⟢﹒ matilda

so many fandoms, so little time

[wh1msymaddy]

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ MADDY ' .

she / her. entj. honorary new yorker. full time diva, part time writer. small town girl with big dreams. polyglot in the making. sonder. f1 and hockey enthusiast. cinephile.

‧₊˚ ┊ ⤷ my inbox is open. feel free to request any of the characters that are on my masterlist. but please follow request guidelines. you can also just chat or ask me questions, i love Q&As.

© all works here are mine, and not to be stolen or copied to publish on any other platform. the characters and universes don’t belong to me.

[sunnydilaurentis]

a love letter to new york | just a secret au

⋆˙⟡ just a secret au masterlist!

⋆˙⟡ just a secret au fics

summary: in which a scheduling mix-up leaves you and dean sharing a weekend in new york together, blurring the line between friendship and something far more dangerous.

pairing: dean di laurentis x maxwell!femreader

note: hi! i hope you're all well! 🤍 i've had this sitting in my drafts for a little while now, so i thought it was the perfect time to share it while i finish writing the next found family part! for the purposes of this story, dean's family don't own an apartment in new york. i hope you enjoy! 💌💌

*note: this takes place prior to dean and y/n's secret relationship

ꪆৎ

new york is supposed to be freeing, after all, that’s the entire reason you came for the weekend.

after months of emotional exhaustion from your last relationship, from trying to make yourself smaller, easier, and less 'difficult' for someone who never seemed fully happy with you anyway, you'd finally reached a point where you couldn't bear being around people anymore.

not even those you loved.

summer checked on you every five minutes, her worry impossible to hide. beau hovered whenever you seemed too quiet, while your friends tried so hard to make you laugh that sometimes it only made you feel guiltier for still feeling sad beneath it all.

so when your parents mentioned their manhattan apartment would be empty for the weekend, you took the train almost immediately.

two days.

two days of silence, space and a version of yourself untouched by everybody else’s expectations.

-

by the time the city begins to glow outside the apartment windows, you've showered, changed into a pair of soft white satin pyjamas, poured yourself a glass of wine, and curled up on the enormous cream couch with sex and the city playing quietly in the background.

for the first time in weeks, your chest finally feels light.

it doesn't last long.

at exactly nine-thirty, the sound of the front door lock rattling echoes throughout the apartment. your entire body stiffens, no one else was supposed to be here this weekend.

you pause the tv slowly, wine glass still halfway to your mouth while your brain cycles rapidly through possibilities.

your parents?

summer surprising you?

an actual murderer?

the lock clicks open before you can fully panic, the apartment door swinging inward. dean walks in carrying a duffel bag over one shoulder, freezing immediately the second he sees you on the couch.

you stare at each other in identical confusion.

“oh shit” dean says instantly.

you blink. “dean?”

“sorry-”

he lets out a startled laugh, already backing slightly towards the door again. “i didn’t think anyone would be here. beau said i could crash here for the weekend while i’m in the city.”

your eyebrows pull together immediately, “beau told you to stay here?”

“yeah.” dean still looks deeply confused. "i'm seeing a friend. beau heard, said i should just stay here since the apartment was empty.”

you drop your head back dramatically against the couch cushions, “i’m actually going to kill him.”

dean lets out a quiet laugh in response.

annoyingly, the sound eases something tight in your chest.

dean has always felt safe, especially after malone's. especially after the night he walked in looking genuinely panicked about you, staying beside you until nearly four in the morning, piecing you back together while you cried over your ex.

things have felt different between you ever since.

not uncomfortable, just closer, like the walls that had always existed between your friendship quietly came down that night, leaving the two of you navigating a version of each other you'd never really known before.

“i can leave” dean offers quickly, already reaching for his phone in his pocket.

“seriously, i’ll just find a hotel.”

“dean” you sigh, sitting up properly. “there are two spare bedrooms here."

he hesitates, sending you a look. “you sure?”

you glance around the apartment before looking back at him, smiling softly, “you're here now, you may as well stay.”

his lips curve into a grin, “roommates” he says.

amusement glints in his eyes.

“dangerous.”

you narrow your eyes in warning, yet a small smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. “don’t start.”

dean raises both hands in surrender, laughing. “i haven’t even done anything.”

you shake your head, mumbling quietly under your breath, “not yet.”

dean disappears down the hallway, putting his bag away in the guest room while you attempt to refocus on the show.

it proves impossible.

your brain is suddenly far too aware of the fact that dean is somewhere in the apartment.

a few minutes later, he wanders back out.

grey sweats cling to his legs, a black t-shirt sits comfortably across his shoulders, his hair slightly messy, clearly from running a hand through it.

god.

you hate how attractive he looks doing absolutely nothing.

“what're we watching?” he asks, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“sex and the city.”

dean blinks once, then, completely straight-faced says, “that feels educational.”

you snort into your glass of wine, unable to stop the smile tugging at your lips. “for who?”

“me.”

“that’s concerning.”

“probably.”

you expect him to head off to the guest room after that. despite everything that had shifted between you lately, he was still your brother's best friend before he was yours.

instead, he wanders into the kitchen, opening the fridge and pulling out another bottle of wine, holding it up wordlessly.

your eyes narrow. “are you trying to get me drunk, di laurentis?”

dean simply nods towards your empty wine glass resting on the table in front of you. “i think, technically, you started this.”

-

ten minutes later he's sitting on the opposite end of the couch, one arm stretched lazily along the back cushions while carrie bradshaw narrates relationship disasters into the apartment air.

somehow it feels easy, dangerously easy.

conversation flows naturally between episodes, drifting from hockey to beau, then somehow to terrible relationships, before dean launches into an impassioned argument that carrie is “objectively the problem most of the time.”

“you cannot say that!” you gasp dramatically.

“she cheated on aidan.”

“okay...that's fair.”

dean looks unbearably smug about winning the argument, taking another sip of wine. the sight itself has your cheeks flushing a deep shade of crimson red.

eventually another episode starts. much to your dismay, a sex scene appears onscreen, changing the atmosphere of the living room.

you feel it immediately, dean does too.

suddenly, the apartment feels warmer, despite the cool air drifting softly through the vents. dean's sitting close enough now that you can smell his cologne, faint beneath the wine.

you shift slightly against the couch.

bad idea.

dean glances over without thinking, his eyes lingering for the smallest fraction of a second.

your satin pyjama top had shifted when you moved, the thin white silk doing little to hide the fact that the apartment's air conditioning had left your nipples visibly hard.

his jaw tightens. he tears his gaze back to the television so quickly it's almost painful to watch. you pretend not to notice, except now your entire body feels hyperaware.

the scene on the television somehow gets worse. carrie's tangled in a stranger's sheets and breathy noises echo awkwardly throughout the otherwise quiet apartment.

beside you, dean exhales slowly through his nose. “is this really what women watch to relax?”

a startled laugh escapes you, “oh my god.”

“i'm serious.”

“it's a good show!"

dean watches the screen for another few seconds before shaking his head. “every episode someone cries, cheats, or sleeps with the wrong person.”

you bite back a smile. “that's... kind of the point.”

"sounds exhausting."

you reach for your wine if only to give yourself something to do, desperate to distract yourself from the unbearable tension steadily winding tighter through the room.

it's a terrible idea.

you take the sip far too quickly, the wine goes straight down the wrong way. you cough abruptly, spluttering into your glass as you fight to recover both your breath and what little dignity you have left.

dean looks over instantly, a fond smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “you all good there?”

you glare at him through your coughing fit. “stop."

“can’t watch a sex scene, y/n?”

“i can!” you protest immediately.

dean’s eyebrows lift, amusement gracing his features. “oh yeah?”

“yes.”

you point your wine glass at him accusingly. “i love sex, sex is great!”

dean promptly chokes on his own drink, you dissolve into laughter. after a moment, he clears his throat, shooting you an unimpressed look. “that's good to know” he says slowly, his mouth twitching in amusement.

“i'm glad college boys haven’t entirely ruined the experience for you.”

heat crawls instantly into your cheeks, because now you’re suddenly very aware of the fact that you’re talking to dean about sex.

dean.

your brother's best friend.

the same dean who found you crying at malone's, stayed until you stopped shaking, and quietly tucked a blanket around you when you'd fallen asleep.

the wine has left you a little looser around the edges, a little less filtered, and before your brain can catch up with your mouth, the words are already tumbling out.

“i actually slept with someone recently.”

silence, just for a second.

dean stills beside you almost imperceptibly. the reaction is tiny, most people wouldn’t catch it, but you do.

his fingers tighten around the wine glass. his jaw flexes once, something that looks suspiciously like jealousy flickers across his features before he masks it completely.

“oh yeah?” he says carefully.

your stomach flips suddenly, because now you’re embarrassed.

why are you talking about this with him?

you stare determinedly at your wine. “yeah.”

dean’s quiet for a beat too long before asking, “how was it?”

something about the question makes you weirdly giddy and shy at the same time, like you suddenly want dean’s approval for reasons you absolutely should not.

“it was…” you hesitate slightly. “nice.”

dean’s eyes stay on you, too attentive, far too attentive. “nice?”

“he was respectful” you explain softly, fingers tracing absently around the rim of your glass.

“patient, i guess.”

dean swallows once, harder than necessary. “that’s good.”

“yeah.”

you laugh quietly then, slightly embarrassed now by how much you’re rambling. “i was honestly kind of nervous because it was the first time since my ex and i thought i’d feel weird about it but… i didn’t.”

dean's expression softens instantly, genuine relief flickering across his features before he can hide it. after everything your ex had put you through, dean had spent months quietly terrified that he'd ruined intimacy for you completely.

“he treated you okay then?” dean asks quietly.

the question lands differently than it should. not nosy, protective, careful.

you nod slowly. “really okay, actually.”

dean looks down at his wine for a moment before meeting your eyes again. “oh” he says lightly after a beat. “so i'm the issue.”

you blink, clearly confused by his words. “what?”

“you nearly died watching a fake sex scene with me five minutes ago.”

heat floods your face. “dean.”

a slow grin spreads across his face. “interesting information.”

you throw a cushion at him. he catches it easily, laughing under his breath while you bury your face briefly in your hands out of sheer embarrassment.

“i hate you.”

“no you don’t.”

and the worst part?

he was right. you most definitely did not.

-

the next morning feels different.

sometime between the second bottle of wine and dean laughing at you for nearly choking during a sex scene, the line between friendship and something else had quietly blurred.

now the apartment feels aware of it.

you wake slowly to sunlight spilling through the sheer curtains of your room, the city already alive somewhere far below the windows.

for a moment you lie there disoriented before remembering.

new york.

dean.

the wine.

the conversation.

your face immediately warms as you remember the absolute humiliation of blurting out details on your sex life to dean, as though he was one of your closest girl friends.

you briefly consider staying in bed forever, until the smell of coffee drifts faintly down the hallway.

dean making coffee in your parents’ apartment feels dangerously domestic in a way your brain doesn't know how to process.

sighing, you throw on one of your oversized sweaters before padding quietly down the hallway.

the kitchen is flooded with soft morning light when you walk in.

and dean-

god.

dean's standing at the counter in grey sweats and a black hoodie, one hand wrapped around a coffee mug while the other scrolls absently through his phone. his hair's still messy from sleep, a faint shadow darkening his jaw.

something about seeing him in your family's kitchen sends your brain into complete overdrive. it's such an ordinary sight, and somehow, that's exactly what makes it dangerous.

dean glances up when he hears you, immediately smiling. your stomach betrays you instantly.

“morning.”

your chest tightens embarrassingly, “morning.”

without another word he reaches for the second mug, sliding it across the counter towards you. the coffee's already made exactly how you like it, your fingers pause around the mug.

“how did you know how i take my coffee?”

dean looks confused, as though the answer is obvious. “you’ve had the same order since freshman year.”

oh.

your heart does something deeply unhelpful inside your chest at his words. you hadn't realised dean noticed things like that. you take a sip quickly to avoid looking too affected by the fact that he remembers your coffee order.

bad idea.

dean’s still watching you over the rim of his own mug and suddenly you’re reminded of last night all over again.

“you seem traumatised” dean says mildly.

you narrow your eyes immediately, before pointing at him. “you’re never allowed to bring up last night again.”

the corner of his mouth twitches. “which part?”

“dean."

“there were multiple memorable moments, y/n.”

you groan dramatically into your coffee while he laughs quietly under his breath.

suddenly, dean’s phone buzzes against the counter.

beau

did you get in okay last night or did manhattan kill you?

dean snorts softly.

you walk around the counter instinctively to read the message over his shoulder.

it's a mistake.

suddenly, you're standing shoulder to shoulder with him.

close enough to catch the faint scent of his cologne still clinging to his hoodie, close enough that when dean turns his head to look at you, you're forced to meet his eyes from only inches away.

your stomach flips again.

“should i mention you’re here?” dean asks casually.

you grin slightly into your coffee. “what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right?”

dean laughs, his eyes lingering on your face for half a second too long before he nods his head in agreement.

there's a brief pause.

“I have absolutely nothing on until three.”

you blink. “really?”

“mhm.” dean shrugs slightly. “you?”

“nothing.”

silence, dangerous silence.

he tilts his head slightly towards you, “wanna explore the city with me?”

your chest tightens instantly, it sounds weirdly like a date. dean seems to realise how it sounds a heartbeat later, something gentler crossing his expression before he smooths it away.

neither of you acknowledge it, instead you smile slightly. “depends.”

“on?”

“whether you’re buying me breakfast.”

dean looks deeply offended. “wow.”

“i’m a struggling student.”

“you have millionaire parents.”

“and you don't?”

dean laughs again, shaking his head in disbelief. “fine. breakfast’s on me.”

somehow, the rest of the day falls into place frighteningly naturally after that.

coffee from a tiny café tucked into a side street in soho, wandering through little bookshops and record stores while dean keeps making you laugh so hard your stomach hurts.

somehow, the whole city feels softer beside him, easier. maybe the most dangerous part is how quickly it all starts to feel normal.

dean has always known you, but now he opens doors without thinking, guides you through crowded footpaths with a hand resting lightly against your lower back, looks down at you while you talk as though there's nowhere else he'd rather be.

it's all so instinctive that it takes you far too long to realise he's doing it.

-

later that morning, you stop outside a tiny jewellery shop in soho. the necklace in the window catches your attention immediately. it's gold, delicate, simple, elegant in that effortless way you've always loved.

dean notices you slowing down immediately. “you like it?”

you hesitate slightly, before nodding your head. “it’s really pretty.”

dean’s already opening the door for you before you can argue.

inside, warm lighting glows softly against glass displays while quiet jazz hums somewhere overhead. you walk towards the necklace immediately, dean following a step behind, hands shoved casually into his pockets.

“you should try it on, y/n” he says.

“dean-”

“just try it on.”

the woman behind the counter smiles knowingly as she unlocks the display case. you slip the necklace on yourself at first, fumbling with the clasp until your hair catches beneath it.

“hold on” dean murmurs.

he steps behind you, your breath catches immediately. suddenly, his hands are at the back of your neck, fingertips brushing your skin as he carefully gathers your hair away from the clasp.

warm hands, gentle movements. the intimacy of the moment nearly ruins you.

the clasp clicks shut.

your eyes lift instinctively to the mirror, dean is already looking at you through it. for a heartbeat, neither of you say anything. he just holds your gaze, as though he'd forgotten what he was about to say.

then something in his expression softens.

his eyes flick briefly to the necklace resting against your skin before finding yours again. his fingers linger at the nape of your neck for half a second longer than they need to before he finally lets his hands fall away.

“looks nice on you” he says quietly. your chest tightens embarrassingly at the compliment before you glance down at the price tag.

oh god.

“absolutely not.”

dean lets out a quiet laugh. “that bad?”

