Show & Tell
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sheepfilms
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izzy's playlists!
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ojovivo
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Noah Kahan
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Claire Keane
The Stonewall Inn
if i look back, i am lost
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
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todays bird
$LAYYYTER
macklin celebrini has autism
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@tuffluuhv
<3<3<3<3
20, she/her, queer<3
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ i love reading and the smell of old books, i love fanfiction and creativity, i love knitting and crocheting and baking and painting and the colour pink. i love photography and sunsets and making powerpoint presentations on silly things. i love TV shows and binge watching them like its a full time job<3
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
<3<3<3<3
not my girlfriend (garrett graham x best friend!reader)
Summary: What's up with Garrett? Ever since the start of the party he hasn't brought any girl back to his room. Naturally, the boys observe him like an alien imposter. Except Tucker, who knows the reason why their friend isn't interested in hooking up. (Hint: someone is hiding in Garrett's room who he claims is NOT his girlfriend)
Pairing: Garrett Graham x best friend f!reader
Warnings: hurt/comfort, language, reader's ex is kinda an asshole, reader has self-esteem issues because the ex said hurtful stuff, mentions of sex, reader is the ambitious study geek (am i projecting?), mentions of alcohol, slight jealousy (from Garrett, but he's not aware)
Word count: 5.3k
Author’s note: Finding a fitting Garrett gif wasn't an easy feat 😅 I have no idea about hockey, so forgive me if I have no idea about the terms. I have only seen the show and read the books with Garrett and Dean's story, so I'm deeply sorry if I'm not getting Logan and Tucker right. The pics above are only there for vibes, no faceclaim set, don't worry! I was unsure posting since I've been outlining and drafting this for a few weeks. So, I don't know if I'll have inspiration to write the next parts in my head.
Please remember reblogs/comments mean love and support 💜
I don't use AI. Fuck AI. I don't give permission for any of my works to be incorporated in AI.
Something was definitely off.
Dean and Logan weren’t sure whether to cry at the debacle or film it for psychology majors to study. Instead, they did the next best thing. A red solo cup hovered over Dean’s lips while Logan held a bottle of beer. It felt like watching a car wreck happening and yet they couldn’t help but keep on watching in fascination, feeling curious at what was about to unfold.
“And here we have the captain of this team in his natural habitat, like a duck in water, playing with his opponent. Despite his expertise, there’s something off about his intentions tonight,” Dean narrated.
The party was at full swing at the hockey house. Everything should be perfect. Garrett hadn’t yet changed the music playlist, Tucker prepared the perfect snacks, everyone was having fun. Well, judging from Garrett’s slightly off attitude, not everyone.
A girl was chatting up Garrett on the couch, who in return merely smiled with a nod before his gaze would surreptitiously wander to the staircase again. It made them suspicious. Garrett’s body was relaxed, with his arm slung over the couch, but he wasn’t actively doing anything.
Logan played into Dean’s commentary. “I couldn’t agree more, Di Laurentis. The adversary leans forward, hoping he’ll take the bait, but Graham remains civil and uncaring, evading yet another aggressive maneuver in the evening. What do we think of this play?” He turned his head towards him, awaiting his review.
“Very bold, very bold.”
Garrett slowly stood up from the couch, sending her a tight-lipped smile. And another girl was turned down for the evening.
Both let out groans of disappointment. Dean continued, “And now he’s extracting himself from the situation, doing something totally unheard of. Logan, I can’t believe what we’re seeing.”
Tucker shook his head behind them. A delicious smell of Quesadillas emanated from the oven he just opened. “You guys are idiots.”
Mischief was dancing in Dean’s eyes. “Lo and behold, a team colleague sees method to the madness. Maybe we can get an interview from the very much esteemed Forward after the break. John Tucker, talk us through the process.” Logan didn’t waste a second when he copied Dean’s stance, holding the bottle around Tucker’s chin.
Tucker eyed the two of them, taking his time in barely tilting his head to speak into the makeshift microphones. “Maybe tonight’s not about a game.”
At the hint that there was more to it, Logan lowered the drink. Stepping forward, he asked with a lowered voice, “Wait, do you actually know something?”
Dean crossed the kitchen island and slung his arm over Tucker’s shoulder. “Buddy, have we told you yet how much we love and appreciate you?”
Tucker pursed his lips in thought. “Hmmm, not today.” Ignoring their antics, he decided to get back to the food when he sidestepped Dean’s embrace and put the dish on a cooling rack.
“And you look so handsome,” Logan added, vaguely waving his drink at him. “There’s a certain glow about you.”
“Totally.” Dean nodded.
Tucker offered a sage nod. “I’m aware.” He paused, “But it’s nice to be appreciated.”
Hearing Garrett’s voice yanked them out of their attempt to extract information out of their roommate when he entered the kitchen area. “What’s happening over here?”
Logan leaned his hip against the counter. “We could ask you the same thing.”
“What?” Garrett’s focus was more on fetching two water bottles from the fridge than to notice their detective investigations into his behavior. “What are you talking about?”
“Dude, what’s up with your game tonight?” Dean exclaimed, yet he couldn’t help chuckling at witnessing it.
“My game?”
Logan gestured to the living room in disbelief. “You would’ve brought someone upstairs, like three times already.”
Garrett grimaced at the image that evoked. “I’m not a sex fiend. Unlike…” He left the sentiment in the air while eyeing Dean, knowing his friend had way more sex in a single day, also because Dean was always doing it out in the open for the rest of the house to know.
Dean clutched his chest, offering a radiant smile.“Aww, and I wear this badge with pride.” He heaved a pitiful sigh.“It’s not easy being me.”
Garrett curiously leaned over Tucker’s shoulder.“Is it-”
“Done? Yes.” Tucker confirmed, putting a small batch on a plate.
“Thanks, man. Later, dudes!” Armed with the snack, he moved away from the group without looking back, taking two steps at a time up the staircase.
“What the fuck?” Dean waved his hands in the air, confused by his attitude like they were invisible already, still not understanding what was going on.
“(Y/N)’s upstairs,” Tucker explained, without any further ado. Sounds of understanding echoed around him. “She showed up during prep.”
As soon as Garrett opened his bedroom door, he eyed you through the small opening. He offered a small smile as a greeting, not wanting to spook you. “I’ve come bearing reinforcements.”
You were laying over the covers of his bed, only feeling slightly bad at Garrett’s night turning out differently than he expected. “I’m sorry for taking you away from your sexual exploits. I could’ve just as easily hidden in the room of one of the boys.”
“Don’t even finish that thought. There’s a sleepover tradition for a reason. You need me? I drop everything, sexual exploits included.”
First, he offered you the promised food before joining you on the bed. A soft smile tugged at Garrett’s lips when he fluffed the bunch of pillows behind him, remembering the time when you made fun of them for being super fluffy. With his body relaxing, all the air finally exhaled from his lungs.
“You poor thing.” You sent him a playful smirk once you imagined Garrett having to endure a night without sex. Absentmindedly, you laid your head on his shoulder and took a bite from the cheesy-chicken goodness called Tucker’s cooking to ease and maybe fill your stomach after the absolute ordeal of your day.
Garrett rolled his eyes while chuckling. “I think I’ll survive.”
The warm cheese melting in your mouth was a welcome distraction. With your mouth half-full, you hummed with absolute joy and couldn’t control yourself from taking another bite. “Oh my God, this is so good.”
There was a soft expression taking over his face when you held your food inches from his lips, wanting to share it with him. No longer surprised by your strange antics, he merely lifted his chin without averting his unblinking stare. “Really good,” he grunted in agreement, while nodding.
“Why do you always spoil me with Tucker’s home-cooked meals?” You almost didn’t expect him to answer when you continued digging into the little snack.
“Because you deserve it.” Garrett had uttered it with such a quiet voice that you wondered if you heard him right and not your mind playing tricks on you.
The mere affirmation made your stomach feel really fluttery with a nervous energy. Sometimes when Garrett said stuff like that, it felt unbearable to look at him. Not knowing whether you wanted to know the truth, if he said it just because he was such a great friend … or something else. Just like now, you did the next best thing and rested your head on his chest.
“Oh, you are such a sweetheart.”
“Don’t tell anyone,” Garrett grumbled.
His heart was thumping erratically before it became normal again after a few seconds. There was something truly soothing about him stroking your hair before his fingers rubbed up and down your back. Garrett softly whispered against your forehead. “Do you wanna talk about it?”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then we talk about anything else. Or nothing at all. I could tell you about Logan putting his foot in his mouth around some psychology major. Or Dean being absolutely adorable training the Hurricanes. And Tuck-”
You interrupted him, “-is perfect.”
All too aware of your partiality for his friend, Garrett sighed, “Tuck’s perfect. I know.”
Once you felt safely in this bubble, with Garrett talking about the most mundane stuff about your common friends, you felt your body relax against his chest.
Even if you were still nervous how he would react. Well, better to just rip it off like a band-aid.
“He said, he was tired of me being a frigid bitch.”
Garrett’s body language told you more than words ever could. His hand hovered over your shoulder, frozen. Garrett sat up at the revelation. You didn’t need to be close to his chest to hear the growl emanating deeply from his chest when he opened his mouth. “What?” Inhaling deeply for a few moments, his voice sounded a bit more normal but it was still strained. “What was his name again? Dick?”
You didn’t know why you bothered anymore, but you still corrected him, without enthusiasm. “Nick.”
Garrett muttered under his breath. “Same thing.” He returned to his previous position when he leaned back again, willing to hear you out.
“I’m just tired of explaining myself to a guy. When I literally have other things on my mind than to constantly be glued at a guy’s side. I’m swamped with projects, studying for midterms while trying to balance it all by hanging out with friends.” You shook your head. “Maybe I was an idiot for thinking I could have a relationship as a cherry on top.”
You felt him lean closer when he replied with a hoarse voice, “It’s not idiotic.” To prove how serious he was, you felt his fingers carefully touch your knuckles. Craving that small bit of solace, you revealed your open palm until you let Garrett’s fingers lace through yours.
Like two puzzle pieces fitting together.
The food long forgotten, you disentangled from him and laid next to him. “Is it fucked up that my mind is more devastated by his last words than the end of a relationship? We weren’t even together that long.” At the inkling of the first teardrops sneaking in like the traitors they were, you grimaced, feeling taken aback. With your knuckles drying your cheeks, you felt so strange that incredulous chuckles left you. “I don’t even know why I’m crying.”
You felt Garrett’s unyielding stare on the side of your face. “Listen to me, he did that to hurt you. Dick’s not worth your tears.”
“Nick.”
God, why did you keep doing this? This is really the hill you want to die on?
He shrugged. “Still a dick. Fuck him for wanting even more of your attention. Especially if he can see how stressed you are. That’s no relationship. That’s just a damn push-and-pull. He can’t just dictate that you spend less time with your friends.” Garrett raked his fingers through his already tousled hair, appearing nervous all of a sudden. “You guys did break up, right? Your text only said code sleepover.”
“Don’t worry. When someone thinks they can change my mind into having sex and just turns into a misogynistic pig, I don’t go for a break.”
“Good to know. I can have a few choice words with the preppy asshole if we cross paths.”
You snickered. Leave it to Garrett to being unwavering in calling your ex a preppy asshole, even while you were still dating. You snuggled up to the warmth of his side. “No, better not. I don’t want him to think I’m consumed by him. But if you do see him, wouldn’t you mind sending him one of your trademark Garrett Graham death stares?”
Garrett nodded once, not needing any more incentive. “Got ya. I’m gonna treat him like my fiercest hockey nemesis.”
The rest of the boys were not so secretly watching Garrett and you from the kitchen window while you were snuggling up under a blanket by the fire pit outside. The party was coming to an end and there were a few stragglers eating leftover food in the living room area. It was left unsaid how you were wearing a familiar green hoodie which was usually seen on their captain’s torso.
“What’s the latest update?” Dean asked.
With a sympathetic tone, Tucker admitted, “Break-up.” Remembering the almost blank expression on your face when you revealed the tidbit upon your arrival.
Dean groaned. “Fucking jerk. He’s a business major, right?” He crossed his arms. “Think we’re allowed to give him a noogie?”
“Maybe ask Garrett what he wants to do,” Logan replied, trying to be sensible. You were one of them and they hated that you had to go through this. If one of them got hurt, they all got hurt. Even if they wanted to kick Garrett’s butt for not getting off his damn butt.
“Sounds like a plan.” Dean agreed.
Garrett had his arm slung over your shoulder, with your face nestled into his neck, keeping you close. While his hand stroked down your arm, his lips briefly met your forehead in a blink and you miss it moment.
Before they could react on any level - Dean was on the brink of holding his breath to release a dramatic gasp - Garrett turned his head before his eyes zeroed in on them. Like he was conjured by the uttering of his name.
In an almost knee-jerk reaction, Dean and Logan ducked their hands until they were literally on their knees hiding under the window sill. Unlike Tucker, who was too focused on putting away some stuff from the counter when he saw Garrett flipping them the bird, frozen in place.
A wide-eyed Dean nervously switched his gaze between Logan and Tucker. “Do you think he saw us?”
Tucker waved a hand at Garrett, almost compelled, like he couldn’t control the movement. “I think he did.”
“Everything alright?” you asked, sensing Garrett’s focus shifting. You lifted your head from his chest and noticed him ruffling his fingers through his hair.
He cleared his throat, putting on a small smile. “All good. For what it’s worth, your ex is an asshole. Never did deserve you.”
“You know what I just realized? I just don’t know how to be other than this person. And how I’d need to sacrifice one thing to achieve everything else.”
“You don’t need to sacrifice anything. You love to study. You know when to de-stress with friends and where your limits are. I don’t really know why you want a boyfriend, but that’s just me.”
“Of course you do,” you retorted dryly. It was known all across campus how Garrett was not the type to even date. Sometimes you envied his constitution for just going for it, needing only that physical release. As much as you were an analytical person, it still made you anxious that you were still a smidge of a romantic and that the mere intimacy in a purely sexual relationship would trick your brain into believing you were harboring feelings. Damn oxytocin.
Garrett smiled charmingly, bringing you back. “As I was saying … Because you never really needed those guys. And they know it. You’re way too independent for them and they hate that.”
You exhaled heavily, kinda hating him for being right. Barely turning your head to see his reaction, in case he didn’t want to believe you. “Maybe it’s time I stop dating. You know, go for the Garrett way - just have tons of sex and only think of myself. No conditions.”
He tilted his head, deep in thought. That was before he turned back to his confident self. “I’m not sure if you’re trying to insult me. Because objectively it sounds awesome.” His gaze turned pensive. “But only if this is truly what you want.”
You sat up, already missing Garrett’s warmth when you let go of him. “What I want is some good sex.” Your hand caressed your neck, imagining someone touching you who knew what they were doing. “Unfortunately, there are only boys here who have no idea what they’re doing. Sometimes I just want that fulfilling climax.” You threw your head back, moaning quietly. It’s been too long since you had a good orgasm unless it was done by your own fingers. Great, now you were getting horny.
That embarrassed feeling only lasted for a few moments when warmth grew in your cheeks. “And usually every single one gets all pissy when I dare to say I’m not in the mood. What I want is to think of my needs first.”
Hopefully, you didn’t share too much. Typically, Garrett didn’t mind when you talked openly about your sexual needs. Sometimes it just felt really freeing to talk to another sex-positive guy. You wouldn’t have thought after getting to know Sabrina as your roommate that you’d be here now. Having someone like her in your corner certainly did wonders to just outright voicing your wants and frustrations without shame.
Garrett cleared his throat. And coughed for good measure. He did seem a bit awkward the more you talked. He swallowed after taking a sip from his drink. “Maybe you just haven’t found the right one. No hard feelings, but you get a lot of duds.”
Truer words have never been spoken. The mere thought made you stare into the distance. “I am a dud magnet.”
Garrett rubbed the back of his neck, eyeing you warily. “Then,” he paused before muttering the rest in one breath, “let me help you get laid.”
“What?”
“That’s not-” He closed his eyes with a grimace. Giving off the impression that he just blurted out the first thing on his mind before his mouth could stop him. Garrett chuckled. “Let me be your wingman. The moment you want to have sex again, let me know and I’ll double-check all the potential guys you’re into. No more duds for you.”
“Maybe my mind is either in a break-up funk or this one beer is getting to my head. For some reason I think that idea doesn’t sound bad. Or maybe it’s because all after-midnight ideas sound fascinating.”
“See?” Garrett raised his eyebrows, having another sip.
“And how would you ascertain which ones are studs and which ones the duds?” You pointed your finger guns at him, mumbling ‘pew pew’ under your breath.
He groaned from deep within his chest. He closed his eyes, throwing his head back. “Oh my God. I’m going to mentally write down ‘must tolerate (Y/N)’s corny jokes’. It’s called instinct. With most guys you can just tell if they’re good in bed or have the patience to take care of the clit.”
“Oh wow, someone’s very sure of themselves.”
Confidence was emanating from him in waves when he smirked. “Hell yeah, I guess I’m just good at stuff.”
“Prove it.”
His frown was the first hint to the uneasy feeling taking shape. “… Okay.”
“Take Dean for example.”
Garrett made a mournful sound. “I don’t want to think about my friends having sex.”
“So, if you’re not divulging your clit instinct, I’m gonna assume that skill is very selective. Therefore, I can’t fully trust your expertise,” you retorted, mockingly tilting your head in speculation.
Garrett narrowed his eyes. “That’s evil.”
“I guess that’s why we’re such good friends.”
With an exhaling breath, Garrett succumbed to his fate. “Fine, my instinct tells me Dean … loves the clit. Absolutely perverted, nay, unhinged for it.”
You giggled, liking where this was going and leaned the side of your face against your hand. “Tucker?”
Garrett huffed a breath, needing a moment. “Might not know as much but is definitely willing to learn.” He beat you to it when he continued with a pensive air, “Logan … somehow has the hair for it.”
You nodded. “He does.”
“Could be into it. Or at least might be into how much the girl’s into it.” Garrett inhaled deeply. “And yours truly-” He tipped his head back, like he was a drama major about to deliver a monologue.
“Here we go,” you muttered under your breath.
