories with someone else.
“I couldn’t do it either,” you whisper.
“You think she’s gonna say that?” He asks, breaking character. Talking to a friend.
“I hope so.”
He looks relieved, like finally saying it out loud has taken a weight off his shoulders. “Was it too much, honestly?”
You shake your head quickly—too eager. Not at all your normal reply and you both know it. “No, Dean. I think you should tell her,” your words barely slip past your quivering lips.
“Hey,” he breathes, his eyes widening as he leans in, that relief he was feeling falling away almost as fast as it came. “Are you okay?”
You look up to the ceiling, your hands coming up under your eyes to catch your tears, letting out a breathless laugh. “Oh my God,” you huff.
“You’re crying,” he interjects, pawing your hands away, grabbing your face just like you held him just minutes before.
He searches your face like he missed something. And he did. He has no clue. No fucking clue.
Dean immediately leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours, and you sniffle, hiccuping on your tears. Embarrassment coursing through your veins.
“Did I say something wrong?”
The panic in his voice makes you feel guilty, your tears rolling warm over his hands as you think of an escape plan. Some way to salvage this moment for him—for you.
“Why are you crying?” He whispers, laughing because it’s awkward and he’s nervous. Because this went from a hopeful moment to him being totally perplexed.
“That was just…” You swallow hard. “Really beautiful.”
Dean blinks a few times. “What?”
“Your,” you swallow hard, rolling your eyes as tears flick off your lashes. “That—that speech, Dean.” Your voice cracks, and you laugh as well. For him. Again.
“You think?”
You nod as a smile pulls at your mouth. “I loved it.”
His thumbs come up, brushing beneath your eyes. Dean's smile gets a little brighter, the dimples in his cheeks popping like that was the vote of confidence he needed. “It was that good?”
“Perfect,” you whisper.
“Damn, might be too much for a bar, huh?” He sighs, smiling back at you before he leans in, pressing a kiss against your forehead. “Thank you.” You can hear the relief in his words, like that conversation was exactly what he needed.
And, the last thing you wanted to hear.
“The Uber is here,” Garrett calls from downstairs.
“Oh, shit,” Dean practically jumps off the bed, running his fingers through his hair before he pats his pockets, double-checking for his wallet. “You comin’?” He asks when you stay right where you are.
You shake your head.
You point to your tear-soaked cheeks, attempting a self-deprecating smile. “I don’t think I’m feeling very good—I…” You look around for a moment. “I think I’m just gonna go home.”
Dean frowns immediately. “You’re joking? No, you’re fine. You just—It was the speech, right?” He asks, his attention immediately pulled away when he hears the boys outside yelling for the two of you. “I don’t wanna do this without you. What if this blows up in my face—”
“YOU TWO COMING?” Both of you are called through the open window. Dean groans and drops his head back for a second.
“I need you. You’re killin’ me.”
“Go,” you say, offering him a smile that lets him know he’s gonna be okay.
For a moment he just stands there before finally nodding. “Okay—Alright,” he answers, checking his reflection in the mirror, spraying some cologne across his chest before he grabs his jacket off the chair. He heads toward the door, stopping with one hand on the frame.
“You sure, sure?”
You nod. “I’m sure.”
Dean studies your face for another second before nodding back. “Okay.” A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. Then he hesitates. “Wish me luck?”
“Good luck.”
The sound of his footsteps disappears down the stairs. A few seconds later you hear laughter, voices, a door opening and closing. You push yourself to your feet and wander toward the window, watching the black SUV drive off into the night.
And silence.
And in that moment, it’s like the energy had been sucked out of the room completely, the reality of the night catching up to you.
Your throat tightens immediately and your vision starts to blur—you don’t even realize you’re crying until you wipe at your cheek and your hand comes away wet.
You turn away from the window and look around his room. Your sweatshirt is draped over the back of the chair. His backpack with notes from your study session on Tuesday is half-open beside his desk. The cologne you bought him for his birthday—the scent drilled so deep in your brain it still lingers faintly in the air.
Everywhere you look there are pieces of you here.
Maybe that’s what has been hurting so much. Not the idea of Dean loving somebody else. The idea that he might be happy enough to stop needing you the way he always has. That one day you’ll wake up and realize you aren’t the first person he calls anymore, and that neither of you will have even noticed when it happened.
You press a hand over your mouth and try to breathe through it, but all you can hear is Dean’s voice.
I haven’t stopped thinking about New York.
I keep waiting for this feeling to go away.
Eventually you kick off your shoes and pull yourself onto his bed. The pillow is still warm from where he’d been lying. You bury your face in it trying to stop thinking—stop feeling.
Tomorrow he’ll probably walk through the front door smiling. He’ll tell you everything. What she said. How nervous he was. What had happened after that. And you’ll sit there and listen because that’s what you’ve always done.
Then a horrible thought hits you. You can’t stay here.
Because there’s a really good chance Dean is about to get exactly what he wants tonight. There’s a really good chance she says ‘yes’. And if she does, why wouldn’t they come back here?
For years you’ve walked into this room without thinking about it. You’ve fallen asleep here during movie nights. You’ve spent hours sitting on this bed listening to Dean complain about classes, hockey, teammates, girls you didn’t give a shit about. You treated this like it was your home and you belonged here.
But maybe that’s the problem.
Maybe none of it was ever yours in the first place.
Maybe this is just the first time you’ve had to realize it.
Your grip loosens on the pillow before you finally stand, picking up whatever pieces of yourself you can.
That isn’t even the part that hurts the most. Maybe you should’ve known how this would end.
He needed help telling another girl he loved her, and he came to you.
Gorgeous and giddy, full of live. Well technically undead, very much so, but truly full of energy. Daniel had never met a vampire with this type of positivity, ironically it was as if you were sunshine personified. Wrapped around his torso, having him wrapped around your finger.
It should have made him more stressed, little on edge and passive agressive. Maybe he had managed to let out a few slightly annoyed sighs, but based on the look on Armand's face they came out more like moans.
Armand looked smug, watching the two of you, getting on so well. Is this a vampire gift? Manipulating me to melt under them? Daniel thought, telepathically trying to get an answer out from his maker.
They've had this…effect…even when they were still human. God he looked proud, as if you were a master painting or a greek statue worth more than his current net worth.
For a statue you were quite soft, pressing your body to his, arms around neck, slowly giving small kisses to Daniel's cheek. He had never been fond of clingy people, often wrestling out of his exs' arms. Now he hoped you and Armand would keep him forever.
"I'll happily keep you forever, I like your cheeks and your gray curls", you softly whispered into his ear, sending warm shivers down his spine. The feeling spread like honey down his body, slowly dripping down, sensually spreading all over.
Armand sat beside you, guiding you with hand on your hip, to fall softly to his lap. His eyes were bright, on fire, as he look you over, drifting his hand up to your face. It laid on your cheek as he asked brattily, "What about me, my beloved?"
Daniel's body followed yours as if there was a magnet between you. He was almost on you, gripping your thigh. He guessed it looked pathetic, the whole scene; him hungry for your affection, practically on top of you and Armand with a wild look in his eyes. But Daniel couldn't care less.
"Oh, I'll keep you both", you said with a tempting, plotting look. You must have asked something from Armand, silently in your mind, as he gave you a nod.
"You want to keep me? And keep me happy?", you asked, eyes big like a doe. Daniel insisted he'd do anything.
"Let's play a game, everytime you kiss Armand, I'll give you a kiss"
For the first time in his life, Daniel had hit the jackpot.
a meet-cute for the anon who asked for more jack abbot and his fat wife (sorry i deleted it! mishap!) (f!reader)
"I met someone."
Robby scoffs.
Jack tilts his head, trying to catch Robby's gaze as he pretends to read a chart. Jack asks, "What? Don't believe me?"
Robby shakes his head, smirking. "No, I believe you brother," he says, dropping the iPad back in the rack. He shrugs, finally meeting Jack's eyes. "Bad timing is all."
Nothing feels bad to Jack about this– about you. He feels lucky just having been in the diner picking up food the same time as you. His phone feels like a diamond in his pocket, something precious as it holds your contact information–
Fuck, Jack thinks. He hadn't even checked your name after you put it in. He was too caught up memorizing every detail of you, from the curve of your lips to the ones on your–
"Hey, you two!" Dana's voice pulls him out of his reverie. "Up for a trauma? We got a struck bicyclist coming in."
"Yeesh. You in, brother?" Robby puts his fist out. Jack returns it with a bump. Robby nods at him and barks out two names– Whitaker and... well, Jack actually missed the second name. "Trauma one!"
As Robby tries to leave, Jack sidesteps, blocking Robby's way to the ambulance bay. "What was that about bad timing?" Jack asks. His mind is still wrapped around you, but something about Robby's tone is sticking out in his head.
Robby grabs Jack's shoulder, turning him to the bay as they walk in tandem. "Nothin'," Robby says with a shrug. "There's just this new resident..."
"Yeah? What about?"
Robby rubs his hands together. "She's your type."
As they step out into the ambulance bay, Jack is shocked by sweltering heat. Today was going to be rough. "What's that mean– my type?"
"You know," Robby rolls his eyes. Jack narrows his. "Good-looking, witty... soft." "Soft? The fuck–"
"Yeah, Jack!" Robby throws his hands up. "Don't act like you don't know this!"
Jack opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He thinks back to you– good-looking, witty, and–
Oh shit. Jack definitely has a type. A type which you definitely are.
"Goddammit."
"Sorry to break it to you." Robby is smirking. He glances over Jack's shoulder and blanches. "Uh, here she comes. Just keep an open mind, yeah?" Robby clasps Jack on the shoulder, once again turning him abound. "Dr. Abbot! Let me introduce our–"
"Oh," Jack breathes, cutting Robby off because–
"It's you." The laugh you let out is already committed to his memory, from back in the diner when Jack somehow managed to put together a half-decent joke. "You're my...?"
Jack has never been as happy for his existence than when Robby pops his head over your shoulder and calls, "No! Not your boss... directly. That would be me." He nods at Jack, then turns to you, "Me. Who is your–"
"My boss," you finish for Robby, staring at him until he finally takes the hint and steps off to where Whitaker lingers. You whistle lowly. "So, uh, this is..."
"Sticky," Jack sighs. In the distance, sirens approach.
"Yeah." You nudge Jack's ankle– his prosthesis. He makes a note to talk to you about that sometime. "Does this change things for you?"
The sirens are getting louder, you glance back in their direction, and Jack takes the opportunity to trace the length of your neck as it disappears down the neckline of–
"Jack?" You're staring at him through furrowed brows. "Are you alright?"
"Yes!" He clears his throat, eyes snapping back to yours. You're laughing. A flush creeps up his neck. In a desperate attempt to save his skin, Jack tries, "Let's talk about this another time.
Jack's still got it, because you break his stare, smiling shyly as you stutter, "Th-That sounds good. Nice."
"Good, good, but– ah," Jack leans in, lips almost brushing your ears as he says, "Let's stick to Dr. Abbot in front of polite company, sweetheart."
jack’s running late for work. he should’ve left ten minutes ago, but a couple shifts with the SWAT unit have caught up with him and he snoozed his alarm more times than he would’ve liked. he’s just about to grab his keys and run out of the door when you enter your shared apartment, the pout on your lips making him stop in his tracks.
“you okay, honey?” he asks softly, dropping his keys in the bowl by the door so he can cup your face in his large hands and bring you into him.
“shitty day,” you sound close to tears and it makes jack hold you tighter. “hey, what time is it? shouldn’t you be gone already?”
“i have a second to hold my girl.”
you melt into his arms, and with zero hesitation he shoots robby a text that he isn’t gonna make it in today.
it’s the fourth time his kids have started whispering and giggling amongst each other, and it’s extremely distracting for ryland. he pauses his lesson, giving his students a look.
“what are you all laughing about?” his mouth twitches as he tries to act serious, but their laughter is contagious.
“you have a little something.” one of the kids points to his jawline and ryland’s eyes go wide, fingers coming away bright pink when he touches the lipstick stain on his skin.
ryland’s sure he’s going bright red as his kids start to gossip.
“is that from your girlfriend?” someone else exclaims.
“she’s super pretty! i saw her leaving the classroom last week—“
“okay, that’s enough,” ryland rubs the back of his neck and wishes the ground would swallow him whole; the last thing he needs is his kids knowing too much detail about his love life. “but she is. super pretty.”
his students make ‘aww’ sounds and ryland waves them off, jumping back into the lesson like nothing happened.
when he steps into your shared apartment later, and you smile at him wearing the criminalising lipstick, warmth pools in the pit of his stomach.
Summary: Dean has never met a problem he couldn’t charm his way out of or a woman he couldn’t leave completely satisfied. So when he overhears a football player publicly blame you for his own failures in bed, Dean does the only logical thing: he shows up at your doorstep with a duffel bag full of toys and a mission
Warnings: 18+ content
The crisp March wind whips across the Briar University quad, but Dean hardly feels the chill. He’s running on four hours of sleep, a triple-shot espresso, and the lingering high of a weekend well spent.