“that's like, three months of groceries!” with obvious reluctance, you unclasp the necklace, handing it back to the woman behind the counter.

it leaves a tiny, unexpected ache somewhere in your chest.

dean sees the hesitation before you hand it back. he doesn't comment, simply filing it away.

you don't think much of it afterwards. not until weeks later, when dean surprises you with the exact same necklace after one of the worst exam days you've ever had.

that's when it finally hits you, he remembered. not just the necklace, the way you'd looked at it, the way you'd hesitated before giving it back, the way you'd tried to laugh off wanting something you couldn't justify buying.

suddenly, something terrifying settles over you.

he hadn't bought the necklace because it was expensive, he'd bought it because he'd seen how much you wanted it. somewhere along the way, dean had stopped looking at you just as beau's little sister.

ੈ✩‧₊˚ taglist! @maybankslover | @purplerainx1 | @spideyzzn | @lisiliely | @fromasgardandback

[wh1msymaddy]

new york and dean?? YES. 🤭

[wh1msymaddy]

empire state of mind pt.2 | dean di laurentis

a/n: you asked and YOU SHALL RECEIVE. so sorry that this took me longer than expected, i've been fighting crippling writer's block and couldn't manage to write more than 100 words at a time. i hope you love it!!

pairing: dean di laurentis x bsf!reader

w/c: 1.4k

warnings: slow burn, idiots in love

summary: in which you and your best friend take a tip to the city of your dreams, which ends up revealing many more things than the fact that you were meant to be there.

part one

Had it not been for the security guard’s announcement, you would’ve been forced to confront the very real, very present sentence that had left Dean's lips seconds prior. For some reason, it had been the first time in your friendship where you had absolutely no clue what to say.

Because what could you say? That you’d maybe, probably started falling for him halfway through sophomore year like a car with no brakes speeding towards a brick wall? You couldn’t say that and risk ruining the best friendship you’d ever formed. Even if your lines had been blurry ever since you’d met, at least there were some lines. A cushion, something that made the two of you consistent, safe. 

By uttering the words that had been resting on the tip of your tongue since you’d arrived at Times Square hours prior, you’d shatter the most precious thing you had left. So you decided to keep quiet as you made your way back up to the main concourse of Grand Central. 

“Despite the minor setback, the night is still young, my child,” Dean said, in what you assumed was an attempt at making you forget the words he’d said, at bringing the air back to what it usually was. Playful, not thick. 

You didn’t forget, but you let him have his peace. If there was one thing about Dean that you’d learned over the years was that he’d talk when he was ready, and only then. If you tried to push him or bait him, he just shut out. So, you gave him time. Not unlimited, just the necessary amount. 

Raising your eyebrow, you parted your lips and spoke up. “How so, Di Laurentis?” 

“You haven’t seen the best part of New York yet,” he winked, stretching his hand out for you to take. 

Millions of warning cues advised you, urged you, not to take his hand and get tangled even further in the mess that was you two. Of course, you didn’t listen. Instead, you joined your steady hand with his calloused one, rough from the coldness of the ice. 

Dean led you out of Grand Central and led you down a couple of streets whose shops had closed down hours ago, the ghosts of people lingering around the streets. Then he made a turn to the left, squeezing your hand as a reminder for you to look ahead instead of up to watch the skyscrapers so you wouldn’t get run over. The gesture made you aware again, and you silently thanked him for it as you squeezed back. 

By the time you reached the luxurious apartment building you presumed Dean stayed at, you’d lost track of how many streets you passed and how many avenues you crossed. Somewhere between the five star hotels, trattorias and steakhouses, you’d stopped counting. 

“This is it,” murmured Dean, pulling you closer to his side. 

“You live here? Damn, Di Laurentis, this is some high end shit,” you grinned, poking his side. 

Dean laughed in the kind of contagious way that always got you to laugh too, no matter how you were feeling. The first time you made him laugh, you vowed to try to make him repeat the sound over and over again even if neither of you was in the mood. It just made you that happy. 

“C’mon, let’s go inside,” he said, tilting his head and pulling you forward. 

The building was menacing, over thirty stories tall. Inside, it was luxurious but full of historical-like charm, with white shades of marble and Chinoise ceramic pieces in the lobby. A gray-haired man, who looked over fifty years old and wore a suit, stood behind the front desk. His gaze softened at the sight of Dean, like he’d known him his whole life and his visits made his day. Swiftly, he grabbed a key from the wall behind him and placed it atop the desk. 

“Nice to see you again, Mr. Di Laurentis,” the receptionist said, the corners of his mouth curling up. 

“Cut the formalities, Ralph. You’ve known me too long for that,” Dean insisted, taking the key from where it was with his free hand. 

Ralph turned his head to look at you, and shot you a sly wink when he knew Dean wasn’t looking. A chuckle left your lips and you couldn’t help but shake your head slightly, like you always did whenever someone implied there was something between you and Dean. 

Dean’s grip on your hand tightened and after saying his goodbyes to Ralph, he led you towards the elevator that led up to his flat. “Get ready for the best view of your life, babydoll”

Even though New York was beautiful, you didn’t think any view could top that of watching Dean start to wake up in the morning. His hair was always messy in a way that made your hands tingle with longing to run them through it, his mesmerising green eyes were puffy, but not less hypnotic in any way. Whenever you got to see him like that, in one of his most vulnerable and tender moments, the biggest of smiles always snuck into your face. So, despite wanting to believe him with every fiber of your being, you knew it wasn’t possible. 

Once you stepped into the elevator, it was as if you got teleported back to that moment at Grand Central. The mirror forced you to look at each other, every detail of the faces you knew all too well coming to the surface. Your hands weren’t interlinked anymore, but you could see Dean’s very slightly twitching, as if it was longing to be held again. After the longest twenty seconds of your life had passed, the opening of the doors and the elevator’s ding saved you. 

Upon entering, you realised Dean’s penthouse was bigger than you’d ever imagined. Compared to the dorm you shared with your roommates at Briar, it was probably five or six times bigger. Before you could get too distracted, Dean made his way towards what seemed like a very big balcony. He slid the doors to it open, and beckoned you forward.

The night air was cold and sharp, unforgiving. It struck against your skin like a knife and chilled your veins rapidly. Goosebumps rose to your skin from the freezing breeze, but you weren’t bothered by them. You physically couldn’t, not with what was in front of you. The Manhattan skyline stood tall, the lights of the skyscrapers illuminating the black night sky. It didn’t feel real. 

“Jeez, babydoll, you’re freezing,” Dean said, quickly pulling his brown leather jacket off and placing it over your shoulders. Bare milliseconds before he managed to fully get out of reach, you grabbed his arm and locked it into place over your shoulder, tucking yourself into him. 

He looked down at you, and in that moment you realised your assumption had been correct. The skyline was breathtaking, yes, but it didn’t rival him. He must’ve noticed you staring, so he quickly looked away. 

Dean sighed, running a hand over his face. “You never answered me, y’know. Back at Grand Central”

You didn’t stop looking at him, admiring how his green eyes shone in the middle of the night thanks to the amber glow of the city that surrounded you. “I know. Besides the fact that we got interrupted, I didn’t answer because I was scared. I was scared of saying what has been about to roll off my tongue for months. I was terrified to see your reaction, terrified of losing the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

His expression shifted, and he looked back at you again. “What are you saying?”

You brushed your thumb over his knuckles, just in case it was the last time you’d be able to. “I’m saying you’ll never lose me,” you murmured, turning around to face him completely. "You're an idiot if you think so, because you can’t lose someone who’s yours already.”

A slow, soft, breathless smile spread across his lips. Not his signature smug smirk or his cocky smile; something entirely different. Something new, but good. “Thank God,” he breathed out. 

Before you could ask him to explain himself, he slid his arm from your shoulder to the side of your face, tracing your jawline. He leaned down, closing the distance between the two of you, and crashed his lips into yours. 

The kiss wasn’t rushed or messy. It was slow, tender, and full of pent up emotion. Words unspoken, feelings you’d been restraining for months coming to light. It was also full of love. Love so palpable it could be felt in between you. 

When you finally pulled away from each other so you could breathe, Dean pressed his forehead to yours. “Oh I love New York City,” he said, his lips grazing yours.

“Empire state of mind, baby.”

these are the people who asked for part two!!: @justkeepingitpeachy | @myhipsterparadise-blog1 | @spideyzzn | @hbuhhiumij

[wh1msymaddy]

𓏲ּ𝄢 read between the lines (texts) | part one: new phone, who dis?

⤷ dean di laurentis x englishmajor!reader

series masterlist

summary: dean di laurentis manages to get his group partner's phone number, and non stop texts from him somehow become a part of her life

a/n: this is a little something to hold you over, let me know if you want me to make more!!

taglist : @totallynotkaibiased | @railingsofsorrow | @lastonestandingastheplaywright | @sunnydilaurentis | @katrinaellie @andabuttonnose | @bootyliciousbutterfly | @fromasgardandback | @summerrdoll | @bookluver114 | @brxght-world | @madd1115 | @cathyona13 | @nishiisdownbad | @latenighttalkinq | @kkkkisworld | @themarvelousbee | @moonlitparagraphs | @onomatopoetic101999 | @purplerainx1 | @lunadi1una | @thecraziestcrayon | @nexisphere

[wh1msymaddy]

empire state of mind | dean di laurentis

a/n: i recently took a trip to the city (take me back please), and i IMMEDIATELY started writing this fic, despite having terrible writer's block. here's a piece of me missing midtown manhattan at nighttime. 💗.

pairing: dean di laurentis x bsf!reader

w/c: 2.3k

warnings: slow burn, idiots in love, grad angst

summary: in which you and your best friend take a tip to the city of your dreams, which ends up revealing many more things than the fact that you were meant to be there.

New York City looked like it had been illuminated by stardust. The lights coming from the tall buildings in Midtown gave the city a white hue that was unlike anything you'd ever seen. It was what had been promised to you and more. 

Tugging Dean’s arm with a big grin on your face, a sound which crossed a shriek and a laugh escaped your lips. “It's beautiful. No, that's not even enough– it's mesmerizing.”

Dean nodded, looking at you with a smile that could make you faint on the spot.“I still can't believe you've never been here before. It suits you.”

The only response you could offer was a squeeze on his bicep before getting entangled in the city's charm once again. Because Dean was completely right, it was so you. So full of life, which visibly spilled from every person who was as happy as you, and so energized. Somehow, New York didn't stop moving, not even at one in the morning.

“What I can't believe is the fact that you get to come over here whenever you want to,” you said, slinging your arm through his to cross a particularly busy street. 

“You get to do it too, y'know. Being my best friend does have some perks,” he replied, a chuckle slipping past his lips. 

A group of young people your age started running in the middle of the street, and you observed them with admiration before Dean abruptly grabbed your hand, interlocking your finger with his, and started running.

“Remind me of why we waited until junior year to take this trip,” you yelled, hoping he'd be able to hear you while speeding.

Dean laughed, his head falling back. “Something about you compulsively needing to keep a 4.0 GPA like it's your life's mission and then being unavailable during spring break!” 

His laugh was so contagious it made you unable to hold your own laughter back. “You didn’t need to speak the truth, Di Laurentis!” 

He rolled his eyes in a sarcastic way, and you shifted to a halt as the other group did too. Before you even looked at what you’d stopped in front of, you got caught up in Dean. 

Sometimes the universe played cruel jokes on you like this, his hand in yours, his blond hair and green eyes shimmering more than usual, and the crooked smile he made when he was truly happy plastered on his face.

You forced yourself to look away, and practically screamed when you saw the sign. Joe’s pizza. The five dollar pizza slice you’d been dying to try since you were thirteen and that you swore you could taste just from all of the reviews you’d read. Surprisingly, the line in this particular location was only made up of the group of runners, so you stepped in it. 

Dean’s calloused hand was still in yours, spreading warmth through your body. To escape the chill coming from a vent near you, you walked in front of him and laid your back against his chest. His free hand snuck to the side of your waist, making your stomach do a flip you chose to ignore. 

“Welcome to the city, babydoll,” he whispered against your ear. 

You only waited in line for five minutes, the smell of pizza flooding your nostrils and filling you with the most intense craving you’d ever had in your life. The cashier, a middle aged man, smirked as soon as he saw you and Dean approach the register. 

“You two together?” he asked, a thick New York accent coating his voice. 

Dean's response was automatic, as if someone had wired his brain to reply to the question. “Yeah.” 

You both froze, looked at each other for a few seconds, and shook both of your heads. “Well–no,” Dean corrected, an awkward huff coming out of his mouth. 

The man looked at you with a dumbfounded look, and then at Dean with a cheeky smirk. “Could've fooled me.”

In an attempt to diffuse the situation, Dean went ahead and ordered you both a cheese slice, the thought of which made your mouth water. But the reminder of Dean's hand on your waist haunted you like a ghost. 

“What do you say we embrace our inner Gordon Ramsay and judge this pizza like chefs?” Dean suggested, grabbing the pizza box the cashier handed him. 

As soon as the words left his mouth, you loudly snorted, and then buried your face in his chest because someone looked at you. “Dean, you have the palate of a five year old toddler, you will think anything is deserving of a Michelin star if it has cheese in it. But yeah, go ahead, give me a dazzling review of this slice of pizza,” you said, nudging your shoulder against his side.

“I think we'd better go somewhere quiet so you can hear all of my nuanced points,” he said, squeezing your hand and leading you through the, now very crowded, street in Times Square. “And I know just the place.”

On the way to his surprise asylum, which you learned were the steps of the New York Public Library and the streets around Bryant Park, Dean gave you a thorough review on the pizza you’d ordered, not failing to steal your crust while you were distracted. It was just the two of you in the street, which was an unfathomable occurrence in Manhattan, even this late at night. 

“I think the amount of cheese is just right, but having it in the crust would be too much, y’know?” you nodded along, pretending not to notice how his fingers fetched pieces of crust from your side of the box you’d been given. “It’s so much better than the slices at Briar, though, and I’ll never shut up about that,”

“Don’t compare this masterpiece of a pizza to our disgusting slices of basically frozen Domino’s.”

After wandering through the neon-lit streets for quite some time, you found yourselves entering a different part of the city, one which was less bright, but somehow calmer. You sat down on a stair that led to the library, and took a bite of your own slice. The atmosphere felt charged with things unsaid, as if your minds could project their hidden thoughts onto the silence stretched between you. 

“Do you ever think about graduation?” Dean asked suddenly, slicing the tension with his inquiry. 

The truth was, every time you thought about it, your chest felt like it was going to explode and a knot settled in your throat.“All the time,” you confirmed.

“I’m so scared,” he admitted, to both you and the night sky. Instinctively, you moved closer to him and tangled yourself with him. You two fit together, like Yin and Yang or pieces of a puzzle. 

“Why?” you asked, wrapping your arms around his left bicep and looking at him. Suddenly, you felt hyperaware of what you were doing, of how your bodies were close together and how your hands were touching his shirt. Had it been any other time, you would've probably done something. But he needed you, you could see it on his face, spelled out as clear as day through forehead creases and dimples, so you stayed put.

“Because what happens when we don't see each other every day anymore? What happens when there's no hockey house to live in, no Thursday lunches with you or Boston Sundays with the whole group? What happens then?” he asked, his voice cracking halfway through.

So as to keep him grounded, your grip tightened, pulling him back to reality.“We keep showing up. We call, we text, and we try to see each other as much as possible. Distance doesn't mean anything when the friendship means everything, Dean. Long distance is hard, obviously, but not having anyone at all is harder.”

“You always know what to say, don't you?” he mentioned, resting his head atop yours. “Y’know, the freshmen versions of us would probably drop their jaws if they saw us right now.”

You laughed, nodding. “The ones who thought the other was obnoxious and who had terribly styled hair?”

“Yeah, they didn’t know shit. I don’t know what I’d do without you, babydoll.” By the time your brain had processed every one of his words, your heart already felt like it was going to burst out of your chest. 

Your mouth was ajar, desperately trying to enunciate the words on your tongue but not finding a way to, a path that led to them. Dean shifted his gaze towards his watch, and his signature grin appeared on his face. 

“Come on, babydoll. I have something to show you before they lock the doors to the place,” he announced, almost jolting up as soon as the thought crossed his mind. 

“Lock the doors to what?” you asked, following him down the stairs even without knowing where you were going. You hurried up to keep up with the pace his athletic body and long legs gave him as he strode and pulled you down to 42nd street. 

“Just trust me.”

