22y. she/her .ᐟ criminal minds .ᐟ outer banks .ᐟ blood red .ᐟ crime shows .ᐟ unresolved crimes podcasts .ᐟ english major .ᐟ noah kahan .ᐟ taylor swift .ᐟ the cranberries .ᐟ the 1975 .ᐟ mad protagonists .ᐟ thunderstorms .ᐟ wine .ᐟ books .ᐟ abstract paintings .ᐟ english is not my first language .ᐟ
I'm currently writing for off campus and outer banks so send me requests 🥳
MASTERPOST (where all my masterlists for each fandom can be found) | REQUEST GUIDELINES | TAGLIST FORM | REQUEST ME SOMETHING | KO-FI | CARRD | FIC RECS (0.1) | FIC RECS (0.2) | C.AI
LATEST WORKS ¡
I told you so (dean di laurentis x f!reader)
⤷ anyday. anytime. (dean di laurentis x f!reader)
the alchemy (john logan x reader)
the world ended when it happened to me (jj maybank x reader)
you belong with me (s. cameron x f!genrette!reader)
fallen star (r.cameron x maybank!reader)
⤷ flawless (r.cameron x maybank!reader)
⭑
ANTHOLOGIES ¡
the taylor swift anthology
the noah kahan anthology (in progress. . .)
⭑
FICS ¡
false confidence (obx au)
sun-bleached paper petals (s.reid x professor!reader)
emerald ocean (marauders era au)
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( TAGS ! ) #ros blog navigation; #ros speaks; #ros rants ୨୧ #ros replies 【☆】 #keeping up with cm; #writing inspo #ros request guidelines; ✐ᝰ
DO NOT REPOST/TRANSLATE MY WORK ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT PERMISSION, THANK YOU!
grammar this. grammar that. sometimes 'grammatically correct' just doesn't hit the spot. the vibes are telling me to laugh in the face of the english language and that's exactly what I'm going to do, one incorrectly structured sentence at a time.
it really is crazy that women's clothes don't fit anybody. fat women can't find clothes, skinny women can't find clothes, tall women can't find clothes, short women can't find clothes, big chested women can't find clothes, small chested women can't find clothes. who the fuck are these being made for
summary: john logan scores a goal and goes running straight to you.
pairing: john logan x reader
w.c: 1.1K
warnings/content: none.
A/N: purely inspired by the lyrics “where's the trophy he just comes running over to me” and the edits of that scene of logan scoring a goal.
navi
off-campus masterlist (TBA)
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“Hey, baby?” You called out for Logan as he walked into the kitchen. He was going to grab the popcorn from the microwave for you guys to finally watch the movie.
“Yeah!” Logan answered back, his voice echoing through the living room.
When he walked back, you offered a smile, pulling your legs under you so you could be more comfortable. The popcorn was put on the coffee table in front of you and Logan pressed play on the movie. “What's up?”
“Remember that midterm exam I missed because I was sick?” You asked and watched out for his expression to see if he did recall it. It happened last month, so you wouldn't blame your boyfriend for not remembering.
Logan nodded in response, scooting closer to you on the couch and grabbing a handful of popcorn. “Yeah, you had a really high fever—”
“Don't speak with your mouth full.” You chuckled, covering his mouth with a hand. He only rolled his eyes but finished eating it before speaking again.
“What about the exam? You said you'd try to talk to your professor to see if you could retake it, right?”
You hummed softly, brushing a few of his curls that had fallen on his eyes. The strands smoothing out with your touch.
“She said it was alright and that I could take it on the fifth.”
“Oh, that's great, baby.” His hand froze when he was about to take more popcorn to his mouth. “On the fifth, you say?”
You bit your cheek, waiting for it to land fully in his brain that you were going to miss a really important game for him.
“Yeah.”
“Of this month?”
“Unfortunately. It's the only day available.”
He nodded slowly but you could see the way disappointment flashed in his eyes before he said it was okay.
“I'll make it up to you after the game, I promise, okay?” You mumbled with your lips glued to his cheek. “You'll play great, I'm sure.”
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
It was an unspoken agreement that you'd go to every hockey game you were able to to support your boyfriend. It wasn't at all something difficult because you happen to be very interested in it.
Logan visibly brightened whenever he would see you from the ice. You'd wave back and that was the interaction you'd share until the match was over.
You weren't a couple big on PDA. You guys liked to keep things private and enjoyed being in your own little world whenever you had the chance.
So you had never worn his jersey that displayed his number during a game before.
But your plan had worked and he bought the exam thing really quick. You felt guilty seeing his face turn sad but it would be for a good cause. You wanted to see his reaction when he saw you were wearing his number; you wanted it to be a boost for him to win.
“Did he see you?” Hannah asked you, a giddy smile on her face.
“Not yet.” You chuckled at her excitement.
A twinge of that guilt flared up again in your chest. Remembering how his eyes had dropped, trying to hide his disappointment when you told him you couldn't make the biggest game of the season, made you want to run down to the sidelines and hug him right then. He had tried so hard to be supportive, telling you to ”go crush it” and that he'd play his heart out for you anyway.
You pulled the oversized fabric tighter around yourself, the familiar scent of his laundry detergent offering a little comfort.
“Go, Logan!” You yelled at the top of your lungs and quickly felt your face warm up in embarrassment.
The shout left your throat before you could overthink it, sounding incredibly loud even against the ambient roar of the stadium crowd.
For a split second, you wanted the stadium steps to open up and swallow you whole. Hannah let out a delighted giggle next to you, watching the field with wide eyes.
At the sound of his name, Logan’s head snapped up. His eyes scanned the front rows of the bleachers, looking a little dazed, until they locked squarely on you.
He thought he was imagining things. That couldn't be your voice, right? You were doing an important test. You wouldn't come tonight—No. No, that was definitely you.
What?
His brain trying to process why you were standing in the stands instead of trapped in a lecture hall taking an exam. Then, his eyes dropped to the oversized jersey engulfing your torso, recognizing the bright, bold numbers stretched across your chest.
His entire posture changed. The serious stance was replaced by a large, breathtaking smile that crinkled the corners of his big brown eyes.
“Oh, man.” Dean whistled when he saw Logan almost willingly to leave the rink.
Garrett and Tucker nudged Logan with playful grins in their faces.
“An exam, huh?” Logan called up over the noise of the arena, stopping right at the boards. He looked up at you, his large brown eyes bright with a mixture of sheer disbelief and pure affection. "You completely played me!”
“Love you!” You yelled back and sat back down beside Hannah, practically hiding your whole body behind her as she laughed.
When you finally looked down at the rink again, your eyes meeting his, Logan raised his hand and tapped his fingers right over the Briar crest on his own jersey—right where his heart was beating a mile a minute.
I love you too.
By the third period, the game was grueling. Everyone was sharing the same feeling, at the edge of their seats expecting a win for Briar Hawks.
With less than two minutes left on the clock, the match was tied. But Logan was Logan and he was the element of surprise. With a brilliant move, he dragged the puck between his own legs, leaving the defenseman stumbling through thin air. The goalie’s instincts weren't sharp enough. With a brutal, flick-of-the-wrist snap shot, he made the puck go straight into the net.
The crowd went absolutely wild. Thousands of people jumped into the air, screaming and spilling drinks. The student section went completely feral, banging frantically against the glass.
Tucker, Garrett, and Dean swarmed him in a group hug, lifting him nearly off his skates. But he didn't stay long with them to celebrate. Logan broke away from the celebration just long enough to look directly at you, chest heaving as he breathed heavily, his strands dripping with sweat on his forehead.
Once he finally caught your eye, he smiled and you thought his lips would split at some point. He ran toward the glass and jumped on the boards, calling out for you. You threw yourself down the steps to the very front row, leaning over the cold metal railing.
Your boyfriend dropped his stick onto the ice, his chest heaving as he stood on the ledge of the boards, hauling himself up just high enough to bridge the gap between the rink and the stands.
