Dean’s girl ⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°

twenty something writer full of aries energy and caffeine

[mermaid-sky-writes]

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼

𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓎 𝑜𝒻 𝓌𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝓃𝑜 𝒷𝑒𝑔𝒾𝓃𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓃𝑜 𝑒𝓃𝒹

I like to write about songs in my free time, daydreaming about being at the beach all the time.

My favorites: Off Campus Series, Avatar (James Cameron), Divergent

Note: I mostly write about off campus (specifically Dean but I can try to write about other characters)

you can send a song request and I’ll try to write a one shot about it~

Masterlist

Short stories Taxi (Dean Di Laurentis) part one part two part three part four epilogue

The Road trip (Dean Di Laurentis) part one part two part three epilogue

The one night stand (Dean Di Laurentis) part one part two part three part four

One shots Close as strangers - Dean Di Laurentis x reader Begin Again - Dean Di Laurentis x reader Red - Dean Di Laurentis x reader Deja vu - Dean Di Laurentis x reader Bad idea, right? - Dean Di Laurentis x reader U + me = <3 - Dean Di Laurentis x reader The bet - Dean Di Laurentis x reader Give Your Heart A Break - Dean Di Laurentis x reader

Long Stories The playboy experiment - Dean Di Laurentis x reader coming soon

[mermaid-sky-writes]

The bet (one shot)

summary: Dean decides he wants you to fall in love with him pairing: Dean Di Laurentis x reader content: romance, falling in love, a little angsty (I think), happy ending

inspiration: Unpreditctable by 5 seconds of summer (preview of the song at the end of the story)

A/N: sooo I’ve been listening to 5sos on repeat and I’m so excited that I’m seeing them live next week so I decided to write something short about a song I really like, hope you like it <3

Dean Di Laurentis did not do feelings. He did hockey, he did tailored suits, and he did a revolving door of beautiful women who understood the rules: one night, no strings, and absolutely no breakfast.

Until you.

You were a friend of a friend’s cousin, staying at Briar University for a three-week summer intensive. You didn't know he was a campus legend. You didn’t care that he was filthy rich, and you most definitely weren't impressed by his "perfectly sculpted jawline," which you had affectionately referred to as "structurally adequate."

It was infuriating. It was intoxicating.

"You’re staring, Di Laurentis," you said, not looking up from your laptop. You two were sitting on the plush leather couch in his living room. You had commandeered his coffee table for your research papers.

"I’m observing," Dean corrected, flashing his trademark, panty-melting smirk. He leaned back, stretching his arms along the sofa. "I’m an academic at heart. And right now, my thesis is on why you’re ignoring me."

You finally looked up, your dark eyes sparkling with amusement. "Because your ego is a localized gravity well, Dean. If I get too close, I’ll be sucked into orbit. I have a paper due."

"Let's make a bet," Dean said, a dangerous spark in his eyes. "One week. I bet I can make you fall for me. Real feelings. If I win, you take me to that fancy gala your family is hosting next month as your official date. If I lose... I’ll do your laundry for the rest of the summer. And I won't hit on you again."

You arched an eyebrow, looking at him like he was a particularly amusing puzzle. "You? Do laundry? You don't even know where the machine is."

"I'll learn. Deal?"

You smiled, a slow, devastating curve of your lips. "Deal."

(...)

Dean threw himself into it with the intensity of a Stanley Cup playoff. He didn't just bring your coffee; he found out your exact, hyper-specific order from a bakery three miles off campus. He didn't just offer to study with you; he actually read your boring-ass syllabus so he could quiz you.

But the funny thing about playing a game is that sometimes, the rules change without you noticing.

By day four, Dean wasn't acting. When you laughed at his terrible jokes—the ones he usually used just to fill the silence—his chest felt tight. When you casually reached over and stole a fry from his plate, his heart did a weird, unathletic flip.

Then came the storm.

A massive summer thunderstorm knocked out the power to the entire grid, plunging his house into pitch blackness. Dean found you in the kitchen, illuminated only by lightning flashes, clutching your phone with white knuckles.

"Hey," he said softly, his playful demeanor dropping instantly. "You okay?"

You flinched as a crack of thunder rattled the windows. "I’m fine. Just... I hate storms. A tree hit my house when I was a kid. Silly, right?"

"Not silly at all," Dean said. He walked over, his large frame instantly blocking out the intimidating shadows of the room. He didn't crack a joke. He didn't try a pickup line. He just reached out, taking your trembling hands in his. "Come here."

He led you to his room, pulling his massive, ridiculously comfortable duvet off the bed and creating a fortress on the floor. He lit a few three-wick candles—scents he usually bought just to make his room smell expensive—and sat down next to you.

"Talk to me," he murmured.

For the next two hours, the walls came down. You didn't talk to Dean the Playboy; you talked to Dean the boy who felt the crushing weight of his father’s expectations, the boy who used charm as a shield so nobody would look close enough to see his flaws. And you opened up, too—sharing your fears of failing, your hidden insecurities, the ghost of an ex who had made you feel small.

Dean looked at you, truly looked at you, and realized with a wave of terrifying clarity: I'm losing the bet. Because I’m the one falling.

The air in the room shifted. The vulnerability in your eyes turned into something heavy, dark, and sweet. The thunder outside was a distant memory compared to the roaring pulse in Dean’s ears.

"Dean," you whispered, your gaze dropping to his lips.

"Yeah?" his voice was rough, devoid of its usual smooth cadence.

"Shut up."

He didn't need to be told twice. Dean leaned in, his hand cupping the back of your neck, his thumb tracing your jawline. When his lips met yours, it wasn't the practiced, smooth kiss of a guy who knew exactly what he was doing. It was hungry. Desperate. Fully alive.

You gasped into his mouth, your hands gripping his shirt, pulling him closer until there was no space left between you. Dean groaned, shifting his weight to press you gently into the mattress of blankets.

Every touch was electric. He kissed his way down your jaw, tracing the sensitive line of your throat while his hands slid under your oversized t-shirt, his warm palms searing against your bare skin.

"You're undoing me," he muttered against your skin, his fingers fumbling with the button of your shorts—a hilarious contrast to his usual smooth execution. He was actually trembling.

"Good," you breathed, arching into his touch. "Less talking, Di Laurentis."

The rest of the night was a blur of tangled limbs, whispered praises, and a fierce, uninhibited passion that left Dean completely wrecked. For the first time in his life, he didn't want the night to end. He didn't want the sun to come up.

(...)

Dean woke up to the smell of rain-washed air and the empty side of the bed.

He bolted upright, panic spiking in his chest. He threw on a pair of sweatpants and ran downstairs, finding you in the kitchen, fully dressed, packing your laptop into your bag. The atmosphere was ice-cold.

"Hey," Dean said, taking a step toward you. "Where are you going?"

You didn't look at him. "I'm heading back to my dorm. The power's back on."

"What's wrong?" Dean's heart hammered against his ribs. The vulnerability from last night felt like a trap now. "Is this about last night? Because that wasn't—"

"Part of the bet?" you interrupted, your voice cracking slightly as you finally looked at him. There were tears shining in your eyes, and it cut Dean deeper than any hockey slash ever could. "You won, Dean. Congratulations. You proved you can get anyone you want. You can stop acting like you care now."

Dean froze. "Acting? You think that was an act?"

"You made a bet to make me fall for you!" you cried out, a tear escaping down your cheek. "And like an idiot, I forgot who you are. You're Dean Di Laurentis. You don't do real. You do conquests. I’m not going to be another trophy on your shelf."

Before he could speak, you grabbed your bag and walked out, slamming the front door behind you.

(...)

For two days, Dean was a ghost. His roommates avoided him because the usually cheerful, arrogant Dean was currently radiating pure, unadulterated misery. He didn't practice. He didn't sleep.

He realized he didn't care about winning a bet. He cared about you.

On the third day, he marched across campus to your dorm building. He didn't care who saw him. He carried a massive plastic laundry basket under one arm and a giant jug of detergent under the other.

He knocked on your door. When you opened it, your eyes widened. You looked tired, your nose slightly pink.

"What are you doing here?" you whispered.

Dean didn't say a word. He dropped the laundry basket, stepped into your room, and kicked the door shut behind him.

"I lost," Dean said, his voice raw.

"What?"

"I lost the bet," he repeated, stepping closer until you had to tilt your head up to look at him. "The rules said I had to make you fall for me. But I failed miserably, because I’m the one who fell. Completely. Terrifyingly. I don't give a damn about a gala, and I don't give a damn about my ego. I care about you."

You stared at him, your lips parting in shock. "Dean..."

"I'm an idiot," he pressed on, the words tumbling out of him in a desperate rush. "I used to think being a playboy was easy because nothing hurt. But this? Seeing you cry? Knowing I caused it? This hurts like hell. I don't want anyone else. I just want you. So... I'm here to do your laundry. For the rest of the summer. And the rest of my life, if you'll let me."

A tense silence filled the room. Then, a tiny smirk tugged at the corner of your lips.

"You don't even know how to separate whites from colors, Di Laurentis."

"I bought Shout ColorCatchers," Dean said solemnly, holding up the box like a peace offering. "I Googled it."

A wet laugh escaped you, and the tension broke. You stepped into his space, wrapping your arms around his waist and burying your face in his chest. Dean let out a massive breath he felt like he’d been holding for days, squeezing you tightly against him.

"You're a ridiculous man," you mumbled into his shirt.

"But I'm your ridiculous man," Dean grinned, kissing the top of your head. "Now, seriously... how do I use fabric softener?"

[mermaid-sky-writes]

The one night stand (part three)

part one, part two

pairing: dean dilaurentis x reader content: falling for a stranger, one night stand, angst

inspiration: One night by Ed Sheeran (preview of the song at the end of the story)

"I’m going to miss you!" Allie gives me one last hug, squeezing me so hard my bones crunch.

"I’ll miss you too!" I reply with a sigh.

"Call me as soon as you're at the Olympic Committee," she points at me. "And I want thousands of photos and videos of the building, okay?"

I nod, and just then, I hear my train announced over the loudspeaker. It was 11:00 AM, and I had a horrible headache. I wasn’t sure if it was a hangover from the alcohol or an emotional hangover from everything that had happened. After my failed attempt at a simple "one-night stand," I had tried to close my eyes and finally get some sleep, but I couldn't. My mind kept spinning, replaying the whole situation, thinking about the thousands of possibilities I could have had if only I’d been braver—if I had dared to let Dean be more than just a one-night guy. All these thoughts kept me awake until almost 8:00 AM. As a result, I only managed to get three hours of sleep before Allie abruptly woke me up because I had to catch the train before 11:00.

Now, I looked completely disheveled, with prominent dark circles hidden beneath a pair of oversized sunglasses, feeling like my head was going to explode at any moment. I say goodbye to Allie one last time and swipe my card through the turnstile. Once inside, I look for my seat, and when I finally find it, I put on my travel pillow and close my eyes. I leave my sunglasses on since I can't tolerate even the slightest bit of light right now.

The trip isn't actually that long, but that doesn't stop my mind from racing a mile a minute through the memories of last night. I couldn't stop wondering if someday, by some coincidence or a cruel twist of fate, I would run into Dean again. And if that happened, how was I supposed to act around him now? I had no idea. This was exactly what Allie meant about not forming bonds or learning too much about the other person because now, I can't stop remembering that his favorite food is Italian and his favorite city is New York. I sigh out loud and put on my headphones in an attempt to clear my mind of that damnably attractive stranger who refuses to leave my head. I bet Allie wasn't going through anything like this. She actually knew how to handle fleeting flings. As the first chords of a James Bay song begin to play, I take a deep breath and finally manage to fall asleep.

I wasn't really sure how many hours of sleep I got, or if it had actually been just a matter of seconds, but by the time a voice announced that we were arriving at the station, I didn't feel as out of it and exhausted as I did when I boarded. While people scrambled to grab their belongings and exit, I pull out my phone and see a message from Andrew, my new agent, informing me that a car would be waiting to take me to a hotel. I would be staying there tonight since dorm rooms hadn't been assigned yet, but starting tomorrow, I would practically live in the dorms alongside the other Olympic athletes.

I quickly exit the station, dragging my suitcase behind me. The station was packed with people, but I still manage to spot a short man holding a sign with my name on it. I smile and wave politely before heading towards the car sent by the committee. The car takes us to a hotel that, according to Andrew, wasn’t too far from the gym, which would make commuting easy the next day. Plus, my teammates would be staying at the exact same hotel. When we arrive, the driver helps me carry my suitcase, and once I am in the lobby, I spot a brown-haired man and a woman I recognize instantly from a distance.

"Over here!" both of them call out at the same time with excitement.

"Hello!" I smile shyly. Kirsty Coventry, the head of the Olympic Committee, recognizes me immediately.

"You have no idea how happy I am right now," she says, nodding at me. "I knew from the very first moment I saw you that you would be part of the new Olympic athletes."

"We both knew," Andrew interrupts. "And that's why we're so excited to start your training tomorrow."

"How was your trip?" From the very first second, I could tell how sweet and motherly Kirsty would be.

"It was fine." That... wasn't entirely true. If I could categorize my trip as "fine" after spending the whole time thinking about Dean, our night together, and the opportunity I threw in the trash, then sure, it was fine.

"I’m glad," she smiles. "Let's get you your room key, and tomorrow, once we're all at the gym, I'll hand over your own dorm. You can rest there, unpack your things, and all of that while we start preparing for the Olympics. Isn't it exciting?" She lets out a little squeal.

"It is," I smile excitedly. It was exactly at that moment that it finally sank in: I was actually about to become an Olympic athlete.

"Alright, all set," Andrew smiles at me. "Here you go. Room 109."

I thank them both, and they accompany me in the elevator to my room. We run into a few other athletes along the way.

When we reach my room, Kirsty tells me to get some rest since tomorrow is the first official day of training. We would be making a lot of adjustments and spending the entire day trying to get everything right, given that we had a strict deadline to complete the first presentations before the Olympics. I thank her and Andrew again and begin to settle into my room. The first thing I do is pull out my pajamas and a towel to take a shower, and then I send a text and a photo of my room to Allie, who replies instantly with a photo of herself faking tears of joy. When I step into the shower, I do so with a massive smile. My life was about to change, but I knew my friendship with Allie would remain intact. Maybe after the debut things wouldn't be the same and we wouldn't be able to grab coffee peacefully like we used to, but that was just part of the process.

I get out of the shower, and just then, a knock on the door startles me. I quickly throw on one of the hotel's oversized, plush robes and rush to the door. Before opening it, I ask, "Who is it?"

"Andrew," his voice confirms.

I open the door and am instantly greeted with a smile. Andrew looks a bit more dressed up than he did a few minutes ago, and I can smell his cologne. He seemed ready to go out somewhere.

"Hi," I greet him. "What's going on?"

"I know Kirsty and I told you to rest," he clasps his hands together apologetically, "but just a few minutes ago, the other guy who will be debuting with you arrived. Since you two don't know each other yet, we think it might be a good idea if the four of us have dinner. Plus, I think it's crucial for you two to get to know each other well—you know, since you'll be spending a lot of time training and doing interviews together."

"Sounds good to me," I nod. Truthfully, I had no idea who they had chosen to debut in my Olympic division. I had heard a rumor or two about which guys had been selected, but nothing was confirmed. And Andrew was right; getting to know him was important. Otherwise, how else could we do all those interviews and sports campaigns together?

"Perfect!" he says excitedly. "Kirsty and I will be waiting for you in the hotel restaurant in ten minutes."

"Alright, see you there," I say goodbye and close the door behind me.

I walk over to my suitcase and start looking for something to wear. I wanted something casual, but not too casual, since Andrew seemed to have put some effort into getting ready, so I needed to do the same. I decide on a simple black sweater, jeans, and black ankle boots. I use the blow dryer to dry my hair and finish by creating soft waves. To contrast with my neutral clothes, I decide to wear a bit more makeup than usual, and a few minutes later, I find myself riding the elevator down to the lobby.

For some reason, I feel my hands shaking. What would this guy be like? Would we get along? Could we become friends? I hoped so, since we would be sharing a lot of time together.

As I walk toward the restaurant, I spot Andrew and Kirsty already sitting at a table in the distance. I let the host at the entrance know I am joining them, and when he lets me pass, I head over to their table. Both greet me with a smile and ask me to take a seat. Next to me was an empty chair, probably meant for the guy who hadn't arrived yet.

"I can't wait for you to meet him," Kirsty smiles, trying to ease my nerves. "He’s a great guy, and I know you two are going to get along."

"I hope so," I reply sincerely.

"Oh, you will, believe me," she laughs.

Andrew orders our drinks and asks that we wait for the other guy before ordering dinner. The three of us chat for a bit about what we'll be working on tomorrow and the other athletes who will be teaming up for the ad campaigns. While Kirsty tells me about how the other athletes' trials went, I see Andrew stand up with a huge smile. Kirsty stops our conversation and looks behind me excitedly.

"I’m glad you made it," Andrew says. "Come, take a seat. There’s someone I want to introduce you to."

I turn my head to finally meet the person I would be debuting with, and in that exact moment, my heart stops. My hands are no longer shaking because my entire body is trembling now. This had to be a joke. No, it couldn't be true. This was not happening to me.

"Look Dean, this is her," Andrew speaks, completely oblivious to how pale we both suddenly turned. "You two will be debuting together."

I could swear my mouth dropped open and a gasp escaped my lips. It was him. It really was him again.

He was debuting with me?

Holy shit.

I stare at him in silence, and he does the exact same. The smile he had on his face has faded slightly, and now he looks just as confused as I am, if not more. He stands frozen next to the chair while Andrew and Kirsty watch us, waiting for one of us to say something or for Dean to sit down.

"Guys?" Kirsty calls out to us, a bit curious about our reactions.

I shake my head quickly and stand up. I had almost forgotten how tall he was. His piercing eyes scan my face, but he still says nothing.

"Nice to meet you," I fake a smile and extend my hand towards him. Everything inside me hoped he would accept it so we could move on.

"Dean Di Laurentis," he murmurs.

Well, at this moment, I have to ask myself: what was I expecting? For him to react like the happiest guy in the world after seeing the girl who practically kicked him out of her apartment after spending the night together? Honestly, I couldn't blame him if he was upset about it.

"Didn't I tell you?" Andrew murmurs. "They're perfect!"

Awkwardly, I sit back down, feeling Dean do the same. I could feel how tense my back was and how my skin goosebumped just from having him a few inches away from me. He was dressed casually in a black hoodie, a chain around his neck, and a black baseball cap covering his hair. The whole look made him look so handsome—even more than I remembered. I don't realize I'm staring until I hear him clear his throat and arch an eyebrow. Well done, idiot, well done.

I quickly avert my gaze before Andrew or Kirsty notice, and then the two of them begin bombarding us with information about our schedules, training, and practically everything regarding our debut. "Our"—the word gives me chills. This achievement belonged to me and Dean. We were both the lead athletes. Both of us were about to spend a lot more than just one night together.

The dinner becomes incredibly awkward from the moment Dean and I have to sit next to each other. Fortunately, Andrew and Kirsty don't notice, but I know Dean does. He knows that right now I am losing my mind and that the only thing I want to do is run away from this dinner. When Kirsty excuses herself to attend to a committee matter and Andrew follows her, I want to hide under the table just to avoid having to face Dean again.

"So... you're on the committee," I say after a few minutes of a silence so horrible and uncomfortable that I have to force myself to speak. "I didn't know you were an Olympic athlete."

"You didn't ask," Dean replies, poking a piece of pasta with his fork.

"Maybe I forgot to," I murmur, shrugging.

"Or maybe you didn't want to know," he blurted out suddenly. "There aren't many things a girl wants to know about a one-night stand guy, right?"

I drop my fork onto the plate, causing a small clatter, and snap my head around to look at him.

"Excuse me?"

Dean doesn't turn to look at me, but I still wait for him to do so.

"Allie told Logan how those things work," he replies.

"What things?"

"That whole thing about picking a hot guy, bringing him back to the apartment, and then getting rid of him."

I feel my throat go dry. So that was what Dean thought of me now. That I was exactly like Allie. But he was wrong. I had tried to be like her, to play by her rules, but I couldn't. And the proof was that I hadn't stopped thinking about him since he left the apartment.

"That's not how things went," I say with a knot in my throat.

"No?" He finally turns to look at me, and his blue eyes burn into mine.

Well, yes, practically something like that had happened, but Dean was mistaken. And now I wasn't sure how I was going to make things right with him. This wasn't exactly my idea of trying to get along better with my partner.

Before I can say anything back, Andrew and Kirsty return, bringing the cold, uncomfortable silence back with them. The rest of the dinner continues the same way, with both of them talking to us about the Olympics and us nodding or listening intently without saying a word. When it's past 11:00 PM, Andrew indicates that we can leave, as we need to get plenty of rest to start the heavy workload tomorrow morning.

Relieved to leave that table and the electric current Dean made me feel, I say goodbye to both of them, murmur a simple "bye" to Dean to avoid raising suspicions, and head towards the elevator. Just as the doors are about to close, a pair of hands stops them. My stomach drops to the floor when I see it's Dean.

He steps in silently, presses the button for his floor—which was the same as mine—and just stands there in silence next to me.

"I know what you think of me," I say, catching him off guard, "but I don't play by Allie's rules."

Dean says nothing, and I feel a sharp pang settle in my chest.

"I don't know what's really bothering you, but I'm sorry, okay?" I pinch the bridge of my nose in frustration. "What happened on Saturday night... let's just forget it, alright? We're about to debut together and we don't... we don't need this." His gaze finally lands on me, watching me in silence. "I'm not asking us to be friends or anything, just... let's try to get along."

The elevator doors open, and I step out quickly, trying to reach my room as fast as possible.

"So, that's it, then?" I hear Dean's voice behind me, making me freeze in the hallway. "We just forget it and that's it." I don't turn around, but Dean continues. "I thought you said you weren't like your friend."

I close my eyes and open them as I turn around. What the hell was going on?

"And I'm not," I reply, crossing my arms. "What do I have to do to prove otherwise to you?"

Dean shrugs. "I don't know."

I sigh, watching Dean walk to his door and insert the key. Before turning away from me, he pauses and says, "All I know is that you weren't just a one-night stand to me. But I'm not sure if I was one to you."

Without letting me reply, he walks into his room and shuts the door so hard it actually makes me flinch.

Did he...? Did Dean...? No, there was no way. It was only a few hours... he couldn't have feelings for me.