And trust him you did, just as you’d been doing for the last three years of college. No further questions, you just followed him through the streets of the city that now felt yours somehow, like it had been made just for the two of you to share these moments. 

No more than two blocks passed when you reached your destination, yet another surprise from your best friend. This time, it was Grand Central terminal. You’d seen the place countless times in shows and movies, in both chase scenes involving the police and romantic confessions that made your stomach flutter. Somehow, the stories seemed to linger in the building, and seeing it with your own eyes made goosebumps rise to your skin. The tall columns and outlandish pieces of decoration were exactly as they’d been captured.

“This is really it. It’s beautiful.” Was all you managed to say

“Wait until you see how it is inside”

The interior of the terminal was even more beautiful than its exterior. The brass four-faced clock that served as a sort of lighthouse in the dark highlighted the fact that it was, once again, just the two of you.  Even though you two were alone, you’d never felt less lonely. You’d never really felt lonely at all while you were with Dean.

Before Dean could get a word out, you ran through the station, laughing and throwing your arms up in the air. “This is amazing! This whole city is amazing!”

Without you noticing, Dean just looked at you. Really looked, admiring how your enthusiasm radiated, and how your joy was more contagious than a cold in winter time. How your smile wasn’t forced out of you, how he could feel your excitement from where he stood. A dawning realization crept through the crevices of his mind, locking itself in place. 

“What’d you want to show me before closing?” you asked, breaking his trance. He wouldn’t have been able to pinpoint the moment in which you came to stand by his side, but he had noticed your warmth before even hearing your voice. 

“We have to go to the lower level for that, but I think you’ll love it,” he answered, directing you towards the stairs that led to what was also known as the Dining Concourse. 

You walked all the way to the Grand Central Oyster bar, and that’s when he told you to put your ear against one of the walls. When you did, he walked away from you to stand at the opposite end of the room diagonally. 

“Hi, there.” His voice was as clear as day, as if he wasn’t standing almost thirty feet away from you. 

You jumped a little, and raised your eyebrows. “Is this what you wanted to show me?” you said to the wall.

“Yeah. It’s called the Whispering Gallery. Thanks to the arch above you, you can hear me as if I was standing next to you. The architecture curves the sound waves.”

Your cheeks felt cold against the tile, but you smiled nonetheless. “This way you’re with me even when we’re apart, huh? Pretty cool, Di Laurentis” 

That got a small chuckle out of him, which made your heartbeat race. “Actually, I brought you down here because I realized something when we were at the Library, but I don’t think I’d be brave enough to say it to your face.”

The playful air shifted into something heavier, more serious. You brought your thumb’s nail to your mouth and bit down on it, your body filled with anticipation. 

“When we were at Bryant, and I listed all of the things I was scared of losing, I didn’t mention the one that scared me the most.”

Your breath caught, and it felt like the rest of the world was fading away and his voice reverberating was the only thing that was real. 

“What scares me the most is losing you.” he whispered, his voice as steady as ever but rawer than usual. “Tonight, I wondered what my life would look like without you in it for the first time, and while you spun around and admired the city, I realized I never want to find out.”

Your nail was still locked in place, but now it was still. His words hung in the air, and even though it somehow felt like they’d always been there, they felt too real. Before you could open your mouth to respond, a rough voice echoed through the walls from the main concourse. “Terminal closing in five minutes, we advise all remaining individuals to make their exits now.”

The sharp announcement cut through the tension, bringing you back to reality. You detached your cheek from the wall and turned around to look at the other side of the room, where Dean held an unreadable expression, his hands buried deep in his pockets, and was already looking at you.

[wh1msymaddy]

sorry for being inactive, loves !! i'm currently on a trip to nyc (until next wednesday) with some of my friends as a reward for keeping our 4.0s through this wreck of a school year. i'll try to write as much as i can (i'm getting SO MUCH inspiration from the city already, as per usual) and hopefully put out a thing or two (SO SORRY for making you wait)

-maddy 🤍

[wh1msymaddy]

read between the lines | part two : too soon to judge

summary: when dean di laurentis gets signed up for a literature class as a joke gone too far, the last thing he expects is to be paired with the girl who actually reads for fun; the same girl who's spent the last two years convinced he's as shallow as everyone says he is. But Pride and Prejudice has a way of getting under people's skin, and first impressions were never meant to last.

⤷ dean di laurentis x englishmajor!reader

series masterlist

The screech of the metal chairs grinded against your skull like mental torture. You spun your head to look at the other fourteen students around you, smiles in their faces and palpable excitement to meet their new partners.

As soon as a groan left your lips, Dean was invading your space and sitting next to you as if he had been there his whole life. His black duffle bag settled on the ground with a thud, and you couldn't help but roll your eyes.

“Looks like you're stuck with me, Ms. Bennet,” an amused voice announced. 

You turned around to look at him, jaw clenching as Dean crossed his arms and leaned back on his chair. He didn't seem fazed by getting assigned Darcy at all, in fact, he looked rather relaxed, as if he'd been studying him his whole life.

That was what freaked you out. The fact that he didn't seem to give an ounce of thought to the actual complexity of the project, combined with his lack of supplies overall. Dean, however, looked like he was having the time of his life. Every time your eyes narrowed, or your jaw tensed, his grin only spread further. 

“Don't ‘Ms. Bennet’ me, Di Laurentis,” you snarled, turning your head to the book in your lap again. 

Dean leaned over you, his breath hitting the nape of your neck. The sensation made you deeply uncomfortable, and your ears began to ring. Much to your dismay, his head was located in a way that allowed him to see the marginalia that crowded your book. There was almost no space left in the copy’s margins, and many of the words were highlighted or underlined.

“Woah, relax. It’s a book, not a religion,” he said in a low voice. 

You swore you could’ve murdered him on the spot by the time the words had left his mouth. “Watch your mouth, or I will whack you in the head with my copy.”

“And let’s make one thing clear. If you think I’ll take your backhanded jokes and simply move on, you’re in for a long semester, Di Laurentis. I don’t know what your puck bunnies have made you get used to, but you sure as shit won’t find it here,” you warned, fully turning to face him directly. 

Your own smile only widened as his smug one slowly melted away and shifted into something you couldn’t quite describe. Ignoring the action, you placed the book on your desk and grabbed your notebook. “Now let’s get to work, shall we?”

For a split second, Dean looked as if he didn’t know what to say or do. It was long enough to be noticed, but it didn’t last. “Smart and feisty? I’m in for a real treat,” he said, a beat too late. 

Before you could dwell on his reaction, a slender figure approached your desks. “I see you two are getting to know each other,” Dr. Macaulay pointed out, the corners of her mouth slightly twitching up. “I trust you’ll keep him alive until the presentation, since he’s more useful to you that way,” she deadpanned, not hiding the amusement in her voice. 

Heat rose to your cheeks, and you were grateful for her sliding the assignment sheet onto both of your desks. “As you’ll see, the grading isn’t split evenly by character. Forty percent of your grade is earned through working together on your essay, which means no one will get to slack off.” Her gaze briefly shifted to Dean, before returning to you. “Thirty percent of the final grade is determined by the individual character analysis, which means you’ll need to know the other’s character inside out, not just your own.”

She let the first part of the criteria sink in before continuing. “What this means for you, Mr. Di Laurentis, is that you’ll have to read the whole book. Not skim it, not briefly flip through it and look for a summary, either from SparkNotes or from her.” 

Despite your huff, Dean didn’t even attempt to argue with the professor. He just nodded. Dr. Macaulay raised an eyebrow, which you’d learned meant she was pleasantly surprised, and proceeded. “Your discussion question surrounds first impressions and whether they’re fully unlearned or simply overwritten by new information. I’ve also attached the due-date timeline in the back, but I trust you enough to check that by yourselves.” 

After she was done, she shot you a quick wink and went to assist other pairs. You picked up one of your highlighters and started fidgeting with it in an attempt to calm down the lingering anxiety of being paired with Dean. 

To test the waters, you decided to ask him a question related to the book itself. “What’s your take on Darcy? What do you think about him?”

You expected him to dismiss your question, to shrug it off and throw another insulting remark your way. Instead, you found yourself being shocked at how he tapped his fingers against the desk in concentration, hesitating. 

“I think that his whole issue isn’t that he’s wrong. It’s just that he never stops to check whether he’s right or not, you know what I mean? Dude just assumes his thoughts and feelings are correct by default, and that fucks things up for him big time,” he said, pausing a bit in between sentences, as if he didn’t know whether he should continue speaking or not. 

Without even noticing you’d done it, you sat up, and your mouth was slightly parted. His observation of Darcy’s character was hauntingly accurate. It was in fact one of your favorite points to talk about whenever someone brought up Darcy’s flaws and pride, so it was safe to say he caught you off guard. 

“Have you… read the book?” you asked, furrowing your brows slightly. Dean paused, and you couldn’t help but notice how much he tiptoed around you whenever the book was brought up.  “Nope, just an educated guess.”

Even if he tried his hardest to sound convincing, you didn’t believe him for a second. He had to have received that kind of opinion through the text, there wasn’t any other way. 

“We’ll probably have to set a study time every week so we can catch up on work and make progress together, rather than just doing it on our own,” you pointed out, setting your highlighter down on your desk because you didn’t feel the need to fidget anymore. 

“I’m pretty busy with practice, so we’d probably have to go to the hockey house if you want to stretch the sessions longer,” he replied, his gaze briefly drifting to the tool you’d set down. 

A wave of surprise hit you, and you suddenly didn’t know what to say, your mouth going dry. “As long as you’re not just drinking beer and laughing with your friends the whole time, we’re good.” 

“Then it’s settled. Monday at six?” he asked, practically reaching for his duffle. 

You chuckled at his assumption, but nodded nonetheless. “Bold of you to assume I’m free, but yes.”

“And for the record, you won’t mind my friends lingering as soon as you meet them, Ms. Bennet.”

“Whatever you say, Mr. Darcy.”

taglist : @totallynotkaibiased | @railingsofsorrow | @lastonestandingastheplaywright | @sunnydilaurentis | @katrinaellie @andabuttonnose | @bootyliciousbutterfly | @fromasgardandback | @summerrdoll | @bookluver114 | @brxght-world | @madd1115 | @cathyona13 | @nishiisdownbad | @latenighttalkinq | @kkkkisworld | @themarvelousbee | @moonlitparagraphs | @onomatopoetic101999 | @purplerainx1 | @lunadi1una | @thecraziestcrayon | @nexisphere

[wh1msymaddy]

can i be added to the taglist for dean x englishmajor!reader?

ofc u can!! new part coming today or tomorrow (hopefully 🤭)

[wh1msymaddy]

𓏲ּ𝄢 read between the lines | part one: first impressions (the meet-bad)

summary: when dean di laurentis gets signed up for a literature class as a joke gone too far, the last thing he expects is to be paired with the girl who actually reads for fun; the same girl who's spent the last two years convinced he's as shallow as everyone says he is. But Pride and Prejudice has a way of getting under people's skin, and first impressions were never meant to last.

⤷ dean di laurentis x englishmajor!reader

series masterlist

The beat up Penguin Classics edition of Austen’s Pride and Prejudice sat cracked open in your lap, its imperfect beauty spilling out of the pages that formed it. While someone may have only seen an ugly cracked spine, folded edges and pages that were slowly turning yellow, you knew better.

You knew things that rested under the surface, such as how its annotated margins, scribbled over in different colored pens, were what sparked your love for literature when the book was lent to you by your grandfather. Or how the dried flower you had been using as a bookmark for over half a decade was the only thing that reminded you of the fact that despite time passed, important memories were never forgotten. 

Dr. Macaulay, the class’ professor, had announced on the subject’s portal that every student was obligated to show up to class five minutes early and get their books out, as she wanted to observe the group of students right after entering. 

Although you should’ve utilized the extra five minutes to organise all of the annotating supplies that lay on your desk, your gaze was transfixed on the novel in front of you. Tearing your eyes away from it felt like punishment, like a consequence for a bad action. You read and reread Darcy’s confession hoping, one day, a man would show the same level of affection towards you. It was a silly childhood dream, one that you’d been imagining ever since you read it for the first time, and a dream you’d carry in your heart forever. The class whispered a silent promise, you were not the only one dreaming, and that was why you’d been so eager to register for it.

There were fifteen students in the class, including you, who were already seated and had their copies of Pride and Prejudice opened on their desks. Dr. Macaulay came into the room, pulling up the sleeves of her fitted shirt. Her charcoal pinstripe trousers reminded you of the ones your aunt used to wear to Christmas dinners, and you could’ve sworn you’d seen the brown leather boots she was wearing at a store last week.

“Hello, class. My name is Dr. Macaulay and welcome to Courtship and the English novel. As I’m sure you all understood from the message I posted, this course examines Elizabeth’s prejudice and Darcy’s pride not as separate flaws, but rather–”

Her opening statement was interrupted by someone shutting the door, and the sound of footsteps reverberating around the classroom. You turned your head to see the person, presumably a student, who had entered the room, and your jaw practically fell to the floor. 

The new student was Dean Di Laurentis, the blond campus playboy. You’d heard all about him and his reputation, how he addressed himself as “Six Flags” and avoided committed relationships as if they were a pest. How he partied more than he studied, and how hockey and alcohol were practically his only personality traits. 

“By all means, barge into the classroom late. Are you willing to sit down and let us continue, or will you just stand there for the entirety of the lesson, Mr. Di Laurentis?” she deadpanned, crossing her arms over her chest. 

In unison, the class erupted into a fit of chuckles disguised as coughs, which the professor didn’t condemn by any means. Dean’s eyes widened, and he made his way over to a seat that was three spaces away from you. When he finally sat down, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes in frustration. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The Wednesday before registration day

Loud music echoed through the walls, the smell of cheap alcohol and weed surfacing as the house’s highlighted scent. Bodies occupied every inch of the hockey house, except for the space between the beer pong table and the circle of people that surrounded its players. 

“There is no way you’ll beat me at beer pong, Logan,” Dean assured, shaking his head.

Logan moved from where he’d previously been talking to Dean to an end of the beer pong table. “You’re very full of yourself for someone so drunk, D. I’m sure you won’t want to take a swing at me in your current state.”

“I’m not very full of myself, I’m adequately full of myself. And to prove that to you, I wanna start a wager,” Dean told Logan as he stepped towards the opposite end of the table.

New red cups were being placed in front of them, their glossy texture complementing that of the alcohol bottles and contrasting the matte finish of people’s clothes. For inexperienced freshmen, the environment would most certainly be overwhelming, sweat and cologne sticking to the walls. 

“A wager, huh? What would it be, exactly?”

“The loser gets his elective chosen for him by the winner, Tucker and Garrett.”

Before the game even began, a sorority girl from the circle who had made out with Dean at the start of the party went up to Dean and kissed him. Logan raised his brows, perplexed by the sudden action, and Dean’s only response was ‘Six flags, baby’.

The bet ended up favoring Logan due to Dean’s pathetic coordination, acquired through numerous shots of mixed vodka and tequila, which led to him being the group’s prey. While looking for electives, Garrett spotted a name that made him audibly laugh out loud. 

“Guys, look at this one. Courtship and the English novel,” he said while pointing at the screen.

Tucker looked down at the screen, and a mischievous grin spread across his face. “Shit, this is perfect”

“I guess Daddy Dean has finally found his newest course,” Logan announced, unable to refrain from smiling. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

“As I was saying before I was interrupted, this class explores how pride and prejudice function, not as isolated flaws that pertain to a single character, but rather as a dynamic– how first impressions, once set in stone, resist revision and how growth for one of our two main characters is only possible through the other,” Dr. Macaulay explained, scanning the classroom. 

“What you may not know, is that the entirety of this class’ grade is determined by a term-long project, in which you’ll have to examine how your assigned character is changed by your partner’s and argue what caused the shift while showing textual evidence. You’ll have to hand in a co-written essay a month before you present your answers in front of the class. Any questions?” 

“Do we get to pick the pairs, or will you make them?” a red haired girl, who sat in the second row, asked.