“You came,” he breathed out against your ear, his voice rough and full of emotion. “You're really here.”
When you pulled back just enough to look at him, that massive, brilliant smile was still splitting his face, his big brown eyes shining with pure happiness.
Before he could say another word, you leaned down and kissed him.
“I wouldn't miss it for anything, less alone for a stupid test.”
One of his heavy hockey gloves came up to gently cup the back of your neck, deepening the kiss, entirely uncaring that his teammates were down on the ice wolf-whistling and catcalling them at the top of their lungs.
Suddenly the no-PDA unspoken rule was completely thrown off the table and none of you could care less.
summary: Dean let out a slow, heavy breath, looking down at his bandaged hand for a second before looking back up at you. “When I heard him on the phone, and then I heard you scream... everything just went black. The only thing I could think about was getting to you. I didn't care about anything else.”
You blinked, stunned by the fact that he seemed to be explaining himself.
“And what's wrong with that? If it weren't for you, I don't know what would've—”
“I didn't want you to see me like that. I mean, he deserved it but, I didn't want you to see.”
pairing: dean di laurentis x f!reader
w.c: 3.6K
warnings/content: trauma response; harassment; graphic description of violence; hurt/comfort; protective dean; some found family comfort cause I'm a sucker for it.
A/N: thank you so much for the love on ‘I told you so’. my first Dean one shot and I did not expect it to get that much attention. I'm open for off campus requests btw so feel free to hit my dms :) here's part 2 <3
navi
off campus masterlist (TBA)
masterlists
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✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
It took a solid three weeks before the yellow-purple bruising on your ankle finally fades into a faint, yellowish tint, and just as long for the raw skin on your arm to fully heal over. You were walking without pain now, you just had to be careful to not put all your body weight on one foot.
Life went back to normal. No looking at corners expecting someone to come out of it out of nowhere. No sense of being watched.
Sometimes you thought you could actually pretend nothing even happened. Except for the nights you'd wake up in a cold sweat at the imminence of a panic attack because reality was a little bit more cruel than just pretending something didn't happen.
It's been three weeks.
Allie had two theater performances. Hannah had one gig. The boys had two big games; and you didn't miss any of it. Instead of being out of the loop completely as your life happened, you were right back on track. Supporting all your friends, having fun and studying as hell.
The morning sun was surprisingly warm for a Friday, casting a bright, golden glow over the university campus. You left your jacket aside, supporting yourself on your elbows and resting your head back. Hannah did the same as Allie laid on her stomach.
“So, movie night today?” You wondered out loud, wanting to confirm it would actually happen. Every month, there was a movie night with everyone. You had missed the last two months of it. But rumor had it that it was tonight, according to Dean.
“Yes.” Allie’s smile widened into a grin as she looked over at you. “You're going, right?”
“‘course. I'm gonna help Tucker cook tonight.”
“You-” Hannah stared at you. “I'm sorry. you'll help who cook what? Please be far from the kitchen.”
“Hey!”
“No, seriously. We've established some rules last time you almost burn the house down, babe.” Allie backed Hannah up and your lips pursed into a pout. “Aw, come here.”
She laughed when you pretended you didn't want her close, but eventually you let her hug you. She kissed your cheek before going back to her spot.
“You can't be everything. You've got the pretty eyes, hot body, great hair… you want to cook too?”
“Oh my god, I am not that bad of a cook.” You complained with a groan. Hannah giggling beside you.
“What is this?”
The three of you turned your necks to watch Garrett and Dean approach your group slowly, backpacks hanging over their shoulders. They must have just left a class.
“Three ladies skipping class, your honor. That's a felony.” Dean joked. His baby blue eyes found yours when he lowered himself to the plaid blanket, throwing his backpack aside before laying on your lap. “Hi.”
“Hi.” You poked his dimple, smiling a little. “Good class?”
“No, boring. Very boring class.” He rolled his eyes. “I was almost falling asleep.”
You made a face. “Ouch.”
“Okay, I got the beers and… the soda, for tonight.” Garrett told them and their attention turned to him, happily accepting a strawberry from his girlfriend. “Dean will bring more. I think we have burgers but I'll ask Logan to check—”
You looked over at him, eyes narrowing slightly. “Tucker is not cooking by himself.”
“And who's helping, you?” Dean cracked a quick laugh at his own joke but it died down when you glared down at him. “Oh.”
“The fire alarm that one time?” Garrett gave you a look. Hannah elbowed him, earning an ow!
“If we all help him, I won't bring the house down.” You said matter of fact, then looked down at Dean, whose eyes were shut. His long lashes resting against his cheek. “That includes you, Di Laurentis.”
Dean shook his head, mumbling something unintelligible as he buried his face in your shirt.
“Better get him away from the kitchen too.” Garrett kicked Dean's leg. “I got class right now. Bye, beautiful. Pick you up later.” He gave Hannah a long kiss and stood up “And you too!” He called out for his friend, who still had his face hidden in your stomach.
“Go, and don't be late later.” You whispered in his ear, kissing his cheek.
As he sat up, pushing himself off the plaid blanket, the cool morning breeze hit the exact spot where your breath had just been. A sudden, violent shiver rippled straight up his spine. You watched, a small smirk playing on your lips, as the fine hairs along his arms stood completely on end.
“Jesus,” Dean mumbled, aggressively rubbing at his forearm to chase away the goosebumps. He glared down at you, though his baby blues lacked any real bite. “It's freezing out here. You're freezing.”
“Sure, Di Laurentis. Blame the weather,” you teased softly, leaning back on your elbows.
Dean swung his backpack over one shoulder. He looked down at you one last time, pointing a warning finger at your face. “You're a tease.”
“You look so good walking away, baby!” You hollered and the girls whistled, backing you up.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
The walk to the boys' house wasn't terribly long, but as you moved further away from the campus perimeter, the streetlights grew sparser, casting long, overlapping shadows across the pavement. You pulled your jacket tighter around your chest, shifting your bag to your other shoulder to grab your phone from your pocket and send Allie a text, letting her know you would be a few minutes late.
When you were about to put it back in your pocket, the name Elle Woods showed up on your screen with a picture of Dean making a funny face. You had taken that years ago and it still made you smile a little.
“Hey,” Dean’s voice filtered through the line, a low, background hum of a television and the faint sound of Tucker shouting in the distance letting you know he was already at the house. “We’re here. Where are you?”
“Still on my way,” you said, stepping around a cracked patch of sidewalk. “I stayed late to talk to Professor Adeyeme about that internship. I’m just walking over now.”
There was a pause.
“You're walking? Alone? It's past eight, it's pitch black out. What happened to your car?”
“It broke down this morning, again. And I'm gonna walk. Ever heard of feet, Dean?" You teased him, looking both ways to cross the fairly empty street. “Mine works just fine.”
“Ha ha. You are so funny. So so funny,” Dean shot back, his voice deadpan and entirely unamused. You could hear the rustle of fabric through the speaker—the distinct sound of him grabbing his jacket off the back of a chair. “Keep joking, sweetheart. I'm already putting my shoes on. Where exactly are you?”
“Dean, I'm fine. It's only a few more blocks," you insisted, though you subconsciously quickened your pace.
“I don't care if it's two feet from the front porch.” His voice faded a moment to talk to someone there and then he was back. The heavy click of the house's front door shutting echoed through the phone, followed by the crunch of his boots hitting the gravel driveway. “Stay on the line with me. I'm walking down the main street right now. Do not hang up.”
“‘kay.” You rolled your eyes.
The casual warmth of the conversation suddenly evaporated as your boots hit a quieter, residential stretch of the sidewalk. The streetlights here were flicking, struggling against the heavy dark. Beneath the sound of Dean's voice in your ear, you caught a faint, distinct sound.
Scritch. Crunch.
The unmistakable scrape of a shoe hitting a patch of loose gravel right behind you.
