Don’t know if you’re interested, but can we get a beau x reader x dean work?
The wood experiment ²
Pairing: Dean Di Laurentis x fem!reader x Beau Maxwell
⟡ Main Index | ⟡ Archive for Earth-66
Summary: After years of disappointing experiences with toys that never quite satisfied you, you take a bold risk with two friendly strangers during a camping trip to finally test whether the problem was you or simply the wrong dildos.
Classification: Smut +18 | Threesome (MFM), first-time vaginal penetration, dry humping, fingering, double genital stimulation, creampie, cum play, spanking, edging, orgasm control, dirty talk, praise kink, mild dominance, no-strings-attached sex, light impact play, crude humor and mention of sex toys.
Word count: 4,8k
Divider by me ;)
You didn’t know where you stood on the spectrum of sexuality and sensuality. You had never felt the touch of a man, yet you were no saint. You owned toys, you read erotica and watched porn when the mood struck. Most of all, you liked the part of yourself that refused to wait for a man to drop out of the sky before you could feel pleasure.
Your friends had plenty of experience with men and you were happy for them but you simply preferred to stay in control of your own.
For a long time that had been more than enough. You could take care of your own needs in under five minutes with the cheapest vibrator on the market or with your fingers in ten if you were worked up enough. Dildos had never done it for you, no matter the material, the shape, the length or the width, they left you feeling little and never brought you to orgasm. That fact had left you uneasy about the idea of sex with a man. You hoped that when it finally happened, penetration would feel good, you'd make sure of it, but a quiet fear lingered. Were you numb?
Still, you felt no rush to enter a relationship just to test the theory. You had watched enough friends tumble into messy entanglements and then ignore every piece of advice you gave them.
Why would they listen to you, right? But after all, coaches never played…until tonight.
You sat around the crackling fire, thoughts drifting. You had come camping for a few nights to get some distance from your usual life and step down from your unpaid role as couple’s therapist to your friends. The first evening, Dean and Beau had set up camp near yours. They were university students like you, barely a year older, friendly and easy to talk to.
You had fallen into hiking and kayaking together with surprising comfort and now the three of you sat around their fire, the night air cool against your skin while the flames threw warm light across your faces. Since this whole trip was an experiment and a chance to push your own limits…why stop at flirting?
“Are you two…?” Your question trailed off as you gestured between them. You sat in the middle, each of you in your own camp chair.
Dean chuckled and shook his head. “Best friends…Not that he isn’t a good-looking guy.” He motioned toward Beau. “Look at him.”
Your gaze slid to Beau. He smiled, a little shy and sweet, clearly less bold than Dean. Still, the firelight traced the strong line of his jaw and the breadth of his shoulders.
“He’s right,” you said quietly.
Beau nodded, cheeks warming. “Uh, thank you.” He took a sip from his soda can. “Only one of us is Six Flags, though.” He grinned and Dean laughed.
You looked between them, lips curving despite yourself. “Six Flags? What does that mean?”
“He’s a ladies’ man,” Beau explained. “They come for the ride and then leave.”
“And I’m okay with that,” Dean added, raising a finger as if to make the statement sound more sincere.
You nodded slowly, eyes returning to Beau. You lifted your half-empty soda can in his direction. “And what kind of ride do you offer, handsome?”
Both of them turned their full attention to you, lips parting.
“Offer?” Beau repeated, voice low.
You hummed in confirmation, letting the moment stretch. The fire popped softly as crickets filled the silence between your words. “Just seeing if I could get two-for-one access tonight.”
Dean’s eyebrows rose as a slow, interested smirk tugged at his mouth. Beau’s gaze darkened as he set his can down on the ground beside his chair. The easy conversation from earlier fell away, replaced by something heavier and charged.
Dean leaned forward, elbows on his knees, firelight dancing in his eyes. “That’s a bold ask, sweetheart.”
You held his stare, pulse quickening. “Think of it as an experiment…I figured the woods were a good place for it.”
Beau glanced at Dean and immediately caught the eager look on his face. Dean looked about two seconds away from saying yes on the spot. Before he could, Beau cleared his throat.
“Hey, man. Can we… talk for a minute?” He asked, the last part tilting up as he motioned away with his head.
Dean blinked, then shrugged as he stood. “Sure.” Before he took a step, he turned and flashed you a quick smile.
Beau stood next and walked a short distance away from the fire as Dean followed, far enough for a private conversation but still in your line of sight. You kept your eyes on them, heart beating faster. You did not know what you were thinking, but you wanted this to happen. You wanted the overwhelming feeling of several hands on your body at once. The idea of sex without commitments felt like the perfect answer to your questions tonight. You wanted to try the real thing and the mere thought of being greedy enough to take both of them was making you awfully wet.
Beau crossed his arms. “Did I understand her right? She actually wants both of us? Like…at the same time?”
Dean grinned, nodding eagerly with his hands on his hips. “Sounded pretty clear to me.”
“What if she asks us to kiss?” Beau pressed, voice low but urgent.
Dean turned his head and looked straight at you. Your eyes were locked on them, curious and steady. Beau followed his gaze, then dropped his eyes lower. Dean was already visibly hard, the outline clear against his pants. Spending the past few days with you had been fun, and you were undeniably pretty.
Beau smacked him right on the cock with the back of his hand.
Dean doubled over with a groan, hands flying to cover himself. “Fuck, dude! The fuck was that for?”
“Can you focus for a second?” Beau hissed, eyes returning to Dean’s folded-over posture.
Dean straightened up slowly, still wincing but laughing under his breath. “One of us clearly is. Come on, isn’t this what we came here for? You wanted spontaneity. This is as spontaneous as it gets out in the woods.”
Beau rubbed the back of his neck, glancing back toward you. “We take this to the grave, right? No matter what happens. And if it gets too weird, we can always take turns instead of… everything at once. It’ll be her choice. I’m big on communication.”
“So am I,” Dean said easily. “But I’m not worried about ‘weird’. I have no issue seeing your dick, man. I’m a hockey player. I shower in rooms full of them and I can tell you that eventually your eyes start to wander.” He reached over and gave Beau a firm pat on the shoulder. “It’s not ‘if,’ it’s ‘when’… and that time comes pretty soon.” He nodded, eyes tracing Beau’s worried face.
Beau looked down at himself. He was getting hard too, though it was not nearly as obvious as Dean’s situation. Still, a flicker of doubt crossed his face as he wondered if size would be an issue once things got started.
Dean caught the look instantly. “Comparison is the thief of joy, my friend.”
Beau let out a short laugh despite himself, the tension easing a little. Dean’s grin returned, cocky and sure.
“I can show you a nude right now so there’s no surprises,” Dean added, his grin spreading wider.
Beau groaned. “Size isn’t all there is. It’s how you use it.”
Dean chuckled, nodding. “That’s my boy.”
During the conversation they had not noticed you stand and walk closer. When their eyes finally left each other and found you, you were only a couple of steps away.
“Don’t worry, guys. I don’t think we’ll hit max capacity of my tent tonight.” You smiled as you walked toward your tent without looking back. Both of their gazes followed your steps, matching smiles spreading across their faces.
“I think I just came in my pants,” Dean sighed.
“I’ll go first then,” Beau said, patting Dean’s chest. “You should start getting used to coming second…or even third.” He started walking after you. A second later, Dean followed.
The air inside the tent was thick with the scent of nylon and the musk of three bodies humming with anticipation. You sat there, trembling slightly, heart hammering against your ribs.
You hadn't told Beau or Dean that this was your first time, that the dildos you’d tried in private had left you feeling cold and empty, leaving you with a nagging, terrifying fear that you were somehow broken. You didn't know if you could actually feel pleasure but as you looked at them, the desperation to find out outweighed the fear.
The clothes had been discarded in a frantic heap, leaving you all in just your underwear. The space was cramped, which only added to the intensity, forcing your skin to brush against theirs at every turn.
Beau, always the sweeter of the two, had laid back first. He looked up at you with soft, wanting eyes as you climbed over him. You straddled his hips, settling your weight down so your core pressed firmly against the hard line of his cock, separated only by the thin fabric of his boxers and your own underwear. When you started grinding against him, you gasped, eyes widening slightly. He was warm and pulsing beneath you, the thick ridge of his erection rubbing right against your clit with every roll of your hips.
You began to rock yourself on him, moving in a slow, experimental rhythm. The friction of his clothed cock sliding against you sent sparks through your nerves, a sensation so vivid it almost made you cry out.
Dean was right behind you, kneeling and straddling Beau’s thighs to get closer. He was a wall of heat against your back, his confidence radiating off him in waves. His large hands reached around, sliding up to capture your clothed breasts. He squeezed and massaged them firmly, his fingers kneading your flesh while he leaned in to bury his face in the crook of your neck. He nipped at your skin, teeth grazing your pulse point, sending shivers racing down your spine.
Your hands rested on Beau’s chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart beneath your palms as you moved while his hands locked onto your hips, fingers digging in to help guide them, pushing you down harder onto him with every roll.
Whenever Dean got close enough, pressing his front to your back eagerly, you could feel the hard, thick length of his cock pressing firmly against your ass, a promise of what was coming.
The feeling of being sandwiched between two men, the weight of them and the heat of their breath created an overwhelming sensation. You weren't close to coming yet but the tension was already building, in a new coil of heat tightening in your lower belly that you had never experienced before.
Dean’s hands moved, fingers hooking into the strap of your bra. With a swift, confident motion, he flicked the clasp and peeled the fabric away, exposing your breasts to the dim light of the tent.
Beau let out a low groan at the sight of your breasts spilling free, hips bucking upward instinctively. He looked up at your chest, eyes glazed with lust and breath coming in ragged gasps.
"Fuck," Beau choked out, his voice strained. "You're so beautiful...It’s gonna make me cum."
He tightened his grip on your hips, pulling you closer as you ground down against him. He held back, fighting the urge to come in his underwear while the two of you moved in a desperate, sweaty rhythm.
Dean stayed pressed behind you, mouth hot on your neck and shoulder, kissing and biting softly as his hand slipped around your waist and slid slowly beneath the waistband of your panties.
His fingers found your slick folds and immediately began drawing slow but firm circles over your clit, the sudden direct touch making you moan loudly into the space.
Meanwhile, his other hand stayed cupped around your breast, thumb brushing across your nipple in time with the movement of his fingers, forcing pleasure to surge through you from both angles.
Your hips lifted on instinct. Breathing hard, you reached down between your bodies, slipped your hand into the waistband of his boxers and wrapped your fingers around his thick, heated length. You pulled him free, stroking him once from base to tip as his breath hitched sharply.
You then hooked a finger into the side of your soaked panties and tugged them roughly aside, exposing your dripping pussy completely to him.
Dean chuckled low against your neck. "Taking initiative, I love that…Beau here likes spontaneity."
Holding Beau’s cock steady, you lined him up at your entrance and slowly sank down onto him.
The stretch was immediate and intense. A broken moan and gasp escaped your lips as his warm, bare cock pushed inside you, filling you inch by inch. It truly was nothing like your toys, he felt alive, hot and so much fuller than you had imagined. You kept sinking until you were fully seated in his lap, walls fluttering and clenching around him then releasing in ways no toy had ever made them do. "Holy fuck," you breathed.
"Nothing holy about this," Beau answered, voice rough. "Get to riding."
You laughed shakily as Dean’s laugh vibrated against your skin. "And here she thought you were the sweeter one."
"Please," Beau added, smiling up at you and the word made your lips part around another curse.
Dean’s hand left your breast and slid up to the back of your neck, pressing you forward firmly until your chest was flush against Beau’s, nipples brushing his warm skin with every breath. The new angle pushed you deeper onto Beau’s cock, drawing a shared moan from both of you.
Behind you, Dean rolled his hips, grinding the hard, clothed length of his cock between your ass cheeks. The thick ridge of his erection, still trapped in his boxers, dragged slowly, applying steady pressure against your most sensitive area. He matched every roll and lift of your hips as you rode Beau, thrusting in perfect sync so that every time you sank down onto Beau’s cock, Dean’s pressed firmly against your ass.
His fingers never stopped their steady circles over your swollen clit, slick and fast now, pushing you higher with every stroke. The sensation of being filled by Beau while Dean ground against you from behind left you trembling between them, caught in a rhythm that grew steadily more desperate.
"Tell her again," Dean said, grinning. "I’m pretty sure her pussy will thank you for your manners."
Beau’s hands settled on your waist, guiding your drags up and down his length. "Ride me, sweetheart. Nice and slow so you can feel every inch."
You kept moving and each time you rose, Dean’s dry thrusts pushed you forward again, the fabric of his boxers catching and dragging against sensitive, wet skin. The tent felt smaller with every breath and shift of bodies while your knees slid over your sleeping bag as you found a rhythm, Beau’s cock stretching you as Dean’s fingers kept your clit puffy and throbbing.
Beau’s grip tightened as he grabbed handfuls of ass. "Fuck, you feel so good…so tight around me."
"She’s dripping down your cock already. Keep talking to her, Beau…she likes it." Dean grinned.
Beau’s voice stayed soft even as his hips failed to lift to meet you halfway. "You’re doing so well…taking me so deep. That’s it, let Dean play with that pretty clit while you fuck yourself on me."
Dean’s fingers pressed firmer, faster and your moans broke into something higher. The combined sensation from Beau filling you and Dean’s cock grinding against your ass while his fingers worked your clit, made your thighs shake. You rocked harder, chasing the feeling you’d never found with silicone.
"That’s right," Dean murmured. "Use us. Show us how you want it."
Beau’s hands slid up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. "You can go faster if you need to, it’s all yours to take."
You did. The wet sounds of your pussy taking him fully grew louder inside the small tent. Dean’s dry thrusts grew more insistent, the head of his cock catching on the thin fabric of your panties with every roll of his hips as your clit pulsed under his fingers, every circle sending sparks up your spine.
Beau’s breathing turned ragged, eyes fluttering shut. "You’re squeezing me so tight…Fuck, don’t stop."
Dean’s hand pressed firmly on the delicious curve of your spine…Fuck, he wanted to lick along it. "She won’t…not until she comes all over your cock. Right, beautiful?"
The words hit you harder than you expected. Your hips stuttered for a moment, then resumed their frantic rhythm, chasing the edge that had always stayed just out of reach with your toys.
Beau’s hands gripped your waist, steadying you as you rode him and Dean’s fingers never faltered on your clit, circling with relentless pressure. The three of you moved together in the cramped tent, bodies sliding against each other, hot breaths mingling in the thick air while the quiet night outside faded completely.
Beau pulled you into a deep, searing kiss, his tongue sliding against yours as he met every desperate roll of your hips, which you were greedy for. You rode him harder, walls clamping down tightly around his thick shaft with every downward plunge. The wet, filthy sound of your bodies meeting filled the small space as the tension coiled tighter and tighter in your core, centered beneath Dean’s skilled fingers.
Your orgasm crashed over you without warning, violent and overwhelming. Your back arched sharply, pressing your chest harder against Beau’s as your hardened nipples dragged across his heated skin. The kiss broke with a wet gasp as a loud, broken moan tore from your throat.
Your pussy spasmed hard around Beau’s cock, milking him in powerful, rhythmic pulses while pleasure tore through every nerve in your body.
You were so drenched that your juices coated his length and dripped down onto his balls, the slickness becoming too much. With one final, shaking shudder, Beau’s cock slipped out of you with a loud and obscene wet pop. You slumped forward against his chest, gasping for air, your empty pussy visibly twitching and pulsing in the open air between your spread cheeks.
Dean, who had been watching the entire spectacle with dark, predatory hunger, let out a low hiss. Seeing your walls contract and flutter had pushed him past the point of restraint. He snatched his hand away from your clit, the sudden loss making you whimper in protest and in one fluid motion, he shoved the front of his boxers down, freeing his thick, rigid cock.
He leaned forward, lined the swollen head against your soaked entrance and began pushing in.
You let out a loud, shocked moan against Beau’s lips, your eyes widening at the sudden heavy intrusion. Beau had been long and smooth, gliding easily along your walls, Dean was thicker and the wait had made him even harder. He was ridged and pressed firmly against every sensitive spot as he moved. He stretched you to your absolute limit, forcing your walls to open around his girth as he sank deeper.
Beau reached down with both hands and gripped your ass cheeks. He spread them wide, fully exposing your dripping pussy to Dean’s relentless push, the new position leaving you completely open between them.
Dean gave a few slow, careful thrusts at first, testing how your body responded while it was still vibrating from your orgasm. The waves hadn’t faded, instead, they continued pulsing around his cock with every shallow stroke, drawing a deep groan from his chest.
You whined, a high and needy sound escaping your throat. Dean rested his forehead against the back of your neck for a moment, breathing hard, before he straightened up again on his knees.
“Fucking glorious, right? So warm,” Beau murmured, his voice thick with lust.
Dean chuckled, the sound vibrating through your spine. “She’s still cumming from your cock, dude.” He paused, his voice softening even as it stayed dominant. “I’m not hurting you, am I, sweetheart?”
You shook your head gently, breath coming in short, jagged gasps. A powerful wave of relief washed over you. You weren’t broken or numb, you could feel everything, every ridge, vein and throb of their cocks inside you. The sheer intensity proved you were more than capable of this kind of pleasure.
Dean’s arm wrapped around your waist and hauled you upright, pulling you off Beau’s chest and holding you tight against him in a firm bear hug, your back flush to his front. Your skin burned where it pressed against his.
“Do me a favor and wrap that pretty hand around Beau’s cock,” he whispered hotly against your ear.
He began to thrust in earnest, each powerful stroke driving deep and pushing fresh wetness out around his thick shaft. You melted back into him, head falling against his shoulder as a full-body shudder ran through you.
“Come on, be a good girl,” Dean murmured, voice rough with passion.
He looked down at Beau’s cock lying hard and twitching against his stomach, shiny and dripping with your juices. The swollen head glistened under the low light while a thin string of your slick stretched from your pussy to Beau’s skin every time Dean pulled back and slammed in again.
Your hand reached down on instinct, fingers wrapping around Beau’s slick, hot length, feeling it pulse strongly in your palm. You stroked him slowly at first, spreading the wetness up and down his shaft while Dean fucked you steadily from behind, the three of you locked together in the cramped tent.
You guided the broad head of Beau’s cock firmly against your swollen clit and the drenched opening of your pussy. Every time Dean slammed his hips forward, driving his cock deep into you, the force pressed your pelvis down onto Beau’s shaft. The friction was electric, a constant, slippery grind that sent sparks of pleasure shooting through your nerves. You whimpered, head tossing back against Dean’s shoulder anew as pre-cum and your own slick lubricated the filthy contact.
Beau’s chest tensed beneath you, his muscles rippling as he fought for control. “Ugh, fuck,” he moaned, the sound vibrating through your thighs. You let out a breathless chuckle between your moans, fingers digging into his skin to keep his cock pressed tight against your throbbing clit.
“You guys…do this often?” you gasped, voice trembling as Dean’s thrusts grew more urgent, hitting your cervix with blunt, satisfying thuds.
“We can, if you call us,” Beau answered instantly.
Dean let out a low, rumbling laugh that vibrated against your back. “Took the words right out of my mouth,” he said, teeth grazing the shell of your ear before he gripped your waist tighter and pulled you back harder onto his cock.
The pace changed, becoming a relentless, kinky assault on your senses. Dean began to rotate his hips, grinding his cock deep inside you while you continued sliding against Beau’s tip. The wet, slapping sound of skin meeting skin filled the tent, mixed with the heavy, intoxicating scent of sex and musk. You were drowning in it as pleasure built into a towering wave that stripped away your ability to speak. You could no longer form words, all that left your lips were high, needy moans and broken whimpers.
As you lost the ability to talk, the men took over. Their voices became low and praising as they talked about you like a prize, describing exactly how your tight walls squeezed Dean and how your clit pulsed against Beau.
“Look at her,” Dean groaned, his breath hot on your neck. “So fucking wet for us. I can feel her twitching around me, trying to suck me dry.”
“She’s perfect,” Beau rasped, his eyes locked on your blissed-out face.
Suddenly, Beau sat up, his movement fluid and hungry. He lunged forward and wrapped his mouth around one of your stiff nipples, sucking hard while his tongue swirled around the sensitive peak. At the same time, his hand reached up to massage your other breast, kneading the soft flesh with a firm grip. The combination of Dean’s deep pounding from behind, the constant friction on your clit and Beau’s hungry mouth on your breasts pushed you right to the edge.
Your back arched sharply, toes curling. “Fuck…I’m gonna cum,” you wailed, your internal muscles clamping down violently around Dean.
“Hold it,” they both commanded in unison.
The sudden order snapped you out of your haze for a split second. They didn’t stop moving, if anything, Dean slowed to a torturous, shallow grind, teasing the entrance of your womb, while Beau kept his cock pressed firmly against your clit. They went right back to their seductive murmurs against your skin, praising how your body trembled and how desperately you were leaking for them. They kept you hovering right on the precipice, denying your release and stretching the tension until your entire body hummed like a live wire, trapped in agonizing, wet ecstasy.
The friction continued, a relentless, slippery torture. The sheer amount of lubrication, a hot cocktail of your soaking wetness and their pre-cum, made every movement smooth and loud.
As you ground desperately against Beau, the slickness became so intense that his cock suddenly slid from your clit and glided effortlessly toward your entrance.
You gasped, eyes widening in shock as you felt the broad, blunt head of his cock press firmly against your opening, right beside where Dean’s thick shaft was sliding in and out. He didn’t push inside but the overwhelming pressure of two cocks fighting for the same tight space was too much and the dam broke.
You screamed, body convulsing in a violent, crashing orgasm. Your walls clamped down hard on Dean in rhythmic, desperate pulses, milking him with every spasm. You whined and moaned, voice breaking as wave after wave of pleasure ripped through you, leaving you shaking and breathless.
The intensity of your climax triggered both men. Beau, feeling the frantic pulsing of your pussy against his sensitive head, let out a raspy moan into your nipple. His body stiffened as he erupted, thick ropes of hot cum shooting across your drenched pussy and mixing with the mess already coating your inner thighs.
At the same moment, the crushing grip of your orgasm pulled Dean over the edge. He let out a low, animalistic growl and buried himself as deep as possible, filling your womb with heavy, pulsing loads of cum. He kept thrusting slowly and heavily, pumping every last drop deep inside you while your body continued to shake between them.
Eventually, Dean slowed and pulled out with a wet, suctioning sound. The sudden emptiness left you feeling sensitive and open.
You collapsed forward onto Beau’s chest as he lay back down, breathing hard against the crook of his neck.
Your skin was warm and glistening with sweat and seed…And just as you started to relax, Beau reached down and delivered a sharp, loud smack to your ass.
You whined, the sting sending a fresh spark through your exhausted nerves while Dean groaned, voice thick with lingering lust as he stared at the sight of you.
“How’s it looking?” Beau asked, glancing at Dean, who seemed completely mesmerized by your lower body.
Dean leaned in, eyes tracking the way their mixed cum and your wetness dripped from your swollen and still pulsing folds. “Like an overfilled twinkie,” he muttered.