“Absolutely adores the clit. Best friends with the clit. Would marry her if he could.” Garrett nodded playfully, clutching his chest. If you would describe the sound he just made, the words ‘sighing blissfully’ would come to mind. “We’re in a very committed relationship.”
“And she’s very lucky to have you,” you said, shaking your head with a smile before leaning your head against his chest.
The first sensation you felt was warmth. All-encompassing heat at your back as you were lying in bed. Early morning light calmly dancing through the room to rouse its inhabitants to start a new day. In between the precipice of awake and slumber, your body still felt sluggish and wanted to stay where it was. Snuggled into Garrett’s broad frame.
As the thought of Garrett hit you, you couldn’t help wondering if the vague memory tickling your brain was a true recollection of last night or just a very imaginative dream. The hazy memory of Garrett saying “Not a word” and hearing the boys collectively retort “Didn’t say a thing!” when you were half asleep. After you couldn’t remember walking back upstairs and judging by the non-hallucinated words, it made you wonder what happened after you closed your eyes by the fire.
The sheets rustled behind you as you felt Garrett’s arm stir around your stomach.
“G’ morning,” you mumbled all gravelly. You kept your eyes still closed to remain in that relaxed headspace.
“Morning.”
Using his half asleep mentality to your advantage, you spoke up. “Did you carry me all the way upstairs?”
His warm breath ghosted over the back of your neck. “You can’t prove that, counselor.”
You lightly jabbed him into the abdomen. “Don’t call me that.” And instantly hated him (and specifically his muscles) that he barely even reacted, and thus making him the perfect specimen. “Analyst, not counselor. You’re such a smartass in the morning.”
A dramatic gasp left his mouth. “You’re so violent.” The uncontrollable chuckles proved the opposite before he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “I’ll take that as a compliment. I’m sorry. And here I was always priding myself on sharing the bed with a budding lawyer.”
You snorted. “Then you can share the bed with Dean.”
Garrett grunted, needing a few seconds to recover. “The cuddling could get very crowded in there. Unlike here.” For good measure, his hand tightened around your stomach.
You chuckled, shaking your head, remembering Dean’s tendency for female company. “What a charmer.”
“You want to stay for some coffee?”
“I need to borrow some books from the library at the other end of the campus,” you grumbled.
Garrett sought your warmth again when he mumbled into your shoulder. “I can drive you.”
“Don’t you have training?”
Chuckling, he wriggled your body after hearing your list of reluctant excuses. “Will you stop finding reasons not to hang out and take it easy? Maybe say ‘Oh Garrett, I can’t stand to be apart from you’ to make up for my hurt feelings?”
Snorting with laughter, you refused to cave to the typical Garrett flattery. He already had enough of that. “I’m not a Victorian woman or a member of your fan club.”
With a wry sense of humor, he tsk-ed. “Not with that attitude.” Garrett was already looking at you when you shifted your body until you were facing him. His voice lowered into a whisper, like he was sharing a secret with you. “How are you feeling this morning?” For good measure he stroked a few hairs out of your face.
“Better.” You shrugged. “It’s a new day. I think our clit conversation last night lifted me right up.”
His eyes lit up at the memory. “Good. Any time you need a pick-me-up, just let me know and I’ll pull out the female genitalia talk.”
You nodded jokingly. “Cool, dude.” Garrett reciprocated instantly when he saw you lifting your palm and high-fived you.
“Cool. Let’s get you that coffee.”
At a certain point there were only a handful of people in your life you felt comfortable around to appreciate the silence with. Garrett was one of those people. The two of you were sitting at a table while just enjoying the calm of the morning. Tucker was quietly helping himself to some coffee in the corner. Almost like your thought process summoned a karmic balance, Garrett’s remaining roommates came barging in.
“Would you look at that?” Dean squinted his eyes, like he was staring into the sun, before facing Logan next to him. “Are my eyes deceiving me? Did Garrett finally bring you out to society or was he afraid we’d steal you away from him?”
“Almost didn’t recognize you without G’s hoodie,” he mumbled under his breath, but low enough for you to understand.
Garrett kept his hands around the mug and put on a crooked grin. “Funny.” But not before glaring at him.
“Don’t worry, Dean. You’re still my second,” you paused and mentally debated your ranking, even if it was just for fun, “or third best friend.”
Touching his chest, Dean took a seat by the kitchen counter. “Aww, I made the list.”
“We’re picking up (Y/N) along the way before we get to practice.” Garrett phrased it in a mere statement. He patiently stared at his friends until they’d submit, like he was daring them to.
After hearing echoes of “Cool” and “Sounds fun”, you frowned at Garrett’s attitude. “Did I miss something?” You turned your head, confusedly eyeing his friends to guess the truth from their body language.
“Nope.” This answer was more definitive.
Okay, now you were officially suspicious.
“It’s not my birthday, right?”
“It’s not you.” Logan assured you.
Dean smirked. “G just gets testy when he doesn’t get laid.”
Tucker didn’t play their game when he covered his face, shaking his head, sending you a sympathetic smile.
“Okay, be weird then. I’m calling shotgun. I’ll be picking the music if no one stops me.” You brought your mug to the sink, only hearing rustles and harsh whispers behind you when you grabbed your bag from the living room.
“-can’t believe-” Garrett hissed, followed by Logan’s words.
“Dude, you’re the one being weird.”
When you turned around, you saw Dean open the door with an exuberant energy before you could analyze their conversation. He waved with his arm and leaned against the door structure, with his broad frame hiding whatever Garrett and Logan were doing in the background.
Dean smirked. “Puberty hits some people differently, you know what I mean?”
You merely rolled your eyes at their antics and whatever they were keeping from you. Quick steps rushed behind you as soon as you moved outside. You barely had time to react when an arm slung around your shoulder. With nimble fingers Garrett took your bag to carry it for you.
You narrowed your eyes while glancing at the side of his face. “I’m not even gonna ask.”
The relief was visible on his expression when Garrett sighed. “Good.” To complete the actions of a kind guy he opened the car door for you at the front.
It took you less than a few seconds to appreciate Garrett’s offer to get a ride. This way you could lean back, let the music of the radio station wash over you while Dean leaned forward until his head was inches from your headrest, letting his fingers drum against the sides of your seat.
Dean was being his jovial and carefree self and talking about your upcoming internships for the political science class you were taking.
Logan mirrored Dean next to him when he leaned forward until his gaze caught the side of Garrett’s face. “Don’t you ever wonder sometimes what would have happened if those two had met the first time?”
Dean sighed dreamily. “Talk about a dream team.”
Garrett smiled. “More like dangerous.”
You turned your head, patting Dean’s cheek, mere inches from your face. If possible, his smile grew even more. “Don’t worry, I’d never want to fight Beau on taking his spot.”
With a faraway look, Dean voiced, “That’d be kinda hot. Two of my friends fighting for my affection.”
You chuckled. “I can’t believe these guys are letting you leave the house. You’re a literal menace to society.”
Dean gasped. “How dare you? I’m a delightful member of society.”
“She’s right.” Tucker spoke up. Nodding along with Logan. “Absolutely unhinged.”
“Illustrious,” Dean corrected.
Garrett added, “Infamous.”
“Don’t listen to them.” Dean leaned his chin on your shoulder. “We both know you secretly love me.”
“I’m still waiting for the day when you finally elope with me.” You sighed dramatically. “But, alas, I couldn’t stand to look at you. You’re just too pretty for me.” You sighed, imitating a fainting woman, with the back of your hand shielding your forehead.
Garrett rolled his eyes, chuckling. “There’s no elopement happening.”
Dean drew in a breath. “So, we are star-crossed lovers. I can’t believe you’re keeping us apart already.” Seeing Garrett’s glance in the rear-view mirror, he sat back with a small smirk.
“I doubt it would have mattered anyway. Since I met the two of you in the same week.”
Garrett chuckled into his closed hand. “I still can’t believe you didn’t even know the guy before you decided to heckle him.”
It felt so surreal that you still remembered your first encounter with him during orientation week. Even after all this time. It was still clear as day, being in that crowd of freshmen, with Garrett standing a few rows behind you.
“Hey, positive heckling. I could tell he was nervous.”
“What did you call out during his comedy act again? That he looked handsome?”
You sighed in mock defeat, even if the memory always lit you up from the inside and your very rare impulse for heckling. Or to inspire someone you’ve never met. “‘You’re fucking awesome, man!’ I still can’t believe I did that.”
“I just loved that you did. Just had a feeling that I really needed to get to know this girl.” His hand dropped on your thigh in comfort.
Him putting it into perspective like that was a reassuring sensation that if you hadn’t done that, you wouldn’t have met Garrett and found a friend for life. Or who knew? Maybe you’d have met him over time through Dean.
“Did you really needed to spill your drink on me to catch my attention though?”
“Wait, that’s what happened? Someone left an impression, huh?” By instinct, Logan reached forward to clasp Garrett’s seat.
“I was – Just shut up, man.” His laughter sounded flustered when he was reminded of the little mishap upon meeting.
“He was very adorable,” you assured him and the boys when you stroked his shoulder.
Garrett mockingly hummed along. “Oh, would you look at that? Guess we’re here already.”
The car slowed down until you stopped near the steps of the library building. His brows rose. “No more mortifying stories to tell in front of my friends.”
You loosened the seat belt. “There are always more where they came from. Don’t worry, boys.”
“Can’t wait,” Tucker replied, all easy-going.
Garrett sighed, glaring at his so-called friends sitting in the backseat. He was too focused on them and working on maintaining his remaining dignity when Dean jumped out to open your door before he can.
Dean bowed. “My lady.”
Logan snickered at seeing Garrett narrow his eyes while mouthing “What the fuck?” and throwing his hands in the air.
Taking his offered hand, you stepped outside while looking back over your shoulder at Garrett. “You do have gentleman friends, Garrett.”
He feigned a smirk. “Clearly.”
“And before I forget…” You leaned against the lowered car window, letting an old-timey voice break forth. “Oh Garrett, how I can’t stand to be apart from you.”
Garrett chuckled. Rolling his eyes, he called after you as you walked away. “Don’t play with my feelings like that.”
Still, he tried to ignore it when he heard Logan mutter under his breath, “Not my girlfriend, my ass.”
Tagging: @mellowstatesmanhandsempath @ravenmoore14 @blackmagicwoman
This time I remembered to flip the color as well as the template.
EWC by @justcakethanks, EHC by @edenisquiet
Actually, you are enough. Even if you don’t work. Or study. Or go out. Or have friends. Or have family. You’re enough because you exist and your existence is enough to be enough because you are not a product. You are not a sum of output. You are not a task to complete. But because you are something the universe wanted and put here even if you’ll never understand why. Somewhere in the cosmos your existence makes a difference, even if it’s not the way others existences do.
btw dating sucks as a concept.
meeting up with someone with the explicit goal of figuring out whether or not you want a relationship with them spoils the dynamic. it sucks. it's terrible. fall in love with your friends like normal people.
as expected this one is a hit with the autism website
the hot seat
⁀➷ best friend!garrett graham x fem!reader
summary: you and your best friend decide to try something new during a movie night at home
warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, piv cockwarming, piv sex, creampie, very soft dom!garrett, mutual pining, jealousy, mixed pov, best friends to lovers, fluffy ending (word count: 3.7k)
a/n: inspired by this post <3
masterlist
As the bone-chilling screams of terrified sorority sisters filled the darkened living room, you covered your eyes with one hand to peek at the television screen through your fingers.
“Garrett, this movie is way too scary,” you whimpered.
To emphasis your displeasure, you squirmed a little in your seat in your best friend’s lap, the motion causing him to groan under his breath as he subtly shifted his weight beneath you.
Grabbing ahold of your thighs, Garrett spread them a bit wider over his own to hold you in place. The steady warmth of his breath against the back of your neck made you shiver as he smoothed one hand along the curve of your hip, fingers digging into the flesh in desperation to ground himself.
“Baby—you’ve got to stop moving. If you keep doing that, I’m not gonna last.”
Garrett was starting to sweat, a thin sheen of perspiration already shimmering on his brow.
Leaning his head against the back of the couch, he ran a hand through the disarray of dark curls sticking up off the top of his head in all directions, too far gone in the moment to care how he looked.
He was so close. Too fucking close.
You were just so warm and wet. So tight—so much tighter than he’d ever imagined you would be. It was like your walls were clamping down around him, squeezing his cock to within an inch of its life.
“I’m not doing anything,” you pouted, exposed skin glowing with a hint of perspiration. “I just don’t like this movie. Can you switch it to something else, pretty please?”
You turned to glance back at him over your shoulder, fluttering your lashes and flashing your most angelic smile—the kind of thing that usually worked like a charm on your adoring best friend.
But this time he was trapped.
“The remote’s on the other end of the couch—I can’t reach it,” he gritted through clenched teeth, shutting his eyes for a moment to try to center his train of thought on something other than your long lashes and pouty lips.
Counting backwards from ten, he tried to force himself to think only the unsexiest of thoughts. To focus on anything other than the graceful curve of your hips or shapely swell of your ass—currently sitting astride him so pretty while he split you open on his cock.
When he felt himself twitch inside you, he knew it wouldn’t be long before he succumbed to the overwhelming sensation of being buried deep in your pussy—and that wasn’t an option.
He needed to regain some control.
It had started with a question—well first, it started with an injury.
Garrett had been forced to sit out the Hawks’ away game that weekend due to a mild ankle sprain and was being a huge baby about the whole situation. Stuck at home alone while the rest of his teammates were out of town having fun, he bombarded you with endless text messages, complaining that he was lonely and dying of boredom.
As his best friend, you offered to play nurse for the weekend and you faithfully doted on your patient—bringing him snacks, changing his ice packs and even volunteering to massage his sore muscles.
“Nobody has hands like you,” he gushed with an adorable a grin that made your cheeks heat up and sent your heart soaring.
As much as you teased him about being so needy, you secretly loved that you had him all to yourself for a change. Garrett had so many available options for company, it felt good to know you were the girl he wanted more than anyone else in his time of need.
You liked taking care of him.
Since Garrett was supposed to stay off his ankle, it limited your choice of activities for the evening, so you suggested staying in and watching a movie at home. He had been in the mood for something scary, so you didn’t protest when he picked his favorite slasher even though you weren’t much of a horror fan—you usually preferred something a little more fluffy and romantic.
With the lights in the living room turned down low, you snuggled into Garrett’s side as the opening credits played, taking note of his pleasant woodsy cologne and the softness of his sweatpants as your hand brushed against the material. And maybe it was just a trick of the light, but when you glanced down at his lap, you swore you could make out a thick outline under the cotton that caused your heart rate to pick up a little bit.
Clenching your thighs together, you thought of the question you had been meaning to ask Garrett all night but just hadn’t found the right time. You were a little nervous about how he might react, but the silence while waiting for the movie to start seemed like the perfect opportunity.
So you took it.
“Remember how you told me if I ever had questions about sex or dating, I could come to you?” you asked him sweetly, noting the dark cloud that immediately passed over his face when he turned his head to look at you.
“Why? Do you have a date?” His words came out too rushed to sound casual, so he cleared his throat to mask his surprise.
You hadn’t mentioned being interested in anyone in a while, and the prospect of you going out with another guy had completely caught him off guard.
Garrett had been harboring a secret crush on you ever since you’d met during your sophomore year of college, but you had kept him in the friend zone for so long that he’d nearly lost all hope. Being something of a big man on campus and very popular with the ladies, he wasn’t used to dealing with rejection and it had been a hard pill for him to swallow. Even worse, you obviously had a thing for his roommate Dean, always giggling and flirting shamelessly when he was around—which was understandable, but it still stung.
As a way to distract from his unrequited yearning, Garrett spent his time pursuing one night stands and brief flings with girls who didn’t mean anything to him. He claimed he had no interest in love or relationships, but that was only a lie to protect his heart—he wanted you to be his. And he wanted you bad.
“No, not a date.” You giggled, enjoying the hint of jealousy in his voice. Your best friend was always so overprotective when it came to you and other guys. “Do you remember the new girl who started working at the store with me a few months ago?”
He nodded noncommittally, relief relaxing his features. “I think so, sure.”
“Well, she was telling me about this thing she tried with the guy she’s been seeing. Have you ever heard of cockwarming?” you asked with a curious tilt of your head.
Ever since your co-worker had confided in you about her experience one day on your lunch break, you hadn’t been able to get what she’d said off your mind. It sounded so hot—the control and restraint. The closeness and heightened sensations. Just imagining being dominated in that way by someone made your head feel a little fuzzy.
“No, can’t say that I have.” Confusion wrinkled Garrett’s brow. “What is it?”
You could hardly believe that for the first time in your life there was something you knew about sex that the Garrett Graham didn’t know. Having been well explored by the eligible ladies of Briar over the years, he was quite a bit more experienced than you and a bit cocky in that regard. It felt good to finally stump him.
“Well, it’s kind of like sex except she said once the guy is inside, you both try to stay still and not move. I guess it can get pretty intense after a while?” You raised your eyebrows suggestively.
“Really?” Garrett asked with a chuckle, not sounding convinced. “But moving is the best part? I don’t know…doesn’t sound that fun to me.”
When you huffed at his quick dismissal of the idea, a mischievous smile brightened his face.
“Why? Do you want to try it with someone? You would never be able to sit still—you’re too wiggly,” he teased, reaching out to tickle your side as you crossly swatted his hands away.
“Am not,” you shot back in a huff, narrowing your eyes in playful indignation. “I could do just fine.”
When he tried to snuggle up with you again to resume watching the movie, you sniffed as if offended and pulled away.
“I only mentioned it because I thought it would be perfect for someone in your condition,” you pouted, gesturing at his ankle brace. “You could sit there without moving or worrying about hurting yourself—I was just trying to take care of you.”
An awkward silence hung heavy in the living room as Garrett stared at you with a bemused expression, perplexed by what was happening. He couldn’t be sure, but it almost seemed like you were suggesting that you wanted to try it out. With him. Right there.
But that couldn’t be, could it?
Appearing to consider for a moment, he eventually tipped his head and gave you a sly grin. “Taking care of me, huh? You actually think you could make it to the end of the movie without moving?”