Your stomach instantly dropped into a cold, hard knot. You didn't stop walking—your instincts screamed at you to keep moving and go faster—but you subtly tilted your head, your eyes darting to the side to catch the perimeter of your vision.
“Angel?” Dean's voice cut through the phone, sharp and suddenly alert. The easygoing tone was entirely gone. “What's wrong? Why did you stop talking?”
“Sorry.” You brushed your worry off. The street was just dark and you were probably imagining stuff anyway. “Nothing, so which movie are we gonna watch? Tell me you did not choose.”
“You offend me.”
Just as you were about to retort back at him, your blood ran cold at the voice echoing behind you.
“Honey, we can do this the easy way!”
The footsteps suddenly abandoned all pretense of subtlety as they turned into a heavy, aggressive stride.
Once you turn around, you realize you should've listened to your instincts because there it was, your ex, too close to your liking.
Your throat had completely locked up. The adrenaline was a choking weight, making your legs move in a panicked, uncoordinated sprint as the gap between you and your ex closed.
“Don't run from me!” Your ex shouted, his voice closer now, laced with that toxic, volatile anger that had forced you out of a moving car. “We need to talk! You think you can just block my number and hide out with those pieces of shit?”
Your mind started working too fast and you couldn't think straight, but you forced yourself to focus. You weren't unprepared like last time so were you just gonna let him get to you? Again? Fuck no.
Using every ounce of leverage you had, you yanked your arm back, twisting violently against his grip. The sudden movement caught him off guard, his fingers slipping against the slick fabric of your jacket just enough for you to break free.
“Get the fuck away from me!” you screamed, the yell tearing from your throat with a raw, vicious intensity.
You didn't look back to see his expression. Your eyes snapped toward the street ahead, locking onto the harsh, fluorescent glow of a bus stop half a block away.
As the distance closed, the sheer rush of adrenaline suddenly cleared the static in your ears, and you remembered the phone still clutched in your white-knuckled hand.
The speaker was still blaring. Dean hadn't stopped screaming your name. “... are you?! What the hell is going on?”
“Why do I get myself into these shitty situations? Like what the fuck is wrong— Don't you fucking come any closer!” You had successfully found the pepper spray from your backpack and was pointing it right at him. “I'm gonna make you so fucking blind, I swear, Luke.”
“Put that shit down,” Luke warned, his voice dropping into a low, threatening register as he took a cautious, agonizingly slow half-step forward. “You're not going to spray me.”
“Try me.” You challenged him, your thumb pressing down on the safety latch. “Step one inch closer and see what happens. I will empty this entire fucking can in your face!”
“You won't need to.” Dean's voice immediately sent a rush of relief through your body, making the panic lower at least a little.
He didn't look at you first; his gaze locked instantly onto Luke. “You've got some nerve getting close to her again, you piece of shit.”
“Why don't you mind your own business?” Luke spat out. “You got to fuck her what, two times, and now you think you're entitled—”
He grabbed the front of Luke’s jacket, his large hand bunching the heavy fabric tightly, and shoved him backward.
“I made it my business the second you put your hands on her.” Dean snarled, crowding Luke’s space aggressively that his heels practically left the ground. His voice dropped into a dark register that was infinitely more terrifying than a shout. “You think I forgot what you did on that highway? Trapping her in your car? Real classy, dude.”
“Dean. Dean.” You took a step closer but one back in hesitation. The last thing you wanted was for him to get hurt because of you.
Thankfully, you had called the cops and anytime now that would arrive there. Anytime now.
“Dean, for fuck’s sake!” You yelled through the punches. “I called the cops! Stop.”
Dean’s fist froze mid-air, inches from Luke’s bloody nose. He was hovering over him on the pavement, his chest heaving violently, his knuckles already scraped and stained red. Luke was a wheezing, pathetic mess beneath him, shielding his face and groaning in pain, completely broken.
Right on cue, a sharp, distant wail cut through the quiet night air. Blue and red lights began to flash against the brick buildings down the avenue, growing brighter and louder by the second as a police cruiser rounded the corner.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
The cool night air hit your face instantly, crisp and grounding. The silence that settled over the empty sidewalk was thick, broken only by the distant rush of cars on the main avenue. You walked side by side down the sidewalk, the sudden drop in adrenaline leaving your limbs feeling exhausted.
Dean walked on your right, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets. He had a small white bandage taped over the knuckles of his right hand, courtesy of a sympathetic desk officer who had handed him a first-aid kit while you finished signing your statement. His blonde curls all over the place. You couldn't help but think you had ruined yet another night for him.
You cleared your throat softly, bumping your shoulder against his arm.
“So,” you started, a tiny, tentative smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Who would’ve thought I'd be the one making you get into a police matter, and not the other way around?”
He didn't say anything so you drop your funny persona all together. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have… I shouldn't have walked all the way to your place, I—”
“It's not your fault.” He shook his head, fingers running through his hair. “I'm not mad at you, I wanted to kill him.”
“I know.” You said, looking away quickly. “I saw it.”
Both of you chose silence until you've reached a small dinner that was open 24/7. You were confused for a second and then he opened the door for you. “I'm not gonna make you walk all the way. I didn't bring my car so Logan is picking us up. Let's wait inside, yeah?”
You slid into a corner booth, your body practically sinking into the cracked leather as the absolute exhaustion of the night finally caught up to you. Dean dropped into the seat across from you. The table between you felt incredibly wide all of a sudden. When an incredibly tired looking waiter came to ask if you guys wanted anything, you both said no.
Dean let out a slow, heavy breath, looking down at his bandaged hand for a second before looking back up at you. “When I heard him on the phone, and then I heard you scream... everything just went black. The only thing I could think about was getting to you. I didn't care about anything else.”
You blinked, stunned by the fact that he seemed to be explaining himself.
“And what's wrong with that? If it weren't for you, I don't know what would've—”
“I didn't want you to see me like that. I mean, he deserved it but, I didn't want you to see.”
“Oh.” It all seemed to click in your brain. “No, Dean. I… The only thing I was scared of was of him hurting you. I'm actually a little disappointed I didn't get to use the pepper spray.”
A sudden, startled laugh broke from Dean’s chest, the heavy, suffocating tension that had been hanging over the booth evaporating in an instant. He leaned back against the vinyl seat, shaking his head as a genuine, lopsided smile finally tugged at the corners of his mouth.
“You're unbelievable.” He said, eyes crinkling at the edges. “I thought you were mad at me.”
“No.” Your thumb hovered near his hurt knuckles. “No, thank you for being there for me.”
“That's what I'm here for.” Dean tilted his head, catching your gaze. “Always. Anyday. Anytime.”
Looking down at your hands, your thumb resumed its slow, gentle brushing against the side of his palm, careful to avoid the tender skin around his knuckles. “You say that like it's the easiest thing in the world.”
“Because it is,” he murmured softly. He squeezed your hand, drawing your gaze back up to meet his. “When it comes to you? It’s the easiest choice I’ve ever had to make. Don't ever feel like you have to apologize for calling me, or think that you're a burden. I want to be the person you call.”
“You already are.” You study his face for a reaction and notice his lips twitching slightly. “Next time I'll accept when you offer to pick me up though.” You said, eyes lowering to his lips before you close the distance and kiss him. A short kiss that said a lot. And then you were right back at your side.
Kissing wasn't strange to either of you. Dean had seen you bare on multiple times for different reasons. But he had stopped being simply a fuck buddy to you. You didn't think much about whether that meant feelings or anything, you just felt safe around him.
“Yeah?” he rasped out, his voice dropping an octave.
He didn't let go of your hand. Instead, his fingers tightened, pulling your arm just a little bit closer across the laminate table so you couldn't fully retreat into the shadows of your side of the booth. He leaned forward, his gaze dropping to your lips for a heavy, deliberate second before rising back up to lock with your eyes.
“You think we missed movie night?” You sighed. “I actually wanted to participate this time…”
“We'll just do another one.” Dean shrugged, caressing your hand. He checked over the hour on his wrist watch and raised his brows. “Well, if Logan learns how to drive a little faster, maybe we can get there in time.”
