could you do like a dylan smut but like it’s very fluffy and he’s really sweet, because they just started dating and the other guys she’s had sex with in the past have been like violent with her or something idk and so she thinks that’s normal and he like is different IDK HOW TO DESCRIBE IT but PLEASE
𝑳𝒆𝒕 𝑮𝒐 ꨄ︎ (Dylan Minnette X FemReader)
Content: Caring Smut, Tender Dylan, Past Domestic Violence Hinted, Oral Fem Receiving, Praises, Hurt Comfort, Mental breakdown, Ptsd
The city hummed faintly outside the window of Dylan’s apartment, a low, distant sound that made the silence inside feel even warmer. You were tangled in his sheets, legs loosely intertwined with his, your head resting on his chest while his fingers traced slow, lazy circles along your spine. The room smelled like him faint cologne, clean laundry, and the candle you’d lit earlier.
Dylan’s lips brushed yours again, gentle and unhurried. The kiss was soft, almost reverent. He tasted like the mint tea you’d shared after dinner, and every time he pulled back just slightly to look at you, his blue eyes were full of that quiet, patient affection that still made your stomach flutter.
“You’re so pretty like this,” he whispered against your mouth, voice low and warm. His hand slid from your back to your waist, then lower, cupping the curve of your hip with careful fingers. “I could kiss you for hours.”
You smiled into the kiss, letting yourself melt a little more against him. Your fingers played with the soft hair at the nape of his neck as you deepened the kiss, tongues brushing lazily. It felt safe. It felt good.
Until you felt it.
The hard press of him against your thigh, unmistakable even through the thin fabric of his sweatpants. His breathing had grown heavier, more ragged. And then his hand moved — sliding down to grip the back of your thigh, pulling you closer with a low, appreciative hum against your lips.
Your body locked up instantly.
The warmth in your chest turned to ice. Your breath caught sharply in your throat. For a split second you were no longer in Dylan’s soft bed. You were somewhere else rough hands, demanding grips, pain disguised as passion.
The memory hit like static, ugly and fast, even if you tried to push it away.
You froze completely, lips still pressed to his but no longer moving. Your hand tightened on his shoulder, not in desire, but in sudden tension.
Dylan noticed immediately. He pulled back just enough to see your face, his hand instantly loosening on your thigh.
“Hey… baby?” His voice was soft, concerned. Those gentle blue eyes searched yours, brows slightly furrowed. “You okay?”
Dylan’s hand froze the second he felt you go rigid in his arms. His blue eyes widened with immediate worry, the gentle warmth in them shifting to soft concern as he pulled back a little more, giving you space without fully letting go.
“Hey, hey… talk to me,” he murmured, voice low and careful, like he was approaching a scared animal. “Did I do something wrong? We can stop. We don’t have to—”
The pressure of his fingers still lingering on your thigh — even though it was light — sent panic exploding through your chest. Your heart hammered violently against your ribs. Suddenly the sheets felt too heavy, the room too small, and Dylan’s body against yours too much like his. The ghost of rough hands, bruising grips, and words that cut deeper than any slap flashed through your mind in ugly fragments.
“Don’t touch me!” you shouted, voice cracking sharply as you shoved at his chest with both hands. The movement was harder than you meant it to be. “Get off— don’t fucking touch me!”
Dylan recoiled instantly, sitting up and pulling his hands away like he’d been burned. His face went pale, eyes wide with shock and hurt, but mostly worry. He raised both hands in surrender, scooting back on the bed to give you room.
“Okay— okay, I’m not touching you. I’m right here, baby. I’m not moving,” he said quickly, voice steady even though you could hear the fear in it. “Breathe. Just breathe for me, please.”
But you couldn’t. Your lungs felt tight, like someone was squeezing them. You scrambled backward until your back hit the headboard, pulling your knees up to your chest. Tears burned hot behind your eyes and then spilled over without warning. Your whole body started shaking uncontrollably as the memories clawed their way up — the way your ex would ignore “no,” the way pleasure was always mixed with pain, the way you learned to dissociate just to survive it.
“I’m sorry— I’m so sorry,” you choked out between sobs, burying your face in your arms. “I didn’t mean to yell… I just— I can’t. I can’t do this. It feels like him again and I hate it. I hate that he still gets to ruin this—”
Your voice broke into ugly, gasping cries. The kind that hurt your throat. You rocked slightly, trying to hold yourself together, but the breakdown was already swallowing you whole.
Dylan stayed exactly where he was, hands still up, eyes glassy with his own worry and helplessness. His voice was soft, almost broken.