When you gave a determined nod and bit down on your lip, Garrett’s eyes seemed to grow darker in an instant.
“Yeah? Fine, then. Show me.”
The haunting score of the slasher movie suddenly soared in volume during a gruesome scene, causing you to shudder.
“If we can’t watch something different, can I at least turn around? It’ll only take a second,” you implored, looking over your shoulder at Garrett with wide pleading eyes.
You had insisted on starting out facing away from him in reverse cowgirl so you both could see the television, but you weren’t enjoying the movie and he imagined you must be getting uncomfortable with your legs draped over his thighs to hold yourself in place.
In his current precarious state, he knew a maneuver like switching positions would create a dangerous amount of friction, but at the same time, you were asking him so sweetly. Who was he to argue?
“Fine,” Garrett offered in a halting voice, secretly desperate for the small bit of motion the switch would provide despite knowing it was likely a bad idea. “Just warn me before you move.”
“Mmhm.” You nodded. “I’m ready now—are you?”
“Yeah, go for it.” Sucking in a deep breath, he released his grip on your waist. When you lifted yourself up and out of his lap in a smooth motion, the resulting slow drag of his cock against your walls was so pleasurable, he had to bite back a moan.
“There, that’s better,” you cooed, turning around to straddle his lap. Feeling warm and slick between your thighs, you wrapped your hand around his rigid cock, humming with satisfaction when you felt its angry pulse against your palm. Impressively long and thick, his shaft was coated in your arousal, slippery and shiny as it throbbed your hand.
You couldn’t resist using the pad of your thumb to swipe the beads of precum from his leaking tip, causing him to buck his hips as he hissed at the sensation.
“Shit—you can’t just do that,” he gasped, grabbing a nearby throw pillow off the couch and clenching it in his fist.
“Sorry.” You stifled a giggle before giving him your most convincing puppy dog eyes. “Are you ready for me now?”
Nodding with his gaze locked on yours, you heard his breath hitch as you lined him up with your entrance then sank down on him slowly, watching his eyes widen as you took each thick inch.
“Fuck—” He let out a shaky breath as you bottomed out, filled with him to the hilt. “Baby—you feel so fucking good.”
Your pussy was already dripping, so the stretch of his cock wasn’t quite as noticeable as before, but Garrett was so big that it still took a few moments for you to adjust to his size and the sensation of fullness. Without him inside, you had felt so empty.
Grasping at you like he was holding on for dear life, Garrett’s fingers pressed hard into the soft flesh of your ass and hips. Your best friend was always so put together and confident that you couldn’t help but feel a bit smug while looking down at his wrecked expression, eyes blown wide with desire.
Letting out a contented sigh, you ran your hands over his bare chest and strong shoulders—your new view much more agreeable than the silly old horror movie you’d been forced to watch against your will. Garrett’s body was a work of art, and even as his best friend, you weren’t oblivious to how attractive he was. You had always admired him from afar, but having him right there with his fat cock throbbing inside you was so much better.
Still, you found yourself wanting more.
“It’s hot in here…how come you’re the only one who gets to be topless?” You gave him a coy smile, toying with the gold chain around his neck—just one more thing about him that was so effortlessly sexy.
Saying nothing, Garrett swallowed hard as you grabbed the hem of your top and started to pull it off over your head, his grasp on you growing even tighter as you wiggled in his lap.
When you tossed your shirt to join his on the couch, he tried his best not stare at your tits, sitting so pretty in the sheer lace cups right in front of his face—a dangerous sight in his current state.
You weren’t playing fair.
He closed his eyes, breathing in your soft perfume, a sweet scent that was so distinctively you that he could have recognized it anywhere. He wanted to inhale it—drink it and bathe himself in your fragrance so it would never fade away.
As every quiet second passed between you, he became more and more aware of each tiny movement of your body; the rise and fall of your chest, the slight tickle of your breath on his skin and the rhythmic pulse of your warm cunt around his cock—steady and unrelenting.
It was taking every ounce of his strength not to throw caution to the wind, roll his hips up off the couch and thrust up into you deeper, feel himself glide in and out of your dripping pussy as your perfect tits bounced in front of his face.
As if you could read his mind, you let out a soft whine, grinding against him ever so slightly in desperation.
“Garrett, please. Just need a little—” you whined, rocking your hips in an attempt to create some friction against your aching clit. “It’s too much.”
And he wanted to give you what you wanted, but he also wanted to regain some control. Take the upper hand.
He tightened his grasp on your waist, looking up at you with heavy half-lidded eyes.
“Come on, baby. Need you to be good for me and sit still,” he coaxed with a condescending smirk. “Thought you said you could make it to the end of the movie?”
The soft command in his words spurred an involuntary clench of your walls around him and made your pussy gush, arousal dripping down between your thighs to soak his heavy balls. You had never thought you’d like to be dominated by anyone in bed, but the way your body was responding to Garrett couldn’t lie.
Reaching to play with his chain once more, you pouted. “You’re being so mean.”
He chuckled softly, removing one hand from your waist and letting it trail down to the wet warmth where your bodies met. “No, baby. If I was mean, I’d do something like this.”
With that, he started to draw slow circles over your swollen clit with the pads of his fingers, lips hovering just over yours, smiling as you let out a breathless gasp.
“Don’t move,” he whispered in warning. “Keep your eyes on me or I’ll stop.”
“Garrett—oh god,” you whimpered, electric sparks coursing through you with each touch of his fingertips. “F-feels too good.”
Dizzy with pleasure and no longer worried about staying still, you grabbed ahold of his chain and pulled him closer, crashing your lips into his with a reckless urgency. Eager to taste you, his tongue swirled, exploring yours as he groaned into the kiss.
Garrett could be mean. But he could also be nice.
“Want you so bad,” he whispered, pulling back to look up at you through his lashes. “Tell me you want it too.”
“I want it,” you whimpered. “Want you to fuck me, Garrett.”
Bracing your hands on his shoulders, you gave a tentative rock in his lap and he answered with a slow roll of his hips, the deep thrust of his cock hitting a spot inside that caused an unexpected shockwave of pleasure to surge through you, making you cry out.
Reaching behind your back, he unfastened your bra, watching with dark eyes as the lace cups fell away to reveal your perfect breasts. As you started to slowly grind on him, he pressed wet kisses over the soft skin, expertly swirling and flicking his tongue over your pert nipples while you sighed, arching your back as you ran your fingers through his messy curls.
When he released your breast with a slick pop, you sat up straighter and started to ride him faster, tits brushing the tip of his nose with each fluid roll of your hips. He guided your movements with a firm grip on your waist, the delicious glide of his cock against your walls almost overwhelming.
“Fuck yeah, that's it,” he praised, leaned back in his seat to watch you move astride him, smiling as you let out the sweetest little sighs and gasps with each bounce in his lap. “Ride it. Take what you want.”
“Mhm,” you whined, glassy eyes fixed on his. “Need more.”
He smirked, dark curls falling into forehead with the effort of lifting his hips up off the couch to meet your thrusts, breath growing ragged.
“Yeah? You want more?”
Standing up carefully due to his sprain, he lifted you with him, wrapping your legs around his waist. Then he laid you down on your back on the couch, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he took in the sight of you spread out beneath him. His toned body was heavy over yours, chest squishing your breasts as he pinned your wrists over your head and parted your soft thighs with his hips.
Buried in your warmth, he gave a powerful snap of his pelvis against you and then another, slightly swirling his hips.
“This deep enough for you?” he rasped with a cocky grin, the muscles in thighs and ass flexing with the effort of each stroke as he began to set a punishing pace.
The only answer you could manage was a breathless whimper of his name as each thrust punched the air from your lungs. Letting go of your wrists, he reached down between your bodies to rub two thick fingers over your clit in time with each stroke.
Since you’d both been edging yourselves for what felt like an eternity, it didn’t take long before you could feel your climax approaching, the pleasure rapidly building in waves.
“That’s it baby, cum for me.” His words in combination with the rhythmic movements of his fingers and his cock soon brought you hurtling to the edge.
“Oh god—” you cried out, grasping onto his shoulders, nails biting into the flesh as the white hot pleasure hit you, washing over you in wave after wave.
Looking down with a breathless smile, he watched each and every change of your expression as you rode out your high.
The way your cunt was squeezing and pulsing around his cock was too much for him to withstand, and he couldn’t hold himself back any longer.
“I’m so fucking close, baby,” he warned, breath hot against your neck. “Where do you want me?”
“Inside,” you whimpered. “Need to feel you.”
And your best friend always gave you what you wanted.
His hips soon stuttered, finally losing their rhythm as he approached his high. Burying his face in the crook of your neck, he let out a throaty growl as his pelvis jerked against you, filling you with hot ropes of his cum.
After a few more slow thrusts, he finally collapsed his weight on top of yours, wrapping you in his arms with a contented sigh. You could feel his heart beating against your chest as his warm cum dripped out of your cunt and down your thighs.
He didn’t move to pull out right away, so accustomed to the feeling of being inside you that the absence would have seemed unnatural.
“Well…that was unexpected.” You giggled, breaking the silence.
“Uh, yeah.” He cleared his throat, furrowing his brow. “Listen, I know you like someone else, but I really—”
“What?” you cut him off in confusion. “Who do you think I like, Garrett?
“Well, Dean. Right?” he asked, soft eyes filled with restrained emotion. “You’re always smiling when he’s around and looking at him all dreamy. It’s ok. I get it.”
Surprised, you let a little laugh escape at the idea that Garrett thought you had a crush on his roommate and friend. Dean was definitely cute and had a way with words, but you’d never had any interest in him.
“I don’t like Dean,” you whispered, voice breaking with emotion as you stared deep into his eyes. “It’s always been you.”
Garrett couldn’t hold back the sheepish grin that broke over his face. “Yeah?”
Just as you were about to confess all of the pent up feelings you’d been hiding from him over the years, you were rudely interrupted when the final credit music of the forgotten horror movie started blaring from the television’s speakers.
Garrett looked down at you, eyes twinkling with amusement. “See, I told you that you’d never make it to the end of the movie.”
And you rolled your eyes with a playful groan, reaching up to stroke his cheek as you giggled at his teasing smile.
Some things would never change.
thank you for reading!! 🧡
dividers by @//saradika-graphics
i’m begging like on my hands and knees for more i would’ve done that sober please please please it was like so amazing you are so talented keep it up!!
I hate being sober
Pairing: Dean Di Laurentis x childhood best friend!reader
⟡ Main Index | ⟡ Archive for Earth-66
☆ Read part 1 here!!
a/n: Big thank yous all around for your patience. I hope you guys enjoy this part! Let's all be responsible readers and keep some tissues nearby. Don't blow your snot on your shirts and keep your underwear on!!
Classification: Smut +18 | Alcohol consumption at a college party (background), confrontation, insecurity and anxiety around sexual performance and orgasm, references to a past bad relationship, emotional vulnerability, fear of rejection or disgust from a partner, overthinking and anxiety in romantic/sexual communication, sensory deprivation, mild nipple play, oral sex, conversations during sex/talking you through it and praise, unprotected p-in-v, creampie, mild cum play??, multiple intense orgasms, crying during sex and aftercare and past references.
Word count: 14 k
Divider by me ;)
Hockey boys disappeared.
You wished you had known that before you let Dean slip out of your place two nights ago.
They didn’t do it intentionally, never maliciously either but the season swallowed them whole. They vanished into six a.m. skates and afternoon lifts, into physical therapy appointments that patched together bruised shoulders and strained knees. Into mandatory media interviews the athletic department insisted would make the team more marketable, more approachable and into lectures they attended only long enough to collect notes before hurrying off to practice again, then came the exams they'd postponed because hockey had always come first until suddenly it couldn't.
Their schedules folded in on themselves until entire days disappeared without warning.
You only ever seemed to find them again at parties, ones Allie and Hannah practically dragged you to, insisting fresh air, loud music and cheap drinks counted as emotional healing.
Your skin had been buzzing ever since that night, an awareness sitting right beneath the surface no matter how hard you tried to ignore it. Every time you opened your dresser, the tangled pile of Agent Provocateur lace shoved unceremoniously into the back of your drawer stared back at you like evidence from a crime scene. You'd stuffed it in there without folding a single piece, too flustered to deal with it afterward, yet you still couldn't bring yourself to move it somewhere less obvious.
Then there were Dean's texts, you answered them eventually, right after rewriting each reply sufficient times to make yourself question your own sanity. Was starting a sentence with a capital letter too serious? Did ending it with a period make you sound annoyed? Was “okay” different from “ok”? You caught yourself deleting perfectly normal messages simply because they looked too eager before sending something shorter that felt even stranger.
You hadn't mentioned that night once.
You tried not to think too much about the kiss or what had come before and especially not how it had ended. He'd watched you pull your pajamas on without a trace of impatience, giving you the privacy of looking away whenever your eyes met before inevitably finding you again, you kept your focus away from the memory of the gentle press of his lips against your forehead before he'd left, so tender you could still feel the warmth after he’d stepped away. You'd looked completely wrung out, limbs heavy, emotions stripped bare, too tired to pretend you were anything but vulnerable and he'd treated you like something precious instead of fragile.
You hadn't reached for him.
Even now, the memory made your fingers twitch uselessly at your sides. If you'd caught his wrist and tugged him back for even another minute, would anything feel different now? Or would you still be dissecting text messages like they were evidence in a court case, wondering how you had become shy after years of knowing each other better than anyone else?
“So that's what it feels like,” you breathed, the words escaping before you realized you'd spoken them aloud as your heeled boots scraped lazily against the sidewalk.
A few steps ahead, Allie stopped so abruptly she nearly caused a collision. She turned on her heel, her brows knitting together as she looked first at Hannah walking beside you, checking whether she'd heard the same thing, before her attention landed squarely on you.
“That's what what feels like?” she asked, curiosity overtaking whatever conversation you three had been having.
You could feel another exchange of glances pass between them, so quick most people would've missed it. Hannah's eyebrows lifted ever so slightly, Allie's mouth pulled into a thin line before she gave the smallest shrug in return.
Years of friendship had made you fluent in conversations that didn't require words. If you had to guess, it translated roughly to “Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe it was too soon to drag her to a party.” You pretended not to notice. Instead, you let your gaze drift down the street.
Cars lined both curbs, squeezed bumper to bumper beneath the streetlights, while clusters of students spilled across lawns and sidewalks with red cups already in hand. Music pulsed from somewhere ahead, bass so heavy it vibrated faintly beneath your feet and every few seconds another burst of laughter erupted from the overcrowded house at the end of the block where people continuously filtered through the front door, the party breathing them in and out.
You let out a quiet sigh, wondering whether turning around now would actually be more awkward than simply going inside.
Hannah spoke first, her voice light. “We don't have to stay long,” she reasoned, slipping her hands into the pockets of her jacket as she smiled at you. “There's free booze. Let's just treat it like a pregame, then we can head back to the apartment, order something greasy and play poker.”
“No offense, girls,” you replied with the ghost of a smile, “but I'm not stripping naked in front of you two tonight. Sorry to disappoint.”
Allie snorted. “I think she means the normal kind of poker.”
You looked at her with exaggerated disbelief. “We're in college, Allie. There is no other kind.”
A laugh escaped Hannah while Allie rolled her eyes so dramatically you were surprised they didn't disappear into the back of her head permanently.
“Okay…” Allie muttered under her breath, drawing the word out as she pointed an accusing finger at you. “Pessimist.” Then her entire expression brightened again, optimism returning with alarming speed. “Let's not waste good outfits by turning around prematurely. One hour.” She held up a finger. “Two, tops.”
“And no boys–” Hannah added.
You watched Allie's head whip toward her so quickly a strand of hair stuck briefly to her lipstick. “What?” she protested.
Hannah ignored her entirely, keeping her eyes on you instead. “We'll keep them at bay.”
“Who's we?” Allie demanded, her eyes widening in horror. She turned toward Hannah, raising both eyebrows in an elaborate series of expressions that looked suspiciously like she was trying to negotiate exceptions without saying them openly.
“Yeah,” you chimed in before Hannah could answer, “let's not be rash.”
Both of them looked at you at once and you blinked innocently. “I mean…” you amended, scratching lightly at the side of your neck. “Talking's fine, right?” Your shoulders lifted in a small shrug. “If Tucker came up to me, I wouldn't ignore him.”
“You like Tucker?” Hannah asked carefully, the question so gentle that it almost sounded like she was testing the ice before stepping onto it. Her eyes narrowed, though the corner of her mouth betrayed the beginning of a smile. “Though he's not the demographic I'm worried about.”
Your head snapped toward her. “No, I–” You stumbled over the words, making a vague gesture in the air between you. “It was just an example. He's a boy–” You caught yourself. “Man.” The correction did absolutely nothing to restore your confidence as both of them continued staring at you expectantly. You winced. “Okay, it was a bad example,” you admitted, ducking your head.
Before either of them could capitalize on it, you slipped neatly between them and continued walking toward the house, hoping physical distance would somehow end the conversation…It didn't.
“Surprised you didn't use Dean,” Allie remarked quietly.
Your entire body locked up and your next step faltered before stopping altogether. Slowly, you turned back to face them, your expression caught somewhere between horrified and deeply offended. “Let's pick another word.”
Allie blinked. “…What?”
You shrugged awkwardly, refusing to elaborate for a second before mumbling, “‘Use’ just sounds wrong.”
“Since when?” Hannah laughed, looking genuinely confused.
“I meant ‘use him’…” Allie's grin spread wider the second she realized what could’ve happened inside your head. “As in ‘use him as an example’.” She pointed at you dramatically. “Though if you're into that dominatrix shit, I'll just ask you not to do it in the apartment.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “And much less with Di Laurentis. I doubt his ego could handle physically being under a woman and–”
Your eyes widened a little more with every passing sentence. Your mouth opened twice, each time thinking now was the moment you'd interrupt, only for Allie to barrel cheerfully into the next thought before you could squeeze a single word in.
“…he'd probably have trouble performing or something. I don't remember Six Flags having a ride where you stand in line for forty minutes just to leave disappointed. He'd spend more time advertising himself than actually delivering and fuck forbid he finds a captive audience…we'd never hear the end of how 'life-changing' he thinks his d–”
“Allie,” you finally managed weakly, which thankfully made her rant stop.