The absurd comment shattered the tension and all three of you dissolved into tired, breathless laughter. You propped yourself up slightly, lifting just enough to capture Beau’s lips in a deep, lingering kiss. Your fingers threaded through his hair, pulling him closer as you tasted the salt and heat of everything you had just done.
“You might not be Six Flags,” you whispered against his lips, a playful glint in your eyes, “but they should make you employee of the month.”
Beau grinned triumphantly and surged up to reclaim your mouth, his hand sliding down to squeeze your ass firmly, kneading the flesh.
“Hey…how come I got no kiss?” Dean’s voice drifted from behind you, mock-offended.
You didn’t bother to look back, too focused on Beau’s tongue sliding against yours but you had to pull back. “You came inside me,” you murmured breathlessly. “Don’t be greedy.”
You sank back into the kiss, feeling Beau’s chest rumble with a chuckle.
“Few more minutes and I’ll come on it too,” Dean whispered, voice low and promising as you felt Beau grin against your lips.
You had never seen men as the answer to much of anything, least of all your pleasure. So maybe the next thing you would acquire wouldn’t be a boyfriend, but a nice, realistic, warming and throbbing dildo to add to your collection… and perhaps a couple of phone numbers to call on those nights when your toys needed charging.
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! 🤍
when the fic has 10k+ words, fluff, angst, smut right at the end, friends to lovers, character who’s down bad for reader, AND Y/N DOESNT ACT LIKE A CHILD
can you do fic where dean thinks the reader cheated( they are in a relationship)after seeing a video of her kissing guy which was just a football player forcefully kissing her but shot in a way that looked sus .dean is angry and just a jerk to her but then later like maybe 2 weeks after dumping her he hears the said football player bragging about how he forcefully kissed and how she had slapped him so as revenge he made that video public ,maybe a fight breaks out dean gets injured and this all happens at a party where you are present (ur friends had dragged you there and you didn't know dean would be there ,eye contact, hurt maybe jealousy could be added ).reader helps clean his wounds and yeah get back together
Please Believe Me || Dean Di Laurentis x fem!reader ||
Summary: A football player kisses you as a joke, but the video that was leaked made it look like you kissed back. Dean doesn’t believe you, which ended into a breakup. You find each other a few weeks later at a party and the truth comes out.
Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, fist fight, brief mentions of blood, Dean being a bit of a dick, use of y/n.
So yeah, that happened. Dean broke up with you. Dumped you, actually. What a joke. They always say they’ll believe you through every scenario, and then shit like this happens.
All because that stupid quarterback decided it would be funny to kiss you. You slapped him afterward. It was a good backhand, if you had to say so yourself. It left a solid mark on that arrogant little shit’s face. God, he had a stupid face.
You were just minding your business when he asked you to tutor him. You declined, and then that stupid fuck kissed you. It was a "dare," he said. A silly little prank! And look where that got you—in your dorm room, crying over a three-year relationship that ended because Dean didn’t believe you.
You and Allie were both munching on a family-sized pack of Flamin' Hot Cheetos. She had said, "It’s better than stuffing your face with ice cream or drinking your sorrows away. It helps to burn the tears away." Yet you had been crying every time you took another bite. At this point, you didn’t know whether it was because of the fiery heat of the Cheetos or the fact that you had lost Dean.
"Babygirl, forget that asshole. If he really loved you, he would have believed you without a doubt."
"It was the angle of the camera, Allie. It looked real. I wouldn’t believe me either. I don’t blame him."
She sighed. "Okay well, do we know how the video was leaked?"
"He posted it as 'payback' for the slap! The entire fifth line knows about it!" You started crying all over again, the burning spice doing nothing to soothe the ache in your chest.
"Okay, enough tears for today. There’s a party in two weeks, and I think we should go! Oh! I can give you a makeover, make you look absolutely stunning. Get you a hot guy to show Dean he was never worth the tears."
You frowned and looked at her. "What? No! I’m not going to a party, Allie."
She stood up and pointed a finger at you. "Yes. You. Are. Come on, Y/N. It’ll be nice to get your mind off of him."
"Allie, I’m not going. End of story."
She grabbed your Cheetos bag and set it firmly on the table. "Do it for me then. Hannah and Graham are having a date night, and I’ll have no one to go with. Pretty please?" She gave you her best puppy-dog eyes.
"Fuck," you groaned, running a hand over your face. "Fine. Fine, I’ll go. But only for you."
"Yes! We’re so doing this!"
_
Dean and Logan walked out of the hockey locker rooms, their hair still wet from the showers after a grueling practice.
"Dude, I can’t believe you broke up with Y/N over a quarterback who forced a kiss on her! Are you sure she even kissed him back?" Logan shook his head to get his damp hair out of his face, slinging his heavy duffel bag over his shoulder.
"Yeah, positive. The video made it very clear."
Logan frowned and stopped dead in his tracks. "Aren’t you supposed to believe her, though? Come on! What happened to 'green flag' Dean?"
"Me? I’m still here, Logan! I just don’t fucking date cheaters." Dean dragged his phone out of his pocket and thrust it toward Logan to show him the clip. The video played, capturing the guy filming laughing hysterically, the quarterback grinning like an arrogant asshole. It cut briefly to the cameraman screaming, "Holy shit, dude! No way!" before the screen went black.
"I don't know, man. I believe her. But whatever."
Dean pocketed his phone and walked out the door, Logan trailing right behind him. "You still going to that party tonight? I feel like going. Maybe I'll find some hot girl and hook up, show Y/N she was never worth my time."
"Fuck, you are an asshole," Logan muttered, shaking his head in disgust as he walked away. "So glad I’m not your girlfriend. Wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of that."
_
The music was blasting so loudly that you could feel the bass vibrating through your bloodstream. Allie had forced you into her clothes, claiming, "Your clothes just aren't hot enough for revenge."
You sighed heavily, looking over at Allie. "I’m having serious second thoughts."
"No! We are getting you a drink first. Double vodka with whatever." She dragged you through the crowded hallway into the kitchen, grabbed two red solo cups, and generously filled yours with extra vodka when you weren’t looking.
You took the cup, took a sip, and immediately choked, coughing at the sharp burn of the alcohol. "Fuck! Did you pour the whole damn bottle?" You grimaced, setting the cup aside and grabbing a cold can of beer instead.
"Worth a shot," Allie shrugged. Then, her eyes widened. "Oh god, don’t look now, but dickhead Dean is here."
Your neck practically snapped as you spun around to look anyway. And there he was, looking as beautiful as ever, causing your heart to drop straight into your stomach. He looked completely fine. It had been two weeks since the breakup, and you had only just managed to stop crying, but seeing him so close and yet completely out of reach made your heart ache all over again.
Allie groaned, throwing her hands up. "Dude, I literally said 'don’t look now!'"
You nodded numbly, taking a long sip of your beer before looking back at her. "Yeah. No, I’m fine. Let’s go dance."
_
Dean had already spotted you the moment you walked in; it was impossible to miss the way you carried yourself. You looked breathtaking. But then again, you always looked beautiful to him.
Logan clapped a heavy hand on his back. "Somebody’s missing her."
"Shut up," Dean grumbled, taking a defensive swig of his beer. "She just looks nice, that's all."
A few feet away, the quarterback from the video—whom Dean had recently learned was named Caleb Brody—stood in a tight circle with his teammates. Dean’s gaze locked onto him as Brody began talking loudly to his friends. "Yeah, she’s such a bitch. Slapped me right across the face, has a lethal backhand. I posted the video as revenge. That’ll teach that whore a lesson."
Dean instantly tensed, his blood turning to fire. Caleb was talking about you. He didn’t even hear Logan’s sudden shout of protest as he stormed toward Caleb and shoved him hard. "The fuck did you just say about her?" He delivered another push, much harder this time, sending the quarterback stumbling back. "Say it! Say it to my face! Come on, Brody! Say it."
Caleb scowled, but a slow, mocking smirk quickly took over his features. "Oh man, she was asking for it."
Dean didn't hesitate. He landed the first punch, his fist connecting squarely with Caleb’s cheekbone.
A chaotic fight broke out instantly. Girls yelped, scurrying away to avoid the flying fists. Caleb managed to hit Dean back hard, but Dean refused to back down, fueled by raw rage.
Logan finally managed to step in, tearing into the crowd and pulling a breathing-heavy Dean away from the brawl. Dean didn’t process a single word Logan was telling him, because his eyes had already landed on you standing at the edge of the crowd. He swallowed hard, pushing past his teammate and walking straight toward you. "Y/N."
"You’re bleeding," you said simply. Without waiting for an answer, you reached out and took his hand, leading him away from the chaos toward the bathroom. He didn’t offer a single word of protest, walking quietly in your wake.
You walked with a fierce purpose, pushing the bathroom door open and stepping inside. You immediately opened the medicine cabinet, frantically hoping to find a first aid kit, and luckily, there was one tucked inside.
You pulled it out and climbed up onto the bathroom counter, waiting for Dean to step into the space between your legs. You didn't say anything, and neither did he, the silence heavy between you.
Carefully, you began to clean his wounds: a small cut on his lip, a dark bruise already forming on his cheekbone, and another split gash on his left eyebrow.
You didn’t realize it, but Dean never once took his eyes off your face, a small, pained frown pulling at his features. "I’m sorry," he whispered.
You froze, the cotton ball hovering in the air as you looked up into his striking green eyes. "What?"
"I said I’m sorry," he repeated, his voice a bit louder this time, thick with emotion. "For accusing you. I was a dick, Y/N. I was supposed to believe you."
You swallowed the lump in your throat, setting the cotton ball down on the counter as you let out a ragged sigh. "I don’t know what you want me to say, Dean."
"Nothing, really. I just want you to know that I’m truly sorry." He pulled back slightly and turned to look at his reflection in the mirror, inspecting the physical damage from the fight.
You looked down at your lap, the weight of the last two weeks crashing over you as a single, heavy tear slipped down your cheek.
"Hey, hey... none of that, baby." The old pet name slipped from his lips before he could stop it. He stepped closer, reaching up to gently tilt your face toward his. "Look at me. Please."
He gently wiped away the stray tear with his thumb and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead.
"I love you, okay? I was just so dumb, and I jumped to the first terrible conclusion that came to mind. I broke your heart, and I will never forgive myself for it. Please believe me when I say that I have been an absolute mess without you these last two weeks, even if it didn’t seem like it tonight."
"I love you too. But god, Dean! You really were an asshole! A real dick!" You frowned, pursing your lips tightly to keep from sobbing. "But I would never cheat on you. Ever. You are my person. The boy who completely failed to make me laugh the very day we met because of a terrible pickup line." Your voice softened, tears shimmering in your eyes. "I’m your number one fan. I love you so much."
Dean’s eyes softened completely, and a small, barely visible smile appeared on his lips. "Fuck, I love you, Y/N."
He leaned down, and you met him halfway. The kiss was a silent, desperate apology, but it held so much depth, carrying a thousand unspoken promises.
Your lips slowly melded together into a familiar, gentle rhythm. Man, you loved the taste of him. You had missed the taste of him so fiercely.
He slowly pulled away, a genuine grin finally breaking across his face. He tapped your nose playfully and pecked your lips one last time. "I'm never letting you go again."
"Never ever. And if you do? I’ll haunt the absolute fuck out of you."
Dear readers, maintaining a respectful and enjoyable environment is easy when we all adhere to the rules.
Requests: OPEN
1. Requests are always welcome, i dont write smut yet, i’m still learning how to write and fix my other fics
2. Be patient with me. I’m only human. When i write a fic about a character in a series/movie i haven’t watched yet, it obviously won’t be 100% accurate.
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My name is Michaela, I am a 20 year old girl and go by the pronouns she/her and i love writing and reading!
I’m a total romance and book freak!
My current fandom is Off Campus, but that doesn’t mean i don’t obsess over anything else ;)
I’m not a professional writer so my fics are still a bit meh from time to time.
I love making up fake scenarios in my head (i’m just a girl after all!)
Professional daydreamer!
I’m fluent in english but it’s not my first language so when you see that i made a mistake, help by correcting me, i dont bite :)
Men twice my age! Always, forever (possible daddy issues)
I love writing because i love seeing you interact with my work! Receiving requests, comments, reblog notifications and new followers are my absolute favorite part of the day!
I’m an absolute Potterhead! And love a good sitcom!
Summary: For years you and Logan existed in a fragile, nameless space right on the edge of friendship and something much more dangerous.
Warnings: Jealous Logan, a teeny tiny bit of angst, a beautiful rom-com moment at the end (my favs).
A/n: Whoops. I took my sweet time on this one, but it might be one of my favorites yet.
Word Count: 2.9K
The first time someone asked if you and Logan were dating, you were only sixteen, sitting on the hood of his beat-up sedan with grease on your fingers and the Friday night lights fading out behind the stadium. The second time, a year later at a breathless post-game house party, you laughed it off so hard you choked on your drink. By the third time, Logan didn’t even look up from unlacing his skates, merely rolling his eyes and muttering a dry, “Get a new question, man.”
By the hundredth time, the denial didn’t even form on your lips. Neither of you bothered correcting anyone anymore, not because the rumors had finally transitioned into truth, but because trying to articulate the heavy, nameless gravity between you felt entirely impossible. You existed in a fragile, unmapped territory somewhere past friendship, right on the precipice of something neither of you was brave enough to voice.
You were simply the permanent fixture in his universe. You were there at every grueling early-morning practice, every away-game road trip send-off in the freezing rain, every throat-raw victory celebration, and every crushing, silent loss. And without fail, Logan was always looking for you. You noticed it long before you ever admitted it to yourself—the instinctual way his eyes swept the crowded arena stands before warmups, searching until they locked onto yours, and the visible, physical relaxation that settled over his shoulders the second he found you.
He always saved you the exact same seat behind the glass. He texted you the second he stepped off the ice, win or lose. You had woven yourself directly into the fabric of his routine, and somewhere along the execution of those daily habits, he had become yours. The terrifying problem with routines is that they are deceptive; one day they stop feeling like comfortable safety nets and start feeling a whole lot like love. But you both kept your mouths shut, letting years bleed into one another, fiercely pretending nothing was changing.
At least, that was the lie you lived by until Ethan arrived. He wasn’t a hockey player; he was a guy from your advanced economics lecture who possessed a quick, confident humor and a total lack of hesitation—the kind of guy who looked at you like he already knew exactly what he wanted from his life, and apparently, that something was you.
The first time Ethan asked for your number, Logan was standing less than a foot away, leaning against the locker room corridor wall. You hadn’t thought much of the casual interaction, but Logan clearly had. The sudden, dark shift in his expression happened so fast that anyone else would have missed it entirely, but you knew every shifting shade of Logan’s silence, every variation of his anger. This was a brand-new version: raw and possessive.
“He seems like a nice guy,” Ethan noted with a parting smile after you typed your digits into his phone. The exact second the heavy exit doors clicked shut behind him, Logan let out a harsh, mocking scoff.
You blinked, turning your full attention to him. “What?”
“Nothing,” Logan said smoothly, staring straight ahead as if he hadn't just radiated pure hostility.
“That was absolutely not a nothing scoff, Logan. I know your scoffs.”
“It was fundamentally, entirely a nothing scoff,” he insisted, his jaw tightening into a hard, rigid line as he gripped his hockey bag a little tighter.
You narrowed your eyes, stepping into his line of sight. “You are being entirely impossible right now.”
He finally looked down at you, his dark eyes intense and unreadable. “No argument there.”
That fleeting friction should have been the end of it, but over the next few weeks, Logan transformed into someone you barely recognized. He became an absolute pain in the ass to be around—short-tempered, perpetually grumpy, and visibly annoyed by the mere concept of the universe. Especially when that concept involved Ethan.
Every single time Ethan’s name was even casually dropped in conversation, Logan would abruptly find an excuse to leave the room, pick a completely unrelated argument, or snap at his teammates. It reached such a volatile peak that even the rest of the defensive line started picking up on the tension.
“Look, man,” one of his linesmates joked loudly during a water break at practice, wiping sweat from his forehead. “I’ve seen you check guys into the boards at sixty miles an hour, but I’ve never seen you actually detest a regular civilian this much. What did the guy do, steal your dog?”
Logan glared at him with enough heat to melt the ice beneath his blades. “I don’t hate the guy. I don’t think about him at all.”
“Right, and I’m playing for the Rangers next season. You absolutely hate his guts.” The teammate laughed, skating away, leaving Logan brooding in the center of the rink. Up in the quiet stands, your chest tightened with a strange, twisting confusion because none of this math was adding up.
The breaking point waited until late that Thursday night, long after the arena had emptied and the harsh overhead stadium lights had been dialed down to a dim, echoing twilight. You were waiting on the bench near the empty locker room corridor when Logan finally emerged, his dark hair still damp from the shower, his heavy canvas duffel slung carelessly over his shoulder. Normally, his face would soften the moment he spotted you waiting. Tonight, his features remained entirely guarded.
You stood up, crossing your arms tightly over your chest to keep from shaking. “What is your actual problem lately, Logan? And don’t you dare give me the silent treatment.”
He didn't even look surprised by the confrontation. He just stopped walking, keeping a deliberate distance between you. “I don't have a problem.”
“Don’t lie to me. We don’t do that. We’ve never done that.”
“I’m not lying.”
“You are!” Irritation, hot and defensive, flared in your throat, masking the deeper ache underneath. “Every single time Ethan is even mentioned, you turn into a total monster. You act like somebody kicked your puppy, Logan. It’s exhausting.”
“Maybe I just don’t like the guy,” he snapped, his voice suddenly cutting through the quiet of the empty arena.
“Why? Give me one valid reason.”
“I don’t know, I just don’t.”
“That’s a total cop-out lie!”
His eyes flashed with a sudden, volatile spark, his composure fracturing right in front of you. “Why do you even care so much? Why does it matter to you what I think about him?” The raw question hit you like a physical blow, knocking the breath right out of your lungs.
You stared at him, your voice dropping to an incredulous whisper. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“No, Logan, you don’t get to do that. Explain it to me,” you demanded, stepping closer, your own anger rising to meet his. “Explain why you’re treating me like an enemy.”
His frustration finally erupted, spilling over the edges of his control. “Maybe because every single time I look over lately, he’s there! Every time I look for you, he’s taking up space that isn't his!”
Your heartbeat stumbled violently, a chaotic rhythm in your ears. “What does that even mean?”
“It means he’s always around you,” Logan growled, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.
“And? I'm allowed to talk to people, Logan. He's a friend.”
“And I don’t like it!”
You let out a sharp, breathless, disbelieving laugh, throwing your hands up. “Well, that sounds like a personal problem, because it's definitely not my problem.”
“No,” Logan said softly, the sudden, quiet vulnerability in his voice stopping you cold. He looked down at the concrete floor, his shoulders slumping. “No, apparently it’s not.” The sheer, unadulterated hurt behind those words caught you completely off guard, stripping away all your anger in a single second. For a long, agonizing moment, neither of you spoke. The silence between you felt heavy, fragile, and incredibly dangerous.
You shook your head, trying to clear the fog of confusion. “You’re being entirely ridiculous.”
His eyes hardened again as he looked back up, a desperate wall snapping back into place. “Maybe I am.”
“Maybe?”
“Maybe I’m just tired of standing on the sidelines watching it happen.” The words hung in the chilly air between you, packed with an unspoken weight that made it hard to breathe.
“What are you talking about, Logan?” your voice trembled, begging him to just say it.
But Logan just looked away, breaking eye contact entirely. And somehow, that specific rejection hurt worse than any shout could have. Because for years, through every storm of your life, he had always looked at you. Always. Until right now. You swallowed down the lump of tears forming in your throat, feeling a cold finality settle over you. If he was going to shut you out after all this time, you weren't going to beg.
“Whatever, Logan.” You turned on your heel, grabbed your bag, and walked away, the sound of your shoes echoing like gunshots down the hall.
Outside, the sky had completely given way to a torrential downpour, cold rain hammering violently against the asphalt. It was the kind of relentless, freezing storm that soaked through layers of fabric in a matter of seconds, but as you stepped out from under the awning, you barely even registered the cold. Your chest ached with a physical intensity that terrified you, your eyes burning with hot tears you refused to let fall. The thought of Logan standing back there in the dark, choosing to hold onto his stubborn pride rather than tell you the truth, felt entirely unbearable.
So you kept walking. One block. Then two. The rain drenched your hair, plastering it to your face, soaking through your jacket and shoes until you were shivering, but you just kept moving.
“Y/N!”
You froze on the sidewalk, your heart immediately betraying you, leaping into your throat. You knew that voice better than your own heartbeat.
“Y/N, stop! Please!”
He was closer this time, his voice strained. You turned around slowly, and there he was—running through the sheets of pouring rain, abandoning his truck, abandoning his gear, just running toward you. The sheer sight of him chasing you down a deserted, dark street nearly stole the remaining air from your lungs. Logan finally reached you, skidding to a halt on the wet pavement, breathing in ragged, heavy gasps.
Water was dripping heavily from his dark hair, his shirt completely plastered to the broad planes of his chest as it rose and fell rapidly. For several seconds, neither of you said a word, the deafening roar of the downpour filling the vast space between you.
“What are you doing?” you finally whispered, your voice breaking through the rain.
His dark eyes locked onto yours with an intensity so fierce, so devastatingly consuming, it made your stomach twist into knots. “Because you walked away.”
Your throat tightened to the point of pain. “So? You wanted me to.”
His laugh was completely humorless, a desperate, broken sound. “So?”
You shrugged your soaked shoulders, the anger and confusion rushing back in to protect you from the hurt. “Yeah, Logan. So? You made it perfectly clear you didn't want to talk to me.”
Logan took a heavy step closer, closing the distance until you could feel the heat radiating off his skin despite the freezing rain. “Because I couldn’t just let you leave like that. I couldn't let you walk away from me.”
Your breath caught, the entire storm suddenly fading into absolute background noise. “Why?”
His jaw tightened, and you could practically see the agonizing war raging inside his mind—the violent struggle against every unspoken word, every buried feeling, and the weight of years spent keeping secrets from the one person who knew him best. You took another step toward him, your wet shoes splashing in the puddles, pushing him to the edge. “Why do you care so much, Logan? Just tell me!”
A devastating, heavy silence fell over the sidewalk. The kind of silence that marks a definitive before and after in a life. Logan stared down at you, the rain dripping down his pale face, his eyes searching yours with a terrifying vulnerability. And in that quiet second, you realized he wasn’t angry at all. He looked completely, utterly terrified. As if giving you the real answer might completely ruin him.
Then, his voice cracked against the wind. “Because I’m in love with you.”
Your heart stopped. The world stopped. Every single moving piece of the universe ground to a sudden, violent halt—the rain, the streetlights, the distant traffic, the very air in your lungs. All of it simply ceased to exist, leaving nothing but him and those five words echoing in your mind. *Because I’m in love with you.*
Logan swallowed hard, his hands trembling slightly as he reached out, then dropped them back to his sides. “I’ve been completely in love with you for months. God, probably years. I tried so hard not to be.” He let out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh, shaking his head as tears mixed with the rainwater on his cheeks. “I tried to ignore it. I tried to tell myself that what we had was enough, that I shouldn't risk losing my best friend. But then that guy showed up, looking at you like he had the right to love you, and suddenly I couldn’t stand the thought of watching someone else get the only thing I’ve ever wanted my entire life.”
