warnings: dirty jokes (Dean being Dean), fluff, chasing, making out, use of pretty girl and baby, swearing
summary: in which the boys face off the girls in laser tag, but you reach a dead end as Boyfriend!John Logan chases you
wc: 1210
a/n: this could’ve been dirty AF but didn't think Logan was much of a dark romance, Haunting Adeline guy... or do i?
“Suck on that, Dean!” Allie cheered, firing her laser gun straight into Dean's chest.
The loud buzz of his vest echoed through the arena.
Allie was such a girl boss. Honestly, you sometimes wondered how Dean had managed to get so lucky.
“I've got something else you could suck on,” Dean shot back with a grin before immediately taking off.
“You're dead!” Allie yelled, already sprinting after him.
Dean's laughter echoed through the maze as he disappeared around a corner, Allie's footsteps pounding after him without hesitation.
That left four people.
Well... three if Allie didn't eventually strangle Dean somewhere in the arena.
Just Tucker, Logan and you.
The dim room pulsed beneath flashing neon lights that painted everything in shifting blues and reds, making shadows jump across the maze of walls and crates. Every heartbeat felt louder than the music, adrenaline already pumping through your veins as you moved cautiously between cover. The boys had spent the entire game hunting you down, and every distant footstep made your pulse spike all over again.
A flicker of movement caught your eye behind a stack of boxes. You ducked behind a nearby wall, holding your breath as you peeked around the edge.
Target acquired.
Without giving him a chance to react, you leaned out and squeezed the trigger. His vest buzzed instantly.
“Bye bye, Tucker!” you celebrated with a victorious laugh.
Tucker threw both hands into the air in surrender. “Lucky shot,” he muttered, already making his way back to reception where everyone else waited.
Now it was just you. And your boyfriend. A one on one.
The muffled cheers from reception carried through the arena.
“Give him hell!” Hannah shouted.
“Don't let him distract you!” Sabrina called.
Smiling to yourself, you slowed your breathing and carefully circled the arena, every step deliberate as your eyes searched every corner.
Then you saw it. Barely visible behind a wall. The barrel of a laser gun. A grin tugged at your lips.
Got you.
You crept forward as quietly as possible, already picturing Logan's annoyed face when you eliminated him. The second you reached the corner, you swung out and fired directly where he'd been...
Nothing. “What?” Your gun lowered slightly as confusion replaced your confidence.
Where had he-
Something hard pressed against your lower back. The unmistakable barrel of a laser gun.
“Hey, pretty girl.” His voice brushed against your ear.
You spun around. Logan stood inches away, that infuriatingly smug grin spread across his face.
Instead of pulling the trigger, you ran.
A laugh escaped him almost immediately. “Oh, you're making this fun.”
You darted between walls, cutting sharply around crates before vaulting over a low barrier. The soles of your shoes slapped against the floor as you zigzagged through the maze, throwing quick glances over your shoulder.
He was still there.
Still following.
Not sprinting.
Not panicking.
Just keeping pace.
Like he already knew exactly where you were going.
You ducked around another corner, doubled back through a narrow passage and slipped behind a cluster of barrels, hoping to lose him long enough to circle around and catch him from behind.
Nothing.
Then footsteps. Steady, unhurried and growing closer.
You burst from your hiding spot and took off again. God, you were getting a workout, but you weren’t complaining.
There was something exhilarating about it. The thrill of the chase. The knowledge that it was your boyfriend relentlessly hunting you down.
“Don't run from me, baby!” Logan called, amusement dripping from every word.
His voice sounded much closer than it should have. You weren't losing him. You took a sharp right, immediately cut left, vaulted another row of boxes before skidding to an abrupt stop. A solid black wall towered in front of you.
Dead end.
“Oh, you've got to be kidding me.” Your head whipped around, desperately searching for another exit. There wasn't one.
Footsteps echoed behind you. Slow and confident.
Logan rounded the corner with maddening ease, not even breathing hard with his dands loose at his sides.
A lazy smile on his face. “You lost?” he purred.
You lifted your laser gun, refusing to back down despite the corner you'd found yourself trapped in.
Both of you were competitive, neither willing to lose.
“One more step,” you warned with a smug smile, “and you're out of the game, love.”
His grin only widened. “You sure about that?”
Before your finger could fully squeeze the trigger, Logan exploded into motion.
He closed the distance in a heartbeat, twisting just enough for your laser to flash harmlessly past his shoulder before his body collided with yours. The impact pushed you gently but firmly against the wall.
His hand instinctively cradled the back of your head before it could knock against the surface behind you, cushioning the movement so naturally it stole the breath from your lungs almost as much as what came next.
His lips found yours without hesitation, like he'd been waiting all game to do exactly this.
Your laser gun slipped from your fingers, clattering forgotten onto the floor as both of your hands found him instead. One tangled through the slightly damp strands of his hair from all the running while the other settled against the rough stubble along his jaw, smiling into the kiss as it brushed softly against your skin.
The kiss deepened naturally, slow enough to savour but charged with all the adrenaline still racing through your bodies. Every stolen breath only pulled you closer, your fingers tightening in his hair as he smiled faintly against your lips before capturing them again, making your heart pound even harder than the game ever had.
His arm slid securely beneath your thigh as he effortlessly lifted you against him. Instinctively, your legs wrapped around his waist. The world outside disappeared.
Eventually he drew back only far enough for your foreheads to rest together, both of you breathing harder than before, lips flushed from the kiss.
“I love chasing you,” he murmured, the corners of his mouth still curled into a smile.
A breathless laugh escaped you. “I love being chased by you.”
His eyes softened. You leaned in again, barely an inch separating your lips.
“Don't take it personally, baby.”
You blinked. “What are you-” A loud buzz erupted from the speakers.
You frowned and then felt the unmistakable barrel of his laser gun resting against your side. Your eyes widened as you saw your vest lit up. “You…”
A slow, mischievous grin spread across his face.
“You used kissing as a distraction!”
“I absolutely did.”
A chorus of cheers exploded from reception. You both looked up, horror spread across your face as every single person had been watching.
Dean doubled over laughing. “I knew Allie and I weren't the only ones getting busy!”
Allie smacked him across the arm. “Oh, shut up!”
Still wrapped around Logan's waist, you buried your face against his shoulder for a second before both of you dissolved into laughter.
“You're the worst,” you mumbled.
“And yet…” he stole one last quick kiss. “…I still won.”
Rolling your eyes, you finally slipped back onto your feet, picked up your abandoned laser gun and walked back towards reception beside him, already plotting exactly how you'd get your revenge next game.
summary: in which Best Friend!Dean finds out you’re in the hospital and immediately comes to your aid
wc: 1416
a/n: I was inspired by when I was sent to my hospital and my boyfriend had a similar reaction LOL
The smartwatch on your wrist vibrated, and you glanced down.
Dean: Wanna come to Malones w da boys?
"We're going to put an IV in to help replace some of what your body's been depleted of," the doctor explained.
You looked up at her, too drained to answer, and simply nodded.
"I'll get one of the nurses and we’ll start, okay, hun?"
She disappeared behind the curtain surrounding your little corner of the emergency department.
Your watch buzzed again.
Dean: Helllooooo???
You let out a tired sigh. With what little energy you had left, you reached for your phone on the bedside table and typed a reply.
You: Soz can't rn
His response came almost instantly.
Dean: Why nut?
Despite everything, you smiled. Before you could think of a believable excuse, your phone lit up with his contact.
FaceTime.
Of course.
"Shit," you muttered.
You didn't want Dean worrying. You already felt ridiculous for ending up here over something that would probably pass after a few bags of fluids and some sleep.
You answered, holding the phone far too close to your face so none of the monitors or hospital bed could be seen.
"Ew. Why are you so close to the screen?" Dean laughed, his grin practically lighting up the display.
"Hello to you too."
Your face filled the entire camera, which wasn't exactly flattering considering the dark circles under your eyes and the handful of stress pimples you'd acquired from weeks of surviving on caffeine and poor decisions.
Dean chuckled before his expression slowly changed. "Why's there so much beeping?" His brows furrowed.
As if the universe had decided you hadn't suffered enough, the doctor returned with a nurse. Without thinking, you lowered your phone so you wouldn't look like an idiot video calling someone while being treated.
Unfortunately, it also gave Dean a perfect view of the room.
He called your name sharply. "What the fuck? Is that the hospital?"
You barely had time to react before the doctor started checking your chart.
The last thing you heard before the call disconnected was Dean saying, "I'll be there in twenty."
Your stomach twisted.
He was supposed to be out with the boys. This wasn't worth dragging him away for.