But wasn't that exactly what I thought? That a person couldn't be with someone else without catching at least a shred of feelings?

Did I catch them with Dean? My mind drifts back to the jokes, anecdotes, and things we shared while eating in the middle of the night in my apartment. To the hours I spent unable to sleep because his beautiful smile and his eyes wouldn't leave my head. Was this what it felt like to start having feelings for someone? Did that mean Dean and I felt the same way?

I blink a few times, trying to make sure this wasn't a dream, that Dean and I were truly in the same place again. That Dean had actually confessed that what we had wasn't just a one-night thing. Once I am inside the safety of my hotel room, I collapse backwards onto the huge bed. My breathing was still a bit rapid, and I still hadn't fully processed everything that had happened in a single day.

I close my eyes, thinking about the days that still awaited me. Months by Dean's side. And today, which was barely the beginning of all that time together, had already been incredibly awkward. So what could I expect from the coming days? I could expect Dean and me to act like two adults and leave all those confused feelings behind—at least in front of the cameras and everyone else.

Even so, I can't help but wonder: would it be less awkward if Dean and I simply gave a chance to whatever it was that formed between us that night?

I hoped to get an answer to that as soon as possible. Otherwise, I wouldn't be able to survive all this time by Dean's side.

[mermaid-sky-writes]

part three is up 🩵 @999angellina @purplerainx1 @awesomebunnyqueen @justkeepingitpeachy

[mermaid-sky-writes]

The one night stand (part three)

part one, part two

pairing: dean dilaurentis x reader content: falling for a stranger, one night stand, angst

inspiration: One night by Ed Sheeran (preview of the song at the end of the story)

"I’m going to miss you!" Allie gives me one last hug, squeezing me so hard my bones crunch.

"I’ll miss you too!" I reply with a sigh.

"Call me as soon as you're at the Olympic Committee," she points at me. "And I want thousands of photos and videos of the building, okay?"

I nod, and just then, I hear my train announced over the loudspeaker. It was 11:00 AM, and I had a horrible headache. I wasn’t sure if it was a hangover from the alcohol or an emotional hangover from everything that had happened. After my failed attempt at a simple "one-night stand," I had tried to close my eyes and finally get some sleep, but I couldn't. My mind kept spinning, replaying the whole situation, thinking about the thousands of possibilities I could have had if only I’d been braver—if I had dared to let Dean be more than just a one-night guy. All these thoughts kept me awake until almost 8:00 AM. As a result, I only managed to get three hours of sleep before Allie abruptly woke me up because I had to catch the train before 11:00.

Now, I looked completely disheveled, with prominent dark circles hidden beneath a pair of oversized sunglasses, feeling like my head was going to explode at any moment. I say goodbye to Allie one last time and swipe my card through the turnstile. Once inside, I look for my seat, and when I finally find it, I put on my travel pillow and close my eyes. I leave my sunglasses on since I can't tolerate even the slightest bit of light right now.

The trip isn't actually that long, but that doesn't stop my mind from racing a mile a minute through the memories of last night. I couldn't stop wondering if someday, by some coincidence or a cruel twist of fate, I would run into Dean again. And if that happened, how was I supposed to act around him now? I had no idea. This was exactly what Allie meant about not forming bonds or learning too much about the other person because now, I can't stop remembering that his favorite food is Italian and his favorite city is New York. I sigh out loud and put on my headphones in an attempt to clear my mind of that damnably attractive stranger who refuses to leave my head. I bet Allie wasn't going through anything like this. She actually knew how to handle fleeting flings. As the first chords of a James Bay song begin to play, I take a deep breath and finally manage to fall asleep.

I wasn't really sure how many hours of sleep I got, or if it had actually been just a matter of seconds, but by the time a voice announced that we were arriving at the station, I didn't feel as out of it and exhausted as I did when I boarded. While people scrambled to grab their belongings and exit, I pull out my phone and see a message from Andrew, my new agent, informing me that a car would be waiting to take me to a hotel. I would be staying there tonight since dorm rooms hadn't been assigned yet, but starting tomorrow, I would practically live in the dorms alongside the other Olympic athletes.

I quickly exit the station, dragging my suitcase behind me. The station was packed with people, but I still manage to spot a short man holding a sign with my name on it. I smile and wave politely before heading towards the car sent by the committee. The car takes us to a hotel that, according to Andrew, wasn’t too far from the gym, which would make commuting easy the next day. Plus, my teammates would be staying at the exact same hotel. When we arrive, the driver helps me carry my suitcase, and once I am in the lobby, I spot a brown-haired man and a woman I recognize instantly from a distance.

"Over here!" both of them call out at the same time with excitement.

"Hello!" I smile shyly. Kirsty Coventry, the head of the Olympic Committee, recognizes me immediately.

"You have no idea how happy I am right now," she says, nodding at me. "I knew from the very first moment I saw you that you would be part of the new Olympic athletes."

"We both knew," Andrew interrupts. "And that's why we're so excited to start your training tomorrow."

"How was your trip?" From the very first second, I could tell how sweet and motherly Kirsty would be.

"It was fine." That... wasn't entirely true. If I could categorize my trip as "fine" after spending the whole time thinking about Dean, our night together, and the opportunity I threw in the trash, then sure, it was fine.

"I’m glad," she smiles. "Let's get you your room key, and tomorrow, once we're all at the gym, I'll hand over your own dorm. You can rest there, unpack your things, and all of that while we start preparing for the Olympics. Isn't it exciting?" She lets out a little squeal.

"It is," I smile excitedly. It was exactly at that moment that it finally sank in: I was actually about to become an Olympic athlete.

"Alright, all set," Andrew smiles at me. "Here you go. Room 109."

I thank them both, and they accompany me in the elevator to my room. We run into a few other athletes along the way.

When we reach my room, Kirsty tells me to get some rest since tomorrow is the first official day of training. We would be making a lot of adjustments and spending the entire day trying to get everything right, given that we had a strict deadline to complete the first presentations before the Olympics. I thank her and Andrew again and begin to settle into my room. The first thing I do is pull out my pajamas and a towel to take a shower, and then I send a text and a photo of my room to Allie, who replies instantly with a photo of herself faking tears of joy. When I step into the shower, I do so with a massive smile. My life was about to change, but I knew my friendship with Allie would remain intact. Maybe after the debut things wouldn't be the same and we wouldn't be able to grab coffee peacefully like we used to, but that was just part of the process.

I get out of the shower, and just then, a knock on the door startles me. I quickly throw on one of the hotel's oversized, plush robes and rush to the door. Before opening it, I ask, "Who is it?"

"Andrew," his voice confirms.

I open the door and am instantly greeted with a smile. Andrew looks a bit more dressed up than he did a few minutes ago, and I can smell his cologne. He seemed ready to go out somewhere.

"Hi," I greet him. "What's going on?"

"I know Kirsty and I told you to rest," he clasps his hands together apologetically, "but just a few minutes ago, the other guy who will be debuting with you arrived. Since you two don't know each other yet, we think it might be a good idea if the four of us have dinner. Plus, I think it's crucial for you two to get to know each other well—you know, since you'll be spending a lot of time training and doing interviews together."

"Sounds good to me," I nod. Truthfully, I had no idea who they had chosen to debut in my Olympic division. I had heard a rumor or two about which guys had been selected, but nothing was confirmed. And Andrew was right; getting to know him was important. Otherwise, how else could we do all those interviews and sports campaigns together?

"Perfect!" he says excitedly. "Kirsty and I will be waiting for you in the hotel restaurant in ten minutes."

"Alright, see you there," I say goodbye and close the door behind me.

I walk over to my suitcase and start looking for something to wear. I wanted something casual, but not too casual, since Andrew seemed to have put some effort into getting ready, so I needed to do the same. I decide on a simple black sweater, jeans, and black ankle boots. I use the blow dryer to dry my hair and finish by creating soft waves. To contrast with my neutral clothes, I decide to wear a bit more makeup than usual, and a few minutes later, I find myself riding the elevator down to the lobby.

For some reason, I feel my hands shaking. What would this guy be like? Would we get along? Could we become friends? I hoped so, since we would be sharing a lot of time together.

As I walk toward the restaurant, I spot Andrew and Kirsty already sitting at a table in the distance. I let the host at the entrance know I am joining them, and when he lets me pass, I head over to their table. Both greet me with a smile and ask me to take a seat. Next to me was an empty chair, probably meant for the guy who hadn't arrived yet.

"I can't wait for you to meet him," Kirsty smiles, trying to ease my nerves. "He’s a great guy, and I know you two are going to get along."

"I hope so," I reply sincerely.

"Oh, you will, believe me," she laughs.

Andrew orders our drinks and asks that we wait for the other guy before ordering dinner. The three of us chat for a bit about what we'll be working on tomorrow and the other athletes who will be teaming up for the ad campaigns. While Kirsty tells me about how the other athletes' trials went, I see Andrew stand up with a huge smile. Kirsty stops our conversation and looks behind me excitedly.

"I’m glad you made it," Andrew says. "Come, take a seat. There’s someone I want to introduce you to."

I turn my head to finally meet the person I would be debuting with, and in that exact moment, my heart stops. My hands are no longer shaking because my entire body is trembling now. This had to be a joke. No, it couldn't be true. This was not happening to me.

"Look Dean, this is her," Andrew speaks, completely oblivious to how pale we both suddenly turned. "You two will be debuting together."

I could swear my mouth dropped open and a gasp escaped my lips. It was him. It really was him again.

He was debuting with me?

Holy shit.

I stare at him in silence, and he does the exact same. The smile he had on his face has faded slightly, and now he looks just as confused as I am, if not more. He stands frozen next to the chair while Andrew and Kirsty watch us, waiting for one of us to say something or for Dean to sit down.

"Guys?" Kirsty calls out to us, a bit curious about our reactions.

I shake my head quickly and stand up. I had almost forgotten how tall he was. His piercing eyes scan my face, but he still says nothing.

"Nice to meet you," I fake a smile and extend my hand towards him. Everything inside me hoped he would accept it so we could move on.

"Dean Di Laurentis," he murmurs.

Well, at this moment, I have to ask myself: what was I expecting? For him to react like the happiest guy in the world after seeing the girl who practically kicked him out of her apartment after spending the night together? Honestly, I couldn't blame him if he was upset about it.

"Didn't I tell you?" Andrew murmurs. "They're perfect!"

Awkwardly, I sit back down, feeling Dean do the same. I could feel how tense my back was and how my skin goosebumped just from having him a few inches away from me. He was dressed casually in a black hoodie, a chain around his neck, and a black baseball cap covering his hair. The whole look made him look so handsome—even more than I remembered. I don't realize I'm staring until I hear him clear his throat and arch an eyebrow. Well done, idiot, well done.

I quickly avert my gaze before Andrew or Kirsty notice, and then the two of them begin bombarding us with information about our schedules, training, and practically everything regarding our debut. "Our"—the word gives me chills. This achievement belonged to me and Dean. We were both the lead athletes. Both of us were about to spend a lot more than just one night together.

The dinner becomes incredibly awkward from the moment Dean and I have to sit next to each other. Fortunately, Andrew and Kirsty don't notice, but I know Dean does. He knows that right now I am losing my mind and that the only thing I want to do is run away from this dinner. When Kirsty excuses herself to attend to a committee matter and Andrew follows her, I want to hide under the table just to avoid having to face Dean again.

"So... you're on the committee," I say after a few minutes of a silence so horrible and uncomfortable that I have to force myself to speak. "I didn't know you were an Olympic athlete."

"You didn't ask," Dean replies, poking a piece of pasta with his fork.

"Maybe I forgot to," I murmur, shrugging.

"Or maybe you didn't want to know," he blurted out suddenly. "There aren't many things a girl wants to know about a one-night stand guy, right?"

I drop my fork onto the plate, causing a small clatter, and snap my head around to look at him.

"Excuse me?"

Dean doesn't turn to look at me, but I still wait for him to do so.

"Allie told Logan how those things work," he replies.

"What things?"

"That whole thing about picking a hot guy, bringing him back to the apartment, and then getting rid of him."

I feel my throat go dry. So that was what Dean thought of me now. That I was exactly like Allie. But he was wrong. I had tried to be like her, to play by her rules, but I couldn't. And the proof was that I hadn't stopped thinking about him since he left the apartment.

"That's not how things went," I say with a knot in my throat.

"No?" He finally turns to look at me, and his blue eyes burn into mine.

Well, yes, practically something like that had happened, but Dean was mistaken. And now I wasn't sure how I was going to make things right with him. This wasn't exactly my idea of trying to get along better with my partner.

Before I can say anything back, Andrew and Kirsty return, bringing the cold, uncomfortable silence back with them. The rest of the dinner continues the same way, with both of them talking to us about the Olympics and us nodding or listening intently without saying a word. When it's past 11:00 PM, Andrew indicates that we can leave, as we need to get plenty of rest to start the heavy workload tomorrow morning.

Relieved to leave that table and the electric current Dean made me feel, I say goodbye to both of them, murmur a simple "bye" to Dean to avoid raising suspicions, and head towards the elevator. Just as the doors are about to close, a pair of hands stops them. My stomach drops to the floor when I see it's Dean.

He steps in silently, presses the button for his floor—which was the same as mine—and just stands there in silence next to me.

"I know what you think of me," I say, catching him off guard, "but I don't play by Allie's rules."

Dean says nothing, and I feel a sharp pang settle in my chest.

"I don't know what's really bothering you, but I'm sorry, okay?" I pinch the bridge of my nose in frustration. "What happened on Saturday night... let's just forget it, alright? We're about to debut together and we don't... we don't need this." His gaze finally lands on me, watching me in silence. "I'm not asking us to be friends or anything, just... let's try to get along."

The elevator doors open, and I step out quickly, trying to reach my room as fast as possible.

"So, that's it, then?" I hear Dean's voice behind me, making me freeze in the hallway. "We just forget it and that's it." I don't turn around, but Dean continues. "I thought you said you weren't like your friend."

I close my eyes and open them as I turn around. What the hell was going on?

"And I'm not," I reply, crossing my arms. "What do I have to do to prove otherwise to you?"

Dean shrugs. "I don't know."

I sigh, watching Dean walk to his door and insert the key. Before turning away from me, he pauses and says, "All I know is that you weren't just a one-night stand to me. But I'm not sure if I was one to you."

Without letting me reply, he walks into his room and shuts the door so hard it actually makes me flinch.

Did he...? Did Dean...? No, there was no way. It was only a few hours... he couldn't have feelings for me.

But wasn't that exactly what I thought? That a person couldn't be with someone else without catching at least a shred of feelings?

Did I catch them with Dean? My mind drifts back to the jokes, anecdotes, and things we shared while eating in the middle of the night in my apartment. To the hours I spent unable to sleep because his beautiful smile and his eyes wouldn't leave my head. Was this what it felt like to start having feelings for someone? Did that mean Dean and I felt the same way?

I blink a few times, trying to make sure this wasn't a dream, that Dean and I were truly in the same place again. That Dean had actually confessed that what we had wasn't just a one-night thing. Once I am inside the safety of my hotel room, I collapse backwards onto the huge bed. My breathing was still a bit rapid, and I still hadn't fully processed everything that had happened in a single day.

I close my eyes, thinking about the days that still awaited me. Months by Dean's side. And today, which was barely the beginning of all that time together, had already been incredibly awkward. So what could I expect from the coming days? I could expect Dean and me to act like two adults and leave all those confused feelings behind—at least in front of the cameras and everyone else.

Even so, I can't help but wonder: would it be less awkward if Dean and I simply gave a chance to whatever it was that formed between us that night?

I hoped to get an answer to that as soon as possible. Otherwise, I wouldn't be able to survive all this time by Dean's side.

[mermaid-sky-writes]

u + me = <3 (one shot)

summary: you and Dean are the perfect equation pairing: dean dilaurentis x reader content: romance, fluff, falling in love

inspiration: u + me = <3 by Olivia Rodrigo (preview of the song at the end of the story)

Dean Di Laurentis was not a man who spent a lot of time contemplating basic mathematics. As Briar University’s star hockey defenseman, his mind was usually occupied by playbooks, upcoming draft projections, and the exact ratio of protein to carbs on his dinner plate.

But on a rainy Tuesday afternoon, trapped in the back row of a mandatory Statistics lecture, Dean found his attention completely hijacked.

It wasn't by the professor, who was currently droning on about probability distributions. It was by the girl sitting two rows ahead of him. You had a habit of twirling your pen between your fingers when you were thinking, your soft brown curls bouncing slightly every time you nodded along to the lecture. Dean didn’t even know your name, but he knew you were the most captivating thing in the room.

When the professor called for a ten-minute break, you stood up to stretch, stretching your arms above your head. As you did, you reached for a piece of scrap paper on your desk, scribbled something down with a pink highlighter, and then, looking around to ensure no one was watching, taped it to the side of your laptop monitor.

Dean leaned forward, his sharp eyes focusing on the bright pink ink.

U + Me = <3

It was a silly, middle-school style doodle, complete with a little arrow drawn through the heart. Dean felt a sudden, ridiculous grin spread across his face. It was so unapologetically sweet, so completely at odds with the cynical, high-pressure world of college sports he usually navigated.

As the professor called the class back to order, Dean tore a page from his own notebook. He didn’t know you, but he knew he wanted to change that.

(…)

The next day, the rain had cleared, leaving Briar’s campus bathed in a warm, golden autumn glow. Dean found himself waiting outside the library, pretending to check his phone but actually scanning the crowd. When he spotted the familiar halo of curls, his heart did a strange, uncharacteristic flip.

You were carrying a stack of heavy textbooks, looking slightly overwhelmed. Seizing his moment, Dean stepped into your path, offering his most charming, effortless smile.

"Need a hand with those?" he asked, his voice smooth.

You stopped, looking up at him. For a second, you seemed startled by his sheer size—Dean was broad-shouldered and built like a wall—but then your eyes crinkled at the corners, a brilliant, genuine smile lighting up your face. "Actually, yes. My arms are about to fall off."

Dean easily took the heaviest three books from your arms. "I'm Dean," he said as they began walking down the stone path.

"I know," you said softly, a slight blush creeping up your cheeks. "I mean... you play hockey. Everyone knows."

"But I don't know you," Dean countered playfully, leaning in just a fraction closer. "And that feels like a statistical anomaly I need to correct."

You laughed, a sound that Dean decided right then and there was better than the roar of a packed stadium. "I'm just a regular student trying to survive advanced calculus."

"Well, 'just a regular student'," Dean murmured, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out the folded piece of notebook paper he'd spent twenty minutes perfecting the night before. He handed it to you "I think you dropped your formula sheet yesterday."

You took the paper, unfolding it. Written in Dean's bold, neat handwriting was a response to her doodle:

Solve for U and Me. Answer: Forever.

Your blush deepened to a beautiful crimson, and you looked up at him through your lashes, your eyes sparkling. "You saw that?"

"I did," Dean admitted, stopping under the shade of a large oak tree. "And I'd really like to test that hypothesis over coffee."

(…)

Your first date wasn't at a fancy restaurant or a loud party. Dean, surprisingly perceptive when he wanted to be, took you to a small, hidden bakery on the edge of town known for its over-the-top hot chocolates and quiet booths.

Sitting across from you, Dean found himself completely disarmed. He was used to girls who wanted to talk about his hockey stats or his family's wealth, but you were different. You asked him about his favorite books, laughed at his terrible jokes, and listened with genuine interest as he talked about the pressure of the upcoming season.

In turn, Dean learned that you loved old vinyl records, grew nervous during public speaking, and had a habit of biting your lip when you were concentrated.

"You're not what I expected," you admitted, tracing the rim of your mug with your finger.

Dean arched a brow, leaning his chin on his hand. "Oh yeah? What did you expect? A meathead?"

"A little bit," you teased, your eyes dancing. "But you're actually incredibly sweet. And attentive."

"Only for the right people," Dean said softly, his gaze dropping to your lips before meeting your eyes again. The air between you felt charged, thick with a sweet, comfortable warmth. He reached across the table, his large hand gently covering yours. "I think the math is checking out. U plus Me is a pretty great combination."

You squeezed his hand back, your smile soft and full of promise. "Yeah. The data is definitely leaning that way."

(…)

Two weeks later, Briar University won their biggest rivalry game of the season. The arena was deafening, the ice covered in celebratory gloves and sticks as the team hugged and cheered.

Dean stood near the blue line, his helmet off, his hair sweaty and messy, but his eyes were scanning the glass barriers. When he found you standing in the front row, wearing an oversized Di Laurentis jersey that swallowed your frame, his chest swelled with a feeling far greater than the thrill of victory.

He skated over to the glass. You leaned over the barrier, your face flushed with excitement.

"You were amazing!" You shouted over the noise of the crowd.

Instead of answering, Dean hooked his hands under your arms and easily lifted you over the glass, setting your skates-free feet onto the ice. You gasped, laughing as you clutched his padded shoulders for balance.

"Dean! What are you doing? You're going to get in trouble!"

"Don't care," Dean murmured, looking down at you. The arena lights reflected in your eyes, making them shine. He reached into his pocket—he’d been carrying it all game—and pulled out a fresh, black hockey puck.

Using a silver sharpie, he had drawn a small, perfect heart on the rubber surface, with two letters inside: U + M

"I think we've proven the theory," Dean said, his voice dropping to a gentle, intimate register that made the crowded stadium fade away. "I'm completely crazy about you."

You looked from the puck to his face, your eyes softening with pure affection. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling yourself up. "Me too, Dean. It's the easiest math I've ever done."

Dean smiled, burying his face in your curls before bringing his lips down to yours, sealing the equation in front of thousands of cheering fans. It was pure, simple, and perfectly sweet.

[mermaid-sky-writes]

The one night stand (part two)

part one

pairing: dean dilaurentis x reader content: falling for a stranger, flirting, one night stand, suggestive content (MDNI!!), a little angsty at the end

inspiration: One night by Ed Sheeran (preview of the song at the end of the story)

The dance floor was packed to maximum capacity. Moving through it was a feat only someone as tall and agile as Dean could have pulled off. His hand never left mine for a single second as we tried to push our way through the bodies grinding against one another. Dean brought us to a halt at a spot on the floor that was slightly less crowded. In the distance, I could see Allie dancing energetically with the other guys.

I was about to wave to Allie to show her that I was on the floor too, but all coherent thought left my mind the moment Dean’s hands settled on my waist.

"Is this okay?" he asked, leaning in closer.