“I’m just saying,” Garrett says, adjusting the strap of his duffel bag over his shoulder. “If Coach makes us bag skate again tomorrow, I’m staging a full-team mutiny. I’m not doing it.”
Logan snorts. “You love bag skates.”
“I tolerate bag skates,” Garrett corrects him. “There’s a massive difference.”
“You’re both whining,” Tucker chimes in, his steady southern drawl a stark contrast to Garrett’s rapid-fire complaining. “Just put your heads down and skate.”
Dean grins, walking backward for a few steps so he can face his teammates. “Tuck’s right. It’s all about pacing, boys. Stamina. You can’t blow all your energy in the first period. You have to finesse it. Read the ice. Just like with a woman.”
Beau, walking beside Dean, rolls his eyes and shoves Dean’s shoulder. “Jesus, Di Laurentis. Does everything come back to your sex life?”
“When it’s as spectacular as mine?” Dean winks. “Yeah. It does.”
He isn’t trying to be an arrogant prick. It’s just the truth. Dean loves women. He loves the way they look, the way they smell, the way they sound when he’s doing things right. He grew up surrounded by affection — two powerhouse attorney parents who actually love each other, a sprawling maternal family with a business empire, and a childhood free of the usual rich-kid neuroses. He knows how lucky he is. And he believes in sharing the wealth. Specifically, by ensuring that any woman lucky enough to end up in his bed leaves it thoroughly, exhaustingly satisfied.
“Who was it this weekend?” Logan asks, kicking a stray pebble across the pavement. “Wait, don’t tell me. The blonde from the Gamma Gamma party?”
“Her name is Tori,” Dean says easily. “And she’s a delight. Highly recommend her taste in music. Terrible taste in breakfast food, though. Who orders egg whites and no bacon? It’s a crime against mornings.”
“You bought her breakfast?” Beau asks, raising an eyebrow.
“I always buy them breakfast.” Dean turns back around, matching his stride to the rest of the guys. “It’s called manners, Beau. You should try it sometime. Instead of just throwing a football at people.”
“I’m a quarterback,” Beau says defensively. “Throwing a football is literally my job description.”
“Yeah, well, my job description is making sure everyone leaves happy.”
They turn the corner near the student union. The quad is packed with bodies hurrying between afternoon classes, a sea of Briar U hoodies and overpriced coffee cups.
Up ahead, leaning against the low brick wall near the fountain, are two guys wearing Briar football jackets.
Beau groans under his breath. “Oh, great. It’s McMahon.”
“Who?” Tucker asks.
“Wide receiver,” Beau mutters. “Hands made of stone, ego the size of Rhode Island. Don’t look at him, or he’ll start complaining to me about his target share.”
Dean has no interest in football politics, so he keeps his eyes straight ahead. They’re about to walk past the two guys when McMahon’s voice carries over the noise of the quad. It’s loud. Too loud. The kind of loud a guy uses when he wants everyone around him to know he’s talking.
“I had to dump her, man,” McMahon is saying to his buddy, a sneer clear in his voice. “Total waste of my time.”
“Yeah?” The other guy asks.
“Oh, absolutely. I’m telling you, she’s a frigid bitch.”
Dean slows his steps. Next to him, Garrett stiffens.
McMahon laughs, a harsh, grating sound. “I put in the work, you know? But nothing. Swear to God, she just laid there. Something must genuinely be wrong with her. She can never cum.”
Dean stops walking completely.
Beau takes two more steps before realizing Dean isn’t beside him. He turns around. “Dean. Come on. Don’t.”
“Did you hear what he just said?” Dean asks, his voice dropping low. All the playful ease from a moment ago evaporates.
“I heard it,” Logan says, his expression tightening. “The guy’s a class-A douchebag. Let’s keep moving.”
“He just announced to half the quad that he couldn’t get a girl off,” Dean says, staring at the back of McMahon’s head. “And he blamed her.”
“Dean,” Tucker says, stepping into Dean’s line of sight. “Not our circus. Not our monkeys.”
“It is an insult to womankind,” Dean says. He isn’t joking. His chest actually feels tight with genuine indignation. “A crime. A travesty.”
“It’s a wide receiver with a fragile ego,” Beau says, grabbing Dean’s elbow. “Leave it alone.”
Dean shrugs off Beau’s hand. He isn’t going to start a brawl in the middle of the quad, he has no interest in getting suspended for the next five games. But the sheer audacity of it is ringing in his ears.
Something must genuinely be wrong with her.
No. Dean shakes his head. No, there is nothing wrong with you. He doesn’t even know who you are. He doesn’t know your face, or your laugh, or the way you look when you’re a mess in the sheets. But he knows, with absolute, unwavering certainty, that McMahon is an idiot.
“There’s no such thing as a frigid woman,” Dean says, his voice carrying just enough that McMahon’s conversation pauses. “Just lazy, incompetent guys who don’t know where the clit is.”
Silence drops over their immediate vicinity.
Garrett scrubs a hand over his face. “Jesus Christ.”
McMahon turns around, his face flushing dull red. He spots Beau first, then his eyes slide to Dean. “You got something to say, Di Laurentis?”
Dean slides his hands into the pockets of his jeans, rocking back on his heels. He gives McMahon a lazy, condescending smile. “Just offering some unsolicited biological facts, McMahon. Sounds like you need a tutor. Maybe a diagram.”
McMahon steps away from the brick wall, puffing his chest out. “Are you calling me incompetent?”
“I think you just called yourself incompetent, man,” Dean says smoothly. “Loudly. In public. I’m just agreeing with you.”
“I don’t need to know her,” Dean counters, his tone perfectly even. “I know anatomy. I know effort. If a girl doesn’t get off, it’s because you didn’t pay attention. You rushed it. You fumbled the play. Isn’t that what you guys call it? Fumbling?”
Beau winces. “Dean.”
McMahon takes a step forward, his fists clenching. “You think you’re so fucking funny.”
“I think I’m highly effective,” Dean corrects him. “And I think you should keep your bedroom failures to yourself instead of dragging a girl’s name through the mud because your fragile masculinity can’t handle the fact that you suck in bed.”
For a second, it looks like McMahon is going to swing. Dean shifts his weight, perfectly ready to slip the punch and drop the guy. He’s not a fighter by nature, but he’s a hockey player. It comes with the territory.
But Tucker steps in, his frame easily blocking McMahon’s path. “I think that’s about enough conversation for one afternoon,” Tucker says calmly. His tone is polite, but his eyes are flat.
McMahon glares at Tucker, then at Dean. He points a finger. “Watch your mouth, Di Laurentis.”
“Watch your form, McMahon,” Dean shoots back. “Maybe use two fingers next time. Or, God forbid, your tongue.”
Logan chokes on a laugh, quickly disguising it as a cough.
McMahon spits on the ground, turns, and shoves his way through the crowd, his buddy trailing awkwardly behind him.
Dean watches them go, his jaw tight.
“Well,” Garrett says after a moment. “That was diplomatic.”
“I hate guys like that,” Dean mutters, running a hand through his hair. “I really, genuinely hate them.”
“We know,” Beau sighs, clapping Dean on the back. “You’re the caped crusader of the female orgasm. We’re all very proud to know you. Can we go get food now? I’m starving.”
They resume their walk toward the dining hall, the tension slowly bleeding out of the group as Garrett and Logan pick up their argument about practice drills right where they left off.
But Dean is quiet. He tunes out the banter, his mind replaying McMahon’s harsh, dismissive words.
It’s just sloppy. It’s pathetic. Dean loves women too much to stand the thought of one being treated like a chore, or worse, a lost cause. Sex isn’t a race. It isn’t just about friction. It’s about connection, observation, communication. It’s about worshipping a body until it unravels for you.
He doesn’t know who you are. He doesn’t know what you’re doing right now. Maybe you’re sitting in a lecture, feeling insecure because some meathead wide receiver told you you were broken. Maybe you’re in your dorm room, crying over a guy who couldn’t even be bothered to figure out what you like.
Dean looks up at the crisp blue sky, mentally sending a prayer up to the universe.
“Dear Universe, please watch over this woman’s sadly neglected clitoris,” he thinks solemnly. “May it one day find someone who actually knows what they’re doing. Amen.”
He kicks a stray leaf on the sidewalk. It is a damn tragedy, that’s what it is. A tragedy that needs rectifying.
“Hey, Beau,” Dean says suddenly, interrupting whatever Tucker was saying.
Beau glances over. “Yeah?”
“Who did McMahon just break up with?”
Beau frowns, his steps slowing. “What? Why?”
“Just answer the question.”
“I don’t know, man. He dates around. I try not to keep track of his personal life. Why?” Beau squints at him. “Wait. No. Whatever you’re thinking, stop.”
“I’m not thinking anything,” Dean lies smoothly.
“You are. You have that look on your face.” Logan points a finger at him. “The ‘Dean is about to do something stupid’ look.”
“I resent that,” Dean says. “I don’t do stupid things.”
“You bought a jet ski on eBay at three in the morning last week,” Garrett points out.
“It was a steal, G. An absolute steal. You don’t understand economics.” Dean waves a hand dismissively. “Seriously, Beau. Does anyone know who she is?”
“Why do you care?” Tucker asks, amused.
“Because it’s an injustice,” Dean states flatly. “It is a cosmic wrong that needs to be righted. She’s probably out there right now, thinking she’s the problem, when the reality is she was just subjected to the sloppy, fumbling hands of a guy who treats sex like a two-minute drill.”
Beau groans, burying his face in his hands. “You’re not going to track this girl down, Dean.”
“I am absolutely going to track her down.”
“And do what?” Logan asks, laughing in disbelief.
Dean looks at his friends, entirely serious. “And give her the orgasm she’s been so cruelly denied. It’s my civic duty.”
“You’re insane,” Garrett says, though he’s grinning. “You are actually insane.”
“I’m a humanitarian,” Dean corrects him. “I’m giving back to the community.”
“You don’t even know her name,” Tucker says softly.
“I’ll find it out,” Dean promises. He glances back toward the direction McMahon disappeared.
He doesn’t know you yet. He doesn’t know if you’re blonde, brunette, tall, short, quiet, or loud. But he knows one thing for sure.
He is going to find you. He is going to ruin you for every other man on the planet. And he is going to make damn sure you never, ever think there is something wrong with you again.
***
The stale smell of pepperoni pizza and the frantic clicking of Xbox controllers fill the living room of the off-campus hockey house.
“Pass it, pass it, pass it,” Logan chants, mashing the buttons on his controller as he leans so far forward on the couch he’s practically sitting on the coffee table.
“I am passing it, you pylon,” Dean snaps back, his eyes glued to the television screen. “If you would get into position instead of skating around like a lost toddler-”
“I’m open!”
“You’re surrounded by both defensemen!”
“Shoot the damn puck!” Garrett yells from the armchair, throwing a piece of popcorn at Logan’s head. “You guys are an embarrassment to the sport. It’s a video game. It requires a fraction of the athletic ability we actually possess, and you’re still blowing it.”
“Shut up, Graham,” Dean and Logan say in unison.
On the screen, the buzzer blares. Game over. Logan groans and tosses his controller onto the cushions, dragging a hand down his face.
Dean exhales, leaning back and stretching his arms over his head. His shoulders pop. Normally, he’d be demanding a rematch, relentlessly trash-talking Logan until the guy agreed to play another round just to shut him up. But today, Dean isn’t feeling it. His head isn’t in the game. It hasn’t been in the game since they left the quad three hours ago.
He keeps replaying the conversation in his head. Or rather, the broadcast. That loudmouth wide receiver, McMahon, announcing to half the student body that the girl he was dating couldn’t get off.
It pisses Dean off. It genuinely, deeply aggravates him.
“You’re quiet,” Garrett notes, watching Dean from the armchair. “You won. Usually, you do a victory lap around the coffee table.”
“I’m conserving my energy,” Dean says, picking up his phone to check his notifications. Nothing interesting. Just a text from a girl in his sociology seminar and an email from his dad about spring break.
“He’s still thinking about his crusade,” Logan says, snagging a cold slice of pizza from the box on the table. “The caped crusader of the clitoris.”
“It’s not a crusade,” Dean says defensively. “It’s a matter of principle.”
“You don’t even know her,” Garrett points out, amused. “For all you know, McMahon was telling the truth.”
Dean glares at him. “Garrett. Look at me. Do I look like a man who accepts defeat in the bedroom?”
“You look like a man who spends too much time on his hair,” Garrett deadpans.
“My hair is flawless, and that is entirely besides the point,” Dean shoots back. “The point is, there is a fundamental lack of effort plaguing the male population of this campus. It’s an epidemic. Guys like McMahon treat sex like a race to the finish line, and then they have the audacity to blame the woman when she doesn’t cross it with them. It’s pathetic.”
Logan chews his pizza thoughtfully. “I mean, you’re not wrong. But you can’t save them all, man.”
“I don’t need to save them all,” Dean says, his voice dropping a fraction. “I just need to save this one.”
The front door swings open before Logan can reply, slamming against the wall with a loud thud.