Dean had been your best friend since first year. Between sharing nearly every law class and spending more time arguing hypothetical court cases than actually studying them, the friendship had formed naturally. You'd always suspected law wasn't really what he wanted though. Sometimes it felt like he was only here because it was expected of him, but that was a conversation for another day.
The nurse checked your observations before inserting a cannula into your arm and hooking up another bag of fluids. Instead of feeling better, you only felt heavier, your eyelids refusing to stay open.
You just wanted to go back to your dorm, sleep for twelve hours, then pretend the mountain of assignments waiting for you didn't exist.
The curtain suddenly slid open. You looked up, ready to tell the nurse you weren't hungry anymore.
Instead, Dean stood there in his black jeans, white T-shirt and brown leather jacket.
His hair was windswept, his chest rising and falling as though he'd sprinted through the hospital.
You blinked. "It's only been like... ten minutes."
His breathing hadn't even settled.
"Did you speed?" you asked, suddenly finding enough energy to sit up.
Whether that burst of energy came from worrying he'd wrapped his car around a pole or simply because he was standing there was something you chose not to examine.
Definitely the first one.
Dean barely reacted. He dragged a chair beside your bed and sat down, concern written all over his face. "You're worried about whether I sped," he said quietly, "when you should be worried about yourself."
Silence settled between you.
Finally, Dean broke it. "Why didn't you tell me you were here?"
You looked away, chewing the inside of your cheek. "It wasn't a big deal. I didn't want anyone worrying, and you were already going out..."
"Fuck going out with the boys!" The words came so suddenly you stared at him. "I don't care where I am or what I'm doing," he continued, frustration slipping into every word. "I care whether you're okay. So don't give me that crap about not wanting to worry me."
His jaw tightened before he exhaled.
"You're my best friend."
Your chest tightened. You wished you were more.
"I'd rather you call me over nothing than sit here alone pretending everything's fine."
You swallowed hard. "I…I'm sorry." Your voice barely came out above a whisper. "I've just got so much work. I need to stay on top of everything, Dean. You know I do."
Your vision blurred before you realised tears were already slipping down your cheeks.
Dean reached over without hesitation, brushing one away with his thumb before pulling you gently into his arms.
His familiar scent, sandalwood and cedar, wrapped around you.
Home.
You buried your face against his shoulder as every bit of exhaustion you'd been holding together finally cracked.
He held you tighter.
"Don't ever tell yourself I'm better off not knowing." His voice was quiet against your hair. "I'll always show up."
Those four words settled somewhere deep inside you.
You hadn't realised how badly you needed someone to say them.
A polite cough interrupted the moment.
You both looked up as the doctor stood there trying very hard not to smile. Dean cleared his throat and leaned back, rubbing the back of his neck.
"We'll just run through your final observations and you'll be free to head home."
You quietly thanked her while the nurse finished checking everything one last time before removing the equipment.
"You look much better," the doctor smiled. "Just promise me you'll actually rest."
"I'll try."
Dean snorted beside you. "She will."
The doctor laughed. "I figured."
By the time you left the hospital, the sun had disappeared and the night air bit at your skin. You instinctively folded your arms across yourself. Without a word, Dean shrugged off his leather jacket and draped it over your shoulders.
You looked up at him. "Thanks."
He simply nodded, opening the passenger door like he always did.
Some habits never changed. You sometimes wondered if he did this for every girl.
You hoped he didn't.
Dean climbed into the driver's seat, started the car, then immediately switched on the heater and heated seats.
"Warm enough?"
You pulled his jacket tighter around yourself.
"It smells like you."
The words slipped out before you could stop them.
Dean glanced over, amused. "I shower occasionally, thanks."
You rolled your eyes. "I meant in a good way."
"I'll take the win."
The drive home passed quietly. Your eyelids grew heavier with every passing streetlight until your stomach growled loud enough to make you wince.
Dean smirked. "Hungry?"
"Apparently."
"We're almost home. I'll heat something up."
True to his word, he parked outside Hockey House and walked you inside.
Holding the front door open, he gave an unnecessarily dramatic bow. "M'lady."
You couldn't help laughing.
"There she is," he grinned. "I was starting to think the hospital stole your personality."
"Don't push it."
"Sit on the couch. I'll make you food."
You didn't argue.
The cushions practically swallowed you whole as you collapsed face first into them, letting out the deepest sigh you'd breathed in weeks. Somewhere in the kitchen you heard the microwave beep.
Your eyes drifted shut.
Dean walked back into the lounge carrying a steaming plate. "Alright, eat..."
He stopped. You were already asleep.
He smiled to himself before setting the plate down on the coffee table and pulling the throw blanket over you. Carefully, he crouched beside the couch, brushing a loose strand of hair away from your face.
The front door suddenly opened.
"Honey, I'm ho..." Logan froze as Dean shot upright, raising a finger to his lips.
Dean spoke through gritted teeth, barely louder than a whisper. "This is the most sleep she's gotten in weeks. If you wake her up, I'm cockblocking you."
Logan slowly zipped his lips shut before raising both hands in surrender.
Dean looked back at you. For the first time all day, your face looked peaceful.
He realised then that seeing you like this, finally resting instead of constantly pushing yourself, made something inside his chest ache. He wasn't about to admit that the ache had very little to do with friendship.
It had only been a week, but somehow it already felt like you'd been together for months. Everything between you had come so naturally. You'd clicked instantly, with Dean and the rest of the boys.
Now you sat amongst the growing crowd inside the arena, waiting for the game to begin. Around you, conversations buzzed with excitement as more spectators filtered into the stands. The team was still in the locker room, getting changed and going through their pre game routines.
You smiled to yourself as you opened your messages. You told Dean how proud you were of him. That he'd trained so hard for tonight. That no matter what happened once he stepped onto the ice, you believed in him. A few seconds after hitting send, another notification appeared.
A laugh escaped you as you tucked your phone against your chest, cheeks warming despite the cold arena. You could picture it perfectly.
Dean sitting in the locker room with the boys, head lowered toward his phone while the biggest grin spread across his face. The same Dean who always tried to act cool, now completely giving himself away because of a few simple texts.
Your phone buzzed one last time.
Tuck: I think you've got him whipped
You couldn't stop smiling. Maybe you did. And if a couple of messages before every game put that smile on his face, you'd happily send them before every puck drop.
Situationship!Dean receiving a suggestive photo from you.
cw: lingerie, Dean getting turned on
It was 9 p.m., and he was at Malone's with the boys. Girls kept glancing his way from across the bar. A few had even tried waving him over. Usually, Dean would've entertained it. Instead, he couldn't stop thinking about you. About last night.
Dean had his fair share of women, and he had one rule he rarely broke. No repeats. It was easier that way. Cleaner, with no mixed signals and no attachments. But there was something about you he couldn't quite figure out. Something that had worked its way under his skin and refused to leave.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. Without thinking, he pulled it out. Your name lit up his screen, with one attachment.
Dean glanced around the booth. The boys were too busy arguing over hockey to pay him any attention. Satisfied, he lowered his screen brightness and tapped the photo.
"Fuck." His breath caught.
You stood in front of your mirror wearing a delicate white lace two piece set, the soft fabric hugging you perfectly. Heat rushed straight to his face. A strangled sound escaped him, somewhere between a groan and a moan. He locked his phone so quickly he nearly dropped it, then dragged both hands over his face as he leaned back in the booth.
Jesus Christ, he could still picture it.
"You good, dude?" Logan asked, brows knitting together as everyone finally looked over.
Dean stared at the ceiling for a long second before letting out another groan. He swore you were going to be the death of him.
warnings: slow burn, fluff, longing, some angst, mention of possible injury, swearing
summary: three years after life pulled them in different directions, one Christmas in St. Barts brings you back to the boy who always felt like home. Somewhere between old traditions and new feelings, friendship begins to blur into something more.
wc: 7540
a/n: Title inspired Adele’s song, Lovesong. I’m such a sucker for childhood/best friend Dean, hence the fic. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. MWAH
Chapter 1
The last exam of your third year at NYU ended with the familiar scrape of chairs against polished floors and a chorus of relieved sighs echoing through the lecture theatre.
Three years of Business almost behind you leaving you with a year left, then the real world.
A grin spread across your face as you stepped out into the cold Manhattan afternoon. The city buzzed around you despite the chill, your breath visible in the air as yellow taxis crawled through traffic, impatient horns filling the streets. Tourists huddled in scarves and coats at intersections, students spilled out of nearby campus buildings bundled in layers, and the smell of roasted coffee drifted from cafés offering warmth against the December cold.