Fumbling for a response, I managed to nod and wrap my arms around his neck. Dean started swaying us to the rhythm of the music, guiding my hips to move with the help of his hands. Rihanna’s Wild Thoughts was blasting in the background, urging us to move against each other. The sensation of his hands on me, pressing through the thin fabric of my black dress, made my head spin. It was as if, all of a sudden, it was just the two of us on the dance floor. Being this close to Dean, nothing else existed.

His hands gripped my waist tightly, pulling me even closer. Our noses were almost brushing, and neither of us seemed to want to pull away. Overwhelmed by the thousands of sensations rushing through me, I didn't even realize the moment I closed my eyes. When Dean’s hands gave my hips a firm squeeze, my eyes snapped open, meeting his gaze locked onto my face. He was examining every detail, making my heart race.

"Damn," Dean whispered, but I still managed to hear him. "You are so beautiful."

I smiled and pressed our bodies even closer together. We were completely flushed against each other now, my chest pressed tightly against his torso. Dean wrapped his arms around my back, erasing the final inches between us. His breath brushed against my face, carrying a faint, clean hint of mint. Without thinking, I bit my lower lip as my mind began to construct a vivid image of the two of us kissing, wondering how delicious his mouth must taste.

"Don't do that," Dean murmured.

"Do what?" I looked up at him.

"That," he said, staring intently at my lips.

"Why?" I asked, fully intending to provoke an answer.

"Because then I'll want to do this," he murmured, finally closing the microscopic distance left between us. His lips captured my lower lip so sensually that I felt my knees go weak. His minty breath mingled with mine, and when I parted my mouth to gasp, his tongue slid inside, deepening the kiss. My hands tangled into the back of his hair, holding a few strands between my fingers, savoring every single part of the kiss.

This was what Allie had been talking about. This rush of adrenaline, of pleasure, of madness that she wouldn't stop gabbing about on the way to the club. I had been trying to convince myself that a one-night stand was nothing more than a way to satisfy a physical need, and that if it was a crazy idea, then it ought to be the most fun and pleasurable kind of crazy. And that was exactly how things felt right now. Like a wild rush filled with delicious kisses and touches from a guy I had just met at a club—and at this point, I was completely ready to take him home.

When we finally broke apart, it was only because we ran out of air, because it was crystal clear that neither of us wanted to stop. His hands remained on my hips, pinning me against him. His eyes shone with a mix of arousal and admiration as he watched me try to catch my breath.

"Do you want a drink?" he asked.

I nodded, and he took my hand, leading me back to our table. Once there, he ordered two drinks and took a seat right next to me. We began to chat casually, and as we spoke, Dean never moved his hand from my thigh. Allie used to say that if a guy rests his hand on your leg while you're talking, it's a dead giveaway that he wants to do something more than talk. Just thinking about it gave me goosebumps.

When the waiter returned with our drinks, I downed mine in one gulp, making Dean let out a laugh.

"I thought you believed the best things in life should be taken slow," he said, arching an eyebrow.

"Some things simply can't wait," I replied, my voice slightly breathless.

"I can agree with that," he answered with a lopsided smile.

Good god, when did this club turn into a version of hell? It was getting incredibly hot.

I watched, completely mesmerized, as Dean took a sip of his drink. The way his lips moved, the way he swallowed—everything about him seemed incredibly sexy to me in that moment. Dean licked his lips just as a new song started playing, catching his attention.

"I love this song," he said with a smile.

"I've never heard it," I replied curiously.

"Oh, it's good," he laughed. "You're going to like it."

I watched Dean sway a little to the rhythm.

"Do you want to dance to it?"

Dean tilted his head. "Here?"

"Yeah, why not?"

I stood up and pulled him up with me, and we both began to move to the beat. I noticed Dean starting to sing along to the lyrics, and that was the exact moment I realized the song was practically about sex. Was that a hint? His arms locked around my waist, pulling me into him. So, yeah, it definitely was.

Tonight was a night for making reckless choices. To do all the things I won't be able to do once I debut as an Olympic athlete. And what had Allie said? That you’ll never know if it’s a crazy idea unless you try it.

"Dean," I said aloud, instantly catching his attention.

"Yeah?" he responded, with a sensuality that almost made me lose my footing.

"Do you want to get out of here?"

Dean tilted his head, studying my face.

"With you?"

I laughed. "Yeah, with me."

Dean flashed a wide smile, his eyes lighting up.

"Well, yeah. Yeah, I do."

I nodded, took his hand, and turned towards the dance floor, scanning the crowd for Allie. After struggling for a few seconds, I finally spotted her in the back, locked in a passionate kiss with Logan. A goodbye was clearly unnecessary. It was better to just send her a text.

"Ready?" I asked Dean, who simply nodded.

This time, I was the one dragging him towards the exit, making him walk behind me as I navigated our way out. After a few agonizing seconds, we managed to break free from the crowd and reached the entrance. I scanned the street for a taxi while Dean kept holding my hand.

"Where are we going?"

I turned to look at him, trying to stop myself from biting my lower lip.

"To my apartment."

Dean couldn't help but raise an eyebrow, giving me a lopsided grin. He knew exactly where this was heading. He knew exactly what it meant, and so did I. And honestly, I couldn't wait any longer. If I were as bold as Allie, I might have even done it in the bathroom or some hidden corner right out here. But no, if I was going to try something this wild, I was at least going to do it from the safety of my own bed. As the saying goes: My bed, my rules.

When I finally managed to hail a taxi, Dean and I climbed into the back seat, and I gave the driver my address. During the entire ride, we chatted a little, mostly to calm my nerves; my hands wouldn't stop sweating, and it would be humiliating if Dean noticed. The whole time, I avoided asking anything too personal, since it wasn't like Dean and I were going to become friends or partners. We were going to spend one night together, and that was it. There was no need to know if he had siblings, what his favorite food was, or any of those things people looking to build a relationship need to know.

Once we arrived at my building, Dean offered to pay for the cab. Though I argued with him a bit, I ultimately let him do it. I shook my head to clear my thoughts and walked unsteadily towards the entrance. After fumbling around to get the door open, I invited Dean inside and closed it behind me. The moment had arrived. We were both here. There was no backing out now.

It's just one night. I won't see him again. I can do this.

"Nice apartment," Dean smiled, looking around the place.

"My bedroom is nicer," I blurted out suddenly.

Dean laughed. "I bet it is."

I started walking with him following close behind, silently thanking my past self that my room was actually presentable. I stopped right in front of the bed, my back turned to Dean, feeling his body hovering right behind mine. Taking a deep breath, I braced myself to take the next step. In one swift movement, I spun around and adjusted the straps of my dress, letting my chest show a bit through the already plunging neckline.

"What do you think?" I asked, my voice low and raspy from my own arousal.

"I love it," he murmured, his gaze still glued to my chest.

"Yeah?" I asked, trying to sound as seductive as possible.

Dean nodded, and I placed my hands on his torso, gripping the edges of his white turtleneck sweater.

"You know what I would love?" I said, playing with the hem of his sweater.

"What?" he asked, his voice husky.

"To take this off you."

Dean licked his lips. "And what's stopping you?"

I smiled and slowly began to pull the sweater up, torturing him just a little. When the fabric was finally out of the way, I tossed it somewhere across the room. His torso looked even better than I had imagined. His body was toned and highly defined, clearly the result of hours of working out. Just the way I liked it.

"Well, it's a bit unfair that I'm the only one getting undressed, don't you think?"

I smiled and nodded. I reached for the straps of my dress, but Dean stopped me.

"No," he said instantly, shaking his head. "I want to do it."

Goosebumps broke out across my skin, leaving me completely at his mercy. His hands were skilled as he began to slide the dress off me. The fabric was light, so it slipped down easily, but somehow Dean managed to stretch the experience out, making it agonizingly slow. Mentally, I thanked Allie for convincing me to wear decent underwear. I felt Dean’s eyes tracking every single inch of my body, my skin burning under the sheer weight of his gaze.

"Now you're the one who's overdressed," I pointed out, gesturing with my head towards his pants.

"Do you want to do the honors?"

I laughed and stepped closer to unbuckle his belt. My hands were shaking and clumsy, so Dean had to help me finish. I had to keep reminding myself to drop the nerves and just start enjoying it.

Dean’s pants vanished, leaving us standing face-to-face in nothing but our underwear. I didn't know what to do next, and Dean intensely studying my expression wasn't helping.

"So..." Dean broke the silence.

"I..." I said at the exact same time.

Dean laughed, seemingly realizing that the confidence and swagger I had displayed moments ago had totally evaporated, replaced entirely by nerves. He stepped closer and placed his hands back on my waist.

"You're gorgeous, you know that?"

My mouth went completely dry at the sound of his voice—its tone sensual and addictive. I couldn't tell if I nodded or shook my head; all I knew was that Dean’s lips were now on my neck, exploring, tasting, and making me gasp. My hands dug into his back while my knees trembled as he trailed wet kisses along my collarbone. One of his hands left my waist and began to stroke my breast. I gasped aloud, which only caused Dean to intensify his touch and his kisses.

The confidence I had lost a few seconds ago flooded back, arriving even stronger this time. Emboldened, I pushed Dean back towards the bed, sending him tumbling onto his back so I could straddle him. A smirk flashed across his face, and I buried my face in his neck. I could hear his breathing grow heavy as his hands traced down my back until they gripped my butt. I couldn't stop myself from grinding against him, my pelvis rubbing against his, making me acutely aware of the hardness growing beneath me.

In a swift motion, Dean brought our mouths together again, but this time with far more intensity. His hands traveled up my torso, immediately cupping my breasts and squeezing them with a soft, firm pressure. When his fingers skillfully pinched one of my nipples, I couldn't help but moan out loud. The friction of moving back and forth on top of him only made his erection grow larger. The moment I felt like I was going to explode if I didn't feel him inside me, I pulled away and searched the nightstand drawer for one of the condoms Allie always left for me 'just in case.' I found one, and Dean shed his boxers while helping me slide off my underwear. I was more than ready for him. I needed to feel him. With the help of his hand, I rolled the condom on. Resting my hands on his shoulders to lift and steady myself, I sank back down onto him, taking him inside me. The sensation made my eyes snap shut instantly. The pleasure was overwhelming; nothing could beat it. I couldn't even remember if my past experiences had ever been this good.

Dean placed his hands on my hips, guiding me to start moving against him. Accepting the invitation, I began riding him up and down, making our hips crash together. In the quiet of my room, the only sounds were our heavy breathing and the rhythm of our flesh meeting flesh. His hands left my hips to catch my nipples again, sending me spiraling into pure pleasure. We kept going like that until we both reached our climax, and even after that, neither of us wanted to stop.

I had heard Allie talk about the thousands of positions that existed, but I had never actually experienced them—at least, not until now. Dean was practically a sex god. He knew way too much and was way too good at it. We ended up going at it for hours, trying out every position in every corner of my bedroom.

By the time early morning arrived, Dean was lying flat on his back while I lay on my stomach, watching him curiously. Dean was perfect. If I were looking for a relationship right now, it would undoubtedly be with him. Sensing my stare, Dean turned to look at me and smiled.

"What?" he asked, flashing that beautiful dimple again.

"Nothing," I laughed.

Silence settled over us again, but this time it wasn't awkward. Dean’s eyes were fixed on the ceiling, and mine were fixed on him. Would I ever see him again? I doubted it. I barely knew him. That was exactly why these kinds of one-night stands were convenient. Because, can you imagine being in a relationship with a guy like him? Guaranteed heartbreak.

Dean turned back to look at me, his eyes sweeping over my face. He sighed and rolled onto his side so we were face-to-face.

"Hey," he called out, and I felt my heart do a flip. "I..."

No, no. Please don't ask to see me again, or ask for my number, or anything. That wasn't how this worked.

I immediately bolted out of bed, wrapping myself in a sheet. I lunged towards the floor, scooping up my underwear while ignoring his gaze.

"That was good, wasn't it?" I laughed nervously.

Dean watched me, looking thoroughly confused, and I could feel his eyes tracking my every move. I walked clumsily to my closet, grabbed a giant sweatshirt, and locked myself in the bathroom. A few seconds later, I walked out with my underwear back on and the oversized sweatshirt swallowing my body. Dean was sitting up in his boxers, still shirtless.

"Everything okay?"

I nodded anxiously. What was he doing? Didn't he know the rules of a one-night stand? Why hadn't he slipped away while I was in the bathroom like guys do in the movies?

"Yeah," I replied, my voice sounding incredibly squeaky. "Everything good with you?"

Dean frowned. "Yeah, I guess."

I smiled tightly and crossed my arms. What was I supposed to do now?

"Are you hungry?" I asked. "Maybe we can grab something to eat before you go."

This caught him completely off guard; his eyes widened more than usual, and his mouth parted slightly.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I'm not hungry. I think it's better if I head out."

I nodded, feeling a heavy knot form in my stomach. This was all wrong. I wasn't supposed to feel like this after doing something like this, was I? And Dean... had I not been obvious enough? Did he actually think this was something more than a hookup? Because it wasn't... right?

"Are you sure?" I asked, terrified of what the answer might be.

Dean stared at me for what felt like an eternity.

"I don't know," he replied, pulling his pants back on. "Do you want me to stay?"

My heart hammered against my ribs, and I froze, not knowing what to say. I wanted him to stay, but I knew he shouldn't.

"I..." I stammered. "I guess I could use some company for dinner right about now."

"Dinner?" he laughed. "It's almost 4 am"

I shrugged and gestured for him to follow me to the kitchen. Once there, I decided I was going to make pancakes, despite the ungodly hour. Dean helped me whip them up, and during that time, we started talking even more. I even let him tell me what his favorite color was and how many siblings he had (blue, and he has a sister and a brother). Even though I knew that if Allie were here she'd tell me this was a bad idea, I also knew that forgetting a guy like Dean wasn't going to be easy. So, I was going to stretch out whatever time we had left before I had to forget him.

"My friend Logan really liked your friend," Dean said around a mouthful of pancake.

We were sitting at the kitchen bar, eating pancakes and washing them down with strawberry milk.

I let out a laugh. "Well, I wish him luck. Allie isn't really the type of girl who likes having a boyfriend."

Dean arched an eyebrow. "And you?"

I turned to look at him. "Me what?"

"Are you the type of girl who likes having a boyfriend?"

I stared down at the pieces of pancake on my plate, deliberately avoiding his gaze.

"I don't know," I replied. "It's been a really long time since I've had one. I guess there's a reason for that, right?"

"Maybe you just haven't found the right guy yet."

"Maybe," I answered, finally looking up at him. And yes, his eyes were locked entirely on me.

"Or," he added, "maybe you already found him, and you just haven't realized it yet."

Was that another hint? I was having a hard time processing everything that was happening.

I opened my mouth to respond, but then we both heard a car door slam outside, followed by a laugh. I frowned, but then I heard a voice call out from the front yard, "I had an amazing time, thanks!" I instantly recognized Allie’s voice.

She unlocked the front door, and when she walked in and found us at the kitchen bar sharing pancakes, she froze and shot us a look—aimed especially at me.

"Uh, morning," she laughed. "Hey, Dean."

"Hey, Allie," Dean said with a smile.

Allie stepped back to the door, poked her head out, and yelled, "He's in here!"

She walked back over to us and flashed me a pointed look.

"Logan is outside," she said, without a hint of embarrassment. "He wanted to know if you were here so he could give you a ride back to the hotel."

Dean nodded and stood up. I did the same, trailing behind him. My head was spinning. In that moment, I felt completely disconnected from myself. If Dean dared to ask for my number or anything right now, I knew for a fact I would give it to him, even if it went against every single rule I had intended to follow tonight.

My hands shook as I walked him to the door. Before stepping out, he paused and turned to look at me, and I just knew he was going to do it. He was going to turn this into something more than a one-night stand. His gaze flicked from me to Allie, and something shifted in his expression. Then, he simply smiled and nodded.

"I had a good time," he blurted out suddenly, shattering my secret hopes into a million pieces.

"I... me too." This was what I wanted, wasn't it? For it to be nothing more than a one-night thing. For us to go our separate ways. So why did it hurt?

"Have a good life," he said before walking away.

"You too," I murmured, watching him climb into his friend's car, which quickly sped away, disappearing down our street.

Allie closed the door and turned to face me.

"Uh," she said. "What was that?"

"What do you mean?"

"'Have a good life'?" she repeated Dean’s words. "I know it's a one-night stand, but you don't usually say something like that. That was... weird."

Yeah, it was weird. It was weird to have tried to look for something fleeting with someone who, apparently, hadn't been looking for the same thing. Dean had been willing to be something more, to look for something deeper, and I had ruined it. I had ruined any shot I could have ever had with him. And now, I would never see him again.

"Why?" I laughed weakly. "Since we're never going to see each other again, I at least hope he has a good life."

Allie grimaced. "Yeah, I hope the same for Logan." A mischievous smile spread across her face. "Speaking of him, I just had a night... whew."

I rolled my eyes. "I don't need details, thanks."

"Oh, but I definitely need details about yours," she laughed. "Tell me everything."

"It was nothing special," I smiled, though the words felt like they were burning my throat. "It was just a hookup, and that's it."

"Just that?" Allie pressed.

"Just that."

[mermaid-sky-writes]

part two is up <3 @999angellina @purplerainx1 @awesomebunnyqueen @justkeepingitpeachy

[mermaid-sky-writes]

The one night stand (part two)

part one

pairing: dean dilaurentis x reader content: falling for a stranger, flirting, one night stand, suggestive content (MDNI!!), a little angsty at the end

inspiration: One night by Ed Sheeran (preview of the song at the end of the story)

The dance floor was packed to maximum capacity. Moving through it was a feat only someone as tall and agile as Dean could have pulled off. His hand never left mine for a single second as we tried to push our way through the bodies grinding against one another. Dean brought us to a halt at a spot on the floor that was slightly less crowded. In the distance, I could see Allie dancing energetically with the other guys.

I was about to wave to Allie to show her that I was on the floor too, but all coherent thought left my mind the moment Dean’s hands settled on my waist.

"Is this okay?" he asked, leaning in closer.

Fumbling for a response, I managed to nod and wrap my arms around his neck. Dean started swaying us to the rhythm of the music, guiding my hips to move with the help of his hands. Rihanna’s Wild Thoughts was blasting in the background, urging us to move against each other. The sensation of his hands on me, pressing through the thin fabric of my black dress, made my head spin. It was as if, all of a sudden, it was just the two of us on the dance floor. Being this close to Dean, nothing else existed.

His hands gripped my waist tightly, pulling me even closer. Our noses were almost brushing, and neither of us seemed to want to pull away. Overwhelmed by the thousands of sensations rushing through me, I didn't even realize the moment I closed my eyes. When Dean’s hands gave my hips a firm squeeze, my eyes snapped open, meeting his gaze locked onto my face. He was examining every detail, making my heart race.

"Damn," Dean whispered, but I still managed to hear him. "You are so beautiful."

I smiled and pressed our bodies even closer together. We were completely flushed against each other now, my chest pressed tightly against his torso. Dean wrapped his arms around my back, erasing the final inches between us. His breath brushed against my face, carrying a faint, clean hint of mint. Without thinking, I bit my lower lip as my mind began to construct a vivid image of the two of us kissing, wondering how delicious his mouth must taste.

"Don't do that," Dean murmured.

"Do what?" I looked up at him.

"That," he said, staring intently at my lips.

"Why?" I asked, fully intending to provoke an answer.

"Because then I'll want to do this," he murmured, finally closing the microscopic distance left between us. His lips captured my lower lip so sensually that I felt my knees go weak. His minty breath mingled with mine, and when I parted my mouth to gasp, his tongue slid inside, deepening the kiss. My hands tangled into the back of his hair, holding a few strands between my fingers, savoring every single part of the kiss.

This was what Allie had been talking about. This rush of adrenaline, of pleasure, of madness that she wouldn't stop gabbing about on the way to the club. I had been trying to convince myself that a one-night stand was nothing more than a way to satisfy a physical need, and that if it was a crazy idea, then it ought to be the most fun and pleasurable kind of crazy. And that was exactly how things felt right now. Like a wild rush filled with delicious kisses and touches from a guy I had just met at a club—and at this point, I was completely ready to take him home.

When we finally broke apart, it was only because we ran out of air, because it was crystal clear that neither of us wanted to stop. His hands remained on my hips, pinning me against him. His eyes shone with a mix of arousal and admiration as he watched me try to catch my breath.

"Do you want a drink?" he asked.

I nodded, and he took my hand, leading me back to our table. Once there, he ordered two drinks and took a seat right next to me. We began to chat casually, and as we spoke, Dean never moved his hand from my thigh. Allie used to say that if a guy rests his hand on your leg while you're talking, it's a dead giveaway that he wants to do something more than talk. Just thinking about it gave me goosebumps.

When the waiter returned with our drinks, I downed mine in one gulp, making Dean let out a laugh.

"I thought you believed the best things in life should be taken slow," he said, arching an eyebrow.

"Some things simply can't wait," I replied, my voice slightly breathless.

"I can agree with that," he answered with a lopsided smile.

Good god, when did this club turn into a version of hell? It was getting incredibly hot.

I watched, completely mesmerized, as Dean took a sip of his drink. The way his lips moved, the way he swallowed—everything about him seemed incredibly sexy to me in that moment. Dean licked his lips just as a new song started playing, catching his attention.

"I love this song," he said with a smile.

"I've never heard it," I replied curiously.

"Oh, it's good," he laughed. "You're going to like it."

I watched Dean sway a little to the rhythm.

"Do you want to dance to it?"

Dean tilted his head. "Here?"

"Yeah, why not?"

I stood up and pulled him up with me, and we both began to move to the beat. I noticed Dean starting to sing along to the lyrics, and that was the exact moment I realized the song was practically about sex. Was that a hint? His arms locked around my waist, pulling me into him. So, yeah, it definitely was.

Tonight was a night for making reckless choices. To do all the things I won't be able to do once I debut as an Olympic athlete. And what had Allie said? That you’ll never know if it’s a crazy idea unless you try it.

"Dean," I said aloud, instantly catching his attention.

"Yeah?" he responded, with a sensuality that almost made me lose my footing.

"Do you want to get out of here?"

Dean tilted his head, studying my face.

"With you?"

I laughed. "Yeah, with me."

Dean flashed a wide smile, his eyes lighting up.

"Well, yeah. Yeah, I do."