Beau trudges into the house, looking like he just survived a minor war. He’s still wearing his gray Briar football sweatpants and a tight compression shirt that clings to his exhausted frame. He drops his massive gym bag onto the hardwood floor, kicks off his slides, and groans loudly.
“Practice?” Garrett asks sympathetically.
“Practice,” Beau confirms, shuffling into the living room and collapsing onto the empty space on the couch next to Dean. He smells faintly of artificial turf, sweat, and the sharp tang of Deep Relief muscle rub. “Coach made us run the stadium stairs. Twice. Because someone — who shall remain nameless, but his initials rhyme with DickMahon — kept dropping his routes during seven-on-sevens.”
Dean’s ears perk up. He turns to look at his best friend, his previous lethargy vanishing instantly. “McMahon?”
Beau closes his eyes and tips his head back against the couch cushions. “Don’t.”
“You were in the locker room with him,” Dean presses, shifting his body so he’s fully facing Beau. “Did you ask around?”
Beau keeps his eyes squeezed shut. “Dean, I am tired. My calves are screaming. I want a shower, a beer, and for you to stop looking at me with that deranged glint in your eye.”
“Tell me you found something out,” Dean says, ignoring every word Beau just said. “Tell me you didn’t spend two hours in a locker room full of gossiping linebackers and come back empty-handed.”
Beau sighs, a long, dramatic sound that ruffles his blonde hair. He slowly opens one eye, looking at Dean with a mixture of exhaustion and profound regret. “Do you want the good news or the bad news first?”
Dean’s heart actually kicks up a notch. He leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “Good news. Always start with the good news.”
Beau sits up a little, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay. The good news is, I know who she is. I asked Howard, the backup tight end, because he knows everybody’s business. He told me who McMahon just dumped.”
“Who?” Dean demands.
“Her name is Y/N Y/L/N,” Beau says.
Dean processes the name. It suits you. It sounds smart, put-together. “And?”
“And,” Beau continues, “she’s not just some random girl. She’s a junior. Pre-law, I think. And she’s the president of the Delta Zeta sorority.”
Logan whistles low. “Delta Zeta? Those girls don’t mess around. That’s the house with the insane GPA requirement and the terrifying philanthropy events.”
Dean smiles, a slow, genuine curve of his lips. He likes this. He really likes this. A sorority president. That means you are organized. Driven. You probably walk around campus with a planner perfectly color-coded to match your outfits. You take charge, you handle responsibility, and you probably don’t take shit from anyone. Which makes it even more infuriating that a guy like McMahon made you feel inadequate.
“Y/N,” Dean says your name out loud, testing the syllables on his tongue. He likes the way it sounds. He likes the way it feels. “Okay. That’s excellent news. What’s the bad news?”
Beau hesitates. He looks away from Dean, glancing at Garrett and Logan, who are suddenly very invested in the conversation. Beau scrubs a hand over his jaw, looking distinctly uncomfortable.
“Spit it out, Beau,” Dean says, the smile fading from his face.
“The bad news,” Beau says slowly, “is that McMahon wasn’t the first guy to complain about her.”
The living room goes dead silent. The only sound is the low hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen.
Dean stares at him. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m just telling you what I heard,” Beau says defensively, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. “Howard started talking, and then a couple of the other guys chimed in. Apparently, she dated a guy on the lacrosse team last year. And before that, some dude from Kappa Sig.”
“And?” Dean prompts, his jaw tightening.
“And the grapevine says the same thing,” Beau mutters, looking at the floor. “Nobody has ever been able to make her cum. The lacrosse guy said she was completely unresponsive. The Kappa Sig guy said he tried for an hour and gave up. It’s … it’s a known thing, Dean. The guys in the locker room were joking that she’s cursed.”
Dean feels a cold, sharp spike of anger lodge itself right beneath his ribs.
He imagines you, standing in front of a mirror, wondering what’s wrong with you. He imagines the quiet humiliation of lying in bed while a guy sighs in frustration, rolls over, and goes to sleep. He imagines you carrying around a reputation you didn’t ask for, created by guys who are too incompetent to do their damn jobs.
It makes him want to punch a hole through the drywall.
“They were joking about it,” Dean repeats, his voice dangerously soft.
“Locker rooms are toxic,” Garrett says quietly from the armchair. “You know how it is, Dean. Guys talk. They exaggerate to protect their own egos.”
“It’s not an exaggeration if three different guys are saying the exact same thing,” Beau points out gently. He looks back at Dean, his expression softening into an apology. “Look, man. I know you’re on this crusade to prove McMahon wrong, but … maybe he isn’t. Maybe it’s not a lack of effort.”
Dean narrows his eyes. “What are you implying?”
Beau shifts uncomfortably. “I’m just saying … biology is weird. Some people have weird wiring. Maybe she really does have some sort of issue. You know? Like, a medical reason why she can’t get off. It happens.”
“No,” Dean says immediately.
“Dean, be reasonable,” Beau tries. “If multiple guys-”
“I don’t give a damn if the entire starting lineup of the New England Patriots tried and failed,” Dean snaps, pushing himself off the couch. He paces across the living room, running a hand aggressively through his hair. “I am shutting that theory down right now.”
“You can’t just shut down biology,” Logan argues reasonably.
“Watch me,” Dean shoots back. He turns to face his friends, pointing an accusatory finger at Beau. “Do you know what the common denominator is here? It’s not her. It’s the guys.”
“A lacrosse player, a frat bro, and a wide receiver,” Garrett lists, counting them off on his fingers.
“Exactly!” Dean throws his hands in the air. “The holy trinity of selfish lovers! What do they all have in common? Ego. They care more about their own performance than her pleasure. They probably pounded away for five minutes like jackrabbits, didn’t bother with foreplay, and then got offended when she didn’t magically explode.”
Beau sighs. “Dean-”
“I’m serious, Beau,” Dean interrupts, his voice hard. The anger is settling into something sharper, something far more resolute. “Do not sit there and tell me she’s broken. Do not tell me she has a physiological issue just because three frat-star idiots couldn’t find the clit with a flashlight and a map.”
The conviction in his voice fills the room. He isn’t laughing. He isn’t playing around. He means every single word.
“Women’s bodies aren’t slot machines,” Dean says, pacing back toward the television. “You don’t just put a coin in, pull a lever, and wait for the jackpot. It takes attention. It takes communication. You have to learn the body you’re touching. You have to figure out what she likes, what she hates, what she needs before she even knows she needs it.”
He stops pacing, planting his hands on his hips as he stares down his three friends.
“If she hasn’t come,” Dean states, absolute certainty ringing in his tone, “it is because nobody has bothered to learn her properly. Nobody has put in the work.”
Garrett raises an eyebrow. “And you think you’re the guy to put in the work?”
“I know I am,” Dean says without a second of hesitation.
“Dude.” Logan lets out a breath, shaking his head. “You’re talking about taking on a campus legend. If she really is, uh, un-finishable-”
“Stop calling her that,” Dean snaps. “She’s not a challenge on a bucket list. She is a girl who deserves to feel good.”
Beau looks at him for a long, quiet moment. He knows Dean better than anyone in the room. Beau knows when Dean is messing around, and he knows when Dean is dead serious.
Right now, Dean is dead serious.
“Okay,” Beau says softly, holding his hands up in surrender. “Okay. I hear you. But let’s look at this logically. What exactly is your plan here?”
Dean drops back onto the couch, resting his elbows on his knees. “My plan is simple. I’m going to find her. I’m going to get to know her. And then I’m going to help her.”
“Help her,” Beau repeats flatly.
“Yes. I am going to give her the release she has been denied. I am going to do what apparently no other incompetent man on this campus has managed to do.” Dean’s eyes gleam with a fierce, protective determination. “I am going to break the curse.”
Logan lets out a sudden, bark-like laugh. “You’re out of your mind.”
“I am a visionary,” Dean corrects him.
Beau rubs his temples, looking like he’s developing a severe migraine. “Dean, think about this for two seconds. You can’t just walk up to a girl — a sorority president, no less — and offer to give her an orgasm.”
“Why not?” Dean asks innocently.
“Because it’s insane!” Beau yells, finally losing his cool. “Because she doesn’t know you! You can’t just stroll up to her in the dining hall, tap her on the shoulder, and say, ‘Hey, I heard your ex-boyfriend has the sexual prowess of a wet sponge, let me fix that for you!’”
“Well, obviously I wouldn’t use those exact words,” Dean says, offended. “I have tact, Beau. I have charm. I know how to talk to women.”
“You’re going to get pepper-sprayed,” Garrett predicts, sounding entirely too cheerful about the prospect. “I’ll give you twenty bucks right now if you get it on video.”
“I am not going to get pepper-sprayed,” Dean says firmly. “I am going to be a gentleman.”
“A gentleman doesn’t solicit orgasms to strangers,” Tucker’s voice drawls from the doorway. He’s leaning against the frame, holding a massive protein shake in one hand, having apparently walked in through the kitchen halfway through the conversation.
“A true gentleman recognizes a woman in need and steps up to the plate,” Dean counters smoothly. “I’m going to do it. That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
“Dean, please,” Beau begs, sounding genuinely distressed. “She’s a prominent figure on campus. If you go up to her and say something crazy, she’s going to ruin your reputation.”
“My reputation?” Dean laughs. It’s a bright, easy sound. “Beau, my reputation is already that of a shameless flirt who sleeps around. What’s she going to do? Tell people I offered to make her feel good? Oh, the horror.”
“She’s going to think you’re a creep,” Beau insists.
“She won’t,” Dean says confidently. “Because I’m not going to be creepy about it. I’m going to be honest. Completely, brutally honest. Women appreciate honesty.”
Garrett snorts. “Yeah, let me know how that honesty works out for you when she slaps you across the face.”
Dean ignores them. He tunes out Garrett’s laughter, Logan’s skepticism, and Beau’s frantic attempts to reason with him. His mind is already racing, piecing together a strategy.
He knows you are the president of Delta Zeta. That means you are busy. It means you are likely stressed, overworked, and constantly dealing with other people’s drama. You probably drink too much coffee, don’t get enough sleep, and carry the weight of your entire house on your shoulders.
And on top of all that, you have the baggage of guys like McMahon making you feel inadequate.
Dean feels that fierce, protective urge flare up again. It isn’t just about his ego anymore. It isn’t just about proving a point to the locker room. It’s about you. It’s about the fact that nobody has looked at you and decided you were worth the time it takes to figure out what you need.
He stands up again, suddenly too energized to sit still. “When does Delta Zeta usually hold their chapter meetings?”
Beau groans, throwing himself face-first into a couch pillow. “I’m not telling you.”
“Fridays,” Logan provides helpfully. “Usually around seven. I know because I hooked up with a DZ last semester, and she always made me leave by six-thirty so she could get ready.”
“Friday,” Dean repeats. Today is Wednesday. That gives him two days to figure out an approach. Two days to find you, study you, and plan his move.
“You’re really going through with this?” Beau asks, his voice muffled by the pillow.
“I am,” Dean says. He walks toward the hallway leading to his bedroom, pausing at the threshold to look back at his friends. “I’m going to find her. I’m going to look her in the eyes, and I’m going to offer my services.”
“Services,” Garrett echoes, shaking his head. “You make it sound like you’re an independent contractor.”
“I’m a specialist,” Dean corrects him with a wink. “And Y/N Y/L/N is about to become my top priority.”
He turns and walks down the hall, already mentally mapping out the campus to figure out where a pre-law sorority president is most likely to spend her Friday afternoon. The library? The student union? A coffee shop?
He’ll check them all. He doesn’t care how long it takes.
Because Dean loves a challenge. But more than that, he loves making things right. And making sure you finally understand that there is absolutely nothing wrong with you?
That is going to be the best thing he’s ever done.
***
Dean does not usually require props.
In fact, he prides himself on his natural abilities. He has spent years perfecting his technique, learning the exact amount of pressure, the perfect rhythm, the right things to whisper in the dark. He is a craftsman, and his hands and mouth are his chosen tools.
But as he stands in his bedroom on Friday afternoon, staring into the bottom drawer of his nightstand, he decides to make an exception.
Because you aren’t just a regular Friday night hookup. You are a mission. You are the final boss of Briar University’s dating pool, a girl who has allegedly stumped every self-serving idiot on this campus. And while Dean is completely, undeniably confident in his own mouth, he also believes in being prepared. A good lawyer — like his mother always says — never walks into a courtroom without covering all his bases.
So, he grabs a sleek, black duffel bag from his closet.
He tosses in a small, discreet bullet vibrator. Then a curved silicone toy that he knows for a fact works absolute miracles. He adds a bottle of premium, water-based lubricant, just to be safe. He zips the bag up, slinging it over his shoulder.
“Where are you going?” Garrett asks, looking up from the kitchen island as Dean walks out of his room. Garrett is eating cereal straight out of the box.
“I have an appointment,” Dean says, checking his reflection in the hallway mirror. He runs a hand through his hair, making sure it falls with just the right amount of effortless messiness. He’s wearing a fitted black long-sleeve henley that highlights his shoulders, and his favorite jeans. He looks good. Approachable. Trustworthy.