A few steps away, Hannah made a strangled sound that was half laugh, half cough. “Okay!” she wheezed, trying and failing to compose herself. “I think we'll all stay away from boys tonight.”
A huff of laughter escaped you, the tension finally cracking. “So if Garrett waltzes in,” you asked, “you're just going to keep that man away?” Your eyebrows lifted knowingly. “If what slips through the thinnest walls ever made is any indication, I'd like to see that work in your favor.”
Hannah didn't even have the decency to look embarrassed. “Well, that's different,” she replied with unmistakable pride. “We're together.”
“Better wrap up your French lesson then, Madame,” Allie declared, already marching ahead with exaggerated determination. She shook her head dramatically, muttering loud enough for both of you to hear. “We? Who's we? Far as I know this is still a free country…” She threw one hand into the air in theatrical protest without ever slowing her pace, leaving you and Hannah exchanging an amused glance before following after her.
You grimaced before leaning slightly toward Hannah, lowering your voice as though the woman in question might somehow overhear you from halfway up the walkway. “I think we should start putting the news on as background noise,” you reasoned with complete sincerity.
A laugh escaped Hannah before she bumped your shoulder lightly with hers as the two of you started walking again, unhurried despite Allie steadily increasing the distance between you.
“College is torture enough,” Hannah sighed. “Let's at least wait until we get this semester's grades.”
You nodded thoughtfully. “And gauge exactly how much pain we actually deserve…smart idea.”
Hannah breathed out dramatically. “Or the worst I've ever had.”
You laughed under your breath just as Allie's voice carried across the front lawn. “Are you guys coming or what!?” She stood on the porch with one hand on the doorway of the open front door, the music spilling out around her while impatiently waving both of you over.
“Yeahhh…no,” you replied, motioning toward the overflowing house in the distance, the one she'd insisted would be a good idea in the first place. “I think this one already beats it.” You let out a long, defeated sigh as you and Hannah finally caught up to Allie, meeting her expectant stare. “Poor choice of words again, babe.” You told her, pressing your lips into a thin line.
Allie rolled her eyes with exaggeration, muttering something under her breath that was completely swallowed by the music pouring from the open front door before disappearing inside. The bass had grown strong enough to rattle the loose wooden steps with every beat.
You stepped through the doorway last.
Warm air, thick with perfume, sweat, beer and something unmistakably fruity from whatever jungle juice someone had mixed in the kitchen, hit you instantly. Every room seemed packed wall to wall with students, some danced with complete disregard for personal space while others shouted conversations directly into each other's ears. Plastic cups littered every available surface, laughter rose above the music in uneven bursts and somewhere upstairs someone cheered so loudly, it briefly overpowered the speakers.
“…Or what,” you echoed quietly to yourself as the front door swung shut behind you.
The phrase lingered in your head while your eyes swept over the crowded rental. You spotted Hannah and Allie weaving confidently through the bodies ahead of you, Hannah reaching back once to make sure you were still following before the crowd swallowed her hand again.
“I'm gonna get us something to drink!” you called over the music once you'd caught up.
Allie answered with an enthusiastic thumbs-up that quickly dissolved into dancing with whoever happened to be beside her, already swaying to the beat without a hint of self-consciousness. Hannah, meanwhile, had her phone out before you even finished speaking, her attention dropping to the screen with a smile you recognized instantly as she typed what was almost certainly a message to Garrett letting him know the three of you had made it there safely.
You smiled back at everyone who greeted you on the way through the house, returning waves and quick hellos even when you barely recognized the faces. If you acted normal for a while longer, maybe your brain would eventually believe that this was just another party, another late night. No tangled thoughts or awkward tension sitting beneath your skin, no constant awareness of a pair of hands that had learned you with impossible patience only two nights earlier.
You kept searching for the kitchen instead, hoping the simple task would occupy your mind before it drifted back to your bedroom, to the mirror the two of you had stood in front of, to the way he'd looked at you through your own reflection, the quiet praise, the tenderness and how he'd made you feel seen by expertly opening the walls to your own pleasure.
By the time you reached the kitchen, you were relieved by the mundane sight of overcrowded counters. You pulled it open, grabbed three cans of soda and decided they were probably the smarter choice, experience had already proven that alcohol loosened your tongue far more than your common sense appreciated.
You cracked yours open, taking a long sip as the cold, fizzy sweetness settled pleasantly in your throat, cooling the nervous warmth that had been building there all evening. For a moment, you simply stood there, your eyes wandering over the crowded kitchen. People leaned against countertops with red cups in hand, someone laughed loudly, making the room glance over and two strangers debated mixers in front of the freezer.
Then your gaze caught on the one face you had hoped not to see, your ex.
His eyes found yours in the same instant, his posture straightening automatically. You recognized that look, that subtle shift that always came a second before he decided on his next move which was toward you.
Instinctively, you took a step backward, only to bump into a cluster of people reaching for drinks behind you. Someone muttered a quick apology without looking up, another squeezed past with a bag of ice and before you could sidestep out of the way, the kitchen had filled in around you completely. There was nowhere left to retreat.
He threaded through the crowd anyway, slipping between shoulders and conversations with determination until he stopped in front of you, wearing the careful expression of someone approaching a frightened animal he believed he could still coax closer. “Haven’t seen you around in a while.”
“Let’s make that a little longer then, wouldn’t that be nice?” you replied with a smile that never quite reached your eyes.
He exhaled through his nose, already looking faintly irritated in that familiar way that told you he'd remembered one of the things he'd disliked most about dating you, your sarcasm. “Come on, don’t be like that–”
“Don’t be like what?” you cut in flatly.
He hesitated, his rehearsed opening clearly unraveling. “I just meant…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m trying to apologize here, okay?”
You let out a humorless laugh. “Great fucking job you’re doing,” you noted with a careless shrug. “Fantastic timing too, just like in the cafeteria.”
He sighed heavily, rubbing a hand across his face as though he could erase the last few weeks with the gesture alone. “I know I fucked up, okay? I tried to text you–”
“You’re blocked.” The interruption came so automatically you barely thought about it.
He paused for half a second before giving a slow, unimpressed nod. “I figured.”
“Good.” You took another sip of your soda before looking back up at him. “I was worried guessing would use up the rest of your brain cells and you wouldn’t have any left by the time exam season came around.”
A dry, humorless laugh escaped him. He glanced around the kitchen instinctively, checking whether anyone had overheard the exchange before his attention settled back on you. “This is all just a fucking game to you, huh?” His eyes dragged over you with thinly veiled annoyance.
“Isn’t that what made you leave?” You shot back, “Only one of us hates losing badly enough to flee.”
“Fuck you,” he bit out sharply. “I didn’t flee.”
“You didn’t stick around to try either.” You stepped forward to press a finger firmly against the center of his chest, the contact making him stiffen. “I fucked you.”
His jaw flexed so hard you thought you heard his teeth grind together. Slowly, almost unconsciously, he took a step backward, your finger slipping away from his shirt.
“Don’t text again,” you finished, your voice suddenly much quieter than before. “I think you’ve wasted enough of each other's time.”
He stared at you for another second, searching your face for something that wasn't there anymore, then he looked away first. Without another word, he turned, disappearing back into the crowd until the moving bodies swallowed him entirely.
You remained where you were, blinking slowly as your pulse settled, willing the humiliation from the cafeteria and the anger sitting hot in your chest to dissolve together into something less exhausting. They stubbornly refused.
Your eyes dropped to the soda can still clutched in your hand. You frowned at it as if it had failed you before lifting it for another long drink, the carbonation stung pleasantly at the back of your throat. You swallowed, exhaled through your nose and muttered under your breath, “I fucking hate being sober.”
“No you don’t.” The voice reached you immediately and it made every muscle in your shoulders relaxed before your brain had even caught up. You turned around so quickly a few drops of soda sloshed over the rim of the can. Relief settled into your chest the second you saw him.
Dean stood just a few steps away, both hands shoved into the pocket of a dark hoodie thrown hastily over a wrinkled Briar hockey T-shirt. A baseball cap sat low on his head, hair escaping around the edges and there were faint shadows beneath his eyes that spoke of too many early practices and not nearly enough sleep. He looked nothing like someone who planned on staying at the party and despite looking completely worn out, seeing him made the crowded kitchen feel infinitely less suffocating.
“Get me out of here,” you sighed, the words leaving you in one long breath. “Please.”
Dean's eyebrows lifted in genuine surprise before one corner of his mouth curled upward. The tiredness hanging around his eyes didn't disappear but it softened beneath a grin he was clearly trying and failing to suppress. “Is that begging I hear?”
Your eyes narrowed sharply. “Make yourself useful, Di Laurentis.”
He nodded with exaggerated thoughtfulness, accepting the challenge as he reached over to pluck the two unopened soda cans from your hands, balancing them effortlessly in one hand. “Front jean pocket,” he instructed, nodding toward your right side. “On your right.”
Your gaze followed the gesture before immediately flicking back up to his face, then, despite yourself, it drifted lower to his jeans. You looked back up at him with unmistakable suspicion and slowly shook your head. “I'm not putting my hand in there,” you decided, lowering your voice instinctively beneath the music. “It's inappropriate…and there's a…” Your eyes darted downward again before returning to his. “…lump.” Doubt colored the last word.
Dean stared at you for a beat before an incredulous laugh escaped him. “Those are my car keys,” he clarified, amusement bleeding into every syllable. “I figured you should wait in my car.” His grin only widened the longer he watched realization dawn across your face. Tilting his head slightly, he studied you with obvious delight. “You think I'm hung like that?”
You straightened, refusing to give him the satisfaction of looking embarrassed. “There was a point where we bathed together before it got weird,” you reminded him matter-of-factly. “I think I know exactly how hung you are.”
His eyebrows climbed. “Seen it recently?”
You snorted. “Your pants don't leave much up to the imagination.”
“Trust me,” he replied with effortless confidence, giving a small shake of his head. “They do.” He nodded once more toward his pocket. “Front pocket. Go on.”
You groaned quietly. “You saying ‘go on’ doesn't somehow make this better, you pervert,” you whisper-yelled, stepping closer so your complaint wouldn't carry past the people milling around the kitchen.
Dean mirrored the movement, leaning down until the two of you were close enough that neither of you had to raise your voices. Around you, the party rolled on without a second glance. Someone behind you was arguing over whose turn it was at beer pong, another group erupted into cheers from the living room and a couple squeezed past carrying more drinks, nobody spared the two of you so much as a curious look.
Dean's eyes lingered on your face, taking in the fake indignation you weren't quite managing to sell.
His smile softened, more playful than teasing. “Don't let those fingers stray, then,” he murmured, his tone light, you couldn't tell whether he was trying to fluster you or simply enjoying how easily you flustered yourself. “I'd hate for you to get distracted.”
You reached forward, hooking a finger through one of Dean's belt loops and giving it a small tug that drew him a step closer without either of you thinking much about it. The movement brought him within arm's reach, the familiar scent of clean detergent, cedar and the lingering bite of cold night air clinging to his hoodie crowded out the smell of beer and cheap liquor filling the kitchen.
You intentionally looked everywhere but at his face as you slipped a cautious hand into his front pocket, determined to keep your attention fixed on finding the keys rather than on the warmth radiating through the denim beneath your fingertips. Your fingers searched carefully until they brushed cool metal.
The two of you stood almost chest to chest now, neither acknowledging just how little space remained between you. “New perfume?” he asked conversationally, though the amusement in his voice was impossible to miss. It was probably the safest compliment he could give you, anything more direct and there was a decent chance you'd retaliate by driving a knee into somewhere he valued quite highly.
Then again, he thought with private amusement, doubling over from the pain would technically put him even closer to you.
“Shut up,” you mumbled, refusing to look at him as you heard him unsuccessfully swallow a laugh. Your index finger finally caught the loop of the keychain and with a victorious little huff you pulled the keys free before quickly retreating a full step as though distance alone could erase how aware you'd just become of him.
You held the keys up between two fingers. “Couple of lumps you've got in there.”
Dean stared at you for half a second before slowly shaking his head. “Poor choice of words.”
You pointed vaguely in the air between the two of you. “Yeah, say that to Allie.”
His brows pinched together. “…What's that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” You answered far too quickly before he could pry further. Gesturing toward the crowded rooms beyond the kitchen, you added, “I don't care if they drink, just make sure they have a driver home. We drove here.”
“Yes, ma'am,” he replied with an exaggerated nod and a mock salute. “Garrett's with them anyway. I'll tell him.” Moving to the side, he tipped his head toward the hallway in a silent gesture for you to go first. You squeezed back through the crowd, Dean falling into step close behind you without needing to be asked.
“Alright,” you muttered, fishing your phone out as you carefully navigated around a couple dancing in the middle of the hallway. “I'll text them too.” Your thumbs were already opening the group chat. “Seeing my fuckass ex is enough of an excuse to call it a night.”
Dean's expression, playful until then, quieted as he glanced back toward the kitchen you'd just left before looking down at you, his pace never slowing to make sure you never had to push your way through the crowd alone.
“He's here?” Dean asked, every trace of amusement now fully gone. His shoulders straightened instinctively as his eyes swept back toward the kitchen over his shoulder. “Where?”
You caught him halfway through turning, already reading exactly where his mind was headed. Before he could take a single step, you reached out, your fingers slipping into the waistband, lightly catching against his jeans to tug him back in the opposite direction. “Not the mission,” you reminded him.
Dean's attention dropped briefly to your hand before he let himself be redirected without resistance, falling back into step behind you. “I'm willing to make an exception,” he muttered, though there wasn't much conviction behind it anymore. After a beat, his voice softened. “Did he talk to you?” The concern sat plainly beneath the question.
You hummed in acknowledgment. “And I talked back.” You shrugged as if it had cost you nothing, even if your heartbeat hadn't entirely settled yet. “He won't invade Troy tonight…problem solved.”
By the time you reached the main room again, you rose onto your toes, scanning over the sea of heads for Hannah and Allie. “I saw them over there last.”
Dean followed your gaze before nodding. “They went out back. I'll go find them.” He jerked his thumb toward the street outside. “My car's up there.”
“No detours,” you warned, pointing a finger squarely at his chest. “I'm serious.” You didn't have to explain which detour you meant.
Dean looked at you for a second before lifting both hands innocently. “I'd say I'll keep my eyes down,” he replied, “but then we'd come face to face.” He punctuated the joke with the most exaggerated, insincere shrug imaginable, very intentionally mocking your ex's height.
You couldn't help the laugh that escaped you. “Face to nose if he's wearing his lifts,” you corrected.
“Told you he wasn't that tall,” Dean added, unable to resist sounding just a little smug as he began walking backward toward the sliding door leading outside, keeping his eyes on you until someone bumped into his shoulder and forced him to glance away.
“Yeah, well,” you mumbled as you headed toward the front door instead, weaving between conversations and dancing bodies, “one pair of fakers we were.”
The cool night air met you the second you stepped outside, washing away the suffocating warmth and noise of the packed house. You drew in a deep breath, the distant bass now muffled behind closed walls and doors instead of vibrating through your ribs. Following Dean's directions, you walked up the street beneath the glow of scattered streetlights until you found his car parked along the curb. You unlocked it with a press of the key fob, climbed into the passenger seat,and shut the door behind you. The silence that settled around you felt almost foreign after the chaos inside. You leaned back, letting your head rest against the seat, absently turning the unfinished soda can between your hands while condensation dampened your fingertips.
It wasn't long before the driver's door opened. Dean slid into the seat beside you, shut the door with a solid thud and for a moment neither of you said anything, both simply appreciating the quiet. The two of you sat without moving, facing the windshield as warm orange streetlights painted long streaks across the hood of the vehicle.
“Forgot how to drive?” you asked quietly, turning your head toward him. The question died when you realized he was already looking at you. He hadn't been watching the street ahead at all.
“Forgot I can't read your mind?” he countered, one eyebrow lifting.
“We both know you can,” you replied just as quietly, the corner of your mouth threatening the smallest smile. “Just won’t advertise it.”
Dean held your gaze for another second, searching your face as though deciding whether to challenge that. Instead, he looked away first. He reached for the ignition, started the engine and shifted the car into drive. It wasn't surprising in the slightest when he drove toward your apartment without asking where you wanted to go.
The drive passed in comfortable silence, it didn’t beg to be filled but still acknowledged some conversations deserved better than red lights and passing traffic. Every now and then your eyes drifted toward him, only to find his attention fixed on the road, one hand resting loosely on the steering wheel while the other tapped absentmindedly against the stick shift in time with a song only he seemed to hear.
He glanced at you once at a stoplight, offering a faint, reassuring smile before looking ahead again.
When he parked on campus, neither of you commented on the fact that he killed the engine immediately instead of lingering in the driver's seat. You climbed out together, your footsteps falling into an easy rhythm as you crossed the silent pathways toward your building.
The night air had cooled further, carrying the scent of damp grass and distant rain and Dean stayed close without crowding you, matching your pace while occasionally glancing your way as though weighing a dozen different openings to a conversation he hadn't quite found yet.
You unlocked your apartment door and stepped inside. He followed a second later, pulling the door shut behind him until the click of the lock left the apartment wrapped in familiar silence.
“Not much of a talker these days, I see.” The words carried no accusation. If anything, there was relief in finally saying them aloud after days of carefully skirting around the obvious.
Your replies had shrunk from paragraphs to sentences, then from sentences to a handful of words. Phone calls that once stretched lazily into the early hours now barely lasted a few minutes before one of you found an excuse to hang up. You wandered farther into the living space, slipping your jacket off your shoulders and draping it over the back of the couch.
Beneath it, the fitted top you'd worn out suddenly felt much less out of place than it had at the party. At home, there was no reason to pull the fabric loose or check how much skin it revealed. Hiding from Dean had never really been an option and after everything the two of you had shared, it felt pointless to start now.
“Not much of anything lately,” you mumbled, avoiding his eyes as you smoothed an imaginary wrinkle from the hem of your top.