For once, you had nowhere to be, no lectures, assignments or presentations. Just an empty calendar stretching out in front of you, begging to be filled with a plethora of selfcare rituals.
You pulled your coat tighter around yourself, adjusting the oversized sunglasses perched on your nose more out of habit than necessity, and started the familiar walk back towards your apartment in SoHo.
Your phone vibrated inside your shoulder bag which you fished out immediately.
Mom
A smile appeared before you'd even answered.
"Hey, Mom. It hasn't even been a week."
"I know," she replied brightly. "Am I only allowed to call on Sundays now?"
"Oh, absolutely." You joked.
"Too bad, I ignored that rule."
You laughed as you crossed the street, boots crunching lightly over patches of old snow pushed to the curb.
"What if I just wanted to hear my daughter's voice?"
"You absolutely did not call me just because you missed me."
"I do miss you."
"But?"
"But I also have news."
"There it is."
Your mom laughed, rich and warm, the kind of laugh that always made you smile no matter how bad your day had been, an effect she had on everyone.
She could start conversations with complete strangers in grocery store queues. She remembered birthdays without reminders. She sent you photos of random dogs she'd met on walks because she thought you'd like them. Your dad had always joked she'd somehow befriended half of America.
"So," you said, weaving around tourists who had somehow managed to stop in the middle of the footpath. "What’s the news?"
"Oh, sweetheart." There was the dramatic sigh. "We finally did it."
"You?"
"We settled the acquisitions."
You slowed your pace. "The Chicago one?"
"And Miami."
"No way."
"And Dallas."
Your eyebrows shot up. "Seriously?"
"Mhm."
"The ones you've both been working on for, what, three years?"
"Exactly those."
You smiled despite yourself.
Your parents owned businesses across the country, and closing one deal usually meant opening another. The last few years had been nonstop meetings, overseas flights and endless negotiations.
Family holidays had quietly disappeared somewhere in the chaos.
"We're finally free," your mother continued.
"You sound relieved."
"I sound younger."
You laughed. "I think your dad cried after signing the paperwork."
"Dad? Cry?"
"He'd deny it."
"Obviously."
"So..." Her voice became noticeably lighter. "We're going back to St. Barts."
Your footsteps stopped completely. People brushed past you with irritated mutters, but you barely noticed. "What?"
"We're going back."
You blinked. "The beach house?"
"Yup."
"When?"
"In two days."
"Two days!?" You echoed, eyes widening.
"We've already had the staff open everything up."
You couldn't stop smiling. You could imagine the warm escape from the New York biting cold. The white sand, impossibly blue water, morning swims before breakfast, evenings watching the sunset from the balcony with your parents.
Then your thoughts wandered to the familiar estate next door. The family who had shared every St. Barts holiday with yours for as long as you could remember.
Then another thought entered your mind. Trying to sound casual, you cleared your throat. "So..."
"So?"
"Just us?"
"As much as I adore spending time with only you and your dad."
There it was.
"The Di Laurentises will be joining us."
Your heart skipped. "Oh."
"And before you ask..."
"I wasn't going to ask."
"Dean's coming too." Your mom practically sang his name.
You rolled your eyes despite the warmth spreading through your chest. "Hah. I don't care if he comes or not."
"Mhm."
"I don't."
"For sure."
"You sound unconvinced."
"I've known you for twenty one years, darling."
"Mom."
She laughed again. "I'll stop teasing."
"You'd better."
"Although you've been smiling this entire conversation."
"I have not."
"You have."
You caught your reflection in a shop window. Damn it, you so were.
"So," your mom continued innocently, "have you spoken to him lately?"
You shrugged even though she couldn't see it. "I mean... we follow each other on Instagram."
"That's not what I asked."
You hesitated for half a second. "No. Not really."
"Mhm."
"I mean it."
"I believe you."
She didn't, but she let it go. Because even as you kept walking, even as you kept talking, your mind had already drifted back to that phone call.
It had been late. One in the morning too late for a normal phone call.
You'd been curled up on your couch in your apartment, wrapped in a blanket, laptop balanced on your knees, half-watching Love Island.
Your phone had buzzed against the cushion beside you.
Dicky.
You'd stared at his nickname lighting up your screen for a second longer than necessary.
Then answered. "Hello?"
The deafening music hit you first, chaos on the other end of the line as voices were shouting over each other. There wasn’t anything but background noise until, “-Hello?” His voice was slightly slurred and definitely louder than it needed to be.
You sat up a little straighter. "Dean?"
"Hey." There was a loose and careless laugh. "You picked up."
You frowned slightly. "Yeah... why wouldn't I?"
"I don't know." More noise in the background, someone yelling, a burst of laugher. "You could've ignored me."
"But, I didn't."
He paused, then softer, "I know."
Something about the way he said it made your chest tighten. "What are you doing?" you asked.
"Celebrating."
"Celebrating what?"
"We won."
"Hockey?"
"Yeah."
Another voice cut through the phone. "Is that her?"
You blinked. "What—"
"Dude, let me talk to her!" the mystery guy shouted.
"Shut up," Dean muttered, though he was laughing.
You could practically picture it, Dean in the middle of a crowded room, surrounded by teammates, red cups, music too loud and energy too high. "You should've come here," he said suddenly.
"What?"
"You would've liked it."
"I doubt that."
"No, you would've." His voice dipped, more serious now. "You would've liked them."
"Your boys?"
"Yeah."
Another voice, different from the one before, shouted in the background. "You always talk about her but you never let us meet her!"
Heat crept up your neck. "Dean—"
"I do not always talk about her," he shot back, though there was no real conviction behind it.
"You literally—"
"Shut up!"
You couldn't help it but you laughed. "What is happening over there?"
"A lot."
"I can tell."
There was a shuffle, like he'd moved somewhere quieter since the music dulled slightly. His voice came through clearer. "I miss you."
The words landed without warning and you went still. "What?"
"I said I miss you."
"You’re drunk."
"Yeah." A beat went by. "But I still mean it."
Your fingers tightened slightly around your phone as the silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.
"You should've gone to Briar," he added, quieter now.
"You say that every time we talk."
"Because it's true."
"I like NYU."
"I know." Another pause. "But still."
You smiled despite yourself. "You sound ridiculous."
"I am ridiculous."
You laughed softly.
There was something about hearing him like this, unguarded, and unfiltered, that made everything feel strangely familiar, like those three years hadn’t passed at all.
Voices started getting louder again.
"Dean!"
"Hang up, man!"
"Let us talk to her!"
He groaned. "I gotta go."
"Okay."
"I'm glad you picked up."
Your heart did something stupid. "Me too."
The line went dead.
Around midday, your phone had been flooded with messages.
Dicky: I’M SO SORRY
Dicky I was fucked, lowkey still am. Hungover AF
Dicky: Please ignore everything I said
Dicky: Seriously
Dicky: I don't even remember half of it
You'd stared at them for a while before replying.
You: I figured, dickhead
She let the laughter settle before speaking again. "I hope your suitcases are ready"
"I'll pack tonight."
"And maybe wash those beach dresses you love." Your mom always knew you. "I'll text you the flight details."
"I love you."
"I love you more, sweetheart."
The call ended.
You stood on the sidewalk staring at the black screen for several seconds, cold air brushing against your cheeks.
St. Barts, with your parents and the Di Laurentis Family.
Dean.
You refused to admit his name was the reason your stomach suddenly felt full of butterflies.
Sleep barely found you over the next two nights.
You blamed the excitement of finally escaping the freezing New York winter after months of exams.
Not Dean. Definitely not Dean.
The warm Caribbean sun greeted you the second you stepped off the private jet. The familiar salty breeze carried memories you hadn't realised you'd missed, and after the biting cold of New York, the heat felt unreal against your skin.
By the time the black Range Rover pulled through the gates of your parents' beachfront villa, your smile hurt from how long it'd been there. The house looked exactly the same, with its white stone, towering palms and the ocean stretching endlessly beyond the infinity pool.
Before you'd even reached the front entrance, the front door burst open. "There's my girl!" Your mom wrapped you in a hug before you'd fully climbed the steps, your shoulder bag slipping from your grasp and landing on the stone path with a dull thud.
Your dad followed moments later, smiling as he squeezed you just as tightly. You'd missed them more than you’d realised.
“Let’s get you inside, everyone’s waiting,” he said, picking up your shoulder bag and bringing it into the house.
The cool marble floors met your sandals as you stepped inside, the familiar scent of the villa wrapping around you instantly, salt air, fresh linen, and something citrusy lingering in the background.
Then you heard the voices, familiar laughter and movement.