The little bell above the door jingled and you both looked up toward the entrance.
Logan came marching toward the booth, his jacket half-zipped, looking thoroughly bewildered as his eyes darted from your face to the stark white bandage on Dean's knuckles, and finally down to your laced fingers. “What? You guys just go on a date in the middle of the night and decide to scare the shit out of me?”
Dean cleared his throat, giving him a look. Grace rushed to your side immediately.
“Hi, are you okay?” She asked kindly. “I saw your location and I freaked out.”
“I'm fine, Grace,” you said, offering her a tired but genuinely grateful smile as she squeezed in next to you. “Just a really long story. Thank you for coming.”
Dean laid out the timeline of the evening for Logan and Grace on your way back to Logan's car. You relaxed against the backseat and breathed out. You felt a warm hand squeezing your arm before your seatbelt was put on, hearing the little click.
“John, tell me I didn't miss movie night?”
“You didn't miss movie night.” He turned the car on while replying to you, driving out of the parking lot. “We were waiting for the two of you.”
“Sorry bout that.” You share a look with Dean. “I seem to always put your plans on hold.”
“Nope.” Dean popped the p. “None of that.”
“Definitely not.” Grace said, offering her hand from the front seat and you accepted it, squeezing it. “Please tell me you got to pepper spray the asshole.”
You groaned. “No! But that would've been so fun.”
“Aw, what a bummer.”
“Yeah.” You exhaled slowly, and then turned your head toward Dean, a teasing smile lighting up your face. “Thankfully, I had those biceps to protect me tonight.” You said, touching the hard muscle of his bicep through his jacket.
Grace's laughter and Logan's predictable teasing echoed through the car. “Oh! Those biceps. I just want to bite them.”
“They're all yours, Logan. You know that.” Dean muttered, though he casually reached forward and slapped John's shoulder from the backseat to get him to keep his eyes on the road.
The blonde then shifted his arm slightly, trapping your fingers against his bicep and holding your hand there against his warmth. He leaned his head back against the headrest, looking down at you through half-lidded eyes with a look that was entirely private.
‘You okay?’ He mouthed, paying attention to your expression. He was always attuned to your emotions; it freaked you out sometimes.
You nodded softly, giving his bicep a reassuring squeeze to let him know you were really, truly okay.
Dean watched you for a beat longer, his gaze searching your face in the dim, shifting shadows of the car. A comfortable silence envelopes the two of you and you settled for overhearing Grace and Logan's quiet conversation on your way home.
You closed his eyes at some point, leaning your head fully back against the headrest. His grip on your fingers never loosened. That right there was your safe space.
summary: Dean let out a slow, heavy breath, looking down at his bandaged hand for a second before looking back up at you. “When I heard him on the phone, and then I heard you scream... everything just went black. The only thing I could think about was getting to you. I didn't care about anything else.”
You blinked, stunned by the fact that he seemed to be explaining himself.
“And what's wrong with that? If it weren't for you, I don't know what would've—”
“I didn't want you to see me like that. I mean, he deserved it but, I didn't want you to see.”
pairing: dean di laurentis x f!reader
w.c: 3.6K
warnings/content: trauma response; harassment; graphic description of violence; hurt/comfort; protective dean; some found family comfort cause I'm a sucker for it.
A/N: thank you so much for the love on ‘I told you so’. my first Dean one shot and I did not expect it to get that much attention. I'm open for off campus requests btw so feel free to hit my dms :) here's part 2 <3
navi
off campus masterlist (TBA)
masterlists
request me something
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
It took a solid three weeks before the yellow-purple bruising on your ankle finally fades into a faint, yellowish tint, and just as long for the raw skin on your arm to fully heal over. You were walking without pain now, you just had to be careful to not put all your body weight on one foot.
Life went back to normal. No looking at corners expecting someone to come out of it out of nowhere. No sense of being watched.
Sometimes you thought you could actually pretend nothing even happened. Except for the nights you'd wake up in a cold sweat at the imminence of a panic attack because reality was a little bit more cruel than just pretending something didn't happen.
It's been three weeks.
Allie had two theater performances. Hannah had one gig. The boys had two big games; and you didn't miss any of it. Instead of being out of the loop completely as your life happened, you were right back on track. Supporting all your friends, having fun and studying as hell.
The morning sun was surprisingly warm for a Friday, casting a bright, golden glow over the university campus. You left your jacket aside, supporting yourself on your elbows and resting your head back. Hannah did the same as Allie laid on her stomach.
“So, movie night today?” You wondered out loud, wanting to confirm it would actually happen. Every month, there was a movie night with everyone. You had missed the last two months of it. But rumor had it that it was tonight, according to Dean.
“Yes.” Allie’s smile widened into a grin as she looked over at you. “You're going, right?”
“‘course. I'm gonna help Tucker cook tonight.”
“You-” Hannah stared at you. “I'm sorry. you'll help who cook what? Please be far from the kitchen.”
“Hey!”
“No, seriously. We've established some rules last time you almost burn the house down, babe.” Allie backed Hannah up and your lips pursed into a pout. “Aw, come here.”
She laughed when you pretended you didn't want her close, but eventually you let her hug you. She kissed your cheek before going back to her spot.
“You can't be everything. You've got the pretty eyes, hot body, great hair… you want to cook too?”
“Oh my god, I am not that bad of a cook.” You complained with a groan. Hannah giggling beside you.
“What is this?”
The three of you turned your necks to watch Garrett and Dean approach your group slowly, backpacks hanging over their shoulders. They must have just left a class.
“Three ladies skipping class, your honor. That's a felony.” Dean joked. His baby blue eyes found yours when he lowered himself to the plaid blanket, throwing his backpack aside before laying on your lap. “Hi.”
“Hi.” You poked his dimple, smiling a little. “Good class?”
“No, boring. Very boring class.” He rolled his eyes. “I was almost falling asleep.”
You made a face. “Ouch.”
“Okay, I got the beers and… the soda, for tonight.” Garrett told them and their attention turned to him, happily accepting a strawberry from his girlfriend. “Dean will bring more. I think we have burgers but I'll ask Logan to check—”
You looked over at him, eyes narrowing slightly. “Tucker is not cooking by himself.”
“And who's helping, you?” Dean cracked a quick laugh at his own joke but it died down when you glared down at him. “Oh.”
“The fire alarm that one time?” Garrett gave you a look. Hannah elbowed him, earning an ow!
“If we all help him, I won't bring the house down.” You said matter of fact, then looked down at Dean, whose eyes were shut. His long lashes resting against his cheek. “That includes you, Di Laurentis.”
Dean shook his head, mumbling something unintelligible as he buried his face in your shirt.
“Better get him away from the kitchen too.” Garrett kicked Dean's leg. “I got class right now. Bye, beautiful. Pick you up later.” He gave Hannah a long kiss and stood up “And you too!” He called out for his friend, who still had his face hidden in your stomach.
“Go, and don't be late later.” You whispered in his ear, kissing his cheek.
As he sat up, pushing himself off the plaid blanket, the cool morning breeze hit the exact spot where your breath had just been. A sudden, violent shiver rippled straight up his spine. You watched, a small smirk playing on your lips, as the fine hairs along his arms stood completely on end.
“Jesus,” Dean mumbled, aggressively rubbing at his forearm to chase away the goosebumps. He glared down at you, though his baby blues lacked any real bite. “It's freezing out here. You're freezing.”
“Sure, Di Laurentis. Blame the weather,” you teased softly, leaning back on your elbows.
Dean swung his backpack over one shoulder. He looked down at you one last time, pointing a warning finger at your face. “You're a tease.”
“You look so good walking away, baby!” You hollered and the girls whistled, backing you up.