“An appointment,” Garrett repeats flatly. His eyes drop to the black duffel bag. “Are you going to the gym, or are you actually going through with this psychotic plan to accost McMahon’s ex-girlfriend?”
“Her name is Y/N,” Dean corrects him. “And I am not accosting anyone. I am offering a philanthropic service. I’m giving back to the community.”
“You’re going to get arrested,” Garrett says, tossing a piece of Cap’n Crunch at him.
Dean catches it mid-air and eats it. “Have a little faith, Graham. I’ll be back in a few hours. Victorious.”
He walks out the door before Garrett can say anything else.
The Delta Zeta house is a massive, sprawling brick mansion situated at the end of Sorority Row. It has white columns, a perfectly manicured lawn, and an intimidating aura of organized femininity. Dean walks up the pristine paved walkway, his heart doing a strange, unfamiliar flutter against his ribs.
He isn’t nervous. Dean Di Laurentis doesn’t get nervous around women. But he is acutely aware that he is operating without a net here. He doesn’t have an introduction. He doesn’t have a mutual friend paving the way. All he has is his charm, a bag of toys, and a burning desire to prove McMahon wrong.
He steps onto the porch and presses the doorbell. It chimes, a soft, melodic sound that echoes through the heavy oak door.
Dean takes a breath. He squares his shoulders. He prepares his opening line. He’s going to be suave. He’s going to introduce himself, ask if you have a minute to talk privately, and then gently, delicately broach the subject.
The lock clicks. The door swings open.
And Dean completely forgets how to speak.
You are standing there, holding a clipboard in one hand and a half-empty mug of coffee in the other. You are wearing a pair of faded gray sweatpants and an oversized Briar University sweatshirt that is slipping off one shoulder. Your hair is pulled up into a messy bun that looks like it’s barely surviving, held together by a single, desperate claw clip. You look exhausted, irritated, and absolutely, devastatingly beautiful.
He wasn’t expecting this. He expected a perfectly polished sorority president in a twinset and pearls. But you look real. You look like a girl who has been managing fifty different crises since six in the morning.
You blink at him, your eyes trailing from the toes of his boots, up his jeans, to his face. “Can I help you?”
Your voice is slightly raspy, like you’ve been talking all day. It sends a sudden, sharp jolt straight to Dean’s groin.
“Uh,” Dean says. The suave opening line evaporates from his brain. The delicate approach vanishes. He stares into your eyes, overwhelmed by the sudden, intense urge to drag you upstairs, lay you down, and spend the next six hours worshipping every single inch of you.
“Hello?” You prompt, arching a single, perfect eyebrow. “I’m in the middle of a budget crisis with my treasurer, so if you’re looking for one of the sisters, you need to tell me who, or I’m shutting this door.”
Dean’s brain short-circuits entirely. “I’m here to make you come.”
Silence.
Thick, heavy, suffocating silence drops over the porch.
You freeze. The hand holding the coffee mug tightens so hard your knuckles turn white. You stare at him, your eyes widening in sheer, unadulterated shock.
Dean realizes what he just said a fraction of a second too late. “Wait. No. I mean-”
The slap echoes across the porch like a gunshot. Your palm connects with Dean’s cheek with stunning, terrifying precision. It stings instantly, a hot flare of pain that snaps his head to the side.
Before he can even register the hit, you step back.
“Get the hell off my porch, you absolute creep!” You snap, and then you slam the heavy oak door directly in his face. The deadbolt clicks into place with a resounding finality.
Dean stands there, staring at the brass knocker. He slowly reaches up, pressing two fingers to his stinging cheek.
“Well,” he mutters to himself. “That could have gone better.”
He doesn’t leave. He can’t leave. If he leaves now, he’s just the lunatic who showed up and harassed you. He drops the duffel bag onto the porch mat, takes a deep breath, and knocks on the door. Firmly.
“Go away!” Your voice filters through the wood, muffled but furious. “Or I’m calling campus security!”
“Please!” Dean calls out, leaning closer to the door. “Just give me one minute! I swear to God, I didn’t mean it like that!”
“You literally said you were here to make me come!” You yell back.
“I know!” Dean winces. “I know I said it! My brain stopped working! I panicked! But I’m not a creep, I promise!”
The lock turns. The door cracks open just an inch, held securely in place by a heavy brass chain. Your eyes appear in the gap, glaring at him with a mixture of anger and deep suspicion.
“You have exactly ten seconds to explain yourself before I pepper-spray you,” you say sharply. “And yes, I have it in my hand.”
Dean immediately holds his hands up in surrender, stepping back so you can see he isn’t trying to force his way in. “Okay. Okay, fair. Listen to me. My name is Dean Di Laurentis-”
“I know who you are,” you interrupt, your voice dripping with disdain. “You play hockey. You’re Beau Maxwell’s best friend. And you have a reputation for sleeping with half the female population of this school.”
“Okay, half is an exaggeration,” Dean says defensively. “A third, maybe. But that’s exactly why I’m here! Listen, I’m a feminist. I love women. I genuinely, deeply respect women and their right to absolute satisfaction.”
You stare at him through the crack. “Are you on drugs?”
“No! Look, I overheard McMahon talking on the quad yesterday.”
The shift in your demeanor is instantaneous. The fiery anger in your eyes extinguishes, replaced by a sudden, protective wall of pure ice. Your jaw clenches, and Dean can practically see you putting your armor on.
“Oh,” you say softly. The word is hollow. “I see. You heard what he said.”
“I heard it,” Dean confirms, his voice dropping, softening. “And I heard what the other guys in the locker room have been saying, too. The lacrosse guy. The Kappa Sig guy.”
You close your eyes for a brief second. When you open them, the ice is thicker. “And you came here to what? Mock me? Place a bet with your friends to see if you can be the one to break the curse?”
“No!” Dean is genuinely horrified. “No, God, absolutely not. I came here because it pisses me off. It pisses me off that these lazy, incompetent assholes don’t know what they’re doing, and they’re making you feel like you’re the problem.”
You don’t say anything. You just watch him through the narrow gap in the door.
“I came here to right a wrong,” Dean pleads, leaning in slightly. “To redeem my gender. I brought toys, just in case, to cover all the bases! I can even give you references, if you want. Seriously. Call Leah from Beta. Call Kayla from the dance team. Call-”
“Stop naming girls you’ve slept with,” you hiss, glancing nervously past him.
Dean looks over his shoulder. A group of freshmen girls are walking down the sidewalk, staring openly at him standing on the Delta Zeta porch, talking to the door.
You let out a frustrated groan. “You are causing a scene. Di Laurentis, I swear to God, if you make this a spectacle …”
“I’ll stand here all day,” Dean threatens lightly, giving you a small, charming smile. “I’ll shout my references to the quad. I’ll sing them. I have a terrible singing voice, Y/N. It will be tragic for everyone involved.”
You glare at him, a muscle ticking in your jaw. Then, with a harsh sigh, you shut the door.
For a second, Dean thinks he’s lost. But then he hears the rattle of the chain sliding out of the lock. The door swings open wide enough for him to enter.
“Get in,” you snap. “Before someone takes a picture.”
Dean quickly grabs his duffel bag and slips past you into the foyer.
The inside of the house is beautiful — hardwood floors, a sweeping staircase, the faint smell of vanilla and expensive perfume. But Dean doesn’t look at any of it. He turns to look at you.
You shut the door behind him and lean against it, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. Without the door between you, Dean can see the exhaustion lining your eyes. You look incredibly guarded, like a cornered animal waiting for the strike.
“Okay,” you say, your voice flat. “You’re inside. You got your little heroic speech out of the way. Now let’s get one thing straight.”
“I’m listening,” Dean says, matching your serious tone. He drops the bag onto the floor.
“You think this is about them,” you say, gesturing vaguely toward the door, indicating the male population at large. “You think McMahon and the others are just selfish lovers who didn’t try hard enough. You think you can waltz in here with your magical hockey-player hands and fix the lazy mistakes of frat boys.”
“I do, actually,” Dean says without hesitation. “I know I can.”
You let out a harsh, humorless laugh. It lacks any real joy. “Your ego is astounding. Truly. But you’re wrong, Dean. It’s not them.”
Dean frowns, taking a half-step toward you. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, it’s me,” you say bluntly. You look him dead in the eyes, refusing to flinch, refusing to look away. “I have never come. Ever.”
Dean stops. “I know. The rumor-”
“No,” you cut him off, your voice slicing through the air. “Not just with guys. Never. Not with men. Not with women. Not with a vibrator. Not with my own hand in the privacy of my own bedroom.”
Dean stares at you. The cocky comeback dies in his throat. He literally doesn’t know what to say.
“It’s a dead end,” you continue, your voice terrifyingly calm. “I have tried everything. I have read the articles, I have bought the expensive toys, I have tried relaxing, I have tried not overthinking it. It doesn’t work. The wires don’t connect. I physically cannot achieve orgasm.”
Dean’s heart aches. It’s a strange, sudden pang right in the center of his chest. Because he can hear the resignation in your voice. He can hear the years of frustration, of quiet, lonely disappointment, all packed into those few clinical sentences.
“Y/N,” he starts softly.
“Don’t,” you say, holding a hand up. “Do not give me pity. I am perfectly fine with it. I have made my peace with my body. I still enjoy sex. I still like the intimacy. It’s the guys who can’t handle it. They take it as a personal insult to their masculinity. They throw tantrums, they call me frigid, and they whine about it to their friends in the locker room.”
You drop your hand, your posture stiffening.
“So, thank you for the valiant attempt to save me,” you say, your tone dripping in sarcasm. “But I don’t need your help. I don’t need a savior. And I certainly don’t need another guy treating my body like a puzzle he has to solve just to stroke his own ego. You can take your bag of toys and leave.”
You reach behind you, grabbing the doorknob.
“Wait,” Dean says, moving faster than he ever has on the ice. He closes the distance between you, stepping just close enough that you pause, but far enough away that he isn’t crowding you.
He looks down at you. You are breathing a little heavy, your eyes defiant, daring him to push.
This changes things. Beau was right. It wasn’t just lazy guys. It’s a deep-rooted wall. But the thing about Dean Di Laurentis is that he doesn’t back down from walls. He scales them. He dismantles them brick by brick.
“I’m not leaving,” Dean says quietly.
You frown, your grip on the doorknob tightening. “I just told you-”
“I heard what you told me,” Dean says, his voice steady, entirely stripped of the usual playful banter. “You think you’re broken. You think it’s impossible. And you’re sick of guys making it about them instead of about you.”
You swallow hard, your eyes flickering with something that looks dangerously like vulnerability. “Yes.”
“I am not them,” Dean says. He holds your gaze, pouring every ounce of sincerity he possesses into the look. “I don’t care about my ego. My ego is perfectly intact. I care about the fact that you have convinced yourself you aren’t allowed to feel the best feeling in the world.”
“It’s not that I’m not allowed-”
“It’s a mental block,” Dean interrupts gently. “Or a physical one. Or a combination of both. But it’s not permanent. Nothing is permanent.”
“You don’t know that,” you whisper, looking away. “You don’t know my body.”
“Then let me learn it,” Dean says.
You snap your eyes back to him, shocked.
“Give me one chance,” Dean pleads. He isn’t cocky anymore. He is practically begging. “One chance, Y/N. No expectations. No pressure. If nothing happens, I will walk away. I will never bother you again. I won’t throw a tantrum, I won’t blame you, and I sure as hell won’t talk about it to a locker room full of idiots.”
You stare at him, your chest rising and falling rapidly. You look genuinely torn, the exhaustion and the fear battling against the tiny, microscopic sliver of hope he just offered you.
But then the wall goes back up.
“No,” you say firmly. You shake your head, stepping away from the door and pointing toward it. “No. I am not doing this again. I am not getting my hopes up just to lie there and feel broken while you get frustrated. Out. Now.”
Dean’s mind races. He’s losing you. He can see the door closing on this entire crusade, and he refuses to let you push him away just because you’re scared.
He needs leverage. What does he know about you?
Sorority president. Pre-law. Busy. Philanthropy.
“What if we make a wager?” Dean blurts out.
You stop. “What?”
“A wager,” Dean repeats, the idea taking shape in his mind as he speaks. “A bet. To make it worth your while. If I try, and I fail — which I won’t, but let’s pretend for a second that I do — I will give you something you want.”
You look at him like he’s lost his mind. “There is nothing you have that I want, Di Laurentis.”
“Delta Zeta is hosting the Splash & Dash charity car wash next Saturday, right?” Dean asks, pointing a finger at you. “To raise money for the women’s shelter downtown?”
You blink, clearly thrown off by his knowledge of your sorority’s philanthropic schedule. “How do you know that?”
“I pay attention to things,” Dean says smoothly. “Now, traditionally, your sisters wash the cars in bikinis. It brings in decent money. The frat guys show up, they pay twenty bucks, they ogle your sisters. It’s a solid business model.”
“Where are you going with this?” You demand, your patience wearing thin.