“Finally!” Mrs. Di Laurentis beamed, stepping forward to pull you into a warm hug before you could even properly take in the room. “Look at you, sweetheart.”
“Hi,” you laughed softly, hugging her back before Mr. Di Laurentis followed, greeting you just as warmly.
“You’ve grown up on us,” he said with a smile.
“I’ve been grown,” you teased, earning a chuckle.
Your name rang out across the room. You barely had time to react before Summer crashed into you, arms wrapping tightly around your shoulders as she squeezed you.
“Oh my god, I missed you so much,” she rushed out, pulling back only to grab your hands and tug you further into the living room. “You look insane. Like hot insane. NYU is treating you well, clearly, and your hair? Don’t even get me started, I need to know everything, like everything—”
She didn’t stop, not for a second.
Words spilled out of her faster than you could process, her excitement bubbling over as she dragged you further inside, her grip firm like she was afraid you might disappear again. But you weren’t really hearing her.
Your heart had started racing, too fast and too loud for your liking. Your eyes flickered around the room, scanning faces, corners, doorways.
Nick leaned casually against the kitchen counter, giving you a grin and a nod of greeting.
Your parents were talking with Dean’s.
Summer was still talking, something about Brown, about classes, about someone named Chloe, but her voice had faded into background noise.
Because Dean wasn’t anywhere. And suddenly, all you could think about was whether he didn’t come at all, or whether something had happened to him.
Why wasn’t he—
Strong and firm arms wrapped around you from behind. Familiar in a way that made your breath catch.
Before you could even react, you were lifted clean off the ground, a surprised laugh escaping you as you were spun mid-air. “Got you.”
Your heart stuttered then raced even faster.
He said your name, breath warm against your ear.
You laughed, breathless, instinctively grabbing onto his arms as he set you back down, though he didn’t let go. Not immediately.
You turned in his hold, and suddenly he was right there. Closer than you’d expected and closer than you remembered in the last three years. Everything about him hit you all at one, his scent, somehow unfamiliar but still him, his arms, stronger, broader and holding you like it was the most natural thing in the world.
You'd always had to tilt your head slightly to look at him, but now you had to tilt it even further.
Your eyes flickered up to meet his, and he was already looking at you, a grin spreading slowly across his face like he couldn’t quite believe you were actually here. “Miss me?” he asked, voice low, teasing.
The words struck something in you.
I miss you.
For a split second, you were back in your apartment, phone pressed to your ear, hearing those three slurred words through the noise of a crowded party.
You blinked the memory away and huffed out a quiet laugh, willing your heartbeat to settle. “In your dreams.”
“Every night,” he shot back easily.
You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop smiling.
Around you, the room had gone quiet, everyone watching the two of you with knowing smiles.
“Oh my god,” Summer groaned dramatically, crossing her arms. “Dean, can you not steal her the second she walks in? She’s mine.”
You laughed, glancing over at her.
“Excuse you,” Dean replied, not even looking away from you. “I saw her first.”
“No, you didn’t,” Summer shot back. “I literally tackled her.”
“And yet,” he shrugged, tightening his hold just slightly, “she’s still here.”
“Unbelievable,” Summer muttered, though she was smiling. “We’re supposed to be besties. Remember that?”
“I do,” you laughed, finally stepping back just enough to breathe, though the warmth of his hands lingered where they’d been.
Dean’s gaze didn’t leave you, and somehow, being here suddenly felt even more real.
Dinner preparations quickly became the organised chaos they always had whenever the two families were together. Mrs. Di Laurentis had already tied an apron around her waist before anyone else had even unpacked, insisting nobody made homemade pasta quite like she did.
Your mom, naturally, refused to let that statement slide. "Oh please," she scoffed, pulling vegetables from the fridge. "Everyone knows my lemon herb chicken disappears before your pasta even makes it to the table."
"Only because you make enough to feed an army."
"I have to. Your family eats like one."
Laughter bounced around the open plan kitchen. Without needing to be asked, you rolled up the sleeves of your linen shirt and moved beside your mom at the island bench. "What do you need?"
She handed you a chopping board. "Everything."
Summer appeared beside you moments later. "And I was voluntold too."
"You looked available," Mrs. Di Laurentis replied sweetly.
"I literally walked into the room."
"Exactly."
The two of you spent the next hour doing whatever needed doing. Chopping vegetables, peeling garlic, washing fruit and the best task of all: taste testing.
"You two are terrible judges," your mom commented after catching Summer sneaking another spoonful of sauce.
Meanwhile, the men had migrated to the outdoor dining area overlooking the ocean, drinks already in hand. You'd heard enough conversations, similar to the one they’re having now, growing up to tune them out entirely.
Every now and then, though, you caught yourself glancing towards the patio. Only to find Dean already looking at you. Each time, he'd casually look away as if he'd been paying attention to whatever his father had just said.
A few minutes later, while you were focused on slicing lemons, movement caught your eye.
Dean had quietly pulled out his phone, but before you could react an audible click resonated from the phone’s speaker.
His thumb hit send before you could stop him.
Dean: when she cooks
Barely three seconds passed.
Tuck: you sure you aren’t in love with her or smn
Logan: bro folded years ago
G: that’s wife behaviour and you’re taking paparazzi pics
Dean snorted.
You lunged for the phone.
He lifted it above his head with insulting ease, smiling down at you while you reached for absolutely nothing.
“Delete it.”
“No.”
“Dean.”
“It’s already been appreciated by the group chat.”
You pointed the wooden spoon at him. “I’m telling your mother.”
Mrs. Di Laurentis looked up from the stove. “Dean.”
His expression turned innocent. “Yes?”
“Behave.”
He slipped the phone into his pocket. “See? Handled.”
You narrowed your eyes. “I’ll remember this.”
Not long after, both mothers finally declared dinner ready.
The dining table had been transformed, with a spread of fresh pasta, roast chicken, grilled vegetables and salads. There was definitely enough food to feed twice the number of people sitting here.
Everyone found their seats naturally, slipping into a routine that hadn't changed in years. Your parents sat together at one end the Di Laurentis parents opposite. Summer dropped into the chair beside you before anyone else could claim it. Nick beside Dean, the latter sitting directly across from you, probably for the best.
Conversation flowed as easily as the wine. Summer barely paused long enough to breathe, jumping from university gossip to beach plans to celebrity scandals she'd become strangely invested in.
Halfway through dinner, you reached for another piece of chicken on your plate. It disappeared and when you looked up, Dean had already taken a bite. "Seriously?"
"What?"
"There is an entire table covered in food."
"Yours looked better." He shrugged. “Plus, you weren’t eating it.”
"I was literally reaching for it."
"I got there first."
You stared at him in disbelief. "You've got issues."
"And yet," he said, stealing a roasted potato from your plate this time, "you keep sitting across from me."
Summer groaned. "Oh my god."
Your mother tried very hard not to laugh and Mrs. Di Laurentis failed entirely.
The next two days slipped by far too quickly. Some things, however, never changed. Namely, Dean's unwavering commitment to making your life as difficult as humanly possible. Three years apart clearly hadn't matured him. Physically, sure. He'd grown broader, taller and somehow even more confident. Mentally? He was still the same menace you'd grown up with.
Not twenty minutes ago, you'd been peacefully curled up on a sun lounge by the pool, completely absorbed in your book, when he'd appeared out of nowhere and cannonballed into the water beside you. The wave he'd created had drenched you from head to toe. Your book, your dress, your hair, everything.
His response? A completely unapologetic, laugh-until-he-couldn't-breathe kind of laugh. You'd chased him halfway around the pool with a rolled-up towel while the rest of the family watched like it was prime-time entertainment.
Christmas crept closer with every passing day, and both villas slowly transformed alongside it. Fairy lights wound around towering palm trees instead of pine. Wreaths adorned white stone walls. Garlands draped elegantly from balconies overlooking the endless stretch of turquoise water, glowing softly once the sun dipped below the horizon.
There was something wonderfully surreal about celebrating Christmas where the air smelled of salt instead of cinnamon, where bare feet replaced boots, and swimsuits replaced woollen sweaters. Yet beneath the excitement lingered a quiet sadness. The holiday suddenly felt painfully short.
After Christmas came New Year's, and after New Year's came packed suitcases. Then flights. Back to New York. Back to your fourth year at NYU. Back to assignments, internships and a calendar that always seemed too full. Although neither family had said it aloud, everyone knew the same thing. No one knew when life would slow down enough for all of you to be together like this again.
"So..." Summer interrupted your thoughts, tossing a box of ornaments onto the outdoor lounge. "Annual decorating committee?"
You smiled. "As always."