“Shh… you don’t have to apologize. Not to me. Ever.” He swallowed hard, fighting the instinct to reach for you. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. When you’re ready… I’ll be right here.”
Dylan didn’t move for what felt like forever. He stayed exactly where he was — sitting a respectful distance away on the bed, hands still slightly raised so you could see he wasn’t going to reach for you without permission. His blue eyes were full of worry, but there was no anger, no frustration… only that deep, quiet care that always seemed to wrap around you like a blanket.
Your sobs kept coming, ugly and raw, shaking your whole frame. You hated how small you felt. How broken.
Eventually, Dylan spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.“Can I come closer, baby? I won’t touch you unless you say yes. I just… I hate seeing you hurt like this and not being able to hold you.”
You hesitated, tears still streaming down your cheeks, but you gave a tiny, shaky nod.
The second you did, Dylan moved slowly, carefully. He slid across the bed until he was right beside you, then opened his arms without pulling you in. He waited. When you leaned toward him, he gently wrapped you up, one arm around your back, the other cradling the back of your head as he tucked you against his chest. His heartbeat was steady under your ear — a little fast from worry, but strong and safe.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured into your hair, pressing the softest kiss to the top of your head. “I’ve got you, okay? Let it out. Cry as much as you need. I’m not going anywhere.”
His hands rubbed slow, soothing circles on your back — never too low, never demanding. Just comfort. Just presence. You clung to his shirt, fingers twisting in the fabric as another wave of sobs hit you. He held you tighter, rocking you gently like you were something precious and fragile.
After a few long minutes, when your crying had quieted into shaky breaths, you whispered against his chest, voice hoarse and terrified“Dylan… I want to tell you. About why I… why I reacted like that. But I’m scared. I’m so scared of how you’re gonna look at me after.”
His arms tightened around you protectively, but his voice stayed gentle, warm, and steady.“Hey… look at me for a second?”
You lifted your tear-streaked face. His eyes were soft, a little glassy, but full of nothing but love and patience.“Nothing you tell me is going to make me love you less. Nothing. You don’t have to tell me tonight if you’re not ready. But if you want to… I’m listening. And I promise I’ll stay right here holding you the whole time. You’re safe with me. Always.”
You swallowed hard, heart still racing, but the warmth of his body and the sincerity in his voice made something inside your chest crack open just a little more.
“I… I want to tell you,” you whispered, voice trembling. “Just… don’t let go of me, okay?”
“I won’t,” he said softly, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’ve got you, baby. As long as you need.”
You stayed curled against Dylan’s chest, his arms wrapped securely around you, one hand still rubbing those slow, comforting circles on your back. His heartbeat was the only steady thing in the room. You took a shaky breath, fingers gripping his shirt tighter.
“I… I was with someone before you,” you started, voice barely above a whisper. “For almost two years. At first it seemed okay, but then… he changed. He got violent. Not just yelling. He would grab me hard enough to leave bruises. Throw things. Push me around.”
Dylan’s body tensed beneath you, but he didn’t interrupt. His hand never stopped its gentle motion.
You swallowed hard, forcing the words out even though they burned.
“And the sex… it was the worst part.” Your voice cracked. “He was so rough. Always. No matter how many times I told him it hurt, or asked him to slow down, or said I wasn’t ready. He didn’t care. It felt like he wanted it to hurt. He’d hold me down, choke me too hard, ignore me when I cried. Sometimes I just… dissociated. I’d leave my body because it was the only way to survive it. It wasn’t love. It was just pain.”
Tears started falling again, hot and silent against his shirt.
“I want this with you, Dylan. I want you. I want to feel close to you like that. I want to make you feel good and I want you to make me feel good… but every time things start heating up, my body panics. My mind goes back there. I get scared that it’s going to hurt again. That I’m going to feel trapped. I hate it. I hate that he broke me like this and now I’m ruining this beautiful thing with you—” Your voice dissolved into quiet sobs again.
Dylan held you closer, pressing soft kisses to the top of your head, your temple, anywhere he could reach without letting go. His voice was low, rough with emotion, but incredibly gentle.
“Baby… listen to me,” he whispered, his hand carefully cupping the back of your neck. “You’re not ruining anything. Not even close. I’m so sorry you went through that. No one should ever treat you like that. Especially not someone who was supposed to love you. It makes me fucking angry that he hurt you… but that anger isn’t for you. It’s for him.”
He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his thumbs gently wiping away your tears.“You’re not broken. You’re surviving. And the fact that you trust me enough to tell me this… it means everything. We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. Ever. If sex is scary right now, then we wait. We take it slow. We kiss. We cuddle. We touch only when it feels good for you. And if you never want to go further, that’s okay too. I’m with you, not just your body.”
