Hey I saw you were looking for ideas for off campus fics
How about, sitting on the off campus boy’s backs while they do pushups for totally valid reasons I’m sure 😏
As a Dean girlie since day 1, expect more of him from me. There's fun boys content in this one! Keep the requests coming
The Frozen Four was coming up, so the boys were doubling up on the training. More skating, more lifting, more cardio…and more proteins.
‘’Come on, Tuck!’’ you yelled, standing near the patio steps as the goalie started slowing down on his push-ups. ‘’Ten more, you can do it!’’
Tucker glared at you from the grass, his hair damp with sweat and sticking to his forehead. ‘’You’re enjoying this way too much.’’
You grinned as he lowered himself for another push-up. The boys had turned today’s backyard training into a stupid competition: the one to do the most push-ups will get a paid massage by the losers.
On Tucker’s left, Dean and Garrett were showing no signs of difficulty, which didn’t surprise you. Garrett trained hard to outrun the nepo baby label attached to his last name. He didn’t want people thinking he’d been recruited by the Bruins because he was Phil Graham’s son. He wanted to be known for his skill — for himself.
As for Dean, you knew he and Beau practically lived in the school gym. And it showed. Every flex of his arms beneath his grey training shirt looked unfairly good, sweat glistening over muscles you knew very well by now. That body was a work of art.
To Tucker’s right, Logan wasn’t doing much better. His arms trembled violently every time he pushed himself off the grass, face tight with effort like pure stubbornness was the only thing keeping him going.
‘’Not you too, Logan?” you called. ‘’Now is not the time to give up. Think about the Cup!”
He lifted his head from the grass long enough to glare at you. ‘’The cup can kiss my ass.’’
You gasped dramatically. ‘’That’s not championship mentality.’’
‘’Championship mentality left thirty push-ups ago,’’ Logan groaned before lowering himself again with shaky arms. ‘’I can’t feel my arms.’’
Beside him, Dean smirked without missing a beat. ‘’You know, hearing you yell motivational speeches is weirdly attractive.’’
You rolled your eyes, fighting a smile.
‘’Everything’s attractive to you,’’ Tucker muttered. ‘’She sounds like a military drill sergeant.’’
Garrett laughed, shaking his head. ‘’Stop flirting and focus on your reps, boys.’’
‘’Oh, I am, G,’’ Dean said easily, lowering himself again. ‘’I’m focussed on the reward blowjob I’ll get after I—’’
Tucker made a gagging noise into the grass. ‘’Jesus Christ.’’
“Be nice to my girl.” Dean shot back immediately, finally lifting his head to look at him.
He nudged Tucker with his foot hard enough to throw him off balance, sending him collapsing flat onto the lawn with a groan.
‘’Ow! Fucking cheater!’’
Dean laughed, reaching seventy without even sounding winded. “Should’ve kept your mouth shut.”
Logan followed Tucker not long after, collapsing dramatically onto his back. Seventy-three wasn’t bad, you told him as you handed him a water bottle. He took it with an exhausted but grateful smile and downed half of it immediately.
‘’Seventy-eight! Seventy-nine!’’ you counted aloud.
‘’This looks too easy for them,’’ Logan said, watching the last two standing.
‘’Agree,’’ Tuck chimed in. ‘’I think we need to raise the bar for some real competition.’’
A slow smirk spread across his face as he looked at the other John, who mirrored it instantly before both of them turned toward you.
Dean’s eyes widened. “Absolutely not.”
Too late.
‘’That’s cheating!’’ He barked out a laugh as you sat your full weight right on his back, adding weight to lift.
You’ve done this a couple of times while you were training in the gym together, but it never stopped doing something to you. There was something unfairly attractive about the way Dean handled your weight like it was nothing.
‘’You can handle it. You lift more than that,’’ you teased, believing in him. ‘’Show off.’’
That crooked grin appeared instantly. ‘’Careful. You know praise turn me on.’’
You could feel every muscle in his shoulders, arms, and back flex beneath you as he kept going, body tightening with every controlled push upward. Sweat dampened the back of his shirt, heat radiating off him while he powered through rep after rep like he genuinely wanted to impress you.
A low grunt slipped from his throat as he pushed into another one, sweat-damp hair falling into his eyes and head dipping briefly before he looked back at you over his shoulder. ‘’You comfortable up there, babydoll?’’
You hummed, squeezing his shoulders lightly. He’s got this.
Logan crossed his arms, watching with amusement. ‘’This is foul play.’’
Tucker nodded solemnly. ‘’Absolutely dirty.’’
Dean smirked through another rep. ‘’Why doesn’t Garrett get someone too? This is favoritism.’’
You glanced toward the captain. ‘’Dean’s right. Get some weight on him too.’’
‘’I’ll go,’’ Tucker volunteered, still sweaty and breathless from his earlier push-ups, but clearly not done being annoying.
‘’Wait—what?! No!’’ Garrett protested, grunting as Tucker dropped onto his back with all the grace of a collapsing building, grinning as Garrett nearly face-planted into the grass. ‘’Ugh, fuck.’’ He groaned dramatically under 190 pounds of goalie muscles. ‘’I hate all of you.’’
══════════════════
Off Campus taglist: @f1rewhiskey @formula1-motogpfan @schinug @skyesthebomb
I just discovered your account and binge read every single one of your fics. They're addictive.
Request for Dean Di Laurentis where everybody knows he likes reader but he's in denial, and then reader comes out wearing his jersey and he just...malfunctions in front of everybody?
Love your fics a lot boo boo.
~🍒
The Jersey Problem
Pairing: Dean Di Laurentis x Reader
Word Count: 1357
Request open!
Off campus masterlist
Everybody knew Dean Di Laurentis liked you.
That was the problem.
He knew it too, obviously, but he was committed to pretending otherwise, which somehow made it worse for everyone involved. Garrett had started a betting pool. Logan had stopped pretending to be subtle about it. Tucker had once looked at Dean, then at you, then back at Dean and said, “You are both exhausting.” Even the freshmen seemed to have picked up on it by now.
Dean, however, remained in denial.
He acted like he had no idea why he kept finding himself near you.
No idea why his attention followed you around a room.
No idea why he got strangely quiet when other guys talked to you.
He was very committed to the bit.
Which was why the entire hockey house nearly combusted when you walked into the common room wearing his jersey for the first time.
It happened on a Saturday afternoon after practice. You had spent the morning at the house, half studying and half pretending to ignore Dean being ridiculously distracting in the kitchen. At some point, you had borrowed his jersey because it was cold and because it smelled like him and because, frankly, you liked the way he looked at you when you wore his things.
Dean had been in the shower when you put it on.
So when you came down the stairs and into the common room wearing his name across your back and his number hanging loose over your thighs, nobody was prepared.
Nobody except the entire room, which immediately went silent.
Garrett’s jaw dropped first.
Logan made a choking sound into his drink.
Tucker just pointed at you like he had witnessed the second coming.
And Dean, who had just come out of the hallway with wet hair and a towel around his neck, stopped dead in place.
Completely.
Fully.
Utterly broke.
He stared at you for one full second.
Then another.
His mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
You looked between all of them and frowned a little. “What?”
No one answered.
Dean was still staring.
Garrett was the first one to recover. “Oh my God.”
Logan looked at Dean. “Dude.”
Tucker grinned. “He’s malfunctioning.”
Dean finally found his voice, though it was clearly not cooperating. “Why are you wearing that?”
You blinked. “Your jersey?”
“I know what it is.”
“You left it in the room.”
Dean stared at you harder, as if that would somehow make the situation less catastrophic. It did not.
You folded your arms, which only made the sleeves of the jersey fall differently and probably made things worse, not that you knew it yet. “Is that a problem?”
Dean looked like he might short-circuit on the spot.
Garrett made an obnoxious sound of delight. “Oh, this is amazing.”
Dean shot him a glare without looking away from you. “Shut up.”
You frowned, now starting to understand that something had gone terribly, hilariously right. “Why are you all acting weird?”
Logan coughed. “You should ask him.”
Dean pointed at him. “Not helping.”
Tucker leaned back against the couch. “No, please, keep going. This is the best thing that has happened all week.”
Dean’s gaze snapped back to you, and now he looked less like a confident flirt and more like a man actively losing his grip on reality. “You cannot just walk in here looking like that.”
You glanced down at the jersey. “Like what?”
He made a helpless motion with one hand. “Like that.”
You took a small step closer, suddenly enjoying this way too much. “Dean.”
He swallowed.
Garrett covered his mouth with his hand, clearly trying not to laugh.
You tilted your head. “Are you having a problem?”
Dean looked at you like that question was deeply unfair. “Yes.”
The room exploded.
Garrett actually laughed out loud. Logan turned away, shoulders shaking. Tucker looked like he wanted to applaud.
You smiled slowly, and Dean’s eyes narrowed just enough to show he knew exactly what was happening now.
“You did this on purpose,” he muttered.
“Did I?”
“Yes.”
You walked one step closer, and Dean looked like he might need medical attention.
“You said you didn’t care what I wore,” you said.
“I said I was normal about it.”
You blinked innocently. “And?”
Dean stared at you, then at the jersey, then back at you. “This is not normal.”
Your smile got wider.
Garrett muttered, “He’s gone.”
Logan nodded. “Absolutely gone.”
Dean ignored both of them and took a step toward you like he had finally decided that if he was going to lose, he was going to lose properly. “Come here.”
Your breath hitched just a little because the tone in his voice changed everything.
He noticed.
Of course he noticed.
You went closer, and Dean’s hand settled at your waist immediately, fingers gripping the fabric of his jersey like he needed proof you were actually there. He looked down at the name on your chest, then at your face, and let out a breath like he had been hit with something too good to process.
“You are unbelievable,” he said quietly.
You smiled. “Still acting normal?”
He gave you a look. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“No,” he admitted, still staring at you like you had personally ruined his ability to function, “I really don’t.”
That was enough to send Garrett into another fit of laughter.
Dean shot him a death stare before leaning closer to you. “Do you have any idea what this does to me?”
You let your smile turn sweet. “No.”
“Liar.”
You laughed softly. “You’re the one who’s blushing.”
Dean looked briefly insulted by the accusation. “I am not.”
“Dean,” Logan said from the couch, “you look like you’re trying to survive a natural disaster.”
Dean didn’t even glance at him. “Shut up.”
Tucker, enjoying this far too much, added, “He’s definitely blushing.”
Dean groaned.
You reached up and touched his cheek, and that was all it took for his entire expression to soften right in front of everyone. The room got quieter again, not because the others were respecting the moment, but because they were all waiting to see exactly how far he was going to fall.
“Does it really bother you that much?” you asked softly.
Dean looked at you for a beat, then his hand slid a little more firmly around your waist. “No,” he said, voice low, “it’s just a little unfair.”
You laughed. “Unfair?”
“You know exactly what you’re doing.”
You pretended innocence, which was impossible because your smile had already betrayed you. “I just liked the jersey.”
Dean’s gaze dropped to the hem, then back to your face, and his voice got even quieter. “You should wear it more.”
That made your breath catch.
Garrett’s eyebrows went up. Logan muttered, “Oh, he’s gone again.”
Tucker pointed at Dean. “That’s the line. That’s the one.”
Dean ignored them all, because now he was focused only on you. “You look good in it,” he said, more carefully this time, as if the admission cost him something.
You smiled, softer now. “Yeah?”
He nodded once, eyes steady on yours. “Yeah.”
Then, because the universe apparently liked chaos, he kissed you right there in the middle of the common room.
It was brief, but it was enough.
Enough for the room to erupt again.
Enough for Garrett to make a triumphant noise.
Enough for Logan to shake his head like he had known this was coming for months.
Enough for Dean to finally, finally look like he had given up pretending.
When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours for half a second and muttered, “You’re dangerous.”
You grinned. “You’re the one who asked me to come over.”
“I did not ask you to wear my jersey.”
“You didn’t have to.”
That made him stare at you, then laugh under his breath like he had been completely defeated.
And maybe he had been.
Because one glance around the room told you everything you needed to know.
Everybody knew Dean liked you.
Dean knew it too now.
He just didn’t stand a chance once you walked in wearing his name.
I absolutely loved your last Dean story!! I was wondering if you would be able to write about a reader who has never been able to finish, with herself or anyone else, and dean helps her learn.
Beautiful writing!
I would've done that sober
Pairing: Dean Di Laurentis x childhood best friend!reader
⟡ Main Index | ⟡ Archive for Earth-66
a/n: Well that was long, but such a delight to write and soooo so sexy
Classification: Smut +18 | Talks of ex's and sexual dysfunction/insecurity, emotional vulnerability, recreational drug use (NOT DURING SEX), dry humping/grinding, getting caught, fingering, tension and arousal descriptions, orgasm, praise and partial undressing/lingerie.
Word count: 12k
Divider by me ;)
You sat across from the fire pit in the boys’ backyard, elbows resting on the armrests of your chair while the flames cracked softly in front of you both. The night air had turned colder hours ago, but neither of you had gone inside. Dean kept talking and you kept letting him or trying to.
Every time he opened his mouth, you exhaled slowly through your nose as if physically releasing air might stop you from interrupting him.
“He’s an arrogant son of a bitch,” Dean repeated for probably the fifth time that night. He took another drag from the blunt before passing it toward you, smoke curling past his lips as he leaned back deeper into the chair.
“That’s what pisses me off the most,” he continued, staring hard into the fire like your ex-boyfriend personally offended him. “He had no clue what he was doing in the relationship from day one and still had the confidence to ask you out.” His jaw tightened slightly. “Usually I respect delusion like that, but that guy’s a fucking disaster.”
You accepted the blunt with a quiet sigh.
Dean had been ranting for nearly a week straight now. Anyone overhearing him would’ve assumed he’d been the one publicly dumped in the cafeteria instead of you but he’d been there when it happened, front row seats to your ex fumbling through excuses while half your friends sat frozen around the table pretending not to listen. Maybe that was enough for Dean.
Now, instead of being out partying with the rest of the team, he sat outside with you night after night, sharing weed and acting personally victimized by your breakup.
“Dean,” you finally interrupted, tone firm.
He stopped talking immediately.
You inhaled slowly before looking over at him through the smoke, holding his gaze while you exhaled. “It’s okay.”
Dean’s expression flattened instantly. “We have very different definitions of okay.”
His eyes drifted back toward the fire for a second, replaying the memory again. You could practically see it happening behind his eyes, the cafeteria, your expression and your ex stumbling through his speech.
“You should’ve let me talk to him,” he muttered.
“What good would that have done?” You brought the blunt back to your lips, inhaling before handing it over again. “It’s not his fault.”
Dean’s head snapped toward you so fast he nearly dropped the thing. “The fuck does that mean?”
You almost rolled your eyes at the offense in his tone. Instead, you looked away toward the fire again, watching orange light flicker against the patio stones.
“I’m lost here,” he scoffed. “Is being wrapped around another girl at a party three hours after dumping you not a dick move now?”
A laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it. “Dean,” you said gently, finally turning your head toward him again. “I think I’m the only person who wasn’t surprised by the breakup.”
His brows furrowed.
You shrugged one shoulder lightly. “He just beat me to it.”
“Oh.” The word left him quietly. Dean looked away immediately afterward, dragging a hand over his mouth while he gathered his thoughts before glancing back at you. “That’s the first time I’m hearing about that.”
He passed the blunt over again.
You took it carefully, staring down at it between your fingers for a second before answering.
“Yeah, well...” You inhaled deeply, smoke burning pleasantly in your lungs before you let it back out slowly. “You’ve got other business to worry about.”
Dean huffed out a laugh instantly. “You are my business.” The certainty in his voice made your lips curl before you could stop them. “So start talking.”
He always did that. Dean had this way of making honesty feel inevitable. The two of you talked about everything, always had. He knew things about you your closest friends didn’t. Hell, he’d bought condoms for you the first time you planned on sleeping with someone because you’d been too embarrassed to walk into the store yourself.
You moved deeper into the chair, pulling one leg beneath you while you searched carefully for the right words. “Um…” You inhaled again, then blurted it out before your brain could stop you. “I suck at the sex thing.”
Dean’s face twisted immediately in disagreement as you passed the blunt. “Bullshit.”
You laughed softly. “No, seriously. I do.” You rubbed awkwardly at your neck before continuing. “Turns out not being able to cum eventually becomes an issue when your partner realizes you never actually have with them.”
Dean’s expression changed instantly. Every conversation you’d ever had about sex clearly started replaying in his head at once because confusion hit him violently.
“But you told me–”
“I lied.” The words came out easier than expected. You shrugged lightly, though your stomach still tightened. “I’ve been lying for years...Faking it until I got tired of faking it and started bruising egos.” A humorless smile tugged briefly at your mouth. “Including mine.”
Dean stayed quiet now so you stared into the fire instead.
“I just…” You exhaled slowly. “I don’t think sex is really my thing.” Your shoulders lifted. “I like the idea of it. I enjoy parts of it…but everyone talks about this huge explosive ending and I just…” You shook your head. “Don’t get there…naturally people stop believing you when you say it was still good.”
Dean watched you carefully. “Was it?”
“The sex?” You let the silence drag for a second before shrugging again. “I think so.” Your lips twitched faintly. “It was good enough to build better stories around afterward.”
Dean stopped smoking entirely after that. The blunt burned slowly between his fingers while he stared down at it, suddenly looking far more sober than either of you probably were. He looked like he was trying to organize his thoughts before speaking again.