It had become an unspoken tradition growing up. Every year your families were together, the three of you decorated the villas while everyone else somehow found reasons to disappear.
Nick had once been part of it too, but he barely looked up from his laptop. "I'm preparing for court," he called from the dining room.
"You've been preparing for court since we got here," Summer shouted back.
"It's called being responsible."
"It's called being boring."
"I'm billing you for emotional damages."
Summer snorted.
With that settled, the three of you got to work. Music drifted through portable speakers balanced on the kitchen windowsill.
Summer untangled fairy lights, dictating there weren’t enough spread around the villa. Dean wrestled with extension cords that seemed determined to knot themselves together. You handled everything else. By late afternoon, almost every corner of the property glowed with Christmas decorations.
Almost.
You stepped back onto the patio and frowned. "The balcony looks empty."
Dean glanced up. "It looks fine."
"It absolutely does not."
"It absolutely does."
"It needs lights."
"It doesn't."
"It does."
Summer looked between you both before wisely deciding not to involve herself. "I'm staying out of whatever this is."
You wandered towards the garage before either of them could stop you. A few moments later, you emerged dragging a folding ladder behind you.
Dean didn't notice. He was still arguing with an extension cord.
You leaned the ladder carefully against the back wall beneath the second storey balcony. One string of warm white lights later and the whole patio would look complete.
The ocean stretched behind you, afternoon sunlight dancing across the water as you reached over the railing to secure the final section. "There."
You smiled to yourself.
Perfect.
Just as you reached to fasten the very last clip—
"What are you doing?" Dean's voice rang out sharply behind you.
You startled completely that your shoulders jerked and your foot slipped, “Oh-” For one suspended second, nothing happened, until gravity won. You instinctively reached for the ladder, but missed. Your stomach lurched as your body tipped backwards.
"Oh my God!" Summer screamed.
You had just enough time to realise there was absolutely nothing beneath you except—
You squeezed your eyes shut as a fat splash resonated through the villa. The water swallowed you whole. Cold crashed into your back like concrete before bubbles surrounded you, pulling every sound away.
For a brief second, everything was quiet. Then movement. Fast as if someone had jumped in after you. Before you'd even broken the surface, strong arms found your waist.
You burst through the water coughing once before laughter escaped you instead. "Oh my God." You wiped water from your face, still laughing. "I actually fell!" Dean was right beside you, one arm still firmly around your waist to keep you afloat. You lightly smacked his shoulder. "Don't sneak up on me like that!"
He didn't laugh, not even a little. His grip tightened. "What the fuck were you thinking?"
Your smile faltered. "Dean?"
"What were you thinking?"
"I was putting up lights."
"By yourself. On a fucking ladder. With no one watching!"
"There was a pool."
"What if there wasn't!?"
The smile slowly disappeared from your face. He wasn’t annoyed or teasing, he was angry.
"What if you'd fallen onto the tiles?" he continued, his jaw clenched. "Or hit your head on the edge?"
His eyes searched yours frantically, as though checking for injuries you hadn't noticed yet. "What if you'd landed on your neck?”
He swallowed hard. "What if..." His voice caught. "You'd cracked your head open?"
Silence settled between you, and you finally understood. He wasn't picturing what had happened, he was picturing everything that could have happened. His arm around you wasn't letting go because he hadn't realised he was still holding you.
You reached up slowly, resting a hand against his forearm. "Dean."
He didn't answer.
"Dean." His eyes finally met yours. "I'm okay."
Nothing.
"You don't need to think about all the 'what ifs.'"
His jaw flexed. "But—"
"They didn't happen." You offered him a small smile. "I fell into a pool."
"I still watched you fall."
The quiet admission hit harder than anything he'd said so far. You softened, "I know."
“You scared the shit out of me.”
The words landed hard. For once, nobody had anything to say. Even Summer went quiet above you, her usual commentary dying before it reached her tongue. You stared at him, water dripping from your lashes, your laughter completely gone now. Dean wasn’t trying to be funny. He wasn’t annoyed. He was scared. And somehow that unsettled you more than the fall itself.
You softened, your hand resting lightly against his forearm. “I’m sorry.”
His grip loosened slightly, but he still didn’t let go.
“I’m fine,” you said gently. “I promise.”
He looked at you for a long second before finally exhaling. “I’m still hiding that ladder.”
You laughed quietly. "I figured."
"And next time-"
"There won't be a next time."
"You don't do anything involving heights without one of us."
"Yes, Sir."
Something flashed in his eyes, you excused it for the worry he felt.
Summer finally leaned over the edge of the pool, hands on her knees. "Can I speak now?"
The two of you looked up.
She pointed dramatically at the water. "You two have been floating there having an emotional breakthrough while I'm still recovering from the heart attack you both gave me."
Despite himself, Dean let out a reluctant laugh and the tension broke.
The Di Laurentis family had wandered back to their own villa shortly after dinner, promising they'd see everyone in the morning before disappearing down the stone pathway that connected the neighbouring properties.
The house suddenly felt... quiet. Your parents had retired upstairs not long ago, the distant murmur of their voices fading as another door clicked shut. You, on the other hand, were nowhere near tired. You lay sprawled across your bed, staring lazily at the ceiling fan turning overhead. Your brain had simply decided now was the perfect time to replay every interaction you'd had with Dean since arriving.
His stupid grin. The photo he'd secretly taken. The way he'd looked genuinely terrified when you'd fallen into the pool. You rolled onto your side with a groan. "Get a grip."
There was no chance you were sleeping anytime soon, so, an idea popped into your head. The centre of St. Barts would still be buzzing. The restaurants, the little jazz bars tucked between boutiques, the waterfront cafés that stayed open well past midnight. Summer would absolutely be awake.
She'd happily spend three hours talking your ear off over overpriced mocktails while pretending to enjoy live jazz she secretly knew nothing about. You reached for your phone on the bedside table. You met a black screen.
"Seriously?" you pressed the power button. Nothing. A frown settled on your face as you followed the charging cable to the wall. The switch beside the outlet had been flicked off. You sighed dramatically before flicking it back on. There went calling Summer, but then again, who needed a phone when your best friend’s house was literally next door? The connected pathway between the two villas meant you could be there in less than a minute.
You wandered into your walk in wardrobe, scanning the rows of dresses before settling on one of your favourites. The halter neck dress flowed effortlessly to your knees, the fabric fading from warm sunset orange into soft golden yellow, light enough that it danced with every breeze. You slipped into a pair of sandals, quickly brushed your hair, then padded downstairs and out onto the stone pathway illuminated by warm garden lights.
The Caribbean night wrapped around you instantly. The air was warm despite the late hour, carrying the scent of saltwater and blooming jasmine. The Di Laurentis villa glowed softly through the palm trees ahead.
Most of the downstairs lights had already been switched off and only one upstairs room remained lit, Summer's room. Rather than walking all the way around to the front entrance, you followed the old route the two of you had used since you were kids.
The stone retaining wall, hooking onto the narrow ledge onto the balcony. You'd lost count of how many times you'd climbed up here over the years. Balancing carefully, you hoisted yourself onto the balcony and brushed imaginary dust from your dress.
Voices drifted through the closed glass doors, meaning she was definitely awake. You knocked twice against the glass, but nothing came of it. You knocked again, then finally, the curtains shifted.
Your brain stopped working as Dean stood there, behind the glass door, shirtless. Once he’d noticed it was you, the sliding door rolled open. Fresh from what looked like a shower, his dark hair still damp, loose grey sweatpants hanging dangerously low on his hips. You very deliberately did not let your eyes wander.
But you’re just a girl and they wandered anyway."Oh."
Brilliant. Fantastic first word.
Dean's eyebrows lifted. "Hi?"
You blinked rapidly, forcing your attention back to his face. "I thought this was Summer's room."
"It used to be." He stepped aside slightly. "We swapped years ago."
"Right." Of course you hadn't known that.
There was a brief pause. Then his expression changed completely, concern replacing it almost instantly. "Everything okay?"
You frowned. "What?"
"Your head." His eyes flicked across your face. "Does it still hurt from earlier?"
It took you a second to realise he was talking about your spectacular drop into the swimming pool. "Oh." You smiled reassuringly. "No, I'm fine."
"You sure?"
"Dean."
"I'm serious."
"So am I." You tapped your forehead. "Hard as concrete."
"I noticed."
You narrowed your eyes. "Rude."
He smiled, finally relaxing. "So..." He leaned casually against the doorframe, you couldn’t help but watch as his muscles shifted, mouth growing dry. "What're you doing climbing onto my balcony at midnight?"
"I couldn't sleep."
"So naturally your solution was breaking and entering."