You couldn't breathe, your eyes burning as you watched his face fracture with total defeat. Logan looked away from you then, staring out at the empty street as if he couldn’t bear to see the rejection he assumed was coming. As if he believed he had just permanently destroyed the only relationship that mattered to him.
“Just... forget it,” his voice dropped to a quiet, broken whisper. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.” He took a slow step backward, away from you. Then another.
A sudden, sharp panic flared in your chest. He was leaving. After years of dreaming about this exact moment, after years of quietly breaking your own heart for him, he actually believed you didn't feel the same. You didn't even think. You lunged forward, reaching out with both hands to grab the wet fabric of his jacket, and pulled him down into a kiss.
Logan froze entirely against your lips for one breathtaking, agonizing second, his mind trying to process the sudden shift. Then, with a low, desperate sound in the back of his throat, he kissed you back. He kissed you like he had been starving for years, like he had replayed this exact moment a thousand times behind closed eyes, like he had finally, completely stopped holding himself back.
His large hand found your waist, pulling you flush against him, while your fingers tangled deep into his wet hair. The rain continued to pour around you, drenching you both to the bone, but neither of you noticed. Nothing else existed on the planet except the warmth of his mouth, the solid weight of his hands, and the overwhelming, beautiful reality of *finally*.
When you both finally pulled apart for air, you were both completely breathless, staring at one another in the dim light of the streetlamps. A sudden, hysterical mixture of smiles and breathless laughter broke through the tension, both of you a little stunned, a little overwhelmed, and entirely happy.
Then, Logan’s brow suddenly furrowed into a deep, familiar frown. You blinked, wiping water from your eyes. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“You’re absolutely freezing,” he said, his protective instincts kicking right back in as he noticed your shoulders shivering.
You let out a loud laugh, shaking your head. “Are you seriously doing this right now?”
“Y/N, I'm serious.” He immediately grabbed your hand, his warm fingers locking firmly between yours as he began leading you back toward the shelter of his truck parked down the block. “Your lips are blue. You are absolutely going to get sick.”
“Logan, you literally just confessed your undying love to me in a cinematic downpour.”
“And?”
“And your primary concern right now is my immune system?”
He paused, looking back over his shoulder at you, a soft, incredibly tender smile breaking through his serious expression. “Both can be true at the same time.”
You laughed so hard your stomach actually ached, the lingering weight of the last few weeks completely evaporating into the night. Logan looked down at you then, his eyes filled with that familiar, steady devotion he had always given you—only now, without the fear, you finally understood exactly what that look meant. It was love. Deep, unyielding, and incredibly simple. He squeezed your hand tightly, pulling you against his side as you walked.
“I really do love you,” he murmured into your hair.
You smiled up at him, the rain no longer feeling cold at all. “I know.”
His eyebrows lifted in amusement. “Oh, you know?”
“Of course I know. I love you too, you idiot.”
The massive, unburdened grin that spread across Logan's face in that moment was worth every single painful second it took to get there. And later, as his truck heater blasted warm air over your shivering skin, his right hand firmly resting over yours on the center console while he drove you home, neither of you could stop smiling. Because after years of painful almosts and silent longing, you had finally stepped across the line into something real.
Part two of something to take the edge off please!!!
Something TWO take the edge off
Pairing: Dean Di Laurentis x coach's goddaugther!reader
⟡ Main Index | ⟡ Archive for Earth-66
⟡ Here's part 1!! Something to take the edge off
a/n: Fun-not so fun-fact, I was 6k words deep into the first version before I scrapped the whole thing and restarted. So here's V2 I really hope it was worth the wait! Please like and reblog if you liked it, it means a lot to us writers 🤍
Summary: Once is an accident, twice is a coincidence and three…what was three again? The line between forbidden and inevitable keeps blurring as Dean and you, his coach’s off-limits goddaughter give in again and again.
Classification: Smut +18 | Forbidden/secret romance (hockey player + coach’s goddaughter), several detailed and long sex scenes, including oral sex/cunnilingus, fingering, unprotected vaginal penetration, orgasm description and bodily fluids, creampie and nipple play, dirty talk and sexual teasing, sensory deprivation, consensual power play/dominance and submission dynamics, mouth stuffing, possessive language and behavior during sex, risk of being caught/semi-public sex with authority figure nearby, emotional conflict, avoidance and denial around attraction.
Word count: 12,2k
Divider by me ;)
You were having an exceptionally difficult time not thinking about that night.
Three days had passed, which was long enough for embarrassment to settle in and for common sense to reappear, for you to convince yourself that perhaps your memory had exaggerated certain details. Maybe the tension hadn’t been quite as intense as you remembered, maybe the look in Dean’s eyes had meant less and maybe the entire thing had only felt significant because it had been built on months of denial.
The problem was that every time you tried to convince yourself of that, reality immediately disagreed.
You didn’t regret it and judging by the steady stream of texts sitting unanswered in your phone, Dean didn’t either but you couldn’t answer him…shouldn’t.
Every single vibration in your pocket made your stomach tighten before you even looked at the screen. His messages ranged from annoying to shameless to surprisingly genuine, each one making it harder to maintain the distance you’d spent months carefully constructing. So you avoided him, the rink, the locker room and every hallway he regularly occupied.
You had already cut your time around the team nearly in half, showing up long before practice began or lingering hours after everyone else had left. It wasn’t sustainable and you knew it, because sooner or later people would notice, the players would definitely notice and your godfather?
Your godfather noticed everything, that thought alone made your eye twitch.
Whenever your personal life became complicated, you always retreated toward certainty, toward things with rules, deadlines and clear answers, meaning you buried yourself beneath coursework. Exam season was approaching fast enough to justify the obsession and soon most of your days were spent hidden in forgotten corners of the library, surrounded by textbooks, highlighters and half-empty coffee cups. It was easier there and safer.
At least it should have been.
Instead, you found yourself staring at pages without absorbing a single sentence as words dissolved into memories and paragraphs transformed into flashes of Dean sitting across from you in his room and the unbearable awareness of each other hanging between you from the second you’d climbed through that window.
You squeezed your pen harder as a line of ink dragged crookedly across your notes.
Some stubborn part of you still admired the restraint the two of you had managed that night. After months of wanting, avoiding and pretending, things could have spiraled much further than they had but another part of you, one you tried very hard not to acknowledge, resented that restraint entirely because taking the edge off hadn’t solved anything.
It had only confirmed what you’d spent months trying not to admit. This wasn’t temporary and it wasn’t a simple crush, it was attraction that wouldn’t simply go away.
“Psst.”
Your pen continued moving automatically across the page. You focused on the music playing through your headphones and on the sentence in front of you…Well, you actually just tried to focus on literally anything except your own thoughts.
“Psst.”
You frowned. The sentence you were copying suddenly looked wrong, very wrong. Your eyes scanned it again and half the words were misspelled while the other half appeared to belong to entirely different paragraphs. You stared at the mess in genuine disbelief because never in your entire life had you been this distracted.
Suddenly, a tiny paper ball landed directly on top of your notebook.
You blinked slowly at it before looking up. The library stretched quietly around you, rows of shelves creating narrow aisles in every direction. Several students nearby were already looking annoyed, though at what exactly you couldn’t tell.
You pulled one side of your headphones off and only heard silence, then…“Psst!”
This time you heard it clearly and your head turned toward the source. You watched as two thick books moved apart on a shelf several rows away to reveal a familiar face squeezed between them.
It sported a grin, dimples and far too much confidence…Dean. His eyes lit up the second he realized you’d spotted him and his grin somehow grew wider.
You stared at him as he stared back but neither of you moved, then Dean lifted a hand and gave you an absurdly enthusiastic little wave through the gap between the books and your stupid heart betrayed you, because after three days of successfully avoiding him everywhere else on campus, the last place you’d expected him to find you was your hiding spot and judging by the victorious look on his face, he knew it.
Reluctantly, you pushed your chair back and stood. The legs scraped softly against the library floor, earning another irritated glance from a nearby student which you ignored. Your notebook remained open on the desk with highlighters scattered around it and headphones abandoned beside a coffee that had long since gone cold. For a second you considered grabbing your things and making a run for it until you looked through the gap in the shelves again.
Dean was still standing there, grinning and entirely too pleased with himself…which ultimately made you regret getting up at all.
Weaving through the rows of books, you kept your pace quick and your expression carefully neutral. Dean watched your approach openly, hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatshirt, looking entirely too comfortable for someone who had just spent several minutes terrorizing an entire section of the library.
The second you reached him, your voice dropped into a furious whisper.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Trying to get your attention.” He nodded as though the answer should have been obvious as the grin remained firmly in place.
You stared at him. “Yeah, I think you got everyone’s attention.”
His smile only widened. “Mission accomplished then.”
“Dean.” You lowered your voice even further. “What do you want?”
“Hmm.” He tilted his head thoughtfully, extending his fingers one by one as though consulting a very serious list. “Let’s see. I’d like you to talk to me. I’d like you to text me back. I’d also like you to stop hiding from what we did.”
“Shh!” The sound came out much harsher than intended and before he could continue, your hand covered his mouth. You grabbed his sleeve with your free hand and dragged him farther between the shelves, away from the study tables and unsuspecting students trying to finish their assignments.
The last thing you needed was Dean casually announcing your personal business in the middle of the library.
“Keep your voice down,” you hissed.
His eyes danced with amusement above your hand.
“We didn’t do anything.”
His brows shot upward as he started speaking into your palm. You felt the vibration of the words before realizing exactly what position you’d put yourself in and your hand disappeared from his face so quickly it almost looked like you’d been burned.
Dean inhaled dramatically.
“You demonstrated it just now,” he informed you. “Except your fingers were sweeter and wet too…you also forgot the part where you kissed the back of your hand afterward and then vanished off the face of the earth.”
You folded your arms. “If you need a sequel to the second half, feel free to call action right now.” You tilted your head slightly. “I’m excellent at improvisation.”
You watched every stage of his suffering pass across his face in real time. Disbelief, then annoyance…followed by resignation and mild murderous intent…but still, no regret. By the end of it, Dean physically looked like he was restraining himself from rolling his eyes.
“You’re impossible.”
“Thank you.”
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
“Sucks, cause it sounded like one…maybe try smiling a lot less.”
Dean exhaled heavily through his nose before grabbing your forearm and steering you away from the shelves.
You barely had time to protest before he was guiding you toward the nearest side exit.
“Wait, Dean–”
“Nope.”
“Dean.”
“It’s still ‘no’.”
The emergency door opened with a metallic click and cool air rushed in from the stairwell beyond, only then did his hand settle briefly against the small of your back as he ushered you through ahead of him.
“You’re hilarious, by the way,” he said dryly. “Have you ever considered stand-up comedy?”
There wasn’t a single trace of amusement in his voice.
You smiled teasingly. “Could never make a bigger joke than you.”
The door swung shut behind both of you with a heavy thud and silence followed. The stairwell was empty, stone walls echoing faintly with distant footsteps from other floors.
Dean stopped on the landing and stared at you. “You really are a pain in my ass.”
“Then what are you doing here?” You descended several steps instinctively, creating distance before he could close it.
Dean followed to remain close. Then he continued farther down until he stood a few stairs below your position. For once, the difference in height disappeared, you found yourself looking directly into his eyes without having to crane your neck.
You crossed your arms tightly across your chest, only then did you notice what he’d done. He wasn’t standing there accidentally, he had positioned himself between you and the lower exit.
The realization earned him a narrowed look which he promptly ignored completely.
“I’ve been thinking.”
You groaned theatrically. “Oh, great. The world’s ending.” His eyes closed briefly so you continued anyway. “I can’t spell basic words anymore and Dean Di Laurentis has finally managed to make two brain cells rub together. Truly historic.”
“Well.” A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “One of us has to keep the ship from sinking.”
“I think you can stop…I’m a great swimmer.”
Dean pointed toward you. “See? That.”
“What?”
“That thing you do to deflect. Can you stop for five seconds? Jesus.”
You looked entirely too pleased with yourself while Dean looked entirely…too tired. The words weren’t harsh, if anything, they sounded exhausted. He planted his hands on his hips and looked away briefly before returning his attention to you.
The smile had faded and so had the teasing. For the first time since he’d appeared in the library, he looked genuinely nervous. His jaw shifted once, then again like he was carefully choosing every word before saying them.
“We fucked up, Dean.” The words came out quieter than you intended, stripped of most of their bite by exhaustion. You tightened your arms across your chest and leaned back slightly against the railing beside you. “I’m trying to go back to normal.”
“Well, it’s not working.” Dean shook his head.
The grin he’d been carrying around since ambushing you in the library was far gone. His hands dropped from his hips, frustration slipping through the cracks of his composure. He looked at you for a long moment before speaking again, searching your face like he was trying to find the version of you that hadn’t spent the last three days dodging him.
“You being mean right now, it’s…” He exhaled heavily through his nose. “It’s not helping, okay?”
His eyes stayed fixed on yours as you forced yourself to hold the gaze. That had to be safer because looking anywhere else felt dangerous while looking lower felt…even worse.
The memory of his bedroom was already doing enough damage without additional help.
“I’m not looking,” you said quietly.
The corner of Dean’s mouth twitched despite himself and the growing tent in his pants. “I’d rather you didn’t…it’s getting embarrassing."
His voice softened noticeably but the next sentence only made your face twist further.
“Didn’t know it was that hard cleaning cum stains out of dark fabric.”
“Dean.” You looked genuinely horrified. “Can we not talk about it?”
His expression changed from amusement to disbelief so quickly it almost gave you whiplash.
“I can’t!” The words bounced around the stone stairwell loudly. He ran a hand through his hair afterward, visibly frustrated with both the conversation and himself. Three days of unanswered messages, three days of avoidance and three days of pretending nothing had happened had clearly pushed him well past whatever limit he’d been trying to maintain.
Your stomach dropped and your eyes widened. “Did you tell someone?” You stepped down another stair before pointing an accusing finger directly at him. “Dean, I swear if you–”
“I didn’t tell anyone.” The interruption was calm but immediate. Dean held both hands up briefly before letting them fall again. “I talked to you about it.” His brow lifted slightly. “Which you would’ve known if you’d read my texts.”
“I told you texting me would get you blocked.” The reminder sounded weaker than you had meant for it to, mostly because both of you already knew it hadn’t happened.
Dean smiled a slow, smug smile that made you regret opening your mouth. “I’m not blocked.”
You blinked as your brain immediately began searching for a response, something clever and perhaps devastating…but unfortunately Dean moved faster.
“How can you be so sure?” you asked.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he reached into the pocket of his sweatshirt and pulled out his phone. Your stomach sank instantly as you watched him unlock it, type something with alarming speed, then hit send.
The silence lasted all of two seconds, then your own phone vibrated inside the back pocket of your jeans and merely a second later came the familiar notification sound.
Dean raised his eyebrows. “Do you wanna get that?”
You glared at him. “Probably my godfather,” you replied, refusing to acknowledge the obvious. “I’m having dinner at his place tonight.”
“Mm.” Dean nodded slowly, lips pressed together as though he was physically restraining a comment. Then he reached toward you, the movement was casual until his hand stopped midway when your voice cut through the stairwell.
“I could push you down these stairs.” There wasn’t a shred of conviction behind the threat, Dean noticed that much.
“You’d do anything for an excuse to kiss me better.” His response came just as quiet, just as effortless.
Before you could even formulate a comeback, his fingers slipped into the back pocket of your jeans. The movement was so smooth and familiar that it made your pulse stumble as he pulled your phone free while maintaining unwavering eye contact the entire…fucking…time.
The bastard was smiling and you hated that specific victorious smile…or at least you hated that you didn’t hate it.
He tapped the screen awake and immediately began scrolling through the notifications crowding it. His grin widened when he noticed the top message was from him…and so was the one beneath it…and the one beneath that.
Dean tilted the phone slightly toward himself. “Well, look at that.” His eyes flicked upward. “Did they remove the block button?”
“Relocated, I believe.”
“Mm.” The hum lingered in his throat as he continued looking at the screen before finally lifting his gaze back to yours. The amusement was still there but beneath it sat something softer. “Didn’t try very hard, did you?”
“And you would know all about ‘hard,’ wouldn’t you?” You tilted your head slightly as you threw the comment back at him. The smile tugging at your mouth made it clear you already knew exactly what reaction it would get.
You didn’t need to look anywhere below his face to know you’d landed the hit.
Dean’s eyes narrowed.
You watched him inhale slowly through his nose and let the breath back out with visible restraint, shoulders rising and falling once beneath his sweatshirt. Then, without breaking eye contact, he slipped your phone into the front pocket of his jeans, far away from your reach and so that grabbing it back would require getting entirely too close.
The fact that he looked completely satisfied with himself afterward only made it worse but both of you knew you were stubborn enough to leave it behind and buy another one out of spite if necessary, which meant the gesture had absolutely nothing to do with the phone.
“I have a proposition.”
Your eyebrows lifted. “Do you, now?” The words came out smooth and teasing as you shifted your weight against the stair railing. “Is that what all those texts were about?”
A grin spread across his face, the one that usually meant he was about to say something deeply unnecessary. “I was texting you about how sweet you sound when you’re not making smartass comments every five seconds.” The grin widened.
“What can I say?” You shrugged. “Been spending too much time around you.”
“Not nearly enough.” The answer came too quickly like he’d been thinking it for days.
For a brief second, his eyes dropped to your mouth before returning to your gaze. The movement was small enough that most people would’ve missed it but you didn’t and neither did your pulse.
The silence stretched long enough for him to notice and for your breathing to betray you. That’s when Dean smiled to himself, victorious and deeply infuriating to you.
“You like plans,” he continued. “Rules…lists and color-coded schedules. So I’m here with a plan.”
You groaned dramatically. “Does this plan include fixing that fuck-awful interview you gave the other day?”
Hope actually crept into your voice, you still couldn’t understand how he’d managed to perform so badly. You’d written the questions and he’d picked the ones that would be asked, then somehow he’d stood in front of the camera and acted like he’d never spoken to another human being before.
Dean looked genuinely offended. “They usually go better when there’s someone else behind the camera asking them.”
You stared at him and he stared right back, neither of you budged.
“What? Are you hard of hearing? Should I have asked them to speak louder?” you finally asked.
His grin returned. “Been hearing just fine.” He paused. “I’ve just been distracted lately.”
You closed your eyes briefly, he just couldn’t help himself. “What is your plan, Dean?”
The question came out flatter this time, because every second this conversation continued, your imagination became increasingly unhelpful. The enclosed stairwell wasn’t helping either, nor was the fact that Dean had somehow positioned himself close enough to matter while still maintaining enough distance to pretend he wasn’t doing it intentionally.
“It’s simple.” His hands slid into his pockets and his shoulders relaxed. The expression on his face said he believed he’d just solved a major international crisis. “Once is an accident, twice is coincidence…and three times is a pattern.”
You already hated where this was going but Dean continued anyway. “Which means we can screw up twice and still be fine.”
For a second, you simply stared at him, then you laughed in his face, a sharp sound that bounced off the stone walls around you.
“Have you ever heard the phrase ‘don’t jump to conclusions’?”
His grin remained firmly intact. “Maybe.”
“Because right now it feels like you backflipped into one.” You pointed at him. “Several, actually…and I thought skating was your thing.”
Dean looked entirely unapologetic, the smile threatening at the corner of his mouth told you he was enjoying this far more than he should have and unfortunately, the fact that you were smiling too made it very difficult to claim otherwise.
Dean nodded reluctantly and the eye roll still came anyway. He knew perfectly well you were right. His argument had several holes in it, most of them large enough to drive a truck through but he wasn’t ready to abandon it yet.
“It still makes sense,” he insisted. “Think about it.”
“No, you think about it.” You folded your arms tighter across your chest. “We’ve technically already fucked once…remember?”
His entire face twisted and a dramatic sigh left him as he looked away toward the stone walls, blowing out a breath through pursed lips before turning back to you.
“That’s–” He pointed vaguely between the two of you. “That was a sample.”
You blinked. “A sample.”
“Yes.” The confidence alone nearly made you laugh. “You don’t walk into an ice cream shop and immediately buy a whole cup of some new flavor,” he explained, gesturing with his hands as though this was a perfectly reasonable comparison. “You sample it first.”
His shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Or at least stare at it through the glass deciding if it’s worth the commitment...which was what we did.”
Your eyes narrowed. “Who’s the ice cream in this scenario?”
A grin spread across his face so quickly it almost looked painful. “I lick spoons clean when I’m done.” He nodded once, entirely pleased with himself. “You’ll figure it out soon.”
“Dean.” His name came out as a warning.
Dean immediately raised both hands in surrender. “Okay, okay.” But the grin remained. “The saying applies to penetrative sex.”
You continued staring.
“And maybe some of the other stuff too,” he added. “But then the numbers start adding up really fast and–”
“That’s just greedy.”
“I thought so too.” He nodded in agreement as the conversation stalled.
The teasing was entirely gone and the stairwell grew quiet again. Somewhere several floors below, a door opened and closed while distant voices echoed briefly before disappearing.
Dean glanced down at his shoes as you watched him. He looked back up a second later and found your eyes already on him.
The sight alone softened something in his expression. “What do you say?” The question was quiet and careful.
You exhaled slowly and looked away first, turning toward the window beside the stairs. Late afternoon sunlight filtered through the glass, casting pale strips of light across the stone steps.
“The off-limits thing wasn’t my idea.” Your voice was softer now. “And it’s fucking ridiculous.”
Dean nodded without hesitation. “I agree.”
“And so’s this.”
“I agree with that too.”
That earned the smallest smile from you, when you looked back at him, neither of you spoke for a few seconds. The silence felt different, it was less defensive, the fragile sort that appeared whenever honesty slipped into the conversation by accident.
“But?” Dean asked it before you could stop yourself from smiling.
“But,” you echoed, it made his attention sharpen quickly. “I guess I could entertain the thought for a little while.” His grin appeared before you’d even finished speaking and you rolled your eyes. “I mean, I should probably give you credit.”
Dean straightened slightly. “For?”
“Allegedly using whatever’s underneath all that hair.”
His smile widened instantly as he teasingly tilted his head, lowering his already soft tone. “Just promise you won’t pull too hard.”
You laughed. “Only if you promise to make it worth my while.” The answer came with a smile neither of you bothered hiding.
Dean nodded firmly as the confidence returned, his brows lifted. “A kiss to seal the deal?”
The hopeful look accompanying the question was almost embarrassing…almost.
You stepped down one stair, then another while Dean’s attention followed every movement and by the time you stopped, barely any distance remained between you.
You were close enough to notice the faint stubble shadowing his jaw and to see the way anticipation had already settled behind his eyes. You held his gaze the entire time as your hand slipped into the front pocket of his jeans.
Dean’s breath caught, the reaction was so clearly involuntary that it made your mouth twitch. Your fingers searched briefly before finding what you’d come for, the phone…and nothing else but still, they grazed the tip of his hardening cock, feeling it twitch in its restrained state before you wrapped your hand around the phone and slowly pulled it free.
“I think,” you said quietly, lifting the device between you both, “you need to find something better to do.”