“How about alone?” The question came softly, carefully.
If you didn’t know him so well, you might’ve mistaken the look on his face for pity. Thankfully, you did know him, which meant you recognized concern immediately.
You shook your head slowly. “That’s why I’m saying it’s not his fault.”
“It’s not yours either,” Dean argued as he flicked the rest of the blunt into the fire pit before continuing. “It just hasn’t happened yet.” His voice softened further. “Doesn’t mean it never will.”
You let out a slow breath, eyes closing briefly as the weed finally started loosening the tension sitting on your shoulders. “It’s definitely not from lack of trying.”
You could feel him staring at you even with your eyes closed.
The silence stretched comfortably after your confession, softened by the crackling fire and the distant chorus of crickets surrounding the backyard. The flames had started dying down, wood collapsing inward with quiet snaps while smoke drifted lazily into the cold night air.
Dean still hadn’t looked away from you. “So what now?” he asked finally.
You swallowed slowly, still keeping your eyes shut. For a second or maybe an entire minute, Dean genuinely thought you’d fallen asleep mid-conversation.
Then your lips twitched. “Celibacy.”
The offended sound that tore out of him made your smile widen. You heard him trying to hold it back too, which honestly made it funnier but this was Dean. Subtle outrage had never once existed in his body.
“Think I’d look hot as a nun?” you asked lazily.
“You’d look hot in a banana costume wearing clown shoes six sizes too big,” he replied instantly. “And you’re absolutely not dropping out of Briar to become a nun. End of discussion.”
His tone came out firm enough to sound ridiculous considering he had absolutely no authority over your life whatsoever.
You finally peeled your eyes open to look at him. The weed had settled into your bones now, leaving you heavy and relaxed against the chair. Dean looked hazy too, hair falling perfectly while the firelight flickered warm across his face.
“You’re not giving up because some five-eleven idiot couldn’t be patient long enough to figure you out.”
You grinned. “He’s six-one.”
Dean scoffed. “He tried out for the Hawks freshman year. Trust me, he’s five-eleven.”
Your brows lifted. Dean kept going without needing encouragement, already slipping into that protective streak he pretended wasn’t there. He always collected information about people around you, quietly filing it away for future use whenever he deemed necessary.
“He was wearing lifts during tryouts,” Dean added smugly. “One bad pivot and the guy almost snapped an ankle.”
A laugh escaped you softly.
“If you wanna stop having sex altogether, God forbid–”
“You should become a priest,” you interrupted.
Dean barked out a laugh, tipping his head back. “Yeah,” he nodded. “It’d probably take a year and a half to cleanse my sins.” He pointed toward himself loosely. “And that’s assuming I don’t burst into flames the second I walk into a church.” His eyes drifted back to you. “Can I continue now?”
“Yes, Father,” you replied through a chuckle.
Dean shook his head, smiling despite himself before settling deeper into his chair again.
“If you really wanna do the celibacy thing, fine.” He shrugged dramatically. “I’ll support you. We’ll find support groups together and hold hands through the trauma.” His mouth twitched. “Though personally, I’d go through withdrawals first.”
“How solidary of you.”
He nodded solemnly. “Exactly. Plus I can probably add it to my extracurriculars somehow.”
You laughed harder at that, shoulders shaking slightly as you leaned back into the chair. “You’re so fucking stupid.”
Dean watched you carefully while you laughed. The sound came out lighter than anything he’d heard from you all week, chest rising and falling unevenly while your eyes squeezed shut again for a second and suddenly the conversation stopped feeling funny to him.
Because underneath the jokes, underneath the weed and the teasing, he kept thinking about what you’d actually said earlier. About you trying and nothing happening.
Dean loved sex. Everyone knew that much about him but you did too or at least you loved wanting it, loved feeling desired, loved the intimacy, the heat and everything wrapped around it and now all he could think about was how frustrating that must’ve been for you. Wanting something everyone else talked about so easily only for your body not to cooperate no matter how hard you tried.
The thought sat badly in his chest. Dean looked down at the dying fire for a second before his eyes lifted back to you.
“Use me,” he blurted out.
Your laughter faded gradually after his words, the smile still lingering at the corners of your mouth while your eyes settled back on him even more carefully this time.
“What do you mean?”
Dean didn’t even hesitate. “I’ll be your last resort,” he repeated easily, like he’d already thought this through far more than he probably had. “Aren’t you always telling me to make myself useful?”
You narrowed your eyes, blinking slowly through the haze settling heavier behind them.
“What exactly are you suggesting?” You rubbed at one eye with the heel of your hand. “Because I’m starting to think I hallucinated that sentence.”
“I hold my weed better than you,” he reminded you smugly.
That part, unfortunately, was true. Dean leaned forward in his chair, elbows resting against his knees now, all lazy amusement gone strangely sincere beneath the teasing.
“You wanna quit? Fine.” He shrugged. “Quit when you’re actually out of options.”
A quiet huff left you, somewhere between disbelief and laughter. “Didn’t realize Six Flags counted as an option.” Your lips twitched faintly. “I hate rollercoasters.”
Dean nodded decisively. “Then I’ll go out of business.”
“You’ll close the park?”
“I’ll shut the whole thing down,” he promised solemnly. “Just so you can ride the teacups.” The grin spreading across his face warned you half a second too late. “Remember when you threw up on the–”
“Yes,” you cut him off immediately, flat and horrified. “I remember.”
Dean laughed anyway. Full-bodied, warm and entirely too pleased with himself as he pointed at you. “You were crying,” he accused through the laughter. “You kept saying your stomach hated you–”
“I was fifteen.”
“And dramatic.” He added. “But so cute…less mouthy too.”
“You held my hair while I threw up into a trash can behind the funnel cake stand.”
Dean’s laughter softened slightly at that memory. Back then he’d been genuinely terrified something was wrong with you. He’d hovered beside you the entire night looking pale enough to pass out himself while you recovered on a bench wrapped in his sweatshirt. Now he just looked fond.
You glanced away first, eyes dropping back toward the dying fire while your thoughts started turning over his earlier suggestion again despite yourself.
It could go horribly. Actually, no, it would go horribly. There were at least seventeen reasons this crossed every boundary imaginable. You already hated rollercoasters, hated fast turns and hated giving up control over literally anything involving your body and Dean…Well, Dean was Dean.
Confident, experienced, annoyingly good-looking and unarguably good at sex if campus rumors counted for anything and unfortunately they definitely did. You hadn’t exactly conducted research firsthand but after years of hearing stories from girls around campus, the reviews were embarrassingly consistent.
“You really think that highly of your dick?” you asked finally.
Dean shrugged lazily against the chair. “Nobody said anything about using it.”
That made your eyes snap back to him fully. “And if nothing works?” you asked quieter this time.
The question slipped out more honestly than intended because suddenly you weren’t thinking about sex anymore. You were thinking about aftermaths, about what happened if this ruined things between you. Dean had woven himself into your life years ago so naturally that imagining him gone felt impossible now.
You genuinely didn’t know how you’d survive losing him too.
Dean studied you for a second and for once the confidence in his face softened into something steadier. “Then we fail,” he decided.
You swallowed.
His grin returned slowly afterward, softer around the edges. “Fail with me,” he corrected. “Fail better.” He pointed between you both lazily. “Fail together.”
A laugh escaped you despite every effort not to give him one.
You rolled your eyes hard enough to make him grin wider, shaking your head while the weed continued smoothing the sharp corners off your thoughts. The night air no longer felt cold against your skin and embarrassment had slowly stopped existing somewhere during the conversation. Maybe that was the dangerous part and not Dean’s suggestion but how easy it suddenly felt to consider it.
You didn’t bring it up again for the rest of the night and neither did Dean.
When the rest of the guys stumbled back into the house loud and half-drunk sometime after midnight, he changed back into normal so smoothly it almost irritated you. He made sure you had food, water, your charger and then bullied one of the sober freshmen into driving you home while standing outside by the car until you pulled away like he always did.
You slept absurdly well afterward.
A heavy sleep and dreamless night, the type that glued you to the mattress the next morning until sunlight was already cutting aggressively through your blinds. By the time you shuffled out with an oversized hoodie you were certain was your ex’s, your phone was buzzing with unread texts from Dean sent hours earlier, probably before morning practice.
You ignored every single one and it wasn’t because of regret. Embarrassment simply crawled into your chest somewhere between the first and third spoonful of cereal and decided to settle there permanently.
The entire conversation replayed so clearly now that you were sober. “Use me,” You nearly groaned into the bowl.
Three hours of class helped, at least temporarily. You sat near the back of the massive amphitheater classroom while your professor rambled enthusiastically about the new book he’d conveniently written himself and would definitely require students to purchase before midterms. You probably would’ve absorbed more information if you weren’t scrolling mindlessly through Instagram the entire lecture.
The doors behind you opened quietly midway through class.
You barely paid attention at first since nobody descended the stairs toward the lower rows and a second later the seat beside you groaned softly under someone’s weight.
You recognized the cologne immediately.
“How hard do you think you need to scrub for that scent to leave your skin?” you whispered without looking up.
Dean grinned beside you, leaning closer enough for warmth to brush your shoulder as his eyes dropped toward your phone screen.
You locked it quickly and finally looked at him. “You’re not in this class.”
“I see your phone works perfectly fine,” he replied.
The professor thankfully dismissed class early before you could answer, students immediately growing louder as backpacks zipped and people exited the space.
You stood quickly and started gathering your things. “Did you need something, Di Laurentis?” you asked flatly.
Dean remained seated on purpose, forcing you to awkwardly climb past him to leave the row. The asshole looked entirely too pleased with himself while you muttered under your breath and stepped over his legs.
The second you reached the aisle, he stood and followed.
You walked fast, actually, aggressively fast. Dean almost struggled to keep up at first, his legs clearly still wrecked from morning practice while you marched out of the building like escape itself was the objective. He finally caught you outside near the steps leading toward the quad.
“We need to talk.”
You slowed at last before turning toward him. “What we need is space,” you corrected, motioning firmly between your bodies.
Dean looked down between you both thoughtfully, then took exactly one step backward.
You almost laughed, especially because he looked unbearably smug afterward, standing there grinning in the middle of campus like he deserved a reward for basic listening skills.
“You’ve gone to New York with me enough times to know I don’t need more space,” he pointed out. “But fine.” His expression softened slightly afterward, amusement fading as he studied your face more carefully. “What’s going on?”
Of course, he was right. Dean practically crawled into people’s personal bubbles recreationally, so the fact he’d backed off at all made it harder to flee the conversation entirely.
You exhaled slowly. “We said stuff last night.”
He nodded once, blinking at the tension written all over your face. “Yeah. That’s usually how conversations work.”
“Stuff you might regret,” you clarified.
Dean’s brows lifted before a quiet laugh escaped him. “Regret?” He pointed toward himself loosely. “C’mon. It’s me.”
His voice gentled slightly after and the worst part was he looked relieved, because apparently the phrase ‘stuff you might regret’ translated in Dean’s brain to ‘good, she’s not upset’.
“I would’ve said that sober,” he assured you.
His eyes stayed fixed on yours while your attention darted briefly around campus before returning to him again exactly like he knew it would. Dean stepped closer instinctively, lowering his voice enough that the passing students around you blurred into background noise.
“You want me to repeat it?” he asked quietly. “Let me help you cum.”
Your stomach tightened at his tone of voice. “It might not work,” you reminded him softly.
You hoped your face conveyed the actual problem because this had never been about his ego. Dean could survive failure, he’d probably laugh through it, so that wasn’t what scared you.
Dean shrugged anyway, maddeningly calm. “What if it does?”
“And what if it doesn’t?” Frustration finally slipped into your voice. “Dean, I don’t want us to get weird.” You shook your head hard once. “I don’t need ‘optimistic Dean’ right now,” you muttered. “I need ‘realistic Dean’, so pull him out of your ass.”
“You already are weird,” Dean corrected easily, smiling down at you. “I accepted that years ago.” His grin widened then. “Actually, I encourage it.”
You rolled your eyes, though the corner of your mouth betrayed you.
“Let me try,” he insisted again, the confidence in his voice should’ve irritated you more than it did.
Instead, you found yourself studying him in silence, searching for something off in his expression. Some sign this was ego, curiosity or boredom disguised as concern but he just looked…earnest. Enthusiastic, sure, because he was Dean and apparently incapable of approaching anything halfway but not creepy about it and maybe this was partially your own fault.
You’d spent years talking openly with him about sex, relationships and attraction. About wanting something good someday instead of tolerable, about how when you were old and exhausted with kids running around, you still wanted a partner who looked at you and wanted you back because you were almost certain you’d still want them too.
Dean remembered everything you said…unfortunately.
You sighed heavily. “We need rules.”
“Fine.” He agreed so fast it almost startled you. Dean straightened afterward, nodding once with ridiculous seriousness like the two of you were entering business negotiations instead of whatever disaster this actually was.
You almost reconsidered your next words. Almost.
“No kissing.”
Dean’s shoulders visibly dropped. “Why?”
“Because!” you hissed. “And if we’re doing this, you don’t get to question the rules.”
His face twisted in disbelief. “We’ve kissed before.”
You crossed your arms tighter. “That was different.”
Dean scoffed softly. “We were literally each other’s first kiss.”
Again, he was right. You weren’t just each other’s first kiss either, a few firsts existed between you both scattered through years of friendship and growing up side by side, all except for sex. There was awkward teenage curiosity, truth or dare disasters and one regrettable spin-the-bottle incident Garrett still occasionally referenced against your will.
Which was exactly why kissing now felt dangerous. This couldn’t spiral into some ‘why didn’t we do this sooner’ conversation. It needed boundaries and structure, something detached enough that neither of you accidentally ruined the friendship orbiting underneath all this and selflessly, you also didn’t want the group dragged into the fallout if things exploded.
“We’re adults now,” you said firmly. “So no kissing.”
Dean stared at you for another second before exhaling dramatically.
“Okay,” he relented…Too easily, which immediately made you suspicious he’d already started planning arguments against it for later.
“I’ve also thought about what you said last night,” you continued carefully. “About Six Flags.”
Dean’s brows lifted.
“And shutting down the entire park feels unfair to you,” you explained. “Potentially devastating, honestly.” Your lips twitched slightly. “So you can still hook up with other people if you want. I genuinely don’t care.”
Dean actually looked offended. “Didn’t realize I needed permission.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t.” His voice sharpened for the first time since the conversation started. “But no thanks.” He shrugged once. “It makes this more exciting anyway.” A grin tugged briefly at his mouth again. “I’ve got one ride right now and that’s all I need.”
Your face scrunched at his words. “Does weed somehow make you an even bigger asshole?”
Dean ignored that completely. “I’m not doing anything with anyone else until we’re done here,” he repeated firmly. The teasing disappeared entirely from his voice that time and there was no smugness either, just certainty.
You quieted automatically when a group of students passed nearby, a few of them recognizing Dean instantly and greeting him as they crossed the quad. He responded absentmindedly without taking his eyes off you once.
The second they moved far enough away, you continued. “Why?”
Dean’s expression softened at the question. “Because I need you comfortable,” he answered simply. “And I need you to trust me more than you already do.”
You groaned. “Oh my God,” you muttered, dragging a hand down your face. “You’re making this weird.”
He grinned at your reaction while you grabbed his sleeve and started pulling him further across campus before more people stopped to talk to him. Dean let you drag him along without resistance, looking far too entertained by the whole thing.
“We don’t even know how long this will take,” you pointed out.
“My fist works perfectly fine in the meantime,” Dean decided easily.
You looked up at him so fast your neck almost hurt.
Dean pressed his lips together, visibly trying not to laugh at the pure disbelief written across your face. His head tilted slightly, hair strands falling over his forehead while he watched you stare at him like he’d just confessed to tax fraud.
Your gaze dropped away first.
Contrary to what everyone on campus believed, Dean didn’t actually need constant hookups to survive. He liked the reputation, liked exaggerating it even more whenever it annoyed you enough to argue back or laugh at him but underneath all that, he could handle himself perfectly fine.
Unfortunately for you, he seemed almost smug about proving that now.
“Can I add rules too?” he asked.
You sighed dramatically. “Sure.”
The two of you kept walking through campus side by side, your pace slower now that the conversation had moved on from terrifying to merely humiliating.
“No scheduling things specifically for this,” Dean decided. “If it happens, it happens.”
You blinked once before nodding slowly. “Yeah. Okay.” Relief actually loosened something in your chest at that. “That’s good. I’ll stress less.”
Dean glanced sideways at you, probably pleased you agreed so quickly…Except his rule immediately created entirely new problems.
“Uh…” Your steps slowed slightly. “How do you…” You scratched awkwardly at your eyebrow. “Take it?”
Dean stopped walking altogether. “How do I take what?” he asked carefully. “My coffee?”
You groaned. “No.” Your hand motioned vaguely between the two of you in a series of gestures that explained absolutely nothing. “Like…how do you like it?”
Dean’s brows lifted as realization hit him almost visibly.
You looked away at once. “Fuck,” you muttered under your breath. “Do I need to be clean shaven constantly or not?” Your voice lowered progressively through the sentence while your eyes darted around campus to make sure nobody nearby overheard you discussing grooming preferences in broad daylight.
Dean stared at you for half a second too long before answering.
“Y/n.” The seriousness in his tone made your eyes flicker back toward him. “The day I tell you what to do with your body, you better knock me unconscious.”