You rolled your eyes. "I wanted to see if Summer wanted to head into town."
He tilted his head. "Now?"
"Mhm. The jazz bars are probably still open."
"You like jazz?"
"Three years can do wonders, Dean." You teased.
Dean laughed. "Fair enough." He finally took a proper look at you. Until now he'd been too busy making sure you weren't concussed, but now, his words caught in his throat.
The soft colours of your dress glowed beneath the balcony lights, your hair moving gently with the sea breeze. For one dangerously long second he forgot what conversation you were having. "You're wearing that?"
You placed both hands on your hips. "What's wrong with it?"
"Nothing." He cleared his throat. "I just..." His eyes drifted toward the ocean. "It gets cooler near the waterfront."
You looked pointedly around. "It's still warm."
"You'll still get cold later in the night. Trust."
You laughed. "I'll steal something from Summer's wardrobe then. Where is she anyways?"
"Sleeping." However, somewhere inside the villa, a muffled laugh echoed faintly. Dean ignored it, but you didn't seem to notice.
"Oh." You looked genuinely disappointed. "I'll just leave then." You turned slightly, already preparing to climb back down.
"You know..." His voice stopped you. "I could come."
You looked back.
"Unless my presence is that unbearable."
A smile tugged at your lips. "I don't know." You pretended to consider it. "You can be pretty insufferable."
"I've been told."
"But." You shrugged. "I suppose having a six foot two hockey player walking around with me isn't the worst idea."
"I knew you liked having me around."
"Don't push it."
You started turning back towards your own villa. "I'll just grab a sweater."
"Nah." He disappeared into his room before you could question him. A few seconds later he returned carrying a cream cable knit cardigan. Without warning, he tossed it towards you and you caught it against your chest. "Wear that."
"Dean, I have plenty of sweaters."
"I know, but this one’s closer than walking back to yours."
You looked down at it. It was enormous. The sleeves alone looked long enough to swallow your hands. "You realise I'm going to drown in this."
"It'll build character."
Rolling your eyes, you slipped your arms through the sleeves. The cardigan hung loosely over your dress, almost reaching your thighs. It was absurdly oversized, but it also happened to match your outfit surprisingly well. You folded the sleeves back twice before looking up. "Happy?"
Dean forgot how to answer. The oversized knit, the warm colours of your dress peeking beneath it, the breeze catching strands of your hair. He'd never seen anything quite so unfair. "Yeah." His voice came out quieter than intended. "Looks good."
You smiled. "Thank you."
He looked away before you noticed he was still staring. "Come on." He cleared his throat. "The town won't walk to us."
Together, the two of you climbed down from the balcony and headed towards the beach, neither of you noticing the curtains in Summer's room shift ever so slightly before quickly closing again.
The beach was almost deserted. Moonlight shimmered across the gentle waves, turning the ocean into a sheet of silver that stretched endlessly toward the horizon. The tide rolled in lazily, foaming around your ankles before retreating again. After a few minutes, you kicked off your sandals.
Dean watched you hook your sandals over two fingers before stepping barefoot into the cool sand. "Better?"
You sighed contentedly as another wave rolled over your feet. "Way better."
He shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. "You lasted, what... five minutes?"
"They were cute sandals."
"Were?"
"They've officially been demoted."
The conversation faded after that, replaced by the rhythmic crash of waves against the shore. Neither of you felt any pressure to fill the silence. After nineteen years of friendship, quiet moments had become just as comfortable as conversations.
After a while, you glanced sideways at him. "So... how's hockey?"
His face lit up almost instantly. His shoulders relaxed and his smile became effortless. You hadn't realised how much you'd missed seeing that look.
"It's been really good," he admitted. "We had a great season."
"I remember."
"You do?"
"You drunk called me, remember?"
Dean groaned loud enough for the ocean to hear. "Oh my God, are you ever going to let me live that down?"
"Absolutely not."
He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, laughing to himself. A comfortable silence settled between you again before he spoke. "I started helping coach a primary school hockey team this semester."
Your eyebrows lifted. "Seriously?"
He nodded. "They're absolute disasters, but they’re honestly the best part of my week." He looked ahead as he spoke, his voice growing more animated with every story. "There was this little bloke who spent nearly a month trying to learn how to stop properly. Every lesson he'd either spin around or end up flat on his ass."
"And did he finally get it?"
"He did." Dean laughed to himself.
Ahead, faint laughter carried across the beach. A group of children, no older than twelve, stood barefoot in a loose circle, kicking a football between themselves without letting it touch the sand. One of them spotted you immediately.
"Pretty lady!"
Every head turned and you froze. A little boy sprinted towards you. "Will you play with us?"
You looked back at Dean and he simply shrugged. "Looks like you've been recruited."
The children were already pulling you towards their circle before you could answer. "Oh, okay," you laughed. "I'm coming."
Within seconds you were attempting to keep the ball in the air. Key word, attempting. The ball bounced off your knee before dropping straight into the sand. The kids erupted into dramatic groans.
"I'm sorry!"
"You have to do better than that, miss!"
"I've been set up to fail."
One of the girls giggled before demonstrating the proper technique. "There!"
"Like this?"
"No!" More laughter.
Dean stayed where he was for a while, watching. He'd spent months coaching children and he knew how long it usually took them to warm up around strangers. Yet somehow, you'd become part of their game within minutes. You laughed every time you messed up. Celebrated whenever one of them managed an impressive kick. High fived the youngest boy after he'd kept the ball in the air three times in a row. You never once tried to make yourself the centre of attention. You simply made everyone around you feel included. Dean found himself smiling without realising it.
"You!" One of the boys suddenly pointed at him. "Come play!"
Dean blinked. "Me?"
"Yes!"
You looked over your shoulder. "Dean!"
He didn't answer, too busy watching you.
"Dean!"
"Huh?"
You laughed. "Earth to Dean."
The children started chanting his name until he reluctantly wandered over.
"I'm warning you," he said. "I'm terrible at soccer."
"You play hockey."
"Different feet."
You rolled your eyes before reaching for his hand, and without thinking, your fingers slipped between his. “Come on.”
Dean's entire train of thought derailed. He'd held your hand before, hundreds of times. You'd fallen asleep leaning against him more than once growing up. So why did this feel any different? Your hand was warm, comfortable and natural. Yet his pulse had somehow doubled.
For the next half hour, the two of you stumbled through the game together. You laughed whenever Dean accidentally kicked the ball into the ocean. The children declared him "the worst player ever." He took the title surprisingly well.
Eventually, the youngest girl wrapped her arms around your waist. "Will you come play again tomorrow?"
You smiled. "If we're around."
"You promise?"
"I promise."
One by one they hugged you goodbye before waving enthusiastically as they disappeared further down the beach. You watched until they were out of sight.
"They loved you."
You looked sideways at Dean. "They loved you too."
As you continued walking towards the lights of the town, your fingers brushed against his again. Neither of you reached for the other's hand this time. But neither of you moved away, either.
The lights of Gustavia slowly came into view, glowing like scattered lanterns against the shoreline. Music drifted through the warm night air. Somewhere nearby, someone laughed loudly enough to echo down the street. Restaurants overflowed onto the footpaths, couples lingered outside little cafés, and tiny boutiques remained open long past what should've been closing time.
The two of you wandered without much direction, ducking into little souvenir shops, stopping to watch a street musician perform outside a wine bar and sharing a paper cone of hot cinnamon coated churros from a vendor who insisted they were "the best on the island." They probably weren't, but at one in the morning, they tasted incredible.
You nudged Dean with your elbow."You know..."
"Hm?"
"I've seen your Instagram."
He glanced over with a grin. "You stalk me? I’m flattered."
"I happened to be online when you posted."
"How convenient."
"It was." You looked at him knowingly. "I've seen the girl."
His smile faltered. "Girl?"
You stopped walking, hands on your hips. "You know exactly what I mean."
He scratched the back of his neck. "Which one?"
Your jaw dropped. "What do you mean, which one?"
His silence answered everything.
"Oh my God." You laughed, shaking your head. "Don't tell me there've been so many you genuinely don't know who I'm talking about."
"It sounds worse than it is."
"It sounds exactly like what it is."
He sighed. "I wasn't looking for anything serious."
"So Briar really has turned you into one of those hockey boys."
"I was one before Briar."
"Disappointing."
"I thought you'd be proud."
"I'm reconsidering our friendship."
He clutched his chest dramatically. "Ouch."
You smiled despite yourself as you continued walking. After a moment, curiosity got the better of you. "So... is there anyone now?"
His smile faded. "Yeah."
The answer caught you off guard, and your heart clenched painfully. "Oh."