His eyes dropped briefly toward your mouth before returning to yours. “Nothing better than you.”
For a moment neither of you moved but eventually, you carefully stepped back, one step…then another and one more as the distance returned slowly.
You watched Dean remain exactly where he was, looking up at you with entirely too much confidence and not nearly enough concern for his own well-being.
Shaking your head, you turned toward the library door. “See you around, Di Laurentis.”
You pushed the library door open without looking back, already stepping into the familiar hush of turning pages and whispered conversations.
Behind you, Dean let out a quiet breathy laugh. “Oh, yes you will.”
The confidence in his voice followed you through the doorway and you hated how easily it made you smile.
Once must be an accident…
The first time happened at the training center, which was undeniably your first real act of rebellion.
The building had mostly emptied hours ago. Practice was over, meetings were done and the endless stream of athletes, trainers and staff had long disappeared into the night. Only a handful of overhead lights remained on, casting warm pools of light across the otherwise dark hallways. The polished floors reflected every movement, every shadow and sound, including yours.
Your laughter echoed loudly through the corridor as you walked beside your godfather, bouncing off the high ceilings and glass office walls. It was the sort of laugh that came easily around him, unfiltered and familiar after decades of shared history.
He shook his head as he laughed too.
“You were such trouble,” he said. “And I knew it would only get worse the second you started walking.”
You shrugged dramatically. “You still keep me around. I’d say you’ve had plenty of years to fix it and decided not to.”
“That was my first mistake.”
“Probably.”
He snorted. The smile never left his face as he circled an arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer for a brief side hug. The gesture was automatic, practiced through years of scraped knees, school events, birthdays and every other milestone in between.
“Nobody else around here benefits from nepotism quite like you do.”
Your laugh burst out immediately. “Wow.”
“Hey, you know it’s true.”
“You actually said it out loud. That’s…wow.”
That only made him laugh harder. “You’re good at what you do,” he continued. “You’re passionate about it. You work harder than most people in this building and half the ideas the department uses come from you.”
“Aw.”
“Besides,” he added casually, “I apply a family discount to your paychecks.”
You gasped so dramatically that he nearly stumbled laughing. Pushing him away, you stared at him in mock horror. “Are you serious?”
His head tipped back as the sound of his laughter filled the hallway. “Your college housing is free,” he reminded you. “You could move in with me and your aunt tomorrow and be a ten minute drive from campus…I also paid for your car.”
You opened your mouth to speak but he kept going. “You have a weekly allowance too…What exactly are you struggling with here?”
“How about that family discount turns into a promotion with benefits?”
His grin widened. “You mean more money.”
“It’s the only language you speak.” You pointed at him. “Don’t act surprised.”
He scoffed. “I speak plenty of languages.”
“No. You speak hockey and money.”
“That’s two.”
“Barely.” You continued walking together, your footsteps echoing softly through the corridor. “If I start calling you Coach Jensen in front of the guys instead of all the ridiculous nicknames I gave you growing up,” you offered, “would that help my chances?”
“Oh, never that.” His response was immediate as genuine horror crossed his face and you laughed. “No amount of money is worth that.”
“See? Promotion worthy answer.”
“Not happening.” He shook his head.
The two of you continued down the hall, passing framed team photographs and championship banners hanging behind glass displays. Most of them had been there for years. Some of them included players who were now professional athletes and others included kids he’d coached before you’d even started high school.
Then his expression softened slightly. “The rest of that money’s invested, by the way.”
You glanced over. “What money?”
“The money you’re constantly trying to get out of me.”
“Oh.”
“It’s sitting in an account collecting interest.” His shoulder bumped yours lightly. “It’ll do you a lot more good when you finally leave the nest.”
You grimaced. “Who says I’m ever leaving?” His brows lifted in curiosity so you continued. “Nepotism’s nice,” you informed him. “It’s comfortable…It offers a very soft life.”
That earned a quiet chuckle as he looked at you for a moment, observing and thinking, though it wasn’t difficult to guess where his thoughts had gone. The subject had come up before, of the assumptions and the advantages that came with being connected to him.
You’d spent years hearing variations of the same concerns.
He cleared his throat. “Nobody giving you a hard time about that?” The question was casual but the concern underneath wasn’t.
You shook your head. “Your boys are good.” A small smile tugged at your lips. “I’d say they’re nicer than most people give them credit for.”
His expression softened. “And outside this building?”
You shrugged. “I’m not sure many people even know.” Then you smiled slightly. “And if they do, I don’t really care.”
His eyes narrowed with suspicion.
“I mean it…I’m a grown woman. I can handle someone being annoying.”
The look he gave you said he wasn’t entirely convinced. “You’re still my kid…you’re still my responsibility.” You looked away first because the sincerity always got to you.
“If something happens,” he continued, “you come to me. I don’t care who it is.” He pointed down the hallway as if the guilty party might suddenly appear. “Anybody gives you trouble, I deal with it.” His jaw tightened slightly. “Especially if it’s one of my players.”
Your heartbeat picked up immediately for reasons that had absolutely nothing to do with the conversation. You focused very hard on the floor as you walked. “Right.”
“You hear me?”
You nodded slowly. “Yeah.”
Unfortunately, all you could think about was Dean, about stairwells, text messages, plans and about how catastrophically this conversation could go if Coach Jensen ever discovered what had been happening.
“You give really good fake-dad speeches.”
He snorted. “Fake?”
“Adoptive.”
“That’s better.”
You hesitated. “Hypothetically…”
His eyes narrowed as he looked at you and you instantly regretted the choice of words.
“Uh-oh.”
You chuckled. “There’s no uh-oh.”
“There’s definitely an uh-oh.”
“I just…” You paused, “You mean that in a ‘if someone hurts me’ way, right?”
There was absolutely no hesitation in his voice. “I’ll decide when the time comes.”
It did absolutely nothing to ease your concerns but before you could respond, he glanced down at his watch. His expression changed instantly as he stopped walking and patted one pocket, then another and finally his jacket.
“Crap.”
You stopped too as he checked all of his pockets again individually. “What’s wrong?”
“I forgot my keys in my office,” he said, already patting down his pockets once more for good measure with a quick, irritated exhale. “We’re running late and I’ve got to make a call. I wanted to do it in the car.”
“Make your call,” you replied, already stepping backward down the hallway. “I’ll go get them.”
He hesitated only a second, eyes still scanning his pockets as if willing the keys into existence.
“It might take a while. Twenty, maybe thirty minutes. Should I call you an Uber and just cancel the whole dinner?”
“No way you’re getting out of it,” you said without slowing down. “I’ll wait. I’ll just use your printer to get some work done so I can sleep in tomorrow. Call me when you’re done.”
His brow lifted slightly. “So you’re the reason I’m constantly out of ink.”
You shrugged as you kept walking. “The library charges thirteen cents per color page. I’m not made of money…color coding saves lives.”
A quiet scoff followed you down the hall. “No color coding for my favorite goddaughter. Can you imagine?”
“It’s criminal,” you called back.
He finally pulled out his phone, already thumbing through it. “Keep your phone close,” he added without looking up, voice slipping back into that habitual coaching tone. “Or you’re walking home.”
“Yes, Coach,” you replied with a lazy salute over your shoulder before turning fully toward his office.
His muttering faded behind you as he scrolled, already pulled into whatever chaos lived on his screen. You kept moving through familiar corridors, passing framed team photos and closed doors, the building quieter now than it had been all day. He had always been like that, always halfway inside something else, phone never truly out of reach, his attention constantly split between ten different responsibilities. You’d grown used to it long before you ever realized what it meant for you.
You pulled your phone out while walking, scrolling through the documents you needed to print, checking formatting and margins out of habit as you turned the last corner. The office door came into view at the end of the hall, slightly ajar.
You pushed it open enough to slip inside and nearly jolted out of your skin when two hands landed at your hips, pulling you in before your brain even caught up. Your head snapped to the side so fast your hair whipped across your cheek, breath catching hard in your throat before your eyes locked onto Dean standing right behind you.
He lifted a finger to his lips in a quick, silent shush, then guided you further inside with an ease that made your stomach drop for a second, nudging the door shut behind you with his foot.
“You motherfucker,” you hissed the moment the latch clicked and turned to face him. “I watched you leave.”
Dean’s grin was immediate, infuriatingly relaxed. “I was waiting for you in the parking lot.”
Your eyes narrowed in the dim office light as it settled properly around you. The space smelled like paper, coffee and the faint sterile edge of hockey equipment that never fully left anything he occupied. The desk behind you was cluttered, a laptop still open while folders lied stacked slightly unevenly near the edge.
“Oh, fantastic,” you muttered. “That’s not creepy at all.”
He stepped closer, still smiling. “You came to practice tonight.”
“Wow,” you replied flatly. “Anything else, Sherlock?”
His hands tightened at your hips again as he started guiding you backward without hesitation. The motion was slow, controlled, like he already knew exactly where this was going and had no interest in pretending otherwise.
“You look beautiful,” he added.
You rolled your eyes, but the words still landed. You were wearing a light summer dress. You’d kept a blanket wrapped around your shoulders during the game earlier, tucked into the rink seating, ignoring the cold while Dean had spent half the period barely paying attention to the puck.
“Yeah,” you said, voice quieter now as your back hit the edge of the desk. “I know.”
The realization of where he’d led you hit a second too late, making your breath catch again.
The desk pressed into your ass as your hands hovered uncertainly near the surface. You swallowed hard, trying to steady yourself as logic tried to catch up with instinct.
“Dean,” you started, firmly. “We don’t have time for this…You hear me? There’s no time to test the waters.”
“Good,” he simply said and with a sudden, decisive movement, he hoisted you up onto the table, the cool surface a sharp contrast to the heat radiating off his body. “I mean to taste them.”
Your eyes widened instantly. “I’m serious. He could walk in.”
“I heard you out there. We both know he’s incapable of walking and holding a professional phone conversation at the same time,” Dean said without hesitation, his tone annoyingly certain as he adjusted your position on the desk. “I’ll be fast.”
Your eyes narrowed immediately, hands bracing lightly on the edge of the desk as papers shifted beneath your palms, sliding just enough to remind you how fragile this situation actually was despite the confidence in his voice.
“I’m not walking out of here half-pleasured,” you decided flatly, holding his gaze so he understood you weren’t joking, not even slightly.
Dean didn’t even blink. “Who said you are?”
That answer only made your expression tighten further.
“Oh, so you’re just magically going to figure me out in…” you glanced down briefly at your phone screen, thumb hovering over the time without thinking. “Fifteen minutes?”
A slow, confident exhale left him.
“You’re not the only one good at observing, Hawkeye,” he said, eyes locked on yours as if the rest of the room didn’t exist at all. His hands moved again, gathering the fabric of your dress with controlled ease, the motion unhurried but so intentional that it made your breath catch slightly despite yourself.
The desk creaked faintly beneath your weight as he leaned in closer.
“Ice isn’t the only thing I’m fast on.”
He stepped closer between your thighs, his presence overwhelming and absolute. He didn't break eye contact for a single second, his gaze heavy and knowing as he reached down. You felt the sudden, firm hook of his fingers into the lace of your panties as he pulled them down slowly, the fabric sliding over your skin with an agonizing pace.
"I want you quiet," he murmured, voice a low, dangerous vibration that seemed to settle right in your gut. A smirk played on his lips. "I know how hard that is for you, so...try your hardest."
The arrogance of it sparked a flare of defiance in you. Even as your heart hammered against your ribs, you managed to bite back, "I know how to stay quiet."
Dean’s grin widened, sharp and predatory. Without a word, he bunched the fabric of your panties into a tight ball in his fist and in one swift motion, shoved them into your open mouth. The taste of your own scent and the sudden fullness of the fabric gagging you caught you off guard, forcing your jaw open and stifling any further retort.
"Just a precaution," he whispered, his eyes gleaming with triumph. "I'm keeping those after."
He sank to his knees between your legs, the movement fluid and confident. You stared down at him, chest heaving as the feeling of being gagged for the first time sent a jolt of raw, forbidden electricity through your nerves. It was humiliating and exhilarating all at once, stripping away your voice and leaving you completely vulnerable to whatever he decided to do next.
Dean leaned in, breath hot against your inner thighs before his mouth found you.
The first touch of his tongue was a revelation. He didn't fumble or guess, he hit your clit with a precision that made your entire body jerk while a muffled, desperate sound died in the back of your throat, trapped by the fabric in your mouth. He knew exactly where to go, his tongue swirling in a tight, wet circle that sent a wave of heat crashing through you.
It was toe-curling, an intensity of pleasure you hadn't known was possible. He began to suck, his lips creating a firm, vacuum-like seal around your nub, pulling it deep into his mouth. The sensation of the wet, sliding friction of his tongue combined with the rhythmic pressure of his suction was overwhelming.
You felt your face heat up, your eyes fluttering shut as you lost yourself in the sheer sensory overload. Every flick of his tongue felt like a lightning strike, vibrating through your hips and settling deep in your core. The contrast was maddening, between the silence forced upon you by the gag and the loud, screaming pleasure echoing in your mind.
Driven by a sudden, primal need for more, your hands flew to his head. You gripped his hair, fingers digging into the strands to pull him closer, wanting to fuse your body to his mouth. Dean noticed the second you grabbed him and a low hum of satisfaction vibrated from his throat and directly into your sensitive flesh. He leaned into the pressure, increasing the pace, tongue working with a relentless, expert rhythm.
He was sucking you with a hunger that matched your own, his mouth wet and warm, creating a sloppy, sliding sound that filled the quiet of the room. You could feel the moisture coating you, the slickness of his saliva making every stroke of his tongue feel even more immersive.
As you sat there, gagged and trembling, you hated how right this felt. You hated that the agonizing wait, the teasing and the verbal sparring had all led to this exact moment of surrender. The confidence he radiated and the way he took control without a shred of doubt, was intoxicating. You were trapped in a cycle of intense anticipation and shattering satisfaction, your body humming like a live wire, desperate for a release that he was intentionally, cruelly delaying.
Dean didn't let up for a second, his tongue becoming a weapon of pure pleasure. He shifted his angle, pressing his face deeper into your pussy, nose brushing against your folds as he focused entirely on your clit. He began to use the flat of his tongue, delivering long, slow and wet strokes from the bottom of your opening all the way up to the peak of your nub, coating you in a thick layer of saliva that made every movement slide with effortless, slick friction.
The sensation was agonizingly perfect. You felt your thighs tremble, your muscles twitching involuntarily as he alternated between those broad, sweeping licks and sharp, pinpoint flicks of his tongue. He was playing you like an instrument, knowing exactly how to build the tension without letting you break. Every time you felt yourself tipping toward the edge, he would slow down, swirling his tongue in a teasing, lazy circle that left you whimpering into the fabric of your panties.
The gag in your mouth felt heavier now, the taste of yourself mixing with the heat of your breath, turning your muffled moans into desperate, nasal whines. Your head fell back, eyes rolling back as you focused on the wet, sloppy sounds of his tongue working between your legs.
He suddenly increased the intensity, tongue hardening and darting rapidly against your clit in a blurring rhythm. It was a relentless assault of pleasure, a rhythmic drumming that sent sparks flying behind your eyelids. You gripped his hair even tighter, knuckles lightening, pulling his face harder against your pussy, almost begging him with your body to never stop.
He responded by sucking you back in, lips creating a tighter, powerful seal that pulled your clit between his teeth. He sucked with a rhythmic, pulsing force and it soon felt like it was drawing the very soul out of you. You could feel the constant vibration of his throat as he let out a low, muffled growl against your skin, his confidence radiating through the sheer dominance of his technique.
You were floating in a sea of heat and wetness, your entire world narrowing down to the point where his mouth met your flesh. You were drenched, your own juices mixing with his spit, making the encounter sound wet and filthy.
He teased you, pulling back just a fraction of an inch to let the cool air hit your wet skin before diving back in with a sudden, deep lick that made you gasp into the gag. He was prolonging the torture, savoring the way your body shook under his control. He knew you were desperate, knew you were hovering on the precipice of something shattering and he took a sadistic pleasure in keeping you right there, suspended in a state of pure, unadulterated arousal.
Dean soon felt you trembling, body vibrating with a tension that had become almost unbearable. He knew you were balanced on a razor's edge and with a predatory glint in his eyes, he finally decided to push you over. While his tongue continued to swirl and flick against your swollen clit, he slid two fingers deep into your soaking wet pussy.
The sudden intrusion nearly broke you. The feeling of him filling you, stretching your tight walls while his tongue relentlessly hammered your nub, was an overload of sensation that shattered your composure. Your shoulders began to shake, chest heaving as you fought for air through your nose. Your eyes forced shut, the world disappearing into a haze of white-hot pleasure and you bit down on the fabric of your panties with everything you had, jaw aching as you muffled screams of ecstasy into the gag.
He didn't let you fall yet. He kept you right there, at the agonizing precipice of orgasm, fingers curling inside you to hit your G-spot with rhythmic, punishing precision while his mouth worked in a wet, sloppy frenzy. You were trapped in a loop of pure erotism, hips bucking wildly against his face, body begging for the release that he stubbornly denied you. For what felt like an eternity, you hovered on the brink while your muscles twitched and your mind screamed for the end.
Then, the sharp, intrusive ring of your phone pierced through the silence of the room.
The sudden shock of the sound, combined with the peak of the stimulation, was the final trigger. Your body snapped. You let out a muffled, guttural shriek into the gag as a violent orgasm ripped through you. Your walls clamped down hard on his fingers, pulsing in rhythmic waves of intense pleasure that made your toes curl and your back arch. Your eyes flew open, wide and glazed, looking down at the vibrating phone on the desk as you shuddered through the climax.
Dean stayed right there, slurping up every drop of your juices, tongue licking the cream from your folds with a greedy, satisfied sound. He continued to suck and lick even as the waves subsided, ensuring he tasted every bit of your release.
Slowly, he pulled back but he left his two fingers buried deep inside you. He stood up tall, looming over you, his expression one of complete enamourment. He watched you breathe heavily, chest heaving as he continued to move his fingers in and out of your dripping hole in a slow, teasing slide that reminded you exactly who was in control.
With shaking fingers and trembling legs, you reached up and pulled the damp fabric of your panties from your mouth, pulling out the gag. You didn't pick up the call. Instead, with a shaky hand, you typed a quick text back. "I'm coming."
Dean leaned over, reading the screen and let out a low, dark chuckle. "Yes you are," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction.
He finally withdrew his fingers with a wet pop, maintaining intense eye contact as he lifted them to his mouth and licked them clean, savoring the taste of you one last time.
"You're such an asshole," you breathed, voice raspy and exhausted. You hopped down from the desk, legs feeling like jelly and looked around for your bunched-up panties. You swore you had left them on the desk just a second ago.
Dean opened his opposite palm, revealing the lace fabric gripped in his hand. "Told you I'm keeping them," he said with a smug grin. Then motioned toward the door with his head. "Go, before he comes looking."
You grabbed your phone and found your godfather's keys, turning to leave but just as you reached the door, his voice stopped you, dripping with a mix of mischief and dominance.
He licked his lips, "I made sure to get all of it but don't walk too fast...just in case."
He grinned, knowing exactly how drenched you were. You didn't say a word, face heating up as you opened the door and finally stepped out. Behind you, Dean stood in the center of the room, breath heavy and staring after you with the biggest, hardest erection of his life as the scent of your sex still clung to his skin.
“There you are.”
Your godfather’s smile appeared the second you stepped into view, warm and completely unaware as he pushed himself away from the wall he’d been leaning against. The overhead lights cast long shadows across the now-empty lobby, the training center nearly silent around you aside from the distant hum of ventilation and the occasional echo of a door closing somewhere deeper in the building.
“Ready for dinner?”
You forced a smile onto your face and tossed the keys toward him before he could look too closely at you. The metal jingled through the air before he caught them one-handed, only then did you trust yourself to speak.
“Is it bad that I’m craving takeout?”
He laughed and as far as you could tell, he wasn’t suspicious but the sound made guilt twist somewhere deep in your stomach.
“Not bad at all.” He slipped the keys into his pocket as you finally reached his side. “We’ll save the dinner for next week.”
You nodded quickly. “That sounds good.”
The two of you headed for the exit together. Your godfather reached the door first, holding it open as cool night air rushed inside, carrying the scent of damp pavement and freshly cut grass from the athletic fields beyond the parking lot.
You stepped outside and the darkness felt refreshing against overheated skin.
The parking lot stretched ahead under pools of yellow light, mostly empty now except for a few scattered vehicles belonging to coaches and staff members working late.
Your eyes immediately found his car.
“Coach!”
The voice hit like a gunshot and your entire body locked before your mind forced it to turn around…and there he was.
Dean jogged out of the building toward the two of you, sports bag slung across the front of his body in a position so intentional it almost made your eye twitch. His hair looked slightly messy too but the fact that he could still look this comfortable after what you’d done made you want to throw something at him.
“Di Laurentis.” Your godfather stepped aside to lock the doors behind everyone. “Five more minutes and you would’ve been spending the night with the cleaning crew.”
Dean laughed the same laugh he used with coaches, professors, reporters and strangers. “I fell asleep after practice.” His eyes landed on yours and the smile on his face shifted almost imperceptibly as he reached up and pushed a hand through his hair fixing it.
You nearly choked.
“It was an…accident,” His gaze lingered on yours, the sweetness in his voice was subtle when he spoke again. “Hi, Y/n.”
“Hey.” The answer came out remarkably normal considering you suddenly remembered exactly what he’d looked like less than twenty minutes ago.
“Accidents happen.” Your godfather finally finished locking the doors and turned back toward you both. An arm settled comfortably around your shoulders. “You did good at practice today,” he told Dean. “Go get some real rest.” Then he looked down at you. “We could drive you.”
“No need.” You spoke up far too fast, making both men look at you instantly.
Shit.
You forced a smile as you watched Dean’s mouth twitch.
That fucking asshole…
“Yeah,” he agreed before anyone could think too hard about it. “I’m good.” His sports bag moved slightly against the front of his jeans and you swore you almost saw him wince. You looked away before things could get worse. “Night.”
He began backing toward his car, slowly, eyes lingering on you every chance he got.
“Night,” your godfather answered. Then his arm tightened around your shoulders as he steered you toward the car.
The conversation immediately changed to something entirely different, his voice filling the space between your thoughts as he launched into yet another debate about ordering pineapple and pepperoni pizza.
You groaned automatically as he laughed.
The parking lot stretched ahead beneath the lights as the two of you walked away and despite your best efforts, you could still feel Dean’s eyes on you from somewhere behind.
That might have been the greatest accident to ever exist but then again…
Coincidences had always been better.
It wasn’t often that you skipped parties. As exhausting as college could be, you firmly believed it was supposed to be filled with shared experiences, stupid stories, regrettable decisions and memories people laughed about years later. If your friends were going somewhere, you usually went too, even if you only stayed an hour before disappearing home.
Tonight was the exception.
Jules had handed you the keys to the boys’ house earlier that afternoon. You’d let yourself in without knocking, music already blasting through your headphones and immediately claimed a stool at the kitchen island.
The house seemed and looked unusually quiet, there was no shouting and no hockey game playing on the television.
You spread your work across the countertop and got comfortable.