I nodded, took his hand, and turned towards the dance floor, scanning the crowd for Allie. After struggling for a few seconds, I finally spotted her in the back, locked in a passionate kiss with Logan. A goodbye was clearly unnecessary. It was better to just send her a text.

"Ready?" I asked Dean, who simply nodded.

This time, I was the one dragging him towards the exit, making him walk behind me as I navigated our way out. After a few agonizing seconds, we managed to break free from the crowd and reached the entrance. I scanned the street for a taxi while Dean kept holding my hand.

"Where are we going?"

I turned to look at him, trying to stop myself from biting my lower lip.

"To my apartment."

Dean couldn't help but raise an eyebrow, giving me a lopsided grin. He knew exactly where this was heading. He knew exactly what it meant, and so did I. And honestly, I couldn't wait any longer. If I were as bold as Allie, I might have even done it in the bathroom or some hidden corner right out here. But no, if I was going to try something this wild, I was at least going to do it from the safety of my own bed. As the saying goes: My bed, my rules.

When I finally managed to hail a taxi, Dean and I climbed into the back seat, and I gave the driver my address. During the entire ride, we chatted a little, mostly to calm my nerves; my hands wouldn't stop sweating, and it would be humiliating if Dean noticed. The whole time, I avoided asking anything too personal, since it wasn't like Dean and I were going to become friends or partners. We were going to spend one night together, and that was it. There was no need to know if he had siblings, what his favorite food was, or any of those things people looking to build a relationship need to know.

Once we arrived at my building, Dean offered to pay for the cab. Though I argued with him a bit, I ultimately let him do it. I shook my head to clear my thoughts and walked unsteadily towards the entrance. After fumbling around to get the door open, I invited Dean inside and closed it behind me. The moment had arrived. We were both here. There was no backing out now.

It's just one night. I won't see him again. I can do this.

"Nice apartment," Dean smiled, looking around the place.

"My bedroom is nicer," I blurted out suddenly.

Dean laughed. "I bet it is."

I started walking with him following close behind, silently thanking my past self that my room was actually presentable. I stopped right in front of the bed, my back turned to Dean, feeling his body hovering right behind mine. Taking a deep breath, I braced myself to take the next step. In one swift movement, I spun around and adjusted the straps of my dress, letting my chest show a bit through the already plunging neckline.

"What do you think?" I asked, my voice low and raspy from my own arousal.

"I love it," he murmured, his gaze still glued to my chest.

"Yeah?" I asked, trying to sound as seductive as possible.

Dean nodded, and I placed my hands on his torso, gripping the edges of his white turtleneck sweater.

"You know what I would love?" I said, playing with the hem of his sweater.

"What?" he asked, his voice husky.

"To take this off you."

Dean licked his lips. "And what's stopping you?"

I smiled and slowly began to pull the sweater up, torturing him just a little. When the fabric was finally out of the way, I tossed it somewhere across the room. His torso looked even better than I had imagined. His body was toned and highly defined, clearly the result of hours of working out. Just the way I liked it.

"Well, it's a bit unfair that I'm the only one getting undressed, don't you think?"

I smiled and nodded. I reached for the straps of my dress, but Dean stopped me.

"No," he said instantly, shaking his head. "I want to do it."

Goosebumps broke out across my skin, leaving me completely at his mercy. His hands were skilled as he began to slide the dress off me. The fabric was light, so it slipped down easily, but somehow Dean managed to stretch the experience out, making it agonizingly slow. Mentally, I thanked Allie for convincing me to wear decent underwear. I felt Dean’s eyes tracking every single inch of my body, my skin burning under the sheer weight of his gaze.

"Now you're the one who's overdressed," I pointed out, gesturing with my head towards his pants.

"Do you want to do the honors?"

I laughed and stepped closer to unbuckle his belt. My hands were shaking and clumsy, so Dean had to help me finish. I had to keep reminding myself to drop the nerves and just start enjoying it.

Dean’s pants vanished, leaving us standing face-to-face in nothing but our underwear. I didn't know what to do next, and Dean intensely studying my expression wasn't helping.

"So..." Dean broke the silence.

"I..." I said at the exact same time.

Dean laughed, seemingly realizing that the confidence and swagger I had displayed moments ago had totally evaporated, replaced entirely by nerves. He stepped closer and placed his hands back on my waist.

"You're gorgeous, you know that?"

My mouth went completely dry at the sound of his voice—its tone sensual and addictive. I couldn't tell if I nodded or shook my head; all I knew was that Dean’s lips were now on my neck, exploring, tasting, and making me gasp. My hands dug into his back while my knees trembled as he trailed wet kisses along my collarbone. One of his hands left my waist and began to stroke my breast. I gasped aloud, which only caused Dean to intensify his touch and his kisses.

The confidence I had lost a few seconds ago flooded back, arriving even stronger this time. Emboldened, I pushed Dean back towards the bed, sending him tumbling onto his back so I could straddle him. A smirk flashed across his face, and I buried my face in his neck. I could hear his breathing grow heavy as his hands traced down my back until they gripped my butt. I couldn't stop myself from grinding against him, my pelvis rubbing against his, making me acutely aware of the hardness growing beneath me.

In a swift motion, Dean brought our mouths together again, but this time with far more intensity. His hands traveled up my torso, immediately cupping my breasts and squeezing them with a soft, firm pressure. When his fingers skillfully pinched one of my nipples, I couldn't help but moan out loud. The friction of moving back and forth on top of him only made his erection grow larger. The moment I felt like I was going to explode if I didn't feel him inside me, I pulled away and searched the nightstand drawer for one of the condoms Allie always left for me 'just in case.' I found one, and Dean shed his boxers while helping me slide off my underwear. I was more than ready for him. I needed to feel him. With the help of his hand, I rolled the condom on. Resting my hands on his shoulders to lift and steady myself, I sank back down onto him, taking him inside me. The sensation made my eyes snap shut instantly. The pleasure was overwhelming; nothing could beat it. I couldn't even remember if my past experiences had ever been this good.

Dean placed his hands on my hips, guiding me to start moving against him. Accepting the invitation, I began riding him up and down, making our hips crash together. In the quiet of my room, the only sounds were our heavy breathing and the rhythm of our flesh meeting flesh. His hands left my hips to catch my nipples again, sending me spiraling into pure pleasure. We kept going like that until we both reached our climax, and even after that, neither of us wanted to stop.

I had heard Allie talk about the thousands of positions that existed, but I had never actually experienced them—at least, not until now. Dean was practically a sex god. He knew way too much and was way too good at it. We ended up going at it for hours, trying out every position in every corner of my bedroom.

By the time early morning arrived, Dean was lying flat on his back while I lay on my stomach, watching him curiously. Dean was perfect. If I were looking for a relationship right now, it would undoubtedly be with him. Sensing my stare, Dean turned to look at me and smiled.

"What?" he asked, flashing that beautiful dimple again.

"Nothing," I laughed.

Silence settled over us again, but this time it wasn't awkward. Dean’s eyes were fixed on the ceiling, and mine were fixed on him. Would I ever see him again? I doubted it. I barely knew him. That was exactly why these kinds of one-night stands were convenient. Because, can you imagine being in a relationship with a guy like him? Guaranteed heartbreak.

Dean turned back to look at me, his eyes sweeping over my face. He sighed and rolled onto his side so we were face-to-face.

"Hey," he called out, and I felt my heart do a flip. "I..."

No, no. Please don't ask to see me again, or ask for my number, or anything. That wasn't how this worked.

I immediately bolted out of bed, wrapping myself in a sheet. I lunged towards the floor, scooping up my underwear while ignoring his gaze.

"That was good, wasn't it?" I laughed nervously.

Dean watched me, looking thoroughly confused, and I could feel his eyes tracking my every move. I walked clumsily to my closet, grabbed a giant sweatshirt, and locked myself in the bathroom. A few seconds later, I walked out with my underwear back on and the oversized sweatshirt swallowing my body. Dean was sitting up in his boxers, still shirtless.

"Everything okay?"

I nodded anxiously. What was he doing? Didn't he know the rules of a one-night stand? Why hadn't he slipped away while I was in the bathroom like guys do in the movies?

"Yeah," I replied, my voice sounding incredibly squeaky. "Everything good with you?"

Dean frowned. "Yeah, I guess."

I smiled tightly and crossed my arms. What was I supposed to do now?

"Are you hungry?" I asked. "Maybe we can grab something to eat before you go."

This caught him completely off guard; his eyes widened more than usual, and his mouth parted slightly.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I'm not hungry. I think it's better if I head out."

I nodded, feeling a heavy knot form in my stomach. This was all wrong. I wasn't supposed to feel like this after doing something like this, was I? And Dean... had I not been obvious enough? Did he actually think this was something more than a hookup? Because it wasn't... right?

"Are you sure?" I asked, terrified of what the answer might be.

Dean stared at me for what felt like an eternity.

"I don't know," he replied, pulling his pants back on. "Do you want me to stay?"

My heart hammered against my ribs, and I froze, not knowing what to say. I wanted him to stay, but I knew he shouldn't.

"I..." I stammered. "I guess I could use some company for dinner right about now."

"Dinner?" he laughed. "It's almost 4 am"

I shrugged and gestured for him to follow me to the kitchen. Once there, I decided I was going to make pancakes, despite the ungodly hour. Dean helped me whip them up, and during that time, we started talking even more. I even let him tell me what his favorite color was and how many siblings he had (blue, and he has a sister and a brother). Even though I knew that if Allie were here she'd tell me this was a bad idea, I also knew that forgetting a guy like Dean wasn't going to be easy. So, I was going to stretch out whatever time we had left before I had to forget him.

"My friend Logan really liked your friend," Dean said around a mouthful of pancake.

We were sitting at the kitchen bar, eating pancakes and washing them down with strawberry milk.

I let out a laugh. "Well, I wish him luck. Allie isn't really the type of girl who likes having a boyfriend."

Dean arched an eyebrow. "And you?"

I turned to look at him. "Me what?"

"Are you the type of girl who likes having a boyfriend?"

I stared down at the pieces of pancake on my plate, deliberately avoiding his gaze.

"I don't know," I replied. "It's been a really long time since I've had one. I guess there's a reason for that, right?"

"Maybe you just haven't found the right guy yet."

"Maybe," I answered, finally looking up at him. And yes, his eyes were locked entirely on me.

"Or," he added, "maybe you already found him, and you just haven't realized it yet."

Was that another hint? I was having a hard time processing everything that was happening.

I opened my mouth to respond, but then we both heard a car door slam outside, followed by a laugh. I frowned, but then I heard a voice call out from the front yard, "I had an amazing time, thanks!" I instantly recognized Allie’s voice.

She unlocked the front door, and when she walked in and found us at the kitchen bar sharing pancakes, she froze and shot us a look—aimed especially at me.

"Uh, morning," she laughed. "Hey, Dean."

"Hey, Allie," Dean said with a smile.

Allie stepped back to the door, poked her head out, and yelled, "He's in here!"

She walked back over to us and flashed me a pointed look.

"Logan is outside," she said, without a hint of embarrassment. "He wanted to know if you were here so he could give you a ride back to the hotel."

Dean nodded and stood up. I did the same, trailing behind him. My head was spinning. In that moment, I felt completely disconnected from myself. If Dean dared to ask for my number or anything right now, I knew for a fact I would give it to him, even if it went against every single rule I had intended to follow tonight.

My hands shook as I walked him to the door. Before stepping out, he paused and turned to look at me, and I just knew he was going to do it. He was going to turn this into something more than a one-night stand. His gaze flicked from me to Allie, and something shifted in his expression. Then, he simply smiled and nodded.

"I had a good time," he blurted out suddenly, shattering my secret hopes into a million pieces.

"I... me too." This was what I wanted, wasn't it? For it to be nothing more than a one-night thing. For us to go our separate ways. So why did it hurt?

"Have a good life," he said before walking away.

"You too," I murmured, watching him climb into his friend's car, which quickly sped away, disappearing down our street.

Allie closed the door and turned to face me.

"Uh," she said. "What was that?"

"What do you mean?"

"'Have a good life'?" she repeated Dean’s words. "I know it's a one-night stand, but you don't usually say something like that. That was... weird."

Yeah, it was weird. It was weird to have tried to look for something fleeting with someone who, apparently, hadn't been looking for the same thing. Dean had been willing to be something more, to look for something deeper, and I had ruined it. I had ruined any shot I could have ever had with him. And now, I would never see him again.

"Why?" I laughed weakly. "Since we're never going to see each other again, I at least hope he has a good life."

Allie grimaced. "Yeah, I hope the same for Logan." A mischievous smile spread across her face. "Speaking of him, I just had a night... whew."

I rolled my eyes. "I don't need details, thanks."

"Oh, but I definitely need details about yours," she laughed. "Tell me everything."

"It was nothing special," I smiled, though the words felt like they were burning my throat. "It was just a hookup, and that's it."

"Just that?" Allie pressed.

"Just that."

[mermaid-sky-writes]

Bad idea, right? (one shot)

summary: everyone seems to be done with your relationship, except for Dean and you pairing: Dean Di Laurentis x reader content: ex-boyfriend, bad decisions, drama, dean's pov

inspiration: bad idea right? by olivia rodrigo (preview of the song at the end of the story)

The phone on the nightstand buzzed with the aggressive, rhythmic cadence of a group chat in a full-blown panic.

Garrett: Tell me you’re not looking at your phone right now. Logan: He’s definitely looking at his phone. Or he’s already putting on shoes. Tucker: Dean. Do not. It’s midnight on a Tuesday.

Dean Di Laurentis leaned back against his headboard, a slow, lazy smirk spreading across his face as he ignored his teammates. He didn't need their lecture. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he knew precisely how bad of an idea it was.

Then, the only notification that actually mattered popped up at the top of his screen.

Unknown Number: Hey... I know we said we wouldn't do this anymore. But are you awake?

He hadn't saved your name back in his contacts after the last "final" breakup, mostly as a pathetic attempt at self-discipline. It hadn't worked. He knew the digits by heart. You both had spent three months tearing each other’s lives apart in a whirlwind of terrible timing and explosive chemistry, only to call it quits with a solemn promise to be civilized adults who stayed far, far away from each other.

“I’m only tripping and falling into his bed,” you had joked to your friends once, or so Logan had overheard.

Dean rolled off the mattress, grabbing a discarded grey hoodie from the floor. He caught his reflection in the mirror—the effortless hair, the sharp jawline, the look of a guy who knew he was about to make a massive mistake and simply didn't care.

"Just for a coffee," he muttered to the empty room, lying straight to his own face. "We're just going to talk."

(...)

The drive over to your place was a masterclass in psychological rationalization. Dean kept the radio low, the hum of the engine filling the quiet Briar University streets.

He was rewriting history with every mile. You two hadn't actually been that toxic, right? Sure, there was that one fight at the hockey house that resulted in a shattered vintage vinyl record, and yeah, maybe you two couldn't agree on a single fundamental life goal. But you knew him. Really knew him.

He pulled up to your apartment complex, killing the headlights. He didn't even have to text you; you were already standing by the side entrance, shivering slightly in an oversized sweater that he was 90% sure used to belong to him.

You opened the passenger door, the cool night air rushing into the warm car, bringing the scent of your perfume with it—vanilla and something like coconut.

"You're an idiot for coming," you said by way of greeting, though your lips twitched into a familiar, breathless smile.

"And you're an idiot for calling," Dean replied, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. "Guess we're a matching set."

"I told my roommates I was going to the 24-hour convenience store for chips," you admitted, sliding into the leather seat and pulling your knees to your chest. "If they find out I'm with you, they will actually execute me. I'm on thin ice, Di Laurentis."

"Your secret is safe with me, sweetheart," he murmured, shifting the car back into drive. "Where to?"

(...)

You both ended up at a diner on the edge of town, the kind of place with peeling vinyl booths and fluorescent lighting that made everyone look slightly haunted. It was completely empty except for a sleepy cook in the back.

Across the table, Dean thought you looked utterly captivating, even with your hair tied up in a messy, chaotic bun. He watched your hands trace the rim of your coffee mug.

"We shouldn't be doing this," you said softly, looking everywhere but at him. "We said we were done. No more late-night texts, no more 'accidental' run-ins at the campus bar."

"I know," Dean said. He reached across the table, his fingers brushing against yours. It was like touching a live wire. The familiar, intoxicating rush hit him instantly. "But you called."

"Because I saw a jacket that looked like yours today," you confessed, finally meeting his gaze. Your eyes were bright, filled with a dangerous mix of nostalgia and longing. "And then I started thinking about that weekend in Montreal. And then I forgot why we even broke up in the first place."

Dean let out a soft, self-deprecating laugh. "We broke up because you told me I have the emotional maturity of a golden retriever, and I told you that you argue just to hear your own voice."

"Right," you whispered, a small, sad smile touching your lips. "I forgot."

"Me too," Dean said, his eyes darkening as he held your gaze. The diner, the coffee, the rules—it was all fading into the background.

The drive back was silent, but it wasn't the uncomfortable kind. It was the heavy, thick silence of two people who knew exactly how the night was going to end and were just waiting for the final domino to fall.

When he parked outside your building again, neither of you moved to open your doors.

"You want to come up?" you asked, your voice barely audible over the hum of the dashboard lights. "Just... for a minute. To help me find that jacket I was talking about."

Dean’s chest tightened. He could hear Garrett’s voice in his head ("Dude, don't do it"), could see the inevitable hangover of regret waiting for him at sunrise. But looking at you, with the streetlights cutting across your face, logic didn't stand a chance.

"Yeah," Dean said, unlocking the doors. "Let's find the jacket."

The walk up the stairs was a blur. The moment your apartment door clicked shut behind you, the civilized act evaporated. Dean didn't even bother turning on the lights. He caught you by the waist, pulling you flush against his chest, his mouth finding yours in the dark.

It was messy, frantic, and entirely familiar. You tasted like sweet coffee and reckless decisions, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as if trying to erase the last few months of separation in a single breath.

(...)

The harsh morning sun filtered through the cheap blinds, cutting a bright line across the tangled sheets.

Dean woke up first. He lay perfectly still, staring at the ceiling, the familiar weight of reality settling heavily on his chest. Beside him, you were curled up, your breathing slow and even. On the floor, his grey hoodie was tangled with your discarded sweater.

His phone vibrated on the carpet. He reached down quietly, checking the screen.

Logan: Are you alive? Or did she murder you?

Dean sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. He looked over at you. You were stirring now, your eyes fluttering open, blinking against the light. You looked at him, then at the space between you, and a look of profound, comical realization washed over your face.

"Oh, God," you groaned, burying your face in your hands. "We did it again."

"We did," Dean agreed, a slow, unrepentant grin tugging at the corner of his mouth despite himself. He leaned over, kissing the top of your head. "I told you it was a bad idea."

"You didn't stop me!" you complained into your pillow, though you didn't pull away when he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you back against him.

"I'm a hockey player, not a saint," Dean murmured, pulling the blanket back over you both. The text from Logan could wait. The lecture from the guys could wait. For now, you were trapped in the loop of your own beautiful, disastrous making, and neither of you were in a hurry to break it.

[mermaid-sky-writes]

The one night stand

part two

summary: A night of wild madness that was supposed to be just that: one night.

You decide to have some fun and let yourself go, at least for a few hours. What you didn't expect were the completely new and unexpected situations that this 'simple night' would bring into your life.

Guys you have a one-night stand with aren't supposed to show up in your life again, right? Well, you've just found out how false that is. And in a... rather unconventional way.

pairing: dean dilaurentis x reader content: falling for a stranger, flirting, one night stand, slightly suggestive, mentions of the word s*x (MDNI!!)

inspiration: One night by Ed Sheeran (preview of the song at the end of the story)

A/N: heyy so I’m back with a kinda long story (I’m working on a longer one now) and just fyi I have no idea how the Olympics work lol so I hope you don’t mind and enjoy reading it :)

"You passed the tryouts!" Allie screams with excitement, leaping from the couch towards me, causing both of us to tumble onto the rug.

I was in total shock. I didn't think I would actually make it.

Just a week ago, Allie and my group of friends had convinced me to try out to participate as a high-performance athlete in the Olympics. My friends and I had shared that dream since we were little girls. When my agent announced that she had managed to get them to let me try out, I didn't even have time to think twice—both my agent and my friends practically left me with no choice. So, I decided to audition to compete in figure skating. I had been practicing the discipline since childhood, and it was something I had been preparing for my entire life.

To my surprise, during the tryouts, they let me know that a few brands were already interested in representing me once I became an Olympic competitor. The head of the winter sports division said something along the lines of me being incredibly talented, and that if I managed to pass all the tests, I would have a real shot. I never imagined that a week later they would call to tell me I had made it—that I would be debuting in the Olympics.

I remain completely silent, sprawling on the rug with my best friend’s body crushing mine. Had I really just achieved my biggest dream?

"You're a damn Olympian!" Allie says, still incredibly hyped up. "Come on, breathe, say something."

I smile and shake my head. Using my arms, I push Allie off me and sit up on the rug.

"It’s..." I blink my eyes wide. "Incredible. I didn't think something like this would actually happen."

"What are you talking about?" She nudges my shoulder. "You were born to be an Olympian. You are exactly what they need, and you know it."

I shake my head once more as Allie starts bouncing all over the apartment, looking even more excited than I am. I was excited—incredibly so—I was just taking a few minutes to process it. My life was about to change and take a complete 180-degree turn, and I needed to mentally prepare myself for it.

"Do you know what we're doing right now?" Allie points at me.

"Dodging the paparazzi when they start following me thanks to my Olympic debut?"

Allie tilts her head amusingly. "Mm, no. Let's save that for later," she laughs. "What we're doing tonight..." She throws me a mischievous look.

"Oh, no," I say, pointing my index finger at her.

"Oh, yes," she laughs, waving her arms above her head. "We are going out to celebrate!"

She lets out a tiny shriek of excitement, and I cover my ears.

"We can't go out tonight, Allie," I give her a look. "I have to be at the gym tomorrow morning."

"You said it yourself," she rolls her eyes. "That's tomorrow morning. Tonight you have nothing to do except go out and celebrate with your best friend."

"Allie..."

"Pleaseeee..." She crosses her arms. It makes her look so ridiculous that I can't help but laugh, which she immediately takes as a 'yes.' She runs into the bedroom and returns with a tight, rather suggestive short black dress, tossing it right at my face.

"Don't even dream about it," I laugh. "I am not wearing this."

Allie rolls her eyes again. "Don't make me use my strength on you, young lady."