Even without looking, you could feel his gaze settle on you. It carried none of the hunger that had unsettled you in front of your bedroom mirror days before. Instead, it was patient, concerned, impossibly attentive and that made it even harder to meet. Warmth crept across your skin anyway, a shiver tracing lazily up your spine under the weight of being so thoroughly seen.
Dean took a couple of measured steps forward, stopping before the space between you disappeared entirely. He tilted his head slightly, trying to catch your eyes and finding only your profile. “Did he get into your head?” he asked gently.
The question lingered for barely a heartbeat before you shook your head and finally looked up.
Your eyes found his. “No,” you answered. “You did.” The words came out quietly, stripped of frustration or blame. They weren't meant as an accusation, they mostly sounded like the first honest thing you'd managed to say all week.
“Well,” he breathed, the corners of his mouth lifting into an easy smile, “think I should've gotten first dibs on it before anyone else anyway.” As he spoke, he closed the remaining distance between you with unhurried confidence, leaving barely enough room for a breath to pass between your bodies.
“Funny,” you answered dryly, though the effort it took to keep your expression straight was entirely wasted. Your lips betrayed you, twitching upward despite your best attempts. You rubbed absently at your eyebrow before letting out a sigh, trying to smooth away nerves that refused to settle. “I don't know how to talk to you anymore,” you admitted, the confession falling somewhere between frustration and vulnerability.
It explained the clipped texts, the shortened calls, every conversation that had ended long before either of you had actually wanted it to. Dean's expression softened as he gave the smallest shake of his head, his voice matching the gentleness in his eyes. “That's okay.”
“No, it's not.” Your gaze dropped to your heeled boots, suddenly fascinated by the floor beneath them.
“You're doing it to me,” he replied with certainty. “I would know.” He stepped forward until there was nowhere left for the distance between you to exist. “Look at me.”
The request carried none of the sharpness of a command. It was patient, warm, spoken with the confidence that you'd meet him there eventually. Slowly, you lifted your eyes just as his hands came up to cradle your face, his palms warm against your cheeks, his thumbs resting lightly close to your ears. “It's okay,” he repeated, searching your face as though he intended to make you believe it through persistence alone.
You exhaled through your nose. “Of course you'd think that.”
“Mhm.” The sound vibrated quietly in his throat as he leaned in, brushing the tip of his nose gently against yours. The tiny gesture stole another reluctant smile from you. “Though if you ever say you're not much of anything again,” he murmured, “I'm afraid we're gonna have issues.”
Your hands rose instinctively, settling against his biceps, feeling familiar muscle beneath the soft fabric of his hoodie. “Don't we already?” you asked, smiling properly now.
“My only issue,” he replied without hesitation, “is that I haven't kissed you in two days.” His thumbs brushed lightly across your cheeks. “What's yours?”
“I already told you.” Your smile lingered as he began guiding the two of you backward through the apartment with tiny, measured steps, never pushing or assuming. Every movement left you room to stop him if you wanted to, though you never did.
“And I know you have a close second,” he said quietly.
You hesitated, swallowing once before admitting the thought you'd spent days trying to bury. “…It's embarrassing when the wanting shows.”
Dean's expression softened further. He shook his head once. “And the only person who ever made you feel ashamed of that isn't here anymore.”
Your fingers tightened around his arms without thinking. “It's gonna take a while to unlearn that,” you whispered.
“I can wait,” he answered. There wasn't a trace of impatience in his voice, only certainty. “I happen to know that what comes after is worth a lot more than passing time.”
Your breathing caught slightly. “What comes after, Dean?” you asked, your hands holding him a little tighter as though the answer might slip away if you didn't.
He leaned down until his lips barely grazed yours, close enough for every word to be felt as much as heard. “You.” The single word lingered between your mouths before he continued softly, “Everywhere else it can wait. Until that happens, you cum first.” A teasing smile slowly returned to his lips. “Still think my choice of words is poor?”
A quiet laugh escaped you, so warm it dissolved the last remnants of tension sitting in your chest. “Not if you prove it to be right.”
That was all the encouragement he needed. His mouth found yours with restrained hunger, patient for only the first heartbeat before deepening the kiss. One hand slipped from your cheek to the place where your jaw met your neck, tilting your face upward to meet him fully, while your own fingers disappeared into his hair, threading through the soft curls at the back of his head as every uncertain conversation from the past two days quietly gave way to something the two of you had always understood better than words.
Your tongues moved together with an ease that made the last two days of awkwardness feel impossibly far away, every hesitant thought dissolving into this. Your fingers gradually slipped from his hair, lingering there for a heartbeat before finding the front clasps of your top instead.
You worked at them absentmindedly, your attention never truly leaving him until the kiss eventually broke with a soft, audible pop, though neither of you moved very far.
Dean rested his forehead lightly against yours, his breathing still uneven as his eyes searched your face rather than wandering elsewhere. “Do you need anything?” he asked, his voice low enough that it barely disturbed the silence filling your room. Even as you continued undoing the clasps, he never looked away from your eyes. “Tell me what I can do.”
A small smile tugged at your lips, heat pooling low in your belly at the intensity of his gaze. You finished with the last fastening and shrugged the fabric from your shoulders, letting it slide carelessly to the floor beside your feet. Your breasts spilled free, nipples already tight and aching from the cool air and the weight of his stare before folding your arms loosely across yourself more out of habit than discomfort. “I was hoping you had a plan.”
Dean nodded, his expression turning thoughtful. His gaze drifted around your room instead of lingering on you, as though sorting through possibilities rather than impulses. The lingerie crossed his mind only briefly before he dismissed it, that had helped once but it wasn't something he wanted either of you to rely on.
He pressed a gentle kiss against your forehead before turning away entirely and walking toward your dresser. Pulling open the top drawer, he began looking through it with surprising confidence, as though he vaguely remembered where things belonged from years of friendship spent around you.
“Sure…” you nodded, watching him with growing amusement as you bent to unzip your boots, kicking each one aside before slipping out of your skirt and underwear as well, letting them pool at your feet, leaving you completely bare before him. “Make yourself right at home.”
“We can argue about it later,” he answered without looking over his shoulder, continuing his careful search. “You'll tell me how forward it was of me and I'll agree with whatever punishment or compensation you decide on afterward.” His hand paused before finally lifting a long, narrow scarf from beneath a folded sweater. “This'll do.”
Your eyebrows lifted. “For what?”
Turning back toward you, he crossed the room at an unhurried pace, stopping within arm's reach. The teasing had disappeared from his face, replaced by the same patience he'd shown you all evening.
Holding the scarf loosely in one hand so you could see it clearly, he asked, “Do you trust me?”
You tilted your head, studying him, trying to read whatever idea was taking shape behind his eyes. “I don't think I've ever had to ask myself that.”
“I need you to ask now,” he replied gently. “Do you trust me?” He let the question sit between you before adding, “And if you don't like where this is going, we stop. Immediately…at any point.” His certainty wasn't performative, it was calm, leaving no room for doubt about whether he meant it.
You held his gaze for another moment before answering, your voice barely above a whisper. “I trust you.” A faint smile softened your features. “It's not something I've ever questioned.”
He waited a beat before speaking again, giving you every opportunity to change your mind.
“Turn around.” The instruction was patient, offered rather than imposed. He didn't repeat it when you hesitated, didn't fill the silence that settled between you.
His eyes simply remained on yours as you swallowed, searching his face one last time before slowly turning your naked body away from him until your back faced his chest. You felt him move closer, heard the faint rustle of fabric as he stretched the scarf carefully between both hands. It rested gently over your eyes, the material impossibly soft against your skin before he drew the ends behind your head and tied a secure knot with care.
His fingers lingered, checking that nothing tugged uncomfortably. “Is this too tight?” he asked.
You instinctively shook your head before remembering he would probably request for it to be spoken. “No,” you managed softly.
His hand settled lightly against your hip, the simple contact making your breath catch. With the gentlest pressure, he guided you back around until you faced him once more. Deprived of your sight, every other sensation sharpened, from the warmth radiating from where he stood, to the rhythm of his breathing and the subtle creak of the floor beneath shifting weight.
You heard the soft thud of fabric landing somewhere nearby once he peeled off his hoodie and t-shirt, followed by another low rustle before his footsteps returned. His hands found yours gently, wrapping loosely around your wrists before guiding them upward until your palms rested against the warmth of his bare chest.
He didn't move them any further, leaving the choice entirely to you. Tentatively, your fingertips traced across firm muscle, learning the shape through touch alone. Your confidence grew by degrees, hands exploring broader paths over his shoulders and chest, your nails lightly grazing the contours beneath his skin before drifting lower over the firm lines of his abdomen, pausing briefly at his navel before following the faint trail of hair disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans.
Your fingers came to rest just above the button. “I want these off,” you breathed.
Dean couldn't help the smile that spread across his face, though you only heard it in the warmth that colored his reply. “You think you're in a position to make demands?”
“That's exactly what I think, Di Laurentis.” You nodded once beneath the blindfold, a small smile tugging at your own lips. “If you want me to play the game, you're going to have to comply a little sooner.”
A quiet chuckle escaped him before it faded just as quickly. When he spoke again, his voice had lost almost all of its teasing edge. “I don't think this is us playing around anymore.” You felt him lean in, his breath brushing against your forehead as he spoke. “I hate that we used that as an excuse.” The frustration threaded through his words was unmistakable, directed inward rather than at you, carrying the weight of every feeling the two of you had hidden behind jokes because admitting them outright had always seemed far more frightening.
You couldn't help but smile at the memory, warmth creeping into your expression. There had been something absurdly innocent about the two of you back then, trusting each other so completely that curiosity had outweighed embarrassment, stumbling into questions neither of you had been old enough to answer, only to leave them hanging for years.
“We were getting too curious,” you murmured, a quiet laugh escaping with the admission.
“Isn't that what's happening now?” he asked, his voice carrying the faintest hint of amusement.
You tilted your head beneath the blindfold, the smile on your lips widening. “You know how to tie your own laces now, don't you?” you teased. He laughed softly before leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your lips. Your hands rose instinctively, finding the sides of his face, your thumbs brushing lightly along his jaw as you returned the kiss with an ease that had finally replaced the uncertainty of the past few days.
His tongue brushed yours, drawing a soft moan from your throat as heat pooled heavier between your thighs and while you kissed, his hands worked open the button of his jeans. You heard the metallic rasp of the zipper, followed by the rustle of fabric as he shoved them down his hips along with his boxers. He kicked off his shoes and stepped out of the rest of his clothes, leaving him gloriously bare. The heat of his body radiated against yours and you could feel the hard length of his cock brushing against your stomach, hot, heavy and already leaking at the tip.
His strong hands slid down your sides, then gripped your waist, lifting you effortlessly as a surprised yelp escaped you, quickly dissolving into a breathless laugh. Your legs wrapped around his hips as you kept kissing, mouths moving together in perfect sync while his muscles flexed beneath your palms as he carried you across the room, the thick head of his erection nudging teasingly against your inner thighs with every step.
He knelt carefully onto the bed, the mattress dipping under your combined weight and gently laid you back against the pillows. Your legs fell open shamelessly, knees bending and parting wide to make room for him. The cool air kissed your dripping pussy, making you acutely aware of how soaked and ready you already were.
Dean settled between your spread thighs, hips brushing the sensitive skin of your inner legs as his lips left yours to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses along the corner of your mouth, your cheek and down the sensitive column of your throat. Then he pulled back, leaving you waiting in the dark, blindfolded and aching.
You reached for him, fingers tracing and caressing every inch of his face from his cheekbones, the slight stubble on his jaw and the curve of his lips, trying to paint his expression in your mind.
His nose nudged affectionately against yours and you felt the warmth of his breath mingle with your own, the thick tension between you crackling like electricity.
He swallowed. “Can I kiss you?” His voice was hesitant, it didn't belong to the confident grin he usually wore. The uncertainty made your brows draw together for the briefest moment before your expression softened into a small, helpless smile.
“I think we're beyond you asking,” you replied, your heartbeat quickening as the silence stretched comfortably between you.
Dean's eyes lingered on your face, before landing on your lips for only a moment before lifting again. “Not on your mouth, Y/n,” he specified shamelessly.
You swallowed hard and nodded softly against the pillows, chest rising and falling faster as you heard the mattress shift under his weight.
His warm lips finally landed on your shoulder, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss there before trailing lower. They brushed along your sternum, then settled between your breasts, his hot breath fanning over the sensitive skin. When his mouth closed around one peaked nipple, you gasped sharply. The wet heat of his tongue swirled around the stiff bud, flicking and sucking with just the right pressure, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. Your back arched instinctively, pushing more of your breast into his mouth as slick arousal coated your outer lips.
The hand not supporting his weight traced a feather-light path from your knee upward, fingers grazing the soft skin of your inner thigh before reaching the neglected breast. He cupped its full weight, massaging slowly, rolling the nipple between thumb and forefinger while he continued devouring the other, gauging every reaction, squeezing harder when your breathing turned ragged and gentling when you whimpered, learning exactly how you liked to be touched.
When the first nipple was glistening and throbbing from his attention, he switched sides. His mouth claimed the other peak with the same hungry reverence, sucking deeply while his fingers continued to knead the slick, sensitive flesh he’d just left behind, all while low, needy sounds spilled from your throat.
Satisfied, Dean let his tongue drag lower, licking a slow, wet trail down the underside of your breast. He pressed lingering kisses along your ribs, then your stomach, each one audible and intentionally placed, his lips brushed over your navel, teasing the sensitive skin there before venturing even lower. He took his time, kissing the crease where your thigh met your pelvis, then settling fully between your spread legs.
Your heart thundered so loudly in your ears that the rest of the world felt distant. Blindfolded and trembling with need, every other sense was amplified, the heat of his breath against your dripping pussy, the faint scent of your arousal mixing with his and the slight tremble in his hands as he gripped your thighs. He was clearly trying to pace himself, wanting to savor you without rushing, refusing to give your doubts any room to surface.
A broken moan tore from your lips the moment his mouth finally sealed around your swollen clit. The wet heat, the perfect suction and the slow swirl of his tongue, were nearly too much, your hips jerked upward, fingers fisting the sheets as pleasure spread outwards.
He reached up, finding your hand where it gripped the sheets and laced his fingers through yours, squeezing once. The simple touch pulled you back into the moment when your mind threatened to drift.
“Tell me what you like,” he murmured against your pussy, the low vibration of his voice making your clit throb.
Your mind reeled. No one had ever been this patient with you, this attentive, this unwaveringly focused on what you needed instead of how quickly things could move forward. It felt unfamiliar, so much so that part of you didn't quite know what to do with it and the comparison arrived before you could stop it. Your ex had tried a handful of times but his enthusiasm had always faded the moment your body didn't respond on the timeline he expected. He would pull away with a shrug, muttering excuses about not enjoying it or not liking the taste, always making it sound like a matter of preference while leaving the weight of it squarely on your shoulders.
Every abandoned attempt had left you feeling increasingly self-conscious, wondering whether there was something wrong with you, whether you simply asked too much by needing patience instead of urgency.
Your throat tightened around the words before they ever had a chance to leave it. You wanted to explain why his patience mattered so much, why every careful pause and every moment he gave you without expectation made something in your chest ache but the memories felt too tangled, too embarrassing to lay bare.
“I wouldn’t know,” you breathed, voice shaky.
Dean didn't ask what you meant, he didn't press for details you clearly weren't ready to give, nor did he try to fill the silence with speeches that would only skim the surface. He pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss right over your clit, then answered calmly, “Feel it. I know you can.”
He accommodated, strong hands sliding under your ass to tilt your hips slightly, giving himself better access. His tongue flattened and licked a long, slow stripe from your entrance up to your clit, gathering your wetness and savoring it with a quiet hum of approval. The sound was so genuine it made your cheeks burn.
He repeated the motion again and again with broad strokes that coated his tongue and lips in your slick arousal, then circled your clit with the tip of his tongue, learning the exact pressure that made your thighs twitch. He sucked the swollen nub gently between his lips, holding it there while his tongue flicked it softly. The suction was warm and rhythmic, never rushed or demanding and when your breathing grew uneven, he eased off enough to drag his tongue back down, licking through your folds and pressing the flat of his tongue against your entrance, tasting you deeply.
His saliva mixed with your own arousal, dripping down over your ass and soaking into the sheets beneath you. He kissed your pussy like he was kissing your mouth, slowly and attentively, alternating between gentle licks, soft sucks and lazy swirls of tongue that explored every inch of your most sensitive regions.
The blindfold made it impossible to predict where his tongue would go next, keeping your body in a constant state of anticipatory tension while Dean kept your hand firmly in his, thumb stroking soothing circles over your knuckles whenever he felt you start to tense or overthink.
Every so often he would pull back to press a tender kiss to your mound or the crease of your thigh, murmuring soft, wordless sounds of encouragement against your skin before diving back in. The sensations were overwhelming in their gentleness, relentless patience that made your pussy feel swollen and pulsing under his mouth.
After another slow, savoring pass of his tongue through your folds, he moved lower and pressed the tip of his tongue against your entrance. He circled the tight ring of muscle first teasingly, before pushing inside, gently but insistently. The thick of his tongue slid into you, stretching you open in the most intimate way possible. He fucked you with it in slow, shallow strokes, curling and thrusting, coating himself in the fresh rush of slick that leaked around his mouth while his nose pressed firmly against your clit with every forward motion, rubbing in time with the rhythm of his tongue.
Your skin grew damp with sweat, a light sheen covering your chest and stomach, nipples tightened into painful peaks, aching in the cool air. Your hips rolled and twitched against his face, thighs trembling as they tried to close around his head only to fall open wider again.
Your breathing turned into soft, broken whimpers that even you could tell sounded strained and uncertain. Dean noticed and slowed his movements but didn’t yet stop, still fucking you gently with his tongue, still licking up every drop of your arousal like he couldn’t get enough.
“Mngh…Dean–” you barely managed, his name catching on a shaky breath before your voice gave out entirely. His head lifted rapidly as he pulled away, concern replacing concentration as he searched your expression for any hint of discomfort. Every trace of certainty vanished from his posture, his brows drawing together as he studied you.