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The walk to the boys' house wasn't terribly long, but as you moved further away from the campus perimeter, the streetlights grew sparser, casting long, overlapping shadows across the pavement. You pulled your jacket tighter around your chest, shifting your bag to your other shoulder to grab your phone from your pocket and send Allie a text, letting her know you would be a few minutes late.
When you were about to put it back in your pocket, the name Elle Woods showed up on your screen with a picture of Dean making a funny face. You had taken that years ago and it still made you smile a little.
“Hey,” Dean’s voice filtered through the line, a low, background hum of a television and the faint sound of Tucker shouting in the distance letting you know he was already at the house. “We’re here. Where are you?”
“Still on my way,” you said, stepping around a cracked patch of sidewalk. “I stayed late to talk to Professor Adeyeme about that internship. I’m just walking over now.”
There was a pause.
“You're walking? Alone? It's past eight, it's pitch black out. What happened to your car?”
“It broke down this morning, again. And I'm gonna walk. Ever heard of feet, Dean?" You teased him, looking both ways to cross the fairly empty street. “Mine works just fine.”
“Ha ha. You are so funny. So so funny,” Dean shot back, his voice deadpan and entirely unamused. You could hear the rustle of fabric through the speaker—the distinct sound of him grabbing his jacket off the back of a chair. “Keep joking, sweetheart. I'm already putting my shoes on. Where exactly are you?”
“Dean, I'm fine. It's only a few more blocks," you insisted, though you subconsciously quickened your pace.
“I don't care if it's two feet from the front porch.” His voice faded a moment to talk to someone there and then he was back. The heavy click of the house's front door shutting echoed through the phone, followed by the crunch of his boots hitting the gravel driveway. “Stay on the line with me. I'm walking down the main street right now. Do not hang up.”
“‘kay.” You rolled your eyes.
The casual warmth of the conversation suddenly evaporated as your boots hit a quieter, residential stretch of the sidewalk. The streetlights here were flicking, struggling against the heavy dark. Beneath the sound of Dean's voice in your ear, you caught a faint, distinct sound.
Scritch. Crunch.
The unmistakable scrape of a shoe hitting a patch of loose gravel right behind you.
Your stomach instantly dropped into a cold, hard knot. You didn't stop walking—your instincts screamed at you to keep moving and go faster—but you subtly tilted your head, your eyes darting to the side to catch the perimeter of your vision.
“Angel?” Dean's voice cut through the phone, sharp and suddenly alert. The easygoing tone was entirely gone. “What's wrong? Why did you stop talking?”
“Sorry.” You brushed your worry off. The street was just dark and you were probably imagining stuff anyway. “Nothing, so which movie are we gonna watch? Tell me you did not choose.”
“You offend me.”
Just as you were about to retort back at him, your blood ran cold at the voice echoing behind you.
“Honey, we can do this the easy way!”
The footsteps suddenly abandoned all pretense of subtlety as they turned into a heavy, aggressive stride.
Once you turn around, you realize you should've listened to your instincts because there it was, your ex, too close to your liking.
Your throat had completely locked up. The adrenaline was a choking weight, making your legs move in a panicked, uncoordinated sprint as the gap between you and your ex closed.
“Don't run from me!” Your ex shouted, his voice closer now, laced with that toxic, volatile anger that had forced you out of a moving car. “We need to talk! You think you can just block my number and hide out with those pieces of shit?”
Your mind started working too fast and you couldn't think straight, but you forced yourself to focus. You weren't unprepared like last time so were you just gonna let him get to you? Again? Fuck no.
Using every ounce of leverage you had, you yanked your arm back, twisting violently against his grip. The sudden movement caught him off guard, his fingers slipping against the slick fabric of your jacket just enough for you to break free.
“Get the fuck away from me!” you screamed, the yell tearing from your throat with a raw, vicious intensity.
You didn't look back to see his expression. Your eyes snapped toward the street ahead, locking onto the harsh, fluorescent glow of a bus stop half a block away.
As the distance closed, the sheer rush of adrenaline suddenly cleared the static in your ears, and you remembered the phone still clutched in your white-knuckled hand.
The speaker was still blaring. Dean hadn't stopped screaming your name. “... are you?! What the hell is going on?”
“Why do I get myself into these shitty situations? Like what the fuck is wrong— Don't you fucking come any closer!” You had successfully found the pepper spray from your backpack and was pointing it right at him. “I'm gonna make you so fucking blind, I swear, Luke.”
“Put that shit down,” Luke warned, his voice dropping into a low, threatening register as he took a cautious, agonizingly slow half-step forward. “You're not going to spray me.”
“Try me.” You challenged him, your thumb pressing down on the safety latch. “Step one inch closer and see what happens. I will empty this entire fucking can in your face!”
“You won't need to.” Dean's voice immediately sent a rush of relief through your body, making the panic lower at least a little.
He didn't look at you first; his gaze locked instantly onto Luke. “You've got some nerve getting close to her again, you piece of shit.”
“Why don't you mind your own business?” Luke spat out. “You got to fuck her what, two times, and now you think you're entitled—”
He grabbed the front of Luke’s jacket, his large hand bunching the heavy fabric tightly, and shoved him backward.
“I made it my business the second you put your hands on her.” Dean snarled, crowding Luke’s space aggressively that his heels practically left the ground. His voice dropped into a dark register that was infinitely more terrifying than a shout. “You think I forgot what you did on that highway? Trapping her in your car? Real classy, dude.”
“Dean. Dean.” You took a step closer but one back in hesitation. The last thing you wanted was for him to get hurt because of you.
Thankfully, you had called the cops and anytime now that would arrive there. Anytime now.
“Dean, for fuck’s sake!” You yelled through the punches. “I called the cops! Stop.”
Dean’s fist froze mid-air, inches from Luke’s bloody nose. He was hovering over him on the pavement, his chest heaving violently, his knuckles already scraped and stained red. Luke was a wheezing, pathetic mess beneath him, shielding his face and groaning in pain, completely broken.
Right on cue, a sharp, distant wail cut through the quiet night air. Blue and red lights began to flash against the brick buildings down the avenue, growing brighter and louder by the second as a police cruiser rounded the corner.
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The cool night air hit your face instantly, crisp and grounding. The silence that settled over the empty sidewalk was thick, broken only by the distant rush of cars on the main avenue. You walked side by side down the sidewalk, the sudden drop in adrenaline leaving your limbs feeling exhausted.
Dean walked on your right, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets. He had a small white bandage taped over the knuckles of his right hand, courtesy of a sympathetic desk officer who had handed him a first-aid kit while you finished signing your statement. His blonde curls all over the place. You couldn't help but think you had ruined yet another night for him.
You cleared your throat softly, bumping your shoulder against his arm.
“So,” you started, a tiny, tentative smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Who would’ve thought I'd be the one making you get into a police matter, and not the other way around?”
He didn't say anything so you drop your funny persona all together. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have… I shouldn't have walked all the way to your place, I—”
“It's not your fault.” He shook his head, fingers running through his hair. “I'm not mad at you, I wanted to kill him.”
“I know.” You said, looking away quickly. “I saw it.”
Both of you chose silence until you've reached a small dinner that was open 24/7. You were confused for a second and then he opened the door for you. “I'm not gonna make you walk all the way. I didn't bring my car so Logan is picking us up. Let's wait inside, yeah?”
You slid into a corner booth, your body practically sinking into the cracked leather as the absolute exhaustion of the night finally caught up to you. Dean dropped into the seat across from you. The table between you felt incredibly wide all of a sudden. When an incredibly tired looking waiter came to ask if you guys wanted anything, you both said no.
Dean let out a slow, heavy breath, looking down at his bandaged hand for a second before looking back up at you. “When I heard him on the phone, and then I heard you scream... everything just went black. The only thing I could think about was getting to you. I didn't care about anything else.”
You blinked, stunned by the fact that he seemed to be explaining himself.
“And what's wrong with that? If it weren't for you, I don't know what would've—”
“I didn't want you to see me like that. I mean, he deserved it but, I didn't want you to see.”