"Going out in this dress would be like going out in... a scrap of fabric," I sigh, looking at the dress in my hands. It was beautiful; in fact, it was one of my favorites in Allie's closet. But I didn't feel brave or sexy enough to pull it off the way she did.

"Hey," she purses her lips. "This is probably your last night as a regular mortal." I let out a laugh at that. "After you debut in the Olympics, you're going to have thousands of fans and people following you wherever you go. This is the last time we can go out, have fun, go wild, and do practically whatever we want." I make a face. I had to admit, she was entirely right. "Besides..." Her smile turns wicked, and I know she's about to say something outrageous. "How long has it been since you slept with a guy? Two years?"

"Allie!" I cover my face with my hands.

"I'm your best friend," she chuckles. "I notice these things."

"Could we please not talk about my sex life?"

"Oh, come on," she steps closer to me. "As girls, we need to take care of that need every now and then, and you know it," she points out.

"God, no," I feel my face heating up.

"What I mean to say is," she clears her throat, "tonight is for doing everything we've wanted to do for a while but couldn't because we were so focused on training." She smiles. "So, tonight we can dance, sing, drink, and... sleep with some hot guy."

"What are you saying?" I furrow my brow. I obviously understood what she said—I wasn't stupid. I just wanted to verify if my best friend was actually suggesting what I thought she was.

"I'm saying we find a handsome guy wherever we go, and, I don't know, have him take us to his place or bring him back here? The possibilities are endless if you ask me," she shrugs.

"A guy," I state. "Whom we won't even have known for a single day," I reinforce.

"Isn't that how they work?"

"How what works?"

"One-night stands," she laughs. "Oh, come on, don't tell me you don't know what I'm talking about. We watched that Netflix movie with Miles Teller, remember?"

"How could I forget?" I laugh. "We watched it like five times because of you."

Allie shrugs. "It's a good tactic, you know? You meet a super handsome guy, you're both attracted to each other, but you're not looking for a relationship or anything serious. So, how do you fix that? You sleep with him, you both enjoy it, have a good time, and afterwards, everyone goes back to their lives like nothing happened. No feelings involved, no broken hearts. It's just sex." She sighs. "Isn't it great?"

"It's great," I shake my head, "for you."

Allie is about to protest, but I interrupt her: "You know I couldn't do something like that. Doing something so intimate with someone you barely know seems a bit... crazy to me."

"But what if it's not as crazy as you think?" she poses the question. "You might even surprise yourself. But to find out, you have to at least try."

I look down at the dress in my hands again. Ever since Allie and I watched that movie about a girl and a guy having a one-night stand, I found it... interesting? Curious? How people could sleep with someone they barely knew and then just walk away unattached. It seemed almost impossible to me, because how could you be that way with someone and not catch even a shred of feelings? Allie told me I only thought that way because I was a romantic obsessed with romance literature. But I bet I wasn't the only one who thought so. Come on, we're human. We have feelings, and it's impossible not to let them out when you're with another person.

The mere thought of being with someone tonight made my skin tingle. It had been so long since I'd been with a guy, and if Allie was right about one thing, it was that as girls, we need to satisfy... certain needs. And thinking about it, her idea wasn't so far-fetched. It was only one night. What am I saying? It would only be a few hours, and I'd never see him again. You can't develop feelings in just one night, right? Besides, it would just be that. A girls' night out with my best friend, doing the crazy things we won't be able to do again once I have a 'famous person' target painted on my back.

"Fine," I finally agree after a few more minutes of thinking the whole matter through thoroughly.

"What did you say?" She pretends not to hear me. "Could you say it louder?"

"Fine!" I yell, letting out a laugh. "Let's go out, let's do crazy things. It's just one night. Our last night."

Allie screams so loud I feel like our neighbors are going to come complain at any second. When they don't, Allie drags me to her room, and so begins the 'girls' night' ritual. We help each other with our makeup, hair, and our choices of clothes, shoes, and accessories—all while debating which place would be suitable for our girls' night send-off.

Once Allie convinced me to wear her black dress, we both went out and caught a cab to downtown Vancouver, where the best clubs and bars were at their peak due to the hour.

While riding in the taxi, at the last minute, Allie chose to take us to one of the most famous clubs, known for being a spot where celebrities usually went to party. At first, it seemed almost impossible that they’d let us in since we didn't have a reservation, but Allie insisted that thanks to my dress, we weren't going to need any kind of reservation or anything like it.

When the taxi drops us off in front of the club, I feel small for a split second. The place was massive, bursting with colored lights and thousands of people waiting in a line to get in. The music thudded through the walls, making my body vibrate. Quickly, Allie grabs my arm, pulling me towards the club's entrance.

I shoot her a look. "What are you doing? We're cutting the line."

"We don't need to stand there for an hour," she rolls her eyes. "Trust me."

She was always so confident and had this way about her that made you agree to do crazy things with her. But the bouncer didn't look like the type of guy who let himself be swayed by a couple of pretty faces. Even so, Allie didn't back down.

"Name?" the bouncer asks, barely glancing at us.

"We don't have a reservation," Allie answers confidently, adjusting her dress suggestively.

The bouncer looks up and stares at us blankly.

"Then you'll have to get back in line."

Allie’s face pales, but she recovers her posture in a second.

"Oh, really?" She pouts. "It's quite long."

"It is," he responds without a shred of emotion.

"It doesn't seem right for such pretty girls to spend an hour in that line," she points between us. "Besides, the cold is going to kill us, right?" She throws me a look, and when I don't react, she gives me a shove.

Allie’s strength was greater than mine, so that simple shove caused me to stumble and almost fall backwards. Except that didn't happen, because someone behind me caught me.

"Careful," we hear a deep voice say.

Both Allie and I turn around to see the owner of that fascinating voice, and I could swear our mouths opened in perfect synchronization. He was gorgeous. And Allie, myself, and more than half the girls in line noticed it.

"I'm... I'm sorry," I mentally kick myself for stuttering in front of him.

Behind him, a brown-haired guy, a curly-haired guy, and a black-haired guy come walking up casually. They dressed like those 'cool' guys you see on social media and seemed to draw everyone's attention.

"No worries," he smiles, and I can see a dimple on his cheek that makes me smile back.

"Name?" the bouncer interrupts the moment.

"Garrett," the curly-haired guy replies. "Garrett Graham."

The bouncer searches his list and finds them quickly. With a nod, he unhooks the chain to let them through. Before all the guys manage to step inside, Allie grabs one of them by the arm—the brunette one.

"Wow, it's about time you guys showed up," she rolls her eyes.

I whip around to look at her, shooting her a 'What the hell are you doing?' look, but Allie remains completely immersed in her role.

The four of them stop and turn to look at us with a mix of confusion and amusement on their faces.

"What did you say a little while ago, Garrett?" Allie throws out. "That you'd be here in five minutes? I didn't know five minutes meant almost an hour." She places her hands on her hips, drawing the attention of the brunette guy she was holding by the arm.

"Excuse me?" the curly-haired guy furrows his brow.

"You should be sorry," Allie huffs. "The cold is already killing me and I need to get drunk."

The brunette guy with Allie’s hands on his arm lets out a laugh and gestures toward us. The guy I had crashed into and the curly-haired guy share a complicit look, while the black-haired guy just watches the situation play out with amusement.

"Are you guys together?" the bouncer asks listlessly.

Allie clings to the brunette, and I just dart my eyes from her to the guys, who still look a bit confused.

"Yeah," the blue-eyed, blonde-haired guy interrupts the awkward silence. "The two of them are with us."

I can practically see the relief in Allie’s eyes as the bouncer lets us pass. Even though we are already inside the club's lobby, Allie doesn't release the brunette guy's arm.

"My heroes!" Allie says loudly. "You've saved our night, thanks for that."

The four of them laugh, and we watch as the curly-haired guy approaches us.

"So... friends," he says chuckling, "what are your names?"

"I'm Allie," she turns towards me and points. "And this quiet girl is my best friend. She's usually quite talkative, but it looks like you guys intimidated her." She darts a look at the blue-eyed guy, who only smiles.

"Since we're 'friends,' you're supposed to already know our names," Allie lets out a laugh. "But we'll remind you anyway. I'm Garrett, this here is Tucker, Dean, and my friend whom you've chosen to be your handbag is Logan."

Allie arches an eyebrow. "Wow, I think I really love this handbag."

Logan, the guy, lets out a laugh and pulls Allie’s hands closer, and it looks like she isn't going to let go of him all night.

"Well," Garrett says, "since it seems we're friends now," he laughs, "how about you join our table?"

"Of course we will!" Allie answers before I can even say a word.

The four of them laugh and begin walking towards the center area of the club, which was even larger. I try to keep up with their pace because when I stumbled, my ankle twisted a bit, and now I have a slight throbbing pain when I walk, making it difficult to move with ease.

"Are you okay?" I hear the blue-eyed guy's voice again—Dean.

I look up and notice that aside from having beautiful eyes, they are incredibly piercing. The fairness of his skin creates a contrast worth staring at. If it weren't for the fact that I have a lot of self-control, I would have already jumped him the way Allie did with Logan.

"Yeah... uh," oh god, will I even be able to formulate a sentence in front of him? "My ankle hurts a little, but everything's fine."

Taking me by surprise, he crouches down in front of me and begins inspecting my ankle. His head brushes against my thighs, and I feel my skin tingle. He was so tall that even while crouching, his face could be... no, get away, impure thoughts.

"It's a little swollen," he says loudly over the music. "Nothing a little ice won't fix. But if you don't want it to get worse, you should take off your heels."

"What?" I laugh. "I'm not going to walk around the club barefoot. That would be embarrassing."

"Why?" he laughs. "No one's going to notice."

"Yes, they will," I shake my head. "Besides, there could be broken glass on the floor or something similar, and I don't want to have an accident."

"Good point." He purses his lips slightly, making them look even fuller. "Come here." He points to his back. "Hop on."

"What?"

"Hop on my back," he chuckles. "I'll carry you to our table, and you can rest your ankle there."

I look at him in disbelief, but Dean insists. So, I end up taking off my heels, holding them in my hands while a guy I had just met carries me on his back towards one of the tables inside the club. As we moved, some people looked at us with amusement, others with tenderness, and I just felt my face heating up.

"Everything good back there?" Dean asks playfully.

"All good," I respond with a smile.

Once we reach the table, I see Allie and Dean’s friends clapping.

"Are all of you this chivalrous?" Allie asks.

"All of us," Logan winks at her.

"Good to know," Allie smiles.

Dean helps me sit down on one of the couches around a table. It seemed to be an exclusive VIP area since it was on a slightly higher level, and we had to walk down a few steps to reach the dance floor, which was packed to capacity.

"Thanks," I murmur. "You didn't have to do that."

"And miss the chance to rescue a pretty figure skater?"

"How did you know?"

"We've heard that figure skaters are the prettiest," he chuckles. "Oh, and I overheard your friend telling my friend that you both trained together."

I let out a laugh, and right then, a waiter arrives with a round of drinks for everyone. Allie doesn't think twice and knocks one back. In the end, I'm the last one left with a half-finished drink in my hand.

"Don't like to drink?" Tucker asks.

"Um," I laugh, "I do like it, it's just... I feel like good things should be enjoyed slowly."

Sometime between Tucker's question and my answer, my eyes and Dean's met, and I could see a spark in them. It was as if, somehow, he took what I said personally. My mouth goes dry when I see him lick his lips.

I feel the heat rising inside the club, so I down the rest of my drink. I almost flinch when I feel someone touching my ankle. Dean catches my leg, preventing me from kicking him right in the face, and laughs.

"Easy, it's just me."

"When did you crouch down?" I ask in confusion.

"Like, a second ago?" he laughs.

"W-what are you doing?" I ask, feeling nervous just from the sensation of his hands holding my leg.

"Applying ice." He points to the napkin in his hands, placing it over my ankle, making my skin instantly feel the chill of the ice.

Involuntary, I close my eyes at the relief the cold brings to my aching ankle, completely unaware of the four pairs of eyes fixed on me.

"What's going on over there?" Logan asks, laughing.

"Is it just me, or did Dean disappear?" Tucker asks this time.

"What?" Dean lifts his head a bit, allowing the others to see him, and their eyes widen in impression.

"Damn," Garrett lets out a laugh. "Smooth move, man."

"Seriously, Dean?" Logan laughs. "We're in a club, don't be indecent."

By that point, my face was completely red, and I tried to avoid the looks Allie was throwing my way. They were misinterpreting everything, and it was deeply embarrassing.

"I'm just putting ice on her ankle," Dean rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, that's what they call it now," Garrett and Logan say in unison.

"I'm serious," Dean replies.

"Oh, we know," Allie laughs. "You know, Logan? I can't wait for you to put ice on my ankle later."

Everyone bursts into laughter, except Dean and me. Dean just shakes his head and stands up.

"Ignore them."

I nod, and then Dean leaves the napkin on the table but doesn't return to his seat; instead, he remains standing right next to me. His presence made my skin prickle. He was so tall, so handsome, and he had the most captivating eyes I had ever seen. Plus, he was a total gentleman. I put my shoes back on and settle back into my seat, never losing sight of him.

I trace his face with my gaze—from his brows and eyelashes, to his upturned nose that gave him an even more attractive edge, down to his lips. They looked soft, and he kept licking them every five seconds.

"Don't they say it's rude to stare at people?" He turns to look at me with a raised eyebrow that only makes him look even more handsome. If that was even possible.

"No," I laugh. "That rule doesn't apply to figure skaters."

Our eyes lock, and I feel my legs start to tremble. How could he make me feel this way with just a look?

Our staring contest is interrupted by a new round of drinks and the laughter of our friends in the background. Everyone grabs their glasses, and then Logan asks Allie to dance with him. Tucker and Garrett join in, and the four of them leave the table just for the two of us.

I look around the venue with curiosity, watching the people dancing and enjoying the night. I keep doing so until my gaze meets Dean's again.

"What is a figure skater doing partying at a club?" he asks curiously.

"We got a break from our daily training," I reply. "Allie and I usually have a girls' night a couple of times a month."

"And do you always try to cut the line?" he asks with a sly smile.

"Oh, always, believe me. Allie hates waiting."

"Well, then it was lucky that we decided to come to this club tonight."

"Yeah," I smile. "Are you guys on vacation?"

Dean shakes his head. "We're here for work. The guys and I are on the representative hockey team."

"Oh, you're all players?"

Dean tilts his head. "That's right."

"I'm not surprised," I reply, taking a sip of my drink.

"Why?"

Did I say that out loud? Oh god.

"Well..." I laugh nervously, "because you're pretty handsome and..." My eyes widen. "Did I seriously just admit right in front of you that I think you're handsome?"

Dean laughs. "You did."

"Oh god," I chuckle.

"It's fine," he smiles. "It's a good thing you said it. That way, I can admit too that I thought you were the prettiest girl here tonight."

"Oh, come on," I shake my head.

"You are."

The way he says it makes my legs tremble all over again. I can't help but bite my lower lip, instantly capturing Dean's attention.

"How's your ankle feeling?"

"Better," I answer. "Thanks."

"Glad to hear that." He stands up straight and extends his hand towards me. "Because in that case, you and I are going to go dance."

"Was that an order or a question?"

Dean doesn't answer and takes my hand, pulling me to my feet and leading me behind him as he takes us into the crowd on the dance floor. And although I try to focus on watching where I step, the only thing filling my head right now is how large and warm his hand feels wrapped around mine, and how much I was starting to like that feeling.

[mermaid-sky-writes]

Deja vu (one shot)

summary: seeing Dean with another girl starts to feel like a deja vu pairing: dean dilaurentis x reader content: angst, drama, heartbreak, romance

inspired by: Deja vu by Olivia Rodrigo (preview of the song at the end of the story) A/N: sooo, long story won the poll but I already had this idea for a one shot so I'm just going to leave this one and start working on my new long story, I hope u like it :)

The radio played a song you didn’t recognize, but the static-heavy bass line felt entirely too familiar.

As you watched the rain streak across the window of your own bedroom, looking down at the street where Dean Di Laurentis used to park his ridiculously expensive truck, you could almost smell the leather and vanilla air freshener.

Dean was a creature of habit wrapped in a golden-boy cloak. Everyone at Briar University thought he was unpredictable—the life of the party, the hockey star who moved like lightning on the ice and through women’s lives. But you knew the truth. Dean found something he liked, and he repeated it until it was etched into his skin.

He had a new girl now. You’d seen them at the local diner three days ago.

You had watched from a corner booth as Dean reached across the table, his thumb gently catching a stray dollop of whipped cream from the girl’s upper lip before licking it off with that signature, devastating smirk. A physical ache had blossomed in your chest.

That was our thing, you wanted to scream across the vinyl booths. That is the exact joke he made to me last November.

Did the new girl know? When he took her up to the overlook past the campus limits, where the lights of the city blurred into a messy galaxy, did she think it was an organic, spontaneous moment? Or did she realize Dean was just executing a perfectly timed script?

You pulled your knees to your chest, the angst of being entirely replaceable settling deep into your bones. He was living in rerun mode, and you were the original broadcast everyone had already forgotten.

(…)

The confrontation didn’t happen at a party, or under the dramatic neon lights of a college bar. It happened at the campus grocery store, under the harsh, unvivid hum of fluorescent lights, right in front of the freezer aisle.

You were reaching for a pint of strawberry ice cream when a hand brushed yours. You froze. The heavy silver ring on his index finger was unmistakable.

"Hey," Dean said. His voice was lower than you remembered, or maybe it just lacked the easy warmth it used to carry when it was reserved solely for you.

"Dean," you replied, keeping your voice tight, a fragile shield against the sudden rush of memories.

Beside him, the new girl appeared, holding a box of the exact brand of chocolate chip cookies you and Dean used to bake at 2:00 AM when he couldn't sleep after a tough game. The girl smiled sweetly, entirely oblivious to the ghost standing right in front of her. "Dean, do we need the big or small one?"

Do we. The pronoun felt like a slap.

"The small one's fine, babe," Dean said, but his blue eyes never left your face. There was a flicker of something volatile behind his usual calm facade—a flash of guilt, or worse, comparison.

"Strawberry?" Dean noted, nodding toward the pint in your hand. "Thought you swore off that after the playoffs."

"Changed my mind," you said coolly. "People change, Dean. Or at least, some of them do. Others just find a new face to do the exact same things with."

The girl looked between you two, a slight frown marring her perfect features. Dean’s jaw tightened, a muscle leaping in his cheek. He stepped closer, dropping his voice so it wouldn't carry. "That’s not fair."

"Isn't it?" You whispered, your heart hammering against your ribs. "Does she know you reuse your jokes, Dean? Or do you just hope the deja vu doesn't hit you too hard?"

You didn't wait for him to answer. You dropped the ice cream back into the freezer and walked away, your chest tight with a suffocating mix of anger and unresolved heartbreak.

(…)

A week passed. The anger curdled into a hollow, exhausting grief. You tried to avoid the places you used to frequent, but Briar was only so big, and Dean’s presence was massive.

Then came the torrential downpour on a Tuesday night. You were walking back from the library, a heavy jacket pulled tight against the wind, when a familiar black truck pulled up to the curb, its hazard lights blinking.

The passenger door swung open.

"Get in," Dean ordered from the driver's seat. He looked wrecked. His hair was a messy, damp disaster, and the usual effortless charm was completely absent.

"I’m walking, Dean."

"It’s pouring. Get in the damn car. Please."

The "please" broke your resolve. You climbed inside, the sudden warmth and the painfully familiar scent of him hitting you like a physical blow. You both sat in silence for a few blocks, the windshield wipers slapping a frantic rhythm against the glass.

"I broke it off," Dean said suddenly, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white.

You kept your eyes fixed ahead. "Why? Weren't the reruns working out?"

"Because it wasn't you!" Dean snapped, pulling the truck over to the side of the road and turning to face you. The raw emotion in his voice shocked you. Dean Di Laurentis didn't do raw; he did smooth. He did easy.

"I tried," he admitted, his voice cracking, looking younger and more vulnerable than you had ever seen him. "I went to the diner, I went to the overlook, I bought the stupid cookies. And every single second, I was just looking at her wishing she had your laugh. Wishing she understood why I can't sleep after a loss. It wasn't a script, it was an addiction. I was just trying to recreate the only time in my life I ever felt completely safe, because I was too stupid to just come back and tell you I screwed up."

The angst that had weighed you down for weeks suddenly shifted, transforming into something sharp and exposed. "You replaced me, Dean. You made me feel like a prototype."

"You could never be replaced," he whispered, reaching across the console. His hand hovered, trembling slightly, waiting for your permission. "I was running away from how much I love you, and I ended up running right back into your ghost.

The rain hadn't stopped, but the suffocating atmosphere inside the truck had cleared, replaced by a fragile, tentative quiet.

You looked at his hand, then up at his eyes. The arrogance was completely gone, replaced by a desperate, pleading sincerity. You had wanted to punish him, wanted him to feel a fraction of the displacement you had felt. But seeing him entirely undone proved that the history you both shared wasn't easily replicated. He hadn't forgotten you; he had been haunted by you.

"No more diners," you said, your voice small but steady. "No more chocolate chip cookies. No more shortcuts."

Dean let out a breath that sounded like a sob, closing the distance between his hand and yours, intertwining your fingers. "Anything. We can burn the whole playbook."

"We start over," you insisted. "A completely new story. No reruns."

"No reruns," Dean swore, leaning across the console. He didn't use his smooth, practiced movements this time. He was clumsy, hesitant, until his lips met yours in a kiss that tasted like rain, relief, and a fierce, unspoken promise.

It didn't feel like deja vu at all. It felt like a new beginning.

[mermaid-sky-writes]

Red (one shot)

summary: loving Dean has never been easy but it's worth trying pairing: dean dilaurentis x reader content: romance, flashbacks, happy ending

inspiration: Red by Taylor Swift (preview of the song at the end of the story)

The autumn air in Boston didn’t just cool the skin; it bit into it, a sharp reminder that summer was definitively dead. I stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of the coffee shop, watching the rain blur the streetlights into smudged halos of gold. My hands were wrapped around a mug that had long since lost its warmth.

I hadn’t seen Dean Di Laurentis in three months.

When you love someone like Dean—a man who moves through the world with the effortless grace of a natural-born athlete and the magnetic charm of a god—you don’t just date them. You collide with them. He was hockey royalty, the Golden Boy of Briar University, a guy used to winning everything he touched. And for a glorious, terrifying year, I had been the thing he wanted to win most.

