Dean Di Laurentis x Reader
You weren't jealous. That was what you'd been telling yourself all night. Dean, of course, knew you were lying. And when you finally find yourself alone with him, you discover that maybe the best way to prove you have nothing to worry about is to remind him, kiss by kiss, that he's still yours.
The music had been playing for so long that you had stopped paying attention to the song. The voices mixed with laughter, the sound of glasses clinking and the constant murmur of conversations filled the house, turning every room into a kind of pleasant chaos that no one seemed to want to escape from. You had been there for almost an hour and, until a few minutes ago, everything had been exactly as you expected: a quiet night among friends, a few drinks, too many jokes from Garrett, and Dean appearing by your side every so often just to steal a kiss from you before going back to the others.
It hadn't been anything particularly dramatic. There had been no important introduction or a moment when everyone turned to look at her. She had simply approached the group while Dean was talking to Garrett and Logan, and little by little she had found a way to stay next to Dean. Far too close to him.
You were leaning against the edge of the table, holding your glass between your hands while pretending to listen to what someone was telling you. You nodded from time to time, smiled when appropriate and even let out a small laugh when the conversation called for it, but your attention had started drifting toward the other side of the room long before you were willing to admit it.
It wasn't unusual. Dean laughed at practically everything. He had that ability to make an insignificant conversation seem much funnier than it actually was, and that was probably why so many people ended up gravitating toward him. You knew that better than anyone.
What you didn't like was the way she looked at him, it was a look that lingered too long. Far too confident and when Dean said something, she tilted her head slightly, smiled and moved a little closer to answer him, as if she were trying to reduce the distance between them without making it obvious enough for anyone to call her out on it.
You forced yourself to look away, it was none of your business, well, it was your business.
But that didn't mean you had to keep an eye on every conversation he had with another woman. You weren't that kind of person. You had never wanted to be and, above all, you didn't want to become someone who needed to keep track of who was talking to him or how long they stayed near him.
So you took another drink.
“Are you listening to me?” the person beside you asked, making you turn your head.
You blinked and smiled quickly, trying to pick up the conversation you had lost.
“Yes, sorry. I got distracted for a moment,” you admitted, setting your glass down on the table as you mentally searched for the last part of what they had told you.
The other person continued talking, but you had barely managed to concentrate when you heard a laugh from across the room.
Your eyes turned toward him on pure instinct, the girl was touching his arm, it had only been for a second. A hand resting on his bicep while she laughed at something he had said, but it was enough for something uncomfortable to settle beneath your ribs.
Dean didn't move away, nor did he do anything to return the gesture, he simply kept talking and that should have been enough. It should, you tightened your fingers slightly around the glass and breathed slowly.
“This can't be,” you murmured to yourself.
“What can't be?” the person beside you asked.
The answer came out far too quickly.
You forced yourself to smile and looked straight ahead again, determined not to pay any more attention. For the next few minutes, you managed to keep yourself occupied. You talked to someone about classes, listened to an absurd story about the last practice and even took part in a discussion about which movie they should watch afterward.
But every time you looked up, Dean was still there and so was she, it didn't seem like they were doing anything wrong. That was precisely what was irritating. Dean was being Dean, charming, funny, relaxed, and you were sitting on the other side of the room trying not to wonder why that girl seemed so interested in finding out just how close she could get.
When she touched his arm again, this time while saying something close to his ear, you felt something inside you finally tense.
You set your glass down on the table.
“I'm getting another drink,” you announced, even though no one had asked.
You got up before anyone could respond and walked toward the kitchen, you weren't running away, that was what you repeated to yourself as you opened the refrigerator.
You weren't running away.
You just needed a minute.
The kitchen was much quieter than the rest of the house. The sound of the music reached you muffled from the living room and, for a few seconds, you could breathe without having to listen to everyone else's laughter.
You took out a bottle of water and set it against the counter.
You said it quietly, as if you needed to hear it to believe it.
You almost choked, lifted your gaze and found Dean leaning against the doorframe. He was watching you with a small smile, one of those that appeared when he knew he had discovered something you were still trying to hide.