One of your hands reached down blindly, grabbing at his shoulder and pulling him upward. Your chest heaved as you struggled to steady your breathing, each inhale feeling a little too shallow to quiet the thoughts racing through your mind. Words crowded against one another, half-formed confessions and old fears tangling together until you couldn't tell where one ended and the next began.
Your other hand shook as it slid down your body, covering your throbbing, soaked pussy, clit pulsing hard under your palm, slick, swollen and too painfully sensitive to keep going. You still weren’t anywhere close to coming and all you could think about was saying the wrong thing, about ruining the fragile safety he'd spent so much time building around you. More than anything, you were terrified of disgust, that subtle withdrawal, the excuses and the feeling of being left unfinished.
Your voice came out small and fragile. “I’m sorry. I’m–fuck, I’m so sorry.”
His hand found your cheek, palm warm against your skin as his thumb brushed slowly beneath the blindfold. He studied your face in silence first, as though making sure you were really listening before he spoke and when he did, there wasn't an ounce of frustration in him. “You don't apologize,” he said firmly, thumb stroking gently across your cheek once more before coming to rest beneath your jaw, encouraging you to keep your chin up. “Not to me.”
One hand stayed wrapped tightly around his arm, fingers digging into the firm muscle as if you were afraid he might pull away despite his words. Your heart hammered so loudly in your ears that you barely registered his words at first. “It just takes really long–”
“Hey…” Dean nudged your face gently with his palm, guiding you back to the present until your racing thoughts quieted. “I would’ve sucked you clean off the bone if you hadn’t pulled me up,” he smiled.
The moment you registered his words, you let out a shaky sob that melted into soft laughter, the tension in your chest finally easing.
“We can try again some other time if you want–”
You were already eagerly nodding before the words had fully left his mouth.
He chuckled, the sound low and breathy against your skin. “Yeah? Did you like it? Was that okay?” His fingertips traced feather-light paths along your sides, your ribs and the curve of your waist, keeping the connection gentle but constant, which he knew you needed.
“Overwhelming,” you breathed, still feeling the lingering slick between your thighs as it cooled and the heavy pulse of your swollen clit against your palm.
“Mmm…Yeah?” His voice dipped with interest.
“Overwhelming’s good,” you continued softly. Your body felt flushed and sensitive all over, like it needed that intensity just to begin learning how to let go. “I like feeling you close.”
“How close?” he teased, his nose brushing slowly along the side of your jaw, warm breath tickling your skin.
“Really fucking close,” you whispered, guiding his face until his lips met yours in a deep, slow kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue, tangy, slightly sweet and undeniably intimate, nothing like you had imagined. Dean moved his tongue against yours with the same patience he had shown between your legs, licking into your mouth with quiet groans of pleasure that vibrated through your chest.
“Tastes like fucking heaven,” he rasped when you finally parted for air.
Your nails dug into his shoulders as you pulled him closer, until your chests pressed together, skin hot and slightly damp with sweat as the hard length of his cock rested heavily against the soft inside of your thigh, twitching every time you moved.
You smiled against his lips, letting out a teasingly doubtful hum. “Careful there…might be disappointed when you go.”
“Doubt it. If there is one, you’re going there too.” The smug happiness in his voice made you laugh, the sound light and breathless. He responded by pressing a flurry of soft kisses all over your face, cheeks, nose, forehead and the corner of your mouth, while his cock dragged teasingly along your inner thighs, leaving a faint trail of precum on your skin.
Your laughter quickly faded into quiet, needy moans, inciting your own hand to apply pressure against your still-throbbing pussy, fingers slipping through the mess of slick there in an attempt to relieve the area. Dean lifted his upper body slightly, looking down between you as he stilled the accidental roll of his hips and you moaned again at the loss of friction.
“I could get closer,” he breathed, voice rough with want. “Want me to do that?”
Your legs parted wider in silent invitation as you nodded against the pillow, heart racing.
“Let me see you,” he spoke softly. It wasn't a command, more of a gentle suggestion, one he waited patiently for you to consider. You slowly moved your hand away, exposing your glistening, swollen pussy to him once more while you tried to picture the expression on his face, the way his eyes would darken with hunger and affection. “Do you have condoms?” he asked carefully.
“Closer, Dean,” you echoed, voice small but sure. “I want you as close as you can get right now.” You paused, ears straining for any change in his breathing. “I’ve never…” You trailed off, taking a deep, steadying breath. “I’m clean. I take my birth control–”
“Me neither.” His forehead dropped against yours, breath warm on your lips. “I just want you to be sure.”
You swallowed, nodding as your hands roamed up and down his arms and across his broad shoulders, feeling the tension and warmth of his muscles. His pulse jumped under your touch. “I would want it to be with you,” you confessed, bare and vulnerable.
He went still above you, the words knocking something loose. “I've always wanted it to be with you,” he breathed, the honesty in his voice wrapping around you like a second skin.
With a deep, measured breath, he wrapped his hand around the thick base of his cock, stroking it once before pressing the blunt, leaking head right against your slick entrance. Hovering over you, he braced his forearm beside your head, eyes remaining locked on your face as he pushed in leisurely until he sank deep in one long, continuous thrust.
Both of you moaned openly, lips falling slack at the intense sensation. He filled you completely, stretching your walls around his girthy length, stealing the breath right from your lungs. At the same moment, he reached up and gently tugged the blindfold away, letting you finally see him, your eyes glassy with overwhelmed tears as they met his, the eye contact undoing you more than the fullness between your legs.
You whimpered, voice breathless. “I hate that you might be right.”
“About?” he chuckled softly, staying buried to the hilt while he gave you time to adjust, eyes tracing over your face like he was trying to memorize it.
“Thinking highly of your dick…” You swallowed hard, your pussy fluttering and clenching around the solid invasion. “It sure is there.”
“Focus on it then,” he grinned, that cocky yet tender expression making your chest tighten. His gaze dropped to your lips, then back up as though he couldn't settle on one place to look.
“Not much else I can do,” you admitted, voice shaky, the words barely making it out whole.
Dean leaned down, catching your mouth with his, searching and wanting to swallow the shakiness right out of you. Only when you softened against him did he begin to move, shallow at first, drawing back only a few inches before sliding back in, letting you feel every inch of him dragging along your sensitive inner walls. Each time he bottomed out, his pelvis pressed firmly against your clit, sending sparks of sharp pleasure through you. Your body rocked beneath him with every careful thrust, the wet, intimate sound of your joined bodies filling the room alongside your shared breathing.
“Talk to me,” he murmured, eyes never leaving your face as he kept an unhurried pace, rolling into you repeatedly. He watched for every flicker, every little crease between your brows and twitch at the corner of your mouth, searching for the exact angle and depth that made your expression soften with bliss instead of tension. “What’s on your mind?”
“You,” you answered immediately, the most honest thing you could say.
His smile deepened with satisfaction but he wanted more than what was at the surface, what he knew you thought he wanted to hear. His thumbs brushed tenderly across your temples, easing your mind. “What’s around it?”
“How…” A moan interrupted you as he rolled his hips just right, cock stroking a spot inside you that made your toes curl. “Just how much I’ll want you to believe me when I say this was good…once it’s over. I know it will be.” Your breathing came in heavy pants now, chest rising and falling against his. “Even when…when I won’t–”
“If,” he corrected gently but firmly, still thrusting steadily as the head of his cock dragged deliciously along your walls on every withdrawal, then pushed back in deep. “That’s if you don’t.” He paused, “Listen to me, I don’t think there’s anything you’d tell me that I wouldn’t believe.”
“Well…I need you to be sure,” you pressed, blinking rapidly to keep the tears from spilling. Vulnerability sat raw in your throat, each word feeling like it cost you something you couldn't get back. Your nails dug crescents into his sides, holding on like he might disappear the second you finished the thought. “Please, be sure.”
“Certain,” he nodded, then leaned down closer, forehead nearly touching yours, eyes locked so you could see the sincerity burning there. “I’m right here with you, now and after this.”
He maintained the thrusts long and measured, pulling almost all the way out until only the swollen head remained inside you, letting you feel the stretch as he sank back in again, its slick glide was audible with every meeting of your bodies. Sweat beaded along his collarbone and dripped onto your chest as he held himself above you, muscles flexing with control.
His pelvis kissed your clit on every downstroke, rubbing in slow circles when he stayed buried deep, grinding the sensitive bundle of nerves until your thighs trembled around his hips.
When your brows creased a little too tightly, he adjusted the angle, tilting his hips until the sensation smoothed your expression again. He watched your eyes and mouth, learning your body in real time, focused entirely on making this feel safe and good rather than chasing his own end, he simply wanted to be connected to you.
Your walls hugged him tightly, fluttering with every push, your wetness coating his shaft and easing each deep slide while you could feel the way his cock throbbed inside you, the subtle twitch it gave when you clenched around him. He drew his cock back slowly so you could feel every ridge and vein dragging along your inner walls before sinking back in.
Your breath hitched sharply, as if that alone told him everything he needed to know, he repeated the motion, slower this time letting you feel the full drag and press of him. He pulled out almost completely on the next stroke, just the swollen tip resting inside you, before sliding back in with one smooth thrust that forced a whimper from your throat, strokes that let you savor the way your pussy stretched around his thickness, the way your walls fluttered and clenched trying to keep him inside.
Your hands roamed his back, nails lightly scoring his skin as another deep thrust made your feet arch and when your brows drew together in concentration, he moved again, tilting his hips, changing the depth. Near the end of a dragging stroke, he reached down and hooked one hand behind your knee. He lifted your leg slowly, draping it over his hip and higher along his side, opening you up further, the new angle letting him press deeper. He rolled his hips upward on the next thrust, driving his cock into you with a smooth, upward grind that rubbed directly against a spongy pillow inside while his pelvis continued to crush against your clit.
Your whole body reacted at once, back arching hard as a broken moan spilled from your lips.
“Right there, mmh?” he cooed, voice low and warm, repeating the exact same rolling motion. “Try that for a bit?”
You nodded quickly, eyes falling shut as you surrendered to the sensation. His cock stroked along that perfect angle with every upward push, the head pressing right where you needed it most, pussy clenching tightly around him and soaking his cock even more with every grind.
Dean kept watching you, even as your eyes stayed closed. He studied the way your head tilted back against the pillow, the rapid rise and fall of your chest, the way your lips trembled on every moan. He adjusted the angle of his hips in tiny increments, searching for the rhythm that would keep those creases of wonder on your face. The emotional weight of his attention made your throat tight, he wasn't just fucking you, he was tuned in completely, making sure you felt safe and cherished in every stroke.
“M–middle,” you moaned, voice breaking on the word.
Dean adjusted accordingly, angling his cock exactly where you needed him but before he could even settle into the new position, a raw, wanton moan tore from your throat and your back arched sharply off the bed as your eyes opened.
“Breathe,” he instructed gently, locking eyes with you and giving a slow, reassuring nod. His thumb brushed over your parted lips. “Breathe,” he repeated, “Focus on what you know.”
He kept moving in that centered, precise rhythm, strokes that dragged his thick cock along the same devastating path inside you.
“Mmpppff,” Your eyes fluttered shut as the pleasure built higher, one hand dug into his shoulder, nails biting into his skin while you struggled to draw full breaths. You tried to focus only on the slick drag of his cock entering and leaving your pussy, the way your walls stretched and clenched around his girth, the constant wet sounds of your bodies meeting.
“There you go. That's it,” he husked, bending lower to press a soft kiss to each of your closed eyelids. The new angle drove him even deeper, he pressed forward, settling his weight fully over you and nudging his face into the crook of your neck. Your moans became continuous, loud and broken, spilling from your open mouth without pause.
Dean groaned against your neck, low and desperate sounds vibrating through your skin and making you even hornier. His own unfiltered whimpers and heavy breathing mixed with yours as the position allowed you to breathe him in, sweat, skin and sex, chest heaving beneath his weight.
For several thrusts, no sound came out of you at all. Your mouth hung open in a silent cry, breath caught somewhere between your chest and your throat, refusing to let go. The pressure inside you coiled tighter than you'd ever known, winding higher with every drag of him, every muscle in your body drawn taut and ready to snap.
It was new, unfamiliar with an edge of fear threading through it, a building intensity you had no name for or memory to compare it to. Your fingers curled hard into his shoulder, keeping yourself against a feeling that seemed too big for your body to hold.
A sudden, sharp gasp tore from your lungs, followed immediately by a sob that shook your entire frame. The orgasm crashed over you, deep, vaginal and violently intense, unlike anything you'd known your body capable of. Your pussy clamped down hard around his cock in rhythmic contractions that squeezed him in waves as pure ecstasy ripped through you. For one disorienting second you didn't know whether to cry or laugh, caught between the shock of it and the sheer relief of finally breaking. You sobbed openly, tears spilling down your temples and into your hair, a startled laugh bubbling up right alongside them.
“Mmhnhgh…fuck, fuck, fuck!” you cried, voice wrecked and trembling as the pleasure kept rolling through you in devastating pulses. Your walls fluttered and pulsed wildly around his thrusting cock, soaking him even more.
Dean groaned deeply at the sensation, his hips stuttering for a moment before he forced himself to keep moving, drawing out every last tremor of your orgasm. A quiet laugh escaped him, disbelieving and reverent, the sound punched loose from his chest before he could stop it. He stared down at you, eyes wide, drinking in the sight of your face gone soft and open, tears streaking your temples and lips parted around broken breaths. You looked undone in the most beautiful way he'd ever seen and for a second his vision blurred, his head going light with it.
He blinked hard, jaw tight, willing himself to hold it together as your walls kept squeezing him greedily, refusing to let him go.
He fucked you through it with careful, deep strokes, prolonging the pleasure until your body trembled beneath him. You felt impossibly wet, your arousal and his precum mixing and leaking out around his cock with every thrust.
The first orgasm had barely begun to fade when his pelvis ground harder against your swollen clit with each rolling thrust. The added stimulation pushed you straight into a second, clitoral orgasm that blindsided you, entirely different from the first and brighter too now as many sensations arrived all at once for your mind to sort through. Your thigh quivered violently against his side as bright pleasure exploded outward from your clit, blending with the deep, pulsing contractions still rippling through your core. You cried out again, fresh tears streaming down your face as the dual sensations overwhelmed every nerve in your body.
Your vision whited out for several seconds, your entire body locking up and then shaking apart in his arms. Sobs mixed with desperate moans as wave after wave rolled through you, leaving you raw and shattered in the best possible way.
Dean bent down and kissed away your tears, the salt of it lingering on his lips. “That's how you're supposed to feel,” he hushed against your temple, voice rough with awe and restraint.
“Nnngh, can’t–” you managed, lips parted, chasing words that wouldn't come.
“I know, I know,” he soothed, voice thick. “Gotta let it happen.”
Dean kept thrusting for as long as he could, fucking you through the tail end of your orgasms. His hips snapped forward a few more times, chasing his own release, less controlled than anything he'd let himself be before.
With a wanton whimper, he buried himself to the hilt and came hard, harder than he ever remembered coming, raw and unguarded, shaking with the force of it. Thick, warm pulses of his cum spilled deep inside you, flooding your pussy with heat that made you shudder, your oversensitive body twitching around him as his cock throbbed and jerked against your walls.
He stayed inside you, breathing heavily against your neck, neither of you speaking and just letting the last tremors settle.
After a moment he pulled back reluctantly, until there was just room between your bodies for both of you to look down and watch. He gave a few shallow, unhurried thrusts, fucking his cum deeper into you, the creamy mixture leaking out around his cock with every small movement. You were both transfixed by the filthy, intimate sight, watching each slow slide, neither of you willing to look away until his cock finally stopped twitching.
With one final thrust he stilled completely, buried deep inside you and let his forehead drop to your shoulder.
Neither of you moved.
The room went quiet except for your shared, rasped breathing and underneath it, the faint hitch of his breath catching, over and over in quiet little hiccups he couldn't smooth out no matter how he tried. You ran your hands slowly up and down his back, soothing the tremor still running through him and caught the small, wet sniffle against your skin, proof that he'd cried too, that this had undone him just as much as it had undone you.
You finally felt like you could breathe again. Every muscle in your body went limp as you melted into the mattress, utterly spent, tears still drying on your cheeks and Dean's warm weight pressing you down in the most comforting way possible.
You kissed while stubbornly blinking back tears, holding yourselves together until you simply couldn't anymore. Time dissolved into something shapeless, measured only by slow breaths, racing hearts and bodies pressed together. The sheets twisted around your limbs and for the first time, your body didn't feel like something you had to apologize for.
When Dean finally moved, he did it with an achingly slow pace. He kissed you deeply, tongue dancing with yours while he began to pull out, as though the press of his lips could somehow stop the inevitable. You whimpered softly into his mouth at the feeling, his thick cock sliding from your sensitive, cum-filled pussy in one continuous, wet glide.
A thick trickle of your shared release followed, leaking slowly down your folds and onto the sheets. The sudden emptiness left you aching and strangely bereft, even as his tongue continued to stroke gently against yours through the loss.
Whatever this was afterward, it was unlike anything you'd ever experienced.
“Stay right here,” he murmured against your lips once they parted.
Dean eased himself out of bed shortly to start the shower, testing the water with the back of his hand until the temperature was just right before returning for you. He wrapped an arm around your waist and picked you up bridal style, carrying you into the bathroom and taking your weight without making you feel incapable.
Then guided you beneath the warm stream. Steam gradually filled the room while he took his time cleaning you, soapy hands moving with care over every inch of your skin, washing away sweat and the evidence of your shared pleasure, pausing every so often to brush a kiss against your shoulders, the back of your neck, the curve of your spine, or inside of your wrist.
He slipped away for a moment with a parting kiss, only to strip the bed and remake it with fresh sheets before returning the instant he heard the water stop.
You couldn't help but stare as he stepped into the bathroom doorway. A clean towel was already waiting in his hands, along with clean underwear and a pair of pajamas he'd unearthed from your dresser, and with obvious satisfaction, one of the hoodies he'd been insisting had mysteriously disappeared months ago.
Another towel hung dangerously low on his own hips, barely clinging to the sharp cut of his pelvis. Droplets of water still clung to his skin, tracing slow paths down the defined lines of his abs and the deep V that disappeared beneath the towel. The sight made your breath catch all over again, his body glistening, relaxed and impossibly attractive in the soft bathroom light.