But losing him? Losing him wasn’t a clean break. It was a slow, agonizing fade.

It was blue. Like the bruised, heavy sky right before a massive thunderstorm. Like the icy, unforgiving color of the rink where I used to watch him skate, missing him even when he was standing right in front of me, his mind miles away on a future that didn't seem to have room for us. It was lonely. A hollow, aching kind of sad that settled deep into my bones, a constant reminder that he was gone, and I was left trying to figure out how to breathe in a world that suddenly felt entirely too quiet.

My phone buzzed on the table. A text from a mutual friend. “Dean’s back in town for the charity gala tonight. Thought you should know.”

My heart did a violent, familiar flip. I stared at the screen, the blue light reflecting in my eyes, and for the first time in months, the coldness faded, replaced by a sudden, dangerous spark.

(...)

The charity gala was a sea of black ties, glittering diamonds, and polite, forced laughter. I shouldn’t have come. I knew it the second I walked through the doors of the ballroom. I was a ghost in a room full of living people, wearing a dress I’d bought hoping it would make me feel brave. It didn't.

I stood near the edge of the terrace, looking out over the city. This was the dark gray part of missing him. The phase where you aren't crying anymore, but you aren't really living either. It was the color of the pavement under a cloudy sky. It was trying to find his face in every crowd, knowing he wasn't there, and then, worse, realizing that even if he was there, things would never be the same.

"You always did know how to choose a dress that makes everything else in the room look monochromatic."

The voice was low, laced with a familiar, dangerous raspy warmth.

I froze. My breath hitched in my throat as I turned around.

Dean.

He was leaning against the stone railing, hands shoved casually into the pockets of his tailored tuxedo pants. His blonde hair was perfectly styled, but there was an intensity in his blue eyes that hadn't been there before. He looked older. Less like the carefree college playboy and more like a man carrying a weight he wasn't used to bearing.

"Dean," I breathed, the word a fragile thing between us.

"Hi," he said softly, stepping closer. The distance between us shrunk, and with it, the dark gray world I’d been living in began to fracture. "You didn't answer my calls."

"Because there was nothing left to say, Dean. We said it all three months ago."

"I didn't say everything," he countered, his voice dropping an octave, raw and heavy with a regret that shocked me. "I spent ninety days trying to convince myself that letting you go was the right thing for your sake, for my career, for everything. And I’ve never been more wrong about anything in my life."

The tension between us snapped like a high-voltage wire. Before I could protest, Dean reached out, his fingers brushing against my jawline, a touch so familiar it sent a jolt of pure electricity straight to my core.

Suddenly, the blue sadness and the gray isolation vanished, burned away by a sudden, blinding rush of color.

Red.

Loving Dean Di Laurentis was, and always would be, burning red. It was the color of a fast car driving down a dead-end street. It was reckless, passionate, and utterly consuming. It was the flush on my cheeks when he looked at me like I was the only person in a crowded room. It was the fierce, terrifying speed at which we fell into each other, defying logic, defying the rules, defying the fact that we were probably bad for each other.

"Come with me," he whispered, his eyes searching mine, desperate and burning. "Just for tonight. No hockey, no future plans, no expectations. Just us."

"Dean, we can't just go back—"

"I don't want to go back," he interrupted, his thumb tracing my lower lip. "I want to go forward. But I can't do it without you. I tried. I swear to God I tried, and it was killing me."

He pulled me into the shadow of the terrace curtains, away from the prying eyes of the gala, and kissed me.

It was a collision of lips and months of built-up agony. It tasted like rain and expensive whiskey and desperate longing. It was a beautiful, chaotic mess, a wildfire that threatened to consume everything we had tried so hard to rebuild apart. In his arms, surrounded by his scent, I knew I was lost. You can't fight a fire when you're standing right in the center of the flames.

The next morning, the sun broke through the Boston fog, casting a warm, golden light across the tangled sheets of Dean's apartment.

I lay awake, watching the rise and fall of his chest as he slept beside me, one of his arms thrown protectively over my waist. The dramatic storm of the night before had passed, leaving behind a quiet, fragile peace.

I knew the risks. I knew that loving a man like Dean meant living life at a volume that was sometimes too loud to bear. It meant handling the drama of his high-profile life, the distance of his travel, and the terrifying intensity of his devotion. It was a rollercoaster, a beautiful, spinning, dangerous ride.

Dean stirred, his eyelashes fluttering open. When he saw me looking at him, a slow, breathtaking smile spread across his face—the one he reserved only for me. He pulled me closer, burying his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply.

"You're still here," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep.

"I'm still here," I whispered back, tangling my fingers in his hair.

We didn't have all the answers. The future was still an unpredictable, terrifying road. But as I looked at him, feeling the heat of his skin against mine, I realized I didn't want a safe, quiet life of blues and grays. I wanted the passion. I wanted the fight.

Our love story wasn't simple, and it certainly wasn't easy. It was a beautiful, chaotic masterpiece. And as Dean leaned up to kiss me, sealing our unspoken promise to try again, I knew that no matter how many times we burned, I would always choose to burn with him.

Because loving him was red. And I never wanted to see any other color again.

[mermaid-sky-writes]

The road trip (epilogue)

part one, part two, part three pairing: dean dilaurentis x reader content: enemies to lovers, brother's best friend, fluff, romance

inspiration: 80 miles by Glades (preview of the song at the end of the story)

Six Months Later

"Where are you?" she asks over the phone.

"Right here," I say, raising my hand.

She flings herself at me, nearly knocking me to the ground. I wrap my arms around her as she lets out a little squeal.

"God, you have no idea how much I've missed you," she says, kissing my lips before showering my entire face with kisses. I smile like an idiot.

"I missed you too," I say, feeling my heart leap with joy just to have her back.

We have been dating for six months. Two of those months were long-distance due to her university schedule and my work. After that, I managed to spend two months in New York thanks to an exchange program within the company I work for. Then, she spent a month in Oregon for her summer vacation, and the following month it was impossible for us to see each other because of her final exams. Now, we were about to celebrate the holidays, and she was back in Oregon to spend them with her family and me. Without a second thought, I had offered to pick her up from the airport.

"How is work?" she asks, taking my hand.

"Boring," I say, and she gives me a playful nudge. "I'd rather be in New York with you."

"Yeah," she says, "that would be great. You should request another exchange."

"Just so we can sneak out of your dorm?"

She blushes and doesn't answer. On more than one occasion, she had slept away from her dorm to spend the night at the apartment my company rented for me.

"If you say anything in front of my mom, I'm going to kill you."

I kiss the back of her hand. "My lips are sealed, Miss Graham."

As I drive toward her house, I mentally remind myself to unpack the Christmas gifts from the car.

"We're here," I say, parking the car.

"My baby!" her mother calls out from the front door.

She gets out of the car and gives her a massive hug while I unload her suitcases.

"We've missed you like crazy," her mother says. "Especially Dean—you know how he gets when you two can't talk."

I blush, and her mother gives me a gentle nudge.

"Come on in, I just finished making lunch."

She helps me with one of her suitcases, and we both walk into her house. Garrett and his girlfriend, Hannah, are already there. After realizing that I was actually going to settle down, Garrett decided to do the same and started dating Hannah. Garrett stands up and runs to hug his sister.

"Hey, dummy," he says. "We've been waiting for you. Mom wasn't going to let us eat until you got here." He rolls his eyes as he says this last part.

She laughs and greets Hannah as she sits down at the dining table with her.

"Hey," Garrett greets me. "That was a quick drive. You should drive to work like that."

I give his shoulder a playful shove, and Garrett laughs. Then, we both sit down at the table and chat for a bit while we eat lunch. When we finish clearing the table, their mother places some gifts down.

"Gifts?" Garret says. "It's not Christmas yet."

"What does it matter?" his mother replies with a laugh. "This one is for you, Hannah," she says, handing one to Garrett's girlfriend. "And this one... is for my sweet daughter."

She frowns in confusion but looks excited. She takes the small gift and holds it up to her ear.

"It's small," she says, and I smile watching her. "I think it's a bracelet or some earrings."

"Open it," I say, and she nods.

After opening the box, she freezes, and everyone waits for her to react.

"Wh-What is this?" she asks, her voice cracking.

"The key to our new apartment in New York," I say, and her eyes go wide.

"You're joking."

"No," I say as the others laugh. "I'm completely serious."

She stays frozen for another minute, then leaps up from the table and runs toward me.

"This..." she says through tears, "I can't believe it."

"So, you like the idea?"

"Do I like it?" she says, hitting my chest. "Man, you took long enough!"

Everyone bursts out laughing. I take her by the hand and kiss her cheek.

"I love you," I tell her, and she smiles.

"I love you too," she replies, "more than you know."

• • • •

I finish loading my things into the car and slam the trunk shut. We were going to drive back to New York, heading towards our new apartment.

"Everything ready?" her mother asks.

"Yes, everything is in the car."

Her mother says goodbye to us with a tight hug, as does Garrett, who reminds us that he will be coming to visit very soon. I say goodbye one last time and get into the car, with her in the passenger seat.

"I can't believe we're going to live together," she says, hiding her face in her hands.

"Believe it," I say, "because it's happening."

She laughs and pulls out one of her books. I smile and turn on the radio, making her raise an eyebrow.

"Seriously?"

I shrug, and she laughs.

"This brings back so many memories," she says, shaking her head.

"I hope one of those memories is the one about you not touching my stereo," I retort, and she bursts out laughing.

"And I hope this time you actually have a spare tire."

We both laugh, and I rest my hand on her leg.

"For your sake, I hope you don't try to jump out of the car door and then go into a bar to talk to a stranger."

She blushes.

"That wasn't a bad idea."

"It wasn't?"

She shakes her head. "No, because if I hadn't done that, I wouldn't have built up the courage to kiss you, let alone confess my love for you."

I look at her, deeply moved, and when I stop the car at a red light, I lean in to kiss her.

That trip had changed my life in every possible way, and if I could live it all over again, I would—no matter how many flat tires and bar fights I had to endure. I would do it all over again, time and time again, if it meant ending up with her.

THE END

[mermaid-sky-writes]

@midnightmax @purplerainx1 @bookluver114 @loakswifee @batmanssssss @szn2wtlos @maironmichaelis @tbslseven @lematarazzo final part is up :)

[mermaid-sky-writes]

The road trip (epilogue)

part one, part two, part three pairing: dean dilaurentis x reader content: enemies to lovers, brother's best friend, fluff, romance

inspiration: 80 miles by Glades (preview of the song at the end of the story)

Six Months Later

"Where are you?" she asks over the phone.

"Right here," I say, raising my hand.

She flings herself at me, nearly knocking me to the ground. I wrap my arms around her as she lets out a little squeal.

"God, you have no idea how much I've missed you," she says, kissing my lips before showering my entire face with kisses. I smile like an idiot.

"I missed you too," I say, feeling my heart leap with joy just to have her back.

We have been dating for six months. Two of those months were long-distance due to her university schedule and my work. After that, I managed to spend two months in New York thanks to an exchange program within the company I work for. Then, she spent a month in Oregon for her summer vacation, and the following month it was impossible for us to see each other because of her final exams. Now, we were about to celebrate the holidays, and she was back in Oregon to spend them with her family and me. Without a second thought, I had offered to pick her up from the airport.

"How is work?" she asks, taking my hand.

"Boring," I say, and she gives me a playful nudge. "I'd rather be in New York with you."

"Yeah," she says, "that would be great. You should request another exchange."

"Just so we can sneak out of your dorm?"

She blushes and doesn't answer. On more than one occasion, she had slept away from her dorm to spend the night at the apartment my company rented for me.

"If you say anything in front of my mom, I'm going to kill you."

I kiss the back of her hand. "My lips are sealed, Miss Graham."

As I drive toward her house, I mentally remind myself to unpack the Christmas gifts from the car.

"We're here," I say, parking the car.

"My baby!" her mother calls out from the front door.

She gets out of the car and gives her a massive hug while I unload her suitcases.

"We've missed you like crazy," her mother says. "Especially Dean—you know how he gets when you two can't talk."

I blush, and her mother gives me a gentle nudge.

"Come on in, I just finished making lunch."

She helps me with one of her suitcases, and we both walk into her house. Garrett and his girlfriend, Hannah, are already there. After realizing that I was actually going to settle down, Garrett decided to do the same and started dating Hannah. Garrett stands up and runs to hug his sister.

"Hey, dummy," he says. "We've been waiting for you. Mom wasn't going to let us eat until you got here." He rolls his eyes as he says this last part.

She laughs and greets Hannah as she sits down at the dining table with her.

"Hey," Garrett greets me. "That was a quick drive. You should drive to work like that."

I give his shoulder a playful shove, and Garrett laughs. Then, we both sit down at the table and chat for a bit while we eat lunch. When we finish clearing the table, their mother places some gifts down.

"Gifts?" Garret says. "It's not Christmas yet."

"What does it matter?" his mother replies with a laugh. "This one is for you, Hannah," she says, handing one to Garrett's girlfriend. "And this one... is for my sweet daughter."

She frowns in confusion but looks excited. She takes the small gift and holds it up to her ear.

"It's small," she says, and I smile watching her. "I think it's a bracelet or some earrings."

"Open it," I say, and she nods.

After opening the box, she freezes, and everyone waits for her to react.

"Wh-What is this?" she asks, her voice cracking.

"The key to our new apartment in New York," I say, and her eyes go wide.

"You're joking."

"No," I say as the others laugh. "I'm completely serious."

She stays frozen for another minute, then leaps up from the table and runs toward me.

"This..." she says through tears, "I can't believe it."

"So, you like the idea?"

"Do I like it?" she says, hitting my chest. "Man, you took long enough!"

Everyone bursts out laughing. I take her by the hand and kiss her cheek.

"I love you," I tell her, and she smiles.

"I love you too," she replies, "more than you know."

• • • •

I finish loading my things into the car and slam the trunk shut. We were going to drive back to New York, heading towards our new apartment.

"Everything ready?" her mother asks.

"Yes, everything is in the car."

Her mother says goodbye to us with a tight hug, as does Garrett, who reminds us that he will be coming to visit very soon. I say goodbye one last time and get into the car, with her in the passenger seat.

"I can't believe we're going to live together," she says, hiding her face in her hands.

"Believe it," I say, "because it's happening."

She laughs and pulls out one of her books. I smile and turn on the radio, making her raise an eyebrow.

"Seriously?"

I shrug, and she laughs.

"This brings back so many memories," she says, shaking her head.

"I hope one of those memories is the one about you not touching my stereo," I retort, and she bursts out laughing.

"And I hope this time you actually have a spare tire."

We both laugh, and I rest my hand on her leg.

"For your sake, I hope you don't try to jump out of the car door and then go into a bar to talk to a stranger."

She blushes.

"That wasn't a bad idea."

"It wasn't?"

She shakes her head. "No, because if I hadn't done that, I wouldn't have built up the courage to kiss you, let alone confess my love for you."

I look at her, deeply moved, and when I stop the car at a red light, I lean in to kiss her.

That trip had changed my life in every possible way, and if I could live it all over again, I would—no matter how many flat tires and bar fights I had to endure. I would do it all over again, time and time again, if it meant ending up with her.

THE END

[mermaid-sky-writes]

Begin Again (one shot)

summary: you didn't think it was possible to fall in love again, until you met Dean pairing: dean dilaurentis x reader content: romance, a little angsty, flashbacks

inspiration: Begin again by Taylor Swift (preview of the song at the end of the story)

The rain in Boston always felt heavier when you were trying to outrun a memory. For eight months, my world had been a quiet, cautious place. Eight months since a relationship that had slowly chipped away at who I was finally ended. He had a way of making me feel small, of making my love for old movies, my tendency to overthink, and my choice of high heels feel like inconveniences. By the end, I had learned to hold my breath, to dress in neutrals, and to keep my thoughts to myself.

So, when a friend practically forced me to agree to a blind date, my immediate instinct was to find an excuse. But somehow, here I was, walking into a small, dimly lit café on a Wednesday, shaking off my umbrella.

I chose a table near the back, pulling my long coat tight around myself. I was early—a habit born from years of being told that making someone wait was a capital offense. I looked down at my hands, nervously spinning a ring on my index finger, wondering if I should just leave a twenty on the table and walk out before he arrived.

Then, the bell above the door chimed.

I looked up, and the air left my lungs. The guy walking in didn’t look like he belonged in a quiet, indie café. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a sharp jawline and messy blonde hair that looked like he’d just run his hands through it. He wore a simple black henley that clung to a physique that screamed athlete. It was Dean Di Laurentis. Even if you didn't follow college hockey, you knew who Dean was—the charming, effortlessly confident star player of Briar University.

His eyes scanned the room and locked onto mine. A slow, easy smile spread across his face, and he started walking over. My heart did a sudden, violent flip. Great, I thought, a wave of panic washing over me. He’s gorgeous, he’s famous, and he’s going to think I’m incredibly boring.

"Hey," Dean said, his voice a low, warm rumble as he pulled out the chair opposite me. "You must be her. I'm Dean."

"I know," I breathed out before I could stop myself. I felt my cheeks flush. "I mean, yes. Hi. Nice to meet you."

He laughed, a rich, genuine sound that instantly cut through the tension in my shoulders. "Good to know my reputation precedes me. Hopefully the good parts." He slid into the seat, his large frame making the small wooden chair look tiny.

When the waitress came over, I ordered a black coffee, a habit from my ex, who always complained if I ordered something "too complicated" or expensive. Dean looked at me, then at the menu, and then back to me with a twinkle in his blue eyes.

"Just black?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow. "Come on, we’re at a place that literally has a drink called the 'Chocolate Avalanche.' You’re telling me you don’t want a little sweetness in your life?"

"I... I usually just keep it simple," I stammered, unaccustomed to someone questioning my choices without a tone of judgment.

Dean smiled gently, leaning forward, resting his forearms on the table. "Two Chocolate Avalanches, please," he told the waitress, winking at her. When she walked away, he looked back at me. "Trust me. If we're going to suffer through a rainy Wednesday, we're doing it with whipped cream."

For the next hour, I waited for the other shoe to drop. I waited for him to take over the conversation, to talk only about himself, or to make me feel small for the things I liked. But he didn't. When I nervously mentioned my love for obscure, classic romantic comedies, I braced myself for a sarcastic comment. My ex used to tell me they were a waste of brain cells.

Instead, Dean’s eyes lit up. "Wait, are you talking about the ones with James Stewart? My mom makes us watch those every Christmas. You actually like those?"

"I love them," I said, my voice growing a little stronger.

"That’s amazing," he said, and the way he looked at me—completely focused, entirely present—made me feel like I was the only person in the crowded café. He didn't think I was weird. For the first time in almost a year, someone was actually listening to me.

By the time our extravagant, sugar-loaded drinks arrived, the rain outside had turned into a steady, soothing hum against the windowpane. I found myself talking more than I had in months. I told him about my classes, my art, and my terrible habit of laughing at my own jokes before I finished telling them.

"Show me," Dean suddenly said, leaning back and crossing his arms.

"Show you what?"

"Your art. I know you have pictures on your phone. Let's see."

With hesitant fingers, I pulled up my portfolio. I handed the phone over, my chest tight with apprehension. My ex had always called my paintings a "cute little hobby."

Dean took the phone. His expression softened as he scrolled through the images of vibrant landscapes and abstract emotions captured in oil. He didn't look at them for just a second; he studied them.

"Wow," he murmured, his voice laced with genuine awe. "You did this? The colors in this one... it’s like you can actually feel the wind moving through the trees." He looked up, his gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that made my breath catch. "You're incredibly talented. Seriously."

A sudden, sharp memory pierced through me—a memory of sitting across a different table, being told to put my phone away and stop showing off. My eyes stung with a sudden rush of unshed tears, a mix of old grief and new shock.

Dean noticed the shift instantly. His brow furrowed with concern. "Hey, did I say something wrong?"

"No," I said quickly, swallowing the lump in my throat. I looked down at my hands, then back up at him, forcing a smile. "No, you didn't. It's just... my ex used to think my art was a waste of time."

Dean’s face hardened for a fraction of a second, a flash of protective anger crossing his features before it smoothed out into something incredibly tender. He reached across the table, his large, warm hand covering mine. His touch was electric, sending a wave of warmth straight to my heart.

"Then your ex was a fool," Dean said softly, his thumb gently brushing against the back of my hand. "And he clearly didn't deserve to have someone like you in his life."

I looked at him, at the sincerity in his eyes, and a laugh bubbled up from my chest. It wasn't a polite, guarded laugh. It was a real, loud, head-thrown-back kind of laugh. Dean grinned, his own laughter joining mine, and in that moment, the ghost of my past felt a little less solid.

The café was closing by the time we finally stood up to leave. The rain had cleared, leaving the Boston streets glittering under the glow of the streetlights. The air was crisp and smelled of wet pavement and turning leaves.

Dean walked me to my car, his hands tucked casually into his pockets, keeping his stride slow to match mine. We stopped by the driver’s side door. The silence between us wasn't awkward; it was charged with a sweet, lingering anticipation.

"I had a really great time tonight," I said, looking up at him. For the first time in eight months, I didn't feel the urge to apologize for taking up space.

"Me too," Dean said. He stepped a little closer, breaking the boundary of casual acquaintance. He reached out, his fingers gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear. His touch lingered on my cheek, his skin warm against the cool night air. "You're kind of incredible, you know that?"

I felt a beautiful, terrifying flutter in my chest. "I think you might be biased."

"I am," he admitted with a smirk, his eyes dropping to my lips for a brief second before returning to my eyes. "Which is why I'm going to need to see you again. To confirm my theories. How does Friday sound? I'll pick you up. We can get dinner at a place that doesn't serve drinks with the word 'avalanche' in the title."

I smiled, a real, bright smile that reached my eyes. The weight that had been sitting on my chest for eight long months suddenly felt lighter, almost gone. The memory of the boy who broke me didn't hurt as much anymore. It was fading, replaced by the warmth of Dean's hand, the sound of his laughter, and the promise of Friday night.

"Friday sounds perfect," I said.

Dean smiled, a brilliant, heart-stopping expression, and leaned down to press a soft, lingering kiss to my cheek. "It's a date."

As I watched him walk away, his long strides taking him down the sidewalk under the streetlamps, I unlocked my car and got in. I turned the key, and as the radio came to life, I leaned my head back against the seat.

On a Wednesday, in a café, I had watched it begin again.