“No,” you answered far too quickly.
He walked into the kitchen with his hands in his pockets and closed the distance between you without any hurry. The same amused smile remained on his lips, but there was something different in his eyes. Something more attentive.
He knew you far too well.
“What are you doing here?” you asked, pretending to focus on the bottle.
“Because you disappeared.”
“I just came for some water.”
Dean looked at the bottle you were holding and then looked back at you.
“And you needed to leave the living room to get it?”
You let out a small humorless laugh.
Dean moved a little closer. Close enough for you to feel his presence, but without touching you yet. His expression had softened, although that smile was still there, as if he were trying to figure out how far he could go before you finally admitted what was going on.
“You're acting weird,” he finally said.
“You've looked toward the living room about thirty times and you just came to hide in the kitchen to drink water that you could have gotten from any table.”
You looked at him in silence.
His smile grew a little wider.
Dean let out a low laugh and shook his head. Then he leaned slightly toward you, searching for your eyes.
The question caught you off guard, because you weren't angry. Not exactly. You were uncomfortable. Irritated. A little insecure, even though it was hard for you to admit it. And, above all, you were desperately trying not to give importance to something that seemed to have far too much.
Dean watched you for a few more seconds. He didn't insist. Not yet. He simply lifted a hand and gently tucked a loose strand of hair away from your face.
He gave you a short kiss on the forehead before stepping away and that should have fixed it, it should have made you feel calm. Instead, when Dean returned to the living room and that girl moved closer to him again, you discovered that the small knot in your chest was still exactly where it had been.
Except now you knew something you hadn't known before. Dean had noticed it too and, judging by the way he had looked at you before walking away, he was probably starting to enjoy it.
You had returned to the others, sat on the arm of the couch and were taking part in a conversation that, at least in theory, interested you. You had even managed to laugh a couple of times, although your attention kept drifting from time to time toward the other side of the room.
Dean was still talking to her, except now you knew he was doing it while being perfectly aware of where you were, you realized it when you looked up and his eyes met yours.
It wasn't a casual smile, it was that slow, shameless smile that appeared every time he knew exactly what he was doing.
You looked away immediately.
“No what?” someone beside you asked.
You looked straight ahead again, a few seconds later, you heard Dean's laugh again. You refused to look, you weren't going to, you weren't going to give him the satisfaction, until someone sat down beside you.
“Why are you so serious?”
You recognized his voice before looking at him. Dean was sitting beside you, one arm resting against the back of the couch and that expression of absolute calm that was starting to irritate you more than it should.
“I'm not serious, I'm normal.”
“And yet you're with me.”
“Sometimes I wonder why.”
“Because you're way too confident in yourself.”
You couldn't stop a small smile from appearing on your lips. Dean saw it, of course he did.
Dean leaned slightly toward you.
“You're trying not to smile because you're still mad.”
The word fell between the two of you with an irritating ease, your expression immediately changed. Dean noticed and his smile grew even wider.
“I'm not jealous,” you replied, trying to make your voice sound completely convinced.
“Stop saying it like you don't believe me.”
“It's because I don't believe you.”
You looked at him in disbelief. He let out a low laugh and moved his body a little closer to yours, without actually touching you.
“You don't have to be jealous,” he said then, this time in a softer tone. “You have no reason to.”
For a few seconds, the two of you remained silent and for the first time since that girl had approached Dean, you felt the tension beginning to disappear. Until he smiled again.
“You're still thinking about it, aren't you?” Dean asked, leaning a little closer to you so you could hear him over the music.
Dean watched you for a few seconds, amused, as if he were waiting for you to finally get tired of denying it.
“Then tell me what you're thinking about.”
There was something particularly irritating about how comfortable he seemed. As if he knew exactly what he was doing to you and was enjoying every second of it.
You looked at him for a few more seconds, then set your glass down on the table.
You didn't wait for him to ask another question. You got up and started walking toward the hallway that led to a quieter part of the house. You heard his footsteps behind you almost immediately.