Your mouth parted slightly.
“I’ll literally kneel for it if that makes it easier,” he continued firmly. “Do whatever makes you comfortable.”
And he meant it. Dean would enjoy it either way, obviously, but that wasn’t what mattered to him here. What mattered was getting you out of your own head long enough to actually enjoy yourself instead of performing comfort for someone else.
You blinked slowly at him because suddenly your ex’s comments replayed in your head with uncomfortable clarity. Little preferences disguised as jokes and suggestions repeated enough times to become expectations and judging by the expression tightening briefly across Dean’s face, he’d realized exactly where your question came from too.
That only made you feel worse somehow. Your attention drifted toward the students moving around campus nearby.
You suddenly wondered if people would notice eventually. The same way older women always claimed they somehow knew when girls became sexually active. Weird comments about posture and confidence, wider hips and glowing skin that sounded fake until suddenly you became the target of them too.
Your stomach tightened faintly. “What are we supposed to tell people?”
Dean barely hesitated. “To mind their own fucking business.”
You snorted softly.
He looked over at you again, entirely serious despite the amusement still lingering around his mouth. “Just like I’m doing mine.”
The rest of the week passed almost painfully normal.
There were parties, late-night food runs, afternoons sprawled around the boys’ house while someone yelled at a video game in the background and hockey games while Dean acted exactly the same as always. You spent time with Hannah and Allie between classes and after them, listened to Garrett complain dramatically about assignments he’d started twelve hours before they were due, watched Tucker cook enough food for six grown men while Logan disappeared upstairs with company more often than not.
Nothing changed.
Dean still touched your shoulder when he walked past you, still stole fries off your plate and still looked at you too long whenever you laughed at something stupid and somehow that made the entire thing worse because half the time you genuinely convinced yourself you’d imagined the whole conversation by the fire pit entirely.
Maybe the weed had made you both insane and none of it was real.
You sat curled up on the floor of the boys’ living room later that week with your knees tucked to your chest, a notebook balanced across your thighs while formulas blurred together across the page. Your back rested against the couch and the TV played quietly in the background though neither of you actually paid attention to it.
Dean sat opposite you in the armchair, long legs spread comfortably while he hunched over his own notebook with far more concentration than anyone would expect from him or maybe not because he took hockey so seriously. He took school seriously too, despite pretending otherwise whenever possible but unfortunately for you, he also looked unfairly good doing homework.
You tried focusing on your own work, tried hard. Instead, your eyes kept lifting toward him between equations, your brain repeatedly snagging on the memory of everything he’d said days earlier and the fact neither of you had taken any of it back…or done a single thing about it.
“What’d you get for number three?” Dean’s voice pulled you from your thoughts but still didn’t look up from his notebook.
You blinked down at your own page, trying to remember where your brain had abandoned the assignment entirely.
“C,” you answered eventually. “But I’m not confident about it.”
Dean hummed thoughtfully. “I’ve done the math twice and I keep getting B.”
You reread the problem slowly, trying to force your attention into place. “Then it’s probably B.”
Dean finally looked up at that, one brow lifting. “You’re admitting you’re wrong?”
You snorted softly. Honestly, it was extremely possible. Your brain hadn’t functioned properly all week because you kept thinking about him offering himself up like some absurdly confident science experiment.
“Don’t need to dig through my family tree to know I’m not descended from Isaac Newton.”
A smile tugged slowly across Dean’s mouth as he leaned back in the armchair. “If you are,” he said, eyes dragging over your face, “I’m glad the ugly recessive genes skipped you.”
Your nose scrunched instantly. “What kind of compliment is that?”
“The kind I’m hoping gets you over here to help me.” He motioned you closer lazily with his pointer and middle fingers.
You sighed before setting your notebook on the coffee table and padding across the room toward him. The house was quieter this late afternoon, though not empty. Hannah was upstairs with Garrett, Logan had disappeared into his room hours ago and Tucker was outside training.
“Let’s see,” you murmured.
You bent slightly over Dean and the notebook resting on the armrest, attention dropping fully to the equations scattered across the page. The movement loosened the collar of your shirt enough for cool air to brush your skin.
Dean noticed and his throat cleared quietly.
Your attention remained on the notebook while his eyes betrayed him completely, dropping for one dangerous second to the visible lace of your bra before forcing themselves back upward toward your face instead.
Dean had promised himself he’d take this slow and naturally because the second he acted weird about it, you would too. You’d overthink every movement, every look and accidental touch and unfortunately for him, you’d always been terrifyingly good at reading him.
He moved the notebook slightly farther from you as one hand settled carefully against your hip, guiding you.
You reached automatically for the notebook before he moved it entirely out of reach, successfully grabbing it just as he tugged you forward enough for your balance to tip. A second later you settled directly onto his lap, knees falling naturally to either side of his thighs.
You blinked once. “Smooth,” you muttered, adjusting yourself carefully without looking at him. “I’ll give you that.”
Dean grinned openly now. You balanced the notebook against his chest like it was a table and reached backward for the pen loosely held in his free hand. His fingers brushed yours before letting go.
“Should be a five,” you corrected while marking over the equation. “Not a seven.” Your brows furrowed slightly. “Your handwriting’s gotten worse over the years.”
“You still read it.”
“I’m not the one grading you.” Your eyes lifted straight into his.
You’d sat on Dean’s lap before, during packed car rides, group trips and random stupid moments over the years where proximity stopped mattering because he was just Dean. This didn’t feel like that, not even close.
“Not in math,” he said quietly.
Only one of his hands touched you still, resting warm and steady against your hip like he was making a conscious effort not to overwhelm you. Whether it was intentional or not, it worked. His eyes drifted downward slowly toward your mouth.
“You should be rating everything else though.” A grin ghosted briefly across his lips. “Pretty sure Six Flags has customer surveys.”
You shook your head once, slow enough that your hair brushed lightly against your cheek. “No ride, no survey.”
Dean’s mouth twitched. His legs spread slightly wider underneath you then, subtle enough that you still felt the change as the apex of your thighs aligned more directly with his. The hand on your hip tightened enough for you to notice. “Go on then,” he murmured.
Your gaze dropped before you could stop it, down to the visible tent pressing insistently against the front of his sweats. Heat climbed your throat immediately.
“Interesting moment you picked,” you muttered softly, eyes flicking briefly toward the rest of the house.
You felt comfortable there. Comfortable enough to leave clothes behind, to wander into the kitchen without asking and to nap on the couch when you got tired during movie nights but knowing the others were still around somewhere made your pulse jump harder instead of calming it.
Dean noticed. “Just focus on me,” he instructed quietly.
Not ‘look at me’, just ‘focus’ which you could do.
You looked at him, seeing the genuine curiosity and lack of judgment in his eyes and for the first time, the wall you'd built around your sexuality felt more like a shield and less like a cage.
Slowly, tentatively, you moved as the gravity of the moment pulled you toward him. You settled your weight directly onto him, feeling the distinct, blunt shape of his cock through the layers of your clothes. He wasn't fully hard yet, just a semi-firm pressure against your clothed pussy but it didn't make you recoil. In fact, it sent a low thrum of anticipation through your nerves.
The air between you grew thick, charged with a tension that felt heavy enough to touch. You remembered your own rule: no kissing. So, you kept your face inches from his but you didn't close the gap. Instead, you focused on the sound of his breathing, which had hitched the moment you sat down. You could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting over your lips, a teasing, invisible touch that made your skin prickle.
Dean’s hand still hovered near your waist, trembling slightly but he didn't grip you. He seemed to be fighting every instinct to pull you closer, respecting the fragile boundary you had set.
"I'm gonna keep my hands off," he whispered, his voice strained and rough. "You just keep moving. Take whatever you're comfortable with."
He pulled his arms back, resting them flat against the seat beside him, leaving you in complete control. The sudden lack of physical contact made the friction between your pelvises feel even more intense. You knew what you were doing, you had enough experience to know how your body worked, even if the 'explosive ending' always eluded you. You began to rock, a slow, tentative grind that pressed your pussy firmly against the length of him as a sharp, jagged exhale escaped his lungs.
You felt him react instantly, the semi-firmness beneath you surged, his cock thickening and hardening rapidly against your center. You rolled your hips in a circular motion, aiming for the sweet spot, feeling the dampness beginning to soak into your underwear. You were getting wetter, the friction creating a sliding, sensual heat that radiated upward into your stomach.
"You still okay?" he breathed out, voice barely a murmur.
You simply nodded and tried to focus entirely on him, wanting to give him something perfect, something that would leave him breathless. You pushed down harder, grinding your clit against the hard ridge of his dick. You watched his face, head falling back against the headrest, leaving his throat exposed and pulsing but he forced his eyes to stay open. He wanted to see you. He wanted to witness the way your expression changed as you found a rhythm that worked.
The intimacy was suffocating in the best way. There was no kissing to distract you and no wandering hands to break the spell, just the raw, rhythmic pressure of friction. You could feel the heat radiating off his thighs, the way his chest heaved in time with your movements as your own breathing became ragged, mirroring his, the sound of your synchronized gasps filling the quiet space.
You felt a small, involuntary moan escape your throat, a soft sound of pleasure that made Dean’s hips jerk upward instinctively, trying to meet your descent. You pressed closer, your mind racing, trying to synchronize your pleasure with his but as the tension built, a familiar frustration began to creep in. You were so close to that peak, that elusive edge but the more you focused on his perfection, the more you felt yourself slipping away from your own. You wanted it, you wanted to break through the ceiling you'd lived under for years and the frustration made you grind harder, more desperately.
You were just beginning to lose yourself in the friction, your body humming with a desperate, electric need, when the spell was shattered.
The heavy thud of footsteps hit the wooden porch outside, then came muffled voices.
Tucker.
The sound slammed into you like ice water dumped straight down your spine.
You jolted backward instantly, panic snapping through your body so violently that your balance disappeared completely. The friction, the heat, the dizzy haze clouding your brain shattered in one humiliating second as you scrambled away from Dean in pure instinct.
Dean’s hands had actually stayed off, so when you lurched backward, there was nothing anchoring you in place, no arm catching your waist or grip steadying you. You slipped right off his lap in a graceless tangle of limbs and landed hard beside the chair with a muffled curse, your pulse hammering violently against your ribs.
Dean moved at the same time you did. One hand grabbed the nearest couch pillow and yanked it straight into his lap while the other instinctively reached toward you, fingers brushing empty air because you were already halfway onto your feet.
The front door opened and you froze.
Your breathing came embarrassingly uneven as you tried forcing your body back under control, thighs trembling faintly from the abrupt stop, nerves buzzing so hard beneath your skin it almost hurt. Dean leaned back into the chair with his head tipped toward the ceiling for one brief second, chest rising sharply beneath his t-shirt while tortured frustration flashed openly across his face before he forced himself together enough to look toward the entryway.
Tucker walked in distractedly, phone pressed to his ear while he kicked the door shut behind him with his shoe.
“–No, because that’s not what I said,” he argued into the phone before finally glancing up.
Dean’s voice came out rough and annoyed. “Can't you knock?”
The irritation in it made your eyes widen and before thinking better of it, you reached over and smacked lightly at his arm which made him look offended for half a second.
Tucker’s brows pulled together slowly as his gaze moved between the two of you…You standing there awkwardly and Dean spread out in the armchair with a pillow aggressively covering his lap.
The TV was still playing, forgotten in the background too.
“Wait,” Tucker muttered into the phone, eyes narrowing slightly. “Hold on.” He lowered the phone away from his ear and motioned vaguely around the living room. “I live here,” he pointed out flatly. “If you two wanna study in complete silence maybe turn the TV down or go to the library.”
Your mouth pressed into a painfully tight smile.
“Hey, Y/n.” he greeted, much more gently.
“Hi,” you replied weakly with an awkward nod.
Tucker gave you one more lingering look before wandering toward the kitchen, already returning to his phone conversation while opening the fridge like absolutely nothing life-altering had just occurred in his living room.
The second he was no longer looking, your eyes snapped back toward Dean, his were already on you, wide and still dark with frustration and lingering heat and approximately ten other emotions you absolutely did not have time to unpack right now.
You hurried toward where you’d abandoned your bag near the couch and started shoving your things inside far too quickly.
Dean muttered a curse under his breath behind you as the fridge door opened again. “Wait, wait, wait,” he whispered urgently.
You ignored him completely, nearly dropping your belongings while trying to zip your bag shut.
“You don’t have to leave,” he continued quietly, unable to stand for reasons both of you were painfully aware of. The pillow remained trapped over his lap while he leaned forward slightly, voice dropping lower. “Stay for dinner.” Then louder, “Right, Tucker?”
From the kitchen, still mid-conversation, Tucker lifted a distracted thumbs up without even looking over. Of course you could stay, you were always welcome there and it somehow made this infinitely worse.
“Y/n, c’mon,” Dean tried again, even softer this time.
You finally looked at him, at his flushed face and the way he still looked wrecked from you despite the interruption.
Your stomach flipped painfully. “You can text me that survey of yours,” you muttered.
Dean groaned quietly at the reminder, watching as you grabbed your bag and headed straight for the front door before your embarrassment could physically consume you alive.
You didn’t say goodbye or looked back. You slipped outside into the cold early evening air and shut the door behind you, immediately dragging in one huge breath like you’d been underwater too long.
Fresh air hit your lungs sharply, cool and tensionless.
Your legs felt weird as you walked down the porch steps and somewhere beneath the embarrassment sat an even more irritating realization. You needed to change your panties and somehow, you still hadn’t come.
For the first time in your academic career, you were thankful exam week existed.
The chaos of midterms had given you and Dean something else to focus on besides the fact you’d nearly climbed him in the middle of his living room while Tucker casually walked through the front door. Between study sessions, essays, last-minute cramming and the general emotional collapse that overtook Briar every semester, things had settled back into something manageable.
You and Dean had talked afterward, though absolutely not alone.
He’d insisted on meeting in a crowded coffee shop near campus where old women typed aggressively on laptops and students cried quietly over textbooks in the corner booths. Dean had spent most of the conversation reassuring you Tucker didn’t know anything, swearing repeatedly that if Tucker had known, the entire hockey house would’ve heard about it within twelve minutes. More importantly, he’d made sure you still wanted this and despite the embarrassment, the frustration and how badly your body still reacted whenever he looked at you too long, you did.
“Are you seriously not coming?” Allie paced dramatically across the apartment while speaking, changing outfits for what had to be the fourth time in under an hour. Both you and Hannah tracked her movements from the couch like spectators at a tennis match while she disappeared into her room only to emerge seconds later wearing something slightly tighter each time.
Hannah finally peeled her attention away from Allie to look at you instead.
“She’s right,” she agreed. “Exams are over. Maybe partying would actually help.”
You smiled lazily from your spot curled into the couch cushions, blanket draped across your legs while exhaustion sat heavy behind your eyes.
“What’ll help me is eight uninterrupted hours of sleep,” you informed them. “Which I plan on pursuing aggressively the second both of you leave.” Your mouth twitched slightly. “Now see some boys and make questionable use of your mouths elsewhere.”
Allie barked out a laugh loud enough to echo while Hannah groaned.
“When are we finding your rebound?” Allie asked as she finally settled on an outfit and bent down to tug on her boots.
“It’s too soon,” you decided immediately.
“It is,” Hannah agreed with a firm nod. “She doesn’t wanna think about men right now and we’re respecting that.”
You pointed gratefully toward her. “See? Emotional maturity.”
“Sure,” Allie snorted. “I’m still passing your Instagram around tonight though.” She grinned wickedly while crossing toward the couch. “You can decide what to do with the options later.” Before you could answer, she leaned down and squeezed you tightly against her side. “Don’t wait up for us.”
You watched them drag out the goodbye process intentionally, moving toward the door with exaggerated slowness like they expected you to suddenly change your mind and throw on heels at the last second.
You sighed and stood from the couch, physically herding them toward the exit. “Just go,” you laughed while they protested loudly.
“We tried,” Hannah reminded you with a smile while Allie opened the apartment door. “We’ll send you the address anyway.”
“I won’t change my mind.”
“You say that now...”
You waved them off anyway and finally shut the door behind them once they disappeared down the hallway already talking excitedly about shots and music and whatever terrible decisions the night would inevitably produce.
Silence settled across the apartment immediately afterward.
You exhaled slowly…now what? You considered your options while wandering aimlessly through the living space. You could curl up on the couch with your laptop and a movie or crawl into bed and disappear beneath blankets for twelve straight hours like a Victorian woman with mysterious exhaustion. Or…Your thoughts drifted elsewhere automatically, toward your room and the drawer beside your bed.
You grimaced slightly. Maybe tonight was the night you tried again, actually committed to figuring yourself out instead of giving up midway through frustration like usual. You’d bought enough toys over the years based entirely on optimistic reviews and late-night curiosity alone.
Were they even charged? You were approximately two steps away from your bedroom when knocking sounded at the front door.
You groaned at the sound. “Did you guys forget your condoms again?” you called out while turning toward the entrance. Honestly, it happened often enough that the assumption came naturally now.
You unlocked the door and pulled it open. Then blinked at who you saw. “Dean.”
Dean stood casually in the hallway wearing a baseball cap and dark sunglasses despite the fact it was nighttime indoors, which might’ve worked better if he wasn’t also carrying an enormous black bag beside him.
“I always carry condoms,” he informed you smugly.