He rested his forehead against yours, eyes soft and full of love.“I want you to feel safe with me. Completely safe. So we go at your pace. Always. Okay?”
You nodded weakly, still trembling, but the weight on your chest felt a little lighter now that the words were out.
“Baby… look at me,” he whispered.
You lifted your eyes to his. Those blue eyes were warm, patient, and full of so much love it almost hurt.
“I’m never going to pressure you, my love. Not ever,” he said softly, his voice steady and sincere. “If we never have sex, that’s okay. If we wait six months, a year, five years… it’s still okay. Because I didn’t fall in love with you for your body. I fell in love with you. With the way you laugh at my stupid jokes, the way you steal my hoodies, the way you make me feel calm even when the world is loud. I want you to be safe. I want you to be happy. That’s what matters most to me.”
You felt your chest tighten again, but this time it wasn’t just fear.
“That’s the problem, Dyl…” you whispered, voice shaky and small. “I do want to. I want to be close to you like that. I want to feel you and make you feel good and finally have something beautiful instead of what I had before. But I’m so scared. What if I freeze in the middle? What if everything comes rushing back and I ruin the moment? What if I panic again and you get tired of dealing with all my broken pieces?”
Your voice cracked on the last words.
Dylan’s arms tightened around you protectively. He gently tilted your chin up so you couldn’t look away.
“Hey… none of that,” he murmured, brushing his nose against yours in the softest way. “You’re not broken. You’re healing. And if you freeze, we stop. If it comes back, we stop. We breathe. We talk. We cuddle. There is no ‘ruining the moment’ with me, okay? This isn’t a performance. It’s us. And I’m never going to get tired of taking care of you. Never.”
He kissed the tip of your nose, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth — all feather-light and full of affection. “We can take it one step at a time. Kissing. Touching over clothes. Under clothes. Whatever feels good. And the second anything feels scary, you tell me and we stop. No questions. No disappointment. Just love.”
He rested his forehead against yours again, eyes closed.“I’ve got you. Always.”
His hands cradled your face with so much tenderness it made your chest ache. After a long, quiet moment, he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his voice low and soft.
“Can I… kiss you, baby?” he whispered. “Just kiss you. Nothing more unless you say so.”
Your heart fluttered. Even after everything you’d told him, he was still asking. Still checking.
You nodded, barely audible. “Yes.”
The smile he gave you was small, warm, and full of love. “Thank you.”
He leaned in slowly, giving you time, and pressed his lips to yours — incredibly soft, almost reverent. The kiss was sweet, unhurried, like he was pouring every ounce of care into it. His mouth moved gently against yours, warm and patient, tasting like comfort and safety. One of his hands slid into your hair, fingers threading through it delicately while the other stayed on your waist, holding you but never trapping you.
You melted into it, kissing him back with shaky tenderness. When you let out a small, relieved sigh against his mouth, Dylan smiled into the kiss.
“You can stop me anytime,” he murmured against your lips, voice husky but gentle. “Any second. Just say the word and I stop. Okay?”
“Okay…” you breathed.
He kissed you again, deeper this time but still so sweet it made your toes curl. Then his lips trailed slowly from the corner of your mouth, across your cheek, and down to your jaw. He took his time, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along your skin, savoring every inch. When he reached your neck, he lingered there, kissing the sensitive spot just below your ear with feather-light pressure.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered against your skin between kisses. “So fucking beautiful… and so safe with me.”
His mouth moved lower on your neck, warm and slow, sucking gently — not hard enough to mark, just enough to make you shiver in a good way. One of his hands stroked your back in soothing circles while he continued kissing and softly nipping at your neck, never rushing, never demanding.
Every touch felt like a promise: I’ve got you. I’ll wait. I’ll be gentle.
Dylan’s lips stayed gentle on your neck, kissing and tasting you with slow devotion. Each press of his mouth sent warm shivers down your spine. He lingered on the spot that made your breath hitch, then slowly started moving lower, trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone.
His hand slid down your side, fingers brushing the hem of your shirt.
“Can I take this off, baby?” he whispered against your skin, voice low and careful. “I want to feel you closer… but only if you’re okay with it.”
You nodded, heart racing. “Yes.”
He sat up slightly and helped you out of the shirt with painfully slow movements, pulling it over your head and tossing it aside. His eyes roamed over your bare skin with pure adoration, not hunger. Not yet. Just reverence.
“You’re so fucking perfect,” he breathed.