When you reached a secluded corner, away from the noise of the living room, you turned around.
Dean stopped in front of you.
“Are you sure you're not mad at me?”
His voice had changed. It no longer sounded teasing. There was a sincere softness in it that made something inside you relax.
You lowered your gaze for a moment.
“The way she was with you.”
He didn't smile this time.
“And I know you didn't do anything,” you continued, absentmindedly playing with the edge of your sleeve. “I know you weren't giving her any reason. I just... didn't like it.”
“You could have told me that.”
“Instead of looking at me like you were planning my murder.”
A small smile appeared on your lips.
“I wasn't looking at you like that.”
You looked at him again and then did something you hadn't planned. You moved closer, Dean barely had time to react before you rose onto your toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek, it was brief.
His expression changed immediately.
You didn't answer, you left another kiss a little closer to the corner of his lips.
“Oh,” he murmured, finally understanding.
You pulled away just a few inches to look at him.
The smile that appeared on his face was impossible to hide.
“I'm not doing anything.”
You rolled your eyes, but before he could say anything else, you leaned closer again, this time kissing his jaw. Dean let out a small laugh, but he didn't move, on the contrary, when you moved closer again, he tilted his head slightly, giving you room without you having to ask.
Your smile appeared against his skin.
“What are you doing?” he asked, although his voice had taken on a clearly amused tone.
“This doesn't look like nothing.”
Dean let out a low laugh.
You kissed his cheek again and then the line of his jaw, slowly, without rushing. There was no need to do it quickly. You weren't trying to hide anything.
For the first time all night, you weren't trying to convince yourself that you didn't care either, you did and very much.
When your lips brushed his neck again, you felt Dean take a deep breath, he didn't pull away, he simply let one hand fall onto your waist, pulling you a little closer.
“I think I understand the message now,” he murmured.
You pulled away just enough to look at him.
You moved closer again and left another kiss on his neck, Dean closed his eyes for a second, clearly amused.
“Definitely not jealous.”
You looked at him for a few seconds.
His smile was still there, but his eyes had taken on a different warmth. He was no longer teasing you. There was something deeply affectionate in the way he looked at you.
“You don't have to prove anything to me,” he finally said.
The sentence made you stop.
“I don't want you to think you have to compete with anyone.”
“Then what are you doing?”
Your fingers slid gently over the collar of his shirt as you looked at him.
“Reminding you that you're mine.”
Dean went completely still, for a second, he seemed surprised, then that slow, satisfied smile of his appeared.
“That sounds pretty possessive.”
Dean let out a small laugh and rested his forehead against yours.
The confession made you smile.
“And you know what else I like?”
“That you finally admitted you're jealous.”
“You just said I'm yours.”
“That doesn't mean I'm jealous.”
Dean shook his head, amused.
His fingers tightened gently around your waist as he pulled you a little closer.
“You can keep going,” he murmured.
“Marking your territory.”
Dean tilted his head slightly, exposing his neck again, and looked at you with an expression that made it perfectly clear he had no intention of stopping you.
Dean didn't seem to be in any hurry to return to the others.
He remained in front of you, one hand resting on your waist and the other casually braced against the wall. The music reached you muffled from the living room, accompanied by distant voices and laughter, but there, in that little corner, everything seemed to have become quieter.
You looked at him for a few seconds, still trying to get used to the satisfied expression on his face.
“What?” you finally asked.
Dean shook his head, smiling.
“You've been looking at me like that for a while.”
“I'm just trying to understand what happened to the girl who, twenty minutes ago, insisted she wasn't jealous.”
“That girl is still here.”
“I don't know,” he replied, pretending to think about it. “This one seems a lot more dangerous.”
You gave him a small push against the chest.
“I like knowing you care about me like this,” he admitted, gently running his thumb over your waist. “Not because you need to prove anything to me, but because it means I can still make you feel something.”
There was a small silence.
This time, you were the one who moved closer. Dean barely smiled when you rose onto your toes, but instead of going for his cheek, your hands rested gently against his chest, feeling the firm warmth of his body beneath the fabric of his shirt.