Your face scrunched instantly as his answer only emphasized how thin the apartment walls actually were. You narrowed your eyes at him while glancing suspiciously down the hallway.
“Why aren’t you at the party?”
Dean lowered the sunglasses enough to properly look at you over the frames.
You looked soft tonight, comfortable. Wearing sweatpants and an oversized shirt, hair messier than usual from lying around all day. The sight quickly made something warm settle low in his chest.
“Because I’m here with you.”
“No,” you corrected. “You wanted to be here with me.” You pointed vaguely toward campus. “Past tense…You should currently be at that party.”
“No can do.” Dean slipped smoothly past you before you could stop him, nudging the apartment door shut behind him with his foot.
Only then did you fully notice the bag. It was large, rectangular, black and rigid with no visible branding whatsoever. It completely ruined the whole incognito outfit.
Your eyes narrowed harder while Dean looked far too pleased with himself.
“I come bearing gifts,” he announced, then he walked straight toward your bedroom like he paid rent there.
“How did you know I didn’t go to the party?” you asked while following him toward your bedroom.
Dean set the bag carefully onto your bed before finally turning around, fingers hooking beneath the brim of his cap as he pulled it off. The sunglasses followed next, revealing eyes already fixed on you with far too much satisfaction.
“I have my sources.”
You grimaced again. “That sounds vaguely threatening.”
“Hannah asked me the other day to convince you to come out tonight.” He shrugged casually. “I didn’t.”
You crossed your arms. “Who says I would’ve agreed anyway?”
Dean smiled instantly. “Me.” The confidence in his answer came without hesitation. “I’m very persuasive.”
You rolled your eyes before your attention dragged back toward the massive black bag sitting suspiciously at the foot of your bed. “What is that?”
Dean glanced over his shoulder toward it. “Our entertainment for tonight.” His mouth twitched slightly. “Well…mine.”
You narrowed your eyes harder at him before stepping around him toward the bed. The bag gave nothing away from the outside, rigid and sleek and annoyingly mysterious.
Cautiously, you reached inside and your fingers brushed lace first. You blinked then slowly pulled the item free into the light between you both, pinching it delicately between two fingers like it might suddenly attack you.
“Lingerie?” you asked, genuinely confused.
Dean nodded once. “I had to get rid of the boxes,” he explained. “Turns out Agent Provocateur packaging isn’t exactly subtle.”
Your eyes widened immediately. “Agent Provocateur?” You stared at him in disbelief before looking back into the bag. “Are you insane?”
One by one, you started pulling more pieces out. Black lace…cream silk and tiny straps. Things so soft they barely felt real against your fingertips.
Dean watched your growing expression carefully and only then seemed to realize he may have gone slightly overboard. “I got lost on the website,” he admitted. “And then there was free shipping after a certain amount which felt financially irresponsible to ignore.”
You straightened slowly, still clutching one lace bodysuit in your hands while looking at him like he’d lost his damn mind.
“Explain to me,” you said carefully, “how exactly this counts as entertainment.”
“Besides the obvious?”
Your stare sharpened. Dean exhaled quietly before answering, his tone softening as the teasing faded from his expression.
“When you were on my lap the other day…” His eyes flickered briefly toward the floor before returning to you. “You stopped focusing on yourself after a while.”
Your fingers tightened slightly around the lace.
“You started trying to get me there instead,” he continued gently. “Like you were more worried about proving something than actually feeling good.”
Heat crept onto the nape of your neck because he was right. Dean noticed everything.
“And I get it,” he added quickly, voice staying careful. “Probably instinct. You wanted me to enjoy it.” His mouth twitched faintly. “Which I definitely did, by the way. Don’t start doubting that part.”
You stayed quiet while watching him and actually listened instead of acting on your urge to flee.
“Tonight,” he said after a beat, nodding lightly toward the lingerie scattered across your bed, “the lingerie can be for me.” His eyes moved back to yours. “So the rest can just be yours.”
The room went quiet afterward. The plan had probably sounded more coherent in Dean’s head at one in the morning while online shopping half-awake with his laptop balanced on his stomach but somewhere beneath the absurdity of it, you understood what he meant.
Lingerie wasn’t only about someone else seeing you in it, women bought it for themselves too, to feel pretty, desired and confident. Sometimes just to stand in front of the mirror and reclaim something private but eventually, with partners, it often became performative too, something shared and visual. Dean was trying to remove that pressure from everything else.
Your gaze drifted slowly back down toward the pile of lace but you still weren’t entirely sure what happened next. You tried things on and then, what?
Your voice lowered slightly. “What kind of mind games are you playing?”
You hoped it didn’t sound accusing because it wasn’t meant to. You were just struggling to process the fact Dean had seen through you so clearly after one failed attempt, that he’d gone and actually thought about it, considered it and returned with something tangible instead of empty reassurance and blind confidence.
Dean shook his head immediately. “No games.” His voice stayed soft and patient, ready to leave the second you told him this was too much. “Let’s just give it a shot.”
Silence stretched again before you finally reached for a pair of panties instead. The lace slid smoothly through your fingers as you lifted the panties between you both for further inspection.
Dean’s eyes dropped instantly and despite himself, one very clear thought crossed his mind.
‘Yeah. Definitely one of my favorites.’
“How do you even know these will fit?” you asked honestly. The fabric looked expensive enough to disintegrate if handled incorrectly, soft lace brushing against your fingertips while you inspected the tiny details stitched into it.
Dean opened his mouth…closed it and opened it again. “I’m…observant?”
Even he sounded unsure of the answer.
Your lips twitched as you bit back a laugh while digging through the pile until you found the matching bra, then gathered both pieces in your hands.
“Observant and persuasive,” you mused while backing toward the bathroom. “Let me know when there’s something substantial to add to that list.”
Dean nodded solemnly like you’d given him serious criticism to reflect on. “Will do.”
The bathroom door clicked shut behind you and the second it did, Dean exhaled sharply and looked down at himself...for fuck’s sake.
He adjusted himself miserably through his pants while staring at your closed bathroom door in defeat. Lately everything about you affected him differently, your voice, your teasing and the way you looked at him for half a second too long depending on the day.
It was becoming genuinely embarrassing.
Dean barely moved from the spot you’d left him in.
He stayed planted near the foot of your bed, one hand dragging occasionally through his hair while his eyes remained fixed on the bathroom door like staring hard enough would somehow let him see through it. Every few seconds he twitched awkwardly in his pants, dealing unsuccessfully with the consequences of occasionally hearing your hums through the thin wall while knowing exactly what you were changing into behind it.
Inside the bathroom, you stood frozen in front of the mirror for far longer than necessary.
You tried very hard not to think about how closely Dean must’ve paid attention to you over the years to somehow get the sizing exactly right because it fit perfectly.
The lace sat snug against your skin without pinching anywhere, soft black patterns curling over your chest and hugging your hips beautifully. The bra lifted your breasts enough to make your posture straighten instinctively while the matching panties rested low against your hips, delicate enough to feel expensive but comfortable enough not to make you tug at them every two seconds.
You looked good, not just tolerable under dim lights or acceptable after strategic positioning and reassurance and maybe that was what scared you most because now you had to walk back out there and let someone else see it too.
With one last glance toward your reflection, you finally reached for the doorknob and stepped back into your room.
Dean looked up immediately, the reaction was almost embarrassing.
He stopped breathing for half a second entirely, eyes dragging over you slowly enough to make heat climb straight into your throat. He barely blinked while following your movement across the room as you drifted toward your full-length mirror, fingertips lightly tracing the lace resting over your shoulders before moving lower toward the small details connecting the cups together.
The silence stretched thickly.
You kept looking at yourself mostly because looking directly at him felt dangerous right now, even as he moved behind you slowly without touching. He was just standing there close enough for warmth to gather along your back while his eyes followed yours through the reflection. Wherever you looked, he looked too, until eventually your gazes met in the mirror.
You swallowed. “What do you think?”
Dean inhaled deeply through his nose. “I think,” he said slowly, “Six Flags might be going out of business soon.”
Your brows lifted immediately before a quiet laugh escaped you despite yourself.
You turned around to face him fully then, stepping closer until only inches separated you both. Your hands settled carefully against the center of his chest, fingertips brushing lightly against the fabric of his shirt while you looked up at him.
Dean held your gaze steadily, too steadily, sometimes it genuinely felt like he could read your thoughts if he stared long enough. “What do you think?” he echoed softly.
You hummed quietly, eyes flickering downward toward his mouth before lifting back up again.
“I think…” Your hands began sliding slowly down his chest, fingertips grazing over the hard planes beneath his shirt one inch at a time. “Maybe…” Your voice softened further as your palms drifted lower. “I could show you something I actually know how to do.”
Dean’s jaw tightened as your fingers brushed the bulge straining against his pants.
“With my mouth,” you finished quietly.
You didn’t move afterward and neither did he.
In your head, the logic made sense. Dean already thought you were beautiful, so you didn’t need him witnessing your frustration firsthand too. You could give him something good instead, something you knew how to control.
For one dangerous second, he looked like he was genuinely considering it. Then Dean exhaled sharply and turned you around instead, guiding you gently back toward the mirror until your back rested against his chest.
A startled breath caught in your throat as your ass pressed unintentionally against the hard outline of his erection.
Your eyes met his again through the reflection.
“I don’t doubt you can do those things,” he murmured near your ear. “All of them.”
One of his hands settled carefully against your waist while the other slid slowly downward, fingertips brushing beneath the waistband of your panties enough to make your stomach tighten.
His eyes never once left yours in the mirror. “So why do you?”
The reflection showed the two of you, a study in tension and longing. You could see the intensity in his eyes, the way he watched you not just with desire but with a focused, intentional kind of devotion.
His hand didn't push further, he stopped before his fingertips brushed the outer lips of your pussy, leaving a teasing spark of contact. He held himself there, gaze locking onto yours in the mirror, waiting. He wasn't going to take a single inch more without your explicit permission.
You felt your heart hammer against your ribs, chest heaving. You looked into his eyes and gave a small, shaky nod.
The moment you did, he slid deeper. His fingers glided through the slick already gathering between your thighs, parting you with a gentle pressure that could’ve made your toes curl. He didn't rush, he navigated the wet lips until his fingertip found the small, swollen bud of your clit. He began to circle it slowly with agonizingly steady rotations that sent ripples of electricity shooting straight to your core.
"Tell me what you see," he whispered, voice a low and gravelly vibration against your ear.
You swallowed hard, voice trembling as you focused on the reflection. "You...you touching me," you breathed.
As you spoke, you watched your own body react. Your breathing picked up, turning into shallow, jagged gasps. In the mirror, you saw your breasts heaving, the nipples peaking and hardening into tight, sensitive points through the lace of your bra. As if reading your thoughts, Dean’s other hand reached around, his fingers finding one breast and gripping it. He massaged the hardened peak, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger and you let out a sharp, involuntary swallow, head tilting back slightly.
"And what's at the end of me?" he asked, voice humming with a dark, sensual curiosity.
"Me," you whispered, the word barely leaving your lips.
"What else?" he pressed, fingers continuing that relentless, circling motion. He was forcing you to stay present, stripping away your ability to hide in your head or focus on his pleasure. He wanted you trapped in your own skin.
You stared at yourself, hyper-aware of every inch of your anatomy. "Beauty marks," you murmured, noticing the small moles on your thighs and torso that you usually ignored.
"And here?" he asked, his thumb flicking the tip of your nipple.
"Hardened nipples," you gasped, eyes fluttering.
"And on your skin..." he prompted, his fingers quickening their pace, the friction against your clit becoming more insistent and demanding.
"Goosebumps," you whimpered. You could see them breaking out across your shoulders and arms, a physical manifestation of the arousal peaking within you.
The sensory overload was dizzying. Every time you named a part of yourself, the pleasure seemed to intensify, as if acknowledging your own body was unlocking a door you'd kept bolted shut. Dean’s fingers were no longer just circling, they were fluttering, vibrating against your most sensitive spot with a precision that made your hips instinctively buck back against him. You felt the wetness flooding out of you and coating his fingers, making the sounds of his touch wet and explicit in the quiet room.
You tried desperately to keep your eyes locked on his in the mirror but as the pleasure climbed, the world began to blur. Your eyelids grew heavy, the edges of your vision darkening as the sensation centered entirely on the point where he was rubbing you. You started to moan, the sounds raw but still shy, escaping your throat without your permission. You pushed your backside harder against the rigid length of his erection, craving the friction, the completion.
The tension in your lower belly coiled tighter and tighter, a spring winding up to the point of snapping. You were right there, on the precipice, the beginning of an orgasm shimmering just out of reach. Your breath became a series of broken sobs as your body trembled in anticipation. Was this it?
"I think...I–" you started, voice breaking as the first wave of a climax seemed to form but just before it solidified, just as you were about to believe it would, Dean abruptly pulled his hand away.
The sudden void was shocking. You gasped, body jolting from the abrupt loss of stimulation, the orgasm denied at the very last second of creation. You were left vibrating, aching and halfway undone but before you could process the frustration, he gripped your waist and turned you around in his arms so you were facing him.
Your eyes were wide, glazed with lust and confusion, chest heaving as you looked up at him.
"What the hell are you doing?" you asked, voice a breathless wreck.
Dean didn't answer immediately. He just looked at you, taking in the desperate hunger in your eyes. He gripped your hips firmly, knuckles white and began backing up toward the bed, pulling you with him.
"Trusting you to do it first," he murmured.
As the back of his knees hit the mattress, he let himself fall back, laying flat on his back and spreading his arms wide, leaving himself completely open and vulnerable to you.
You climbed over him, your movements determined, fueled by a desperate, humming need that had been wound tight in the mirror. You braced your knees against his sides, feeling the hard muscle of his thighs beneath you and planted one hand firmly on his chest. Beneath your palm, you could feel his heart hammering a frantic rhythm, a mirror to your own. With a renewed sense of determination, you slipped your other hand beneath the fabric of your panties, your fingers finding the slick, swollen heat of your pussy.
As you began to touch yourself, you closed your eyes for a moment, repeating the litany he had forced you to acknowledge in the mirror. You focused on the hyper-awareness he had instilled in you, turning that mental lens inward. You found your clit, already engorged and sensitive and began to circle it. Your breathing became ragged, each exhale a shaky shudder that vibrated through your entire frame.
You opened your eyes and looked down at your hand on his chest. You watched the way his pectorals heaved under your touch, his skin flushed and warm. Then, you felt his hands slide up your legs, his large palms gripping your thighs firmly. The sheer intensity of his gaze, the way he watched your every movement with a hunger that felt almost tangible, made a low moan escape your throat.
You had never reached this point before, never felt this close to the edge of something so profound. The pleasure was a rising tide, threatening to pull you under.
"Be patient," Dean breathed, his voice a low, grounding rumble that seemed to vibrate through the mattress and into your bones. "Listen to your body."
You nodded, eyes locked onto his and focused entirely on the sensation. You ignored the noise in your head, everything except the friction of your own fingers. You kept your hand working at a speed you liked, a steady, rhythmic pressure that built a coil of tension in your lower belly. You began to squirm, hips rocking in a slow, undulating motion against your own hand, chasing the spark.
In your haze of arousal, you shifted, pressing your soaking wet clothed cunt directly onto the rigid length of his erection through his pants. The sudden, blunt pressure against your clit sent a shockwave of pleasure through you and you let out a loud, uncontrolled moan. Dean groaned in response, a sound of pure, tortured restraint as he kept his hips from jerking upward to meet you.
You quickly lifted your hips again, holding them high in the air, body arching as you fought to maintain the rhythm.
“Holy fuck,” You were so close now, the world was narrowing down to the point where your fingers met your flesh.
"Attagirl. That's it," Dean whispered, voice thick with praise. "You're doing so good. Just like that...look at you, taking it all in. So fucking worth it."
His words were like fuel to the fire. The praise made you bolder and movements more frantic. You pressed harder, your fingers fluttering with an urgency that bordered on desperation until the tension reached a breaking point, a white-hot spark that suddenly ignited into a roaring flame.
The orgasm hit you like a physical blow. Your head snapped back, your spine arching as the first wave of pleasure crashed over you. Your lips parted and an unreal, unabashed sound, a high, keening cry of release slipped out of you, echoing through the room. It was your first time ever coming and the sensation was overwhelming. It didn't just peak and fade, it rolled through you in long, rhythmic pulses that seemed to last forever, shaking your entire body, leaving your muscles twitching and your mind a complete blank.
Dean didn't move. He looked at you, completely mesmerized, eyes wide and unblinking. He watched the way your throat worked as you gasped for air, the way your breasts heaved and the way your body shuddered under the aftershocks. Beneath you, his cock throbbed and twitched painfully against the constraint of his pants, a visible manifestation of the agony and ecstasy of watching you shatter.
As the waves finally subsided, leaving you limp and floating, you collapsed onto his chest with a sultry whine, skin damp with sweat and breathing heavy and synchronized with his as you caught your breath.
The silence of the room was thick, charged with the lingering electricity of the moment.
You swallowed hard while still catching your breath, voice a mere whisper against his skin. "Is it too soon to say that was the best orgasm I've ever had?"
Dean let out a heavy, uneven breath beneath you, the sound shuddering straight through his chest and into yours. Only then did his hands finally leave your thighs. Slowly, almost cautiously, they slid upward along your sides until his palms settled against your back.