He slipped his hands into his pockets. "I don't think she knows."
Your brows knitted together. "She has no idea?"
He shook his head. "I don't think she's ever looked at me that way."
"Well," you said, looking over at him, "she's blind."
He laughed quietly. "You don't even know who she is."
"I don't need to." You shrugged. "I've known you almost twenty years."
"And?"
"You're funny."
"I am."
"You weren't supposed to agree."
"I'm also incredibly humble."
You rolled your eyes. "You're kind."
His teasing smile softened.
"You care about people."
He looked at you without saying anything.
"You always have."
The sounds of the town faded into the background. "You'll tell her eventually?" you asked.
"Maybe."
"You should."
"What if it ruins everything?"
You thought about it for a moment. "If someone matters enough that you're scared of losing them..." You offered him a small smile. "They're probably worth the risk."
Dean held your gaze for a long second before smiling to himself. "Yeah."
You bumped his shoulder. "See? Problem solved."
"If only it were that easy."
You laughed, turning your attention back to the lights of the harbour. You never noticed the way Dean watched you walk beside him. Or that he hadn't been talking about anyone else.
By the time you left the town, the streets had grown quieter. The walk back felt easier somehow. Conversation drifted from childhood memories to university stories, from embarrassing family holidays to arguments over whether pineapple belonged on pizza. Dean insisted it did. You threatened to walk home alone. He apologised immediately.
The moon sat high overhead by the time the villas came back into view. Neither of you seemed particularly eager for the night to end. Eventually, you stopped outside your front door.
"I had fun tonight," you admitted.
Dean folded his arms."That's usually the effect I have on people."
You laughed. "No, seriously."You smiled at him. "Thank you."
"For?"
"For coming with me."
His expression softened. "I would've regretted letting you wander around by yourself."
"You really thought I'd get kidnapped?"
"I thought you'd somehow convince strangers to adopt you."
"That's... surprisingly possible."
"I know."
You looked at him for a moment. Longer than either of you expected. Then, before you could overthink it, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him. Dean froze. Not because the hug itself was unusual. The two of you had hugged countless times over the years, but something about this one felt different. Maybe it was because there was no audience. Maybe because you were no longer awkward teenagers. Maybe because your cheek rested against his chest just long enough for him to hear you sigh.
Slowly, his arms came around you. One settled against the small of your back. The other cradled the back of your head with practiced gentleness, his fingers slipping into your hair almost absentmindedly.
He rested his chin lightly against your temple. "Sleep well," he murmured. Then, quietly, he said your name.
Your heart skipped. When you finally stepped back, the oversized cardigan slipped from one shoulder. "Oh." You laughed softly. "I almost forgot."
Your fingers reached for the hem."I should give this back."
Dean caught your wrist before you'd managed to take it off. His touch was light. "Keep it."
You blinked. "But you'll need it."
"I've got plenty."
"Dean—"
"I'll get it back before we leave." His smile returned. "Eventually."
You studied him for another second before giving in. He started walking backwards toward the pathway connecting the villas. "Night."
"Night."
You watched until he disappeared into the darkness between the palm trees. Only then did you unlock your front door. Inside, the house was quiet. You slipped off your sandals, climbed the stairs, and wandered into your bedroom without switching on the lights. Moonlight spilled across the floor, silver and soft, catching on the hem of Dean’s cardigan where it hung loose around your thighs.
You reached to take it off. Then stopped. The fabric smelled like him, cedarwood, sea salt from the walk and that new cologne you still were’t used too. You should have folded it over the chair. You should have changed into pyjamas. You should have gone to sleep and blamed the strange warmth in your chest on the island air. Instead, you pulled the cardigan tighter around yourself and looked at your reflection in the mirror.
You climbed into bed, still wearing his cardigan. This was supposed to be simple. A holiday, with old friends, familiar families and a warm beach with a few weeks away from New York. So why did one walk with Dean feel like the beginning of something you couldn’t undo?
warnings: fluff, Boyfriend!John Logan loves his girlfriend to death, must I say more?
summary: in which Boyfriend!John Logan dropped off a care package for his girlfriend who’s been working so hard in the library
wc: 767
a/n: I’m sitting at a cafe, writing this, and have just been watching all these couples take care of each other for the upcoming uni semester. This is for my academically inclined readers who strive for the best (I wish) xx
Finals were only two weeks away, and the grind had truly begun.
Almost every uni student had claimed a spot in the libraries surrounding Briar, turning the hunt for a comfortable seat into a daily battle where the winners earned the privilege of studying for hours without being disturbed.
You'd settled into the main library, tucked away in the perfect corner where the rest of the world seemed to disappear, leaving nothing but your notes, textbooks, and the looming final exams demanding every ounce of your attention.
You'd maintained high distinctions throughout the year and planned to carry that momentum through finals.
When you and Logan first started talking, you'd quietly worry that he wouldn't understand. The endless hours, the discipline, the relentless drive to be the best. It was how you'd been raised, to chase excellence and never settle for anything less than your full potential. As it turned out, he understood better than anyone. As long as you remembered to eat, take breaks, and send him the occasional message whenever you had a spare moment, he was more than happy to cheer you on from the sidelines.
Besides, every night ended the same way. Logan would drive you back to the Hockey House, where you'd crawl into his bed together, never once falling asleep before stealing a proper cuddle with your boyfriend.
The memory of this morning crept into your mind, leaving you smiling like an idiot over a physics textbook.
The morning sun filtered through the blinds, warming your face just enough to coax you awake.
Still half asleep, you reached across the bed, expecting to find the familiar warmth of Logan beside you, only for your fingers to meet nothing but cold sheets.
A slight frown settled on your face as you pushed yourself upright, your eyes wandering around the room in search of him, only to realise he was nowhere to be found.
The bedroom door sat slightly ajar and the faint sound of approaching footsteps reached your ears before it slowly creaked open, Logan carefully slipping inside as quietly as possible, balancing a breakfast tray in both hands in an attempt not to wake you.
"You’re awake." He grinned, making his way over to the bed. “Good morning, baby.”
Your heart squeezed painfully at the sight. Logan never failed to make you feel appreciated, especially during the times when stress threatened to consume you, always finding little ways to remind you that you never had to carry it all alone.
You were convinced the Gods themselves had blessed you with a man who instinctively knew how to love you properly. The only arguments you ever seemed to have were over missing each other too much.
Your phone buzzed against the table, pulling you back to reality.
You picked it up and glanced at the notification.
Johnny Boy: wya cutie
A smile tugged at your lips as you checked the time. It was already lunchtime, and your stomach was beginning to remind you that surviving on caffeine alone wasn't exactly sustainable before another marathon study session.
You: library, but I lowk need to grab some food so I'll be at the campus cafe in a bit
His reply appeared almost instantly.
Johnny Boy: don't worry, I'm walking in now
You frowned at the message, wondering what he meant by don't worry, only for the library doors to swing open moments later.
Logan stepped inside, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on you, immediately lighting up as the biggest grin spread across his face.
He lifted a plastic takeaway bag in one hand before making his way over to your table.
"Got you some food, baby. Thought you might need a little care package."
He set the bag down before carefully unpacking everything inside.
Your heart clenched all over again, a grateful smile spreading across your face as you fought the very real urge to cry right there in the corner of the library. You honestly didn't know what you'd done to deserve a boyfriend this thoughtful.
He lined everything up neatly in front of you. A container of Chinese takeaway, an iced vanilla latte, and the block of chocolate you were constantly talking about whenever you needed something sweet after studying.
You were genuinely going to die from happiness.
He stood back with his hands resting on his hips, admiring his work with a grin that practically screamed how proud he was of himself for taking care of his girl.
Leaning down, he pressed a soft kiss against your forehead.
Obsessive!Aemond who won’t stop until he gets you, even when he’s ill.
“The tea, Your Grace.” Your voice came out quieter than intended as you carefully lowered the silver tray onto the carved table beside his bed. The porcelain cup rattled softly against its saucer. You felt it before you dared acknowledge it.
His gaze.
It clung to every movement you made, following the brush of your fingers as you straightened the tray, the rise and fall of your breathing, the nervous way you smoothed your skirts. Even bedridden with fever, Prince Aemond watched you like a starving creature denied its meal.
"Stay." The single word rooted you to the spot. "I'd like to see you beneath the candlelight."
Heat bloomed across your face. "Forgive me, Your Grace," you answered, forcing your voice to remain steady. "I must retrieve the rest of your medicine before you retire." You turned before your resolve could fail.