[mermaid-sky-writes]

The road trip (part three)

part one, part two pairing: dean dilaurentis x reader content: enemies to lovers, brother's best friend, fluff, romance, slightly angst

inspiration: Volcanic love by The Aces (preview of the song at the end of the story)

"Hey..." I murmured when I had her right in front of me, her pink lips so close to mine.

"I couldn't sleep," she said. "I'm sorry."

I didn't answer. Instead, I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She smiled at the gesture.

"Do you mind?" she asked, sitting down on my bed.

"No," I said, before adding, "But Garrett might."

She fell silent, and I could see her eyes glittering in the dim light. "Garrett has nothing to do with this."

"Yes, he does," I said, sighing. "I'm his best friend. And you're his sister."

"And I'm also an adult who can do whatever she damn well pleases."

I smiled and shook my head. She was so feisty. "I just think what happened between us isn't right."

"Do... do you regret it?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"I never said that," I replied.

She moved closer to me and sat right next to me on the bed. "Then..." she said, "can I do it again?"

I looked down, my eyes locking onto her parted lips, which looked even softer than before. I had to say no—it was what I should do. But instead, I took her by the chin and brought our lips together. I started kissing her slowly, but the kiss began to turn into something much more passionate. A soft gasp escaped her lips, and I lost whatever common sense I had left. With the help of my hands on her waist, she climbed onto my lap, making the kiss even more intense. I had to stop now, or I didn't even want to imagine what might happen. I pulled away by a few inches, and she gasped in annoyance, making me laugh. I kissed the tip of her nose as she began to wrinkle it.

"If you tell me you stopped because of Garrett, I'm going to punch you in the face," she said, sounding annoyed.

I smiled and shook my head. "I'm stopping for you."

"For me?" she asked, confused.

"Yes," I said. "You're younger than me, and you've never had a boyfriend. I don't want to take advantage of that."

She burst out laughing and nudged my chest. "Oh, come on, are you serious?"

"Yes," I murmured. She stopped laughing when she realized I wasn't joking.

"Oh," she said. "That's..."

"Stupid?" I interrupted.

"Pretty sweet, actually," she said, caressing my cheek. "Who would've thought that underneath all that swearing was such a sweet guy?"

We both laughed, and she rested her head against my chest.

"Everything okay?" I asked.

She nodded, but I knew she wasn't.

"It's just..." she sighed, "it's just that I've never felt this way before."

My heart hammered loudly against my ribs, and I prayed she wouldn't notice.

"Felt like what?"

"I don't know," she said. "I don't know how to explain it." Her eyes lingered on me, and I wanted to kiss her again. I needed to control myself. "Forget it," she said, shaking her head.

I raised an eyebrow. "Seriously, it's stupid."

"It's not," I said. "Come on, tell me."

"It's like..." she whispered, "like we're one of those obnoxious couples who can't stop kissing and touching each other."

I let out a laugh, and she blushed.

"And what's wrong with that?" I said. "They seemed pretty happy."

"And in love," she whispered.

Silence fell between us. She wasn't in love with me, obviously. We had barely spoken to each other in all the years I'd been friends with Garrett. I had actually thought she detested me this whole time.

"I'm going to sleep," she said, climbing off my lap and turning around to sleep on her side. With my arms, I caught her waist and turned her body around to face me. From this angle, she looked even prettier than usual.

"Talk to me" I said. Her eyes welled up with tears. I frowned but pulled her close to my chest.

"It's..." she sobbed, "Garrett told me I was an idiot for falling for you because you guys were friends, and you were a womanizer who would never settle down with anyone—much less with me. He said we didn't even talk, and that you always had a different girl around, and..." Her voice broke, and she couldn't stop crying.

What the hell was going on?

"Hey..." I said. She looked at me with her tear-filled eyes, and I felt my heart break. "Are you...?" I didn't finish the question, but she nodded slowly.

"But..." I said, confused. "Since when?"

"A few months, I don't remember," she said, sniffing. "It all started that time you helped me clean up the morning after one of Garrett's massive parties. You were cracking jokes and actually paid attention to me. And when I started throwing insults and throwing a tantrum, you just put up with it."

I fell silent, remembering her words from back then: “If a guy makes me laugh and can handle my attitude, then that's enough for me.”

"It's stupid, I know," she said. "To you, I'm just Garrett's little sister, and besides, I'm not your type." She wrinkled her nose, and I took her hand, intertwining our fingers and kissing the back of it.

"And what is my type supposed to be?"

"Girls with nice, short clothes who wear makeup," she said, rolling her eyes.

I laughed, but she didn't seem to find it funny, as she just stared at me with her nose wrinkled.

"That's not my type," I replied.

"If it's not that, then what is it?" she asked.

I pulled her even closer to me, feeling my breath hitch every time I was near her. "My type is girls who can't seem to shut up, who don't understand that I hate it when people touch my stereo, and who also love onion rings just as much as or more than I do."

She looked at me, her eyes wide open and her mouth slightly parted. "You're playing with me."

I shook my head and wrapped my arms around her.

"No way," she said. "You don't like me."

For the first time, I felt my cheeks grow warm. She laughed and hugged me. "When did that happen?"

I smiled and stroked her hair. "Probably somewhere between the ketchup stain and the bar fight."

She gave me a huge smile, and suddenly we were holding each other in bed, with no intention of letting go anytime soon. Knowing that she had felt something for me for so long made me happy in a way, but it also hurt. I had gone out with several girls after that moment we shared while cleaning. The truth was, I had felt a connection that day too, but I dismissed it entirely for obvious reasons.

"Are you overwhelmed or something?" she whispered.

"No," I replied. "I just have a lot of questions."

"You can start by asking me one," she said with a charming giggle.

"Why did you tell Garrett?"

She sighed. "It wasn't my intention. Eventually, he figured it out, and we had a confrontation over it. I hoped what he said about you was a lie, but it wasn't." Her gaze dropped. "You started bringing around different girls, and Garrett kept repeating, 'I told you so.' Let's just say I started to hate you."

I fought back a smile. I remembered how annoyed she always looked whenever she saw me—always trying to pick a fight or ignoring me. Now it all made sense.

"You're probably wondering how I felt knowing I'd be road-tripping with you all the way to New York," she said, and I nodded. "Well, it was like someone dumped a bucket of ice water over me. I wanted to die when Garrett told me you were the one taking me, but at the same time, something inside me was excited to spend time with you." She sighed and sat up. "I feel silly telling you all this."

I grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back to me. "You're not."

She shifted in my arms, and her fruity scent lingered on my t-shirt.

"So..." she said, looking at her hands.

"So?"

"What's going to happen after this trip ends?"

I sighed. I had thought about that too, but I didn't think I was capable of talking about it. "What do you want to happen?"

I caught her by surprise.

"I... I don't know," she said. "I'll be in New York, and you'll be in Oregon. It's never going to work. And that's not even counting my annoying brother."

I bit back a laugh, since this seemed to be a serious conversation, and stroked her hair. "Garrett is an idiot, but we can make him come to his senses," I said. "After he cuts my balls off, of course."

She laughed and blushed. "And what about the distance?"

"That's something that can be fixed," I answered. "But for now, we need to get some sleep if we want to reach New York before your first day."

Her huge eyes made me feel like a lovesick fool. There was something about her that had driven me crazy since the day I met her, but now it was on a whole different level. She leaned against my chest, and I wrapped my arms around her. Within minutes, I felt her breathing steady, and I knew she was asleep, while I couldn't stop tossing the matter around in my head.

Did I like her? Damn right. I had to admit I was starting to feel something for her—something so sudden it felt like a jolt to my system. But I wasn't sure how Garrett would react. Besides, she was right about one thing: I hadn't planned on settling down anytime soon. I looked down at her, who had her eyes closed, her eyelashes practically brushing her cheeks. She was beautiful. She had the worst temper, but underneath it all, she was sweet. She was also younger than me, and we fought most of the time. I didn't know how we could make something like this work. I kissed her cheek, and she stirred in her sleep. I was confused—very confused. So, I decided to close my eyes and hold her tight right before drifting off.

The next morning, I woke up to a tickling sensation all over my face. I opened my eyes, squinting against the light, and saw her hovering close, leaving tiny kisses all over my face. When she realized I'd caught her in the act, her face turned a bright shade of pink.

"I'm sorry," she said, laughing. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

I raised an eyebrow, and she giggled.

"Okay, fine, I did want to wake you," she admitted. "We only have today to get to New York." As she said this, her expression dimmed a bit, and it felt like a crack ran through my heart.

"You're right," I said, catching her by surprise as I kissed her on the lips.

I sat up in bed, and Josephine sat on my lap. I smiled seeing her like this—so sweet and calm. It was a stark contrast to how she usually spent every hour throwing a temper tantrum.

"What do you want to do now?" I asked her.

"Aside from having breakfast and spending time with you?" she countered. "I don't know."

I laughed, and she did too. After discussing what we could do on our last day of the trip, she went to take a shower. While I was waiting for her, I got a call from Garrett.

"Hey, idiot," he greeted as soon as I picked up. "How's everything? Are you both still alive?"

I laughed. "All good, we'll be in Cleveland soon."

"So soon?" he said. "I thought it would take you longer because of your constant fighting and all that."

I let out a laugh, and Garrett kept talking.

"How has my little sister been behaving?" Hearing this brought a pang of guilt, reminding me that everything that had happened with his sister over the last few hours was technically crossing a line.

"Fine, I guess."

"Just fine?" he teased, laughing. "I thought you'd unleash a flood of insults about her."

"Of course not," I said, forcing a chuckle. "She might be unbearable, but she's your sister."

Garrett laughed at that, but I felt like I had just swallowed something bitter. I didn't feel comfortable talking about her like that anymore, especially since I didn't mean it.

"Good," he said. "I'm glad things are fine between you two, and especially that you agreed to take her."

"No need to thank me," I said. "I know you'd do the same for me if I asked."

"Without a doubt," he replied. "By the way, I'll be in New York in a few hours. Don't tell her, I want it to be a surprise."

"Sure," I answered.

When the call ended, I couldn't hear the water running anymore and figured she was done. Seconds later, she walked out of the bathroom with wet hair and a fresh face. She looked beautiful, but I wasn't sure if I should tell her. Just a few minutes ago, I had been talking to her brother.

"Ready?"

She nodded, but I noticed she seemed distant. When we got into the car, she didn't try to hold my hand or say anything. She just stared straight ahead, exactly the way she had at the beginning of the trip.

"Hey," I said abruptly. "What's wrong?"

"Am I really that unbearable?"

I froze. She had overheard me talking to Garrett.

"Well, I can't exactly tell your brother that you're adorable and look gorgeous when you wake up, can I?"

She pressed her lips together to fight off a smile, but she couldn't help it, ultimately flashing me a beautiful grin.

"You drive me crazy," she laughed, and I took her hand.

I drove toward Cleveland, Ohio, and things were definitively different now. We laughed and joked; we didn't fight over the radio, but most of all, my feelings began to deepen. She was driving me crazy—completely crazy about her. After stopping for breakfast and driving for a few more hours, our stomachs began to growl again, and I had to pull over at a pizzeria on the outskirts of Mercer County, Pennsylvania. When I ordered and walked back to the table, I could see that her demeanor had shifted again. She looked sad.

"What's wrong?" I asked, taking her hand.

"We're getting close to New York," she said, sighing.

"I know," I said. "But that was the goal of this trip, wasn't it?" I tried to cheer her up, but it didn't work. She just gave me a sad smile.

"And besides, there are plenty of places around campus," I added. "It'll be hard to choose which ones we'll visit first, but we'll figure it out."

Her eyes widened, and my heart swelled with happiness just looking at her. "Are you serious, Dean?"

"Yes," I said. "Unless you don't want me to."

She bit her lower lip. "Are we really going to do this then?"

I looked into her eyes. Was I really going to do this? Was I really going to settle down with my best friend's younger sister? She blinked in a way that captured my full attention, and I realized the only answer was yes. I did want to be with her.

"Yes," I answered.

She leaped out of her seat and threw herself at me, locking her lips with mine. For the rest of our time at the pizzeria, we talked about college, about that funny bar fight, and above all, about us. It was weird to think of an 'us' and talk about it, but I liked it.

"Are we almost there?" She asked while I drove with one hand and held hers with the other.

I nodded as I saw us approaching the sign that read, "Welcome to New Jersey." The moment was drawing near; it wouldn't be long before we finally reached our destination. She turned on the radio, and a song by The Fray was playing. I turned up the volume, and she smiled. She loved that band.

"How do you think Garrett is going to take it?"

I swallowed hard. "He's probably going to murder me."

She gasped in surprise, then laughed, leaned over, and kissed my cheek. "Just in case," she said as she slid back into her seat.

We both laughed, but then she sighed. "Seriously," she said, "do you think he'll be upset?"

"Most likely," I said. "But I don't blame him. It's not every day your best friend and your sister end up together."

I heard her chuckle softly, and it hit me that this was actually happening. Garrett's sister and me.

"Hey," I said, catching her attention. "I'll talk to him. I'll explain what happened." A smile crossed my face. "Without mentioning the bars we visited and the jail, of course."

She laughed, and I felt like I could listen to her laugh all day. She had a truly beautiful, contagious laugh.

As we kept moving forward, I started to feel nervous, and a hollow feeling began to form inside me. She would be leaving this car, and there would be no one messing with my radio, offering me Funyuns, or holding my hand. I felt her squeeze my hand, and I turned to look at her with a smile. She was so pretty and so smart that just thinking about her made my heart race.

My palms were sweating, and out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the sign with the massive letters: "New York." We had arrived. That had been the plan all along—to make it to New York. But neither of us had counted on everything that would happen to us during the trip. I noticed her shifting nervously in her seat.

"I can't believe we're already here," she said, a hint of sadness trailing through her voice.

"Yeah," I murmured. "Me neither."

I drove on, feeling my entire body tense up at the realization that in just a few minutes, I'd be helping her unload her things. It was way too soon. When I stopped at a red light, I grabbed her hand, catching her off guard.

"I'm glad..." I said, feeling the nerves kicking in. "I'm glad it was me who brought you all the way out here."

She smiled. "And I'm glad my brother didn't give you any other choice."

We both laughed, and she sighed.

"I could have refused," I noted. "But if I had, none of this would have happened." I pointed to our intertwined hands.

"Thank you for not doing it."

The light turned green, and I drove a few more blocks before pulling up in front of NYU. The campus was massive and crawling with cars. Thousands of freshmen were walking around, and we watched them with curiosity. I parked the car near the entrance and turned off the engine.

"We're here," I said, trying to sound upbeat, but she looked discouraged.

"Great," she said, her voice hollow.

I got out of the car and opened the trunk. While I was taking down her luggage, I noticed she still hadn't stepped out of the vehicle. Frowning, I walked over to the passenger side, opened the door, and crouched down to eye level.

"Nervous?"

She shook her head.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't want to get out," she said. "I don't want to leave this car."

"Why?" I whispered.

"Because once I leave this car, everything will go back to the way it was. I'll go back to being Garrett's sister, and you'll be his best friend. And you know that's true, because Garrett is never going to accept us being together, and you won't be able to handle a long-distance relationship because they suck, and I'm going to get depressed, and..." Before she could finish, I kissed her on the lips, blending her cherry-candy breath with mine. I had wanted to kiss her since the moment I opened the door. I wanted to kiss her every single day we had left.

"What the hell is going on here?"

We both froze, looking up to find Garrett standing right behind us, staring at us with a mix of fury and shock. She lets out a gasp, and I felt the color drain from my face.

"Garrett..." I managed, just before he lunged at me.

"You were kissing my sister!" he yelled. "You bastard, you were kissing her!"

She scrambled out of the car and tried to hold him back. "Garrett, stop!"

"You stay out of this!" he snapped. "I told you to stay away from him!"

"I can't!" she shouted back. "I don't want to!"

"What part of 'Dean is never going to settle down' didn't click with you?!" Garrett spat.

"Maybe the part where I never actually said that?" I interjected.

"Oh, please, Dean," he said, letting out a humorless laugh. "You're my damn best friend—or at least you were before you kissed my sister. I know you better than anyone."

"Dean isn't who you think he is!" she argued, her eyes welling with tears.

"What lies did you feed my sister?"

"None," I replied, feeling offended. Sure, I was a flirt, but I wasn't a womanizer like Garrett claimed, and I definitely wasn't a liar.

"I knew this was a bad idea," he said, shaking his head. "I thought you were the one person I could trust. I see I was wrong," he spat.

"Enough!" she cried. "Why can't you just accept that Dean and I like each other?"

Garrett's eyes widened, completely stunned. "What did you just say?"

"That Dean and I like each other."

Garrett snapped his gaze to me, and I felt like he was going to kick my ass at any second.

"You don't like my sister," he said, glaring at me. "Tell me you don't like my sister."

"I like her," I answered, surprising even myself. Garrett lost his breath for a second.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I can't let you date my sister."

"You are no one to decide who I date or don't date, Garrett," she countered. "So just drop it."

"Do you want him to break your heart again like the last time?"

She flinched. "That wasn't Dean's fault, it was mine! I started having feelings for him, and he had absolutely no idea."

Listening to them argue, I realized the reason she seemed to hate love so much was because I had broken her heart months ago without even realizing it. I felt suffocated. I wanted to turn back time and fix it all.

"Whatever," Garrett said, grabbing her by the hand. "You two are not dating, period. Let's go."

"No," she said, breaking away to take my hand instead. "Could you please just be happy for me? It's Dean. We've known him our whole lives."

Garrett seemed to be fighting an internal battle as he glared at us with his piercing hazel eyes—the exact same eyes as his sister's.

"Whatever," he huffed. "Let's see what Dad has to say about this." He stormed down the steps and disappeared among the parked cars.

I turned to look at her with a mix of terror and relief, but she was laughing.

"How can you laugh after that?" I asked. "Your father is going to murder me."

She giggled. "Dad knows how I feel about you. Trust me, the last thing he'll do is murder you. Unless you give him a good reason to."

"I think I'm going to throw up."

She let out a loud laugh and wrapped her arms around my waist. "I adore you," she said, squeezing me tight with her small arms.

Something inside me completely melted, and I leaned down to kiss the top of her head. She was so short, yet she managed to create absolute chaos. She lifted her head, resting her chin on my chest to look into my eyes. I smiled down at her.

"And I adore you even more"

[mermaid-sky-writes]

@midnightmax @purplerainx1 @bookluver114 @loakswifee @batmanssssss @szn2wtlos @maironmichaelis @tbslseven @lematarazzo part three is up <3

[mermaid-sky-writes]

The road trip (part three)

part one, part two, epilogue

pairing: dean dilaurentis x reader content: enemies to lovers, brother's best friend, fluff, romance, slightly angst

inspiration: Volcanic love by The Aces (preview of the song at the end of the story)

"Hey..." I murmured when I had her right in front of me, her pink lips so close to mine.

"I couldn't sleep," she said. "I'm sorry."

I didn't answer. Instead, I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She smiled at the gesture.

"Do you mind?" she asked, sitting down on my bed.

"No," I said, before adding, "But Garrett might."

She fell silent, and I could see her eyes glittering in the dim light. "Garrett has nothing to do with this."

"Yes, he does," I said, sighing. "I'm his best friend. And you're his sister."

"And I'm also an adult who can do whatever she damn well pleases."

I smiled and shook my head. She was so feisty. "I just think what happened between us isn't right."

"Do... do you regret it?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"I never said that," I replied.

She moved closer to me and sat right next to me on the bed. "Then..." she said, "can I do it again?"

I looked down, my eyes locking onto her parted lips, which looked even softer than before. I had to say no—it was what I should do. But instead, I took her by the chin and brought our lips together. I started kissing her slowly, but the kiss began to turn into something much more passionate. A soft gasp escaped her lips, and I lost whatever common sense I had left. With the help of my hands on her waist, she climbed onto my lap, making the kiss even more intense. I had to stop now, or I didn't even want to imagine what might happen. I pulled away by a few inches, and she gasped in annoyance, making me laugh. I kissed the tip of her nose as she began to wrinkle it.

"If you tell me you stopped because of Garrett, I'm going to punch you in the face," she said, sounding annoyed.

I smiled and shook my head. "I'm stopping for you."

"For me?" she asked, confused.

"Yes," I said. "You're younger than me, and you've never had a boyfriend. I don't want to take advantage of that."

She burst out laughing and nudged my chest. "Oh, come on, are you serious?"

"Yes," I murmured. She stopped laughing when she realized I wasn't joking.

"Oh," she said. "That's..."

"Stupid?" I interrupted.

"Pretty sweet, actually," she said, caressing my cheek. "Who would've thought that underneath all that swearing was such a sweet guy?"

We both laughed, and she rested her head against my chest.

"Everything okay?" I asked.

She nodded, but I knew she wasn't.

"It's just..." she sighed, "it's just that I've never felt this way before."

My heart hammered loudly against my ribs, and I prayed she wouldn't notice.

"Felt like what?"

"I don't know," she said. "I don't know how to explain it." Her eyes lingered on me, and I wanted to kiss her again. I needed to control myself. "Forget it," she said, shaking her head.

I raised an eyebrow. "Seriously, it's stupid."

"It's not," I said. "Come on, tell me."

"It's like..." she whispered, "like we're one of those obnoxious couples who can't stop kissing and touching each other."

I let out a laugh, and she blushed.

"And what's wrong with that?" I said. "They seemed pretty happy."

"And in love," she whispered.

Silence fell between us. She wasn't in love with me, obviously. We had barely spoken to each other in all the years I'd been friends with Garrett. I had actually thought she detested me this whole time.

"I'm going to sleep," she said, climbing off my lap and turning around to sleep on her side. With my arms, I caught her waist and turned her body around to face me. From this angle, she looked even prettier than usual.

"Talk to me" I said. Her eyes welled up with tears. I frowned but pulled her close to my chest.

"It's..." she sobbed, "Garrett told me I was an idiot for falling for you because you guys were friends, and you were a womanizer who would never settle down with anyone—much less with me. He said we didn't even talk, and that you always had a different girl around, and..." Her voice broke, and she couldn't stop crying.

What the hell was going on?

"Hey..." I said. She looked at me with her tear-filled eyes, and I felt my heart break. "Are you...?" I didn't finish the question, but she nodded slowly.

"But..." I said, confused. "Since when?"

"A few months, I don't remember," she said, sniffing. "It all started that time you helped me clean up the morning after one of Garrett's massive parties. You were cracking jokes and actually paid attention to me. And when I started throwing insults and throwing a tantrum, you just put up with it."