Gone was the restraint that had kept his fingers tense and controlled earlier. Now he touched you lightly, almost reverently, fingertips drifting along the curve of your spine over the lace while he tried to steady his breathing. Every few seconds his hands flexed against you instinctively, like he still couldn’t quite believe what had just happened.
“Definitely the best one I’ve ever had,” he murmured.
His voice sounded wrecked, dizzy, like simply watching you come apart on top of him had pushed him somewhere dangerously close to losing it himself.
You lifted your head slowly from where it rested against his chest, pushing up enough to properly look at him.
Dean blinked up at you lazily, pupils completely blown.
You swallowed once. “Did you…?”
The question barely finished forming before Dean’s expression morphed into something sheepish and amused all at once. He swallowed too before nodding once against the mattress.
Your eyes widened slightly as his hand slid upward from your back, fingertips brushing softly along your jaw while he looked at you with an expression so openly fond it almost hurt to hold eye contact with him.
“Am I still not deserving of a kiss?” he asked quietly. Half joking, half absolutely not.
You hummed thoughtfully like you were genuinely considering it. “You want a cookie and a gold star too?”
Dean’s grin spread slowly across his face, matching yours instantly despite the pleasure still weighing down his features. “Better than the survey.”
You laughed softly through your nose before finally leaning down the rest of the way.
The kiss was warm, searing and long overdue.
Dean’s hand moved instantly to the back of your head, holding you in place like he’d been waiting weeks to finally do exactly this. It started slow for approximately two seconds, soft lips parting against yours carefully, almost disbelievingly, before weeks of tension snapped apart all at once.
You melted into him with a breathless sound as his mouth pressed harder against yours.
Dean kissed like he did everything else, thoroughly.
His thumb pushed lightly beneath your jaw, tilting your head back enough for him to deepen the kiss, tongue sliding against yours slow at first, exploratorily, before the restraint he’d been clinging to all night dissolved completely. The taste of him, the warmth of his mouth and the low groan that rumbled out of his chest when you kissed him back with equal desperation made your stomach tighten all over again.
The kiss quickly turned messy, hungry. You could barely catch your breath between them, mouths reconnecting instantly every time you pulled apart for air like neither of you could tolerate the distance anymore. Dean’s grip tightened on your hair as his other hand spread wide against your back, dragging you flush against him while his tongue swept against yours again, deeper this time, making heat rush straight through your body.
So much for rules.
Seems like Six Flags had just been privatised for a single Agent Provocateur wearer…indefinitely.
a/n: Comments, likes and reblogs really do mean the world and help more than you know! More stories will be added to the archive soon, so stay tuned for new content. Thank you so much for reading! 🤍
summary 𓂃 when you admit you’ve never been on top before, dean decides there’s no better place to learn than his bed.
warnings 𓂃 18+ mdni, explicit smut, established relationship, insecurity, first time riding, protected sex, praise, dirty talk, boob play, clit stimulation, missionary, soft aftercare.
word count 𓂃 3,468.
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
You'd been pretending to watch the movie for at least fifteen minutes.
Dean had been doing a terrible job of pretending he wasn't staring at you for just as long.
It was a terrible performance on both sides, especially considering the laptop was still playing some action movie at the end of his bed, and neither of you could've named one thing that'd happened in the last ten minutes. You were tucked under his sheets in one of his old Briar shirts, the hem brushing soft against your thighs because your underwear was the only thing you'd bothered putting on after your shower, and Dean was lying beside you with one hand behind his head and the other low on your hip like he was trying very hard to act like a gentleman.
He was trying to behave, which was sweet, really, but not exactly successful.
"You're staring again," you murmured, not even bothering to look away from the screen.
Dean's thumb moved in a slow circle over your hip. "You're in my bed wearing my shirt. You can't really blame me."
"You gave it to me," you pointed out, like that was supposed to make him less smug about it.
"I know." Dean's mouth curved like he'd been waiting for you to say exactly that. "Great decision, honestly."
You rolled your eyes, but the smile breaking through kind of ruined the effect. "You're impossible."
"Yeah." Dean leaned in, his lips brushing your shoulder through the fabric of his shirt. "But you like me anyway."
"Sometimes," you said, though your smile made it sound a lot less convincing.
"Right now?" he asked, his voice dropping just enough to make your stomach flip.
You turned your head to answer, which was apparently all the invitation Dean needed, because then he was kissing you, slow and warm, one hand sliding up your side beneath the fabric like he'd planned the whole thing. It was easy to melt into Dean like that, a lot easier than you'd ever admit out loud. Dean kissed you like he knew exactly how much time he had, which apparently meant he had no problem spending it dragging every little sound out of you to see how much trouble it got him into.
His fingers slipped beneath the hem of the shirt, warm against your waist in a way that shouldn't have made you gasp as quickly as it did.
Dean smiled against your mouth, entirely too pleased with himself. "There she is."
"Don't start."
"I didn't even say anything."
"You were about to, and we both know it."
He laughed, low and entirely too pleased with himself, before rolling onto his back and tugging you over him like he already knew you'd follow. And you did, because apparently thinking was no longer part of the plan, one knee sliding across his hips until you were straddling his lap.
Then you froze beneath his hands, and Dean felt the change in you immediately.
His hands settled on your waist, thumbs brushing over your sides in a way that was soft enough to make your chest ache a little. "Hey."
You swallowed, suddenly very aware of the fact that you were in his lap with your thighs spread around his hips, his hard length pressing up beneath his sweatpants, and somehow his shirt still covering you didn't make you feel any less exposed.
"This feels like a lot of responsibility," you said, aiming for a joke and landing somewhere embarrassingly close to panic.
Dean's brow lifted like he wasn't sure whether to laugh or be concerned. "Responsibility?"
"I just..." You looked down, your fingers curling into the front of his shirt like that'd somehow make the words easier to get out. "I've never really done this before."
His expression softened, though that amused little spark in his eyes didn't go anywhere. "Been on top?"
Your cheeks warmed, which was annoying because Dean absolutely noticed. "Not really."
"Not really?" Dean repeated, thumbs still brushing over your waist like he was trying very hard not to look too pleased about that.
"Dean," you said, dragging his name out like a warning, even though the warmth in your cheeks made it pretty hard to sound threatening.
He smiled a little, his hands giving your hips a gentle squeeze like he'd decided to behave for once. "Okay. Not really."
"It's not a big deal," you said quickly, which was unfortunate because saying it that fast made it sound like it was definitely a big deal. "I just feel like I'd look stupid, or I wouldn't know what I was doing, and then you'd have to pretend it was hot, which is a very nice boyfriend thing to do, but also something I'd never emotionally recover from."
Dean stared at you for a beat, then laughed in this soft, disbelieving way that only made your face feel warmer. "Baby, I'm hard because you're sitting on my lap in my shirt. You could sneeze right now, and I'd find a way to be into it."
You blinked because, annoyingly enough, it had worked. "That was weirdly comforting."
"I'm great at comfort."
"You're absolutely not."
"I am when you're half-naked on top of me."
You tried to bite back a laugh, but it came out as this breathy little sound instead when Dean's hands guided your hips down, showing you exactly how slowly he wanted you to move over him. The pressure caught against your clit through your underwear, warm and steady enough to make your thighs tense before you could stop them.
Dean's eyes darkened like he'd felt the way your body reacted. "Does that feel good?"
You nodded, your thighs still tense beneath his hands.
His mouth curved. "Words, sweetheart."
"Yes," you breathed, because apparently that was the only word your brain had left to offer.
"There you go," Dean murmured, his voice soft enough to make your stomach flip.
The next kiss was messier, mostly because Dean kept guiding your hips over him like he had all the patience in the world, dragging it out until your underwear was damp, clinging to you, and making it pretty impossible to pretend you weren't affected. At first, the sounds you made were small and half-swallowed against his mouth, but Dean noticed every single one like he'd been waiting for them.
"Don't do that," he murmured.
You blinked at him. "Do what?"
"Hold back." His fingers tightened on your hips like he was making sure you couldn't pretend you didn't know what he meant. "I like hearing you."
Your stomach flipped, which was annoying because Dean absolutely felt it, and then he kissed you again until the friction dragged a moan out of you that you finally let him hear.
Dean groaned, as if he'd heard you'd done something terrible to his self-control.
That helped more than anything else could have.
By the time Dean had pushed his sweatpants down and rolled on a condom, your underwear was shoved to the side, your hands were planted on his chest, and the shirt was still hanging over you like a very pathetic attempt at feeling covered. Dean didn't try to take it off, which somehow made your chest feel tighter. He just held your hips, eyes fixed on your face as he guided himself through your wetness.
"Slow," he murmured. "Take your time."
You lowered yourself carefully, trying to take your time like he'd told you to, but your mouth still fell open the second the head of his cock pressed inside you. The stretch was familiar and different all at once, deeper like this, more intense because you were the one in control, which sounded nice in theory and felt a lot more terrifying with Dean watching your face like that. You sank inch by inch, trying very hard to look like you had any control over yourself, but the second he filled you, your fingers curled against his chest, and a shaky whimper slipped out before you could stop it.
Dean's jaw tightened. "Fuck."
You froze immediately. "Bad?"
His eyes snapped to yours as you'd just said something insane. "Are you joking?"
"You made a face."
"Yeah, baby, because you feel so good, I'm trying not to embarrass myself."
Your cheeks warmed, which was embarrassing enough on its own, but the praise still settled low in your stomach like your body had decided to enjoy it before you could overthink it.
"You're not just saying that?"
Dean's hands slid up your thighs, grounding you in a way that made it annoyingly hard to spiral. "Move once, sweetheart, and see if I sound like I'm lying."
So you did, moving slowly at first.
Your hips lifted, then sank back down, and Dean's head tipped against the pillow with this rough, helpless groan that made it pretty hard to believe he'd been lying about any of it.
"Oh," you breathed, and the second you moved again, it turned into something closer to a moan.
Dean's eyes opened, heavy and dark, like he'd been waiting for exactly that. "Yeah?"
"Feels good," you said, already sounding a little wrecked.
His hands squeezed your thighs. "Then keep going, sweetheart."
Your movements were awkward at first, mostly because your brain wouldn't shut up long enough to let your body figure it out, too busy worrying about the rhythm, whether you were doing enough, and whether you looked ridiculous hovering over him in his shirt with your thighs trembling.
Then Dean's hands tightened on your hips like he could feel you spiraling. "Stop thinking."
"I'm trying."
"No." His voice dropped, rough around the edges but still gentle. "You're trying to look good, which is insane, because you already do. Just move how you want."
The words hit harder than you'd expected, mostly because Dean sounded like he meant them, so you tried to believe him.
You rolled your hips instead of lifting so high, chasing the angle that made your clit catch against him every time you sank back down, and the moan that left you was loud enough to make Dean's cock twitch inside you like he was having a very hard time staying calm about it.
Your eyes flicked to his face, and Dean looked so wrecked that it made it pretty hard to keep worrying about whether you were doing it right.
His lips parted, jaw tense, and his hands kept flexing on your hips like Dean was having the world's hardest time remembering he'd told you to move how you wanted.
"You like this?" you asked, and even though your voice shook, it still came out bolder than before.
Dean laughed once, rough and breathless, as the question had actually offended him. "Like it?" His hips jerked up into you, dragging a gasp out of your mouth. "Baby, I'm trying not to lose my fucking mind."
That did something to you, mostly because Dean sounded like he meant it, and apparently, your body liked knowing you could mess him up that badly.
Your next movement was smoother, more confident, and the moan that came out of you wasn't even close to quiet, which Dean clearly noticed because his hands tightened on your hips immediately.
"Dean—fuck," you moaned, and the way his eyes darkened made it pretty clear he'd liked hearing his name like that.
"That's it," he murmured. "Let me hear you."
You rode him slowly at first, then a little faster once you realized your body had apparently figured out what your brain kept trying to overthink, your hands sliding up his chest as his shirt rode higher over your thighs. Your cunt was soaked around him, every movement making it easier, wetter, and a lot harder to feel shy about, especially when Dean looked down to watch where you were taking him and groaned as he'd just lost whatever was left of his self-control.
"God," he muttered, hands tightening on your hips. "You were worried about this?"
You tried to laugh, but it came out closer to a whimper when he helped you grind down harder. "Maybe."
Dean looked like that answer personally offended him. "You're killing me."
His fingers tugged at the hem of the shirt, and you slowed immediately, like your body had decided to panic before your brain could tell it not to.
Dean noticed immediately, because, of course, he did, his eyes lifting back to yours, as if taking the shirt off suddenly mattered a whole lot less than making sure you were okay. "Can I see you?"
Your stomach fluttered.
His hands rubbed up your thighs, warm and steady. "You can keep it on if you want."
You hesitated for only a second before lifting your arms, which felt a lot braver than it probably looked.
Dean pulled the shirt over your head and tossed it aside, leaving you in your bra and still moving over him like your body hadn't quite figured out whether to be nervous or proud. His eyes dragged over you slowly, and for once, Dean Di Laurentis had absolutely nothing to say.
That made your chest tighten, mostly because Dean looking at you like that was a lot harder to handle than any stupid comment he could've made. "What?"
His hands slid up your waist, warm and certain. "You're so fucking pretty."
Your breath caught the second his palms covered your breasts through your bra, thumbs brushing over your nipples beneath the thin fabric, and your rhythm faltered immediately, because apparently, Dean touching you there made moving and thinking at the same time impossible.
"Oh—Dean."
His mouth curved, entirely too pleased with himself. "No, don't stop."
"You're distracting me."
"Good." His thumbs circled again, making you clench around him like your body had decided to prove his point. "Keep riding me anyway."
You moaned louder this time, hips rolling as his hands played with your tits through your bra, and every touch made you stutter in a way Dean very clearly noticed. Every bit of praise made you wetter, every look on his face made you a little bolder, until the embarrassment started slipping away as your body had finally decided to stop fighting him.
"Tell me," he said, voice rough. "Tell me what feels good."
You swallowed, still moving over him because apparently stopping would've been the worst idea. "Your hands."
"Yeah?"
"And your cock." Your voice was breathless enough to be embarrassing, but you said it anyway, and Dean's eyes went so dark that it made the embarrassment feel worth it. "Feels good when I move like this."
You rolled your hips harder to show him, and Dean's head dropped back as you'd just ruined him on purpose.
"Fuck," he groaned. "Don't stop doing that."
Hearing Dean sound like that ruined something dangerous to your confidence, mostly because it was a lot harder to feel embarrassed when he sounded like he was the one barely holding it together.
Your hands moved behind your back, unclasping your bra before your brain could show up and ruin the moment. It slipped down your arms and fell somewhere between you, and Dean stared as you'd just done something genuinely unfair to his ability to breathe.
"Look at you," he breathed, and the way he said it made your whole body feel warm.
The words made your chest warm in a way you weren't sure what to do with.
Then his mouth was on you, lips closing around one nipple while his hand covered your other breast, and you cried out so quickly it would've been embarrassing if Dean hadn't groaned like it'd done something to him. Your fingers slid into his hair, hips moving faster now as pleasure started building low in your stomach.
"Dean, I'm—" Your voice fell apart into a whimper when his thumb found your clit, because apparently your body had no interest in letting you finish a sentence. "Oh my god, right there."
"There?" he asked, smug in a way that would've been annoying if he didn't sound so wrecked.
"Yes. Fuck, yes."
He rubbed slow circles over your clit while you rode him, his other hand on your hip and his mouth moving from your breast to your throat like he wasn't already making it impossible to focus. You were close, so close your thighs had started shaking, but the rhythm was getting harder to keep, your moans turning messier and needier as frustration tangled with the pleasure your body kept trying to chase.
Dean caught it instantly, like every little shift in your body was something he'd been waiting for.
"Come here," he murmured.
Before you could even think about arguing, Dean rolled you beneath him and pulled the sheets over both of you, settling between your thighs without slipping out like he'd decided you'd done enough thinking for one night. The new angle made you gasp, your legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed deeper.
Then Dean caught both your hands and laced your fingers together, pinning them above your head so gently it made your chest ache a little.
Dean kissed you, slow and messy, like he had every intention of making good on that promise. "Let me finish what you started."
"Please," you whispered, and it came out a lot needier than planned, which Dean absolutely noticed.
Dean's expression flickered. Then his hips started moving. Slow, deep, steady thrusts that had you moaning into the space between you, thighs locked around his waist, your hands crossed with his over your head. The sheets tangled around your legs, heat building under the blanket, his body heavy and warm over yours.
"You did so well," he murmured, his mouth brushing your jaw like he knew exactly how badly the praise was getting to you. "Looked so fucking good on top of me."
"Dean," you whimpered.
"I know." His hips rolled deeper, pulling your back into an arch. "I've got you."
His hand slipped between your bodies again, thumb finding your clit like he already knew exactly what you needed, and your whole body tightened around him.
"Oh—fuck, don't stop," you gasped, which was probably unnecessary considering Dean looked like stopping would've killed him.
He groaned anyway. "Wasn't planning on it."
The pleasure snapped through you suddenly, hot and sharp, and your moan broke against Dean's mouth as you came around him. Your thighs locked around his waist, fingers tightening in his above your head like you needed something to hold onto while your body shook beneath him.
Dean followed right after, his thrusts going uneven as he'd finally lost the last of his control, face buried in your neck as a rough groan broke out of him while he held you close and came.