Dr. Macaulay scribbled unknown words on a sheet of paper before turning her attention to the students again. “I’ve made them just now. When I call out your name, you’ll have to sit next to your partners, and I’ll assign each of you a character,” she responded.

She named pairs one by one, and your fear grew every time she didn’t mention your name or Dean’s. You’d been incapable of holding back from glancing at him a few times, his blond hair shining under the light of the lecture hall. 

“Di Laurentis, you’re with her,” Dr. Macaulay stated, pointing at you. “She’s been my best student since freshman year, and probably the only one who’ll tame you. You’re on Darcy and Elizabeth”

When the words rolled from her tongue, your whole body tensed. Turning your head to look at the boy, you sighed in defeat. 

Fuck.

taglist : @totallynotkaibiased | @railingsofsorrow | @lastonestandingastheplaywright | @sunnydilaurentis | @katrinaellie @andabuttonnose | @bootyliciousbutterfly | @fromasgardandback | @summerrdoll | @bookluver114 |

[wh1msymaddy]

𓏲ּ𝄢 read between the lines | series masterlist and intoduction

pairing: dean di laurentis x englishmajor!reader

warnings: alcohol consumption, language, mentions of past trauma, SLOW BURN

summary: when dean di laurentis gets signed up for a literature class as a joke gone too far, the last thing he expects is to be paired with the girl who actually does analysis for fun; the same girl who's spent the last two years convinced he's as shallow as everyone says he is. But Pride and Prejudice has a way of getting under people's skin, and first impressions were never meant to last

MASTERLIST:

part one: first impressions

part two: too soon to judge

part three: too proud to say so

part four: the proposal

part five: pemberley

TEXTS:

part one: new phone, who dis?

a/n: i LOVE this universe so much and i hope you'll love it too. if you want to be added to the taglist, make sure to comment and i'll add you!! i'll try to upload the next parts once every couple of days or once a week. 💗.

dean taglist: @summerrdoll | @bookluver114

[wh1msymaddy]

𓏲ּ𝄢 just wanted to let y'all know that i'm taking reqs for dean AND the yes chef AU so don't hesitate to send them in!! 🤍

[wh1msymaddy]

emergency contact | dean di laurentis

a/n: so sorry for taking a couple of days to upload this, i wanted to make sure it was perfect!! this is my longest project to date and i'm so proud of it i love them sm. 💗.

pairing: dean di laurentis x childhoodbsf!reader

w/c: 5.2k (😭)

warnings: swearing, mentions of trauma (not detailed), drinking, alcohol consumption, hospital setting, injuries, hurt/comfort

summary: in which an on-ice accident brings fifteen years of hidden feelings to light in a boston hospital room

Hockey was a dangerous sport. Dean knew that, and he still chose to play. He skated his way through elementary school, high school and now college. 

Most people believed his trips outside at night were to the rink, that hockey was what calmed him down when he couldn’t sleep, or when he had too much on his mind and the world felt too loud. But hockey wasn’t what served that purpose, it was you. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

15 years ago

You and Dean met at age seven, in New York city. Both of your families had penthouses in the same building, which caused you to run into each other often.

Your friendship bloomed during a Christmas dinner that same year. Mother had instructed you to buy a lengthy list of products at the bodega next to the complex, and Dean’s mother had done the same. 

The two of you bumped into each other and got the grocery lists mixed up, causing you to buy the wrong ingredients for your families. When your mother realized what had happened, she went to Dean’s family flat in hopes of sorting things out. 

Instead of simply exchanging the products and leaving, Dean’s mother and her decided to host the dinner together, immediately clicking. That night, they both spent their time chatting while you two snuck out of the room, and went someplace else. 

“How many drinks in do you think they are?” he asked you, moving the horse on the board and killing one of your bishops. 

“I’d say about halfway through the second bottle, knowing my mother,” you answered, a huff coming out of both of your mouths. 

“Check,” he announced. 

“Not so fast, Di Laurentis,” you countered, bringing your queen to trap his king to the edge of the board. “Checkmate.” 

He saw it, your king would deliver the final blow, and he’d lost. For the first time, Dean Di Laurentis had been beaten by someone at chess. 

Despite being annoyed at himself for not predicting your move, he was glad to see your mouth shape into a grin, even if you bragged about the win for the following week. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

7 years ago

After that night, you and Dean declared that you were to be friends. Not just friends– best friends. So, even as the years passed, you two remained constants in each other’s lives. He told you everything, and you did the same. 

New York was your city, the space where you could just be the two of you. No outside pressure, no drama, and no complications. Christmases evolved into spring breaks and summer breaks as soon as you two had the power to decide where you wanted to go, which was around the start of high school, due to the lack of attention you received from your parents. 

Whenever people wondered if distance put a strain on your relationship, you both laughed. One of the best parts of being reckless teenagers was that you often took trains to see each other, stealing the apartment keys from your parents and spending weekends in the flats, switching penthouses every night. 

“Mine or yours tonight?” Dean asked you, putting the tray of blueberry muffin batter in the oven’s middle rack. 

“We did yesterday here, so switching it up would be nice, don’t you think? Plus, I think my mom left some of her good liquor over there,” you giggled, raising your brows and smiling. 

“Would you look at that? Her first good act of the decade,” he laughed.

“Tell me about it.” 

“I’ll bring our bags over there then. Should we go buy chips from the bodega or something?” he inquired, after opening the snack cabinet and seeing there weren’t any left. 

“Sure, but why don’t we go on a dinner picnic to prospect park or something, that’d be cool,” you suggested, putting the remaining dirty baking dishes in the dishwasher. 

“You are a genius, pretty girl, let’s go,” he said, grinning and placing a kiss to the top of your head.

“The muffins, idiot!” 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

This fall

Dean called you after every important thing in his life, because you were the most important person in it. Even if you two fought, which you didn’t do very often, you found your way back to each other, back to New York. 

Ever since you started college, you two saw each other often. With you studying at Harvard and him studying at Briar, the distance that separated you was smaller. 

That was why you’d showed up to every single game the Hawks played since the start of college. The boys often wondered who that girl in the opposing team’s stand wearing a Di Laurentis jersey that looked like it was years old was. They knew of you, but they’d never actually met you.

God, Dean never shut his mouth up when it came to you. 

“Y’know, G, she would have never mixed my white laundry with my colors,” Dean said, observing the disaster Garrett had created. 

“You will never shut up about her, won’t you?” Garrett asked him, and Dean shook his head.

“How do we know she’s even real? You talk about her like she’s an angel who fell from the sky,” Logan added.

Beau was quick to offer a response. “Oh, she’s very real. If you met her, you would think the same thing. Except Dean’s reaction is exaggerated because he's whipped.”

“See, that’s funny, because she’s my best friend,” Dean said, denying the last thing Beau said. 

“These things happen in Hannah’s romance books all the time, dude,” Garrett pointed out and all of the other boys started laughing at him. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

5 years ago

“My mom wants us to move to this really big but ugly house in Winchester, which is unfortunately very far away from where we live now, as you may have noticed,” you told Dean, turning around on the king bed to face him, the New York skyline illuminating your face.

“You don’t seem sad at all,” he mentioned, facing you as well.

“That’s because Winchester is way closer to the city, and closer to Connecticut, than where we are now. And that’s what matters,” you said.

“Does this mean we can make New York a monthly thing or?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“This means we can come every two weeks,” you said, a big grin plastered on your face. 

Dean pulled you close to him on the king bed and, in an attempt to hug you, ended up rolling both of you off the bed.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Present day

Finals week had been eating you alive. It was always bad, but this semester had been especially tough, due to your classes being graduate-level electives. 

You told Dean that you wouldn’t be able to attend the week’s game through FaceTime, and he wasn’t even mad. Dean could sometimes act very immature-like, but that never happened with you. He understood you needed to prioritize your studies. Plus, you’d been to every single game since Freshman year. 

That particular game was against an especially aggressive team, but the Hawks knew what to do. They had practiced drills to evade certain attacks over and over again, and they were more than prepared. Or so they thought. 

The opponents had turned out to be even worse than the team had expected, throwing illegal punches left and right, but Dean managed to stay away from the ones he deemed to be the most violent for the better part of the game. 

But when he saw a clear goal opportunity, he took it. Because he was Dean goddamn Di Laurentis, and he wasn’t scared of a couple state university players who had to throw everyone on the floor just to gain control of the puck. 

Skating quickly through the ice, Dean was too focused on what was ahead that he missed the player coming up behind him. 

Suddenly, he was on the floor, his ears ringing and his eyes unable to open. 

“Call her,” he said, unaware of the fact that nobody could hear his whispers.

When everything went to black, the only thing on his mind was you. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

13 years ago

“Dean, you’re going to get yourself killed!” you yelled at him as he skated through Wollman rink with astounding speed. 

“I got it, pretty girl!” he yelled back from the rink, grinning at you. 

After being bribed with hot cocoa, you agreed to go with Dean to the ice rink so he could practice his skating. He’d become obsessed about hockey, and even though he’d always loved the sport, you’d never seen him this dedicated. 

“If you’ve got it, push harder, come on! We don’t want you slacking, Di Laurentis,” you joked, moving your hand in circles. 

“On it,” he echoed, speeding over to where you were from the other side. 

“Y’know, it wouldn’t hurt you to try,” he said, crossing his arms.

“Just so you can check me into the boards and write it off as ‘practice’? No thank you, I’ve learned my lesson.”

“That was one time!” 

“Doesn’t mean it didn’t happen!”

“I’ll convert you one day, you’ll see,” he determined, making you roll your eyes sarcastically. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Present day

The call came in at seven pm. You wondered why the local Boston hospital was calling you, but picked up nonetheless.

“Hello ma’am, this is Dr. Abbott, we have you listed as Dean Di Laurentis’ emergency contact. Is this information correct?” the doctor asked, and your heart sank.

Dean. The hospital. A game. 

“Yes, that’s right,” you responded, standing up from your chair and going to fetch one of your coats. 

“We regret to inform you that we have Dean over in our emergency department”

A pit formed in your stomach. The emergency department. 

“He has been seriously injured and we request your assistance to the hospital to discuss things further”

“Is he awake?” you inquired, barely able to hold tears back.

“Not at the moment, I’m afraid,” said the doctor.

“’ll be there in thirty minutes”

After hanging up, you grabbed your keys and raced outside the house. The clothes you were wearing didn’t even cross your mind, for it was far too busy shifting through the possible injuries that could land Dean in the ER. 

Running down the stairs of your apartment building, another name appeared on your screen, calling you. 

Beau beep 🌾

You slid your finger through the cold screen, answering the call as fast as you could. Beau’s face popped up on the screen, and you felt a tiny sense of relief once you saw he was already in the hospital. 

“I assume they’ve called you already,” he said when he noticed that the oversized hockey jersey you were wearing, which was obviously Dean’s, sat under a big coat. 

“Yeah, they have. Who’s there already?” you wondered, finally reaching the lobby. 

Beau answered, but all sound felt muffled as you ran towards your car, rushing to get inside and be on your way to the hospital. 

Memories flooded your brain as you pressed your body to the car seat, which only made you want to get to Dean more. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

6 years ago

It was the last game of sophomore year, and you had taken a three and a half hour train to surprise Dean inside of the rink. Suited up in your Di Laurentis jersey, you waited for twenty more minutes until the players came into the ice. 

As soon as he spotted you leaning next to the box, he dropped his stick and ran to hug you, ignoring the comments he got from his coach and teammates. 

“What are you doing here, pretty girl?” he asked, a wide smile crowding his face. 

“I wanted to surprise you today. You kept mentioning how excited you were for this game, and I decided to buy a train ticket over,” you replied, mirroring his own smile. 

“Does your mom know you’re here?” his tone shifted, not concerned, just curious.

“We’ve been approved for a three day sleepover,” you reassured. 

“Di Laurentis, get into the rink!” his coach yelled, beckoning him inside. 

“Go get ‘em, Dean,” you told him, tapping the spot in his jersey that was over his heart. 

The game was going very well, Dean’s team leading by five goals. The crowd was cheering like crazy, screams echoing throughout the rink. Then came gasps, followed by a thick wave of silence. 

Dean had been knocked onto the floor with an insane amount of force, leaving him unresponsive. 

You ran from your spot in the stands to where they were carrying him out of the rink faster than the speed of light, pushing people off your way if you needed to. 

“Excuse me, young lady, you can’t be here. We’re escorting him to the hospital,” said the team medic. 

“I’m family,” you stated, standing your ground. 

After a moment of hesitation, the medic nodded and allowed you to go with the rest of the personnel. They placed Dean on a gurney inside an ambulance, and you interlocked your fingers with his during the journey to the hospital. 

You were terrified. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Present day

The feeling of terror inside you wasn’t any different this time. A cloud of dread rested above you on your way to the hospital, during which you’d remained on call with Beau. 

“What happened?” you asked him once your mind was as clear as it would get. 

“He lost consciousness after getting checked into the boards. The doc said he had a pretty severe concussion and the usual hockey injuries, but they put him into observation because his breathing was odd” Beau replied, trying to keep his tone as steady as possible to alarm you as little as he could. 

You didn’t know what to say. You just kept driving, your eyes on the road, your mind on Dean. 

“You know he’ll go on and on about how you’re his lucky charm and that’s the reason why he got hurt, right?” Beau joked, getting a small laugh out of you. 

“I can already hear him say it,” you said, the corners of your mouth turning up. 

Parking in the hospital lot took less time than expected, so you headed out of the car with shaky hands and stood in front of the automated doors of the ER, which allowed you to enter. 

Bright LED lights blazed into your eyes, and the sharp smell of sterile cleaning products, iodine and latex gloves penetrated your nostrils. Nurses rushed up and down the hallways, their hands busy at all times. The place was filled with despair and hope overlapping with one another, infinite possibilities streaming out of every patient.

The woman at reception shot you a pitiful look before setting the mug on her hand down and focusing her full attention onto you. 

“Who are you here for, sweetheart?” she kindly asked, turning to type your response into the database.

“Di Laurentis, Dean,” you responded, fiddling with the charmed bracelet on your right hand. 

“He’s in the observation unit at the end of the hall. There’s a crowd of people outside, so you’ll see it,” she remarked, making you huff. 

Despite never having met them, you had a pretty good idea of who the people may be. Dean had told you all about his friends from Briar. Garrett, Logan, Tucker, Hannah and Allie. 

So, you had a pretty good idea of which group they were when you spotted them. Beau was also there with them, and his expression fully shifted when he saw you. Relief spread through his features, and he came over to give you a hug. 

“They wouldn’t let us see him because we’re too many and not his–” 

“Emergency contacts,” you finished the sentence for him, hugging him back. 

Handing your coat over to him, you looked for the nearest nurse to notify her of your appearance and ask her to let you into the room. 

“Is that..?” Logan asked Beau, raising his eyebrows. 

“Yeah, she is,” Beau responded, sitting down on a chair. 

“That isn’t Dean’s Briar Hockey jersey,” Hannah pointed out, observing the details of the embroidered 66 on your back. 

“It was his senior night jersey, Dean gave it to her so he could spot her at games in college,” Beau explained, mentally preparing himself to answer the flood of questions that he was sure would come. 

Before any of them could ask anything else, you came back with a nurse, room keys in hand. 

“Nice to meet you all, I’ve heard a lot about you. I’ll be right back,” you stated in a poor attempt to hide the shaky tone in your voice. 

All of the fear slowly melted away when you saw Dean laid down on the hospital bed, and you let out a breath you didn’t even realise you were holding. 

You stepped into the room and immediately sat on the chair next to his bed, lacing his uninjured fingers with yours. 

Suddenly, a rough, gravelly voice laced with painkillers spoke for the first time. “I know I’m handsome, but your gaze will burn through my face if you keep staring at me like that”

A bruise was starting to form on his jaw, and his hair was messy. His eyes, red from the painkillers the medical staff had given him, were entirely focused on you. 

“You idiot. You absolute, utter, stubborn idiot!” you exclaimed, your voice catching in your throat as you heard his own. You knew you couldn’t stay mad at him for long, you’d never been able to. 

Despite your tone, he simply smiled, his thumb tracing patterns on the back of your hand. The asshole was soothing you while he was getting lectured. 