Most of your evenings had been spent reviewing PR material for the upcoming week. Social media calendars, engagement reports, interview clips and promotional content. You frequently collaborated with Jules to make sure everything the team posted felt consistent, professional, and aligned with the image Briar Hockey wanted to project, at least, that had been the plan.
Instead, you found yourself checking your phone every few minutes because your roommate had a guy over again. The arrangement had seemed like a great idea when you’d first arrived at college. Living with a roommate felt like one of those essential university experiences everyone was supposed to have. It built character and created memories, now it mostly created scheduling conflicts.
If you couldn’t go home yet, you might as well be productive. Gathering the notes Jules had asked you to leave in Logan’s room, you pushed yourself off the stool and headed upstairs.
The music in your headphones swelled as you climbed and your body immediately followed the rhythm.
One hand trailed along the railing while your hips swayed unconsciously with the beat. You sang lyrics you couldn’t actually hear over the volume, completely off-key and blissfully unaware of it. You made the stack of papers bounce lightly against your thigh as you moved through the hallway, turning the familiar walk into a private concert attended by absolutely nobody…or so you thought.
You stepped into Logan’s room without hesitation and the notes landed neatly on his desk.
You turned toward the door again, still moving with the music, shoulders rolling gently with the rhythm while your fingers slid absentmindedly over your own arms and down your sides as you spun once, completely caught up in the song.
Until you looked up…and screamed. The sound tore itself out of your throat before you could stop it.
Your entire body jumped and your soul practically left through your mouth as Dean stood in the doorway, motionless and watching with a towel hung low around his hips, damp skin still glistening from the shower. His hair looked darker wet, strands falling across his forehead as tiny droplets continued disappearing down the side of his neck.
You ripped the headphones off so fast they nearly flew across the room. “What the fuck is your problem?!”
Dean’s eyebrows lifted slowly as he pointed at himself. “What is my problem?”
“Yes!” Your hand pressed against your chest where your heart was still attempting to escape. “What are you doing here?”
“I live here.” The reminder came accompanied by an entirely unhelpful grin. “Nice moves, by the way.”
Your eyes narrowed while adrenaline still surged through your veins. “Fuck you.”
His grin widened. “I might start begging you to.”
You groaned loudly and pushed past him, unfortunately, instead of leaving the house entirely, your feet carried you directly into his room and Dean followed.
“What are you even doing here? There’s a party tonight,” you asked as you dropped onto the edge of his bed.
“I was studying.”
“Naked and wet?” You questioned.
“I was in the shower.” He added flatly, “Which you would’ve heard if you weren’t surgically attached to those headphones.”
You rolled your eyes. Then, somehow, the room grew quieter, the two of you looked at each other long enough for your breathing to gradually settle into the same rhythm and for Dean’s attention to drift toward the headphones hanging around your neck.
“What’s so special about them?”
You glanced down. “The headphones?”
“The obsession.”
A small smile tugged at your mouth. “It isn’t the headphones.” You removed them and turned them over in your hands. “It’s the music.”
Dean remained where he was, listening.
“If you find the right song,” you continued, “it can completely change where you are.” Your fingers traced absent patterns along them. “It can take a boring walk and make it feel important. Turn studying into something less miserable and make a random day feel cinematic.” Your smile softened. “It just makes everything better.”
Dean tilted his head. “Better?”
You nodded. “Sexier.”
His eyebrows rose in surprise. “Sexier?” The amusement in his voice made you regret using that word…only slightly. “Does it work with everything?”
You swallowed. The question felt harmless but the way he asked it didn’t. “What’s everything?” you asked carefully.
Dean held your gaze for another second before nodding toward the headphones in your hands. “Put them on.”
His voice was quiet and patient, entirely too interested in whatever reaction he thought he was about to get.
You slid the headphones over your ears and the world instantly shifted. The sudden surge of music drowned out the ambient noise of the room, isolating you in a cinematic cocoon of sound. The bass thrummed through your skull, vibrating in your chest, turning the reality of the room into a silent movie where only the visuals mattered.
Dean stepped directly in front of you, his presence commanding and heavy. Because you couldn't hear him, your entire focus narrowed onto his face. He leaned in, his expression a mixture of hunger and playful dominance. He didn't speak or if he did, the music swallowed it but he carefully mouthed the words, “Watch me...read my lips.”
A shiver raced down your spine. You nodded, your heart hammering against your ribs in time with the beat of the song. His hands moved slowly, reaching for the towel wrapped around his waist. Before he moved it, he paused, gaze locking onto yours, silently asking for consent.
You nodded again, breath hitching.
The towel pooled at his feet in one fluid motion. You sat perched on the edge of the bed, your eyes immediately dropping to his cock. It was semi-hard, thick and pulsing slightly, with a neat trim of hair at the base that only made the sight more visceral. You watched, mesmerized, as the blood rushed to it, the shaft thickening and lengthening right before your eyes, straining upward as he sensed your gaze.
Driven by a sudden, desperate need to be bare before him, you began to undress. You kept your eyes locked on his hardening length, the visual of his arousal fueling your own. You kicked off your shoes, the friction of the carpet against your soles a distant sensation compared to the heat radiating from him. You peeled away your pants and slid your shirt over your head, leaving you exposed. Without a bra, your breasts were fully revealed, nipples already peaking from the chill and the anticipation. Finally, you reached for your panties.
As you slid them down your thighs, Dean reached out, his fingers twitching as if to snatch them away, a callback to his possessive streak. You quickly shook your finger ‘no’ with a small and defiant smile playing on your lips. He chuckled, though you only saw the vibration of his chest and the crinkle at the corners of his eyes.
He began to crawl toward you, his movements predatory and slow. You retreated, crawling backward into the center of the bed, the soft fabric of the sheets sliding against your skin. He followed, closing the gap until your head hit the pillows. You remained pinned by his gaze, holding intense eye contact as he loomed over you.
Then, his touch arrived.
His fingers began to graze over your naked body in a light, agonizingly slow exploration. He traced the line of your sternum, the sensation sending electric sparks through your nerves. When his hands reached your breasts, he cupped them firmly, thumbs rolling your nipples between his fingers. The friction was exquisite. You gasped, your back arching instinctively but the sound of your own moan was lost to the music, leaving you in a vacuum of pure sensation.
Dean, however, heard it. He saw the way your throat tightened and heard the muffled sound of your pleasure and the sight of your vulnerability made him even harder. He leaned down, capturing one nipple in his mouth. The heat of his tongue and the sharp tug of his suction sent a jolt of lightning straight to your core. He switched to the other side, lips wet and demanding, swirling around the peak of your breast until you were writhing beneath him.
As your back arched off the mattress, you felt your pussy clamp shut around nothing, the internal muscles pulsing with a desperate, empty longing. You were slick, the heat between your thighs becoming an ache that demanded to be filled. Dean must have seen the way your hips tilted, the way your thighs trembled, because he shifted his weight.
He slid two fingers deep inside you in one smooth motion. You let out a sharp whine, your head tossing back against the pillows. The feeling of him filling you, the stretch and the sudden friction, was overwhelming. He began to move his fingers in a rhythmic, curling motion, hooking them upward to hit the sweet spot.
Your focus remained obsessively on his face. You watched his lips, searching for a word, a command, a promise…anything, but he remained teasingly silent, refusing to kiss you, denying you that final point of contact. Your eyes fluttered, the pleasure threatening to pull you under into a blackout of bliss but you fought to keep them open, desperate to read his lips, to stay connected to him through the only channel left.
Your legs twitched open wider, inviting him in, body humming like a live wire. He curled his fingers deeper, increasing the pace, the wet sounds of his intrusion lost to the music but felt vividly in every nerve ending. You were hovering on the precipice, the tension building into a towering wave but he kept you right there, on the edge, breathless and begging, with no release in sight.
Until he leaned closer, his body a heavy, radiating heat between your thighs. His fingers continued their relentless work inside you, curling and sliding in rhythmic friction. You looked up at him, vision slightly blurred from the intensity and your lips parted.
"Fuck me louder," you breathed, the words barely a whisper, lost to the thumping bass of the music in your ears. “I know just how much you like to hear me sing.”
He saw the desperation in your eyes and the way your hips were bucking upward. He moved, pressing the raw, blunt tip of his cock directly against your clit. The sudden, direct pressure made you whine, a high-pitched sound that vibrated in your own throat but remained unheard by you.
In one swift, decisive motion, he withdrew his fingers. For a heartbeat, there was a void, a cold, empty ache and then his lips ghosted over yours, a teasing promise of what was coming as he lunged forward, pushing his thickness into you in one powerful thrust.
The stretch was immense. You felt your pussy walls scream and then surrender as he bottomed out, burying himself to the hilt. A synchronized groan escaped both of you, the sound muffled by the collision of your mouths as you finally, desperately, kissed. The sensation of him filling you completely for the first time was an explosion of tactile data, you could feel every vein, the heat of his shaft and the way your internal muscles clamped tight around him in a shocked, welcoming grip.
The kiss became messy and hungry, tongues clashing and swirling as you fought for air and dominance. Your body struggled to adjust to his size, your pussy walls twitching and pulsing rhythmically around him, trying to mold themselves to his shape. Your nails dug deep into his sides, leaving red crescents in his skin as you anchored yourself to him.
He began to move.
He pulled back nearly all the way, almost slipping out, before slamming back in with a force that rattled your teeth. You couldn't hear the wet, slapping sounds of your pelvises colliding or the guttural groans he was making into your mouth but you felt them. You felt the vibration of his voice in his chest against yours and you knew with absolute certainty that you were both making insane, primal noise that would have filled the room.
The sensory deprivation heightened everything to an unbearable degree. Because you were blind to the sound of the world, the physical sensations became hyper-focused. Every slide of his cock felt like a lightning strike. You didn't know if it was the hypnotic rhythm of the music or the agonizing anticipation of the last hour but the sex was transcendently good.
Dean broke the kiss to dive back down to your breasts, latching onto your nipples and sucking them hard, the sharp tugging sensation mirroring the deep rolling thrusts of his cock. His large hand slid down, gripping your ass cheek with bruising force, lifting and tilting your pelvis to change the angle of penetration.
The change in position allowed him to hit your G-spot with every single plunge. You felt as though you were going to shatter into a thousand pieces. Your face twisted, eyes rolling back in a mask of pure, unadulterated pleasure, your mouth hanging open in a silent scream. The visual of him, his muscles straining, his face tight with lust and the sight of his hips slamming into yours, combined with the feeling of being completely impaled, pushed you further and further toward the edge.
He was relentless, driving into you with a rhythmic, punishing pace that left you breathless. You were a prisoner to the music and the friction, trapped in a loop of exquisite torture where the only thing that existed was the feeling of him stretching you open and the sight of his hunger. You were hovering on the precipice again, the tension building into a towering, unstable wave but the release remained just out of reach, leaving you desperate for more.
Dean stopped the linear slamming and began to employ rolling thrusts, grinding his pelvis in a slow, circular motion that smeared his cock against every sensitive ridge of your vaginal canal. The friction was agonizingly perfect, a swirling pressure that stoked the fire in your gut until it became a roaring blaze.
You were unraveling. Your head thrashed against the pillows, mouth wide and gasping, emitting a torrent of raw, uncontrolled moans and whimpers. You couldn't hear the volume of your own voice but you saw the look of satisfaction on Dean's face. He was drinking in the sight of your undoing, the knowledge that while you were trapped in a silent world of bass and rhythm, your voice was filling the room. To him, your desperate cries were a symphony, a private concert of pleasure that belonged solely to him. He loved that you were oblivious to how loud you were, how completely you had surrendered your dignity to the sensation of him.
The tension reached a critical mass. Your internal muscles began to seize, clamping down on his shaft in involuntary spasms. You felt a sudden, electric snap deep within your core and then the dam broke.
It was the longest, most delicious orgasm of your life. It didn't hit like a wave, it hit like an earthquake, shattering your composure and sending jolts of white-hot electricity radiating from your clit to your fingertips. Your body arched, spine curving off the bed as you locked your legs around his waist, trying to pull him even deeper. Your eyes rolled back into your head, leaving only the whites visible as you drifted into a void of pure, sensory overload.
He sensed the climax gripping you and used it, fucking you right through the peak. He drove into your pulsing walls with a ferocious intensity, his cock sliding through the flood of your release. The combination of your orgasm and his relentless pace pushed him over the edge.
With one final, guttural surge, he buried himself to the absolute hilt, pinning you to the mattress as he erupted. You felt the hot, thick jets of his cum pulsing deep inside you, filling your womb with a searing warmth that seemed to anchor you back to reality.
The world slowly began to refocus.
The two of you remained locked together, chests heaving in a synchronized rhythm as sweat glued your skin together. The noise in your ears was still there, the music continuing its steady beat but the physical intensity had changed into a heavy, languid glow.
Before he let his weight collapse onto you, Dean reached up. His fingers brushed your hair as he carefully slid the headphones off your ears.
The sudden influx of sound was jarring. The room rushed back in, the distant hum of the house, the rustle of the sheets and most prominently, the ragged, heavy sound of your shared breathing. The noise was intimate, raw and echoing.
As the sound of his labored exhales hit your ears, you felt a fresh wave of arousal ripple through you. Your pussy, still tight and sensitive, gave a series of rhythmic, needy throbs around his softening cock, making Dean let out a low, shaky breath against your neck.
It probably took the two of you twenty minutes to finally peel yourselves away from each other and even then neither of you moved very far. You lay side by side beneath tangled sheets, staring up at the ceiling, shoulders barely touching whenever one of you moved. Every muscle in your body felt pleasantly heavy, as though simply sitting up would require far more effort than either of you were willing to spend.
Unfortunately, being comfortable didn’t stop either of your brains from working.
If anything, the silence only gave them more room.
You found yourself thinking about how this could possibly happen again eventually. At the same time, another part of you was already trying to figure out how to stop it from happening a third time. The contradiction would’ve been funny if it wasn’t so hopelessly obvious.
You truly believed this was your “twice”, your glorious coincidence.
Beside you, Dean let out a long sigh before finally breaking the silence.
“Would you say it counts if we don’t move?”
Your chest shook with tired laughter. “If you want a positive answer, you might want to ask the Mormons.”
Dean groaned. “So no.”
The room fell quiet again and for several seconds neither of you spoke.
Then your eyes widened slightly. “Wait.”
Dean turned his head toward you as you continued staring at the ceiling while thinking through the idea.
“What if we don’t orgasm?”
“No.” The answer came so quickly you almost laughed again. Dean didn’t even need time to consider it. After everything he’d experienced over the past hour, the suggestion wasn’t remotely tempting. “No, absolutely not…I can’t do that. I won’t survive it.”
You smiled toward the ceiling. “It’s good that you’re finally admitting how greedy you are.”
“I’m not that greedy.”
“You absolutely are.”
Dean scoffed.“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“It usually is.”
A grin tugged at his mouth despite himself. “Maybe it resets every month.” His voice sounded thoughtful now.
You turned your head toward him. “What does?”
“The count.” He gestured vaguely toward the ceiling as though presenting serious scientific evidence. “Maybe there’s a monthly reset and every month we get two new chances.”
You stared and Dean shamelessly stared right back. “I’m serious, what day is it?”
You suddenly burst into laughter as you ran both hands down your face, though the sound still echoed softly around the room.
“We are in so much trouble.” Your voice came out muffled behind your palms.
Dean couldn’t keep his eyes away from you and the smile that appeared was lazy, warm and entirely too satisfied for someone supposedly worried about consequences and patterns.
“Doesn’t feel like it.”
You peeked at him through your fingers and rolled your eyes as he laughed quietly to himself before settling deeper into the mattress.
“But sure…I’ll get back to you on that,” he said. “Sometime after my brain starts working again.”
Unfortunately for both of your very optimistic interpretations of statistics, neither of you had started counting at the right place. The truth was that you’d been sampling this relationship for months before the night you climbed through his window.
With every lingering conversation, stolen glance, every excuse to stay five minutes longer and every hallway, stairwell, empty office and late-night text message, the line had been moving long before either of you admitted it existed and those had merely been milestones along a road the two of you had already been traveling for a very long time.
This was your third…the very last piece of the pattern, which meant there was no stopping this anymore.
The only thing left to do was keep it hidden for as long as possible, hoping the secret survived longer than your self-control had.
After all, mathematics had never really been your forte but public perception certainly was.
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! 🤍
Hiii could I request a John Logan x reader imagine plsss where he’s at practice and the reader is there to watch and someone is making a move on her, she doesn’t notice but he does.
Just jealousy and angst but fluff at end!!!
Love your fics 🥹💕
I love you || John Logan x fem!reader ||
Summary: Logan gets jealous as he sees someone trying to make a move on reader.
Warnings: Jealousy (non toxic), fluffffff! Use of y/n.
A/n: I didn’t know how to add the angst to this one but made it fluffy, and jealous Logan is so hottt 😪 I tried writing this one in third person perspective. Anyways enjoy 🏒
The arena was always colder than Y/n expected.
No matter how many times she came to watch practice, no matter how many sweaters she wore, she always ended up curling deeper into her seat in the stands, tucking her hands beneath her sleeves as she watched the Briar hockey team dominate the ice below.
Not that she minded.
Especially when Logan was out there.
Honestly, she wasn’t even pretending anymore.
At first she’d claimed she came to support the whole team.
Then she’d said she was there for Hannah.
Then Garrett.
Then Dean.
Then Tucker.
Eventually everyone stopped believing her.
Including herself.
Because whenever Logan stepped onto the ice, her eyes followed him automatically.
It wasn’t her fault.
The man was impossible to ignore.
He moved across the rink with effortless confidence, weaving around players, controlling the puck like it was attached to his stick by a string. Every now and then he would glance toward the stands, searching.
Searching for her.
And every single time he found her.
The tiny smile that pulled at his lips whenever their eyes met was enough to make her stomach flutter.
Pathetic.
Absolutely pathetic.
Y/n smiled despite herself and lifted her coffee cup toward him.
Logan grinned.
Then Tucker slammed into him from the side.
Y/n laughed.
“Pay attention, Logan” Tucker shouted from across the ice.
Logan flipped him off.
The team erupted into laughter.
Typical.
The practice continued, players skating drills back and forth while Y/n sat comfortably in the nearly empty arena.
Most students had better things to do on a weekday afternoon.
Y/n apparently did not.
Not when Logan was involved.
She was so busy watching him that she almost didn’t notice someone sitting beside her.
“Hey.”
She blinked.
Turning her head, she found a guy she’d never seen before dropping into the seat next to her.
Tall.
Dark hair.
Cute smile.
Definitely hockey player material.
“Hi?”
He laughed.
“You sound suspicious.”
“I am suspicious.”
“Fair.”
His grin widened.
“I’m Oliver.”
“Y/n.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Y/n.”
She smiled politely.
“You too.”
Oliver leaned back casually.
“You come to every practice?”
“Most.”
“Dedicated fan.”
“More like I have no life.”
He laughed again.
From the ice, Logan’s head snapped toward the stands.
Immediately.
His eyes narrowed.
Oliver continued talking.
“So who’s your favorite player?”
Y/n didn’t even hesitate.
“Logan.”
Oliver smirked.
“That was quick.”
She shrugged.
“He’s one of my best friends.”
“Ah.”
Something flashed across Oliver’s face.
Understanding.
Interest.
Amusement.
“Just friends?”
Y/n missed the tone completely.
“Yeah. Well. Mostly.”
Oliver chuckled.
That answer was somehow even more suspicious.
Down on the ice, Logan nearly skated straight into Garrett.
“Jesus Christ.”
Garrett grabbed his arm.
“What is wrong with you?”
Logan ignored him.
His gaze remained locked on the stands.
Specifically on Oliver.
Who was now making Y/n laugh.
A lot.
Too much.
Way too much.
“Who’s that?” Logan asked.
Garrett followed his gaze.
“Oh.”
A grin spread across his face.
“Oh, this is gonna be fun.”
Logan frowned.
“What?”
“That’s Oliver.”
“Who?”
“Freshman.”
“Why is he talking to Y/n?”
Garrett looked like Christmas had arrived early.
“Probably because she’s pretty.”
Logan’s jaw clenched.
Garrett noticed immediately.
And laughed so hard he almost lost balance.
“Oh my God.”
“Shut up.”
“Oh my God.”
“Garrett.”
“You are so jealous.”
“I’m not jealous.”
“You literally look like you’re planning a murder.”
Logan glared at him.
Garrett laughed harder.
The rest of practice felt approximately three years long.
Every time Logan looked up, Oliver was still there.
Still talking.
Still smiling.
Still making Y/n laugh.
And somehow she looked completely oblivious.
Which honestly annoyed him even more.
Because Oliver wasn’t being friendly.
He knew exactly what Oliver was doing.
And apparently Y/n had absolutely no clue.
An hour later, practice finally ended.
Y/n sat outside the locker room waiting for Logan.
Like she always did.
Her legs swung lazily from the bench.
She scrolled through her phone.
Hummed to herself.
Completely unaware of the storm brewing behind the locker room door.
The moment Logan emerged, freshly showered and dressed, she smiled.
“There he is.”
Normally that smile would’ve melted him.
Today?
Today he had questions.
Logan dropped onto the bench beside her.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
Silence.
Y/n frowned.
“Why do you look weird?”
“I don’t look weird.”
“You look weird.”
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
Logan sighed.
Y/n immediately sat up straighter.
“What happened?”
“Nothing happened.”
“Logan.”
He stared ahead.
“Why was Oliver talking to you?”
Y/n blinked.
“Oliver?”
“The guy in the stands.”
“Oh.”
She laughed.
“He was nice.”
Logan looked at her.
“Nice.”
“Yeah.”
“He wasn’t being nice.”
“What?”
“He was flirting with you.”
Y/n stared.
Then laughed.
Actually laughed.
“No he wasn’t.”
“Yes he was.”
“No.”
“Y/n.”
“He was just talking.”
“He was flirting.”
“He wasn’t.”
“He absolutely was.”
Y/n crossed her arms.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m literally a guy.”
“And?”
“And I know when another guy is flirting.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Okay, Professor Romance.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“He was flirting.”
“He was being friendly.”
“He was flirting.”
“He was being friendly.”
“He wanted your number.”
Y/n scoffed.
“No he didn’t.”
“He absolutely did.”
“Well, he didn’t ask for it.”
“Because I was staring at him.”
That actually made her laugh.
“Logan.”
“What?”
“You sound insane.”
“I sound correct.”
Y/n groaned dramatically.
“Am I not allowed to have friends?”
His expression softened slightly.
“What?”
“Seriously.”
She stood.
“Am I only allowed to be friends with you, Tucker, Garrett, Dean, Hannah, and Allie?”
Logan immediately stood too.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Because that’s what it sounds like.”
“Y/n—”
“No.”
She folded her arms tighter.
“You don’t get to decide who talks to me.”
“I know that.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
Logan ran a hand through his hair.
Frustration burned beneath his skin.
Because she genuinely didn’t get it.
She had no idea.
No idea what she did to people.
No idea how beautiful she was.
No idea how easily she could walk into a room and own it without even trying.
“No.”
His voice was quieter now.
“You know what the problem is?”
“What?”
“Guys like him.”
She frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“It means he’s the kind of guy who flirts with a girl because he thinks he’ll get something from her.”
Y/n’s eyes widened.
“That’s not fair.”
“It is.”
“You don’t even know him.”
“I know enough.”
“No, you don’t.”
Logan laughed once.
Humorlessly.
“Maybe I don’t.”
“Then stop acting like you do.”
Silence stretched between them.
Then Logan looked directly at her.
And everything changed.
Because suddenly there was no teasing.
No joking.
No friendship safety net.
Just honesty.
Raw and terrifying.
“I don’t like seeing other guys flirt with you.”
Y/n froze.
Logan swallowed.
His heart was pounding so hard he was sure she could hear it.
“I hate it.”
Neither of them moved.
Neither of them breathed.
“I hate it because every time some guy looks at you, I wonder if he’ll get there before I do.”
Her eyes softened.
“Logan…”
“I’ve been trying not to say this.”
His voice cracked slightly.
“God knows I’ve been trying.”
Y/n stared at him.
Completely still.
Logan laughed nervously.
“I’ve been in love with you since we started here at Briar-U.”
Her breath caught.
“I think it started our freshman year.”
His eyes never left hers.
“And then it got worse.”
“Worse?”
He smiled.
“So much worse.”
Y/n laughed through the sudden emotion building in her chest.
Logan stepped closer.
“I love your laugh.”
Another step.
“I love how you show up to every game.”
Another.
“I love that you’re always there.”
His voice dropped.
“And I know I probably should’ve said something sooner.”
Y/n felt tears stinging her eyes.
“But every time I tried, I got scared.”
Logan smiled softly.
“Because if I lost you, I’d lose my best friend too.”
The world seemed to stop.
Then Y/n smiled.
A beautiful, radiant smile.
One Logan would remember for the rest of his life.
“I always knew.”
His eyebrows shot upward.
“What?”
“I always knew.”
“You knew?”
She nodded.
Logan stared.
“You let me suffer for years?”
Y/n laughed.
“Maybe.”
“Oh my God.”
She stepped forward.
Close enough that their shoes touched.
Close enough that she could see every shade of gold and brown in his eyes.
“I love you too.”
Logan forgot how to breathe.
“I have for a long time.”
His smile broke free instantly.
Huge.
Boyish.
Beautiful.
Before she could say anything else, he gently cupped her face.
Giving her every opportunity to pull away.
She didn’t.
Not even a little.
So Logan leaned down.
And kissed her.
Soft.
Careful.
Like she’d shatter if he moved too quickly.
Y/n melted immediately.
Years of almosts.
Years of longing.
Years of stolen glances.
Gone.
The kiss was everything she’d imagined.
And somehow better.
When they finally pulled apart, both of them were smiling.
Y/n laughed softly.
“I always wanted to do that.”
Logan laughed too.
The sound warm and happy.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He kissed her again.
Quicker this time.
Like he couldn’t help himself.
Like he already missed her.
When they separated, he rested his forehead against hers.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of doing that.”
Y/n’s smile widened.
“I hope not.”
“Good.”
He squeezed her hand.
Then suddenly looked nervous again.
Which was adorable.
“What?”
Logan cleared his throat.
“So…”
“So?”
“Would you maybe…”
His ears turned red.
Y/n grinned.
“Logan.”
“Right.”
He laughed.
Then straightened.
“Y/n, would you let me take you on a proper date?”
Her heart melted.
Not because he was asking.
Because he wanted it to be proper.
Intentional.
Real.
No guessing.
No uncertainty.
No almost.
“Yes.”
His smile returned instantly.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
She rose onto her tiptoes and kissed his cheek.
Then whispered against his skin.
“I’ll always be your number one fan.”
Logan wrapped his arms around her waist.
“As my girlfriend?”
She nodded.
“As your girlfriend.”
His grin could’ve powered the entire campus.
“Good.”
Y/n laughed.
“Good?”
“Yeah.”
He pressed a kiss to her forehead.
“Because I’ve wanted to call you that for a very long time.”
And for the first time since they’d met at Briar-U, neither of them had to wonder what the other was feeling.
They already knew.
And somehow, standing there in the quiet hallway outside the locker rooms, wrapped up in each other’s arms, it felt like the easiest thing in the world.
Can you write a fic where he does ignore her after this whole completing the assignment and reader trying to get him back pretttyyy please 💖🎀😭
Because I did… || Dean Di Laurentis x fem!reader ||
Summary: After a secret arrangement turns into something real, one misunderstanding shatters everything. Now, Dean and Y/n must decide if love is worth risking their hearts.
Warnings: Fist fight in Malone’s, angsty, cute and fluffy (only towards the very end tho), use of y/n.
A/n: Oopsies! I lost track on this one. Oh well. Here’s a better version of the previous one.
“Because i did…” The words slipped out before you could stop them.
For a moment, Dean just stared at you.
The noise of Malone's seemed to fade into the background as the realization slowly settled over him. You watched it happen in real time—the confusion, the surprise, the brief spark of hope that maybe you were saying what he'd spent weeks secretly wishing you'd say.
Because that was what he'd wanted, wasn't it? For you to tell him you'd fallen for him too.
For you to admit that somewhere between late-night practices and arguments that somehow always ended with the two of you laughing, he'd become more than just a stupid arrangement.
But then the rest of it clicked. His expression changed. Not dramatically.
"You..." he started carefully, his brows furrowing together. "You completed the assignment?"
You opened your mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
Dean let out a short laugh.
The sound wasn't amused.
It sounded hurt.
Your chest tightened.
His eyes searched yours for several long seconds.
The worst part was that he wasn't angry yet. He was confused. Hopeful, even.
Like he was desperately trying to find an explanation that didn't end with his heart getting broken.
Unfortunately, the universe apparently hated both of you.
Because before you could say another word, the front door of Malone's swung open.
Your stomach instantly dropped.
No. No. No. Not now. Anyone but him.
Dean noticed your expression immediately.
His attention shifted over his shoulder toward the entrance. Then he froze.
Hunter Davenport stepped inside the bar looking completely unaware that his mere existence was about to ruin your entire life.
You wanted the floor to swallow you whole.
Hunter glanced around the crowded room before his gaze landed on you.
Dean slowly turned back toward you.
The look on his face made your heart stop. "Him?!" Several heads turned.
You immediately wanted to die. "What?"
"Him?" Dean repeated louder, pointing toward Hunter as if he genuinely couldn't believe what he was seeing. "That's the guy? That’s the guy you fucked?"
You buried your face in your hands. "Oh my God." You pointed helplessly between the two of them. "No! Yes! What? Does it matter?" The second the words left your mouth, you knew they were the wrong thing to say.
Because of course it mattered. To Dean, it mattered more than anything.
His jaw clenched so tightly you thought he might crack a tooth. Then, without another word, he started walking.
Fast. Straight toward Hunter.
"Dean." Panic exploded through your chest as you hurried after him.
Across the room, Hunter frowned. "What the hell?"
Dean stopped directly in front of him. The tension surrounding them was so thick it felt impossible to breathe. "What are you doing here?" Dean asked.
Dean gave a sharp laugh. The sound wasn't funny. It was dangerous. You had never heard him sound like that before. "Dean, stop." He ignored you.
Hunter folded his arms. "What exactly is your problem?"
Dean shook his head. "My problem?"
Something in his expression shifted. Maybe it was the hurt. Maybe it was the jealousy. Maybe it was the fact that he'd just confessed his feelings only to find out he wasn't the exception after all. Whatever it was, it snapped.
Before anyone could react, Dean shoved him. Hard.
The room erupted.
Hunter stumbled backward before immediately shoving Dean right back. The next few seconds happened so quickly they barely felt real.
A punch. A shout.
Suddenly Dean and Hunter were swinging at each other in the middle of Malone's while everyone around them scrambled out of the way.
Your heart practically launched into your throat. "Dean!" Nobody listened.
Hunter landed a hit. Dean returned one. People were yelling.
Garrett was trying to push through the crowd. Logan looked halfway between concerned and entertained. Hannah was shouting your name from somewhere behind you.
None of it mattered. All you could see was Dean.
Because underneath the anger and the bruises and the stupid testosterone-fueled fight, you knew exactly what this was.
You shoved your way through the crowd until you were close enough for him to hear you. "Dean!"
This time he looked. His breathing was heavy. Blood stained the corner of his lip.
For a second neither of you spoke.
The entire room seemed to disappear around you. "Please stop."
The fight instantly lost its momentum. Hunter stepped back. Dean's eyes never left yours. "It's not worth getting hurt."
Something flickered across his face. Something painful.
His gaze dropped briefly before returning to yours. For one terrible second, you thought he might say something. That maybe he'd yell. Maybe he'd tell you exactly how badly you'd hurt him.
Instead, he just looked tired. Heartbroken. Then he stepped away.
Without another word, Dean turned around and walked out of Malone's. The front door slammed shut behind him. The sound echoed through the entire room.
Hunter scoffed, wiping blood from his jaw before shaking his head and storming out too. And just like that, they were both gone.
Leaving you standing there in the middle of the wreckage. The adrenaline disappeared.
The realization hit so hard your knees nearly gave out.
A few moments later, Allie appeared beside you looking completely bewildered. "What the hell was that?"
You tried to answer. You really did.
But the second you opened your mouth, tears started falling. Everything you'd been holding together all night completely shattered. Without another word, you pushed past her and hurried out of Malone's before anyone could stop you.
Behind you, Allie exchanged a concerned look with Hannah. Neither of them had any idea what had just happened.
By the time you made it back to your dorm room, your mascara had long since given up. You barely remembered the walk across campus.
All you could think about was the look on Dean’s face.
The hurt. That was what kept replaying in your mind.
Over and over again.
Because you had never seen Dean look at you like that before.
Tonight had been different. Tonight he'd looked completely shattered. And somehow that hurt worse than if he'd screamed at you.
The second you got inside your room, you kicked your shoes off and collapsed onto your bed without bothering to change clothes. You pulled a pillow against your chest and stared blankly at the ceiling, willing yourself not to cry again. It lasted approximately thirty seconds. A sob escaped before you could stop it.
Then another.
Before long, tears were streaming down your face as every moment from the past few months replayed through your head.
The way he'd remember random things you mentioned once and bring them up weeks later. The way he always looked for you first whenever he walked into a room. The way he'd never treated you like just another hookup, no matter how much the two of you pretended otherwise.
You buried your face in your pillow. Because the worst part?
You loved him too. Maybe you'd loved him for a while. Maybe that was why you'd been so terrified.
A loud knock sounded against your door. You ignored it.
Another knock followed. "Y/N." Allie's voice.
You squeezed your eyes shut. "Go away."
"No. Hannah's with me."
You groaned. "Seriously."
"Open the door." You considered pretending you'd fallen asleep. Unfortunately, Hannah immediately ruined that plan.
"We can hear you crying." Traitorous thin walls. A few moments later, you reluctantly dragged yourself off the bed and unlocked the door.
The second Allie saw your face, her expression softened. "Oh."
She immediately pulled you into a hug. You hated how quickly it made you cry again.
The three of you eventually settled onto your bed, wrapped in blankets while Hannah handed you tissues every few minutes and a packet of Hot Cheetos.
Then Allie finally broke the silence. "Start talking."
You stared down at your hands. "What do you want me to say?"
"The truth. That's kind of the reason we're here." Hannah exchanged a glance with Allie. Then she reached over and squeezed your hand. What happened tonight?"
The entire story spilled out. Not because you wanted it to. Because keeping it inside suddenly felt impossible. You told them everything. How it started. How the arrangement happened.
You told them about New York. About the way Dean always made you laugh when you were upset. About how he'd slowly become your favorite person without you realizing it.
And finally, you told them about the assignment.
The room fell completely silent. Hannah blinked. Allie blinked. Then they both stared at you like you'd lost your mind.
"You slept with someone else?" Allie finally asked.
Hannah rubbed her temples. "Oh my God."
"I know."
"No, seriously." Allie looked like she wanted to shake you. "Dean literally confessed his feelings for you."
"I know."
"And your response was basically, 'Great news. I completed the assignment.'"
You covered your face.
"When you say it like that it sounds horrible."
"Because it was horrible."
A muffled groan escaped through your fingers.
Hannah, thankfully, looked slightly more sympathetic. "I don't think she meant to hurt him."
"No kidding," Allie said. "But she still did."
You nodded.
The tears threatened to return. "That's the problem." The room quieted. You swallowed hard. "I was so scared he'd leave."
Both girls looked at you.
"So instead," you whispered, "I became the reason he left."
Neither of them had an argument for that. Because it was true. A long silence settled over the room.
Eventually Allie sat forward. "What if I told you Dean has never done this before?"
You frowned.
"What?"
"I'm serious." She pointed at you. "I've known Dean for months. Do you know how many girls have thrown themselves at him?"
Hannah laughed. "Too many."
"Exactly." Allie nodded. "Dean doesn't catch feelings. Ever. He told me once that relationships weren't worth the risk."
You looked up.
Allie's expression softened. "Then you came along."
She nudged your shoulder. "You're the exception."
The words hit harder than they should have. Because deep down, you'd always known that. You just hadn't trusted it.
———
And now you had two weeks to sit with that realization. Two miserable. Awful. Painful weeks.
Dean ignored every single text. Every call. Every attempt to apologize.
The first time you approached him after practice, he saw you coming and immediately walked the other direction.
The second time, he pretended to be busy talking to Logan.
The third time, he simply got into his truck and drove away.
It shouldn't have hurt. But it did. Because Dean wasn't being cruel.
The hockey team noticed unfortunately.
Unfortunately.
By the end of the first week, practically everyone seemed aware that something had happened.
Logan especially. Which meant he became impossible. Every time you saw him, he'd give you a look. Not judgmental. Just knowing. Which was somehow worse.
By the beginning of the second week, you, Hannah, and Allie had essentially turned the situation into a full-scale investigation.
You needed information. Anything that might help. Anything that might give you a chance.
"What does Dean like?" Allie asked during one lunch.
Logan looked confused. "You've known him for months."
"Answer the question."
He rolled his eyes. "Old movies."
"What kind?"
"The really old ones."
Hannah immediately started writing things down.
Logan stared. "Are you making notes?"
"Continue." The interrogation continued for nearly an hour. Favorite snacks. Favorite songs. Favorite movies. Favorite childhood memories. Favorite everything.
By the end of it, you had three pages of notes and absolutely no dignity left.
But for the first time in two weeks, you also had a plan. Because if Dean wouldn't come to you? You'd have to go to him.
And this time? You weren't running away from your feelings. The problem with having a plan was that eventually you actually had to follow through with it.
For two weeks, it had sounded simple enough.
Apologize.
Explain.
Tell Dean the truth.
Make up.
But standing on the front porch of the hockey house with two grocery bags cutting into your fingers and your heart threatening to beat straight out of your chest, the entire thing suddenly felt impossible.
Maybe this was a terrible idea. Maybe Dean didn't want to hear your explanation. Maybe he'd already decided he was done with you. The thought alone made your stomach twist painfully.
Before you could lose your nerve completely, you forced yourself to knock. The door swung open almost immediately. Logan stood there holding a bottle of water.
The second he saw you, a knowing grin spread across his face. "Well, this is interesting."
You rolled your eyes. "Hi, Logan."
"Hi, Y/N." His gaze dropped to the bags in your hands, then back to your face. "You look nervous."
"I am nervous."
"Good."
"Good?" You frowned.
"Means you care."
You groaned. "Please tell me he's here."
Logan stepped aside. "Upstairs."
Your heart immediately sped up. "Is he alone?"
“Nah he’s alone with his feelings.”
You sighed heavily before stepping inside. The hockey house looked exactly the same as always.
But Dean was upstairs. Just one floor away. After two weeks of silence. After two weeks of unanswered texts. After two weeks of wondering whether you'd completely ruined everything.
Logan noticed your hesitation. His expression softened slightly. "Hey."
You looked at him.
"He still cares."
Your throat tightened. "Then why won't he talk to me?"
Logan sighed. "Because he's hurt."
The answer wasn't surprising. It still stung. You nodded once before turning toward the staircase. Each step felt heavier than the last.
By the time you reached the second floor, your palms were sweating. You spotted Dean's bedroom door immediately. You stood outside it for nearly thirty seconds. Trying to gather enough courage to knock. Trying not to think about every possible way this could go wrong.
Eventually you lifted your hand. Three soft knocks echoed through the wood.
Silence. Then footsteps. Your pulse immediately skyrocketed.
The door opened.
Dean stood on the other side. And for a moment neither of you moved. Seeing him again this close felt unfair. His hair was messy. His sweatshirt sleeves were pushed up to his forearms.
And despite everything that had happened, despite how hurt you felt and how hurt he'd been, your stupid heart still skipped a beat.
Without a word, he started closing the door.
Panic surged through you. "Dean please stop, I want to explain and I got your favorite snacks and a bunch of old movies I know is your favorite.”
You watched him glance down at the grocery bags. Then back up at you.
A muscle in his jaw tightened. For a moment you thought he was still going to shut the door. Instead, he stepped aside. The relief nearly made your knees buckle.
You slipped inside before he could change his mind. The sight of the room alone made your chest ache. Because for the past few months, this room had become one of your favorite places. A place where you'd laughed until your stomach hurt.
Where you'd fallen asleep during movies. Where you'd spent countless hours talking about absolutely nothing. And now it felt strange. Unfamiliar.
Dean shut the door behind you. The sound seemed impossibly loud.
Neither of you spoke.
You carefully set the snacks and movies on his desk before sitting on the edge of his bed. Dean remained standing. Arms crossed.
Watching.
Waiting.
The distance between you felt enormous. You took a slow breath. Then another. Trying to find the right words.
How did you explain being so terrified of losing someone that you ended up pushing them away yourself? “I practiced this.”
Dean raised an eyebrow.
Your laugh came out weak. “Like… a lot.”
The corner of his mouth twitched despite himself. Not quite a smile. But close.
You looked down at your hands. “I had this whole speech.”
“Yeah?”
You nodded. “Problem is, I forgot all of it the second I saw you.”
Silence settled between you. Not uncomfortable. Just heavy. Filled with everything neither of you had said.
Eventually you forced yourself to look up. “I never meant to hurt you.”
Dean’s expression softened slightly. Just slightly.
You swallowed. “I know that doesn’t change anything.”
He didn’t interrupt. Didn’t stop you.
So you kept going. “I spent the last two weeks trying to figure out how to explain this.” Your voice trembled. “Because what happened sounds awful.”
“It felt awful.” The words weren’t cruel. They were honest.
You nodded. “I know.”
Dean looked away. The hurt that crossed his face nearly broke you. “I stood there and told you how I felt.” His voice was quiet now. “You know how hard that was for me?”
You nodded immediately. Because you did know. Dean wasn’t someone who handed people his heart. If anything, he’d spent years making sure nobody got close enough to take it. Yet he’d given it to you anyway. And you’d crushed it. “I know.”
“No.” Dean shook his head. “You don’t.” His laugh sounded hollow. “I spent weeks trying to convince myself not to tell you.”
Your chest tightened. “We had rules.”
“I kept telling myself I could handle it.” He looked at you. Really looked at you. “And then I couldn’t.”
Because this was exactly what you’d been afraid of. Not rejection. Not embarrassment. This. Knowing you’d hurt someone who had trusted you. Someone who had cared about you.
“I fell in love with you in New York.” The confession slipped out before you could stop it.
Dean froze. The room went completely silent.
You took a shaky breath. “I didn’t realize it at first. But that moment when we spoke about our families and showed each other what we truly were, that made moment made me realize just how special you really were.”
His eyes never left yours.
“We were making fun of my lack of skill in chess.”
A tiny smile threatened at the corner of his mouth.
You continued. “And we spent half the night talking.” A tear slipped down your cheek. “And I remember looking at you and realizing that I was in trouble.”
Dean stared.
You laughed weakly through your tears. “Because you weren’t supposed to matter that much.”
Something in his expression shifted. Not completely. But enough.
Enough that hope sparked inside your chest. “I got scared.” The words came easier now. More honest. More raw. “I knew how much I cared about you.” You looked down. “And I knew how much it would hurt if you woke up one day and decided you were done with me.”
Dean’s jaw tightened.
You rushed on before he could interrupt. “So I convinced myself that if I never let myself need you, I’d be fine.” The tears blurred your vision. “But all I did was hurt the person I cared about most.”
The room fell silent.
Neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke. For several long seconds all you could hear was your own heartbeat.
Then finally. “I was never going to leave.”
Your breath caught.
Dean’s voice was barely above a whisper. But it hit harder than anything else he’d said all afternoon.
You looked up.
His eyes were shining now too. “I wish you’d let me prove that.”
Fresh tears immediately spilled down your cheeks.
Dean stared at you for another moment before slowly uncrossing his arms. The wall he’d spent two weeks building around himself was finally beginning to crack.
And for the first time since Malone’s, you thought maybe—just maybe—there was still a way back to each other.
For a long moment, neither of you said anything. The room felt suspended in time.
The late afternoon sunlight filtered through Dean’s blinds, casting long shadows across the floor, but neither of you noticed. Neither of you cared. The only thing that mattered was the space between you—a space that had somehow felt impossibly small for months and unbearably large for the last two weeks.
Your eyes remained locked on his.
“I was never going to leave.” The words echoed through your head again. Again.
Because that had been the entire problem. The root of everything. The fear you’d never admitted out loud. You’d spent so much time waiting for Dean to leave that you’d never considered the possibility that he wanted to stay.
He always noticed. That was part of the problem too.
For someone who claimed not to do relationships, Dean had always paid attention to you in ways that felt suspiciously relationship-like. He remembered your coffee order. He remembered your favorite songs.
He remembered things you’d mentioned once months ago and somehow brought them up at exactly the right moments. He remembered everything.
And somewhere along the way, you’d started relying on that. Relying on him.
The realization made your chest ache. “I didn’t think I was worth staying for.” The words escaped before you could stop them.
Dean’s expression immediately changed. The hurt disappeared.
You looked down before he could fully see the vulnerability on your face. But it was too late. He’d already heard it. Already understood it.
“You really believe that?” His voice was softer now.
You laughed weakly. “Not exactly my proudest confession.”
“Y/N.”
You shrugged helplessly. “It sounds stupid.”
“It doesn’t.”
“It does.”
Dean took a step closer. Your heartbeat immediately sped up.
“It doesn’t.” The certainty in his voice made your throat tighten. For months, Dean had somehow managed to see things in you that you’d never been able to see in yourself.
And honestly? That was terrifying. Because it meant he saw all the broken parts too. The insecurities. The fears. The self-sabotage. And despite all of it? He’d stayed.
You looked up at him. “I was scared.”
Dean nodded slowly. “I know.”
“No, I mean really scared.” Your voice cracked. “Because you mattered.”
His jaw tightened.
You forced yourself to keep going.
“Before you, if something ended, it sucked, but eventually I got over it.”
You swallowed hard. “But you…” Your chest tightened. “You became part of my day.”
Dean’s eyes softened.
“You were the first person I wanted to text when something happened.” Your voice grew quieter.
“The first person I wanted to tell things to.” The room felt painfully still. “And when I realized that, I panicked.”