He leaned back in, lips returning to your neck before continuing their descent. He kissed down your chest, taking his time, until he reached the soft swell of your breasts. His mouth moved tenderly across your escote, pressing warm, lingering kisses between them, then along the curve of one breast and then the other. Every kiss was feather-light, loving, like he was worshipping you.
His hands rested on your waist, thumbs stroking your skin soothingly.
“You’re safe,” he murmured against your skin, voice husky but incredibly soft. “I promise you’re safe with me, my love. Nothing’s going to hurt you here. If it feels too much, we stop. I just want to make you feel good… only good.”
He kissed lower, lips brushing the top of your bra, then looked up at you with those beautiful blue eyes, checking in again.
“Still okay?” he asked gently, waiting for your answer before moving even an inch further.
Dylan’s fingers traced lightly down your back, finding the clasp of your bra. He looked into your eyes, his gaze full of patience and love.
“Can I take this off too, baby?” he asked softly. “I want to feel your skin against mine… but only if it feels right.”
You whispered a quiet “yes,” your voice trembling but trusting.
He moved slowly, so slowly, unhooking your bra with careful fingers and sliding the straps down your shoulders. He pulled it off gently and set it aside, his eyes never leaving your face at first — making sure you were still with him. Then his gaze dropped to your now-bare chest, and the way he looked at you made your heart ache in the best way. There was desire, yes, but mostly adoration.
“You’re safe,” he whispered, leaning in to press a soft kiss right above your heart. “I’m never going to hurt you. I swear it. You’re safe with me, my love. Completely safe.”
His words broke something open inside you.
The weight of feeling truly safe — maybe for the first time in years — hit you all at once. Tears welled up fast and spilled down your cheeks before you could stop them. Not from fear this time, but from overwhelming relief. From the gentleness in his touch. From the way he was looking at you like you were something precious instead of something to be used.
Dylan noticed immediately. His expression softened even more, and he reached for your hand, intertwining your fingers with his. He brought your hand up to his lips, kissing your knuckles tenderly while his other hand stayed respectfully on your waist.
“Hey… hey, it’s okay,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion. “Let it out, baby. I’ve got you.”
He leaned down and started kissing your bare chest again — slow, warm kisses across your breasts, over your sternum, and up to your collarbones. His lips were incredibly gentle, almost healing. Every kiss felt like a promise. His thumb stroked the back of your hand in soothing circles as he continued kissing you, never rushing, never grabbing.
“You’re doing so good,” he whispered between kisses, lips brushing your skin. “So brave. And so beautiful. I’m right here with you.”
You cried quietly while he kissed you, the tears mixing with the warmth spreading through your body. For the first time in a long time, the touch didn’t feel threatening. It felt safe. It felt like love.
Dylan’s mouth continued its slow, worshipful path across your bare chest. He kissed the soft curve of one breast, then the other, before his lips closed gently around your nipple. He sucked softly, warm and careful, flicking his tongue in slow circles while his hand cradled the other breast with feather-light touches. A quiet, appreciative hum vibrated against your skin.
“You feel so good,” he whispered, switching to the other nipple, lavishing it with the same tender attention. His touches stayed loving, never rough.
After a few moments, his hand slid lower, fingers brushing the waistband of your pants. He started to tug them down slowly, carefully, giving you time.
That’s when it hit.
Your body tensed sharply. The feeling of fabric sliding down your hips brought back flashes — hands that didn’t stop, pressure you couldn’t escape. Your heart slammed against your ribs.
“That’s enough,” you said quickly, voice shaky but clear. “Dylan, that’s enough.”
He stopped instantly.
Dylan pulled his hands away from your pants immediately, moving them to rest safely on your waist instead. He lifted his head from your chest and looked straight into your eyes, concern flooding his face.
“Okay, baby. We stop,” he said softly, voice calm and steady even though you could see the worry in his eyes. He didn’t pull away completely — he stayed close, but gave you space to breathe.
He gently tugged your pants back up to where they were, then pulled you into his arms, holding you against his chest. One hand rubbed slow, soothing circles on your back while the other cradled the back of your head.
“Shh… I’ve got you. You did so good telling me,” he murmured against your hair, pressing soft kisses to the top of your head. “We’re not going any further. You’re safe. I’m right here. Breathe with me, okay?”
You clung to him, heart still racing, but his immediate response and the warmth of his body kept the full panic from crashing over you. He rocked you gently, whispering soft reassurances the whole time.
“I’m so proud of you for saying stop. That’s exactly what I want you to do. Always.” He kissed your temple. “We can stay like this all night if you want. Just kissing. Just holding. Whatever feels good for you.”
He kept holding you tight, patient and loving, waiting until your breathing started to even out again in his arms.