“Missed you in the stands today. I didn’t have anyone to look at after scoring, it was kind of pointless,” he said, the corners of his lip tugging at his stitches, and he winced slightly at the feeling. 

“Do not joke right now, Di Laurentis. A doctor and Beau called me from the hospital–” your voice broke, tears threatening to spill from your eyes, “they said you got checked, hard, and you weren’t responding. They said your breathing was off.”

“Hey,” he squeezed your hand and pulled on your sleeve, waiting for you to get closer to him. “C’mere”

Once you moved the chair as close to the hospital bed as you could, Dean’s good hand came up to wipe one of the slow tears that had come out of your eyes. 

“I’m okay, pretty girl,” he reassured, interlocking his fingers with yours again. His fingers grazed your knuckles, softer than usual. “I’m here, I’m okay” 

Despite being in pain, Dean’s only preoccupation was to make the tears in your face disappear, because if he was asked to name the thing that he disliked most in the world, his answer would be seeing you hurt. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

2 years ago

The doorbell in Dean’s New York apartment rang, and Dean raced downstairs, expecting to encounter one of the packages he’d ordered. However, when he opened the door, he saw you. 

Clothes soaked, sobs shutting the sound of heavy rain out from the apartment. Without asking, he pulled you flush to him. 

“You’re okay. You’re with me,” his voice and warmth grounded you, reminding you that you were safe because you were with him. 

Dean ran his hands through your wet hair until your breathing evened out and you were ready to talk. “I trusted my mom when she said she’d changed, when she asked me to go down to their place for thanksgiving. But when I got there, she was only nice for twenty minutes. Then, she started screaming at me and telling me just how much of a failure I was and how she regretted me all together”

“She was drunk, wasn’t she?” he asked, looking down at you with eyes full of understanding.

You gave him a small nod, and he sighed in defeat. He’d known your mom as long as he’d known you, and there had always been a bottle of some sort alongside her, as a mandatory accessory. After your gesture, he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, and you two stood enveloped in each other in silence for quite some time.

There was nothing he hated more than seeing you suffer, whether that may be physical or mental. A close second, though, was seeing you cry. The moment tears were involved, Dean just wanted to hold you and run his hands through your hair to soothe you and prove you were safe when he was alongside you. No matter what.

That night, Dean and you curled up on the couch to watch one of your comfort movies, a nightly ritual you both did before playing a couple of games of chess and then going to bed. 

“What are we watching tonight, pretty girl?” he asked, arm around your shoulder, pulling you into him. 

“Will you cry again if I put The Notebook on?” you questioned, scrunching your nose up at him. 

“You know I will,” he affirmed, a raspy laugh coming out of his throat. 

“That is not very d1 hockey player and fraternity brother of you, Di Laurentis,” you teased, poking his side to get control of the remote. 

“There you are, thought you’d vanished on me”

“I could never vanish if you’re with me, you know that,” your voice grew quieter, more serious.

“And you know that I’m not the way you described while I’m with you,” his tone matched yours as his hand traced lazy patterns on your shoulder.

“Yeah, you’re yourself here,” you deadpanned, and Dean didn’t even dare deny it. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

3 years ago

Nobody had warned you and Dean about how nostalgic you would feel right before going off to college on your own. 

You and Dean had picked Harvard and Briar to be closer together than you’d ever been while not being in New York, but you couldn’t deny that you wished college wouldn’t stop you from driving out to the city every other week. 

It was your last night in the city before officially becoming college students, and you were both more scared than you’d let on. So, logically, you’d decided to go out and get pizza at the 24-hour pizza joint you had next door. 

“Should we dress up or just go like this?” you thought out loud, looking down at the oversized hoodie you were wearing, which you’d stolen from Dean.

“It’s 2 AM, no one will see us on the street,” he said, snorting at your comment. 

The walk to the pizza place was filled with laughs and memories, recalling the times where you’d showed up to his school and he’d showed up to yours, sometimes unannounced but never less welcome. 

Once you reached the joint, Dean went ahead and ordered both of your pizzas without asking. He knew your order off the top of his head. 

Emilio, the man at the register, smiled at the sight of you and Dean, unable to contain his happiness. He’d seen you two grow up and change together, and the way you two enchanted him was visible in his face every time you stepped into his shop late at night.

“Don’t stop coming by during holidays, kids! I’ll be expecting you this Christmas,” Emilio said as he handed you two your pizzas. 

“We’ll never stop coming here, Emilio,” You told the man and glanced at Dean, who was nodding. 

“Not when you make the best pizzas in New York,” Dean said, his mouth beginning to water. 

You and Dean ate your pizzas, sharing half of yours with the other person. The only thing left to do was walk back home. 

Even if the joint was just a couple of blocks from your apartments, it was easy to get distracted while walking around the city, especially if you were with Dean. Walking backwards while eating a slice of pizza, you didn’t notice you were about to fall into a puddle. 

Dean grabbed you by the collar of your hood and pulled you flush to him, preventing your fall. Suddenly, the air felt like it had thickened up, partially because of how Dean was looking at you. He was studying your face like it was his favorite subject and he never wanted to stop learning.

Dean’s hand moved to the nape of your neck and he opened his mouth to say something, your heart racing. Just when he was about to say it, a speeding taxi passed by next to you, shutting Dean up. 

“I’m gonna miss messing with you, pretty girl,” he said, moving you to his side by your waist and then letting you go. 

The tone in his voice was filled with things unsaid, things you were too scared to put out into the air. Because once they were out there, they couldn’t be reeled back in.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Present day

“You scared the shit out of me, Dean,” you whispered, staring at the boy you had known forever, the one who had been with you through everything, who you knew would never let you go. 

The knot in your throat did not seem to want to loosen unless you spoke  and mentioned what was truly on your mind, what you’d longed to say to him ever since you saw the hospital was calling you. 

“For a second, I wondered what would happen if you didn’t make it, what my life would look like without you in it. And I didn’t like it one bit. Because I don’t know who I am without you, Dean. Without you, I’m half of myself, you took the rest the moment we met, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I love you, Dean. I think I always have”

Dean’s eyes were locked into yours, his breathing heavy and uneven. With your words, you’d completely shattered his facade, leaving him unfiltered. 

“When everything went black, death didn’t scare me. The only thing on my mind was you. Because if I left it all behind then, I wouldn’t be able to tell you how I’ve felt all of these years,” he said, and your eyebrows furrowed out of instinct. 

“You think I’ve been looking at you like this for fifteen years just because you’re my best friend? No, pretty girl, it’s because you’re my entire world. It’s always been you, ever since we played that damn chess game during Christmas break. I love you too”

The two of you let out a small laugh at the same time, one of the tiny habits you’d picked up from each other over the years. 

“Now come closer, if the nurses see me leaning in to kiss you, I might not make it out of this hospital after all,” he joked, making your face shift into a grin.

Careful of the beeping monitor beside you, and the wires attached to him, you closed the remaining distance between the two of you. His good hand escaped your grasp to settle on your jaw, and your own hands moved to the nape of his neck, fiddling with the blond hair that was there. 

The atmosphere didn’t completely change, it simply revealed what it had truly been all along. It was a reminder that all of the stolen glances, the gentle touches and the quiet nights filled with charged silence hadn’t been for nothing. 

Dean’s breath caught in his throat the moment your lips grazed his, and he couldn’t bear to wait any longer. Tentatively, he pressed your lips to his, tangling you in a kiss. It was hesitant at first, as if he couldn’t believe this wasn’t just one of his dreams, as if he wasn’t sure if you were even real. 

After letting out a sigh of relief, he kissed you like the world owed him something for keeping you away from him for so long, like it came as natural to him as breathing, like he never wanted to let your lips split from his ever again. 

When you finally pulled back, your forehead resting against his, you two kept your eyes closed for a few seconds. He opened his before you did, so you caught him looking at you like you’d just fulfilled his biggest dreams with a kiss. 

“So, does this mean you’re officially my girl now?” he whispered, his signature grin finally appearing on his face.

“I’ve been your girl for a while, Di Laurentis”

By the time you’d finished that sentence, Dean was already tugging you closer to him with his good hand to kiss you again, which made you giggle. Both of you had been waiting for this moment for a long time, and you wanted to make the most of it. 

Suddenly, there was a creak at the door.

“D, we come bearing gi– What the fuck!” yelled Logan, almost dropping the things he’d brought over from the vending machine. 

Garret came into the room and just stared at you two, flushed faces and intertwined hands. His face was a completely blank look, jaw hung ajar. 

You cleared your throat, running a hand through your messy hair and moving to stand next to Dean.

“What’s going on in there, G?” asked Beau from the door, making his way in. Once he saw your joined hands, messy hair, and the grin on Dean’s face, he quickly put the pieces together. 

“Fuck yeah, D! Finally! Took you long enough, idiots,” Beau said, beginning to clap. 

“The rest of you do not understand what a pain all of these years have been. I’ve had to wait since high school. This is such a big moment for me,” he continued, his face shifting onto a smirk. 

Tucker, hearing the commotion that was coming from inside, also decided to step in. “So this is pretty girl, huh? Nice to meet you too”

The boys laughed, but the flush on your face only deepened. 

“Guys, you’re ruining a moment!” yelled Hannah and Allie in unison from behind the boys. 

“Okay, okay, we’ll leave the two lovebirds be,” Logan replied, shooting Dean a knowing smile before leaving the room. 

The Hawks and Beau walked out, leaving you and Dean alone again. Beau’s cheers were audible, and he was telling every member of the group the story of your lives. 

Dean pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckles, and then looked at you again. It was the same look he’d been giving you since you were kids, but you saw it under a different lens now. 

His fingers, still interlocked with yours, traced patterns on the back of your hand. “Y’know, the second I get let out of here, we’re going straight to the city again”

“Are you feeling homesick, Di Laurentis?” you teased. The smile that cracked through your lips broke your act, though.

“If you’re with me, I’ll never feel homesick,” he retorted, leaving you puzzled.

“New York’s not my home, pretty girl. You are”

i'm making a dean taglist (finally) so lmk in my inbox (or in the comments) if u wanna be added!!

[wh1msymaddy]

briar bound | dean di laurentis

a/n: this idea came to me in a dream, while i was thinking about my own exchange student experience, and i got straight to writing. i've probably tweaked this a hundred times, but here it is. 💗.

pairing: dean di laurentis x echangestudent!reader

summary: in which you, an exchange student, say you tearful goodbyes, only for dean to prove you were never meant to leave.

What a blessing it is to have something worth missing, people had told you. 

Staring at the photo wall you kept in your dorm room, you weren’t sure that was true. Your chest physically ached because of how distraught you felt, and no reassurances in the world could make it feel better. 

Because Briar U hadn’t felt like something temporary. It was home. Garrett, Logan, Tucker, Hannah, Allie and Dean were home. The hockey house was home, your dorm was home, Malone’s was home and you weren’t ready to leave. 

You would never be, if you were being fully honest. But how could you? Coming from a place that felt too small for your dreams, whose people didn’t see the world in the same way as you, you’d never thought you’d be able to form connections this deep. Friendships that felt like they left a stamp on your soul and marked it forever, wholly changing the way in which you functioned. 

And Dean. Oh, Dean. You were a woman of many regrets, but not telling him how you really felt may be the biggest one. Dean had slowly woven himself into every fiber of your being, interlocking himself with you until you couldn’t see one of you without the other being near. You went to his practices, wore his jersey during games, had movie marathons on his couch where your bodies were too close for people who were ‘just friends’, and looked at him like your life had been irrevocably changed because of his existence. 

In a sense, it had. 

Your hands reached for the pins that kept the photos up, and you took them down one by one, slowly chipping pieces of yourself off at the same time. Every photo brought back memories that had happened during the last year, but that felt as if they’d been there your whole life. 

That was when you started sobbing. Tears poured out of your eyes at an uncontrollable pace, and you sank to the floor. Your hands moved up to cover your eyes, but you just couldn’t stop crying. 

Allie and Hannah must’ve heard you, because within thirty seconds they were in your room, their own eyes glossy.

“Do you need some help finishing up?” Allie asked, sitting next to you and putting her arms around you. 

The only things left to pack were the sentimental trinkets that lay around your room, accumulated after going to many hangouts and hockey games. Those were the things you were the most scared to pack, because putting them in a bag felt like sealing this chapter of your life away forever, which you were terrified to do. So, you’d left them for last, holding onto every single minute you had before departing to the airport. 

“I can’t do it, guys. I can’t,” you croaked through tears, shaking your head. 

“We love you so much, babe. If it was up to us, we’d never let you go,” chimed in Hannah, her voice breaking. She hugged you as well, rubbing a hand up and down your back. 

“I convince myself to take a photo down, and then I remember what I’ll be going back to and what I have now. It makes me want to crawl under my skin,” you said, breathing heavily in between sobs. 

“We’ll do it together, then. You’ll have us to keep you grounded,” Allie proposed. 

With them by your side, it was a little easier. You didn’t feel like you were slipping away as much, even though that certainty still lingered in your brain. Allie and Hannah held you whenever the item you put away was too special, like the tiara Dean had bought you for your birthday party. 

By the time you had finished, you weren’t sure if your body even had enough water to produce more tears. The sun had started to set, and your gaze was fixated on your empty room. Although you had a week left on your student visa, your father had been adamant on you returning home early, much to your dismay. 

“I guess this is goodbye,” you said, looking at the girls that stood before you. 

“I don’t want it to be,” whispered Allie, who pulled you into a group hug. 

“Me either,” Hannah added. 

The three of you kept hugging for a couple of minutes, until your alarm went off, reminding you that you had to leave. When you went to stop it, the girls realised what your lockscreen was. A picture of you and Dean, looking at each other in the middle of Malone’s. The rest was blurry, only the two of you were in focus, as if you were in your own world. 

You walked backwards towards the door, not wanting to turn around and face what was coming. Allie and Hannah waved goodbye the whole way and went to hug you one last time at the door, and you tapped the door frame before finally leaving, like you did before exams. 

Now you had to turn away from your best friends, away from your dorm. Reluctantly, you did, closing the door behind you in a choked sound. 

As you waited for the elevator, you realized how many times you’d taken this exact same route without paying any attention to it, taking it for granted. When it came, you pushed your bags inside and forced yourself to get in. 

Your Uber was already waiting for you downstairs, but you decided to look around for a couple of seconds. Admiring your surroundings, you spotted Hannah and Allie pressed to the window, waving to you again. You blew them kisses before getting into the Uber, but didn’t manage to see that, as soon as you closed the car door, Allie phoned someone. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Beer in one hand, photo in another, Dean sat on the hockey house’s couch. The other boys hadn’t dared to approach him, knowing he needed to be alone and try to feel your presence somehow, even if you weren’t there. 

Touches of you still were, though. 

Dean had started buying a specific type of yogurt you liked, and he ended up becoming obsessed with it too, so now it was always stocked in the fridge. There was a spare toothbrush in his bathroom, and your country’s flag was hung up on one of the living room’s walls. Since you spent so much time with Dean, there were photos of you and him almost everywhere. He was actually holding one right now. 

“Dean, Allie’s calling me asking for you,” Garrett said, taking Dean out of the trance he was in. 

Dean took the phone from him, and put it on speaker, because you always put it on speaker and he’d picked up your habit. 

“Hello?” he said, confused as to why your best friend was calling him. 

“You need to go to the airport right now,” Allie told him firmly. 

Dean huffed, though it was more so a form of sarcasm. He knew you were leaving, but he just couldn’t bring himself to see you go, even if he had things to say to you. 

“If you don’t go now, you won’t have a chance to tell her you love her,” Hannah chimed in, hoping to get a reaction out of him. 

“What?” Dean asked, panicked. He was sure he’d masked his feelings well, until now. 

“We all have eyes, dumbass. We see how you look at her, and how she looks at you,” said Logan from the other side of the room, and Dean rolled his eyes. 

“Go get your girl, Dean,” Tucker echoed, Hannah and Allie laughing from the other end. 

“She isn’t my girl yet,” Dean replied, his brows furrowing. 

“She’s been your girl for a long time, D,” added Garrett. 