Dean let out a slow breath. Because he understood. Maybe not every detail. But he understood enough.
You laughed bitterly. “Turns out I’m really good at making terrible decisions.”
That finally earned the smallest smile from him. “You are kind of an idiot.”
You stared at him. Then laughed through your tears. The sound surprised both of you.
Dean’s smile grew slightly. And suddenly, for the first time since Malone’s, he looked like Dean again. Not the hurt version. Not the angry version. Just Dean. The boy you’d accidentally fallen in love with.
“I missed you.” The confession slipped out quietly.
“I missed you too.” The words were simple. But they shattered whatever was left of your composure. Because Dean wasn’t someone who admitted things easily. Everything he said mattered. Every word. Every confession. Every feeling.
“You look exhausted.”
“Thanks.”
“Not a compliment.”
“Clearly.”
A brief silence settled between you. This one felt different. Lighter.
Like two people trying to find their way back to each other.
Dean eventually sat down beside you on the edge of the bed.
The distance alone felt significant. Your heart immediately noticed. Neither of you mentioned it. Neither of you wanted to scare away whatever fragile thing was rebuilding itself between you. For several moments, you simply sat there.
Shoulder to shoulder. Looking at each other. The same way you had countless times before. It felt strangely familiar. Comforting. Like home.
And for the first time all afternoon, neither of you looked away. The moment stretched. Quiet. Heavy.
Full of everything still left unsaid. Your heartbeat began speeding up again. Not from nerves. Something softer.
Neither of you seemed capable of looking anywhere else.
“You really brought my favorite snacks?”
You laugh weakly. “I had the help of Logan, Allie and Hannah.”
“You are such a dork.”
“It worked didn’t it?”
“Oh, it definitely worked.” He leans in and kisses you. It was soft. Full of meaning and promises. “I love you Y/n.”
can you right a dean laurentis fic where she completes the assignment but he doesn't and he is hurt .The whole hunter davenport scene and the reader trying to convince him that it meant nothing and that she loves him ,lot of angst and fluff .love your ficsss smm ♡♡
Oh bby, you ask and you shall receive! 🩷 Thank you so much! 🏒
Didn’t complete the assignment… || Dean Di Laurentis x fem!reader ||
Summary: After you and Dean agreed to complete said assignments, Dean confesses that he didn’t complete the assignment. You on the other hand did.
Warnings: Mild fist fight, angst - only in the beginning - happy ending (mild fluff). Not proofread. Use of Y/n, think that’s everything idk, lmk
A/n: I tried to cover everything but i find it hard to recreate an entire scene so i changed quite a bit to still make it as original as possible. Hope this is what you wanted 🙂
Keeping a secret had never been difficult for you.
So when you and Dean agreed to keep your little arrangement between the two of you, it should have been easy. Right?
Apparently not for Dean.
Somewhere between late-night practices, teasing arguments, and stolen moments no one else noticed, things had shifted for him. Maybe it happened the night you walked onto the dance floor in that JLo costume and every coherent thought left his body. Or maybe it was when you called him after things ended with Sean. Sean — who Dean still firmly believed was a complete prick.
Whatever the reason, it all led to this moment.
Malone’s buzzed around you, loud with music, laughter, and the celebration of Hannah and Garrett finally finding their way back to each other. But none of it seemed to matter now. Not when Dean was standing across from you with that familiar nervous grin tugging at his lips — the kind he wore whenever he was trying to act more confident than he felt.
“You love, love. That’s what you wanted, right? That night at the fire pit.”
You stared at him carefully, trying to piece together where this conversation was heading.
Dean rubbed the back of his neck before letting out a quiet breath. “So I came here tonight to tell you that, uh… I didn’t complete the assignment.” He shrugged, though the grin on his face gave away just how serious he actually was.
“What?” you asked, completely thrown. “Why?”
“Because I like you. I like us. I know that’s not what we said, but I was hoping—”
You cut him off immediately, your brows pulling together. “Hey, no Dean, you can’t.”
“And yet, I am.” He continued, far too confident for someone currently turning your entire world upside down.
“No, I mean, like, you have to complete the assignment. Because—”
“Because why?” he asked, smiling now, certain he already knew the answer.
Your stomach tightened.
“Because I did.”
The words left your mouth too quickly, like if you didn’t say them fast enough you might lose your nerve entirely. For a split second, everything in Malone’s seemed to slow down. The music, the laughter, even the distant clatter of glasses behind the bar faded into something distant and unimportant.
Dean blinked at you.
Just once.
Then again.
His expression shifted slowly, like he was trying to make sense of what he’d heard. “What?” he asked, quieter this time, the confidence from seconds ago slipping just slightly.
You swallowed, already regretting it. “You can’t just say you didn’t complete it because I already did.”
His brows pulled together. “You… completed it?”
You nodded, though it felt like your throat was closing up.
“Y/N,” he said your name like he was testing it, like it might change the answer if he said it softer.
“I did,” you admitted, voice thinner now. “I mean, I thought I should. Because you said you didn’t, and I just—”
“With who?”
The interruption was immediate. Sharper than before.
Your mouth went dry.
Dean wasn’t smiling anymore.
He wasn’t teasing.
He wasn’t anything but still, watching you too closely, like he already knew he wasn’t going to like the answer but needed you to say it anyway.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” you said quickly, but it came out wrong. Defensive. Weak.
“Y/N.”
His tone shifted again, lower now. Serious in a way that made your stomach twist.
“With who?”
You looked away.
That was answer enough.
Dean’s jaw tightened.
And then the door to Malone’s opened.
It didn’t feel dramatic at first. Just a normal entrance. Another body stepping into a crowded bar. But something about the way the air shifted made you look up immediately.
Hunter Davenport walked in like he belonged everywhere he went.
Confident. Calm. Completely unaware of the damage he was about to cause just by existing in that moment.
And the second Dean saw him, everything in him went still.
“No,” Dean muttered.
You felt your stomach drop.
“No way,” he repeated, voice lower now, almost disbelieving.
Your silence gave you away.
Dean turned back to you slowly, like he was afraid of what he was going to confirm.
You didn’t answer fast enough.
And that was enough.
His laugh came out once, sharp and humorless. “Him?” His eyes flicked back to Hunter, then to you again. “You slept with him?”
The way he said it wasn’t just shock.
It was something closer to betrayal.
Heat rushed up your neck. “It’s not—Dean, it’s not like that.”
“Oh, really?” His voice cracked slightly at the edge. “Because it looks exactly like that.”
Hunter hadn’t even noticed yet. Not until Dean started moving.
“Dean—don’t,” you warned, stepping forward instinctively, but he was already walking.
Straight toward him.
“Dean!” you called again, louder this time.
Too late.
He shoved Hunter first.
The entire bar seemed to explode into motion at once.
“What the hell, man?” Hunter snapped, stumbling back before pushing him right back without hesitation.
“Oh, so you know each other,” Hunter muttered, eyes flicking between you and Dean.
Dean’s jaw flexed. “Shut up.”
And then he swung.
It escalated instantly.
Shouts. Chairs scraping. Someone swearing. Someone yelling for security. Glass clinking as people backed away from the chaos forming in the center of the room.
You stood frozen for half a second before Beau grabbed your arm lightly, keeping you from rushing in blindly.
“Who is he?” you asked, breath shaky.
Beau didn’t look at you when he answered. “Hunter Davenport.”
“That’s not much of an explanation.”
Beau hesitated. “He’s… bad news. And Dean hates his guts.”
That didn’t help.
Because right now, it looked like they were trying to kill each other.
Dean took a hit to the cheekbone and your stomach dropped immediately.
“No,” you breathed.
Before you could think, you pushed forward.
“Dean! Stop!”
He barely heard you over the noise.
“Dean, stop it!”
This time you got between them.
Both of them froze for half a second, breath heavy, fists clenched, tension vibrating in the air like it could snap again at any moment.
“Are you insane?” you snapped, grabbing Dean’s arm and pulling him back.
His chest was rising fast, eyes wild, locked on Hunter like he still wanted to lunge forward.
“Y/N—”
“Stop,” you cut him off immediately.
Slowly, reluctantly, he let you pull him away.
Only when you got him a few steps back did you finally breathe.
His cheek was already bruising.
You reached up without thinking, thumb brushing lightly beneath his eye.
That small touch changed something in him instantly.
His shoulders dropped just slightly.
“Breathe,” you told him softly.
He didn’t respond.
“Dean,” you repeated, quieter now.
One breath.
Then another.
He listened.
Behind you, the others were trying to make sure Hunter was okay, but it all felt distant.
You swallowed hard. “I don’t want to know,” you said finally.
Dean frowned slightly.
“About him. About whatever history you have with him. I don’t care.”
That made him pause.
“I just…” your voice cracked before you could stop it. “I’m sorry.”
His expression softened immediately.
“For what?” he asked, quieter now.
You hesitated.
“I’m sorry I completed the assignment.”
Silence stretched between you.
Dean didn’t interrupt.
So you kept going.
“I was scared.”
His brow furrowed.
“Of what?”
You exhaled shakily. “Of you.”
That made his expression fall.
But you shook your head quickly. “Not you. Us, is what i meant.”
Your fingers curled slightly at your sides.
“I started catching feelings for you,” you admitted, voice barely holding steady now. “And I didn’t know what to do with that.”
Dean didn’t move.
“I thought if I slept with someone else, I could… reset it. Prove to myself it wasn’t real.”
You laughed weakly, but there was no humor in it. “It didn’t work.”
His eyes softened.
“I didn’t feel anything,” you continued, quieter now. “Not even close. I just kept thinking about you the whole time.”
That landed.
Hard.
Dean’s expression shifted completely.
Less anger.
More understanding.
More something dangerously close to relief.
“It was stupid,” you whispered.
“No,” he said immediately.
You looked up.
His voice softened. “It wasn’t.”
A beat passed.
Then, almost reluctantly, he added, “I lost it because it was him.”
You frowned. “Why does that matter?”
“Because Hunter Davenport is the last person I ever wanted anywhere near you.”
That made everything click just slightly into place.
You let out a shaky breath.
“I’m sorry,” you said again, softer this time.
Dean stepped closer.
“You don’t have to be.”
Your throat tightened.
“I didn’t mean it,” you added quickly. “Any of it. It didn’t mean anything.”
His gaze held yours.
“That part I already knew.”
Something in your chest loosened.
Then, quieter, almost like he was annoyed at himself for saying it out loud, Dean added, “I’ve been in love with you for a while now anyway.”
You froze.
“What?”
He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah.”
A small, helpless laugh escaped you. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Yeah,” he agreed softly. “But only for you.”
The tension finally broke.
Not all at once.
But enough.
You stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him, careful of his bruised face. He didn’t hesitate before pulling you in tighter, like he’d been waiting for that exact moment without even realizing it.
Eventually, the chaos faded back into noise.
Eventually, Hunter disappeared into the background.
Eventually, it was just you and Dean again.
Later, you found yourselves in a booth at the edge of Malone’s, ice pack pressed gently against his cheek, his arm resting around your shoulders like it had always belonged there.
You tilted your head slightly against him. “You started a fistfight over me.”
He hummed. “Worth it.”
“You’re insane.”
“Still yours though.”
That made you smile despite everything.
And for the rest of the night, neither of you moved from that booth.
I thought you knew pt. 2? || John Logan x fem!reader ||
Summary: After your confession to Dean about how you felt, you bump into Logan, he comforts you, things escalate, and you realize Dean wasn’t worth fighting for nor was be worth the tears.
Warnings: Takes off exactly after part 1, crying - sad tears and happy tears - didn’t proofread - again (sigh), can’t think of anything else.
A/n: So this is basically part 3, or maybe part 2 and a half? I originally made a part two where reader ends up with Dean but i got a bunch of requests to make a part two where reader ends up with Logan and shows Dean that he wasnt wort it. So this was purely written for my Logan girlies.
Oh and i was listening to this song as i was writing this, and i feel like Logan fits this song perfectly well 😪 anyways enough from me!
The sob ripped through your chest before you even reached the bottom of the stairs.
It hurt.
God, it hurt.
Every breath felt sharp.
Every heartbeat felt wrong.
The party blurred around you as tears streamed down your face.
People turned.
Voices lowered.
Someone called your name.
You kept walking.
Because if you stopped—
If you let yourself think—
You would break apart right there in the middle of the hockey house.
“Michaela.”
A hand wrapped gently around your arm.
You froze.
Logan.
For once, he wasn’t grinning.
Wasn’t laughing.
Wasn’t acting like the carefree idiot everyone knew.
His expression immediately darkened.
“What happened?”
You tried to shake your head.
Tried to pretend you were fine.
But another sob escaped.
And Logan’s entire face changed.
“Jesus Christ.”
His grip tightened slightly.
“Come on.”
You didn’t argue.
Couldn’t.
Logan guided you outside and onto the back porch where the music was quieter and the cold air hit your skin.
The second the door closed behind you, you broke.
Completely.
Every ounce of strength disappeared.
Logan caught you before your knees gave out.
“Hey.”
His voice was surprisingly soft.
“Hey, hey. Look at me.”
You couldn’t.
The words spilled out anyway.
“He has a girlfriend.”
Logan frowned.
“What?”
“Dean.”
The name alone hurt.
“He has a girlfriend.”
For a second Logan just stared.
Then realization slammed into him.
His jaw clenched.
Hard.
“Oh.”
You laughed through tears.
The sound was ugly.
Broken.
“I didn’t even know.”
Logan swore.
A long string of curses that would’ve been funny under different circumstances.
Instead it only made you cry harder.
Because somebody was angry for you.
Somebody thought you deserved better.
That almost hurt more.
Logan sat beside you on the porch steps.
Silent.
Waiting.
Eventually the entire story came out.
Every detail.
Every coffee.
Every phone call.
Every forehead kiss.
Every stupid hopeful moment you’d built your future around.
Logan listened.
Didn’t interrupt.
Didn’t make excuses.
Didn’t defend Dean.
And when you finally finished, his face looked murderous.
“No.”
His voice was firm.
You looked up.
“What?”
“No man gets to do that.”
You swallowed.
“Logan—”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“You don’t get to make excuses for him either.”
The anger in his voice surprised you.
“He knew exactly what he was doing.”
You looked away.
“He said we weren’t serious.”
Logan laughed bitterly.
“He brought you coffee every morning.”
Silence.
“He called you all the time.”
Silence.
“He practically worshipped the ground you walked on.”
Your chest tightened.
“Logan—”
“I’m serious.”
He leaned forward.
“No guy treats a girl like that if she means nothing.”
You blinked.
Fresh tears filled your eyes.
“Then why wasn’t I enough?”
The question came out small.
Painfully small.
Logan’s expression immediately softened.
And when he answered, his voice was gentle.
“You were.”
You looked at him.
“You are.”
Something inside your chest cracked.
Because Dean had spent the last hour making you feel unlovable.
And Logan was sitting here looking at you like that was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard.
“No guy should ever make you question your worth.”
His eyes never left yours.
“Especially not Dean.”
The silence stretched.
Neither of you moved.
The world suddenly felt very small.
Just the two of you.
The cold night air.
The distant sound of music.
And Logan.
Looking at you like you were something precious.
His hand lifted.
Brushed a tear from your cheek.
Your breath caught.
Logan froze too.
The moment changed.
Shifted.
Became something else.
Neither of you looked away.
Neither of you moved.
And then—
Somehow—
You were kissing him.
It wasn’t planned.
It wasn’t calculated.
It just happened.
Like gravity.
Like something inevitable.
Logan made a surprised sound before immediately kissing you back.
His hand slid gently into your hair.
Yours grabbed the front of his shirt.
And for the first time all night—
The pain eased.
Not disappeared.
Not completely.
But enough to breathe again.
Enough to remember what it felt like to be wanted.
To be chosen.
To be seen.
When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathing hard.
Logan stared at you.
You stared back.
Neither of you looked regretful.
Not even close.
A slow smile spread across his face.
“There she is.”
You laughed softly.
“What?”
“Your smile.”
His thumb brushed your cheek.
“I missed it.”
For the first time that night—
You smiled for real.
Two weeks later.
Malone’s was packed.
The familiar sounds of laughter and conversation filled the room.
You were standing at the bar when someone spoke your name.
Your entire body froze.
Because you knew that voice.
Dean.
You turned slowly.
And there he was.
Looking nervous.
Which was new.
Dean never looked nervous.
Not ever.
“Can we talk?”
Your stomach twisted.
Not from love.
Not anymore.
Just memories.
You nodded.
Dean led you toward a quieter corner.
His hands shoved deep into his pockets.
His jaw tight.
Something was wrong.
“I broke up with Claire.”
The words landed between you.
You felt surprisingly little.
Dean swallowed.
“It wasn’t working.”
Silence.
“I kept comparing her to somebody else.”
You stared.
Dean laughed bitterly.
“Turns out that somebody else was you.”
Your heart squeezed.
Not because you wanted him.
But because two weeks ago these words would’ve meant everything.
Now?
Now they felt late.
Painfully late.
Dean stepped closer.
“I was wrong.”
His voice cracked.
“I was so damn wrong.”
You blinked.
Dean continued.
“I kept telling myself you weren’t what I wanted.”
His eyes met yours.
“But every time something happened, you were the person I wanted to call.”
Your chest tightened.
“You were the first person I looked for in every room.”
He laughed softly.
“The first person I wanted to tell good news to.”
Silence.
“The first person I thought about every morning.”
Tears filled his eyes.
And somehow that hurt too.
Because you could see the truth now.
Dean meant it.
Every word.
“I thought relationships scared me.”
His voice dropped.
“Turns out I was just scared because it was you.”
You looked away.
Dean stepped closer.
“Michaela.”
The nickname nearly broke him.
“You were always the exception.”
Silence.
“I just realized it too late.”
Your eyes closed briefly.
Two weeks ago you would’ve fallen apart hearing that.
Two weeks ago you would’ve forgiven everything.
Two weeks ago you would’ve chosen him without hesitation.
But life had a funny way of moving forward.
And so had you.
When you looked back at him, your voice was gentle.
“You did realize it too late.”
Dean’s face fell.
The color drained from his face.
“You mean that?”
You nodded.
Slowly.
“I do.”
Pain flashed across his features.
“I love you.”
The confession hung in the air.
Heavy.
Heartbreaking.
Final.
You smiled sadly.
“I know.”
Dean looked hopeful for half a second.
Until you continued.
“But I’ve got something going on with Logan.”
The hope vanished instantly.
“What?”
A familiar voice answered before you could.
“She means me.”
Dean turned.
Logan stood behind you.
Tall.
Confident.
Completely unbothered.
One arm immediately wrapped around your waist.
Dean stared.
Logan smirked.
“You know, Di Laurentis.”
Dean rolled his eyes.
Even heartbroken, he knew what was coming.
Logan grinned.
“You missed your shot.”
Dean groaned.
“Seriously?”
“Like always.”
Logan shrugged.
“Kind of your thing.”
A reluctant laugh escaped Dean.
Despite everything.
Despite the pain.
Despite the disaster.
Dean laughed.
Because Logan was still Logan.
And some things never changed.
Logan looked down at you.
His expression immediately softened.
Completely different from the teasing grin he’d given Dean.
“You okay?”
You nodded.
His thumb brushed your hip.
The small gesture felt natural.
Comfortable.
Easy.
Dean noticed.
Of course he noticed.
And the realization hit him all over again.
You weren’t waiting for him anymore.
Logan leaned down.
Pressed a kiss against your forehead.
Then another against your temple.
Gentle.
Careful.
Like you were something worth protecting.
“You deserve better than someone who only realizes your value after he loses you.”
The words weren’t cruel.
Just honest.
Dean looked away.
Because deep down—
He knew Logan was right.
You leaned into Logan’s side.
Feeling steady.
Feeling safe.
Feeling chosen.
For once.
Not second best.
Not almost.
Not maybe.
Chosen.
Logan smiled down at you.
And when you smiled back, it felt different.
Lighter.
Healthier.
Like the beginning of something instead of the end.
Dean stood there for another moment before finally nodding.
I thought you knew pt.2 || Dean Di Laurentis x fem!reader ||
Summary: After Dean tells you he doesn’t love you, you go out with Hannah and Allie to Malone’s. Dean finally confesses his love.
Warnings: Tearful (but happy tears), mention of alcohol, Allie and Hannah being the bestest of friends. Not proofread - again, cause i’m lazy and i was in a rush -
A/n: Okay i just want to say thank you so much for all the love on the previous post, i wouldnt have made a part two if it weren’t for you guys! Also, i made another part 2 that differs to this one (as a different ending) that i will post a bit later that would be where reader ends up with Logan, as requested by a few (for my Logan girlies)! 😉 and requests are still open! 😘
Two weeks.
Fourteen days.
Three hundred and thirty-six hours.
Not that you were counting.
Okay.
Maybe you were.
The first few days had been unbearable.
Everything reminded you of him.
Your coffee order.
Your favorite hoodie.
The stupid hockey games playing on TV.
Every text notification that wasn’t him somehow hurt worse than if it had been.
But eventually the ache dulled.
Not disappeared.
Just dulled.
Like a bruise that still hurt when pressed.
And thankfully, Hannah and Allie had refused to let you disappear into your apartment.
Which was exactly how you found yourself at Malone’s on a Friday night.
Again.
The irony wasn’t lost on you.
The bar buzzed with conversation and music.
People crowded around tables.
Garrett was arguing with Logan over something hockey-related. Neither of them seemed particularly sober.
Hannah sat beside you laughing so hard she nearly spilled her beer. “You should’ve seen his face.”
“I’m serious,” Allie said. “The man looked genuinely offended.”
“Because you told him he looked like a thumb.”
“He did look like a thumb.”
You laughed despite yourself. A real laugh. The first one you’d had in days.
Hannah immediately pointed. “There she is.”
You rolled your eyes. “I’m laughing. Not performing surgery.”
“Still counts.”
For a moment everything felt normal.
Almost okay.
Not perfect.
But okay.
And honestly?
That felt like progress.
You stood from your chair. “I’m getting another drink.”
“Bring me one?” Allie asked.
“You already have one.”
“Details.”
You shook your head and headed toward the bar.
The bartender recognized you immediately. “What can I get you?”
You opened your mouth—
Then froze.
Because someone stepped beside you.
Someone familiar.
Someone whose cologne you would recognize in a crowded room.
Your entire body went still.
Dean.
The air caught in your lungs.
He looked exactly the same. Which felt unfair.
Same messy hair.
Same broad shoulders.
Same stupidly beautiful face.
Except this time…
He wasn’t smiling.
Not really.
He looked nervous.
You’d never seen Dean nervous before.
His eyes met yours.
And for a second neither of you spoke.
Then—
“Hey.”
Your stomach twisted.
“Hey.”
The word came out quieter than intended.
Dean shoved his hands into his pockets.
A habit he’d always had when he was uncomfortable.
“Can we talk?”
You glanced around automatically.
No brunette.
No Claire.
No girlfriend hanging off his arm.
Just him.
Waiting.
You should’ve said no.
Really.
You should’ve.
Instead—
“Okay.”
Relief flashed across his face so quickly you almost missed it.
“Okay.”
The walk outside felt strangely familiar.
Like every conversation that had ever mattered between the two of you somehow happened alone.