Dean grins. The slow, devastating, million-dollar grin that has gotten him out of trouble more times than he can count.
“If I fail to give you an orgasm,” Dean says slowly, letting the words hang in the air, “I will personally guarantee that the entire Briar University hockey starting lineup will participate in your car wash.”
You stare at him.
“And,” Dean adds, leaning in just a fraction, “we will do it shirtless.”
Your mouth parts slightly. You don’t say anything, but Dean can practically see the gears turning in your head.
The Briar hockey team is campus royalty. They are the most popular, most sought-after guys at the university. Garrett, Logan, Tucker, himself — they draw crowds just by walking into the dining hall.
“Shirtless,” you repeat, your voice skeptical.
“Shirtless,” Dean confirms. “Washing cars in the blazing sun. flexing. Sweating. We will advertise it. We will bring in hundreds of girls. Sorority girls, townies, professors — they’ll all show up. You will triple your fundraising goal in two hours.”
You look at him, the logic warring with your defense mechanisms. “Garrett Graham would never agree to that.”
“I am very persuasive,” Dean promises. “I will make them do it. If I lose.”
“And if you win?” You ask, narrowing your eyes. “What’s in it for you?”
Dean looks at you. He looks at the dark circles under your eyes, the messy bun, the oversized sweatshirt that hides a body he is dying to uncover. He thinks about McMahon’s cruel words on the quad, and the quiet resignation in your voice when you told him you’ve never come.
“If I win,” Dean says, his voice dropping to a low, husky register, “then I get the satisfaction of knowing I made you feel as good as you deserve to feel. That’s it. That’s the prize.”
You search his face, looking for the catch. Looking for the punchline, or the arrogant smirk. But there is nothing there except absolute, unwavering sincerity.
The silence stretches out. The grandfather clock in the hallway ticks steadily.
Finally, you let out a long, slow breath. The tension bleeds out of your shoulders. You look down at the floor, then back up at him.
“Shirtless,” you say softly.
“Pants are non-negotiable sadly,” Dean says solemnly. “Tucker is very modest.”
The tiniest, most microscopic hint of a smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. It’s barely there, but Dean catches it, and it feels like he just won the Stanley Cup.
“One chance,” you say, your voice turning serious again. “You get one chance, Dean. When it doesn’t work, we stop. You leave. And you deliver your team on Saturday.”
“Deal,” Dean says instantly. He holds his hand out.
You look at his hand. You hesitate for a second, then reach out and shake it. Your hand is small, your skin soft, but your grip is firm.
“When?” You ask.
“Tomorrow night,” Dean says, unwilling to wait any longer than absolutely necessary. “Eight o’clock. My place.”
You drop his hand, pulling your sweatshirt tighter around yourself. “Fine. Tomorrow night.”
Dean picks up his duffel bag from the floor. He gives you one last look, memorizing the way you look standing in the foyer, the challenge clear in your eyes.
“Get some sleep, Y/N,” Dean says, stepping out the door onto the porch. “You’re going to need your energy tomorrow.”
He doesn’t wait for your response. He turns and walks down the paved path, his heart hammering a victorious rhythm against his ribs.
He got his foot in the door. He got the chance.
Now, he just has to do the impossible.
***
The house is completely, suspiciously silent when you knock on the front door at exactly eight o’clock on Saturday night.
Dean opens the door before you can even lower your hand. He’s wearing gray sweatpants that hang low on his hips and a plain white t-shirt. His hair is slightly damp, curled at the ends, and the faint, clean scent of his body wash drifts out into the cool evening air.
He looks entirely too calm. You, on the other hand, feel like you might throw up.
“You’re right on time,” Dean says, a slow, easy smile spreading across his face. He steps back, opening the door wider. “Come on in.”
You step into the foyer, clutching the strap of your purse like a lifeline. You’re wearing jeans and a simple black sweater, a deliberate choice to make this feel casual, even though your heart is currently hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird.
“Where are your roommates?” You ask, your voice sounding a little too tight, a little too loud in the empty house.
“I bribed them to leave,” Dean says easily, shutting and locking the front door. “Logan and Tucker went to a movie. Garrett took his girlfriend out to dinner. The house is ours until at least midnight. I wanted zero distractions.”
He turns to look at you, and his smile softens. He can clearly see how rigid your shoulders are, how tightly you’re holding onto your bag.
“Hey,” he murmurs, stepping closer. “Relax. I’m not leading you to the gallows.”
“I know,” you say defensively. “I’m relaxed.”
“You look like you’re about to take the LSAT,” Dean counters. He reaches out, his large, warm hands gently curling over your shoulders. He rubs his thumbs in slow, soothing circles against your collarbones. “Look at me, Y/N.”
You lift your gaze from the center of his chest, meeting his eyes. They’re a warm, bright green, and completely devoid of the cocky arrogance you usually associate with him.
“Forget the bet,” Dean says quietly. “Forget the car wash, forget McMahon, forget the locker room. Tonight is just about you. And if you want to leave right now, or in ten minutes, or in an hour, you just say the word and I’ll walk you to the door. No questions asked. No pressure. Okay?”
You swallow hard, the tight knot of anxiety in your chest loosening just a fraction. “Okay.”
“Good.” Dean drops his hands, gesturing down the hallway. “My room is this way.”
Dean’s bedroom is surprisingly immaculate. You expected a stereotypical frat-boy disaster zone, but the bed is made with dark gray sheets, the floor is clear, and the only mess is a small stack of textbooks on his desk. The bedside lamp is on, casting a warm, dim glow over the room.
On the nightstand rests the black duffel bag from yesterday.
You stare at it, your stomach doing a complicated flip.
Dean catches your look. He tosses your purse onto his desk chair and turns to face you. “The bag is just backup. Honestly, I don’t think we’ll need it.”
“Your confidence is terrifying,” you mutter, crossing your arms over your chest.
“It’s not confidence. It’s just a fact.” Dean steps right into your personal space. He doesn’t ask permission to touch you this time, he simply lifts his hands and frames your face. His palms are slightly rough from handling a hockey stick, but his touch is incredibly gentle. “You think too much. I can practically hear the gears turning in your head.”
“I can’t help it,” you whisper, closing your eyes briefly as his thumbs brush over your cheekbones. “I’m waiting for the part where this doesn’t work, and you get annoyed, and I have to pretend I’m sorry.”
“That part isn’t coming.” Dean’s voice is a low, raspy murmur right against your mouth. “Open your eyes.”
You do. He is staring at your lips.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” Dean says, the warning a courtesy. “And you aren’t going to think about anything except how it feels.”
He closes the distance before you can argue. His mouth covers yours, warm and firm and demanding. You’ve been kissed a lot, but this is different. It isn’t rushed. He doesn’t shove his tongue down your throat or grope you aggressively. He simply takes his time, parting your lips, tasting you like he has all the time in the world.
A small, involuntary sigh escapes your throat, and Dean swallows it. His hands slide from your face, down your neck, tracing the line of your shoulders before sliding under the hem of your sweater. His warm palms flatten against the bare skin of your waist.
The shock of skin-on-skin contact makes you gasp, and Dean takes advantage, his tongue sliding against yours. He tastes like mint and something inherently dark and male.
“That’s it,” he murmurs against your mouth. “Just feel.”
He walks you backward, his hands pulling you flush against his chest, until the back of your knees hit the edge of the mattress. Dean breaks the kiss just long enough to pull your sweater up and over your head, tossing it blindly over his shoulder.
You reach for the hem of his t-shirt, suddenly desperate to feel his bare skin, but Dean catches your wrists.
“Uh-uh,” he says, a teasing lilt in his voice. “My clothes stay on for now. You don’t get to focus on me. Tonight is a one-way street.”
“Dean,” you protest, but he just smiles, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.
He unhooks your bra with terrifying efficiency, letting it drop to the floor. The cool air hits your bare breasts, making your nipples pebble instantly. Dean tracks the movement, his eyes darkening as they drag down your torso.
He pushes you gently down onto the edge of the bed. You’re sitting there in just your jeans, feeling exposed and hyper-aware of his gaze. But there is no judgment in his eyes, no impatient rush to get to the main event. He just looks at you like you are the most incredible thing he has ever seen.
Dean drops to his knees on the hardwood floor between your legs.
He reaches out, his hands wrapping around your waist, pulling you an inch closer to the edge. “You’re beautiful,” he says softly, pressing an open-mouthed kiss directly in the center of your chest.
You shiver, your hands instinctively tangling in the thick hair at the nape of his neck.
Dean unbuttons your jeans. He slides the zipper down, his knuckles brushing intentionally over the sensitive skin of your lower stomach. You suck in a sharp breath. He pulls the denim down your legs, taking your plain cotton underwear with them, until you are completely bare, sitting on the edge of his bed while he kneels between your thighs.
“Dean,” you whisper, your voice shaking slightly as the familiar, suffocating wave of performance anxiety begins to creep in. What if he realizes it’s hopeless? What if nothing happens?
“Stop,” Dean says instantly. He looks up at you, his eyes blazing. He knows exactly what you’re doing. “Stop thinking. Stop putting pressure on yourself. If you don’t cum tonight, you don’t cum. I don’t care. I’m perfectly happy just staying down here and tasting you for the next three hours regardless.”
The blunt, dirty honesty of his words sends a jolt of liquid heat straight between your legs.
Dean doesn’t give you time to overthink it again. He shifts closer, wrapping his strong hands around the backs of your thighs, and gently parts your legs wider.
He lowers his head.
The first touch of his tongue is a shock to your system. It’s a slow, broad, open-mouthed slide right up your center. You jerk instinctively, your hands gripping his shoulders.
“Easy,” Dean murmurs, his breath hot against your dripping core. “I’ve got you.”
He goes back in, and this time, there is no hesitation. Dean Di Laurentis is a master at this, and he proves it in seconds. He doesn’t dive right for the clit, pounding away like every other guy has. He takes his time. He kisses the soft skin of your inner thighs. He traces the delicate folds with the tip of his tongue, teasing, mapping out your body, figuring out exactly what makes your breath hitch and your muscles tighten.
“You taste so fucking sweet,” Dean groans, the vibration of his voice buzzing directly against your most sensitive flesh.
He finds the swollen bundle of nerves and swirls his tongue around it, light and teasing. You let out a soft, stuttering gasp, your head dropping back.
It feels good. It feels amazing. But the mental block is a heavy, leaden thing sitting in the back of your mind. You hit the plateau — the place you always hit, where the pleasure builds and builds but never actually crests. You feel yourself tensing, bracing for the inevitable disappointment.
Dean feels it. He stops immediately.
“Look at me,” he orders. His voice isn’t gentle anymore; it’s low, rough, and demanding.
You force your eyes open, looking down. Dean is kneeling between your legs, his lips wet and shining with your arousal, his green eyes locked onto yours. The sight is so intensely intimate, so totally raw, that it makes your chest ache.
“Tell me what you’re feeling right now,” Dean demands, his hands tightening on your thighs, his thumbs pressing firmly into your skin.
“I … I can’t,” you stutter, shaking your head. “Dean, it’s not going to-”
“I didn’t ask what’s not going to happen,” he interrupts sharply. “I asked what you’re feeling right now. Describe it to me.”
“It feels good,” you whisper, tears of frustration stinging the corners of your eyes. “But I’m stuck. I’m stuck.”
“You’re not stuck.” Dean leans in, kissing the inside of your thigh, his breath hot. “You’re in your head. So get out of it. Focus on my mouth. Focus on my fingers.”
He slides two thick fingers directly inside you. You gasp, your hips bucking up off the mattress as he stretches you open. You are incredibly wet, slick with your own arousal, and Dean uses it to his advantage. He curls his fingers upward, hitting a deep, heavy spot inside you with a firm, relentless rhythm.
“Tell me what that feels like,” Dean says, his eyes never leaving yours.
“It’s full,” you choke out, your fingers digging painfully into his shoulders. “It’s deep.”
“Good.” Dean lowers his head again. He replaces his mouth over your clit, but this time, he isn’t teasing. He sucks the sensitive nub directly into his mouth, applying a firm, steady suction while his tongue flickers against it relentlessly.
The combination of his fingers sliding deep inside you and his mouth pulling fiercely at your clit is a sensory overload.
“Dean,” you sob, the sound entirely involuntary.
He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t ask if you’re okay. He knows exactly what he’s doing. He keeps his eyes open, staring right up at you as his tongue lashes against you and his fingers pump in a rapid, demanding rhythm.
The pressure is building. It’s a hot, coiled spring in the center of your body, winding tighter and tighter. You try to pull away, terrified of failing again, terrified of hitting the wall, but Dean’s hands are like iron on your thighs. He holds you perfectly still, refusing to let you escape the pleasure.
“Come on,” Dean growls, pulling his mouth away for a fraction of a second. “Let go, Y/N. Give it to me. Let go.”
He goes back to sucking, harder this time, dragging his teeth lightly against the hood.
The sensation splinters through your entire body. The wall in your mind — the mental block that has haunted you for years — suddenly shatters under the sheer, overwhelming force of what he’s doing to you. You can’t think. You can’t analyze. You can only feel.