Dean jolted up, and Logan tossed him his car keys, hoping to speed up the process. The boys cheered him on, and he rushed out the door. Dean was sure this was the fastest he’d ever run, and the fastest he ever would. 

He turned on the car, and sped off in the airport’s direction. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · · 

Blissfully unaware, you scrolled through your camera roll and sat on an uncomfortable metal bench outside the security gates. A group of passengers, including you, had been told you would have to wait for at least half an hour to pass the security check, because they’d had an issue with one of the machines in the TSA.

Dean, on the other hand, was fighting for his life. As soon as he got out of his car, he started running. 

International departures. 

He raced to the section, hoping you weren’t in security yet and he could finally say what he’d been meaning to all along. Running through the airport, every trace of doubt he had in his heart was wiped out. 

The only thing on his mind was you. 

His lungs were on fire, his legs were about to give out, and then he saw it. A signed silver suitcase. Your suitcase, which the whole group had signed the previous day. 

By some miracle, you looked up from your phone, feeling your heart race. 

And then you saw him. In the middle of the airport, with messy hair, clothes that looked a little like pajamas, and the biggest fucking smile plastered on his face. 

You weren’t sure who got to who first, but you both ran towards each other as if you were the other’s lifeline. 

“Dean,” you murmured, fighting back tears. 

“I couldn’t bear to see you go, especially not when I know you don’t want to,” he choked, his hands cupping your jaw. 

“I don’t know what I’ll do when you leave, because you’re everything. You’re my daily morning coffee, the person who cheers the loudest in the stands during my games, the one I want to have by my side during both my wins and my losses, and the only person who I feel like I can truly be myself with.”

Your mouth hung open, taking everything he was saying in. 

“I can’t be me without you. It’s just not possible anymore.” 

“Dean, what are you trying to tell me?” you asked, your hands resting on his chest. 

“I love you. I love you so fucking much, and I think I always have, deep down. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything, and I’m an idiot for not telling you sooner,” he said, pressing his forehead to yours. 

You couldn’t help but laugh before saying anything, giddyness consuming you. “I love you too, Di Laurentis.” 

His eyes widened, not expecting the response. For the first time in his life, Dean Di Laurentis had nothing to say. 

“Just fucking kiss me, Dean,” you told him, and he didn’t waste a second. 

His lips clashed with yours, and the rest of the world disappeared. Dean kissed you like he’d been doing it his whole life, and he’d learned exactly how to do it perfectly. He sighed into the kiss, and a shiver ran down your spine. 

Eventually, you had to pull away to breathe, even if you swore that kissing him was the only thing that reminded you of the fact that you were alive. 

“I don’t want to leave,” you whispered. 

“Then don’t,” he replied, matching your tone. 

“What about my dad? He bought my ticket, and he expects me to be back and continue my life there immediately" you asked, despite knowing he felt the same way about him as you did. 

“Fuck him. We’ll go see the Dean, or rolling admissions or someplace where they can get you a spot. I know it’s late, but there have been other people who have done this, people change their minds all the time. We’ll figure something out. And if your dad wants to wake up from whatever delusion he’s living in, he’ll figure it out as well. Until then, I’ve got you,” he answered. 

“And my visa?” your voice faltered. “It runs out in a week, Dean.”

“We could all take a trip to your home country during the summer,” he said, wiping away the tears that rolled down your cheeks. “You said you wanted to show us around anyway. And if that doesn’t work, I would gladly sacrifice two months if that meant you were coming back to Briar, back to me.”

“Do you think it’ll work?” you wondered, your hands going up to play with the curls at the bottom of his neck.

“I think it’s worth a shot,” he said, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. 

You thought so too, because nothing would make you more happy than staying with the people who had become your family for as long as you wanted to, without a departure day chasing you around. 

[wh1msymaddy]

game night | dean di laurentis

a/n: as a board game LOVER, i loved writing this fic. definitely play codenames with your friends if you haven't already!! 💗.

pairing: dean di laurentis x reader

warnings: fluff (the best kind)

Empty pizza boxes scattered around the living room, coffees left on the kitchen counters unattended and the group sitting in a round circle on a Saturday night could only mean one thing. Game night. 

In the hockey house, the tradition was taken as seriously as Christmas or even birthdays. It was sacred and it ought to be respected. The thing about the boys was, they could get competitive, extremely competitive. 

During your first game night, Garrett attempted to plant a card on Logan’s pocket without him noticing so he’d be able to accuse him of cheating, and Tucker threatened to stop cooking for the whole house if they didn’t let him win a specific round. 

Winning during game night was their non-athletic equivalent to beating the rival university team by a long shot in an important match. Safe to say, it was fun. 

Your family was big on board games when you were younger, therefore you started with a superior level of skill to all of them in games like Cluedo, Trivial or Wingspan. That was why Logan proposed switching to Codenames as a way to level the playing field after losing to you for a semester’s straight game nights. Oddly enough, you’d heard of the game, but never actually played it at home. 

That was why Dean offered to be your teammate for the evening. It was a perfect excuse to be coupled up together without making the fact that you were an actual couple known to the others. Hannah and Garrett were the opposing team, while Logan and Tucker were the designated ‘judges’ who ensured there was no cheating involved. 

It was safe to say that you were nervous, especially because you’d gotten used to being able to master any game during game night, but being in Dean’s team made you feel comforted somehow. What didn’t make you feel that way was the fact that he had volunteered to be the person who said the clues you had to connect the right words from the board, the spymaster. 

So, when the card revealed Hannah and Garrett were going first, you felt relieved. That was your chance to get an idea of how they played the game, and a live demonstration of the rules. 

“Wellsy, think, be open minded,” Garrett said, tapping his temple a couple of times. 

“Objection, your honor, that’s cheating!” Dean called out to Logan, who was too busy chatting his ear off to Tucker to pay attention to what the players said before the round even started. 

“Overruled. Garrett, go on,” ordered Logan, finally directing his full attention toward the game.

“Music, three,” announced Garrett before covering his face with his hands so he wouldn’t give any clues as to what the right words were. 

“What the fuck Garrett? That is an awful clue. There are no words on display that are even remotely related to it!” echoed Hannah, who was clearly upset at the fact that her boyfriend had chosen such a vague and horrible clue. 

Meanwhile, your eyes tentatively met Dean’s. He immediately grinned at you with that smile that made your stomach do flips and you felt your cheeks flush in a way they shouldn’t, especially not in front of the rest of the group. 

Hannah ended up getting one word right out of the three, which Garrett whined about for a good two minutes until Judge Tucker told him to shut the fuck up and let you and Dean play. 

Dean looked hypnotized by the words in front of him as he attempted to make a mental connection in his head that you would understand. The wait seemed like it was never going to end, but then Dean’s face lit up like a cartoon character’s and he pressed his hands to the table to stand up and say the code word. 

“Slipping, two,” he said, eyes fully on you. 

You felt the pressure creep up your neck, and your brain seemed to turn to mush, not able to comprehend any word on its own. That was when you spotted them. Angel on the right corner, and snow on the second row. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

It had been a cold winter morning, and Boston got swarmed by snow. It rested atop flowers, on cars, backyards and rooftops. Class got cancelled because of a snowstorm alert, and all of the boys decided to go to Malone’s to resume the pool games they’d left unfinished the previous night. 

Dean, however, had called in sick just so he could spend some overdue alone time with you. Not being able to touch you as he pleased, as much as he pleased, was one of the many things he hated about dating you in secret. But it had to be done, because from the second Hannah introduced you –her childhood best friend– to the friend group, she’d made it very clear that you were off-limits. Particularly to Dean, due to his reputation. 

But he fell. Hard, fast and unexpectedly. Because Dean Di Laurentis didn’t do feelings, he hadn’t for a while. The universe, however, had other plans for him. Now, he was the one whose words got lost whenever you entered the room.

As soon as you got Dean’s call, you grabbed your car and headed to the hockey house. Snow squeaked under your boots when you got out of the car, and the sound made you uncomfortable in a way that made you rush to the front door. 

Dean was standing in the doorway with one of the smiles he reserved just for you plastered on his face, waiting for you to reach him, to feel the warmth of your body clash against the cold exterior of the world. 

Before he could do that, you unknowingly stepped on a patch of ice in front of the stairs, which made you slip and fall on your ass. 

“Ow!” you cried out, grimacing. 

“Careful there, angel. I don’t want you getting hurt,” said Dean, rushing over to you. 

You felt his hands slide under your knees in order to pick you up, so you slung your arms around his neck and pressed a thankful kiss to his lips. 

When you felt him smile into the kiss, you realized just how deep in the throes of love you actually were. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

“I’m gonna lock in angel and snow,” you told Dean, without a glint of hesitation in your eyes. 

Dean placed the red cards over the words and cheered, not being able to hold back the urge to. 

The rest of the group looked at the two of you in a puzzled manner, struggling to piece together how you would’ve been able to form the connection between two words that seemingly had nothing to do with each other. 

“Your honor, they have to be cheating, that was an impossible guess,” Garrett pointed out to Tucker, running a hand through his hair. 

“Isn’t that the whole point of the game, Graham?” you countered, and the two judges couldn’t help but agree. 

“But slipping’s most obvious connection is hockey,” said Hannah. 

You shrugged, and Dean spoke up from the spymaster seat shortly after. “What can I say? We have superior intellects.”

The pair rolled their eyes in sync, making the rest of the group laugh. They were truly made for each other. 

Garrett actually gave poor Hannah a decent clue this time around, and she got three words right. That wasn’t enough to catch up to you and Dean, but it was cutting it close. Too close for Dean’s liking. 

“Regret, three,” Dean said. 

This time, your eyes scanned the board in a quick and swift movement. When you spotted the words you were sure he was referring to, you laughed and shook your head, reminiscing. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The doorbell rang, and you and Dean raced downstairs hoping it would be the Indian food you’d ordered for dinner. The food’s smell flooded your nostrils, wiping away any sliver of doubt that had settled in your minds. 

Dean had decided to order the extra vindaloo, despite being warned against it by you numerous times. Your boyfriend had lots of virtues, but a high spice tolerance wasn’t one of them, and he seemed to forget that whenever you got Indian or Chinese. 

Once the vindaloo settled on his mouth, a wave of regret crashed over him. His mouth felt as if it had been set on fire, and there was no extinguisher that could put it out. He then made the rookie mistake of trying to soothe the pain with water instead of milk, which only made the pain worse. 

Despite being concerned for him, you couldn’t help but let out a laugh at the sight of him searching frantically for a jug of milk in the fridge. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

After you tapped the words in a flash, you were surprised to see an embarrassed look creep up on Dean’s face. It only made your celebratory grin wider, though, it was nice to see he wasn’t the only one that made the other crumble in the relationship.

What you didn’t notice was how Hannah’s gaze shifted between the two of you, growing more suspicious by the second. She looked at Logan, who was also observing the quiet exchange with determination, and mouthed ‘what the fuck?’. Logan just raised his eyebrows in response. 

“Guys, do you have mind reading abilities you’d like to tell us about?” she asked, her eyes widening. 

Dean and you laughed, and your hand reached for his out of instinct. When you realized what you were doing, you played it off as if you were just stretching, which only furthered Hannah’s intrigue. 

What you assumed would be the final round dawned upon you, and the opposing duo managed to bag all of their remaining words, except for one. That still left you and Dean, who had two words left, an opportunity to win. 

Victory clouded Dean’s vision, blurring the lines of coherence in his head and completely taking over him. He saw the wind as clear as day, and no one could stop him from getting it.

The words lined up in a way he couldn’t have expected, but he knew that to make the connection land, he needed to act it out. Otherwise, you wouldn’t get it and you’d be up for a loss. That he simply could not have. 

So rational thought was not on his mind as the gears for how to play it out turned in his head. Clearly. And rational thought included hiding the fact that he was your boyfriend. 

Dean cleared his throat, and instead of simply saying the code word out loud, he leaned in. The action was exactly the same as always, but he usually reserved it for private moments. Most of them happened whenever you decided to watch a movie late at night, and therefore you had to be even quieter than usual. 

Once he’d leaned in, his voice dropped to that tone that he knew made your head go dizzy and your chest flutter. 

“Watchlist, two,” he said, letting a teasing wink slip through. 

There was a sudden silence in the room, and you turned to find the rest of the group fixated on you and Dean. Tucker had stopped eating, a chip midway to his open mouth; Logan stared at you two with furrowed brows, as if he thought he was seeing things; Garrett and Hannah just looked at each other, then back at you. 

Panic entered your lungs, but it dissipated as soon as your eyes landed on Dean’s. He was looking at you with that expression that reminded you of why you went through all of the hassle in the first place, a look full of love. 

“Wait. You guys share a watchlist? A romantic watchlist?” Tucker asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Dean rolled his eyes playfully, but cracked you a grin from where he stood, his eyes silently asking if you were good with him telling the group everything. 

You nodded, waiting for the chaos to unfold. 

“Yeah, Tucker. We share a watchlist, a closet, a bed on some nights and now, according to you all, a brain. We’re together,” Dean announced, coming over to you and sneaking a hand to your waist. 

“Logan, pay up!” Hannah exclaimed, leaving you and Dean perplexed. 

“I bet money on next month,” Logan winced. 

“Just because I’ve made twenty dollars off this doesn’t mean you’re off the hook, Di Laurentis. I’ll be coming to you for an interrogation very soon,” said Hannah, grabbing the dollar bill Logan had on his hand. 

“Y’know what this means?” Dean whispered mere seconds before turning you to face him and placing a kiss on your lips. 

You kissed him back, but laughed as soon as you started hearing the noises the rest of the boys were making. 

“That is actually disgusting, Dean,” Tucker said, shaking his head. 

“Get a room, man!” Garrett yelled, covering his eyes with a hand. 

After pulling away, you realised the important thing about tonight hadn’t been winning at Codenames, or at anything else. 

The important thing was that you could love Dean whenever and wherever you wanted to, without the fear of being seen. 

[wh1msymaddy]

the grocery store crisis | yes, chef au

a/n: this AU is genuinely one of my favorite things ever ughhh. they have me wrapped around their fictional fingers. 💗.

summary: in which your study session is disrupted and you end up having to save the day at the grocery store

The task you’d sent the boys out to do was simple, structured and outlined. The grocery list you’d written out was color coded, written with different types of pens so as to make the distinction more visible, and your handwriting was perfectly legible. 

Buried in between textbooks and lab work because of midterms, you had no time to go on a store run and buy everything the house needed and after careful consideration, you decided it was safe to pawn the task off to your boyfriend and roommates. The problem was, they were basically all muscle and no brains when it came to cooking. 

You’d had to brief all of them, except for Tucker –who had to study as well, on how to distinguish romaine from arugula and cucumber from zucchini. 

So, despite the tingle of worry you felt anytime the boys went away together to do anything, you were fairly calm. After all, it was a trip to the grocery store, not a military mission, and they were old enough to manage on their own. Or so you thought. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

At Whole Foods, things weren’t going as planned. 

“Dean, I knew you were an idiot, but I didn’t know you’d be dumb enough to lose the fucking list!” Garrett exclaimed, rubbing his temples.

“What do you want me to say, G? It’s windy outside!” Dean countered, extending his arms to his sides. 

“We’re in the middle of a heat wave, dumbass,” said Logan, groaning in frustration. 

“I’m sure we’ll figure something out. How hard can it be, right?” Garrett claimed, and the rest of the boys nodded along in unison.

Apparently, it was very hard. Standing in the middle of the produce aisle, the trio looked like fish out of the water. The same brains that could visualize game strategy had now decided to be fully unable to remember a single thing that was on the list. They were completely lost.

“She uses kale in that delicious salad with those white nuts and lemon, right?” Logan asked, pointing at the fresh kale in the vegetable section.

“Do you think we know?” Dean joked, raising his brows “Just put it in the cart, we can’t go back home empty handed, or we’re so dead” 

Logan agreed, putting a couple of heads of kale in the shopping cart, also throwing various other types of random lettuce that ‘looked the part’ in there. According to Garrett, if it was green, it should go in. 

“Yo, is that the snack aisle?” Garrett asked, his head staring intently at the chip bags he could see from afar. 