Dean noticed your gaze and gave you a small, knowing smirk but said nothing. He set the clothes aside and got to work, drying your skin carefully section by section, working moisturizer into every inch of you with soothing strokes and helping you into the soft fabric of your clean underwear and pajamas. Then he carried you back to the freshly made bed despite your quiet insistence that you could walk.
After fluffing your pillows and tucking the blankets around you, he finally took a moment to dry himself off and pull on his boxers. Only then did he return to your bedside, lean down and press a gentle kiss to the crown of your head before lingering there for a moment, as though reassuring himself that you were comfortable and finally at peace.
“I'll go raid your cabinets for something to eat,” he said quietly, palm moving slowly over your hair in absent, soothing strokes as he looked down at you. His thumb brushed lightly against your temple before his hand slipped away.
It was far too late to order food and even if somewhere nearby was still open, you doubted you had the energy for anything more substantial than a few bites. A tired smile tugged at your lips as you gave him a small nod but the moment he stepped away from the bed, your chest tightened unexpectedly, eyes following him across the room as though distance alone suddenly felt wrong.
Dean noticed the movement out of the corner of his eye but kept walking toward the bedroom door. “If you hear something heavy drop,” he said over his shoulder, a teasing grin returning now that the weight of the evening had begun to lighten, “that's probably just me hiding from Hannah and Allie if it comes down to it.”
A quiet chuckle escaped you as you turned your head toward the clock resting on your bedside table, the glowing numbers confirming just how late it had become. “Doubt they'll be back tonight,” you murmured, your voice rough with exhaustion.
Dean paused with one hand resting against the doorframe. Instead of leaving, he turned back to look at you properly. His teasing expression faded as he searched your face, trying to read what you needed without making assumptions but he knew tonight had been overwhelming in more ways than one. Maybe you wanted to be alone now, to untangle your thoughts in private before either of you tried putting words to everything that had changed between you.
He wouldn't force that conversation tonight if you weren't ready. “I can go,” he relented, the offer sincere enough that you knew he'd leave without hesitation if that was what you wanted.
Your hands fidgeted restlessly with the edge of the blanket gathered over your lap, smoothing wrinkles before twisting the fabric between your fingers again. You gave the smallest shake of your head, so slight it was nearly impossible to notice.
“I'd rather you didn't.” The words came out quietly. Your gaze drifted away from him, settling instead on the dark window across the room where your reflection stared back faintly against the glass.
You drew in a slow, steadying breath. If there was ever such a thing as good timing, you doubted either of you had managed to stumble across it tonight, then again, maybe there never would've been a perfect moment for this. All you knew was that you were tired of keeping parts of yourself hidden from him.
Dean remained exactly where he was. He didn't move closer, didn't interrupt or rush to fill the silence stretching between you.
“I think I love you,” you admitted at last, it felt strangely fragile once spoken.
Your eyes finally lifted to meet his as you blinked quickly, trying to keep the fresh sting of tears from spilling over, you'd already cried enough for one night.
Dean's expression didn't morph into surprise. Instead, he nodded once, his head tilting and his answer arriving with a tenderness that marked you more than if he'd been shocked. “I know that.”
A breathy laugh escaped you, your head shaking as you smiled weakly. You should've known he’d say that. The two of you had said those words before, they'd existed between you for years in birthday cards, sleepy phone calls, goodbye hugs and reassurances before exams or after bad days, less frequently as you'd grown older, perhaps but they had never truly disappeared.
This was different, though, you'd hoped he'd hear it in your voice. “No…not like that.” You swallowed, clearing your throat before trying again. “The…the other way.” The confession sat awkwardly on your tongue, still too new to fit comfortably. “It's probably going to take me a while to figure out that one too.” You let out a self-conscious laugh that barely qualified as one. “I just thought…I'd give you a heads-up.” Your fingers tightened around the blanket. “In case…you have time to stick around for that too.”
Your eyes dropped back to your hands, unable to bear watching disappointment if it appeared.
For a long second, the room remained perfectly still, then Dean smiled. It was far from the teasing grin he wore so effortlessly, a smile touched with years of memories only the two of you shared.
“I know, baby,” he ventured.
His fingertips tapped absently against the doorframe as scenes from years ago drifted through his mind of the two of you, younger and convinced you were being impossibly sneaky, sitting shoulder to shoulder in playgrounds you'd long since outgrown after the sun had gone down, hiding behind climbing frames and plastic tunnels simply because they gave you somewhere to be alone together.
Memories of fingers laced together in the dark, shared laughter muffled into sleeves and the first time your mouths had met almost by accident, followed by another and another, both of you pretending each one had been just as thoughtless as the last since acknowledging it felt far more frightening than simply letting it happen again.
“I never thought we'd grow out of it,” he admitted, his eyes never leaving yours. “You've never been an enigma to me…Of course, I have time,” he murmured. “I've loved you for as long as I can remember. For you, I’ve always had time.”
He smiled softly and everything inside you slid into place.
Oh, love. The nostalgia returned with childlike wonder. How long had it been waiting for you to find your way back to the playground?
a/n: Comments, likes and reblogs really do mean the world and help more than you know! More stories will be added to the archive soon, so stay tuned for new content. Thank you so much for reading! 🤍
Taglist for pt2: @frenchfry101 @myhipsterparadise-blog1 @nchye @harryskissies @valepao06-blog @astoldbydanid @freyaviesposts @smol-grandpa @freezing82 @bluc1a @honethatty12 @elleyaps @m21-k
Wingman
Beau Maxwell x F!Reader
summary: one slip of the tongue from Beaus best friend pushes you and your situationship to figure out what you are
cw/tags: swearing, not proofread (shocker), dean mention
Sunlight blinds you the second you open your eyes, your face immediately being shoved into the pillow under your head as you try to escape the morning light. Warmth surrounds you on all sides, navy blue comforter pulled up to your shoulders and a heavy weight across your middle that you’ve come to expect after finding yourself in Beaus bed more than yours the past few months. He’s laid out next to you, his face smooshed, eyes still closed, competently relaxed and you can’t help but admire him. He looks so pretty like this, no teasing smile that could only mean mischief or charm laced voice as he tried, and usually succeeded, at getting his way.
You’re just about to push a lock of chocolate brown hair off his forehead when his alarm blares from his bedside table, startling the both of you as he groans loudly. He blindly reaches over with his unoccupied hand, feeling around to shut off the god awful noise while he uses the arm that has you captive to bring you in closer. A kiss is placed onto your head as he fully settles back into bed, eyes closed and everything, and you can’t help but giggle.
“Gotta get up,” you say lightly, smoothing one of your hands down his back, “we have class at 9.”
All you receive is a shake of his head, and you know today is going to be one of those days. Lately he’s been a little too content with missing class, study groups, or hangouts to keep you in his bed, for sleeping or other activities. But you’ve made it your personal responsibility that neither one of you miss class for the rest of the semester, both of you already teetering the edge of one more no show and the professor may fail you.
As you begin to untangle yourself from him, Beau goes completely limp, pinning you under his weight in an effort to make you stay exactly where you are.
“Babyyy,” is said with a whine, his voice deeper than normal and his eyes still closed, “five more minutes.”
It’s never just five minutes, you know it’s never five minutes, but the way he nuzzles his head into your neck makes you weak and you can’t help when your arms wrap around him again. You can feel the victorious smile spread across his face and pull the hair at the back of his neck lightly in retaliation.
You can tell he’s about to say something sassy, you’re actively bracing for whatever he’s cooking up in that head of his when his alarm goes off again, and you know it’s time to actually get up. When Beau stretches to shut the noise off you push against him, quickly freeing yourself. You send him a smile as he says your name, flopping himself back onto his bed.
You start to move around his room, grabbing your things and going between the connected bathroom and his room as you get ready for the day, and Beau just lays there, staring at you.
“Stalker,” you say playfully, meeting his eyes quickly as he continues to watch you move about.
Beau laughs as he finally gets up, sauntering over to you and planting a kiss to your head as he passed, “how’d I get so lucky, hm?” is said into your hair, and then he makes his way into the bathroom. You hear the shower turn on and movement on the other side of the now closed door, but you’re stood stock still with a Biology book half shoved in your bag.
Beau had always been plenty affectionate since the moment you had started seeing each other, but never to the point of making you feel downright domestic. The two of you had gone from simply sleeping together at parties, to a friends with benefits situation, to what you are now, not officially boyfriend-girlfriend by any means, but stuck somewhere in the grey area of not outwardly exclusive while being so obviously together it almost hurts. You’re definitely not seeing anybody else, and you’re in Beaus bed enough nights to know that he’s only been with you recently, you’ve been waiting for the “will you be my girlfriend” question ever since he called you “my girl” to Dean and his buddies two weeks ago, but the words never seem to leave his mouth.
Once you shake yourself out of your stupor, you quickly gather the rest of your books and other items. Just as you’re pulling a hoodie over your head Beau steps out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist.
“Headed out?” His eyes follow you as you grab your bag from his desk chair.
“Class,” you say as you walk up to him, you stretch onto your tiptoes, pressing a kiss to his lips, which he tries to deepen immediately. You start to pull away with a smile on your face, an identical grin mirrored on his mouth as his lips chase yours, “see you later?”
“That’s so far away,” his fingers find yours as he pulls you closer, butterflies exploding in your stomach at his close proximity.
You laugh as you pull away, waving at him as you send him a wink on your way out. A loud, “bye baby!” is shouted from his room as you make your way to the front door of the football house.
The first text comes through right before class starts, a picture of raw eggs in a glass and you almost gag at the thought of Beau sitting back at his house chugging it. You send back a throwing up emoji with ew! attached and force yourself to focus as your professor begins the lecture.
The second text is a reminder to grab something for lunch as the clock ticks closer to one. Beau knows once you’re in the zone, you tend to forget to do everything that keeps most other humans going, whether that’s eating, drinking water, or peeing before your bladder explodes. You smile and send back a picture of the bagel you’re eating, your anatomy notes open in the background as you try to fit in some last minute studying before your test. Beau hearts your picture immediately and types back, “proud of you, baby. go show them how smart my girl is” you’re sure your heart physically stops for a moment as you swoon.
The third text is hours later, you knew Beau would be busy after his classes, he had practice, weight training, a frat meeting, and Dean had been pestering him to get dinner since Monday. But sometime between bench pressing more than you weigh and arguing with his frat brothers over the theme of their party on Friday, he sends you something that nearly undoes you. “I miss you,” sits in a grey bubble on your screen and you waver between answering with every sentimental thought running through your head or simply ignoring him for the time being while you finish the assignment you’re working on. After a minute you land somewhere in the middle, sending back a short, “don’t distract me, this assignments due tonight” and then flipping your phone over on your night stand.
You ignore the buzz of his answer for approximately 10 seconds before you just have to look and you regret it immediately,
You’re knocking on Beaus front door before you fully even process deciding to go over to his house that night, and Beaus smiling as he pulls you through the threshold. You’re both giggling like little kids as you make your way to his room, his hands all over you, unable to leave you alone for even a second after all the hours spent apart.
He’s asking about your day as you’re getting settled, letting you rant about one of your professors and how your roommate left a bag of strawberries sitting out on her desk for the past 2 days neither one of you had been to your shared dorm. When you look up from grabbing your charger from your overnight bag you catch him staring and send him a look, “what’re you looking at creep.”
You’re surprised to see a blush crawl up his neck, “you just look so pretty baby, can’t help but stare,” is all he says as he takes you into his arms. Your arms find their way around his waist and you’re content to stand there, hugging each other in your own bubble just for it to be ruined by Beaus phone going off.
He huffs as he lets you go, grabbing his phone from somewhere on his bed and bringing it up to his ear, you can hear noise on the other side, music and laughing, and you’re absolutely sure it’s Dean.
You try to eavesdrop but between Beaus half answers and Dean being drowned out by whatever is happening on his end of the line, you’re lost on what they’re talking about until Beau suddenly says, “i’m not putting you on speaker,” and you hear Dean argue on the other end.
Beau opens his mouth to deny Dean again and then you hear straight up yelling coming from the phone, yelling that suspiciously sounds like your name. Beau mutters an “alright, alright,” before hitting the speaker button.
“Heyyy, y/n, I know you and Beau are hanging out or whatever but i’m getting totally demolished at beer pong right now,” you’re a little bit lost on why you’re being informed on what Deans doing, even more confused on why Deans playing beer pong on a Thursday night at 7 PM but you lock in for Beaus sake, “so can I steal your boyfriend for like an hour, tops! I’ll send him back before midnight, scouts honor!” and you know for a fact that Dean was not a boy scout.
“Uh,” you’re at a loss as you make eye contact with Beau who’s shaking his head frantically, pointing at his bed and making sleeping signs at you, a light, “baby just us tonight,” leaving his lips.
Then you just have to say the first thing that comes to your head, “boyfriend?”
Beaus face pales and Dean goes silent on the other end of the phone, then suddenly he’s talking fast, “well have a good night you two, see you tomorrow at the party!” then the room is silent.
“Dean said boyfriend,” you state obviously, Beau visibly swallows.
“It’s Dean,” he says, as if that’s an answer.
“Oh,” is all you say in return, hands wringing in front of you.
Beau opens then closes his mouth, an anxious hand going to the back of his neck as he says his next words quietly, “i mean would that be so bad?”
Your first reaction is genuine shock at how insecure Beau looks, you’ve never seen him so unsure, usually he’s at the head of chaos, the first thought being the only thought he gives to anything. But now, standing in front of you, shoulders tight, anxiety rolling off him, you’re frozen.
Frozen and stupid apparently, because your response is “Yes,” which Beau physically recoils at.
You can see the front that he’s building immediately, a cool swagger overshadowing the hurt that flashed over his face at your supposed rejection.
“Wait, no! I meant, no,” you’re trying to stop him as he takes a step back from you, the distance suffocating you already, “it wouldn’t be bad. Yes, I want to be your girlfriend,” you’re talking quick now, too quick for him to completely be caught up before the next sentence leaves your mouth, “I thought you didn’t want to be serious, I didn’t want to push,” and now you’re pacing, “not that we have to be serious, fuck, this is all coming out wrong.”
Beau has to stop you with his hands on your shoulders and his body blocking your pacing path, but even with your legs not moving your mouth continues to form words, one spilling out after the other, feelings you’ve kept in for months falling so quickly from you that you’re not even sure if what you’re saying is coherent anymore.
Somewhere between, “Allie told me to tell you how I feel,” and “i should go home,” Beau has enough and crashes his lips onto yours, effectively ending your ranting. The kiss lasts longer than he intended, Beau can never stop himself from getting lost in you, ending with your arms around his neck and his hands under your shirt. When you pull apart, you’re smiling like a fool, staring up at him happily.
Beaus about to say something cheeky, probably something that would get him in trouble for the rest of the night when you say it, and he swears his heart is going to beat out of his chest.
“Will you be my boyfriend?” Let’s just say Dean has to find a new beer pong partner that night.
what do we think chat??
✴︎ Movie Night ✴︎
↳ Warnings/Themes: Mature (🔞). Smut. Oral (both receiving). A sliver of choking. Trio (MFM). Dawgy. ↳ Pairing: Beau Maxwell x F!Reader x Dean Di Laurentis ↳ Words: 2594 ↳ Summary: Movie night with your boyfriends turns handsy.
☁️: first beaudean x reader on the new account woop! was supposed to be a quick lil drabble but here we are. as always, requests are open for my babies! if you're new here, read their old materlist here ❤︎
Requested: here. General Masterlist here. Beau and Dean Masterlist here.
The opening credits of the film had barely finished before Dean shifted against you for the third time, his knee knocking yours each time as he couldn't quite settle.
Five minutes later, despite the overflowing bowl of popcorn balanced on his lap, he reached across you to steal some from the bowl on Beau's lap.
"You literally have your own," Beau sighed, though he made no move to pull the bowl away.
"Yeah, but yours tastes better." Dean smiled in response, that easy grin of his that showed his dimples, the smile that he knew was hard to argue with.
Beau rolled his eyes, but tipped the bowl towards him anyway. Dean took a handful so large that some kernels dropped on your bare lap.
"Sorry," he grinned, without sounding the least bit sorry.
Beau picked up the stray popcorn and popped them into his mouth before settling back against the cushions. He stretched an arm along the back of the sofa, his hand coming to rest on your shoulder. Every so often, his thumb traced a slow circle against your collarbone.
Somewhere between one scene and the next, you found yourself sinking into his touch, finding it almost impossible to keep your eyes open. It wasn't until you felt a tickle on the underside of your jaw, and glanced down, did you realise that Dean had shifted again. He was curled sideways, his head resting on your lap and looking perfectly content with himself.
Without thinking, your fingers slipped into his hair, scratching lightly on his scalp. Dean's eyes fluttered shut for a moment, leaning into the touch.
"When did you get there?" You mumbled.
Dean shrugged his shoulders. "A while ago. You would have noticed if you weren't falling asleep."
"I wasn’t," you lied, lacking any real conviction.
Beau chucked quietly, his chest rumbling beneath your cheek. "Liar."
"I don't blame you," Dean said. "This movie sucks."
Beau tipped his head just enough to look at him, one eyebrow raised. "You're the one that picked it."
"I picked it so we'd have an excuse to get distracted," Dean replied.
Before you could respond, he turned his head into your stomach, his breath warmed the fabric of your shirt as he pressed a slow kiss right through it, just over your belly button.
Your fingers stilled in his hair. "Dean."
Beside you, Beau stopped tracing lazy circles, and dragged his hand downward, dipping just under the neckline of your tank top to settle on your chest. His warm hand squeezed the soft flesh of your breast before he rolled a nipple between two fingers. You gasped as he pinched harder, sending heat straight to your core.
The weight disappeared from your lap as Dean shifted again. By the time you looked down, he had already resettled himself on his knees between your legs.
As Beau's hand continued to work your breasts, Dean's hands came to grip the tops of your thighs, nudging them wider as he pulled you to the edge of the sofa cushions.