“Oh.” It all seemed to click in your brain. “No, Dean. I… The only thing I was scared of was of him hurting you. I'm actually a little disappointed I didn't get to use the pepper spray.”
A sudden, startled laugh broke from Dean’s chest, the heavy, suffocating tension that had been hanging over the booth evaporating in an instant. He leaned back against the vinyl seat, shaking his head as a genuine, lopsided smile finally tugged at the corners of his mouth.
“You're unbelievable.” He said, eyes crinkling at the edges. “I thought you were mad at me.”
“No.” Your thumb hovered near his hurt knuckles. “No, thank you for being there for me.”
“That's what I'm here for.” Dean tilted his head, catching your gaze. “Always. Anyday. Anytime.”
Looking down at your hands, your thumb resumed its slow, gentle brushing against the side of his palm, careful to avoid the tender skin around his knuckles. “You say that like it's the easiest thing in the world.”
“Because it is,” he murmured softly. He squeezed your hand, drawing your gaze back up to meet his. “When it comes to you? It’s the easiest choice I’ve ever had to make. Don't ever feel like you have to apologize for calling me, or think that you're a burden. I want to be the person you call.”
“You already are.” You study his face for a reaction and notice his lips twitching slightly. “Next time I'll accept when you offer to pick me up though.” You said, eyes lowering to his lips before you close the distance and kiss him. A short kiss that said a lot. And then you were right back at your side.
Kissing wasn't strange to either of you. Dean had seen you bare on multiple times for different reasons. But he had stopped being simply a fuck buddy to you. You didn't think much about whether that meant feelings or anything, you just felt safe around him.
“Yeah?” he rasped out, his voice dropping an octave.
He didn't let go of your hand. Instead, his fingers tightened, pulling your arm just a little bit closer across the laminate table so you couldn't fully retreat into the shadows of your side of the booth. He leaned forward, his gaze dropping to your lips for a heavy, deliberate second before rising back up to lock with your eyes.
“You think we missed movie night?” You sighed. “I actually wanted to participate this time…”
“We'll just do another one.” Dean shrugged, caressing your hand. He checked over the hour on his wrist watch and raised his brows. “Well, if Logan learns how to drive a little faster, maybe we can get there in time.”
The little bell above the door jingled and you both looked up toward the entrance.
Logan came marching toward the booth, his jacket half-zipped, looking thoroughly bewildered as his eyes darted from your face to the stark white bandage on Dean's knuckles, and finally down to your laced fingers. “What? You guys just go on a date in the middle of the night and decide to scare the shit out of me?”
Dean cleared his throat, giving him a look. Grace rushed to your side immediately.
“Hi, are you okay?” She asked kindly. “I saw your location and I freaked out.”
“I'm fine, Grace,” you said, offering her a tired but genuinely grateful smile as she squeezed in next to you. “Just a really long story. Thank you for coming.”
Dean laid out the timeline of the evening for Logan and Grace on your way back to Logan's car. You relaxed against the backseat and breathed out. You felt a warm hand squeezing your arm before your seatbelt was put on, hearing the little click.
“John, tell me I didn't miss movie night?”
“You didn't miss movie night.” He turned the car on while replying to you, driving out of the parking lot. “We were waiting for the two of you.”
“Sorry bout that.” You share a look with Dean. “I seem to always put your plans on hold.”
“Nope.” Dean popped the p. “None of that.”
“Definitely not.” Grace said, offering her hand from the front seat and you accepted it, squeezing it. “Please tell me you got to pepper spray the asshole.”
You groaned. “No! But that would've been so fun.”
“Aw, what a bummer.”
“Yeah.” You exhaled slowly, and then turned your head toward Dean, a teasing smile lighting up your face. “Thankfully, I had those biceps to protect me tonight.” You said, touching the hard muscle of his bicep through his jacket.
Grace's laughter and Logan's predictable teasing echoed through the car. “Oh! Those biceps. I just want to bite them.”
“They're all yours, Logan. You know that.” Dean muttered, though he casually reached forward and slapped John's shoulder from the backseat to get him to keep his eyes on the road.
The blonde then shifted his arm slightly, trapping your fingers against his bicep and holding your hand there against his warmth. He leaned his head back against the headrest, looking down at you through half-lidded eyes with a look that was entirely private.
‘You okay?’ He mouthed, paying attention to your expression. He was always attuned to your emotions; it freaked you out sometimes.
You nodded softly, giving his bicep a reassuring squeeze to let him know you were really, truly okay.
Dean watched you for a beat longer, his gaze searching your face in the dim, shifting shadows of the car. A comfortable silence envelopes the two of you and you settled for overhearing Grace and Logan's quiet conversation on your way home.
You closed his eyes at some point, leaning your head fully back against the headrest. His grip on your fingers never loosened. That right there was your safe space.
I REALLY hope there will be a part 2 of "I told you so". 🥹 Maybe with a bruised Dean coming home, telling her "he won't be bothering you anymore, the police will handle it." Being all bloody and bruised and protective for his girl. 😭
ohhh I like where your mind is going YOU GET ME (part 2 is being written atm btw #trust)
A/N: this is longer and more angst than I planned. the trope is sort of friends with benefits x idiots in love.
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“You’ve been distant the entire week.” Dean said as if it was obvious, a bit frustrated that he didn't know if he had done something — his suspicion was almost always right — or if something else happened to you.
Malone's was filled with young energy and loud music. Everyone gathered off campus to enjoy some fun time, including the hockey team after practice.
“What? No, I haven't.” You mumbled distractedly typing away on your phone. The first tell, for Dean, was that you weren't paying attention to Allie's presentation and you always do. She was one of your best friends and he hadn't seen any group of friends closer than you, Hannah and Allie.
He let it go, of course.
But now you've been glued to your phone at Malone's, again, when everyone came here to have a good time.
You weren't having a good time. Not here at least.
“Yes, you have.” Dean inhaled deeply and his eyes drifted from you to the dance floor, where his friends were having fun. Where you both could be doing the same. “Let's dance. C'mon.” He offered you his hand, eyebrows twitching as he forced a smile on his lips. He didn't know what was going on, but he wanted to get your mind off of whatever was bothering you.
You looked up from the screen, the blue light reflecting in your eyes, and then looked down at his outstretched hand. His palm was calloused, warm, and completely safe. You were tempted to take it when the device buzzed against the table.
It wouldn't stop. Dean noticed the non-stoping texting and that was fine. Maybe it was an issue? But you've been glued to your phone almost to the point of obsession. Or was it fear? He hated that he knew that look in your eyes.
“Hey,” Dean’s voice softened, losing its edge of frustration and shifting into genuine concern. He dropped his hand and leaned in closer over the sticky wooden table, his blonde curls falling on his forehead as he tried to catch your downcast gaze. “You look like you just saw a ghost. What's on the phone?”
“Nothing,” you said, your voice a little too high. You quickly flipped the phone face down on the table, but the damage was done.
He didn't even need to ask who it was. That behavior told him everywhere he needed to know and Dean desperately needed to punch someone right now.
It happened before. You and your ex breaking up and going back together in the course of a month, never more than that. And he was there to clean up the mess and pull you out of the slump you put yourself into.
Dean stared at the vibrating device, jaw clenching. You could see the gears turning in his head, the sudden realization flitting across his features. It wasn't work, it wasn't Hannah, and it wasn't Allie. They were all accounted for.
Before you could snatch it away, Dean reached out and flipped the phone over.
“Dean, don't—”
It was too late. The lock screen was illuminated with a string of notifications from a number you hadn't saved, but the opening lines of the texts spoke volumes.
[Unknown]: Malone's? Really? With him?
[Unknown]: Pick up. We need to talk about last month.
“I thought you blocked him?”
He wished he had a poker face but Dean is as transparent as a window. He didn't necessarily wear his heart on his sleeve but he can't hide when something hurts him.
“That's a new number.” You said, exhaling through your frustration. “He just wants to talk—can you give it back? My phone?”