The coiled spring snaps.
A choked scream rips out of your throat as the climax hits you like a freight train. It explodes, radiating from your core out to your fingertips in violent, uncontrollable waves of pleasure. Your hips jerk up, grinding frantically against Dean’s mouth as your inner muscles clamp down brutally around his fingers.
Dean swallows your scream, his mouth sealed tightly against you, taking every single drop of your release. He doesn’t stop, even when you’re thrashing, even when you’re begging him to because it’s too sensitive. He forces you to ride out every single wave, his fingers continuing to pulse inside you until you are completely spent.
When he finally pulls his hand out and lifts his head, you collapse backward onto the mattress.
You are panting, staring blindly at the ceiling. Your entire body is trembling. Tears — actual, physical tears of sheer disbelief and overwhelming relief — are sliding down your temples into your hairline.
Dean stands up. He looks down at you, his chest heaving under his white t-shirt, his hair thoroughly wrecked from your hands. He reaches over, wiping the moisture from his chin with the back of his hand.
He doesn’t look cocky. He doesn’t look like he just won a bet. He just looks satisfied.
He climbs onto the bed, hovering over you, and gently wipes a tear from your cheek with his thumb.
“You see?” Dean whispers, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your slightly swollen lips. “You aren’t broken, Y/N. You just needed someone to actually pay attention.”
You let out a shaky, hysterical laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face in his shoulder. “Oh my god. Oh my god, Dean.”
“I know,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around your waist and holding you tight. He strokes your bare back, letting you ride out the aftershocks. “I know.”
You lie there for what feels like hours, just breathing him in. You feel light. You feel like a massive, suffocating weight has just been lifted off your chest. It wasn’t you. It was never you. You just needed a guy who cared more about your pleasure than his own ego.
“Thank you,” you whisper into his neck.
Dean pulls back slightly, looking down at you. His green eyes are dark, glittering with something dangerous. The tender, comforting moment shifts instantly, replaced by a heavy, palpable heat.
“Don’t thank me yet,” Dean says, a wicked, devastating smile curving his lips. “We have the house until midnight, Y/N. And I am far from finished.”
Your eyes widen. “Dean, I don’t think I can—I’m so sensitive-”
“I know,” he says smoothly. He reaches over to the nightstand, grabbing the black duffel bag and unzipping it. He pulls out the small, sleek bullet vibrator. “But you’re about to learn that the second time is always easier than the first. The wall is gone now. Now, we’re just playing.”
He turns it on. The low, electric hum fills the quiet room.
You swallow hard, your core clenching in anticipation.
Dean pushes you onto your back, his knees bracketing your hips. He finally grabs the hem of his t-shirt and pulls it over his head, tossing it onto the floor. His chest is broad, defined, covered in a light dusting of hair that trails down beneath the waistband of his sweatpants. You stare at the prominent V-lines pointing downward, suddenly incredibly desperate to see the rest of him.
But Dean isn’t rushing the main event. He reaches down, parting your folds with two fingers, and presses the buzzing toy directly against your swollen clit.
You arch completely off the bed, a loud, unabashed moan tearing from your lips.
It is instantaneous. Without the mental block holding you back, your body reacts with terrifying speed. Dean grins, watching your face as he manipulates the toy, circling the most sensitive nerves. He leans down, capturing your mouth in a deep, filthy kiss, his tongue mimicking the frantic circles of his hand.
You reach down, frantically grabbing at the waistband of his sweatpants, desperate to touch him, but Dean swats your hands away.
“Not yet,” he pants against your mouth. “Focus.”
It takes less than three minutes. The second orgasm crashes through you with even more ferocity than the first. You scream his name into his mouth, your nails digging crescent moons into his shoulders as your body bows off the mattress, shaking violently.
Dean pulls the toy away, tossing it onto the nightstand, and finally reaches for his own waistband.
He strips out of his sweatpants and boxers in one fluid motion. He is heavily, beautifully aroused, his thick erection jutting out, hot and ready. He grabs a condom from the nightstand drawer, ripping the foil open with his teeth, and rolls it on with quick, efficient movements.
You are still trembling from the second climax, your eyes hazy and completely blown out.
Dean settles himself between your legs, his hands gripping your hips to anchor you. He lines himself up with your wet, slick opening.
“Look at me,” he demands softly.
You meet his eyes.
“You’re perfect,” Dean whispers.
And then he pushes his hips forward, burying himself deep inside you in one long, smooth thrust.
You gasp loudly, the feeling of him filling you completely sending fresh sparks of pleasure racing through your overloaded system. Dean lets out a harsh groan, his head dropping back as he gives himself a second to adjust to the tight, wet heat of your body.
He begins to move. He doesn’t pound into you; he makes love to you. He pulls almost all the way out before driving deep again, grinding his hips firmly against yours so that the base of his shaft perfectly rubs against your clit with every single thrust.
It is a steady, relentless rhythm. You wrap your legs around his waist, locking your ankles together to pull him even deeper.
“Dean,” you pant, your head tossing back against the pillows. “Please.”
“I’m right here,” he answers, his voice strained. He reaches a hand down, slipping his thumb perfectly between your bodies to press firmly against your clit while he continues to thrust inside you.
The sensory overload is absolute. The deep, heavy stretching inside and the sharp, electric friction on the outside. You are unraveling, falling completely apart underneath him.
“Let it go again, baby,” Dean encourages, his thrusts getting faster, harder, completely losing his earlier restraint. “Come for me. Give it to me.”
You shatter for the third time. The orgasm rips through you so forcefully that your vision actually whites out for a second. You clamp down around his cock with brutal strength, crying out as the pleasure sweeps through you in violent, pulsing waves.
Your tight, milking climax is enough to send Dean right over the edge with you. He lets out a guttural shout, his hips driving into you one final, desperate time as he comes hard, his body rigid and shaking above yours.
He collapses heavily onto your chest, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his chest heaving as he fights to catch his breath.
You lie there, your arms wrapped tightly around his broad back, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his. The room is completely silent except for the sound of your combined, ragged breathing.
A full five minutes pass before Dean finally lifts his head. He props himself up on his elbows, looking down at you. His hair is a wild, sweaty mess, his eyes heavy with post-coital satisfaction.
He smiles. It’s a soft, genuine smile that makes your chest squeeze.
“So,” Dean rasps, tracing the line of your jaw with his finger. “I guess this means the hockey team is keeping their shirts on next weekend.”
You let out a weak, breathless laugh. “You’re a menace, Di Laurentis.”
“I’m a man of my word,” he corrects you, rolling off you and pulling you flush against his side. He drags the gray sheet up over your naked bodies, tucking you securely under his arm. “Though Logan is going to be incredibly disappointed. He’s been doing extra crunches all week just in case.”
You smile against his bare chest, tracing a lazy circle over his heart.
The bet is over. He proved his point. He did what no other guy could do, and he won.
But as Dean presses a lingering kiss to the top of your head, his arm tightening possessively around your waist, you get the overwhelming feeling that this is no longer just a mission for him.
And as you close your eyes, listening to the steady beat of his heart, you realize it’s definitely not just a bet for you, either.
***
The Delta Zeta front lawn looks like a chaotic, high-budget commercial for spring break.
The bass from the massive portable speakers is vibrating through the soles of your white sneakers, blasting a remix of a top-forty pop song that you’ve heard at least six times since nine o’clock this morning. Soapy water floods the driveway, running in iridescent little rivers toward the street drain. Everywhere you look, girls in bright bikinis and cut-off denim shorts are scrubbing windshields, spraying each other with the hose, and flagging down passing cars with neon pink cardboard signs.
“Y/N!” Jess, your vice president, jogs over to the cash box table where you’re currently organizing a stack of slightly damp twenty-dollar bills. She’s out of breath, her blonde hair plastered to her forehead. “We’re out of microfiber towels. And I think Brittany just accidentally sprayed a physics professor in the face.”
You sigh, dropping a twenty into the lockbox. “Check the garage for the backup towels. And tell Brittany to aim lower. Has the line of cars slowed down?”
“A little,” Jess admits, wiping her brow. “It’s barely noon, though. The frat guys won’t drag themselves out of bed for at least another hour.”
You look out at the street. She’s right. The morning rush of faculty and early-risers has died down, leaving an empty spot in the driveway. If you want to hit your fundraising goal for the women’s shelter, you need a second wave. A big one.
“We need a draw,” you mutter, tying your hair back up into a higher ponytail. “Something to get the foot traffic to stop.”
“I think your draw just arrived,” Jess says, her voice suddenly dropping an entire octave. She points toward the sidewalk.
You follow her gaze, and your breath catches in your throat.
Walking down Sorority Row, looking like a slow-motion shot from a movie, are four massive guys. Garrett looks annoyed, Logan is already grinning and waving at a group of sophomores, and Tucker is casually spinning a key ring around his finger.
And leading the pack is Dean.
He’s wearing a pair of faded board shorts, flip-flops, and a gray Briar Hockey t-shirt. Sunglasses hide his eyes, but the moment he spots you standing by the cash table, a slow, devastating smirk spreads across his face.
A collective gasp ripples through the sorority girls on the lawn. Two freshmen actually drop their hose. The hockey team doesn’t just show up to random philanthropy events unless there’s a camera crew involved.
You cross your arms over your bikini top, fighting the massive smile threatening to break across your face as Dean stops right in front of your table.
“Good morning, Madam President,” Dean says smoothly. He pulls his sunglasses down, resting them on the collar of his shirt. His green eyes travel down the length of your body, lingering on the exposed skin of your stomach before snapping back up to your face. The heat in his gaze is entirely inappropriate for a Saturday morning charity event.
“Di Laurentis,” you say, keeping your voice even despite the butterflies staging a full-scale riot in your stomach. “What are you doing here?”
“We’re here to wash cars,” Logan chimes in from behind Dean, dropping his bucket onto the grass. “Obviously. Show me to the nearest CR-V.”
“You don’t have to be here,” you say, looking back at Dean. You lower your voice so only he can hear. “You won the bet, Dean. You proved your point. Vigorously. Multiple times.”
Just the memory of last Saturday night sends a flush of heat up your neck. You haven’t seen him all week — midterms, chapter meetings, and his away games kept you completely separated. But you certainly haven’t forgotten. You haven’t been able to think about anything else.
“I know I won the bet,” Dean says, stepping a fraction closer. “And it was the most satisfying victory of my athletic career. But the guys and I took a vote. We decided we want to participate anyway.”
“Oh, really?” You raise an eyebrow. “Just out of the goodness of your hearts?”
“Not exactly,” Garrett grumbles, crossing his muscular arms. “Dean wouldn’t shut up about it. He threatened to hide my skates if I didn’t show up. Put me to work, Y/N, before I change my mind and go back to bed.”
You laugh, motioning toward the empty driveway. “Grab a hose, Graham. The sponges are in the buckets.”
Garrett, Logan, and Tucker disperse, immediately swarmed by a giggling flock of Delta Zetas who are suddenly very eager to demonstrate proper soap application techniques.
Dean doesn’t move. He stays right in front of your table, leaning his hip against the edge.
“The team’s participation comes with a new condition,” Dean says softly, his eyes locking onto yours.
“A condition?” You tilt your head. “I didn’t agree to any conditions.”
“You’re going to want to agree to this one,” Dean promises, that wicked smirk returning. “We wash cars today. We bring in the crowds. And in exchange, you agree to go on a real date with me tonight.”
Your heart does a stupid, happy little flip. “A date.”
“A real date,” Dean confirms. “No bets. No ulterior motives. Just you, me, a disgustingly expensive Italian restaurant downtown, and absolutely zero talk about hockey or sorority budgets.”
You bite your lower lip, trying to maintain a facade of careful consideration. “I don’t know, Dean. I’m pretty busy.”
“I am offering you free labor, Y/N. Look at them.” He gestures behind him.
You look. Garrett, Logan, and Tucker have already pulled their t-shirts over their heads, tossing them onto the grass. The reaction is instantaneous. Cars that were driving past suddenly hit their brakes. A group of girls walking on the opposite side of the street literally change direction and sprint toward your lawn.
“Well,” you say, trying to suppress your laughter. “If it’s for the good of the charity.”
“Exactly. You’re a humanitarian.” Dean reaches out, tracing a single finger over the back of your hand where it rests on the cash box. The light touch sends a jolt of electricity straight up your arm. “So. It’s a yes?”
“It’s a yes,” you agree.
“Perfect.” Dean takes a step back. “Now, where do you want me?”
“You’re a professional,” you tease. “I’m sure you can find a spot. Just make sure you follow the dress code.”
Dean’s grin widens. Without breaking eye contact, he grabs the hem of his gray t-shirt and pulls it smoothly over his head.
You actually forget how to breathe for a second. You saw him naked a week ago, but seeing him out here in the broad daylight is a completely different experience. His chest is broad, sculpted from years of brutal on-ice conditioning, the muscles in his stomach flexing as he tosses the shirt onto your table. The sunlight catches on the light dusting of hair trailing down his stomach, disappearing into the low waistband of his board shorts.