“We shouldn't," said Dean, a conflicted expression plastered on his face. 

“It’ll just be a quick look, D. We’ll be in, and then out just as fast,” swore Logan, who was already strolling toward the aisle. 

It was in fact, not a quick look. The boys somehow managed to fill a cart up with almost every type of chip Whole Foods sold, from regular to shrimp cocktail and dill pickle. Dean announced that they obviously needed another cart, and the other two agreed. 

That one ended up full with tubs of ranch, pancake mix, sour candy and cotton candy. Logan threw some cottage cheese in, for what he claimed was ‘health value’. The poor cart looked like it was going to explode if the boys attempted to put one more cereal box inside of it. 

In the search for some fresh brownies, not just protein whole wheat high fiber mixes of them, the boys passed the produce section again, and realised what they’d actually come to the grocery store to do.

“Guys, we have spent thirty fucking minutes putting junk food in our carts, which look like we’ve played tetris with just so we could fit more candy in them. We’re literally gonna get murdered tonight if we show up with all of this home. I’m calling it, we’re all dead by the morning,” Dean said, his eyes glued to the packed carts.

“We need to call in reinforcements,” Logan said, pulling out his phone.

“Do you think Tucker’s gonna come?” Garrett asked, shoving his hands inside of his pockets. 

“I think there’s no universe in which he’d miss this” 

After what the boys considered to be the largest stretch of mental pain they’d ever gone through, Tucker entered the grocery store through the automated doors and immediately burst out laughing once he saw the other three. 

“I knew you guys were dependent on us to do the kitchen tasks, but oh wow. This is just something else. Two carts full of shit. Dare I say it’s even impressive,” Tucker remarked in between bursts of laughter. 

Logan, Garrett and Dean looked at him with blank expressions on their faces, which made the whole ordeal even funnier to Tucker. 

“We need your help, man. And she cannot find out about this, under any circumstance,” Dean said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Dean, I am not lying to your girlfriend. I physically cannot. I’m afraid you’ll have to confess if you want my help, and hers,” said Tucker, patting Dean on the shoulder, as if that was gonna lessen the blow.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

You were dressed in sweats and Dean’s hockey jersey, which you swore helped you concentrate better. The habit totally had nothing to do with the fact that you missed being around him at all times during exam week. Totally. There were multiple books spread over the table, and flashcards were plastered on the wall in front of you. 

The only sounds in the house were the hum of the fridge and the clacking of the keyboard keys being pressed. That was until a very loud ring disrupted the atmosphere, shattering it swiftly. You ran to your phone, which you’d locked in another room so you could stop yourself from endlessly scrolling and procrastinating. After almost tripping over two pucks, you reached it. 

An all too familiar face shone in the screen, with the name ‘Baby 🤍’ over it. Despite yourself, you couldn’t help but smile and pick up the facetime call. 

“Everything okay over there, baby?” you asked, taking note of Dean’s faint expression. 

“Well… We’ve run into some complications,” he said, his face shifting into a grimace.

You raised your eyebrows and pinched your nose, unable to restrain yourself. “What did you guys do?” 

After some hushed whispers, the camera panned over to Tucker’s annoyed face.

“Your boyfriend is being an absolute coward, give him a minute,” said Tucker, rolling his eyes in feigned frustration, which made you chuckle.

Tucker quickly came to the realization that Dean wasn’t going to say anything if he didn’t do it out of force, so he saw no other option than to flip the camera and show you the details of the situation. 

Your jaw dropped so hard you swore it could’ve hit the floor at any second. The only thing you saw was two carts, full to the brim with snacks and sweets, and Logan and Garrett staring dreamily at all of the different variations of chocolate chip cookies. 

“Baby... What did you do with the list?” you asked Dean, pursing your lips in an attempt to hold back the smile that threatened to invade your mouth. 

“That’s what I was about to tell you, the list was stolen,” he replied, taking the phone back from Tucker. 

“Stolen? Enlighten me, please,” you said, raising your eyebrows. 

“Well, the wind took it from my hands as we entered the store, it was very rude, actually”

The excuse was so ridiculous you couldn’t stop yourself from huffing. “Dean, the list was color coded!” 

“I know, babydoll. But nature can be very mean sometimes,” Dean pointed out, which made the boys laugh in the background. 

“So instead of thinking back to the meals I’ve been making for you, you decided it was best to go on a free for all in the snack and sweets aisle?” you echoed, dumbfounded.

“We panicked!” yelled Logan, who turned around to face the camera “We saw no other way out”

“Babe, we need you. Garrett has been staring at chocolate-covered peanut butter cups like they’re the love of his life, Logan is trying to persuade us into buying really expensive energy drinks and Tucker is just laughing his ass off,” Dean pleaded. 

Although you knew the textbooks were waiting for you in the other room, you were due for a break anyways, or the rest of your studying would just be completely unproductive. You sighed, staring at the wall for a couple of seconds. 

“Fine. Do not, and I repeat, do not put anything else in the carts until I get there. I’ll be there in ten”

“Why ten? The store is only five minutes away,” Dean said, which made the corners of your lips turn up into a smile.

“I gotta feed Gretzky first, or else I’ll forget”

“We are having a crisis, and you’re going to feed our sourdough starter first?” 

“Do not say another word or else you’ll be on a bread ban for the next three months,” you pointed a finger at the camera. 

“Yes ma’am,” nodded Dean.

“Oh, and keep the jersey on, babydoll. You look good,” he teased, his lips turning into that signature smirk that made your knees weak. 

You rolled your eyes, defeatedly laughed, and grabbed your car keys. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

As soon as you were in Dean’s line of sight, he ran towards you and pressed a deep kiss to your temple, lifting you up in the air. His face lit up at the mere sight of you, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“You’re a lifesaver,” he grinned, taking your hand. 

“Oh I know, believe me,” you chuckled. 

Garrett, Tucker and Logan were standing beside the fresh bakery section, practically the spotlights of the store. Six foot something athletes were hard to miss in the middle of a Whole Foods this late. 

“Okay, boys. Empty the carts, we’re starting over”

The boys echoed a collective groan, but they started emptying the carts nonetheless. No one would’ve guessed they were extremely disciplined men as they put back the chip bags and candy containers to their designated shelves with a big pout on their faces. 

By the time you reached the wavy chip section, Dean’s favorite type of chip, he started getting a little too touchy. His hands slipped swiftly to your waist, pulling you against his chest in order to suggestively kiss your jawline every minute or so.

“Di Laurentis, are you trying to distract me to grab a snack without me noticing?” you questioned, putting your hands on his chest. 

“Maybe…” Dean said, and you heard the sound of a bag of chips getting placed on the shelf again. 

You rolled your eyes but kept walking along, headed for the produce section. The clash between the two felt distinct, and you felt in your zone again. Your love from cooking dripped from your expression, as you stared at all of the different fresh products available. Meal ideas came to your head left and right, but you kept your mind on the mission. 

“I hope you paid attention to the lecture I gave you on Thursday, because it’s pop quiz time, boys!” you cheered, staring at their worried faces. 

You grabbed some parsley with your left hand, and some cilantro in your right. “I’ll give the person who can tell which herb is cilantro five dollars”

“That’s not fair, Tucker is going to get it right!” Logan whined, claiming injustice. 

“This isn’t a trick question, right? Because they look exactly the same,” said Garrett, squinting to see if he could spot a difference. 

Tucker ended up getting it right, and you handed over a five dollar bill accordingly. 

“Baby, please go grab some Meyer lemons from that corner over there?” you asked Dean while sorting through some packs of arugula to find the one that was just right. 

“Isn’t a lemon just a lemon, babydoll?” 

“Just read the damn display signs, it’ll take you ten seconds, or you could choose the bread ban,” you reminded, and Dean started sprinting towards the lemons. 

The protein and carbs cart was full of greek yogurt tubs, packs of chicken breast and lean ground beef, egg whites, sweet potatoes, quinoa and brown rice. Surprisingly, brown rice was a big hit in the hockey house, with the boys eating heaps of it in a heartbeat. 

The other cart was full of veggies and healthy fat sources, such as spinach, kale, bell peppers and avocados. You were reluctant to buy the latter, because Dean always used it as an excuse to ask for homemade nachos and guacamole, which you could never refuse to make. 

Once you were satisfied with every item you were going to purchase, you took a detour on the way to the checkout stations which led you to the snack aisle again. 

“Even if you guys completely messed up the first time around, you’ve actually done a great job now. So, you deserve to get a little treat. Go ahead, pick one thing you want,” you announced, and watched as the boys’ grins grew wider. 

What you did not expect was for them to debate which snack to get so seriously. 

“We should definitely get cosmic brownies,” Logan said, pointing to them.

“Oh absolutely not. I vote for salt and vinegar chips,” argued Garrett, who was about to grab the bag.

“You guys are picking chips and brownies. This may be our only junk this month, dream big boys. Give me the fucking five layer tiramisu from the bakery section or something,” said Dean.

Tucker just looked at you incredulously, and you couldn’t bite back your laughter. Out of all of the things they could be having a big debate about, they chose to do it over a sweet treat. If only they put this much effort into their actual schoolwork, they’d graduate in the honor roll. 

After the boys picked out a treat and you checked out, you noticed your brain was as clear as the sky on a summer day. Maybe this had been the break you needed after all.

taglist: @purplerainx1 , @kkkkisworld , @readinf , @afterhoursangell , @archxve , @skepvids , @fromasgardandback

[wh1msymaddy]

the closing shift | dean di laurentis

a/n: this is a little treat for you while i polish up the next part of the yes, chef au!! this is SO cozy and i acc wrote this based on my local coffee shop. 💗.

pairing: dean di laurentis x studentbarista!reader

summary: in which dean trades the loudest party on campus for an evening (or multiple) with a very pretty barista

The coffee shop was quiet, as usual. Warm dim lights illuminated the space, the brownish tones of the furniture clashing with the machine’s silver coating. It was a Friday night, so every single student at Briar U was attending one of the frat parties on campus. You, on the other hand, had to stay at the coffee shop for the night shift until closing. 

Not that you really minded, as the place was always empty at that time. It allowed you to pick one of the records the owners had bought and leave it on, softly humming over the whirring of the machines. It was as if the place was entirely yours, a bubble that sheltered you from the outside chaos. 

Frat music could still faintly be heard from afar, but it was mostly shut out. That, you were grateful for, as this particular shift was almost always used as reading time by you. 

Grabbing one of the leftover croissants from the shelf, you made your way to a corner of the shop decorated with lots of pillows. You sat there, tied your hair into a messy bun, cozied up, and started reading.

After immersing yourself in the book to a point of not being able to distinguish what was a product of your imagination and what was real, you heard the faint noise of the entry bell ringing. 

At first, you brushed it off. It was late, and you hadn’t properly slept since the end of midterms week, so you thought you were making it up. Then, the counter bell rang. At that point, you realized you probably weren’t hallucinating, and you should probably go see the lunatic who wanted to order coffee at two thirty in the morning. 

You expected to see anyone but him. Blond hair, muscular frame and gorgeous eyes all packed into one. Dean Di Laurentis. Your brows furrowed the moment you spotted him and recognised him, because why in the world wouldn’t he be at the Sigma Tau Gamma party tonight? It was his frat, after all. 

Dean noticed your reaction, and he sarcastically mirrored your gesture. Chuckling, you made your way to behind the counter and put on your work apron. 

“What can I get you?” you asked, undoing your messy bun and adjusting your hair. 

“Just a flat white, please,” Dean said, in a voice you knew all too well.

It was the same one that stuck to you when you were overwhelmed and just wanted to get away from all of the noise that surrounded you. You silently wondered if that was what brought him to the coffee shop. Instead of asking, you simply started to make his coffee. 

“Aren’t you gonna ask me why I’m here?” he inquired, setting his elbows down on the counter.

“I have a feeling you want me to ask you anything but that, Di Laurentis,” you replied, pulling the double shot of espresso into the glass and moving over to steam the milk. 

“So you do know who I am” 

“In case you haven’t noticed, you have quite the reputation around here” 

You tapped the milk pitcher firmly against the counter in order to pop any large bubbles forming in the milk and started swirling it. He laughed at your comment, running a hand through his hair. 

The clothes he wore told you he had at least been to the party. But his face didn’t carry the same expression. From what you’d heard, Dean was loud, exciting and fierce. But he just looked withdrawn. You poured the milk into the glass, making a heart shape.

“You love me this early on, wow, that must be a new record,” Dean said, staring at the shape in the glass. 

“Don’t flatter yourself, it’s the only one I know how to do”

The party seemed farther and farther away every second, and Dean took his time drinking the coffee. Even with all of the information that circled around about him, he was still quite the mystery. 

“You’re staring, babydoll” 

The nickname caught you totally off guard, and you hated the way your cheeks felt like they were burning up and turning red. You hoped that a blush hadn’t spread through them or you would seriously want the earth to swallow you whole. 

“Babydoll, seriously?” you arched a brow, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“Natural instinct,” Dean replied, finishing his coffee and setting the glass down. 

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help but laugh as you rolled your eyes in feigned annoyance.

Dean paid for the coffee with his card and started walking towards the coffee shop door. For a second, you wanted him to stay and talk to you, the loneliness of the shift hitting you at once. As if he read your mind, he turned around before leaving and winked at you. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

That was the last time you ever expected to exchange words with Dean Di Laurentis in the rest of the time you had left in college, and you were a bit disappointed that you didn’t make the effort to engage in conversation. 

By the time the next Friday night shift came, you were already reminiscing about the meeting. You were nothing if not nostalgic for every little thing, after all. You swore his laughter could still be heard if you listened closely enough, and you found yourself attempting to teach yourself how to make more shapes made out of milk in case he came and ordered again. 

Once again, you were curled up in the cushions, fully focused on the murder mystery book you were currently reading. Unlike the last time, though, your hair was messy from the tossing and turning you’d done while reading for the past hour and a half. You’d decided to annotate the book and try to guess who the killer was, which was going fairly poorly. Suddenly, you were grateful for the fact that there weren’t people around you, because you could swear you looked crazy. 

Much to your surprise, the bell above the door rang. You quietly groaned, rubbing your eyes and standing up. When you saw who was at the counter, you wanted to hide and scream at the same time. Dean was back. 

“Woah, babydoll. Has the shop suffered from an earthquake or something?” Dean asked, raising an eyebrow. 

You huffed in response and noticed that this time, he wasn’t dressed in party clothes. In fact, you could almost bet on the fact that he was wearing pajamas. The question was, what was he doing here again? 

Without realizing it, you still carried the book in your hands. You quickly set in on the counter, hoping he hadn’t noticed it, and fiddled with your hair in a poor attempt to fix it. Seeing you were in distress, Dean stepped closer to you and brushed a hand through it, mending its look. Your breath caught at the proximity, and you went very still. 

“There, all set,” he said, a soft smile resting on his face. 

You opened your mouth to reply, but he was already smirking. That made you furrow your brows and brought a look of feigned irritation to your face. 

“You cannot just do that to random people, Di Laurentis!” you said, pointing your index finger at him. 

Dean blatantly ignored your comment and shifted his gaze to your book instead. “Agatha Christie, huh? I never would’ve pegged you for a mystery reader” 

“I never would’ve pegged you for a reader at all,” you quickly retorted, and a genuine laugh escaped his lips. 

“Just because I’m in the hockey team doesn’t mean I’m illiterate”

“Looks like you’re full of surprises, after all. What brings you to this humble establishment at,”  you briefly looked at the clock that hung on the wall to check the time, “two fifty three in the morning?”

“Can’t it just be the awesome flat whites you make?” he asked, raising a brow.

“You can pretend it is. But just know that I will know you’re lying, because there are better coffee machines spread out all over campus”

“But are there better baristas? Because I don’t think so”

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

After that night, his visits became recurrent. You didn’t indulge in the comfort of your books anymore because you had something, someone, to keep you company. Dean usually arrived at the start of your shift and didn’t leave until sunrise, which you found exceptionally odd. 

No complaints left your mouth, though. Especially because that stretch was a long period of time where you and Dean could talk. And actually get to know each other, not just as the barista and the hockey jock.