Two steps. Three. Then came the rustle of heavy blankets. Footsteps. Despite the fever that had confined him to bed for two days, they were predatory. The hairs along your neck rose. You barely had time to turn before he was upon you.
A chair scraped violently across the stone floor, sent skidding aside beneath the force of his foot. You startled with a sharp breath as his hand caught your wrist, guiding, then pinning you against the cold wall of his chambers. The candle above you flickered. A single bead of molten wax slid down its side. It landed against the bare skin near your collarbone and you hissed.
His visible eye darkened. Slowly, almost absentmindedly, his gaze followed the tiny droplet cooling against your skin, as though nothing else in the room existed. "Poor thing," he murmured.
His thumb tilted your chin upward, you had no choice but to meet his eye. Even sick, he was beautiful. Even sick, he was terrifying. His forehead glistened faintly with fever, loose strands of silver hair clinging to damp skin, yet none of it softened him. If anything, the illness only sharpened the hunger behind his gaze. It made him seem less like a prince and more like a dragon denied flight.
He stepped closer. Close enough that the warmth pouring from him swallowed the chill of the stone at your back. His breath ghosted against your ear, hot from fever. "You flee," he whispered, his voice rough and low. "Every day you flee."
His fingers loosened around your wrist only to brush lightly over the pulse there, where your heartbeat betrayed you. "And yet," his lips curved into the faintest smile, "you always come back."
His thumb traced beneath your jaw with unbearable slowness before he leaned closer still, until there was scarcely enough space to breathe between you. "Do you have any idea," he murmured, his voice dropping to little more than a rumble, "what you do to me, ñuha genesītos?"
warnings: smut, oral (m!receiving), semi-public (in the car), spitting in mouth, Dean begging, swearing, use of pet names
summary: in which Boyfriend!Dean does reformer pilates with you in exchange for whatever he wants…
wc: 1445
a/n: not proof read, please bear with me. had get it sexyy on LOOP while writing this.
“And hold! Five… Four… Almost there!”
The best part of doing pilates with Dean was when the instructors started counting tortuously slow.
And you swore Dean was so close to losing his shit. His right forearm was laid against the reformer platform, left leg stacked on his right as he balanced himself through a side plank.
“Baby,” he huffed, “I swear this is a form of BDSM.”
Since you did the opposite side of the movement, you could see him as he spoke. Sweat beading on his forehead, trailing down his neck and to the arm laid on the platform.
You wanted to lick it all up.
“All that muscle and you can’t even keep up?” you teased.
He gave you a pointed look and you knew you were in for it at the end of the session.
“And we are done!” the instructor boomed over the speakers, breaking your train of thought.
Dean sagged onto the reformer carriage, lying on his back, gazing at the roof. He turned his head toward you and gave you a crooked grin, “You hungry, baby?”
You were grabbing two sanitised wipes for each of your reformers before your response came, “Ugh. I could go for Mexican right now.”
He only let out an amused huff as if you missed something. You thought nothing of it.
Once you two had finished cleaning your respective stations, you made way to the reception, grabbing your belongings on the way. You thanked the instructor for the session, mama raised a polite girl, and walked out the building towards Dean’s black BMW.
Dean held your door open before saying, “Let’s get you fed, hm?”
Getting comfortable in the black leather interior of Dean’s car, you pulled the sun visor down to reapply your lippiy.
Dean pulled his door open, got into his seat and sat there as he watched you adoringly.
In the confined space you share together, his smell finally hit you. You think you’d be used to it after all his hockey matches, but nothing ever beats the smell of Dean after a hard workout.
You realised the car hasn’t started yet, and glanced at him. “What’s up-”
You didn’t feel the air shift in the small space you share as Dean crashed his lips onto yours.
The slow and soft kisses you two had shared this morning before you left for pilates was nothing compared to what he’s giving you now.
He was absolutely overwhelming, and not in a bad way. He consumed everything around you, drowning out the sounds from outside as they’re replaced with his heavy grunts.
Every sound that came out from Dean’s mouth sent shivers down your spine and heat straight to your pussy.
Your hand, desperate to find anything to hold, found his damp hair, running your fingers through and raking your nails against his scalp. The other held onto his thick bicep, which you indented with small crescents from how hard you were gripping him.
Dean’s hand found the back of your head, softly fisting your hair, and tipped your head to the side.
He bit the bottom of your lip and said, “Open that pretty mouth.”
And without hesitation, you looked at him through your thick lashes, you opened your mouth.
Dean’s grip on your hair tightened ever so slightly. His free hand found your face, grabbing your cheeks to spread your mouth further, making your pussy clench on nothing. You saw the movement of him drawing spit from his mouth before he spat into your mouth.
“Swallow, pretty girl,” he commanded. You obeyed.
Your mind was genuinely on autopilot as everything about him dominated you, and it felt liberating.
He returned to attacking your mouth with kisses, tugging at your bottom lip in silent request. You obliged, opening your mouth ever so slightly that his tongue slips through.
Tongues dancing together, he sucked onto yours, soft moans escaping your mouth which made Dean twitch painfully in his tight gym shorts.
A string of saliva connected you two as he pulled away. “I know what I want,” he whispered as his heavy breath fanned your face.
You, completely dazed, looked at him for a good second until it registered.
In return for doing pilates, he could get whatever her wants.
You dragged your thumb over your swollen, kiss-ridden, bottom lip, “Oh?”
His hips lifted as he adjusted himself on his leather seat, his eyes looked at his very obvious hard-on.
He looked back at you and you raised a brow, two can play that game, “Use your words, Deanie.”
“Please,” his hips lifted as he started pulling his shorts down, torturously slow, just like those instructors counting.
Your eyes followed the movement and you involuntarily swallowed, mouth growing dry at just the thought of taking him in your mouth. The dusty blonde hair that trailed from his stomach continued downward. Until his length finally sprung free.
“Please suck me, baby,” he stroked himself once, precum beading at the tip. “’m begging you.”
That’s it, Dean will be the death of you.
You gave him a sultry look before leaning over the center console, replacing his hand with yours. Dean’s size never fails to impress you, with your fingers barely touching as you wrapped them around him.
You stroked him slowly, earning a hiss from Dean. Looking up at him, one hand was gripping the head rest of his seat, bicep bulging while the other held onto the back of the center console. He looked absolutely delicious.
You brought your attention back to the star of the show. His tip was so red and precum started to drip down his length. You traced the precum all the way up to his tip, giving it small kitten licks, savouring the salty taste of him.
“Baby, don’t tease, please,” he said with a strained voice.
You smiled to yourself before taking him into your mouth, his length immediately hitting the back of your throat, gagging around him. That hand on the centre console settled on your hair, fisting it. He groaned, then bit his lip to muffle himself, as your throat clenched around him, making your pussy melt.
The hand you had wrapped around him tightened as you fisted the remaining length you couldn’t fit into your mouth. You started twisting your hand around him and you bobbed your head, swirling your tongue on his tip and length.
You heard smacking against leather, and assumed Dean was hitting the head rest struggling to maintain composure. From the sounds he made, he was definitely losing it.
Your other free hand cupped his balls, weighting and fondling them. The action forced Dean to lift his hips and buck into your mouth, activating you gag reflex, eliciting a choked moan from him.
You increased your pace, hand twisting, mouth sucking and his hips thrusting. The hand on your hair was fisted tight, guiding your head up and down. You moaned, sending vibrations through the hard length filling your mouth. Dean responded with thrusting harder, sounds of pleasure escaping him.
“That’s it, baby.” He stroked my hair with the hand that fisted it, ”Sucking me off in the car where anyone could see us.”
His hips thrusted and you felt him twitch in your mouth, with your lips parted around him, Dean has the sexiest view of you. His dick swelled and you knew he was close.
“Harder, baby. Please suck me harder.”
And you did, you worked in tandem with your tongue that licked a stripe along the vein of his length. Wrist rotating, increasing your grip ever so slightly to send him over the edge.
“Fuck,” he tried to pull you off his dick, “baby, baby, baby. ‘m gonna cum, please.”
He’d be a fool to think you wouldn’t wanna taste him, even after working so hard at pilates. You wanted to drain him. Suck him dry. Savour every drop.
Dean’s body shook, his hips bucked upward, both hands gripping your head this time, forcing your head onto him. He tossed his head back, audibly hitting the head rest, releasing himself in your mouth. Your name left his lips, like a prayer. You stayed still as he spilled every remaining drop into your mouth before swallowing it all.
You pulled off him, proud of yourself.
His hands fell to his sides as he sat there, completely spent. His breathing was still erratic, you’d think he just finished a hockey match. He tilted his head, looking at you with a smirk, “When are you doing pilates again?”