I fell silent, remembering her words from back then: “If a guy makes me laugh and can handle my attitude, then that's enough for me.”

"It's stupid, I know," she said. "To you, I'm just Garrett's little sister, and besides, I'm not your type." She wrinkled her nose, and I took her hand, intertwining our fingers and kissing the back of it.

"And what is my type supposed to be?"

"Girls with nice, short clothes who wear makeup," she said, rolling her eyes.

I laughed, but she didn't seem to find it funny, as she just stared at me with her nose wrinkled.

"That's not my type," I replied.

"If it's not that, then what is it?" she asked.

I pulled her even closer to me, feeling my breath hitch every time I was near her. "My type is girls who can't seem to shut up, who don't understand that I hate it when people touch my stereo, and who also love onion rings just as much as or more than I do."

She looked at me, her eyes wide open and her mouth slightly parted. "You're playing with me."

I shook my head and wrapped my arms around her.

"No way," she said. "You don't like me."

For the first time, I felt my cheeks grow warm. She laughed and hugged me. "When did that happen?"

I smiled and stroked her hair. "Probably somewhere between the ketchup stain and the bar fight."

She gave me a huge smile, and suddenly we were holding each other in bed, with no intention of letting go anytime soon. Knowing that she had felt something for me for so long made me happy in a way, but it also hurt. I had gone out with several girls after that moment we shared while cleaning. The truth was, I had felt a connection that day too, but I dismissed it entirely for obvious reasons.

"Are you overwhelmed or something?" she whispered.

"No," I replied. "I just have a lot of questions."

"You can start by asking me one," she said with a charming giggle.

"Why did you tell Garrett?"

She sighed. "It wasn't my intention. Eventually, he figured it out, and we had a confrontation over it. I hoped what he said about you was a lie, but it wasn't." Her gaze dropped. "You started bringing around different girls, and Garrett kept repeating, 'I told you so.' Let's just say I started to hate you."

I fought back a smile. I remembered how annoyed she always looked whenever she saw me—always trying to pick a fight or ignoring me. Now it all made sense.

"You're probably wondering how I felt knowing I'd be road-tripping with you all the way to New York," she said, and I nodded. "Well, it was like someone dumped a bucket of ice water over me. I wanted to die when Garrett told me you were the one taking me, but at the same time, something inside me was excited to spend time with you." She sighed and sat up. "I feel silly telling you all this."

I grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back to me. "You're not."

She shifted in my arms, and her fruity scent lingered on my t-shirt.

"So..." she said, looking at her hands.

"So?"

"What's going to happen after this trip ends?"

I sighed. I had thought about that too, but I didn't think I was capable of talking about it. "What do you want to happen?"

I caught her by surprise.

"I... I don't know," she said. "I'll be in New York, and you'll be in Oregon. It's never going to work. And that's not even counting my annoying brother."

I bit back a laugh, since this seemed to be a serious conversation, and stroked her hair. "Garrett is an idiot, but we can make him come to his senses," I said. "After he cuts my balls off, of course."

She laughed and blushed. "And what about the distance?"

"That's something that can be fixed," I answered. "But for now, we need to get some sleep if we want to reach New York before your first day."

Her huge eyes made me feel like a lovesick fool. There was something about her that had driven me crazy since the day I met her, but now it was on a whole different level. She leaned against my chest, and I wrapped my arms around her. Within minutes, I felt her breathing steady, and I knew she was asleep, while I couldn't stop tossing the matter around in my head.

Did I like her? Damn right. I had to admit I was starting to feel something for her—something so sudden it felt like a jolt to my system. But I wasn't sure how Garrett would react. Besides, she was right about one thing: I hadn't planned on settling down anytime soon. I looked down at her, who had her eyes closed, her eyelashes practically brushing her cheeks. She was beautiful. She had the worst temper, but underneath it all, she was sweet. She was also younger than me, and we fought most of the time. I didn't know how we could make something like this work. I kissed her cheek, and she stirred in her sleep. I was confused—very confused. So, I decided to close my eyes and hold her tight right before drifting off.

The next morning, I woke up to a tickling sensation all over my face. I opened my eyes, squinting against the light, and saw her hovering close, leaving tiny kisses all over my face. When she realized I'd caught her in the act, her face turned a bright shade of pink.

"I'm sorry," she said, laughing. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

I raised an eyebrow, and she giggled.

"Okay, fine, I did want to wake you," she admitted. "We only have today to get to New York." As she said this, her expression dimmed a bit, and it felt like a crack ran through my heart.

"You're right," I said, catching her by surprise as I kissed her on the lips.

I sat up in bed, and Josephine sat on my lap. I smiled seeing her like this—so sweet and calm. It was a stark contrast to how she usually spent every hour throwing a temper tantrum.

"What do you want to do now?" I asked her.

"Aside from having breakfast and spending time with you?" she countered. "I don't know."

I laughed, and she did too. After discussing what we could do on our last day of the trip, she went to take a shower. While I was waiting for her, I got a call from Garrett.

"Hey, idiot," he greeted as soon as I picked up. "How's everything? Are you both still alive?"

I laughed. "All good, we'll be in Cleveland soon."

"So soon?" he said. "I thought it would take you longer because of your constant fighting and all that."

I let out a laugh, and Garrett kept talking.

"How has my little sister been behaving?" Hearing this brought a pang of guilt, reminding me that everything that had happened with his sister over the last few hours was technically crossing a line.

"Fine, I guess."

"Just fine?" he teased, laughing. "I thought you'd unleash a flood of insults about her."

"Of course not," I said, forcing a chuckle. "She might be unbearable, but she's your sister."

Garrett laughed at that, but I felt like I had just swallowed something bitter. I didn't feel comfortable talking about her like that anymore, especially since I didn't mean it.

"Good," he said. "I'm glad things are fine between you two, and especially that you agreed to take her."

"No need to thank me," I said. "I know you'd do the same for me if I asked."

"Without a doubt," he replied. "By the way, I'll be in New York in a few hours. Don't tell her, I want it to be a surprise."

"Sure," I answered.

When the call ended, I couldn't hear the water running anymore and figured she was done. Seconds later, she walked out of the bathroom with wet hair and a fresh face. She looked beautiful, but I wasn't sure if I should tell her. Just a few minutes ago, I had been talking to her brother.

"Ready?"

She nodded, but I noticed she seemed distant. When we got into the car, she didn't try to hold my hand or say anything. She just stared straight ahead, exactly the way she had at the beginning of the trip.

"Hey," I said abruptly. "What's wrong?"

"Am I really that unbearable?"

I froze. She had overheard me talking to Garrett.

"Well, I can't exactly tell your brother that you're adorable and look gorgeous when you wake up, can I?"

She pressed her lips together to fight off a smile, but she couldn't help it, ultimately flashing me a beautiful grin.

"You drive me crazy," she laughed, and I took her hand.

I drove toward Cleveland, Ohio, and things were definitively different now. We laughed and joked; we didn't fight over the radio, but most of all, my feelings began to deepen. She was driving me crazy—completely crazy about her. After stopping for breakfast and driving for a few more hours, our stomachs began to growl again, and I had to pull over at a pizzeria on the outskirts of Mercer County, Pennsylvania. When I ordered and walked back to the table, I could see that her demeanor had shifted again. She looked sad.

"What's wrong?" I asked, taking her hand.

"We're getting close to New York," she said, sighing.

"I know," I said. "But that was the goal of this trip, wasn't it?" I tried to cheer her up, but it didn't work. She just gave me a sad smile.

"And besides, there are plenty of places around campus," I added. "It'll be hard to choose which ones we'll visit first, but we'll figure it out."

Her eyes widened, and my heart swelled with happiness just looking at her. "Are you serious, Dean?"

"Yes," I said. "Unless you don't want me to."

She bit her lower lip. "Are we really going to do this then?"

I looked into her eyes. Was I really going to do this? Was I really going to settle down with my best friend's younger sister? She blinked in a way that captured my full attention, and I realized the only answer was yes. I did want to be with her.

"Yes," I answered.

She leaped out of her seat and threw herself at me, locking her lips with mine. For the rest of our time at the pizzeria, we talked about college, about that funny bar fight, and above all, about us. It was weird to think of an 'us' and talk about it, but I liked it.

"Are we almost there?" She asked while I drove with one hand and held hers with the other.

I nodded as I saw us approaching the sign that read, "Welcome to New Jersey." The moment was drawing near; it wouldn't be long before we finally reached our destination. She turned on the radio, and a song by The Fray was playing. I turned up the volume, and she smiled. She loved that band.

"How do you think Garrett is going to take it?"

I swallowed hard. "He's probably going to murder me."

She gasped in surprise, then laughed, leaned over, and kissed my cheek. "Just in case," she said as she slid back into her seat.

We both laughed, but then she sighed. "Seriously," she said, "do you think he'll be upset?"

"Most likely," I said. "But I don't blame him. It's not every day your best friend and your sister end up together."

I heard her chuckle softly, and it hit me that this was actually happening. Garrett's sister and me.

"Hey," I said, catching her attention. "I'll talk to him. I'll explain what happened." A smile crossed my face. "Without mentioning the bars we visited and the jail, of course."

She laughed, and I felt like I could listen to her laugh all day. She had a truly beautiful, contagious laugh.

As we kept moving forward, I started to feel nervous, and a hollow feeling began to form inside me. She would be leaving this car, and there would be no one messing with my radio, offering me Funyuns, or holding my hand. I felt her squeeze my hand, and I turned to look at her with a smile. She was so pretty and so smart that just thinking about her made my heart race.

My palms were sweating, and out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the sign with the massive letters: "New York." We had arrived. That had been the plan all along—to make it to New York. But neither of us had counted on everything that would happen to us during the trip. I noticed her shifting nervously in her seat.

"I can't believe we're already here," she said, a hint of sadness trailing through her voice.

"Yeah," I murmured. "Me neither."

I drove on, feeling my entire body tense up at the realization that in just a few minutes, I'd be helping her unload her things. It was way too soon. When I stopped at a red light, I grabbed her hand, catching her off guard.

"I'm glad..." I said, feeling the nerves kicking in. "I'm glad it was me who brought you all the way out here."

She smiled. "And I'm glad my brother didn't give you any other choice."

We both laughed, and she sighed.

"I could have refused," I noted. "But if I had, none of this would have happened." I pointed to our intertwined hands.

"Thank you for not doing it."

The light turned green, and I drove a few more blocks before pulling up in front of NYU. The campus was massive and crawling with cars. Thousands of freshmen were walking around, and we watched them with curiosity. I parked the car near the entrance and turned off the engine.

"We're here," I said, trying to sound upbeat, but she looked discouraged.

"Great," she said, her voice hollow.

I got out of the car and opened the trunk. While I was taking down her luggage, I noticed she still hadn't stepped out of the vehicle. Frowning, I walked over to the passenger side, opened the door, and crouched down to eye level.

"Nervous?"

She shook her head.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't want to get out," she said. "I don't want to leave this car."

"Why?" I whispered.

"Because once I leave this car, everything will go back to the way it was. I'll go back to being Garrett's sister, and you'll be his best friend. And you know that's true, because Garrett is never going to accept us being together, and you won't be able to handle a long-distance relationship because they suck, and I'm going to get depressed, and..." Before she could finish, I kissed her on the lips, blending her cherry-candy breath with mine. I had wanted to kiss her since the moment I opened the door. I wanted to kiss her every single day we had left.

"What the hell is going on here?"

We both froze, looking up to find Garrett standing right behind us, staring at us with a mix of fury and shock. She lets out a gasp, and I felt the color drain from my face.

"Garrett..." I managed, just before he lunged at me.

"You were kissing my sister!" he yelled. "You bastard, you were kissing her!"

She scrambled out of the car and tried to hold him back. "Garrett, stop!"

"You stay out of this!" he snapped. "I told you to stay away from him!"

"I can't!" she shouted back. "I don't want to!"

"What part of 'Dean is never going to settle down' didn't click with you?!" Garrett spat.

"Maybe the part where I never actually said that?" I interjected.

"Oh, please, Dean," he said, letting out a humorless laugh. "You're my damn best friend—or at least you were before you kissed my sister. I know you better than anyone."

"Dean isn't who you think he is!" she argued, her eyes welling with tears.

"What lies did you feed my sister?"

"None," I replied, feeling offended. Sure, I was a flirt, but I wasn't a womanizer like Garrett claimed, and I definitely wasn't a liar.

"I knew this was a bad idea," he said, shaking his head. "I thought you were the one person I could trust. I see I was wrong," he spat.

"Enough!" she cried. "Why can't you just accept that Dean and I like each other?"

Garrett's eyes widened, completely stunned. "What did you just say?"

"That Dean and I like each other."

Garrett snapped his gaze to me, and I felt like he was going to kick my ass at any second.

"You don't like my sister," he said, glaring at me. "Tell me you don't like my sister."

"I like her," I answered, surprising even myself. Garrett lost his breath for a second.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I can't let you date my sister."

"You are no one to decide who I date or don't date, Garrett," she countered. "So just drop it."

"Do you want him to break your heart again like the last time?"

She flinched. "That wasn't Dean's fault, it was mine! I started having feelings for him, and he had absolutely no idea."

Listening to them argue, I realized the reason she seemed to hate love so much was because I had broken her heart months ago without even realizing it. I felt suffocated. I wanted to turn back time and fix it all.

"Whatever," Garrett said, grabbing her by the hand. "You two are not dating, period. Let's go."

"No," she said, breaking away to take my hand instead. "Could you please just be happy for me? It's Dean. We've known him our whole lives."

Garrett seemed to be fighting an internal battle as he glared at us with his piercing hazel eyes—the exact same eyes as his sister's.

"Whatever," he huffed. "Let's see what Dad has to say about this." He stormed down the steps and disappeared among the parked cars.

I turned to look at her with a mix of terror and relief, but she was laughing.

"How can you laugh after that?" I asked. "Your father is going to murder me."

She giggled. "Dad knows how I feel about you. Trust me, the last thing he'll do is murder you. Unless you give him a good reason to."

"I think I'm going to throw up."

She let out a loud laugh and wrapped her arms around my waist. "I adore you," she said, squeezing me tight with her small arms.

Something inside me completely melted, and I leaned down to kiss the top of her head. She was so short, yet she managed to create absolute chaos. She lifted her head, resting her chin on my chest to look into my eyes. I smiled down at her.

"And I adore you even more"

[mermaid-sky-writes]

Close as strangers (one shot)

summary: routine and everything else gets in the way of your relationship with Dean. pairing: dean dilaurentis x reader content: angst, drama, heartbreak, romance

inspiration: Close As Strangers by 5 seconds of summer (preview of the song at the end of the story)

N/A: I’ve been having lots of ideas lately and I just wanted to do something short after listening to 5sos on repeat, hope u guys like it <3

The hum of the tour bus tires against the asphalt felt like a slow, rhythmic drilling into your skull. Across the narrow aisle, Dean was sprawled on the faux-leather couch, his broad shoulders framing a space that felt miles away. A laptop was balanced on his thighs, footage of his last hockey game looping silently.

He was right there. You could reach out, brush your fingers against the sleeve of his hoodie, and feel the solid reality of him. But you didn't. Because lately, looking at Dean felt like looking at a photograph of someone you used to know.

"Dean?" your voice was barely a whisper, swallowed by the low rumble of the engine.

He didn't look up, his eyes tracked the digital puck on the screen. "Yeah, babe? Hang on, just checking this defensive line."

Babe. It was a reflex now. A placeholder for a intimacy that was leaking out of the cracks of your lives. Ever since Dean had been scouted for the pros, his world had expanded into a whirlwind of press, training camps, and relentless travel. You had tagged along for this summer stretch, desperate to bridge the gap, but the road had only highlighted the chasm. You both were living in the same twenty-foot radius, yet you hadn't truly spoken in weeks.

Dean finally closed the laptop, rubbing his eyes. He caught you staring and offered a tired, handsome smile—the kind that used to melt you completely but now just felt heavy with exhaustion. "You okay?"

"We're stopping in Chicago tomorrow," You said softly, your heart hammering against your ribs. "We used to talk about living there. Remember?"

Dean blinked, a flicker of something passing over his face before it was replaced by professional distraction. "Right. Yeah. Hey, actually, my agent called. I’ve got a breakfast meeting there at eight. Then media drills." He reached over, squeezing your knee briefly before standing up. "I'm going to crash in the bunk. Long day tomorrow."

He left a kiss on the top of your head—fleeting, routine, and utterly devoid of the fire that used to define you two.

Chicago was cold, even for the tail end of the season. The wind whipped through the city streets, mirroring the turbulence brewing in your chest. You both had a rare three hours of downtime before Dean’s evening flight, and he had suggested a walk-through Millennium Park.

It felt like a date on paper, but the execution was tragic.

Dean walked a half-step ahead of you, his phone practically glued to his ear. He was arguing with his publicist about a brand endorsement, his tone sharp and decisive. He looked every bit the rising star—sharp jawline, impeccably styled, radiating a magnetic energy that drew glances from passersby.

You walked beside him like a ghost. You wore his old college sweater, the one that used to smell like him but now just smelled like hotel laundry detergent.

"Look," Dean snapped into the phone, "just schedule it for Tuesday. I don't care." He hung up with a heavy sigh, finally shoving the phone into his pocket. He looked at you, noticing the distance between you two on the sidewalk. "Sorry. It’s just crazy right now."

"It's always crazy now, Dean," you said, stopping by the railing overlooking the plaza.

Dean stopped too, his brow furrowing. "What is that supposed to mean? I'm doing this for us. For the future."

"Is it for us?" your voice cracked, the raw angst of the past few months finally bleeding through your composure. "Because I feel like I'm drowning in your shadow. We don't talk, Dean. We don't even look at each other. We’re just... running on autopilot."

Dean sighed, running a hand through his hair. The casual, playful Dean Di Laurentis from Briar U was gone, replaced by a man carrying the weight of a multi-million-dollar career. "Babe, I’m tired. I’m doing my best here. You wanted to come on this trip."

"I came to be with my boyfriend," you whispered, tears pricking your eyes. "But I'm more alone here than I am when you're across the country. We’re standing right next to each other, and we're as close as strangers."

The words hung in the bitter air between them, sharp and undeniable. Dean flinched, the truth of it striking a nerve he had been trying hard to ignore.

The confrontation in the park followed them back to the hotel room. The tension was suffocating, a physical presence in the room as you began packing your bags.

"What are you doing?" Dean demanded, his voice dropping into a dangerous, quiet register. He stood by the door, watching you fold your clothes with trembling hands.

"I'm going home, Dean. Back to Boston," you said, refusing to look at him because you knew if you did, you’d crumble. "I can't do this tour anymore. I can't watch you forget me in real-time."

"Forget you?" Dean strode across the room, grabbing your wrists gently but firmly to stop your pacing. The sudden proximity was dizzying. His blue eyes were fierce, cracked wide open with a vulnerability he hadn’t shown in months. "Do you have any idea how hard I'm working to keep my head above water? I'm trying to build a life so we can be secure, so we can have everything."

"I don't want everything! I want you!" you cried out, the dam finally breaking. Tears streamed down your cheeks as you pulled your hands from his grip to press them against his chest. "I want the guy who used to make me pancakes at 2 AM. I want the guy who listened to me talk about nothing for hours. I don't care about the contracts, Dean. I'm losing you, and you're letting it happen!"

Dean stared at you, the fight draining out of him all at once. He looked at your tear-stained face, at the suitcase open on the bed, and the reality of what he was sacrificing hit him like a body check on the ice. He had been so focused on the destination that he had completely abandoned the person riding beside him.

"Baby..." he breathed, reaching out to cup your face, his thumbs wiping away your tears. His touch was trembling. "Don't leave. Please."

"We're broken, Dean," you whispered, your heart aching at the desperation in his eyes. "We need to figure out who we are before we completely destroy what we were."

That night, you took a cab to O'Hare. Dean didn't stop you, because for the first time, he realized that keeping you close was the very thing tearing the both of you apart.

Six months later.

The Boston air was crisp, the leaves turning brilliant shades of amber and gold. You sat in a quiet corner of a local café, a warm mug of tea between your hands. You had spent the last half-year healing, focusing on your own career, and learning how to breathe without the suffocating weight of an unraveling relationship. You still thought of Dean every day. You still saw his face on sports networks, looking standardly brilliant, but you had stopped looking for the ghost of your past.

The bell above the café door jingled.

You didn't look up until a shadow fell across your table. When you raised your eyes, your breath caught in your throat.

It was Dean.

He wasn't wearing a designer suit or a team track jacket. He was wearing an old, faded Briar Hockey hoodie and jeans. He looked a little tired, but his eyes were clearer than you had seen them in years. There was no phone in his hand.

"Hey," Dean said, his voice a low, familiar rumble that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Dean," you breathed. "What are you doing here? Don't you have a game tomorrow?"

"I took a personal day," he said simply. He pointed to the empty chair opposite you. "Can I?"

You nodded slowly. He sat down, folding his large hands on the table. For a moment, the silence between you two was heavy, fraught with the memories of how you had parted. But it wasn't the suffocating silence of the tour bus; it was a simple pause, waiting for a spark.

"I've been going to therapy," Dean said bluntly, breaking the ice. "And I talked to my coach. I downsized my PR team. I realized... I was running so fast because I was terrified of failing. And in the process, I failed the only thing that actually mattered."

You kept your eyes on your mug, your heart hammering against your ribs. "Dean..."

"Just let me say it, please," he interrupted softly, reaching across the table. He didn't grab your hand, just left his open, an invitation. "I spent six months looking at pictures of us, wondering how we got so lost. We were strangers. And it was my fault. I let the noise drown you out."

He looked directly into your eyes, the familiar, devastatingly romantic intensity of Dean Di Laurentis returning in full force. "I don't want to go back to how we were on that bus. But I want to know you again. I want to learn your favorite coffee order now, what music you're listening to, what makes you laugh. I want to start over. If you'll let me."

You looked from his open hand up to his eyes. The hurt was still a memory, but the love—deep, enduring, and painfully real—was vibrating in the space between you two.

Slowly, you slid your hand into his. His fingers immediately intertwined with yours, warm and solid.

"Hi," you said, a small, tearful but genuine smile breaking across your face. "Nice to meet you."

Dean’s smile was breathtaking, relief washing over his features as he squeezed your hand. "Hi. I'm Dean. It's really, really good to meet you."