You asked for his full name and laughed for a good fifteen minutes when he deadpanned ‘Dean Sebastian Kendrick Heyward-Di Laurentis’. He told you about his favourite songs, his family, both in the form of friends and blood relatives, and hockey. Because despite not having had any form of previous interest in the sport, you adored the way his eyes lit up every time he spoke about it. You knew Dean as if you’d been friends for your whole life, and he could read you like an open book. 

As the weeks blurred into months, so did the lines between friendship and a relationship. It wasn’t unusual for you two to cuddle until early hours in the morning, or for the space between you to reduce until there was none left at all.

Around three months after his first visit, you two sat together in the cozy corner. You lay your head atop his chest and his hands ran through your hair in slow, repeated motions. Some days you just sat together like this, in absolute silence, together. The action was borderline crossing one of the lines that defined friendship, but neither of you uttered a word about it. 

Just as you didn’t say anything about how your stomach made flips whenever you taught him how to make another type of coffee and his hands rested on your waist, or how your heart raced whenever he got too close to you or called you beautiful. The truth was, you didn’t even know what you’d become. He came every Friday, stayed with you until sunrise, and then left. 

While you were deep in thought, it started raining. The thrumming of rain juxtaposed with the silent interior of the coffee shop, and it shut off the outside world. The Billy Joel record playing had ended, and the record player started emitting that empty whoosh that also served as background noise.

Shifting and moving up a little, you landed in the spot closest to his heart. You let out a gasp that could scarcely be heard when you realized it was racing. Dean’s heart was racing. The thought made you giddy inside, but you quickly shut it down when you reminded yourself that it could be about anything. 

Unable to hold it in any longer, you tilted your head to ask him the question that had been nagging at you for the past month, and you swore you heard his breath catch and saw him clench his jaw briefly, as if he was barely holding himself together. 

“Why do you spend all of your time here on Fridays, when you could be literally anywhere else. Somewhere where your actual friends are, where they drink and have fun and compliment your lifestyle. Why on earth do you act like you just happen to stumble by the shop by accident at midnight when there’s a frat party around the corner?” you asked, more scared than words could even describe to hear the answer.

Because you may have just interpreted the signals wrong all along. You might’ve just made it up in your head without justification, and the fact that he was taking his time to answer made you panic inside and brace yourself for a rejection. 

“I guess that is the question, isn’t it? It must seem strange to see me out of all people show up here, but the truth is, this is my favorite place on campus,” he admitted, and you went still as soon as the words came out of his mouth, but you let him continue, assuming there was more to be said. 

“I’ve told you all about the other aspects of my life, babydoll, practices, games, parties and the list goes on. The thing they have in common is that they’re loud. But what I haven’t told you is that they’re too loud sometimes. Overwhelming and suffocating, even. And when I come here, all of that disappears”

You sat up, and saw how he was looking at you. Really looking. 

“You make it disappear. You’re my sanctuary,” he said, leaving you stunned.

You opened your mouth to speak, but words didn’t come out. It was as if your brain had forgotten how to function altogether. 

“But of course if I misread the situation I am so-” Dean began saying, and you shook your head, letting out a huff. 

“Just shut up and kiss me, Di Laurentis”

Dean grinned, placing his hands on your jaw and kissing you. On the surface, it seemed like a fairly slow kiss, but it was secretly laced with desire and pent up feelings. His lips meddled with yours like they’d been born knowing how to. 

A shiver ran down your spine when he sighed into the kiss, and you moved over to straddle him, his hands shifting to your hips. You wished the kiss could go on forever, but unfortunately, you still needed to get some air. 

“I should’ve done that so much sooner,” he whispered, pressing his forehead against yours.

You giggled, pressing a quick peck to his lips. “Maybe now we’ll see each other outside of the shift”

“You’ll see me so much you’ll get sick of me, babydoll”

“Me? I could never” 

[sunnydilaurentis]

leave him behind | just a secret au

⋆˙⟡ just a secret au masterlist!

⋆˙⟡ just a secret au fics

summary: in which a late-night argument with your boyfriend follows you home, beau finally voices what everyone has been thinking, and dean watches you break apart while realising just how unhappy you've become.

notes: hi!! i've had this one sitting in my drafts for awhile now, i hope you all enjoy <3 💌

*note: this takes place prior to dean and y/n's secret relationship

ꪆৎ

it’s nearly one in the morning when the apartment door finally opens.

new york glows beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows that stretch across the living room, the city still awake despite the hour. somewhere in the distance, a siren echoes briefly before disappearing beneath the constant hum of traffic.

the skyline looks endless tonight.

bright. restless. alive.

inside the apartment, everything feels strangely quiet by comparison.

beau and dean have been camped out on opposite ends of the couch for almost two hours now, half-watching an action movie that neither of them are particularly invested in.

empty beer bottles clutter the coffee table, a bowl of pretzels abandoned between them. the television throws shifting blue light across the apartment as they speak about their upcoming respective seasons.

the lock clicks, and both of them glance towards the front door automatically.

you step inside first, dean knows immediately that something is wrong. you're not crying, you're not visibly upset.

if anything, you're trying far too hard not to be.

but the version of you standing in front of him feels unfamiliar somehow.

you're barefoot, your heels hanging loosely from two fingers. your makeup is mostly gone now, though faint traces of mascara remain beneath your eyes like you'd wiped them away repeatedly throughout the night. your hair, which had looked perfectly styled when you left earlier, now falls messily around your shoulders.

and your face-

your face looks tired, like you're emotionally wrung out. it's the kind of tired dean has only seen a few times before.

the second your eyes land on the couch and realise you aren't alone, something flickers across your expression.

disappointment.

like you'd been hoping everyone would already be asleep so nobody would see you looking like this.

dean's stomach sinks immediately, "hey."

you visibly pull yourself together. a smile appears so quickly it almost feels rehearsed. "hi."

it sounds wrong. far too quiet, too careful, too measured.

dean briefly shifts his gaze onto beau, who seems to notice it too. beau straightens slightly, eyes narrowing, his expression shifting from relaxed amusement to concern almost immediately.

your boyfriend steps through the doorway behind you and suddenly the entire atmosphere changes. he looks furious, not in a loud or obnoxious way, something much colder than that.

his jaw is tight, his shoulders rigid.

his eyes are hard in a way that immediately tells dean whatever happened tonight happened recently. probably in the elevator, probably in the taxi home.

probably five minutes before walking through the front door.

your boyfriends gaze shifts and lands on beau, then dean, and everything changes instantly.

dean watches as his posture loosens and his expression smooths out, the irritation disappearing behind something casual.

a performance so seamless it actually makes dean blink.

whatever version of this man existing outside the apartment apparently isn't the version currently standing in front of them.

"you guys are still up?"

beau stares at him, his voice flat. "obviously."

your boyfriend laughs lightly, like everything is normal, like you're not standing beside him looking one bad question away from completely falling apart.

he reaches for you then, his hand settling carefully against the small of your back.

gentle, possessive, performative.

dean doesn't know why that word appears in his head, only that it does.

the gesture looks right. it looks affectionate exactly in the way a caring boyfriend would be, except for the fact that your entire body seems to tense beneath his touch.

slightly, so slight most people wouldn't notice, but beau and dean do, of course they do.

you step away immediately, moving from his touch.

"don't."

the word barely exists, coming out soft enough that your warning almost gets lost beneath the noise of the television.

it lands anyway, heavy and final.

something flashes across your boyfriend's face. annoyance, embarrassment, perhaps even anger. dean isn't entirely sure, whatever it is disappears a second later.

"okay."

the silence that follows his response feels uncomfortable and the air feels as though its growing thicker with tension as seconds pass.

you clear your throat, your gaze landing towards the ground beneath you, clearly avoiding at looking anyone directly in the eye, knowing that you could break any second.

"i'm gonna shower."

"baby-"

"i'm tired."

your voice doesn't waver, still refusing to look at him.

you don’t look at beau or dean either.

you just disappear down the hallway, the sound of the bathroom door shutting filling the silence that had previously filled the living room space.

your boyfriend lingers awkwardly by the kitchen island, muttering something about going to bed before disappearing after you. the sound of the bedroom door closes and silence settles over the apartment once more.

slowly beau turns towards dean. dean looks back, neither of them saying anything, just a shared look of understanding and knowing.

-

half an hour later the movie is still playing, or at least the television is still on.

neither beau or dean could've told you what had happened during the last twenty minutes, even if somebody had held a gun to their heads. the volume remains low enough that the distant explosions and dialogue blur together into background noise.

beau sits forward on the couch, elbows resting against his knees, the remote loose in one hand. dean occupies the opposite end, one ankle hooked over the other knee, phone forgotten somewhere beside him.

every few minutes one of them glances towards the hallway.

neither comments on it, doing so would properly require acknowledging what they'd both seen.

the expression on your face, the way your boyfriend had immediately changed the second he realised there were witnesses.

outside, the city continues moving, inside, the apartment feels strangely suspended, like everybody is waiting for something.

suddenly your bedroom door opens, both their heads lift automatically.

you emerge slowly from the hallway, freshly showered, changed into an oversized t-shirt that hangs almost to your knees.

your damp hair falls over one shoulder, your face scrubbed clean now.

no makeup, no mascara, nothing left to hide behind.

somehow that only makes it worse, because now there's nothing disguising how exhausted you look.

nothing disguising the faint puffiness around your eyes, or the way your shoulders seem slightly rounded inward, as though you're carrying something too heavy for one person to hold comfortably.

for a second dean is struck by how young you look. not physically, emotionally.

like the confident, bright version of you he had spent years knowing had slowly been replaced by somebody waiting for permission to take up space.

you don't seem to notice either of them watching, or maybe you do.

maybe you simply don't have enough energy left to pretend otherwise. without saying anything, you cross the apartment towards the kitchen, the hardwood floors creaking softly beneath your bare feet.

the refrigerator light spills across the darkened kitchen as you pull the door open. you stand there for a second staring into the fridge like you've forgotten what you came for.

the movie previously playing on the tv pauses and the sudden silence makes you freeze. slowly you turn around.

beau is already looking at you, concern written plainly across his features. "you okay?"

the question settles heavily between all three of you.

it's only a simple question, the sort people ask every day. except it carries a certain weight to it, and everybody in the room already knows the answer.

your eyes drop immediately towards the bottle in your hands, your fingers fiddling absentmindedly with the cap. "yeah."

lie, an obvious lie.

the kind of lie that sounds tired before it even leaves your mouth, the one people tell when they're hoping nobody pushes for more information.

dean feels something twist uncomfortably inside his chest. you've always been terrible at lying, particularly to the people who know you best.

beau exhales slowly, long enough that it almost sounds like frustration. dean already knows exactly where this conversation is heading.

"y/n."

you close your eyes briefly, just for a second, like hearing your own name spoken that gently somehow hurts more.

"i'm fine."

another lie. quieter this time, less convincing.

beau lets out a short humourless laugh and the sound makes you visibly tense. "you're not."

silence.

the refrigerator hums quietly behind you, traffic moves somewhere below, a siren echoes several streets away.

you stare down at the water bottle, trying your best to avoid eye contact with your brother and his best friend.

beau watches you. dean watches the both of you, and suddenly the room feels too small.

beau drags a hand slowly across his jaw as his expression hardens. not because he's angry at you, because he's angry for you.

he's been watching this happen for months. watching pieces of his sister disappear one at a time and he's finally run out of patience.

"you can't keep doing this."

your shoulders immediately stiffen, a reaction so instinctive it almost looks unconscious. "beau."

"no."

his voice sharpens, not loud, worse, serious. the kind of serious that instantly makes your stomach drop. "seriously."

you look away, towards the windows, toward literally anywhere except your brother. dean can already see the tears beginning to form, you're losing the fight to keep yourself together.

"he treats you like shit, y/n."

the words hit the room like broken glass.

"beau."

"he does."

"keep your voice down."

your response comes too quickly, like you've had this conversation before. like you've spent months managing everybody else's reactions. months smoothing things over, months making excuses for your boyfriend.

"why?"

your gaze flicks instinctively towards the hallway, towards your bedroom, towards the closed door behind which your boyfriend is currently sleeping peacefully.

the movement lasts less than a second but it says everything. suddenly something genuinely ugly settles low inside dean's chest.

even now, even after whatever happened tonight, even after walking through that front door looking like you'd spent the entire evening trying not to cry, you're worried about him hearing.

worried about upsetting him, worried about protecting him.

"he'll hear you."

"good." beau is standing before the word fully leaves his mouth. the movement sudden enough that you physically take a step backward.

his frustration finally bleeds through. raw, unfiltered. "let him."

"beau."

"i don't care."

his voice cracks slightly, just enough, emotion sneaking through the anger. "i genuinely don't care."

he doesn't sound angry anymore, he just sounds hurt.

which somehow makes everything worse because anger is easy. anger burns hot and fast. hurt lingers, it comes from loving somebody, from watching somebody you care about slowly disappear in front of you and feeling completely powerless to stop it.

"you're miserable."

silence.

the words land heavily between you. not cruel, not dramatic, just honest, painfully honest.

your throat works once, then twice, like you're trying to swallow around something sharp.

"you haven't been yourself in months, y/n."

your eyes shine immediately and dean knows. he's seen this expression before, seen it every time somebody accidentally gets too close to the truth.

"that's not fair." your voice comes out smaller now, fragile.

beau laughs once, though it carries no humour. "it is fair."

he takes a step closer, then another, closing the space between you. "you barely laugh anymore."

another.

"you second guess everything."

another.

"you apologise for things that aren't even your fault."

your breathing begins to shake.

"you literally asked me if a dress was disrespectful, y/n."

suddenly your face crumples, completely, instantly, like the memory physically hurts.

dean remembers it too.

he remembers standing in this very kitchen while you'd hovered awkwardly near the island. he remembers the way you'd tugged nervously at the hem of your dress, the way you'd laughed afterwards, pretending the question wasn't serious.

pretending it hadn't mattered. except it had mattered.

confident people don't ask permission to exist comfortably inside their own bodies, and somewhere along the way your boyfriend had convinced you otherwise.

"you used to love getting dressed up."

beau's voice breaks, just slightly. "you used to walk into rooms like you belonged there."

tears begin to spill down your cheeks. fast, silent, uncontrollable.

"beau..."

"you don't even recognise yourself anymore."

that's it, that's the moment everything finally breaks. dean physically watches it happen. he watches the exact second whatever you've been holding together finally gives way.

a sound leaves your throat. it's small, broken, devastating.

suddenly you're crying, really crying. the kind that hurts, the kind that comes from somewhere deep. months of swallowed arguments, months of apologies, months of shrinking yourself, all collapsing at once.

beau's entire expression changes immediately, every trace of anger on his features disappearing.

"shit."

he crosses the room instantly and the second his arms wrap around you, you fall apart completely, like your body had simply been waiting for permission to stop pretending.

you grab handfuls of his shirt, burying your face against his shoulder.

you sob, hard.

loud enough that dean feels his own chest tighten. this isn't sadness, this is devastation. dean has known you for years, long enough to remember every version of you.

the twelve-year-old who cried over a lost bracelet.

the sixteen-year-old who called beau hysterically because she'd backed her car into a pole.

the eighteen-year-old who got emotional during graduation speeches.

he has seen you cry, countless times. never like this, never this broken, never this exhausted.

never like somebody whose heart has been carrying too much weight for far too long.

beau just holds you tighter, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other is wrapped firmly around your shoulders.

protective, steady. the way he always has. "i know."

his voice comes out rough, you cry harder. "i know, y/n. i'm here."

dean has to look away, because watching you break apart in your brother's arms feels strangely private.

down the hallway your boyfriend sleeps peacefully, completely unaware, while the girl he claims to love stands out here falling to pieces.

for the first time, something vicious settles permanently inside dean towards a man he barely knows. if this is what loving him feels like for you, then maybe he doesn't deserve you at all.

[wh1msymaddy]

the way you captured this is SO real and you handled it beautifully omg 🥹. i was in a situation like this (relationship wise) and this is raw and realistic in the best way possible