Away from everyone else.
The summer air was cool.
The noise from the bar faded behind you.
Neither of you spoke immediately.
Dean looked down at the pavement.
Then at you.
Then away again.
Like he didn’t know where to start.
Which was new.
Dean always knew what to say.
Finally—
“I’m sorry.”
You blinked.
Dean swallowed.
“What I did was shitty.”
The bluntness surprised you.
He laughed bitterly.
“No. Actually, shitty isn’t even the right word.”
Silence.
“I hurt you.”
His voice softened.
“And I knew I hurt you.”
You looked away.
The memory still stung.
Dean rubbed a hand over his face.
“I’ve wanted to call you every day.”
Your heart betrayed you immediately.
Because it sped up.
Because it still cared.
Dean continued.
“But I figured you’d probably tell me to go to hell.”
“I considered it.”
That earned the smallest smile.
The first real smile you’d seen all night.
“I would’ve deserved it.”
You stared at him.
Waiting.
Because something else was coming.
You could feel it.
Dean took a deep breath.
Then another.
Like he was preparing himself.
And suddenly he looked terrified.
Actually terrified.
“Claire and I broke up.”
Your heart stumbled.
You hated that it did.
Dean immediately shook his head.
“No, don’t.”
“What?”
“Don’t think that’s why I’m here.”
His eyes locked onto yours.
“Because it’s not.”
The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten.
Dean looked away briefly.
Then laughed quietly.
“You know what’s funny?”
“What?”
“I spent years telling people I didn’t do relationships.”
You remembered.
Very clearly.
“I know.”
“I meant it too.”
His expression softened.
“At least I thought I did.”
You frowned.
Dean stepped closer.
Not enough to touch.
Just enough that your pulse started acting stupid.
Again.
Then he said—
“Claire wasn’t the exception.”
Your breath caught.
Dean smiled sadly.
“You were.”
The world seemed to stop.
Every sound disappeared.
Every thought vanished.
Dean continued before you could respond.
“I knew it the first time we met.”
You stared.
“What?”
“The first time.”
He laughed softly.
“The second you rolled your eyes at me.”
A tiny smile threatened your lips.
Dean shook his head.
“I was screwed.”
“You hated me.”
“I absolutely did not.”
“You called me annoying.”
“Because I was flirting.”
You stared.
Dean looked offended.
“That was very obvious flirting.”
“It was not.”
“It was.”
“It really wasn’t.”
Dean groaned.
“My God.”
The laugh that escaped you surprised both of you.
Dean immediately smiled.
And for a second everything felt easy again.
Comfortable.
Like it used to.
Only better.
Then his expression turned serious.
“I loved every second with you.”
Your heart stopped.
Dean’s eyes never left yours.
“Every coffee run.”
Your throat tightened.
“Every phone call.”
The ache in your chest returned.
Only this time it felt different.
Warmer.
“Every night.”
His voice dropped.
“Every stupid conversation.”
You couldn’t breathe.
Dean swallowed hard.
“I loved all of it.”
Silence.
Then—
“I loved you.”
The words hit harder than anything else.
Because you’d wanted them for so long.
Dreamed about them.
Imagined them.
And now they were finally real.
Dean laughed shakily.
“God.”
He ran a hand through his hair.
“I love you so much it actually scares me.”
Tears immediately burned behind your eyes.
Dean stepped closer.
“You know why I never told you?”
You shook your head.
His smile was sad.
“Because you mattered.”
A tear slipped down your cheek.
Dean watched it.
Heartbroken.
“Everything before you was easy.”
His voice cracked slightly.
“If someone left, they left.”
Another step.
“If things ended, they ended.”
Another.
“But you?”
He laughed.
Barely.
“You ruined me.”
Your chest physically hurt.
Dean’s eyes shone under the streetlights.
“Because suddenly there was someone I couldn’t lose.”
You were crying now.
Fully crying.
Dean smiled softly.
“I was terrified.”
The honesty in his voice shattered whatever defenses remained.
“So I did what I always do.”
His jaw tightened.
“I ran.”
The silence stretched.
Then—
“I thought Claire was safe.”
Your stomach dropped.
Dean nodded.
“She liked me.”
His expression softened.
“But she wasn’t you.”
A shaky breath left him.
“Nobody is.”
The tears fell faster.
Dean looked miserable.
Like seeing you cry physically hurt him.
Then he took one final step forward.
Close enough now.
Close enough to touch.
“I was an idiot.”
You laughed through your tears.
“A massive idiot.”
You nodded.
“A huge idiot.”
Another nod.
“The biggest.”
A watery laugh escaped you.
Dean smiled.
Relieved.
Then his expression softened again.
Completely.
“Y/N.”
Your heart melted.
The way he said your name.
Like it meant something.
Like it always had.
“I love you.”
The words wrapped around every broken part of you.
“I’ve loved you for months.”
Another tear slipped free.
Dean gently brushed it away.
His fingers lingering against your skin.
“I should’ve told you sooner.”
You nodded.
“Yeah.”
“I should’ve chosen you sooner.”
Another nod.
“Definitely.”
Dean laughed quietly.
Then his gaze dropped to your lips.
And stayed there.
“Can I kiss you?”
The question nearly broke you.
Because Dean had never asked before.
He’d always just known.
But this?
This mattered.
You smiled through your tears.
“You’re really asking?”
“I’m trying this whole respectful thing.”
You laughed.
Actually laughed.
Dean’s smile widened.
And suddenly he looked relieved.
Like maybe he hadn’t been sure you’d forgive him.
Like maybe he’d spent two weeks terrified.
Good.
He deserved that.
A little.
You reached up.
Grabbed the front of his shirt.
And pulled him toward you.
The kiss happened immediately.
Like neither of you could wait another second.
Dean made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh.
His hands found your waist instantly.
Holding you carefully.
Like you were something precious.
Something breakable.
The kiss tasted like relief.
Like coming home.
Like every missed opportunity.
Every late-night conversation.
Every almost.
Every maybe.
Finally becoming something real.
When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless.
Dean rested his forehead against yours.
A familiar gesture.
Only now it meant something different.
Now it meant everything.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”
I thought you knew || Dean Di Laurentis x fem!reader ||
Summary: After your agreement with Dean, you fall first. And hard. Dean on the other hand, doesn’t.
Warnings: Angsty, not a happy ending, use of y/n, reader can be gn, i dont know, not proofread - cause i’m lazy - and light swearing (if you squint really really hard)
A/n: Don’t know if i need to make a part two? Maybe a happy ending? Oh and I know, my huge comeback just had to be a Dean fic, what can i say, i’m girl possessed 😪 let me know if you have any off campus requests? 🏒
There were rules.
Not spoken ones.
Not written ones.
Just the kind that naturally formed when you started sleeping with someone like Dean Di Laurentis.
No sleepovers.
No dates.
No talking about feelings.
And absolutely no expectations.
At least, that’s what you told yourself. In the beginning, it had been easy.
Dean would text.
You’d pretend not to smile when his name lit up your screen. You’d tell yourself you were only going because you were bored.
Because it was fun. Because neither of you wanted anything serious.
Then you’d show up at the hockey house, and he’d flash that crooked grin that should’ve been illegal. The one that always made your stomach flip.
Easy.
Simple.
Until it wasn’t.
Until his hand started finding yours under tables.
Until he started bringing you coffee before your morning lectures without asking what you wanted because he already knew.
Until he started calling just because he was bored.
Until he started showing up when you had a bad day.
Until he became the first person you wanted to tell when something good happened.
And the first person you wanted when everything went wrong. You never meant to fall for him. Maybe that was the cruelest part.
You hadn’t walked into it willingly.
You hadn’t looked at Dean and decided he was worth getting your heart broken over.
It had happened slowly.
Quietly.
Like water wearing away stone.
One late-night conversation at a time.
One forehead kiss at a time.
One lingering look at a time.
And by the time you realized what was happening—
It was already too late.
Because Dean had made himself at home inside your life.
Inside your heart.
The problem was that Dean made everyone feel special. So maybe you shouldn’t have been surprised. Maybe you should’ve known better.
Maybe you should’ve remembered that Dean Di Laurentis wasn’t yours.
He never had been.
The hockey house was packed when you arrived. Music shook the walls. People spilled into every room.
Someone was yelling over a drinking game in the kitchen.
Someone else was singing horribly off-key in the living room.
You found Garrett first. Then Hannah.
Logan was already drunk somewhere. Which wasn’t surprising.
But Dean wasn’t there.
Your stomach twisted. It wasn’t unusual. Dean was always late.
Still, you caught yourself checking the front door every few minutes.
Waiting.
Looking.
You hated yourself for it.
You were reaching for another drink when the front door opened.
And there he was.
The room blurred around him.
Dean walked in laughing. Head thrown back. Looking unfairly handsome. Your chest immediately loosened. Relief flooding through you before you could stop it.
Then you saw her.
A brunette.
Pretty.
Beautiful, actually.
The kind of beautiful that looked effortless.
And her hand was tucked comfortably into his.
Not casually.
Not accidentally.
Comfortably.
Like she’d been there for a while.
Like she belonged there.
Your stomach dropped.
Dean looked up. His eyes found yours instantly. And just like always, his entire face lit up.
That stupid smile.
The one that had ruined your life.
“Hey!” He started walking toward you. Toward you.
The brunette still attached to his side.
You couldn’t breathe.
Couldn’t think.
Couldn’t move.
Every instinct screamed at you that something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
Dean stopped in front of you. Completely oblivious. Completely happy, “Have you met Claire?”
The brunette smiled warmly. “Hi.”
You stared.
Dean wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
Proudly.
Naturally.
Like it was the easiest thing in the world. “My girlfriend.”
Everything stopped.
Not the music. Not the party. Not the conversations around you.
But inside your head?
Silence. Absolute silence. Because suddenly every late-night phone call. Every forehead kiss. Every lingering touch. Every moment that made you think maybe.
Just maybe.
Dean felt it too…
It obviously meant nothing.
The absolute worst part?
He was smiling.
Smiling at you like this was normal. Like he hadn’t just shattered your heart. Like he had no idea what he’d done.
You managed a smile. Or something close to one..“Nice to meet you.” Your voice didn’t even sound like yours.
Claire smiled again. Dean kept talking.
You didn’t hear a single word. The ringing in your ears drowned everything out. You nodded, then walked away.
Because what else was there to do?
You’d already lost him. Maybe you never had him.
Allie found you a few minutes later.
You were standing in the kitchen gripping a plastic cup so tightly you thought the drink might spill.
“Jesus,” she said. “What’s wrong? You look like you’re about to throw up.”
You laughed. A horrible sound. “He has a girlfriend.”
Allie’s eyes widened. “What?”
“He has a girlfriend.” The words felt impossible to say.
Like saying them out loud somehow made them more real. “We’ve been sleeping together for six months, Allie, and now he has a girlfriend.” The tears were already burning behind your eyes. “You don’t just wake up one day and decide someone’s your girlfriend. That takes time. How long has he known her? How long has he been seeing her?”
Allie opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
Because neither of you knew what to say.
Before she could respond, a familiar voice appeared behind you.
“Y/N.”
Your entire body stiffened.
Dean.
“Can I steal you for a second?”
You wanted to say no.
You should’ve said no.
Instead, you nodded.
Like an idiot.
Like someone still hopelessly in love with him.
The walk upstairs felt endless.
Every step made your chest ache more.
Dean closed the bedroom door behind him.
The same room. The same bed. The same place you’d spent countless nights.
Only now it felt unfamiliar.
Cold.
You crossed your arms. Trying desperately to hold yourself together.
Dean sighed. “Okay. Talk to me.”
You laughed bitterly. “She’s pretty.”
His jaw tightened immediately. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Cut the crap.” The words came out sharper than intended. His frustration was obvious. “Why are you mad?”
You stared at him. Actually stared. The audacity almost took your breath away. “Why am I mad?”
“Yeah.” He ran a hand through his hair. “We agreed this wasn’t serious. We agreed there were no strings attached. So what is going on?”
A disbelieving laugh escaped you. “You really don’t know?”
Dean frowned. “What?”
“You have no clue at all?”
His confusion slowly faded.
And then—
Realization.
You watched it happen.
Watched the exact second it clicked.
His eyes widened. “Oh.” The word barely left his mouth.
Your heart shattered.
“You love me.”
Not a question.
A statement. Like he’d finally solved a puzzle.
You swallowed hard. “I thought you knew.” Your voice came out barely above a whisper.
Because if you said it louder. If you said it any louder—
You’d break.
Dean looked away. “Y/N…”
“No.” You shook your head. “No, don’t.”
He sighed heavily. “You knew what this was.”
The tears finally slipped free. “I know.”
“You knew I don’t do relationships.”
The laugh that escaped you sounded broken. “You brought me coffee every morning.”
Dean went silent.
“You called me just because you were bored.”
Silence.
“You held my hand.”
Silence.
“You kissed my forehead.”
His jaw clenched.
“You made me feel like I mattered.”
Your voice cracked. “So forgive me for being confused.”
Dean looked miserable now.
Actually miserable.
But it didn’t help.
Nothing could help.
Because Claire was still downstairs.
Claire was still his girlfriend.
Not you.
Never you. “You told me you didn’t do relationships.”
“I don’t.” The answer came too quickly. Too automatically.
You laughed, but it was hollow. “Clearly you do.”
“Claire is different.” The words hit like a slap.
Claire is different.
Not you.
Her.
Different.
Special.
Worth it.
You looked away before he could see your face crumble. “Oh.”
“Y/N—”
“Why isn’t it me?” The question slipped out before you could stop it.
The room froze. You wished you could take it back immediately.
But it was too late. The tears kept falling.
“Why am I not the exception?”
Dean’s face fell. “Don’t.”
“No, tell me.” Your voice broke completely. “What does she have that I don’t?”
“That’s not fair.”
“How long?”
His eyes flickered.
You knew.
Before he even answered.
You knew.
“Dean.”
He rubbed a hand over his face. “Does it matter?”
The hurt exploded into anger. “Does it matter?” Your voice echoed through the room. “Of course it matters!”
Dean flinched. “Y/N—”
“It matters because we still slept together on Monday!” The silence that followed was devastating. “Monday.” Your voice cracked. “Was she already your girlfriend then?”
Dean looked away.
And that was answer enough.
The room tilted.
Your stomach twisted.
You thought you might actually be sick. “Wow.”
Dean cursed under his breath. “Fuck.”
“Wow.” You nodded.
Over and over.
Like maybe if you kept nodding this wouldn’t hurt so much. “I was stupid.”
“You weren’t stupid.”
“I was.” You laughed through tears. “I really thought I could change you.”
Dean closed his eyes.
“I thought maybe one day you’d look at me and realize I was enough.” Every word hurt. Every word felt like ripping open a wound. “I thought maybe I’d be the girl that made Dean Di Laurentis want something real.”
Silence.
“I guess I was right.”
Dean looked up. Confused.
You smiled sadly. “Just not with me.”
The look on his face nearly broke you. Because he looked guilty. And guilt wasn’t love.
You would’ve preferred anger.
Frustration.
Anything.
But guilt?
Guilt meant he felt sorry for you.
And that was somehow worse.
“I don’t love you, Y/N.”
The words landed like a knife.
Simple.
Direct.
Final.
No misunderstanding.
No hope.
Nothing.
Just the truth.
You stared at him.
Every piece of you cracking apart.
Then you nodded.
Slowly.
Once.
Because what else was there to do? You couldn’t beg.
You wouldn’t.
You swallowed the lump in your throat. Forced yourself to stand up straighter. Forced yourself to breathe.
Then you stepped around him.
Dean immediately reached out. “Y/N—”
You pulled away. “Mission accomplished.” Your voice was barely audible.
Dean froze.
You looked at him one last time. Eyes red. Heart destroyed. “Congratulations.” The tears spilled faster now. “You finally broke it. You finally broke me.”
His face crumpled.
But you were already moving.
Already opening the door.
Already leaving.
Because if you stayed another second—
You’d beg him to love you.
And you refused to let that be your final memory of him.
The bedroom door slammed behind you. The noise echoed through the hallway.
And then the first sob tore from your chest.
Raw.
Broken.
Painful.
People downstairs turned to look.
You didn’t care.
Nothing mattered anymore.
Not the party.
Not the music.
Not the people.
Not the embarrassment.
Because the only thing you could think about was him.
Summary: First ball of the season leads to bringing a Y/l/n and a Bridgerton together with unusual events.
Warnings: None (i think)
A/n: I’m running out of ideas of what to write lol, but if you have any requests please feel free to ask!
The first ball of the season was always the most overwhelming. The hall was a tapestry of silk gowns and finely tailored coats, a wash of pastels mingling with the deeper hues of noble tradition. Crystal chandeliers overhead refracted light into tiny rainbows that danced on polished marble floors. Every young lady present knew that the evening was not merely an occasion but a proclamation — of beauty, of wit, and most significantly, of matrimonial eligibility.
Benedict Bridgerton stood at the edge of the room, a familiar smirk playing on his lips as he exchanged witticisms with a few gentlemen from his circle. The air was filled with the muted roar of laughter, murmurs, and the sharp clink of glasses. This was how he preferred it, in the periphery where expectations did not suffocate. Lady Bridgerton’s reminders, constant as they were, about seeking a suitable match, had become little more than background noise, ignorable in the face of his personal pursuits.
“Ah, Bridgerton, I daresay you’re hiding,” came the mocking voice of Sir Jasper Clarke, an old friend. He tipped his glass in Benedict’s direction. “Careful, or Lady Bridgerton will drag you off by the ear.”
Benedict chuckled, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Oh, let her try. I might even enjoy the spectacle.”
The men laughed, but soon enough the urge for solitude crept in, and Benedict, under the pretence of needing another drink, excused himself. The path to the refreshments table was a labyrinth of taffeta skirts and the bold feathers of headpieces that threatened to skewer passersby. He maneuvered through the crowd with practiced grace until he felt the sudden, unmistakable pressure of a body colliding into his.
“Oh, I do beg your pardon,” came a voice, delicate yet edged with something sharp — something real. Benedict turned, his prepared apology catching in his throat as he found himself gazing into a pair of eyes the color of storm-tossed seas.
The lady before him, while clearly belonging to the fine assembly, did not carry herself like the other debutantes. There was an ease in her stance, a hint of rebellion in the tilt of her chin. She wore a gown of deep emerald, the color defying the pastel uniformity of the night. Her curls were pinned with only a few small pearls, as though she scoffed at the idea of anything more ostentatious.
“Quite alright, miss,” Benedict replied, the corners of his mouth twitching up. “Though I wonder if the floor intends to survive such collisions if they continue.”
A smile flickered across her lips. “I cannot speak for the floor, sir, but I suspect it is stronger than most men here.”
A spark of amusement lit his expression. “And do you include me in that assessment?”
She paused, eyes narrowing in an appraising manner. “The jury is still out, Mr. Bridgerton.”
Benedict’s eyebrow arched, a sudden rush of intrigue coursing through him. “You know my name, and yet I am at a disadvantage.”
“Only temporarily, I assure you,” she said, extending her gloved hand. “Y/n Y/l/n."
He took her hand, pressing his lips just above the seam of her glove, a gesture more sincere than ostentatious. “An honor, Miss Y/l/n.”
Y/n’s gaze remained steady, refusing to be flustered. “Now, if you would excuse me, I must find my aunt before she decides I have been stolen away by pirates.”
“Pirates?” Benedict repeated, half-laughing. “Not a rogue lord or a dashing duke, but pirates?”
Y/n’s eyes glimmered. “Oh, Mr. Bridgerton, how uninspired the ton would be if it lacked imagination. But alas, I fear your brethren of lords are far too predictable for my tastes.”
“Then they are fortunate you remain beyond their reach,” he said, stepping aside as if allowing her to pass. But something in his tone invited her to stay, linger just a moment longer.
She hesitated, the briefest shadow crossing her features, before she shook her head lightly. “Perhaps they are. Good evening, Mr. Bridgerton.”
Before Benedict could respond, she disappeared into the crowd, the sweep of her gown leaving behind a whisper of jasmine and intrigue.
The following days saw Benedict attending more balls, luncheons, and promenades than he usually would allow. It was as if Y/n had awoken something in him — a restless curiosity. He learned from whispers that she was the daughter of a merchant, elevated to society by the combined good graces of fortune and tragedy. Her parents, long deceased, had left her substantial wealth but no title. It made her presence at these events a bold move, one that clearly set some of the more conservative ladies’ feathers on edge.
On the third evening, fate intervened once more. This time, Benedict found her sitting alone at the far end of the gallery, eyes fixated on a painting. The rest of the guests were immersed in a cotillion, the strains of the violin and harpsichord barely reaching the secluded alcove.
“Contemplating art or an escape route?” Benedict’s voice cut softly through the quiet.
Y/n glanced over her shoulder, a wry smile forming. “I suppose the answer depends on who asks.”
“Then I shall take heart if it is the former. Otherwise, I fear I must take up piracy to rescue you,” he said, stepping forward and lowering himself into the seat beside her.
“Piracy again, Mr. Bridgerton? I see you’ve been listening,” she teased, though her expression softened.
“I’ve been doing more than that,” he admitted, his voice low. “I’ve been searching for you.”
The amusement in her eyes stilled, replaced by something deeper, more fragile. “And what is it you seek, exactly?”
For a moment, silence stretched between them, taut as the strings of the violins behind. Benedict leaned in slightly, the world outside this corner of the gallery ceasing to exist.
“An honest conversation,” he said. “No masks. No pretensions. Just you and me.”
Y/n exhaled, the tension in her shoulders softening. “You might regret that request, Mr. Bridgerton.”
“I doubt that,” he replied with a smile that seemed to break through the last of her walls.
The ballrooms began to take on new meanings in the weeks that followed. They were no longer gilded cages but places where he sought her out, finding solace in whispered conversations stolen behind columns and fleeting touches that set his pulse racing. Word of their acquaintance began to spread, tongues wagging with both awe and disdain. Y/n was not what society would deem an ideal match for Benedict Bridgerton, yet none could deny the energy that seemed to ignite between them whenever they were in the same room.
One evening, beneath the wisteria-laden veranda of the Bridgerton estate, Benedict found her waiting.
“Is this how we are now, Mr. Bridgerton? Meeting like spies, hidden away from prying eyes?” Y/n said, though her voice held no reproach.
“If it is, then I shall embrace my role,” he said, taking her hand in his, the warmth of her skin even through the delicate barrier of her gloves.
Y/n's eyes met his, the question unasked but answered in their silence. “And when the world finds out? What will you do then?”
“I would stand with you,” Benedict said without hesitation. “Always.”
Her smile trembled but did not break. “You say that now. But the storm will come.”
“Then let it,” he whispered, drawing her hand to his chest, where his heart thudded with a certainty that felt as old as time.
The night around them held its breath, the distant murmur of the party inside fading into nothingness. And as Benedict leaned down, the last traces of propriety scattered like petals on the wind, he knew that this — whatever lay ahead — was where he was meant to be.
And so, in a world where status and tradition reigned supreme, a Bridgerton and a Y/ln began a dance unlike any other. One that promised to unravel not only the conventions of their society but the very notion of what love was supposed to be.
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