For a while, neither of you moved, both of you too warm and tangled beneath the sheets to do anything other than breathe.
"You okay?" he asked softly.
You nodded, still trying to catch your breath. "Yeah."
His grin appeared slowly, which was never a good sign. "So."
"No."
"I didn't say anything."
"You were about to."
"I was just gonna say you're definitely not bad at being on top."
Your face warmed, and you turned it into the pillow like that might somehow save you. "You're so annoying."
"And you were so loud."
"Dean."
"I liked it," he said, kissing your cheek like he hadn't just made you want to disappear into the mattress. "A lot."
You tried to glare, but it came out pretty weak, especially when he slipped out carefully and disappeared to clean up like he hadn't just ruined your ability to function. When he came back, he helped clean you with a warm towel, gentle when your thighs twitched, before pulling his shirt back over your head as it belonged there.
"Putting me back in this?" you asked, glancing down at the shirt.
"Obviously." Dean climbed into bed beside you and pulled you into his chest, looking far too pleased with himself. "It's my new favorite thing now."
You laughed softly, settling against him while his arm wrapped around you like he had no plans of letting you go anytime soon.
For a minute, Dean only rubbed slow circles over your back like he was trying to make sure you'd fully melted into him. Then his voice came again, softer this time, though obviously still teasing because it was Dean.
"So..." His mouth brushed your hair, and you could hear the grin in his voice before he even finished. "You wanna do that again sometime?"
You pinched his side, which only made him laugh because apparently even that wasn't enough to make him less pleased with himself.
Dean laughed and pulled you closer, sounding far too pleased with himself for someone who'd just been pinched. "I'll take that as a yes."
Pairing : Dean Di Laurentis x Fem!reader Warning : jealousy , possesive Dean, popular hockey boy x shy girl, accidental confession Word Count : 1,6k Summary : When Dean gets unexpectedly jealous at a Briar party and pulls you onto his lap in front of everyone, the line between friendship and something more suddenly disappears.
You hated Briar parties. Too loud. Too crowded. Too many drunk athletes screaming over terrible music.
Honestly, you would’ve stayed home if Dean hadn’t practically dragged you there himself.
“C’mon, sweetheart,” he complained dramatically while walking backwards in front of you. “You can’t spend your entire Friday night hiding in your dorm.”
“Yes I can.”
Dean grinned immediately.
“Not anymore.”
Your stomach flipped stupidly. That happened a lot around Dean Di Laurentis. Which was unfortunate because Dean flirted with literally everyone.
Waitresses.
Classmates.
Random girls at parties.
Meanwhile you could barely survive eye contact with him.
“Relax,” he teased softly once you reached the crowded house. “I’ll protect you from the evil social interaction.”
You rolled your eyes, but still followed closely behind him inside. Dean noticed. He always noticed. That was the problem. People thought Dean was shallow because he joked constantly and flirted with everyone around him. But you knew better.
You noticed the little things:
how he always walked on the outside of sidewalks,
how he remembered your coffee order,
how he touched your lower back in crowded rooms without thinking,
how his eyes automatically searched for you first whenever he entered somewhere.
It was confusing.
Especially because Dean acted like you belonged to him half the time. Even though you definitely weren’t dating. Probably. Maybe. Honestly, you didn’t know anymore.
“Stay here,” Dean said while handing you a drink. “I’m grabbing Logan before he destroys someone at beer pong.”
You laughed quietly.
“Okay.”
“Don’t let anyone kidnap you while I’m gone.”
Heat rushed to your face immediately. Dean winked before disappearing into the crowd. You hated how easily he affected you. A few minutes later, you were standing awkwardly near the kitchen trying not to look completely uncomfortable. Bad idea. Because apparently standing alone at a party attracted attention.
“You look terrified.”
You looked up nervously to find a football player smiling down at you. Cute. Very tall.Definitely drunk.
“Oh,” you laughed weakly. “I’m okay.”
“You sure?” He leaned casually against the counter beside you. “You’ve been hiding over here all night.”
You smiled politely, unsure what to say. Social interaction was already hard enough. Flirting was worse.
“I’m Mason, by the way.”
You told him your name softly. Then immediately regretted it because his smile widened.
“Well,” Mason said, “you’re definitely the prettiest girl here.”
Your face burned.
“Oh, thank you.”
“You here with someone?”
Before you could answer, Mason’s hand landed lightly on your waist.
And suddenly,
“She’s sitting with me.”
The voice cut through the noise instantly. Your breath caught. Dean stood a few feet away staring directly at the football player.
And for once? Dean Di Laurentis wasn’t smiling. Your heartbeat immediately sped up.
Mason lifted his hands awkwardly. “Dude, I was just talking to her.”
“Cool.” Dean walked forward slowly. “Now you’re done.”
The tension shifted instantly.
You stared at Dean in complete shock while Mason looked between both of you confused.
“Wait,” Mason frowned slightly. “Are you guys together?”
Dean’s arm wrapped around your waist without hesitation.
“She’s with me.”
The words hit your chest so hard it almost hurt. Mason looked uncomfortable immediately.
“My bad.”
Dean didn’t answer.
He just guided you away from the kitchen with his hand still firmly against your waist.
Your entire body felt warm where he touched you.
“What was that?” you whispered once you reached the living room.
Dean looked down at you innocently.
“What was what?”
“You basically threatened him.”
Dean scoffed.
“He was flirting with you.”
“And?”
“And I didn’t like it.”
The answer came too fast. Too honestly. Your heart nearly stopped. Dean seemed to realize what he’d admitted because his expression shifted slightly. But instead of taking it back… His hand tightened against your waist.
“You’re sitting with me,” he decided suddenly.
Before you could process the sentence, Dean dropped onto the couch and pulled you directly into his lap. Your entire brain short-circuited.
“Dean!”
He looked completely relaxed despite the fact that your heart was trying to kill you.
“What?”
“I can’t sit on your lap!”
“Too late.”
Around you, several hockey players immediately started staring. Logan nearly spit out his drink. Garrett looked deeply unimpressed.
And Allie whispered:
“Oh my God finally.”
Your face burned hotter. Dean only looked smug. One of his hands rested casually against your thigh while the other held his drink. Completely comfortable. Like this was normal. Meanwhile you could barely breathe.
“Dean,” you hissed quietly. “Everyone’s looking.”
“Let them.”
Your stomach flipped violently.
“How are you acting normal right now?”
He leaned closer slightly.
“I’m always normal.”
“You’re literally holding me hostage.”
Dean grinned lazily.
“Sweetheart, if I was holding you hostage, you’d know.”
Your brain stopped functioning. Absolutely stopped. And the worst part? You didn’t even want to move. Because sitting in Dean’s lap felt stupidly safe. Warm. His fingers absentmindedly traced circles against your leg while he talked to Garrett about hockey, completely unaware he was actively ruining your life.
Or maybe he was aware. That was somehow worse.
“You’re quiet,” Dean murmured eventually, looking down at you.
“I wonder why.”
He laughed softly.
Cute.
Dean Di Laurentis was annoyingly cute.
Which felt deeply unfair considering he looked like that and had the personality of a menace.
“You okay?” he asked more gently.
The softness in his voice caught you off guard. You nodded slowly.
“Yeah.”
Dean studied your face for a second too long. Then his thumb brushed absentmindedly against your thigh. Your pulse jumped instantly. And suddenly something shifted. The teasing atmosphere faded slightly.
Now it was just:
Dean looking at you,
your body pressed against his,
and way too much tension between both of you.
“You know,” Dean said quietly, “I really hated watching him flirt with you.”
Your breath caught.
“Dean…”
“I’m serious.”
His expression softened completely now. No jokes. No flirting. Just honesty. And somehow that terrified you more.
“I didn’t like the way he looked at you,” Dean admitted softly. “Or touched you.”
Your heart pounded painfully.
“Why?”
The question slipped out before you could stop it.
Dean stared at you silently for a second.
Then laughed quietly to himself.
“Jesus Christ.”
“What?”
“You seriously don’t know?”
Your stomach twisted.
“Know what?”
Dean looked almost frustrated now.
“Sweetheart,” he whispered, “I’ve been obsessed with you for months.”
Silence. Complete silence. The party noise faded into background static. You stared at him, convinced you misheard.
“What?”
Dean’s hand moved carefully to your waist again.
“You think I drag you to parties because I enjoy watching you avoid eye contact with everyone?”
Heat rushed violently to your face.
“You flirt with everybody,” you whispered.
Dean immediately shook his head.
“Not like this.”
Your chest tightened painfully.
“Then what is this?”
Dean smiled softly.
“This,” he murmured while pulling you slightly closer, “is me losing my mind over one shy girl.”
Your heart completely melted. And suddenly everything made sense. The constant attention. The touching. The jealousy. The way Dean always looked at you like you were something precious.
“Oh,” you whispered.
Dean laughed quietly.
“Yeah. Oh.”
You stared at him nervously.
“So…” Your voice came out tiny. “You like me?”
Dean looked genuinely offended.
“Baby, I’m one bad day away from writing poetry about you.”
A startled laugh escaped you instantly. Dean smiled immediately like hearing you laugh was his favorite thing in the world. God. You were so done for.
“You know what the worst part is?” you admitted quietly.
“What?”
“I think I liked when you got jealous.”
Dean froze for half a second. Then a dangerously smug grin appeared on his face.
“Oh, you’re into possessive behavior?” he teased.
Your eyes widened immediately.
“No!”
Dean laughed loudly while your face burned alive.
“You’re cute when you’re embarrassed.”
“You’re horrible.”
“And yet,” he murmured while leaning closer, “you’re still sitting in my lap.”
Your breath caught instantly. Because he was right. You hadn’t moved once. Not even a little. Dean’s eyes flickered briefly toward your lips. Then back up again.
“You wanna know something?” he asked softly.
“What?”
“I’ve wanted to kiss you since the second week I knew you.”
Your heartbeat became unbearable.
“Dean…”
“Tell me to stop.”
But the problem was… You really, really didn’t want him to stop. So instead, you whispered:
“Maybe I don’t want you to.”
Dean stared at you for half a second before kissing you immediately.
Warm. Confident. Perfect.
One hand settled against your waist while the other tilted your chin upward carefully, like he wanted to make absolutely sure you felt everything behind the kiss. And honestly? You thought Dean flirting was dangerous. Kissing him was worse. When he finally pulled away, both of you were breathing hard. Dean rested his forehead lightly against yours.
“Well,” he murmured lazily, “that’s gonna make parties way more interesting.”
You laughed softly despite yourself. Across the room, Garrett looked exhausted already. Logan looked deeply entertained. And Dean? Dean looked ridiculously pleased with himself.
“Still hate parties?” he whispered.
You glanced at him before smiling shyly.
“Maybe not this one.”
Dean grinned immediately before kissing your forehead. Then, because he was incapable of behaving normally for even five seconds, he looked around the room proudly and announced:
“Everybody relax. She likes me back.”
You immediately hid your face in his shoulder while the hockey team erupted into chaos.
A/N : Here's my third fanfiction on Dean Di Laurentis!!! Hope u like it ! Don't forget to LIKE,SHARE, COMMENT & SUBSCRIBE !! Next one gonna be GARRET GRAHAM !
summary your brother's best friend gets a boner when you sit on his lap
contains boner alert... mature content, dry humping, coming in pants, sexual tension, forced proximity, public sex (kinda...), reader is a tease, wc 2k
a/n this is not supposed to be realistic... at all... just fun and horny yay!!
Fitting eight people into one car isn't very ideal.
You tried to get past it, understand the situation you're in, but you can't wrap your head around it. How the hell did Garrett manage to convince seven people to squeeze into his car without holding a gun to their head?
The scene you're greeted with when you make your way downstairs is baffling, suffocating almost.
Garrett and Hannah sit comfortably in the front, giggling over a stupid joke he made as Hannah presses some random buttons to get the music working. Your eyes drift to the back, and that's when you see the disaster.
Jesus Christ.
You can't even tell people apart from how cramped it is inside. Logan's sitting by the window, with Jules on the edge of his lap. Tucker sits next to him, tense and looking very uncomfortable.
Beau is glued to Tucker's side, with Allie comfortably positioned on his lap. They're giggling together as she shows him something on her phone. It's a very warm sight, they've grown really close after their trip to New York together.
As if things couldn't get any worse, Dean is here. His side of the car is definitely... emptier. He's positioned in the seat behind Garret with his legs stretched over the rolled down window. The door to his side wide open, letting in much needed air.
He's busy scrolling on his phone, only noticing your presence when your voice erupts through the chaos.
"Wow, you should've invited a few more people," your tone fills with sarcasm, statement directed towards your brother. "Too much space."
An amused chuckle escapes Dean's throat at your snarky comment, legs back on the ground as his attention shifts to Garrett.
"Haha, very funny, Graham." Garret rolls his eyes, causing Hannah to shove his side. "Get in, you kept us stalling forever."
"Where am I supposed to sit?" You argue, pointing towards the rammed car.
Your eyes flicker back to Dean, who adjusts his position at your question. His legs spread apart, fingers lightly patting his lap, the silent gesture an invitation, something he voluntarily did to catch your attention.
The idea of straddling Dean's lap for the entire car ride makes your heart flutter, cause air to get stuck in your throat. You can barely act normal when he's around, turning into a stuttering mess as soon as he joins any conversation, and now you have to sit on his lap for the next thirty minutes.
"You're the only one complaining," Garrett interrupts through your thoughts, gesturing for you to get in the car. "Quit being a baby and find yourself a place to sit."
A sigh dreads past your lips, dragging a deep exhale out as you step towards the vehicle. Dean clears his throat, fumbling around to put his phone away and straighten his back. You almost scoff if not for how nervous you are.
"Hi," you start, avoiding Dean's gaze.
"Hi," he repeats, but his tone is teasing, amused by how flustered you seem. You pause for a second, mustering up the courage to ask him to scoot, but Dean beats you to talking. "What are you waiting for?"
"Huh?" You hum, caught off guard.
"Sit," his voice lowers into a whisper, gesturing you to sit on his lap. Your stomach twists into knots, the demand carrying so much tension, it makes your knees grow weak. "Sit on my lap."
You fight the choked breath threatening to leave your chest, flashing him a tight-lipped smile, but still doing as you're told. You shuffle around to get in the car, carefully propping yourself across Dean's lap.
Your whole body's tense, and you're sitting uncomfortably at the edge of his lap, barely providing yourself any space. The length of his legs is of no help, unnecessary long, you're practically holding onto the headrest to keep yourself from falling.
"I'm gonna fucking kill you, Garrett Graham." You mutter through gritted teeth, causing your brother to freeze in his spot.
"Alright, now that everyone's here," Hannah bursts into laughter at Garrett's change of topic, completely ignoring the threat you threw in his direction.
Annoyance fades into surprise when Dean slings his arms around your waist, using your astonishment as an opportunity to tug you close. Your back hits his firm chest with a thud, the proximity of the touch overwhelming you in an instant.
Your body radiates with heat, as Dean's breath fans over your ear, the feather-like sensation causing goosebumps to break out across your back. He's so close, you can smell his stupid cologne, the aroma intoxicating, it almost melts you in your spot.
You try to shuffle back into your old position, in case you're too heavy or causing Dean any discomfort, but the hand he presses to your hips interrupts those thoughts from rummaging through your head.
"You should get comfortable," he whispers in your ear, drawing circular motions to the sliver of skin just above your skirt. "It's a long ride."
Fuck.
Heat travels to in between your legs, gaze lowering to the arms caging you in place. His grip is firm, unwavering even when you move around to adjust yourself into a comfortable position.
Dean doesn't budge, he pretends you're not even in his lap. He laughs, makes jokes, sings along as Hannah plays music, and it's like you're not even there. Unlike him, you're having a hard time playing this off as casual, nothing about this is normal, you skipped from ground zero to a thousand in the span of minutes.
You try not to pay him too much attention, or his fingers as they're tracing small patterns to your hips, or his breath gradually blowing over your neck. All of it is so overwhelming, you want nothing more than to break free and breathe.
This feels intimate, maybe too intimate, even more so because you're aware his touches are for you only, everyone else is doing their thing, and you two are in your own little world.
After a while of resisting, you eventually settle back and relax against Dean's chest, satisfied by the way he tenses beneath you. His breath grows ragged, but he doesn't let you have it, tightening his arms in response, his hold engulfing most of your frame.
This is okay, it's totally fine that you're tangled in this position with your brother's best friend, whom you've had a crush on since forever.
You can get used to it.
But you can't. Not when he's pulling every string to get your attention and get a reaction out of you.
A few minutes pass by, and your body feels stiff from maintaining the same stance for too long. You shuffle around to find a comfortable position, hips stuttering when you feel something twitch underneath you.
You're mistaken, have to be. It's all in your head, there's no way what you felt just now is real.
"Fuck," Dean grunts, confirming your suspicions.
Oh.
Oh.
He sighs, very shaky, but delibaret, the sound ringing in your ear, and making you pulse in reaction. You can feel hie semi-hard erection growing beneath you, failing to keep it under control.
Fuck, Dean Di Laurentis is hard.
You hate how much it's turning you on, your heat heaving with arousal when you feel another pulse through the thin fabric of his sweats.
You angle your face towards the window, casually, without causing any suspicion, and Dean fights the embarrassment he feels to spare you a glance, regretting it soon as your hips move forward, instantly earning a choked breath out of him.
It's not on purpose, you only realize what happens after he reacts.