“How’s the dress code looking?” He asks innocently.
“Acceptable,” you manage to choke out.
“Glad to hear it.” Dean winks at you, grabs his bucket, and jogs over to join his teammates.
The next two hours are absolute pandemonium.
Word spreads across campus faster than a wildfire. The Briar hockey team is shirtless at the Delta Zeta house. The line of cars waiting to get washed stretches entirely down the block. Frat boys show up just to see what the commotion is about. Groups of girls from other sororities line the sidewalk, pulling out their phones to record videos of Garrett spraying Logan with the hose, or Tucker politely scrubbing the roof of a minivan for a local soccer mom.
And Dean.
Dean is putting on a show.
You sit on the hood of a dry, parked Jeep Cherokee near the edge of the lawn, taking your state-mandated break. Jess handed you a plastic cup of spiked pink lemonade ten minutes ago, and you are happily sipping it while watching the chaos unfold.
Dean is currently washing a sleek black Audi. He is entirely soaked. Water runs down the planes of his chest, catching the afternoon sun and making his skin glisten. Suds cling to his arms and the waistband of his shorts. He’s laughing at something Logan just said, his head thrown back, running a soapy sponge over the hood of the car with long, effortless strokes.
He looks unfairly sexy. It’s actually offensive to the general public.
Every few minutes, he glances over his shoulder, catching your eye through the crowd. He always gives you a quick smirk or a subtle wink, making sure you know exactly who he’s showing off for.
“I’m going to ask you a question,” Jess says, hopping up onto the hood of the Jeep next to you. She takes a sip of her own lemonade. “And as your sister, I demand absolute honesty.”
“Shoot,” you say, not taking your eyes off Dean.
“Did you sleep with Dean Di Laurentis?”
You choke on your lemonade, coughing as the sour liquid burns the back of your throat. “Excuse me?”
“Don’t play coy with me,” Jess says, bumping her shoulder against yours. “He has been staring at you like you’re his last meal on death row for two hours. And you keep looking at him like you want to drag him into the bushes.”
You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, feeling your face burn. “We’re … hanging out. It’s new.”
Jess lets out a low whistle. “Damn. Good for you. He’s gorgeous. A menace to society, but gorgeous.”
“He’s actually really sweet,” you defend him quietly.
“I’m sure he is.” Jess smirks, hopping off the car. “I’m going to go make sure Logan hasn’t flooded the neighbor’s flower bed. Enjoy the view.”
You smile into your cup. The view is indeed spectacular.
You watch Dean finish rinsing the Audi. He wipes his forehead with the back of his forearm, looking genuinely exhausted but incredibly happy. He tosses his sponge into the bucket, says something to Tucker, and then starts walking toward you.
Your heart does that stupid flip again.
He reaches the Jeep and stops right between your dangling legs, resting his wet, soapy hands on the metal on either side of your thighs. He is breathing hard, radiating heat. The smell of coconut-scented soap, clean sweat, and Dean completely overwhelms your senses.
“You’re working hard,” you note, reaching out to brush a stray, wet curl off his forehead.
Dean leans into your touch instantly. “I’m earning my keep. The lockbox looks full.”
“We broke our fundraising record an hour ago,” you smile. “The shelter is going to be thrilled. Thank you, Dean. Seriously.”
“I told you I’d deliver.” Dean steps closer, until his bare, wet chest is practically brushing against your knees. “Though I expect to be heavily compensated tonight. We’re talking appetizers, an entrée, and at least two desserts.”
“I think I can manage that.”
“Good.” Dean tilts his chin up, his eyes dropping to your lips. “Can I kiss you? I know we’re in public, but you look incredible in that bikini and I have zero self-control.”
You laugh, tangling your fingers into his damp hair at the nape of his neck. “Yes, you can kiss me.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice. Dean leans up, capturing your mouth in a deep, wet, entirely distracting kiss. He tastes like lemonade and sunshine. You pull him closer with your knees, letting your eyes flutter shut as he hums in approval against your lips.
“Well, well, well. Isn’t this a touching scene.”
The loud, grating voice slices through the bubble of your perfect moment like a rusty knife.
You freeze. Dean pulls back, his body stiffening instantly.
You look over Dean’s shoulder. Standing on the sidewalk, holding a red solo cup and flanked by two of his giant, meathead friends, is McMahon.
He looks you up and down, his lip curling into a condescending sneer. Then he looks at Dean.
“Slumming it, Di Laurentis?” McMahon asks loudly, making sure the people around them can hear. “I heard you were desperate for a date, but I didn’t think you’d settle for my sloppy seconds.”
A dead, heavy silence drops over your immediate vicinity. The music is still playing, the water is still running, but everyone within earshot has stopped what they’re doing. Even Garrett and Logan have dropped their hoses, their heads snapping toward the sidewalk.
Your stomach plummets. You instinctively pull your legs back, suddenly feeling entirely too exposed in your bikini, the old, familiar shame threatening to choke you.
But Dean doesn’t step back. He doesn’t let you pull away.
He stands exactly where he is, keeping his hands planted on the Jeep, shielding your body with his own massive frame. Slowly, he turns his head to look at McMahon.
All the playful, charming energy evaporates from Dean’s demeanor. His jaw tightens, the muscles in his back cording with tension. He looks terrifying. He looks like a guy who spends three hours a day slamming people into glass walls for a living.
“What did you just say?” Dean asks. His voice is eerily quiet. It doesn’t boom. It doesn’t yell. It just carries.
McMahon puffs his chest out, trying to look intimidating, but you can see the slight hesitation in his eyes. He clearly wasn’t expecting Dean to look quite so murderous. “I’m just saying, man. You could do better. I already warned you she’s a dead end in bed.”
Garrett takes a step forward, his hands balling into fists, but Dean throws a hand up, stopping his friend in his tracks.
“I don’t need you to fight my battles, Graham,” Dean says, never taking his eyes off McMahon.
Dean turns fully around, facing the wide receiver. He crosses his arms over his bare chest. He doesn’t look angry anymore. He looks amused. And somehow, that’s so much worse.
“You know, McMahon,” Dean says smoothly, his voice carrying perfectly over the background noise. “I actually owe you a thank you.”
McMahon frowns, clearly thrown off script. “What?”
“I said thank you,” Dean repeats, a sharp, patronizing smile touching his lips. “Because if you weren’t such a loudmouth, incompetent idiot, I never would have found her.”
McMahon’s face flushes a dark, ugly red. “Watch your mouth, Di Laurentis.”
“No, you watch mine,” Dean steps off the grass and onto the concrete, closing the distance until he is standing a foot away from McMahon. He has a solid two inches of height on the football player, and he uses every bit of it, looking down his nose with absolute disdain.
“I tried to give you the benefit of the doubt, man,” Dean says loudly, making sure the surrounding crowd can hear every single word. “I really did. I thought, ‘Hey, maybe he’s just new at this. Maybe he doesn’t know where the clit is.’ But then I spent some time with Y/N.”
You cover your mouth with your hand, your eyes widening as a few sorority girls in the background gasp.
“And let me tell you,” Dean continues, his tone conversational but his eyes lethal. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with her. In fact, she is perfectly, beautifully responsive. Explosive, actually.”
McMahon’s jaw drops. “You’re lying.”
“I don’t need to lie,” Dean laughs, a harsh, dismissive sound. “She came three times, McMahon. Three. In the span of an hour. And the only thing she needed was a guy who actually knows what the hell he’s doing.”
The silence on the lawn is absolute. A few frat guys in the back actually let out low whistles of impressed shock.
“So,” Dean concludes, leaning in so close that McMahon actually takes a half-step backward. “The fact that you couldn’t get her off? The fact that you blamed her in front of half the campus? That isn’t her failing, buddy. That is a pathetic testament to your own sexual inadequacy.”
McMahon opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. He looks completely, utterly humiliated. His two buddies have actually taken a step away from him, clearly not wanting to be associated with the collateral damage.
Dean isn’t finished.
He drops the amusement. The lethal seriousness returns, dark and unyielding.
“If I ever hear you talk about her again,” Dean says, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous gravel. “If I ever hear you say her name, or look at her, or breathe in her general direction … I will not use my words next time. I will put you on the ground. Are we clear?”
McMahon swallows hard. He looks around at the massive crowd staring at him, judging him, laughing at him. He looks back at Dean, the reality of the situation finally sinking in.
He doesn’t say a word. He just turns on his heel and stalks away down the sidewalk, his friends trailing awkwardly behind him.
The crowd immediately erupts into whispers and laughter. Someone starts a slow clap that ripples through the hockey team.
Dean completely ignores them. He turns his back on the crowd and walks straight back to you.
You are sitting on the hood of the Jeep, staring at him in absolute awe. The lingering anxiety that McMahon’s appearance had sparked is completely gone. In its place is a rush of pure, unadulterated affection.
No one has ever stood up for you like that. No one has ever publicly, unapologetically claimed you.
Dean stops between your knees again. He looks a little flushed, the tension slowly draining out of his shoulders. He looks up at you, suddenly looking a little unsure.
“Was that too much?” He asks quietly. “I know you don’t like a scene, but I couldn’t just let him-”
You cut him off by grabbing the sides of his face and kissing him.
It’s not a sweet kiss. It is desperate, hot, and entirely public. You pour every ounce of gratitude and desire you have into it, your tongue tangling with his. Dean lets out a rough sound of surprise before his arms wrap tightly around your waist, hauling you flush against his chest, lifting you slightly off the hood of the car.
The crowd around you actually cheers, but you barely hear them.
You pull back, resting your forehead against his. You are both breathing heavy, smiling like idiots.
“That was perfect,” you whisper.
“Yeah?” Dean’s green eyes shine with relief and happiness.
“Yeah. Though you just ruined that man’s reputation forever.”
“He ruined it himself. I just provided the facts.” Dean smirks, rubbing his thumb over your hip bone. “Besides. I told him the truth. You are explosive.”
You swat his shoulder, laughing as a blush covers your cheeks. “Shut up and go wash a car, Di Laurentis. You still have an hour on the clock.”
Dean groans dramatically, dropping his head onto your shoulder. “You are a cruel, demanding taskmaster. I’m being exploited for my body.”
“You love it,” you remind him.
“I do,” Dean admits softly, turning his head to press a lingering kiss to the bare skin of your neck. “I really, really do.”
He pulls back, giving you one last, breathtaking smile.
“I’ll pick you up at seven,” Dean promises. “Wear something that’s easy to take off.”
“Dean!”
He just laughs, a bright, booming sound that echoes over the noise of the car wash. He winks, turns around, and jogs back over to grab his sponge, immediately shoving Logan out of the way to take over a sports car.
You sit on the hood of the Jeep, watching him work.
You think about the girl you were a week ago — convinced you were broken, resigned to a life of quiet disappointment, carrying the weight of incompetent men on your shoulders.
And then you look at Dean. Arrogant, charming, relentless, and fiercely protective. The guy who saw a wall and decided to tear it down with his bare hands.
You take a sip of your lemonade, a soft, permanent smile etched onto your face.
content: some various imagines of the main 3 iwtv men
a/n: my first actual post that isn’t just my internal monologue lol. i have decided i will take the finding of iwtv x reader stuff into my own hands :] enjoy <3
Lestat ˖ ݁♬⋆.˚𝄞
as trope-y as it is, yes, lestat is possessive. i mean if you stray even a little bit, he’s appearing and wrapping an arm around your waist (he heard your hearts dancing). the fresher a couple you are, the more extreme this trait is, but over time, he will grow to trust you, and learn that you won’t leave him.
you are a treasure to him. he invents pet names for you, French and English: mon chou, my rose, ma cœur, my moonlight
if you found him during s3 (tvl), he takes you on tour with him. not only that, if you ask, he’ll ramble about his musical mastery to you and if you listen even a little, oh, he’s never letting you go.
he introduces you to people, yes, but dotes on you when you’re with them, constantly reminding people your deal. “Yes, this is mon cher, my beloved, who I would like to keep around for quite some time. I’ve been very amused these past few months.”
if you meet him back in the theatre, he puts on a show for you. his spirit animal is most likely a peacock
you sit in the front rows at shows, boxes if you’d like, and yes, you two have hidden kissing time in there
he tastes sweet. his lips always soft and well-kempt. when you kiss, sometimes you feel his fangs poke against your bottom lip. if you’re a vampire, he feels the same from you, but loves it. sometimes, you hear him exhale a bit more forcefully than the times before as he pushes up on your fangs, and you both groan softly as blood mixes with your saliva.
if you’re a human, he can’t get enough of your blood. beaucoup des petits coups occur, but you like it as much as he does. you love squirming as he feeds on you just as much as he loves listening to your heart pound in your chest, knowing it’s all for him.
lestat is a hugger. you heard me. bear hugs, especially the ones when you wrap your arms around his neck, those are the ones he likes. he’s also a big fan of making out, even if it doesn’t lead to anything. really, he bathes in any attention you give him, and will subtly always be seeking it out. your gaze is warmer than spotlights on his skin.
he treats you like his personal monarch, it’s true. you are cared for, even if he keeps his secrets.