“Oh, this?” He pointed at your cellphone with an expression of innocence. “No, yeah. Here you go.” That smile was nothing but sincere and you sensed a lecture coming up. “Let me know if you guys worked it out. Again.”
“You can stop being sarcastic.” You rolled your eyes and took back your phone. But he did something you weren't expecting, standing up from the table, he pushed his hair back. “Where are you going?”
“To dance.” He shrugged. “You enjoy your evening with your nice guy.”
Something in your chest tugged slightly but you let it go. He could dance as much as he wanted with whoever he wanted — and who didn't want him, honestly? The guilt wasn't about that though.
Why did it feel like he was finally done with your bullshit?
The thought settled into your stomach. Dean never turned his back on you. He was the guy who, six months ago, sat on the floor of your bathroom at three in the morning, handing you tissues and rubbing your back while you cried over the exact same man who was currently blowing up your lock screen. He had been your anchor through every single tremor of that toxic relationship.
He watched you cry over your ex and all that shit. It couldn't be enjoyable to keep doing that.
You just didn't want to lose him.
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Logan was holding his wallet and keys, literally a minute away from walking out the door. As soon as he sent a text over to Grace, telling her he was on his way to pick her up, the doorbell rang.
When he opened it, he wasn't ready for what he saw.
Quickly, he helped you to the couch, dropping everything he had on his hands to come to your aid.
There was a cut on your lower lip and you were limping.
“It's fine-Logan, it's fine.” Your tone carried an edge you didn't want to share with him but he was fussing over you, probably because of your few visible wounds. “Seriously, just…” You cut yourself off when you notice the door was still open. “Close the door and lock it. Please.”
Logan’s eyes darted from your bleeding lip to your frantic gaze, the urgency in your voice cutting right through his shock. He didn't ask questions, simply bolting back to the entryway to close the wooden door shut. The sharp click of the key echoed through the apartment, a sudden barrier between you and the dark street outside.
“It's locked. It's locked, you're safe,” Logan said quickly, turning back to the living room. He looked down at his green button-down, then at the blood smudged on his palm from where he’d helped you sit. He didn't care. “Jesus, what happened out there? Were you mugged? Did you walk here? Are you-”
“I got out of the car. It was still moving.” You interrupted his rambling, forcing your hands into your lap so they would stop shaking. Logan was like a brother to you but letting yourself be seen that vulnerable? The answer would always be no. No one but Dean had come to know that part of your life yet.
But desperate times call for desperate measures.
“You jumped out of a moving car?” Logan whispered, the color completely draining from his face. “Why? Who did this?” He hesitated on touching you even though he needed to see if you were hurt anywhere else. He didn't know if you wanted to be touched by anyone right now. Shit.
“Is the back door locked?” you interrupted, ignoring his questions as a fresh wave of panic hit you. You gripped your own knees, the fabric of your jeans rough against your trembling fingers. “Just—just in case.”
Logan blinked, snapping out of his daze. “Yeah. Yeah, it is, but I’ll check. I’m checking right now.”
Left alone in the quiet living room for a split second, the silence felt heavy, suffocating. The thumping ache in your ankle was getting louder, a rhythmic, hot pulse that synchronized with the frantic beating of your heart. You stared at the front door, the heavy wood feeling like a fragile shield against the outside world. Your lower lip stung where it was split, the taste of copper faint on your tongue.
I got out. I got out. I got—
“It's locked tight,” Logan called out, his voice breathless as he hurried back into the living room. He stopped a few feet away, running a hand through his carefully styled hair, completely disheveling it. He looked down at his green button-down, noticing a small smear of your blood near the cuff, but he didn't even blink. “Listen, do I need to call the police? Do I need to call an ambulance? Talk to me.”
You shook your head quickly, the mere thought of flashing lights and sirens making your chest tighten. “No. No police. Just... I just need to sit here for a second.”
Logan opened his mouth to argue, his protective instincts warring with his respect for your boundaries, when the heavy sound of the front door's lock turning made both of you freeze.
The front door swung open with a bustling energy of two men laughing about something.
Beau’s grip on the takeout bag tightened, the paper crinkling loudly as his eyes landed on the split, bleeding line of your lower lip, and then on the raw, gravel-torn skin of your forearm. “What... what happened?” Beau blinked, looking at Logan for answers.
Dean wasn't looking at Logan, his eyes found yours immediately and it was like a bucket of cold water had dropped on his head.
His face drained of color. His chest rose and fell in a sharp, heavy breath as his eyes locked onto yours, taking in your trembling frame, your tear-stained cheeks, and the way you were desperately guarding your injured leg.
“Sorry.” You said, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I didn't mean to barge in, I just-This was the closest to and Hannah wasn't picking up her phone-”
“Whoa, no. What? No. Why are you apologizing?” Logan quickly cut in, sitting down beside you again carefully to not hit your leg. “Hey, you're okay. You're family. You're staying. You guys.” Logan addressed the other two frozen near the doorway. “Shut the door. Lock it. Get ready in the kitchen or whatever. Go.” He sent a stern look that you didn't notice because you were burying yourself in the couch, maybe trying to hide from embarrassment.
Logan shifted beside you, blocking your view of Dean for a fraction of a second as he gently reached out, his hand hovering over your shoulder before lightly resting there to ground you. “Hey,” Logan murmured, his voice dropping into that rare, fiercely protective brotherly tone. “Look at me. Ignore them. You have absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about, okay? None of this is on you.”
You didn't look up, keeping your chin tucked against your chest, but you could hear the heavy, deliberate sound of footsteps crossing the hardwood.
Dean didn't listen to Logan's order to stay back. He couldn't.
He approached the couch slowly, any joy from being on a night out with his best friend gone as soon as he saw your situation. When he reached the edge of the sofa, he dropped heavily to his knees right in front of you, his large frame instantly cutting off the rest of the room.
“Get the first-aid kit from the bathroom, Logan,” Dean commanded. “Hi.” He tried to smile a little through the rage burning inside of his chest.
Logan glanced at his friend, saw the rigid tension in his shoulders, and nodded once. He squeezed your shoulder one last time before standing up.
The moment Logan left, the space between you and Dean felt suffocatingly small. He didn't touch you yet—his hands were hovering inches from your scraped arm, trembling so violently he had to ball them into fists to stop it. He was staring at your split lip, his jaw clenching so hard the muscles in his cheek ticked.
“Look at me,” Dean begged softly, the terrifying edge in his voice cracking to reveal something agonizingly fragile. He leaned closer, trying to catch your downcast gaze. “Please. Look at me.”
You slowly lifted your head, your vision slightly blurred by the threat of fresh tears. The moment your eyes met his, the sheer intensity in his gaze almost made you look away again.
“I didn't know where else to go. I didn't want to be alone.”
Dean inhaled sharply. “Here. You come here. Anytime. Anyday. You know that.” He paused, assessing your ankle. It was swollen. “Can I see that?”
You nodded weakly, swallowing down another sob as you slowly shifted your leg on the cushions. The movement sent a sharp flare of pain straight up to your knee, causing you to hiss through your teeth and instinctively grip the fabric of Dean’s shirt.
"I know, I know. I've got you,” Dean murmured instantly, helping you shift.
He didn't touch the joint itself—he knew better than to aggravate it—but he lightly pressed his fingers against the top of your foot and then the back of your heel, checking your circulation with practiced, steady pressure.
“Can you wiggle your toes for me?” Dean asked softly, his eyes lifting to meet yours, searching your face to gauge your pain.
You tried, gritting your teeth as you forced a tiny, trembling movement out of your foot. A sharp ache rippled through your ankle, but you managed it.
“Good. That's good,” Dean breathed, a fraction of the tension leaving his shoulders, though his expression remained incredibly grim. He glanced up at an incredibly awkward Beau over his shoulder. “It’s a bad sprain, maybe a hairline fracture from the impact. Grab an ice pack from the freezer. Wrap it in a clean dish towel. We need to get the swelling down before we can even think about moving her again.”