"Do you want me to–" he gives your hip another squeeze, locking you in place as the words die on your tongue.
"Don't fuckin' move," he warns, practicing restraint. "Please."
How can you not when his crotch is practically poking at your entrance, drenching your pussy from how tingly it's making you feel.
"Dean," you whisper through a breath, causing his cock to twitch with need. The reaction you receive is immediate, anticipated, the only sign you need to grind down against his hardened length.
His lips part in a hefty moan, barely dismissed by the loud music occupying everyone else.
"You did that on purpose, didn't you?" He whispers, toying with the hem of your skirt, as his other hand caresses the exposed flesh around your stomach.
"Maybe." You coyly offer him a response.
This is your brother's best friend, someone way out of your orbit. You shouldn't cross the line, and let your lust drive you over the edge when you fought to keep yourself under control.
Your brain short circuits, and panic rises in your chest before you can even stop it, but the pleasure surging through your body takes over when Dean's hips meet yours halfway, completely dismissing the guilt you're feeling.
You've avoided Dean just fine till now, so why is it that you're involuntarily rolling your hips down for a mere fraction of his cock?
Your pedicured nails dig into his arms, the force of the touch forming red marks all over his flesh. Dean smoothes out the fabric of your skirt to hide the circular motion of your hips. You ground him into place, repeatedly rubbing your wet cunt over his crotch.
Pleasure builds through your insides, and you start to lose control over your grinds, messy and needy. Dean encourages you with a hand to your side, guiding you down to chase his own high, slowly building.
His cock aches, leaking with precum that stains a a patch in his underwear, wet and sticky, but he doesn't feel disgusted from it, but more so turned on because you're the cause of it. You're the reason he's in this mess, risking one of the most precious things to him just to touch you, feel you, even for a little.
"I'm–" You fight the whimper threatening to leave your lips, leaning your head against the head rest to avoid locking eyes with anyone.
Your pussy drenches in your arousal, thrusts growing sloppy as you feel your orgasm reaching its peak. Dean can almost tell that you're close, grip tightening around your stomach as he thrusts into you, rolling his hips once more before you came undone.
Your legs shake from the overstimulation, Dean uses his hands to stabilize you in his lap. You ride him through your orgasm, sensitive, but desperate to please him and make him feel good.
"You don't have to," he whispers, like he knows exactly what you're thinking. "I can take care of myself, darling."
"I want to," you reply, out of breath, with sweat forming at your forehead. Your face flushes with heat, and your energy goes down the drain in an instant, but you're persistent on making Dean come.
His breath gets caught in his throat, and he uses your back as a shield to hide his expression as he reaches his own high. It only takes you a few more grinds for him to come undone.
He releases into his pants, sticky stripes of semen coating a mess in his underwear. He stills your hips as he comes down from his high, a sigh of relief escaping his throat in the process.
"That was– fuck." He chokes out, "So good for me, baby."
You almost mewl at the praise but hold it back for the sake of not being caught.
That was... insane. Probably the best orgasm you've had.
The rest of the car ride seeps into silence on both your ends, too tired to engage with the rest of the group as they broke into a whole karaoke session. It's not uncomfortable, nor is it unbearable, just... silence, you almost find it comforting.
Garrett announces your arrival soon after, wrapping up the karaoke session as everyone engaged in another conversation.
You use their banter as an opportunity to pull at the strings of your thong, wiggling around on Dean's lap in an attempt to get them off. They slide down your thighs, bunching around your knees before eventually falling down your legs.
Dean doesn't do anything, simply sits back and observes you with a hint of confusion, eyebrows pinching as you bent down to grab it into your hold.
And as everyone's busy getting out, you turn around and hand him the lacy material.
"Huh?" He questions, taken aback by the sudden offer.
You get off his lap, and land on the ground, smoothing down your skirt. Your gaze flickers back to him, a teasing grin smeared all over your lips.
"A gift." You reply, attention shifting down to the mess on his lap. "Good luck cleaning that up."
And with that, you take off with the rest of the group, barely sparing him a second glance.
Fuck, now he has to deal with another boner.
a/n lowk rushed towards the end but hey i wrote most of this at a gathering so it's something 😓 oh and i havent written in a while so i'm trying to get used to it again this is hard man my bad if this sucked i can't write smut to save my life 💔 also this was lowk lowkkkk inspired by that one scene from off limits it made me miss writing it sigh
john logan gets a bit too flirty with you during your tutoring session . ♡
“so here, webster actually argues against the modernisation of the welfare state…” your eyes flit to logan, his thick forearms planted on the table next to you. he looks at you intently, his pencil looking comically small between his long fingers as he traces the point over his lips.
you slam your pen down on the glossy page of your textbook. “what are you looking at, john?”
the brunet shrugs, his casual tee etched perfectly on his torso, tanned arms peeking out. “nothing,” he says with a smug smile, “can’t i look at you, baby?”
you snap your fingers in front of his face. “focus, logan. you have an exam next week, and if i don’t get you prepared, i’m—”
logan places his larger, thicker hand on yours, rendering you completely speechless. “don’t worry. i got it. i learned from the best.” his fingers lightly stroke over your knuckles, soothing you, cheeky smile on his beautiful face.
you release a sigh, the pressure in your lungs alleviating. a breathy chuckle follows: “yeah, well, you still have to study.”
and logan just looks at you like you hung the moon, not processing one word you just said, completely enthralled with everything you do: your smile, your eyes, the way you explain all the concepts of the required literature without making him feel dumb.
he hooks his hand around the leg of your chair. “why you sittin’ so far away, honey?”
you freeze in your movements as logan pulls you closer to him by the leg of your chair. you listen to the scraping sound of the wooden chair against the floor in the empty dining room.
closer and closer, until your chair bumps into his. your knees are touching, and his strong arms are just inches from yours. his smell, his warmth, it makes you feel all jittery. john logan makes you feel all jittery.
“i like you way better here.”
a/n: he’s loyal, he’s gentle, he fixes people’s shit, he cares, he yearns. that’s daddy fr
summary: in which a dull night at a bar turns into something far more complicated when your best friend's older brother steps in to protect you against an inebriated man who won't take no for an answer. what happens when you get a lift home with dean, and the years of unresolved tension between you finally starts to fade away, replaced with something much more intense.
pairing: dean di laurentis x fem!reader
notes: hi! this is my first of (hopefully) many dean fics!! i personally loved reading dean and summer's sibling dynamic, so i wanted to bring some more of it to life! i hope you enjoy <3
ꪆৎ
you lazily drink the white liquid in your glass, the alcohol burning as it makes its way down your throat. you had already accepted that tonight was going to become something far longer, far quieter, and far more boring than you had ever intended when you agreed to come out.
you were currently sitting by the bar, your fingers tracing absent, repetitive circles along the rim of the glass in front of you, a small grounding habit that gave your hands something to do while your mind drifted in and out of focus.
your gaze shifts across the bar, landing on your friend brenna, her face lit up in animated interest as she leans forward across the table, completely absorbed in the man she’s on a date with.
you watch as she laughs softly at something he says. at least one of you would be getting lucky tonight.
you had promised brenna that you would tag along, mostly to make sure she stayed safe. after all, meeting someone online came with its own set of risks.
this was how you ended up posted at the bar for what felt like an eternity, politely declining every sympathetic glance from the bartender, who seemed to assume you had been stood up.
you didn’t bother to correct him.
you just kept drinking.
the only thing making the night even remotely interesting was the sight of dean di laurentis.
he stood in the corner of the bar, surrounded by friends and teammates. his posture was relaxed in that effortless way that always made him look like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.
it was impressive how the eldest dilaurentis boy was always able to hold the attention of a room.
you watch as he laughs at something one of the boys says, his head tilting slightly as his shoulders lift in an unguarded reaction. his smile lingers before he shakes his head like he’s trying to dismiss the comment made, though it’s clear he’s still amused.
you find yourself smiling too, without meaning to, because dean has always had that effect on you. to anyone else it would look like nothing more than a girl watching someone across a bar.
but it isn’t nothing.
it never really has been.
dean di laurentis is your best friend summer's older brother, and somewhere along the way, over years and passing familiarity, he stopped being just that.
you and dean used to get along, arguably a little too well. the lingering flirtation between the two of you over holidays had never exactly been subtle, and it certainly hadn’t gone unnoticed by the people around you, including summer herself.
dean was familiar in the way someone is when they’ve always been around, always present in the background of your life without ever needing to be defined.
but time had shifted things quietly, until distance started to sit between you in ways neither of you had properly addressed.
not because anything had happened, but because nothing had.
and somehow that felt worse.
you take another sip, slower this time, letting the burn of vodka settle into your chest, when movement interrupts your focus.
a man appears at your side, too close immediately, his presence heavy in a way that makes your shoulders instinctively tighten before he even speaks.
“hey,” he says, his voice coming out slightly slurred.
“you been sitting here alone all night?”
you blink once, forcing a polite expression, the kind you’ve learned to show when you want something to end without it becoming a problem.
“hi,” you reply softly, “i’m actually just here with my friend. she’s on a date over there.”
you nod toward brenna as if that alone should explain everything, as if context should be enough to gently end the interaction with this man.
it isn’t.
he doesn’t move.
“you look like you could use better company than a bar stool,” he says, grin widening slightly as he gestures vaguely, “would you like a drink?"
you exhale slowly through your nose, grip tightening faintly around your glass.
“that’s really kind,” you say carefully, keeping your tone steady, “but i’m okay. i’m just going to wait here for my friend.”
you expect that to be enough, it usually is.
but tonight, much to your dismay, it’s not.
that’s when you feel it before you fully register it, a shift in attention across the room.
dean is watching. not casually, not absentmindedly.
he's fully focused, his gaze settled on you in a way that makes your stomach tighten slightly, though you don’t let yourself acknowledge why.
you look away quickly, back to the man, forcing calm into your expression even as discomfort starts to creep in under your skin.
“i’m just going to check on my friend,” you say gently, already trying to step out of the situation, “so i should head-”
his hand closes around your wrist and everything stops.
your body reacts before your thoughts catch up, shoulders stiffening immediately as instinct sharpens into awareness. his grip is firm enough that your pulse spikes instantly.
“don’t be like that,” he mutters, leaning closer, voice low and entitled, “you’re practically asking for it dressed like that.”
the words land heavy. they're completely wrong in a way that makes your stomach drop. you feel your breath catch as you try to pull away, but his grip doesn't loosen.
you glance around the bar, searching for help.
brenna is still caught in conversation, her head tilted back as she laughs.
the bartender is gone.
no one seems to be looking.
except for dean, and this time, he’s already moving.
not rushed. not frantic.
just immediate, like he already decided his next movements the moment he saw.
dean's there in only a matter of seconds.
close enough that suddenly the man holding your wrist feels like he’s standing in the wrong place entirely.
“hey y/n,” dean says lightly.
calm. even. controlled.
you turn your head slightly, and he’s already beside you, eyes flicking briefly to your wrist before settling on the man’s hand.
you watch as his jaw tightens and his gaze darkens briefly before he finally looks up to meet the man’s stare.
“she said no,” dean repeats, still polite, still almost casual. “so you can let go now.”
the man hesitates.
dean doesn’t.
he steps half a step closer, not aggressive, not enough to draw attention, just enough for the space to suddenly feel smaller.
“i’m only going to say this once,” he adds, voice still calm, though there’s something final underneath it now.
“move your hand.”
and the man does.
immediately.
dean doesn’t escalate it further. he doesn’t need to.
instead, he shifts slightly, positioning himself beside you in a way that feels instinctive. his hand briefly brushes your back as he guides you out of the space without making a scene, like it’s the most natural thing in the world for him to do.
you quickly glance back toward brenna, noticing her already stood from the table, concern written all over her features as her eyes flick quickly between you and dean.
the second your gaze meets hers, she mouths a silent are you okay?
despite everything, you manage a small smile.
you nod once, subtle but reassuring, before motioning lightly for her to sit back down, silently telling her to stay, to keep enjoying her date, that you were fine.
brenna hesitates for a second longer before finally relaxing slightly, offering you one last uncertain look before lowering herself back onto the chair before her.
when you turn back around, dean is already looking at you.
the sharpness from earlier had disappeared completely now, replaced by something softer, something careful.
“you okay?” he asks softly, his voice laced with caution.
you nod, even though your hand still feels faintly warm from where it had been held.
“yeah.”
dean studies you for a second longer than necessary, like he’s checking for something you might not be saying.
then he nods once.
“good,” he says, lighter now, “because i was about three seconds away from ruining his entire night.”
despite everything, a small laugh escapes you, and dean smiles in response. not the kind he gives his teammates. the kind that feels reserved for something else entirely.
-
you step outside, the noise of the bar falling away behind you as a cold breeze hits your skin, making you instinctively wrap your arms around yourself.
dean notices immediately and without a word, he’s already shrugging off his jacket.
you hesitate.
he doesn’t.
“take it, y/n” he says simply, holding it out.
you do, fingers brushing his as you pull it on, the warmth of his touch lingering longer than it should.
you barely get the chance to pull your phone out from your purse to grab a ride before dean speaks once more.
“you’re not getting an uber.”
you glance over at him, mildly confused. “what?”
he unlocks his car with a quiet beep, opening the passenger side door before looking back at you expectantly, like this conversation had already been decided.
“i’m taking you home.”
“dean-”
“y/n.” his tone is calm, but firm enough to immediately cut you off. “it’s late, you’ve been drinking, and i literally have to drive past your street to get back to mine anyways.”
you hesitate near the open door, fingers tightening slightly around the sleeves of his jacket still hanging off your shoulders.
“i could’ve figured something out myself.”
“i know,” he says easily. “doesn’t mean i was gonna let you.”
there’s something frustratingly effortless about the way he says it, like it’s obvious. like the idea of you finding another way home was never actually an option in his mind to begin with.
you exhale quietly. “you’re very bossy tonight.”
a grin tugs briefly at the corner of dean’s mouth. “only because you make everything difficult.”
“i do not.”
he raises an eyebrow. “you argued with me just then over a ride that’s already on my way home.”
you open your mouth, then close it again when you realise he’s technically right.
which only makes him look more amused.
“exactly,” he says, satisfaction laced through his voice.
you roll your eyes dramatically before finally sliding into the passenger seat. “you’re insufferable.”
dean shuts the door behind you gently. “and yet,” he says as he walks around the front of the car, “here you are.”
you smile to yourself. this kind of banter feeling achingly familiar, like the way you two were years ago.
streetlights poured through the windshield in brief flashes of gold as dean drove, one hand resting lazily against the steering wheel while the other tapped absentmindedly against his thigh in rhythm with the music playing through the speakers.
“you know you didn’t have to step in like that,” you say eventually, voice quieter than before.
dean glances at you briefly. “yeah, i did.”
you frown slightly. “you didn’t even know what was happening.”
he exhales softly through his nose, eyes back on the road ahead.
“i saw enough,” he says.
a pause.
you look at him then.
properly.
dean turns to meet your gaze, and he doesn’t look away either.
not immediately, at least.
you hold eye contact with him long enough for something unspoken to settle between you both. something heavy and unmistakable, before dean clears his throat and focuses back on driving.
this was going to be a long drive.
his jacket still hung loosely around your shoulders, the sleeves far too long on you and carrying the unmistakable scent of his cologne in a way that was becoming increasingly distracting the longer you sat there.
you hated how aware of him you always were.
you catch yourself looking at him again, your gaze drifting momentarily over the sharp line of his jaw which had been illuminated by the passing lights. despite not having seeing him in over a year, he looked exactly the same.
you hated to admit it, but he looked as handsome as ever.
you quickly dart your eyes away after noticing you’d probably been staring for too long, shifting your gaze toward the window in hopes he hadn’t noticed.
but it was too late.
“you done staring yet?” dean asks casually, amusement threading through his voice as the corner of his mouth lifts slightly.
your head snaps toward him immediately. “i wasn’t staring at you.”
he hums softly, clearly unconvinced. “right.”
you narrow your eyes at him. “you’re unbelievably irritating, di laurentis.”
before he can think of a response, your phone suddenly lights up against your lap, summer’s contact flashing across the screen.
your stomach drops instantly.
dean notices your expression immediately and grins.
“that look alone tells me i should absolutely listen to this conversation.”
“you’re not listening to anything,” you mutter quickly, already answering the call before summer would inevitably ring three more times in a row.
“hello?”
“y/n!” summer’s voice bursts through your phone speaker immediately.
“why did brenna just text me saying my brother nearly killed a guy tonight? what happened?”
you sink lower into the passenger seat instantly. “she texted you already?”
beside you, dean lets out a quiet laugh under his breath.
“of course she did, you know her y/n, she's always messaging me updates” summer states.
you shake your head in response before a small laugh escapes your mouth.
“right up ahead, yeah, y/n?” dean asks, turning to look at you with a slight smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.
you knew exactly what he was doing.
the question wasn't really for directions, dean already knew where you lived. it was to let summer know that he was in the car with you.
asshole. you thought to yourself.
“wait,” summer says suddenly, suspicion creeping into her tone immediately, “who was that?”
your entire body stiffens.
“what?” you reply too quickly.
dean notices your panic instantly, looking entirely too entertained by it.
“relax,” he whispers teasingly, voice low enough that it sends warmth rushing embarrassingly fast through your chest.
“you’re acting like she caught us making out.”
your eyes widen immediately. “dean.”
summer goes silent for exactly one second.