Louis ⋆˚₊ 𖤓☽˚.⋆
you and louis are equals. he makes sure that is clear throughout your entire relationship
he rarely calls you pet names, preferring to simply shorten your name, sometimes down to a first initial
if you meet him in New Orleans, he is very standoffish as he finds his way in the vampire world. he is not quick to warm up to you, but when he does, he shows it in his own, quiet ways.
he brings you gifts, stays with you rather than wandering off, fetches food (human, human, or otherwise) for you. And when you thank him, his bright turquoise eyes sparkle, betraying his humble “it’s no problem.”
if you meet him after his reformation/breakup with armand (s3 tvl), he is notably calmer. brow always relaxed, an easy smile resting on his lips that only grows when he sees you
a little random: louis is not very physical. will he give you a hug when you need it, a routine kiss before leaving your home? yes. but will he actively seek cuddles before bed or some time with you in his lap? not particularly, but he won’t complain if you initiate it.
his public behavior with you is very cordial. he’ll kiss your hand, hold the door for you, wrap an arm around your shoulders and give you a squeeze when you laugh. it’s not overwhelming — he’d never want you to feel caged — just enough to let you know he’s there, and he’s got you.
louis is a LOYAL man. wouldn’t look twice at anyone else, especially after lestat and antoinette.
if you are a human, he fears drinking from you. he won’t unless you ask him to, and even then you’ll still most likely need to ask multiple times. when he does drink from you, his restraint takes a great deal of difficulty to perform, as no one’s blood tastes as rich and divine as yours. maybe it’s because you’re special, or maybe it’s because you’re special to him.
louis never says he loves you, but knowing him, you know he does.
Armand .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚
armand is your personal little devil (and you are the devil’s minion……. maybe ;])
bonus points if you are a very golden-retriever type of lover, as he is a pure black cat
armand is possessive, but you may not realize until much later. he struggles at seeing the line between love and obsession, something you could help him handle.
if you meet him during his time as a coven leader, you are his coven, too.
he visits you often if you don’t live in the theater with the others. nightly walks, shared cigarettes (unless you don’t smoke, in which case he will stop the habit but not mention it).
he finds it hard not to get into your head. it soothes him, hearing your thoughts, especially when they’re about him.
armand is also not very touchy, but if given affection, will only return it if there is no one else around. PDA isn’t his favorite, contradictory to his jealous nature
his lips are often chapped. you grow so affectionate towards him that you stop minding the rasp of them against your own, though.
when you kiss, you’ve learned he kisses harder if you play with his hair, which is a treat. it’s soft, and you may toy with the curls in any way you’d like (maybe even give ‘em a little pull, keep him on his toes lmao)
make no mistake, he is your overseer, whether you’re watching him or not. those who harm you, you never see again. those you favor, he suddenly knows everything about.
if you’re a human, he will refuse to turn you, but tell you everything about vampire life. he does not like to hold (certain) things from you.
after many years of companionship, he may open up to you about his past. pro tip: do what your gut tells you in the moment: hug him as tightly as you can and tell him you love him, and let him sit with that.
he will say it back the next night when he comes to see you. after that, he’ll start smiling more and more than he usually does.
(ending a/n: sorry this is a little rushed, I’m getting impatient to cook up some dom!reader imagines 🤤. this is my first tumblr-posted cooking so feedback and suggestion are welcomed. thank you for reading!!)
𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔: loustat x human female reader, italics are actions and thoughts
[ 𝑹𝑬𝑸𝑼𝑬𝑺𝑻𝑺 𝑶𝑷𝑬𝑵 ]
-𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒔𝒂𝒊𝒅 𝒊𝒕'𝒔 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒖𝒕-
"Just one touch, one touch, one touch too much..." Trailing off, singing as he plays a few notes, trying his hardest to get this song to come together. yet another night at the piano trying to formulate this song. "Ugh, no. Awful." It's for you, not that he'd say that to you that, nor to Louis, but it's rather obvious the way he pours himself into everything he writes.
Louis is where he normally is lying on the sofa reading a book with his legs crossed, his fingers moving over the freyed edges of a blood he's read a hundred times over.
You pressed your face against the cool wood of the threshold as you get home, listening to him even though he's asked you not to. "You know I can hear you, Ma Ange. (My Angel) I told you, it's not ready."
"You're struggling. I can help."
"I assure you, I don't think so. What do you know of writing music?"
"I don't know? I sing at a speakeasy almost nightly, but how would that make me qualified?" Smirking and heading upstairs to take a warm shower after such a long night, still only in your coat and the very scandelously short fringe dress you have on.
In an instant, you could've heard a single drop of blood drip down onto the wood floor; it's that quiet. Lestat's pale blue eyes turned to Louis with confusion, only to be mirrored by Louis's same expression. "She's been...How did we not notice this?"
"I mean, we did promise not to pry into her thoughts when we agreed on a human companion." Uncrossing his legs, sitting up, putting a bookmark on the page and closes it. He gets up with the intent of snooping in the coat you just put on the rack, hoping to see where you've been.
"Yes, but if I knew she was a singer, I would've agreed to having her around much quicker. Maybe I wouldn't have seen her like a pet for so long." Looking at his lyrics with even more annoyance as he tries yet again to get the words he's looking for onto the page. He hears her singing quietly in the shower, something he notices before but didn't pay much attention to; neither of them had.
"Our girl's been singing at the Dahlia." Louis whistles before speaking as he holds the speakeasy's card between his pointer and middle finger; Lestat's eyes almost pop out of his head. No one gets into the Dahlia without an invite; you have to know someone who knows someone who knows someone.
"Even if it's true, that place is more than it's fair share of pretentious." Lestat pretends not to let it affect him, but he is truly proud of you and a little jealous. It means you aren't just a good singer but a wonderful performer too.
"Do you think she'd let us come watch her sing? We can make it into...ya know a night?" Louis asks, a bit excited, with a smile. He knows how Lestat loves a show, and they definitely put on shows at the Dahlia, plus it's easier to moonlight as a couple of normal straight men when they go out with you in public.
"I suppose we could ask her; I am dying to for a proper night out. I can only handle the side eyes for so long."
"Les, Baby, can you get me a towel? I forgot to put a new one in here." You shout from the bathroom upstairs, steam rolling out of the crack in the door.
"I can talk to her about it today; it's my turn to have her in my coffin anyway." Lestat claims before heading to the washroom to grab you a fresh towel, even as Louis gets onto him.
"You just had her in there yesterday!"
"Yes, but you had her in there two nights in a row a couple of days ago."
"Only because you hurt her feelings!"
Your soft wet feet pad down the stairs as they both start to argue louder and louder, your fingers leaving a small trail of water on the railing. "Both of you, enough. I'll sleep in my own bed if you two don't stop bickering." Reaching out to grab the towel Lestat has in his hand, glancing over to see the card in Louis's hand.
"Don't look so surprised, I sing in the shower all the time. I'll see if I can't get you guys in if you're interested and yes, I've been evesdropping." Gently toweling your body off infront of them so the floor doesn't get anymore soaked it and it's nothing they haven't seen before. "...and Louis, rules are rules regardless of the reasoning, Mon Amor. Fair is fair." You kiss him softly to try to keep them both civil before heading upstairs to get dressed, both of them shamelessly staring at your ass as you ascend the stairs.
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph..." Lestat's eyes follow you even further, like a fish on a hook. A smile on his face like he's won the lottery. "I told you, Louis."
𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒕: You accidentally trigger their PTSD/Past (louis, lestat, armand and young daniel)
𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔: gender neutral x reader, italics are actions and thoughts
[ 𝑹𝑬𝑸𝑼𝑬𝑺𝑻𝑺 𝑶𝑷𝑬𝑵 ]
-𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒔𝒂𝒊𝒅, 𝒊𝒕'𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒖𝒕-
𝑳𝑬𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑻 𝑫𝑬 𝑳𝑰𝑶𝑵𝑪𝑶𝑼𝑹𝑻: You got angry after an argument and left. You didn't tell him where you were going or if you'd be back, and once he calmed down, then synapses started to fire in his brain telling him "you left," "you're gone forever", "you didn't love him," "you're never coming back." The whole room felt like it just might swallow him whole, like he's suffocating.
You could hear his thoughts easily from where you had gone, now instantly worried. You didn't mean to scare him or worry him, you only needed a bit of space to calm yourself from your own anxiety.
"Les, breathe." He hears you reach out to him, and it helps shock him a bit out of the spiral he's leading down. "I'm not leaving you, I'd never leave you. I just need a few minutes for our tempers to cool...I promise, I'll be back in half an hour...not a minute later. Okay?"
"You promise?" His thoughts reached back at you like hands grasping at a ghost they so desperately wanted to pull back into the real world. "You promise me?"
"I promise, Les. Just take a few breaths and let me do the same. I'm coming back, I'll always come back. I love you." His heart leapt as he heard you say you love him, and he felt like he might finally be able to catch his breath, sitting up straighter so maybe he can take a full breath. Lestat closes his eyes and takes a full breath, taking deep breaths til you return, only opening his eyes til he hears the doorknob turn. In an instant, before you can even get the door fully open, he has his arms around you. "I love you too, I love you. I'm sorry."
𝑳𝑶𝑼𝑰𝑺 𝑫𝑬 𝑷𝑶𝑰𝑵𝑻𝑬 𝑫𝑼 𝑳𝑨𝑪: You had brought home something you found while antiquing and such here in New Orleans, you're human. He never thought he'd see himself with a human again, but it's nice to be "normal" for once after being immortal for so long. He'll tell you eventually, but for now, for both of you, it's best you think he's also human.
"Look at this, this could be your great great uncles or something." You held out a photo; unbeknownst to you, it is him, him and Paul. His whole body froze, before he grabbed your wrist and pulled you to him and demanded you tell him where you got this.
"I- Louis, it's just the antique store, I went through a box of old photos. I like looking through them, giving remembrance to people probably lost to history. I've brought many of them home, I try to learn their stories, learn who they are."
"Great, so you're chasing ghosts?" He grips your wrist harder than he means to, which causes you to pull away from him, scared. He can see it in your eyes, how scared you look, and he backs up too. "Hey, I- I didn't mean anything by it, I- I guess I have to tell you now, but let me get you some ice, okay?" He crosses the room to the kitchen to grab some ice, cursing himself mentally as he makes his way back to you. Watching you try to calm yourself as much as he is. Carefully wrapping the ice around your wrist, he begins to tell you the story of how it all began, how he became a vampire.
𝑨𝑹𝑴𝑨𝑵𝑫: He'd pushed himself off the bed within a blink of an eye. Normally, sex wasn't anything for him to worry about, but occasionally he'd get flashbacks of the brothel, and it would overwhelm him. Your eyes shot open with confusion, then worry, as you saw the look on his face, the memories playing in his eyes like a film.
Quickly, you get up and grab your robe, putting it on before slowly and carefully making your way to him. You grabbed his robe for him as well. Armand sits there staring at the wall, completely dissociated and lost in a memory. Covering his naked body with his robe, you kneel beside him.
"Beloved?" You gently run your knuckles over his cheek, trying to get him to come out of whatever bad memory he's been sucked into. "Armand...My Love? ...Arun." Your lips carefully whisper the word, afraid to startle him. "It's okay, you're here with me." You gently rub his back as dark red tears start to pour down his cheeks, carefully bringing his face to your chest so he can hear your heartbeat. Armand closes his eyes, his hands gripping at your robe as he tries to calm himself.
Slowly, he does calm, but he doesn't tell you why or what happened; he never wants to let anyone know his past. It's not that he doesn't trust; it's that everyone he's met, trusted or not, has thrown things into his face. You understand and never try to pry, just sitting with him now, gently threading your fingers through his hair as a silent promise to never leave him.
𝑫𝑨𝑵𝑰𝑬𝑳 𝑴𝑶𝑳𝑳𝑶𝒀 (𝒀𝑶𝑼𝑵𝑮): You'd slammed something in your anger, something you'd never done, but he wouldn't stop talking and following you, and you needed space apart so both of you could think, but like always he needed the last word.
As soon as your hands slammed onto the table, his mind flashed up something that felt so real but something he doesn't even remotely remember, a man with beautiful golden eyes and tan skin lifting him in the air with his mind? He paused and stopped following you, a frightened feeling in his chest when he saw the man, but he tried to push it off. Daniel sits down, stops pushing you into this argument, the both of you sitting for a bit to cool off.
When you come back, his head is in his hands, and he's again tugging at his hair like he has been when he's stressed or confused. "Danny, stop, Baby." Your hand finds his and makes him stop; he looks up for a moment, pressing his face into your stomach again, trying to push the memories or dream out of his mind.
His nightmares get bad around this time of this man? His throat aches like someone's bit into it; the scar on his throat he swears was from some stranger who had a bad trip. Something about it causes his blood pressure to spike, but he closes his eyes and breathes you in, bringing himself back to now, back to you.
-> 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕
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