"What about the movie?" You whined, not sounding as convincing as you would have liked to. But how could you when Beau was flicking your nipple like that.
"I think the view is better from down here," Dean replied. His eyes dropped hungrily to between your spread legs, as if he could see how damp your panties were already becoming.
Without taking his eyes off of you, he reached blinding behind him for the remote on the coffee table, cutting off the movie mid-scene.
You're barely able to protest before Beau's hand came to your chin, tilting your head up to look at him. His eyes were darker now, pupils nearly fully black.
A low moan escaped your lips as his hand moved to your neck, his thumb moving to your pulse point, not pressing too hard, but resting there, feeling the erratic thud of your pulse beneath your skin.
With baited breath, your eyes searched his for any hints of his next move. But his eyes told you nothing except how aroused he was. He just stared back at you, drinking in every ragged breath you took as Dean's hands trailed your inner thighs.
For whatever reason, they both were making you wait, all touches teasing and frustrating and leaving you with more heat in your body than you knew what to do with.
"Still sleepy?" Beau murmured, his voice low and gravelly as his thumb gave your pulse point a gentle, but possessive, press.
You want to say obviously not, as if the way you're squirming in their grip isn't answer enough. But a smart mouth isn't going to speed them up, a lesson you've learnt many a time before. So, you settle on a gently whined, "no."
The answer has the desired effect, the boys springing into action almost immediately.
Beau finally finally pressed his lips to yours. He didn't tease now, the kiss turning deeper almost immediately. He tasted of popcorn and something entirely so Beau as his tongue slid into your mouth, tongue moving over yours.
His kisses demanded a devotion and attention that consumed your mind, barely even able to register when Beau took your hand and guided it to where his erection was pressing against his pants.
You swallowed his groan as your hand closed tightly around him. Thumb sweeping over the head, you spread the precum there, using it as you stroked him. He was thick and warm in your hand, cock twitching.
Beau eased back, his thumb brushing over your swollen bottom lip, wiping away the sheen left behind by the kiss. He looked as wrecked as you felt, and the sight only made you squeeze him tighter. You could feel the vein that ran one the underside of his shaft throb.
His head fell back against the sofa cushions as you continued to work him, hips subconsciously thrusting into your hand.
Between your legs, Dean tugged at your shorts. They caught on your thighs as he impatiently pulled them down. He grabbed your ankle, lifting your legs one by one to get your shorts off.
"These are pretty," he murmured, finger running down the front of your lace panties.
Beau lifted his head slightly, his attention shifting to what Dean was referring to.
"They are," he agreed, voice too breathy to pretend like he was keeping it together. "Lift your hips for Dean, my love."
You obliged easily, shifting just enough for Dean to slide the lace down over your thighs and toss them onto the rug. "I wore them for you both."
The truth was, you didn't have to dress up for them. You knew that with absolute certainty. You could have been in faded sweatpants and old, tattered, panties, the same ones you'd worn before, and they'd still be pulling them off of you with that hungry look in their eyes. But you wanted this.
The feeling of the lace against your skin. The way their fingers caught in it as they reached for you with impatient hands. It was an intoxicating feeling to watch as Dean's smirk faltered into something much darker, and much needier.
Heat tingled over your skin as you saw the quiet pride in Beau's face every time his eyes swept over you, like he couldn't believe you were there, needy for them.
The way they looked at you sent a rush straight through your chest and down low to your belly.
"Naughty, naughty," Dean teased.
At the same time as Beau said, "you came prepared."
Your heart hammered in your ears. "I know who my boyfriends are."
The corner of Beau's mouth twitched as his eyes fluttered shut. The sounds he made as your thumb flicked over his tip were sinful, all laboured breaths and loud moans.
Dean leant in, his hot breath fanning across your core, making you shiver and clench before his lips even touched you.
"Well, since you went through the trouble of picking them out for us, sweetheart..." Dean purred. He kissed the delicate skin of your inner thigh, so close to where you ached for him. "... it'd be rude not to show our appreciation."
The first slide of Dean's tongue on you pulled a whine from you that was downright embarrassing. So much so that Beau chuckled lowly beside you. "My needy girl," he growled.
"I am," you agreed easily, tugging Dean's hair with your other hand as he dragged his tongue through your folds a little too gently. Dean responded with a hard suck on your clit. You gasped, fingers twisting in his hair as your other hand squeezed Beau too hard.
"Oh," Beau stuttered.
"Is that what you wanted, baby?" Dean teased, looking up at you. His chin was already slick and glistening.
"Fuck you."
"Play nice," Beau said, flicking Dean's forehead, "she's got precious goods in her hand."
"Sorry." Dean grinned up at Beau, but the apology sounded a little more genuine than the one he'd given you earlier. "I'll be gentle. Promise."
If the glint in his eye before he dived back between your legs wasn't sign enough, the way he wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked was.
"Fuck~. Dean~!" You cried.
Strong, calloused, hands, kept you spread wide, stopping any attempt to close your legs around him. It took all of your, well-practised, attention to keep your mind focused on pleasuring Beau while Dean lapped at your core, your hands moving to cup Beau's balls.
"Want... your... mouth," Beau grunted out.
The three of you moved in a synchronisation that can only have come from months of shared understandings. While Beau shimmied out of his pants, his erection flopping against his stomach, Dean grabbed your hips, helping to flip you over on the sofa onto all fours.
The cushions were soft beneath your knees and you arched your back, lifting your hips high into the air as you buried your face into Beau's lap.
He bucked into your mouth with a strangled moan as you took the tip in. Hollowing your cheeks, you took more of him in, saliva dripping down your mouth as you bobbed your head, taking him slightly deeper each time.
The sofa cushion dipped as Dean settled behind you. With one knee on the sofa beside your leg, his other foot was planted on the floor to stabilise himself. One hand came to rest on your waist, thumb pressing into the small of your back.
"Ready?" He asked, as he dragged the tip of his dick along your slick folds, letting himself catch on your entrance.
"Mhm," you hummed around Beau's dick.
Dean eased himself into you, taking his time to let you feel and adjust to every inch of him. Your nails dug into Beau's thigh as you stretched around Dean fully.
"Fuck." Dean shivered, pleasure running down his spine. You were so wet and warm, fitting around him like a custom glove. "Gripping me like you never want me to leave."
The thing is, you don't, but you don't need to tell him that.
"Can I...?" His jaw ticked, eyes squeezed shut.
You pulled your lips off of Beau with a lewd pop. "Fuck me please, Dean."
Tongue finding Beau's leaking slit, you lick up the salty precum that's gathered there before sucking with renewed vigour on the head. Behind you, Dean pulled back, leaving just the tip in before driving back into you.
When you hummed in approval, he did it again, and again, and again. Every thrust pushed Beau's dick further down your throat. Your tits swung beneath you as Dean's hips snapped into yours with desperation.
Dean's head dropped forward and sweaty blonde hair flopped into his face. His warm breath fanned the small of your back as he whispered praise into the air, you're so good, you're so beautiful, feels so good, fucking love this, fucking love you.
The words tumbled out of him in broken speech, stripped of his usual polish. From the front, Beau was there to catch every breathless gasp that Dean dragged out of you.
Two pairs of hands roamed your body, Beau's fingers rolling your nipples again while Dean reached beneath you, three fingers finding your clit and circling with enough pressure that your toes curled.
Your fingers flexed again, your nails digging so deep into Beau's thigh that you were sure you'd draw blood if you pressed any harder. Between the warmth of your mouth on him, and the sharp, delicious, pain of your nails biting into his thigh, Beau came undone.
The sudden, hot, rush of his release down your throat caught you off guard, filling your mouth faster than you could swallow, the corners of your mouth messy with spit and cum.
"Good girl," Beau praised, lifting your head so he could slide his softening erection out of your mouth. "You did so well."
The praise swelled in your chest, sending sparks of heat through you that matched the heat caused by Dean fucking into you. He changed the angle, dick curving within you in a way that pressed against your sweet spot with every thrust.
The orgasm built easily, each snap of his hips and each circle of his fingers bringing you closer and closer. Beau moved off of the sofa, coming to his knees next to you so he could press sloppy kisses to your mouth, your cheek, your eyelids.
You came with such a force your vision blacked out for a moment, pleasure exploding across your body. You clenched down around Dean, the final straw that had white-hot streaks of cum spilling into you. He groaned loudly, letting you know just how much he enjoyed you.
Without the sound of Dean's hips snapping into yours, the room fell still, quieted down to nothing but the ragged pants of all three of you waiting for your pulses to settle.
Dean stayed buried inside of you through the aftershocks, dick twitching within you long after his body stopped twitching. It wasn't until his heart rate returned to normal, that he slid out of you with a soft hiss.
Without his hand to hold you up, you collapsed against the cushions, ignoring the way the mess dripped out of you and onto the sofa. Dean got up, unbothered by his nudity, and padded off to find something to clean you up with.
Beau's thumb gently rubbed over the faint read marks your nails had left on his thigh, a possessive smile gracing his face as he looked over at you. Your swollen lips and blissful expression made something within him shift.
"I love you," you mouthed, delirious and spent, but content with where life had taken you.
Beau's smile softened into something incredibly tender. He leant forward, stealing one final kiss from your lips. "I love you more, my love."
The loud exhale from Dean was dramatic in a way that only Dean could pull off and still be called attractive.
"Hey," he protested, a tired grin tugging at his lips as he walked back into the room. "Don't leave me out."
"I love you too, Dean," you said on a giggle, just as Beau muttered, "we love you too, idiot."
Dean chuckled, running a hand over his face before glancing down at the mess beneath you. "Fuck, Beau... your sofa cushions are ruined again."
"Well, don't look at me," Beau muttered, resting his chin on the top of the cushion next to your head as your eyes fluttered shut. "I'm not taking them to the dry cleaners this time."
I haven't written Trio!Reader in a hot minute so please be kind if it's shit hahaha. But also idk, it's the longest smut for them yet and dare i say the best? Idk, idk, thoughts, opinions, headcannons and all, very welcome xx
imagine being like. mad at Grace for something. Anything, it doesn't really matter and you call him by his first name.
"Ryland." and the entire ship just goes quiet. Grace, who was tinkering with something alongside Rocky just stops moving. Probably stops breathing because why in tarnation are you calling him that? That can't be good. At all. And from the acidity in your voice? Yeahhhh, he did something to get you angry. He starts flipping in his mind what it could have been, but at this point in the journey back to Erid, the small space and the lack of privacy, the three of you have a tendency to get on each others nerves. He probably did something you thought was annoying but was just part of every day life. And he was going to have to defend himself with Rocky---
"Grace on own. Wish many luck." Rocky absolutely drops the tool he's using and just hightails it out of there. He knows what this means. He knows that you calling Grace by his first name is not something he wants to stick around for. The last time he did, you somehow ended up angry at both Grace and Rocky! He'll listen to the arugment from the cockpit.
love me, sweet (Ryland Grace x reader)
Ryland wakes up from a nightmare and just had to make sure you were okay. You two end up closer than you expected, though.
(1.3k words, no use of y/n, pure, sweet fluff)
how hard can we yearn for Ryland Grace? The answer is yes.
————————————————————————
You were sound asleep in your own bed on Erid, curled up in the coziness of your crochet blanket that you had brought from Earth. It was one of the only things that stuck with you through everything, since your mom had made it for your birthday right before you left for Project Hail Mary.
Even the sound of your bedroom door opening didn’t wake you up.
Ryland Grace walked in slowly, clutching his Earth-made quilt around his shoulders. This is stupid, he thought. I’m a grown man. I should be able to handle a nightmare without bothering them.
He hovered near the foot of your bed, twisting his fingers into the fabric as he spotted your face buried into the comfortable bedding. He knew he shouldn’t wake you, but the image of your lifeless face was still vivid in his head.
Nightmares were common for both of you, of course, but they frequented his mind more than yours. The traumatic moments before his forced shipment aboard the Hail Mary was the most common sequence, but lately you started appearing in them too.
Specifically, his mind decided to attack his worries about not being able to save you.
The thoughts had plagued him before he was safe and sound on Erid. Scenarios where the oxygen failed on the ship and you fell asleep and never woke up. Where your tether broke during a spacewalk and you drifted helplessly away into the endless void of space.
He’d be alone. Even though he had Rocky, there were some things about being human that the Eridian wouldn’t understand or relate to.
Tonight was the worst by far, though.
His mind had supplied him with images of you becoming trapped during that awful ship spin before Rocky had saved you both. You were slowly suffocating while the gravity slowly increased in that cockpit. He couldn’t even call your name with his chest compressed against the ship’s console.
He awoke with a start, and hadn’t been able to sleep for hours.
Now, here he was, about to wake you up because of his own worries. Ryland wandered slowly to the side of your bed with sweaty palms, and carefully reached out a hand. He settled it on your blanket covered shoulder, and shook it gently.
He whispered your name, hesitating when you didn’t wake up immediately. This was a bad idea, he thought, but before he could retreat, he heard the distinct sound of that deep breath you took. A sure sign that you were waking up.
“Ryland?” You mumbled as you rubbed your eyes. “You okay? Somethin’ wrong?” You sat up, the blanket slipping down your form as you reached for the small light on your bedside table.
When you flicked it on, you recognized the familiar post-nightmare expression on his face. Ryland’s hair was sticking up in all sorts of directions from running his hands through it. His blue eyes were slightly puffy, possibly from crying, and underlined with tired circles behind his glasses. His blanket was wrapped around his shoulders, like a protection from the horrible dream.
“I just…” He hesitated, looking down at his hands for a moment. “It sounds stupid but…I had a nightmare, and I couldn’t really fall asleep?” He huffed, running a hand through his already mussed hair. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“Oh,” You smiled at him. You didn’t mind. You never really did when it came to him. “You wanna talk about it?” You suggested, patting the bed next to you.
Ryland took the offered spot next to you without another word. He settled into the pillows, laying down right next to you as he stared at the ceiling. “Can I just…stay? Just for a little bit?” He murmured.
He couldn’t even meet your eye.
“Of course,” You laid down right next to him, and turned to your side to face him. “You can stay.”
“Thanks,” Ryland sighed, and you felt his body relax next to you.
“Anytime,” You muttered. You reached up and took the frames off of his face, setting them gently on the bedside table before turning off the light. The room sank into darkness. “Get some rest. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Good plan,” He responded, stifling a yawn beside you as you settled back into the blankets. His hand brushed against yours, like he was trying to prove that you were here, that you were alive and well right there next to him.
You didn’t pull away. Instead, you threaded your fingers through his. You heard his breath hitch in the dark room as you tugged him closer.
“Uh…what are you doing?” He whispered.
“Shhh,” You hushed him, slowly threading your fingers through his hair. He practically melted against you, and a small contented sound escaped his throat before he could stop it.
“That’s…nice…” Ryland muttered, sinking into your arms without resistance. His breathing slowed against your collarbones and you both drifted off, closer than you expected to be tonight.
The artificial dawn light creeped in through the curtains of your Eridian bedroom. You blinked your eyes open slowly, breathing in a deep breath through your nose as your senses slowly came back to you.
The first thing you felt was a warm arm curled snugly around your waist. Followed by the feeling of long legs tangled with your own.
The final thing you noticed was the steady sound of Ryland’s breathing. Small puffs of warm air brushed your collarbones as he slept soundly in the crook of your neck.
Right. The nightmare.
You shifted the smallest bit, just enough to catch a glimpse of his sleeping face. His expression was calm, his eyes closed and his mouth parted just slightly in the early morning light. The wrinkles that usually accompanied his every expression were nearly invisible, just faint lines near his eyes and brows.
You reached down and brushed the hair away from his forehead, only stopping when his brows furrowed softly in confusion.
“Mmm…” He groaned as his eyes looked blearily up at you. “Wh’time is it?”
“Too early,” You said softly.
“Definitely,” He grumbled as he nestled back into the crook of your neck, sending a cozy warmth through your chest. Without thinking, you pressed a kiss to his hairline.
He hummed when he felt your lips meet his forehead, smiling against the soft skin of your neck. “Do that again,”
“You are demanding in the morning, aren’t you?” You mumbled before pressing another kiss against his forehead.
He huffed out a small laugh, and you felt his smile spread wider. “I’m not demanding…” he mumbled “Y’just really warm. Coulda been doin’ this months ago. Just gotta make up for lost time.” He sighed in contentment and tightened his hold on your waist, hugging you closer just to hear you breathe.
“Is that so?” You asked him, and you watched as he tilted his head back just enough to meet your eye.
“Absolutely.” He murmured, his voice still rough from sleep. He looked up at you with those sleepy blue eyes, and that soft smile on his face.
“Hi,” You whispered.
“Hey,” He whispered back.
You just couldn’t resist it.
You slid a hand to his jaw and leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. He hummed against you, returning it just as softly, like he had all the time in the world. A cozy heat spread from where your lips met all the way to your chest and down your spine.
When you parted, he let out a small, giddy laugh.
“Oh, geez,” he whispered, and when you looked at him, his eyes were still closed. He cleared his throat, and finally looked up at you with a sheepish smile. “Shoulda been doing that months ago too.”
“Guess we should make up for lost time,” You teased as you spotted the light blush dusting his cheeks.
“Guess we should,” Ryland agreed, before tugging you down into another kiss in the early morning light.
they just announced all women should eat 4 meals a day and at least 2 nice snacks. they made it the general consensus
rewatched project hail mary a few days ago and a small thing that stuck out to me was grace jokingly saying something to the effect of "you know, it's been a long time since i took a random pill from a stranger" when offered the anti-nausea (?) pills for the helicopter ride. anyway i want the tea on what that man was up to in university because i refuse to believe dr. ryland "i called the lead scholar in my field a staggering waste of carbon" grace was a perfectly straight-laced science nerd in his twenties.
makes me so sad when my friends refuse to pirate things and insist on paying for a streaming service EVEN when i offer to do it for them or teach them. like pleaseeee i have a vpn i have a plex server i can get you whatever you want. don't buy disney+ i can be your little poob i have it for you.
people foolishly dismiss desserts and treats as having no nutritional value when they actually are necessary for refilling your sanity stat. to prove my point please observe the emotional stability of the next person you meet who doesnt let themselves ever eat any form of dessert