“On it,” Beau said immediately, turning away to do what he was told. Happy that he had something to do.
Right as Beau vanished into the kitchen, Logan hurried back into the living room, holding the plastic first-aid kit. He looked flustered, his hair a little messy from running his hands through it, but his focus was entirely on getting you what you needed. He set the box down on the coffee table with a soft rattle.
Dean immediately reached inside, his large hands finding the bottle of antiseptic and a pack of sterile gauze.
“I'm going to clean the scrape on your arm first, okay?” he whispered, his eyes locking onto yours with total seriousness. “It's going to sting a little bit. You can hold onto me as tight as you need to.”
You nodded in agreement, resting back against the cushions and closing your eyes for a second. Your body finally letting go of the fight-or-flight response, the familiar warmth of the apartment and the low rumble of the boys' voices signaling to your brain that you were finally in a safe environment.
A heavy, exhausted sigh escaped you, and despite the throbbing in your ankle, a tiny, weak smile tugged at the corner of your mouth—wincing slightly as it pulled at your split lip.
You opened your eyes and looked up at Logan, trying to inject a little bit of normalcy into the heavy air. “You're all dressed up,” you murmured, your voice a tired rasp. “You're probably incredibly late because of me. Go get your girl, John. I'll be fine. Thank you. And sorry for keeping you.”
Logan hesitated, shifting his weight from one shoe to the other. He looked down at his green button-down, then at you, clearly torn. “I'm not just going to walk out on you when you look like you wrestled an entire hockey team,” he muttered, though there was an anxious twitch in his jaw. What the fuck happened? Who did he have to kill?
Dean, who had been tearing open a packet of sterile gauze, paused. He lifted his head and exchanged a silent, heavy look with Logan. An unspoken understanding traveled between the two of them. I've got her, Dean’s eyes said. Go.
Logan caught the look and slowly let out a breath, his shoulders dropping. “Alright,” he said softly, reaching down to gently pat your uninjured shoulder. “But if you need anything—anything at all—you make this idiot call me, okay?”
“I will,” you promised with a small smile.
As Logan turned to grab his keys and phone from the entryway table, Beau walked back into the living room, holding a bag of frozen peas wrapped tightly in a clean checkered dish towel.
He handed it to Dean, still looking a bit like a ghost had walked into the room.
Dean took the ice pack, his focus instantly narrowing back down to you. He knelt closer, his thigh pressing against the edge of the couch as he adjusted enough to make you as comfortable as possible.
“Alright,” Dean whispered, uncapping the bottle of antiseptic. He gently took your hand, supporting your forearm with his palm. “Breathe through it. Grip my shoulder if it hurts. And Beau?”
“Here, man. Do you need-”
“Can you go do literally anything else?”
Beau blinked, his hands flying up in a defensive, half-surrendered gesture. “Yep. Loud and clear.” He pointed upstairs. “I'm gonna go check out Garret's… stuff? Yeah.”
The second the antiseptic-soaked gauze touched the raw, gravel-torn skin of your forearm, a sharp, white-hot sting flared through your arm. You hissed, your eyes squeezing shut as your fingers clamped down hard on his shoulder, pulling him closer.
Dean didn't flinch. He absorbed the pressure of your grip, his voice a low, rhythmic murmur against the quiet of the room. “I know, I know. Breathe. You're doing great. Just a little more.”
A ragged, choking sound tore from your throat, and then the tears just came, uncontrollable. You let go of his shoulder to press your uninjured hand over your eyes, your chest heaving as the ugly, suffocating truth crashed down on you.
Again. You had done this again. You had let the texts pull you back into the orbit, you had ignored your friends, you had shut out the one person who actually cared, and you had ended up bleeding on a couch because you couldn't just walk away the first time.
“Hey, hey... look at me,” Dean pleaded, his voice laced with instant panic as he shifted closer, his large hands coming up to gently try and pry your fingers away from your face. “Is it the arm? Did I press too hard? Talk to me.”
“You're not gonna tell me I told you so?” you sobbed out, the words muffled and broken against your palm. You forced your hand down, staring at him through a blur of tears, your split lip trembling. “Because you did. Multiple times, Dean. Months ago, this week, two nights ago at Malone's... you told me. How can I be this stupid?”
“Stop,” Dean shook his head, his voice dropping into a firm, grounding register that cut right through your spiraling thoughts. He moved until his knees were pressed hard against the edge of the sofa, forcing you to look at him. He carefully reached up and took your uninjured hand, squeezing it so tightly you could feel the frantic, heavy thud of his pulse. “Look at me. I am not saying that to you. Not tonight. Not ever.”
“But it's true,” you choked out, a fresh wave of tears spilling over your lashes, making his face blur in front of you. “You were finally done with my bullshit. I saw you walk away at Malone's. I brought this on myself. If I had listened—”
“You didn't bring a damn thing on yourself,” Dean interrupted fiercely, his voice cracking. There was nothing he hated more than seeing you like that.
He leaned closer, his chest heaving with a ragged breath as his eyes locked onto yours with an absolute, unwavering intensity. “You got caught in a trap by a guy who knows exactly what buttons to push because he’s spent years building them. That is not on you. You hear me? That is on him.”
"And I wasn't done with you," he whispered, his thumb brushing over the soft skin of your wrist. "I was hurt. I was being a selfish asshole because I hate seeing him occupy space in your head when I'm standing right in front of you. But I am never, ever done with you. Do you hear me?”
“You could call me at three in the morning, you could ruin every single plan I have, you could jump out of a hundred moving cars, and I will always be the one waiting at the door for you. Don't you ever call yourself stupid for trying to handle a monster on your own.”
Slowly, you let your forehead sink forward until it rested against his shoulder, burying your face in the familiar scent of his jacket. Another ragged sob shook your frame, but this time, it felt like a release.
“I'm sorry,” you whispered into the fabric, your voice small and completely spent. “I'm so sorry, Dean.”
“Stop apologizing.” He wrapped his arms around you securely, pulling you into his chest in a way that made you feel completely invisible to the outside world. He buried his face in your hair, his chest heaving as he took a deep, shaky breath. “You're here. You're safe. That's the only thing that matters right now.” And he was telling that to himself too. He didn't know what he would do if you hadn't gotten out of that car.
You hadn't meant to close your eyes, but the safety of his presence was an overwhelming gravity. Your head lolled to the side, settling into the crook of his shoulder, and within minutes, sleep had claimed you.
Dean sat unmoving for a long time, watching the tension finally bleed out of your face. He carefully slid his arm out from under you, wincing slightly as he tried not to jar your injured leg.
“Hey, angel,” he mumbled softly. “Let's get you into bed.”
You didn't answer, only letting out a soft, faint sigh. Moving with agonizing care, Dean slipped one large arm beneath your shoulders and the other under your knees, lifting you from the couch. He held you tight against his chest, hyper-aware of the slight wince that crossed your features as your swollen ankle shifted, but you didn't wake up. You just instinctively buried your face into his neck, your hands weakly clutching at the collar of his shirt.
Dean used his foot to gently nudge the door shut behind him before walking over to the bed. He pulled back the heavy comforter with one hand, then lowered you onto the mattress. He didn't move away immediately. He stayed bent over you, carefully adjusting the pillows beneath your head and lifting your injured leg to rest on a rolled-up blanket he’d grabbed from the closet, keeping the ankle elevated.
As he pulled the covers up to your chin, his thumb lightly brushed a stray lock of hair away from your forehead. He stared down at your sleeping face, the faint outline of the bandage on your arm and the split on your lip still visible.
The what-ifs didn't just leave his head the entire night. He stayed on the couch downstairs, laid on his back, staring up at the dark ceiling, one arm slung over his eyes to block out the world. He knew he wouldn't really sleep, not in case you needed anything.
Your ex better be fucking ready for the payback that was coming for him.