“y/n.”
you close your eyes briefly.
“who are you in the car with?”
before you can answer, dean tilts his head slightly toward you, fighting back a grin that’s becoming increasingly impossible for him to hide.
“tell her i’m your uber,” he suggests quietly. “or your chaffeur. chaffeur sounds hotter.”
you shove his arm immediately, horrified. “stop talking.”
summer gasps loudly through the phone.
“IS THAT MY BROTHER?”
you groan softly, dropping your forehead briefly against the cold window. “yeah,” you mumble reluctantly, “he’s giving me a lift home.”
there’s a dramatic pause on the other end.
“oh my god,” summer breathes. “you’re alone in a car with my brother, right now?"
dean actually laughs at that, the sound warm and unfairly attractive as he glances over at you.
“why is she making it sound like i’m some sort of criminal?” he asks lightly before raising his voice slightly toward the phone.
“summer, i’m literally driving your best friend home safely, relax.”
“you don’t ‘drive girls home safely’ dean,” summer shoots back immediately.
“you usually flirt with them for ten minutes and then disappear.”
“wow,” dean says dryly, shaking his head slightly. “good to know my own sister thinks so highly of me.”
“am i wrong?”
dean opens his mouth to respond before his eyes flicker briefly toward you, something quieter slipping into his expression for a split second.
“…this is different.”
the words come out softer than intended.
realer too.
silence immediately fills the car and you feel your breath catch in your throat.
what could he possibly mean by that?
summer notices instantly. of course she does.
“…wait a damn minute.”
“summer,” you warn quickly, heat rushing violently to your cheeks.
“NO,” she practically shouts, “hold on. my brother is voluntarily driving my best friend home, threatened a man for touching her and is now flirting with her in my presence?”
dean smirks beside you, entirely unhelpful.
“i’m not flirting,” he says smoothly.
you turn toward him in disbelief. he catches your expression immediately and his grin widens.
“what?” he asks innocently. “you nervous, sweetheart?”
his voice lowers, just enough in an attempt for the words to be heard by you alone.
your heart nearly stops.
“dean,” you hiss quietly, staring at him in horror.
summer audibly chokes on the other end of the line.
“OH MY GOD.”
dean laughs under his breath again, clearly enjoying himself far too much now that he knows how flustered you are.
“summer,” he says teasingly, “you’re being dramatic.”
“dramatic?” she repeats incredulously. “you just called my best friend sweetheart like you’re in a damn romance movie.”
“did i?” dean muses casually, though the smug look he sends you says otherwise entirely. “must’ve slipped out.”
you genuinely consider throwing yourself out of the moving vehicle.
“i hate both of you,” you mumble, covering your face with your hands.
dean laughs softly beside you, reaching over without thinking before gently tugging one of your hands away from your face.
“don’t hide from me now,” he murmurs teasingly. “you were doing so well.”
and somehow, impossibly, that affects you more than any of the flirting.
because despite the teasing grin on his face and the amusement laced through his voice, dean’s touch is careful.
gentle.
like he’s holding something he already cares about.
summary: in which beau walks in on his younger sister tangled up in dean’s lap moments before thanksgiving dinner, forcing the entire hockey house to endure one painfully awkward meal filled with knowing looks, relentless chirping, and dean very seriously considering transferring schools.
pairing: dean di laurentis x maxwell!reader
note: hello! i hope you're all well. i've got a few exciting things planned so make sure you stay tuned! i hope you enjoy!! <3
ꪆৎ
the late afternoon sunlight filters softly through the thin blinds of dean's bedroom, casting warm golden stripes across it.
dean appreciated the moments he spent over thanksgiving with his friends more than anything. there were times however, when all he wanted was to spend time alone, in the presence of just you.
now, was one of those times.
dean's hand slides slowly along your waist as he shifts closer toward you on the bed, guiding you naturally into his lap without breaking the kiss.
you swiftly reposition yourself so that you're straddling him, your arms wrapped loosely around his neck while his hands remain on either sides of your waist, keeping you steady.
“dean,” you laugh quietly against his mouth.
“hm?”
“everyone’s downstairs.”
“guess we'll just have to be quiet then.”
you pull back slightly, your cheeks turning a crimson red from his words.
“tucker will literally come looking for us.”
dean's lips find your collarbone, lingering at a spot he had learned was your weakness, smiling faintly to himself when he feels you react beneath him.
“tucker’s got bigger priorities right now, most of them involving food.”
you laugh softly again before his face moves closer towards yours, closing the very minimal distance that had been separating the two of you. he cups your cheek before planting a soft, chaste kiss to your lips.
his lips were warm and soft, familiar in a way that made your chest loosen instantly. your lips parted slightly as you smiled into the kiss, and he took the opening to deepen it for a brief moment before gently pulling back. his hand stayed cradling your cheek, thumb lingering there as if he wasn’t quite ready to let go.
"still think it's an issue that everyone's home?" he questions teasingly, watching as you shake your head in response.
the room feels warmer now.
smaller somehow.
your fingers slide through the hair at the nape of his neck and dean lets out the softest exhale against your lips, the sound nearly making your brain stop functioning entirely.
“you have no idea what you do to me, y/n” he murmurs quietly.
your cheeks flush instantly.
“dean.”
“what?” he asks innocently, though the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth ruins the act completely.
you shake your head, trying to hide your smile while he watches you with obvious amusement.
god, he loved flustering you.
his hands pause briefly at the hem of your top, his gaze flicking up toward yours.
“is this okay?”
there’s something almost unfair about how gentle he sounds when he says it. you nod immediately, fingers curling lightly into the front of his sweater.
“yeah.”
his expression softens slightly at your answer before he slowly lifts your top upwards, careful not to rush you.
the cool air hits your skin instantly once the fabric disappears over your head, leaving you suddenly far more aware of the way dean is looking at you now.
like you’ve completely stolen every coherent thought from his brain.
his eyes drift slowly over you before he exhales quietly through his nose, almost like he forgot how to breathe properly for a second.
“you're beautiful, baby” he murmurs softly.
your cheeks warm immediately.
“stop it,” you laugh quietly, suddenly embarrassed beneath the intensity of his attention.
“what?” he asks innocently, though the awe in his voice is impossible to miss.
“just appreciating my girlfriend.”
his hands settle carefully against your waist again, thumbs brushing lightly against your skin while he leans forward to kiss you once more.
the kiss turns deeper almost instantly.
slower.
warmer.
dean’s fingers slide gently along your back before stopping against the clasp of your bra.
you feel him hesitate slightly.
not nervous exactly.
just careful.
like he always was with you.
“this still okay?” he asks quietly against your lips.
you nod softly, your forehead resting briefly against his.
“yes.”
his lips curve upwards faintly before he presses another soft kiss against your mouth, one hand still resting securely at your waist while the other awkwardly attempts to undo the clasp behind your back.
you feel his fingers fumble slightly before he exhales dramatically.
“who invented these things?” he mutters under his breath.
you laugh softly against his lips.
“struggling there?”
“i’m being set up for failure.”
his fingers brush clumsily against your skin again before he narrows his eyes in concentration.
“seriously,” he mumbles.
"i spend six days a week throwing around hundreds of pounds in the gym, and a tiny clasp is what humbles me."
you grin, shifting slightly to help him.
“maybe because you’re rushing.”
his cheeks flush immediately while a crooked smile appears across his face.
“can you blame me?”
your stomach flips embarrassingly fast at the tone in his voice.
a second later there’s finally a soft click as dean succeeds.
“holy shit,” he breathes quietly, sounding genuinely relieved.
you laugh harder this time as he shakes his head once in disbelief at himself.
“don’t laugh at me,” he says, though he’s smiling too.
his hands slide carefully along your sides afterwards, touch soft and warm as he presses a trail of kisses beneath your jaw again.
“i love you,” he murmurs quietly against your skin.
your heart melts instantly. dean was always like this with you, sweet and gentle in all the ways that mattered most. beneath the confidence, the teasing grin, and the easy charm he showed everyone else, there was this softer side reserved just for you.
your fingers drift beneath the hem of his sweater, tracing lightly along the defined muscles of his stomach and dean exhales quietly at the feeling.
his forehead rests briefly against yours afterwards, cheeks flushed, hair messy beneath your hands. he was completely gone for you.
“you’re staring again,” you whisper teasingly.
“can you blame me?”
his words linger between you before he leans in again, pressing another kiss just beneath your jaw. you close your eyes for a moment, letting yourself sink into the warmth of it, quietly savouring the feeling.
“you’re trouble, di laurentis.”
“yeah", he responds easily, lips brushing your skin again, “but you love me for it.”
before you can respond, the bedroom door suddenly swings open and everything freezes instantly.
“yo tucker said-”
beau stops mid sentence, his jaw falling agape.
silence.
absolute silence.
your eyes widen immediately as you turn toward the doorway while dean goes completely still beneath you. beau stands there holding his phone in one hand, his expression blank with horror.
pure horror.
his eyes flick between you sitting in dean’s lap, dean’s hands still very obviously around your waist, and the fact that neither of you had moved fast enough to make the situation look any better.
your discarded top is somewhere on the other side of the room, leaving you painfully aware that you're still only wearing your bra.
before you can even think of what to say, dean's arm tightens around you, pulling you closer against his chest. one hand slides up between your shoulder blades as he angles his body in front of yours, shielding you from beau's line of sight.
the movement is instinctive.
“oh my god,” beau says flatly.
dean immediately drops his forehead against your shoulder, keeping you tucked against him.
“please leave," dean murmurs, his voice coming out slightly muffled.
"i just watched my best friend practically inhale my sister."
you let out a horrified noise while dean groans louder, his grip on your waist tightening
"beau-" dean says into your shoulder, sounding like he's reconsidering every life choice that led to this moment.
“jesus christ, no-”
beau cuts him off instantly, physically pointing at both of you now.
“absolutely not. don’t talk to me right now.”
you feel your face burning with embarrassment while beau physically turns his head toward the hallway ceiling like he’s asking god for strength.
“i’m actually sick. this is why i don't come over here often” he mutters, more to himself and under his breath than to the both of you.
“you knocked for half a second!” dean argues weakly.
beau looks offended. “because i didn't expect to walk into this!"
"that sounds like a personal mistake" dean taunts.
you bury your face in your hands immediately, unable to face your brother who is still stood in the doorway of your boyfriends room.
dean leans back against the bedhead, dragging a hand down his face dramatically.
“i’m transferring schools.”
“good,” beau replies immediately. “do that.”
despite the awkwardness of the situation, a laugh slips out.
beau looks personally betrayed.
“y/n.”
“i’m sorry!”
“no you’re not.”
beau shakes his head once before backing toward the hallway again.
“dinner’s ready in ten,” he says flatly. “and if either of you make this weird downstairs, i’m telling tucker exactly what i walked in on.”
dean’s eyes widen slightly.
“you wouldn’t.”
beau stares at him.
“watch me.”
then he disappears back into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind him. silence settles over the room again and dean drops his head back against the wall with a groan.
“we’re never recovering from that.”
you burst into laughter immediately, the awkwardness and humour of the situation finally setting in.
dean points at you accusingly. “this isn’t funny.”
“him saying you inhaled me absolutely was.”
he narrows his eyes before suddenly pulling you closer towards him. you laugh softly as his hands settle back against your waist, familiar and warm.
“still worth it,” he murmurs quietly.
your heart melts embarrassingly fast.
“you’re ridiculous.”
a giddy grin slowly spreads across dean’s face before he shakes his head once.
“your brother is a goddamn cockblock.”
you gasp softly in mock offence before playfully slapping his chest, causing a quiet laugh to fall from his lips.
“dean!”
“what?” he grins. “am i wrong?”
you attempt to slide off his lap again, already knowing if you stayed there any longer you’d never actually make it downstairs, but dean’s hands tighten immediately around your hips, keeping you firmly where you are.
your eyebrows raise slightly at him in confusion before you suddenly feel him shift beneath you.
your breath catches instantly.
dean’s cheeks flush almost immediately as your mouth falls open slightly in realisation.
“dean heyward-di laurentis,” you whisper, horrified and amused all at once. his eyes squeeze shut briefly as he lets out another groan.
“don’t say my full name like that,” he mutters miserably.
“makes me sound guilty.”
“you are guilty.”
“yeah,” he sighs dramatically, glancing up at you again.
“but in my defence, look at you.”
your face warms instantly at the sincerity hidden beneath his teasing tone but before you can respond, a loud voice echoes up from downstairs.
“if you idiots don't get down here right now i'm starting dinner without you.”
tucker.
immediately, your eyes widen.
“shit.”
dean drops his forehead against your shoulder dramatically. “ignore him.”
“dean.”
“five more minutes.”
“absolutely not.”
he sends you the most painfully pleading look imaginable, his hands still secure against your waist like he thinks physically holding onto you will somehow convince you to stay.
when it very unfortunately almost works, dean notices instantly. his lips twitch upwards slightly, excitement taking over his features.
“baby,” he says softly, voice lower now, “c’mon.”
you narrow your eyes at him immediately. “don’t baby me right now.”
“that sounded way meaner than i think you intended.”
you laugh quietly and dean realises immediately that you aren’t giving in. he places both hands over his face before tilting his head back against his bed dramatically, letting out the most exaggerated groan imaginable.
you laugh harder at the sight in front of you.
“i’m glad one of us finds this funny,” he mutters, though there’s obvious amusement hidden beneath his embarrassment. he stands up slowly, still holding onto your waist as he pulls you up with him.
your hands naturally slide around the back of his neck while dean rests his forehead lightly against yours.
“i’ll tell them you’re in the bathroom and coming down in a few minutes,” you hum softly before leaning up to place a quick kiss against his cheek.
dean exhales quietly at the feeling before narrowing his eyes slightly.
“you’re so gonna pay for this one day, y/n.”
you smirk immediately. “is that a threat?”
“a promise.”
you laugh softly before turning toward the bedroom door. you barely make it two steps before dean’s hand lands sharply against your ass.
you gasp audibly, spinning around immediately.
“di laurentis!”
he shrugs innocently despite the smirk painted all over his face.
“sorry. couldn’t help myself.”
you roll your eyes, trying and failing not to smile.
“don’t be too long or tucker will rip into you,” you warn teasingly before slipping out into the hallway.
the noise downstairs grows louder the second you descend the staircase. thanksgiving at the hockey house was always chaos in the best possible way.
the kitchen smells overwhelmingly like garlic, rosemary and whatever tucker accidentally burned earlier, despite promising he was following his mother's recipe book, step by step. music plays faintly somewhere near the living room while everyone talks over each other.
logan notices you first, which is unfortunate.
he’s leaning back in one of the dining chairs beside grace when his eyes flick toward you coming down the stairs. immediately, his eyebrows lift knowingly.
oh no.
you suddenly become very aware of the fact that you hadn’t checked yourself in the mirror before leaving dean’s room. you feel your cheeks warm instantly as you quickly move toward the table, silently praying dean hadn’t left any visible marks on your neck.
logan watches you the entire way down, very amused.
you slide into your seat beside hannah while trying your hardest to look normal. logan leans back slightly in his chair across from you, arms folded casually.
“where’s dean?” he asks, feigning innocence.
your eyes narrow immediately.
he knows something...or at least suspects something.
“bathroom,” you answer casually, reaching for your water glass. “he’ll be down in a minute.”
“hm,” logan hums thoughtfully, clearly entertained. beside him, garrett glances between the two of you with immediate suspicion.
“why are you both acting weird?”
“we’re not,” you answer far too quickly.
logan snorts. grace lowers her drink slowly, eyes widening slightly as realisation dawns across her face.
“oh my god.”
your heart drops.
“what?” hannah asks immediately, now invested in the conversation before her.
before he can answer, beau walks back into the kitchen holding a drink. the second his eyes land on you sitting at the table, he physically pauses before narrowing his eyes.
oh, absolutely not.
logan catches it instantly.
“why do you look traumatised?” he asks him.
beau grabs a roll off the table aggressively.
“don’t worry about it.”
his response of course only makes everyone more interested.
tucker emerges from the kitchen carrying a tray dramatically. “why does it feel like i missed gossip?”
you hear a laugh from across the table, and garrett points directly at you, “that sounded guilty.”
beau lets out a humourless laugh from across the table. “you have no idea.” before anyone can interrogate him further, dean finally appears at the top of the stairs.
slightly flushed.
sweater sleeves pushed up messily.
hair completely ruined.
logan notices instantly and nearly chokes on his drink.
“holy shit,” he laughs.
dean stops halfway down the stairs. “what?”
“you look insane.”
dean flips him off automatically continuing downstairs. the second he reaches the table, beau looks at him in complete disbelief.
“you came down looking like that voluntarily?”
dean freezes briefly, too briefly.
everyone notices.
tucker’s eyes widen dramatically. “wait.”
“don’t,” dean warns immediately.
“wait,” tucker repeats louder, pointing between the both of you now.
“oh my god.”
“tucker,” you say quickly, your cheeks beginning to flush a deep shade of crimson red.
“no wonder you two disappeared.”
dean drags a hand down his face while logan loses his mind laughing beside grace.
“i hate this house,” dean mutters
“you should,” beau replies immediately. “after what i witnessed.”
silence
then-
hannah gasps loudly and garrett chokes on his drink.
grace physically grabs allie’s arm and tucker slams both hands dramatically against the table.
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