Discover Top Posts Tagged with #demi lovato

You know, I really hate jokes about "how fast Demi Lovato dropped they/them pronouns" because like. A) they didn't. Demi has they/she listed on her social media pages. They still use they/them, and B) the reason they added she/her back and the reason you think Demi "dropped they/them" is because people are transphobic and exorsexist and never used their pronouns in the first place! It's literally because people were exorsexist to them.

#trans #nonbinary #exorsexism #transphobia #demi Lovato

Keke: Girl, the moment when you realize and you get to the age that a lot of people were around you doing stuff, it's almost a mental break that can happen because you realize [they] were taking advantage of me. Oh, I was being exploited. That was very difficult for me because at 15, I'm thinking, my boyfriend is older because I'm doing an older job and this is the way it is. It seemed normal in my mind. Demi: Especially if you're an older soul too. Especially if you're mature for your age. Keke: I love the Hilary Duff song [Mature]. Demi: Oh my God, me too! Keke: Yeah, because it's, like, oh, shit, we all had the same damn life. People kept telling us, "you're so mature for your age." Demi: Yes. I also wrote a song about that. It's called "29". And when you listen to it, I think you will be able to relate to it. Demi Lovato appearing on Baby, This Is Keke Palmer (3rd March 2026)

Give Your Heart A Break (one shot)

summary: you were scared of love until you met Dean. pairing: dean dilaurentis x reader content: heartbreak, angst, drama, romance

inspiration: Give Your Heart A Break by Demi Lovato (preview of the song at the end of the story)

Dean Di Laurentis didn’t do complicated. His life was beautifully mapped out in a series of predictable, high-speed victories: hockey championships, easy hookups, and a carefree charm that shielded him from anything resembling a real emotional stakes. He was used to girls who played by the same unspoken rules of the Off-Campus house—temporary, fun, and entirely uncomplicated.

Then you walked into the frame, and Dean’s flawless radar completely failed him.

He didn't even know your name that first night at the crowded, sweaty New Year’s Eve party. You were a friend of a friend’s roommate, sitting on the counter in the chaotic kitchen of the hockey house, looking entirely detached from the madness around you. When he handed you a red solo cup, your fingers brushed his, and you flinched as if you’d been burned.

"I don't do hockey players," you said, your voice a quiet, defensive armor. "And I definitely don't do guys who look like they have a line of girls waiting outside their bedroom door."

Dean had smiled his trademark, devastating smile, leaning in close enough to smell your vanilla perfume over the scent of cheap beer. "Good thing I'm not looking for a line. Just looking at you."

But you weren’t just playing hard to get. As the weeks bled into late winter, Dean found himself pursuing you with an intensity that terrified him. You spent hours talking on the porch in the freezing cold, wrapped in his oversized team jacket. He learned the shape of your laughter, the way you took your coffee, and the sharp, sudden walls you built whenever things got too close.

You were ghost hiding behind a beautiful facade. Every time Dean tried to pull you into his world, you retreated. He could see the wreckage of a past relationship written in the tense line of your shoulders and the way you scanned a room, always looking for the exit strategy. You had been broken, badly, by someone who swore they loved you.

And now, Dean was paying the price for a crime he didn’t commit.

(…)

"You're doing it again," Dean said, his voice dropping an octave as he shut the door to his bedroom.

You were pacing, your hands tucked into the pockets of your jeans, refusing to look at him. You had just come from a local diner, a simple date that had gone south the moment a guy who looked vaguely like your ex walked through the door. The color had drained from your face, and you had instantly clamored up, pulling away from Dean’s hand like it was poison.

"Doing what, Dean? Being realistic?" You fired back, your voice trembling but sharp. "You think this is just a game. You think because you’re Dean Di Laurentis, you can just smile and fix everything. But people lie. Guys like you lie the loudest."

"Guys like me?" Dean stepped towards you, his heart hammering against his ribs in a way that had nothing to do with adrenaline on the ice. It cut him—deeply—that you still saw him as a cliché. "I’ve been here for three months. I haven't looked at another girl. I haven't lied to you once."

"Because it’s easy right now!" You cried, a tear finally spilling over your lashes. "It’s easy when it's new. But the second this gets heavy, or the second you realize how messy I am, you’re going to walk. Just like he did. He told me he loved me, Dean. He told me I was his whole world, and then he completely shattered me. I can't do it again. I won’t”

The raw agony in your voice filled the small room, suffocating the air between you two. You were standing right in front of him, but you were miles away, trapped in a prison of your own memories. You were terrified of the fall, so you were refusing to fly.

Dean didn't try to grab you or force a kiss to make it better. He just stood there, his chest aching with a profound, heavy realization: he was entirely, irrevocably in love with you. And your fear was tearing you both apart.

Things reached its boiling point on a torrential rainy night in late February. Dean had waited up for you, knowing you were stressed about midterms, only for you to text him a cold, detached message trying to call the whole thing off.

“We should stop seeing each other. This is getting too serious. I can’t give you what you want.”

Dean didn't think. He grabbed his keys, drove through the downpour to your apartment, and knocked on your door until you opened it. When you saw him standing there, soaked and furious, your eyes widened.

"Dean, what are you doing? Go home—"

"No," he said, stepping past you into the warmth of your apartment. He turned around, shaking his head, his usual easygoing demeanor entirely replaced by a desperate, burning sincerity. "I'm not going home. And I'm not letting you push me away because you’re scared of your own shadow."

"I am trying to protect myself!" You screamed, finally breaking. You struck his chest with your palms, your voice cracking with a sob. "Why can't you just let me go? Why do you have to make this so hard?"

"Because it shouldn't be hard!" Dean yelled back, grabbing your wrists gently but firmly, pinning them between your chests so you had to look him in the eye. "The day I met you, all I saw was a girl who was hiding. You think I’m trying to hurt you? You think I’m trying to steal your heart? I’m trying to save it!"

He let go of your wrists, his hands sliding up to cup your face, his thumbs wiping away the rain mixed with your tears.

"Don't wanna break your heart," Dean whispered, his voice cracking with an emotion he’d never allowed himself to feel before. "I wanna give your heart a break. From the hurt, from the looking over your shoulder, from the waiting for the other shoe to drop. I’m right here. I’m not him. Just let me in."

The silence that followed was deafening, save for the sound of the rain drumming against the windowpane. You stared up at him, your chest heaving, searching his blue eyes for any sign of deceit, any flicker of the superficial hockey player you had assumed he was.

But there was nothing there but a terrifying, beautiful truth. He loved you. Completely.

Slowly, the tension began to drain from your body. The invisible walls you had spent a year building brick by brick began to crumble under the sheer weight of his devotion. You let out a shaky, broken breath, and for the first time, you didn't pull away. Instead, you leaned your forehead against his chest, your hands coming up to grip the damp fabric of his shirt.

"It's so scary," you whispered into his heartbeat. "Believing you is the scariest thing I've ever done."

"I know," Dean murmured, burying his face in your wet hair, wrapping his arms around you so tightly that there was no space left between them. "But you don't have to do it all at once. Just let me hold you. Let me show you."

When he lifted your chin and kissed you, it wasn't the passionate, demanding kiss of a boy trying to win a prize. It was slow, tender, and deeply reassuring—a silent vow whispered against your lips.

There were still scars, and there would still be days when the ghosts of your past tried to whisper doubts into your ear. But as you finally wrapped your arms around Dean’s neck, pulling him closer, you knew you didn't have to fight them alone anymore. You were finally letting your heart take a break, safe in the hands of the boy who had promised to protect it.