He didn't move, he simply watched you, attentive, as if he already knew exactly what you were going to do and then you did it. Your lips found his in a slow, deliberate kiss, without rushing. It wasn't a brief or distracted brush of your lips; it was a conscious kiss, the kind that starts softly and ends up stealing your breath before you even realize it.
Dean took barely a second to react, his hand on your waist tightening slightly, pulling you closer to him, as if the distance between you suddenly felt insufficient. His other arm, which had previously been resting against the wall, lowered to wrap around you as well, closing the space between you until there was nothing left between your bodies.
The kiss deepened naturally, effortlessly, as if you had both been waiting for exactly that moment, you could feel his breathing change against your lips, slower, more deliberate, and the way his thumb moved gently over your side, as if he couldn't decide whether to keep you still or pull you even closer.
When you pulled away just a few inches, your lips brushed against his one last time before you moved far enough away to look at him. Dean was smiling, that slow, satisfied smile that always appeared when he managed to disarm you without saying a single word.
“Definitely not jealous,” he murmured.
His laugh was low, almost against your lips still.
“It's difficult when you're so adorable.”
You kissed him again, this time more briefly, but just as intentional, as if you couldn't help it. Dean let out a soft laugh against your mouth.
“I think I'm going to run into Garrett and Logan and I'm not going to be able to explain why my neck is covered in kisses.”
You pulled away to look at him.
“You can tell them the truth.”
“That my girlfriend got jealous and decided to make it clear that I'm hers?”
Dean smiled in a way that made you know he liked the idea far too much.
“I love the way that sounds.”
“Although I think Garrett is going to laugh at me.”
You laughed softly and shook your head. Dean took advantage of the moment to pull you closer to him. His arms wrapped around you with a naturalness that made any remaining tension disappear.
“Are you feeling better now?” he asked.
The question was much more serious than you expected.
“I just want to make sure.”
You looked at him for a few seconds before answering.
“Yes. Because I know I have nothing to worry about.”
Dean's smile disappeared for a moment, replaced by something warmer.
“And I don't want you to think you have to compete for me.”
“No,” he accepted. “You were just making things clear.”
“I like this version of you.”
You rolled your eyes again, but before you could pull away, Dean pressed a slow kiss to your forehead.
Then he rested his forehead against yours.
“Although I have a question.”
“Are you going to keep saying you're not jealous?”
“Especially after all this.”
You looked at him for a few seconds and then rested your head against his chest. Dean wrapped his arms around you, and for the first time that night, you felt like everything was exactly where it was supposed to be.
Until you heard Garrett's voice from the living room.
“Dean! Where the hell did you disappear to?”
Dean closed his eyes and let out a sigh.
“I guess our hiding place is over.”
“Do you want to go back?”
Then he looked toward the living room.
He pulled away from you slightly, but before leaving, he looked down at you and smiled again.
“Although I think this is going to be interesting.”
Dean looked at you as if you had just said the most absurd thing in the world.
You couldn't help but laugh.
“You're such a show-off.”
“I'm just proud of my girlfriend.”
And before you could answer, he took your hand and intertwined his fingers with yours. Dean walked beside you with his fingers intertwined with yours and an expression far too calm for someone who had several visible marks on his neck. You, on the other hand, were perfectly aware of every look that was beginning to follow you.
He was sitting in one of the armchairs, a drink in his hand, talking to Logan. He looked up when the two of you approached and his expression slowly changed.
First he looked at Dean, then at you, then back at Dean, and a huge smile appeared on his face.
“Oh, no,” Logan murmured, following the direction of his gaze. “What did you do now?”
Dean dropped onto the couch with absolute calm.
“Why do you assume I did something?”
Garrett burst out laughing.
“Because your neck is covered in marks.”
Dean brought a hand to his neck, feigning surprise.
“Don't play dumb,” Garrett replied, still laughing. “You look like a teenager who just discovered he has a girlfriend.”
“Maybe I'm proud to have her.”
Garrett looked at you, and you tried to keep a neutral expression.
“Did you do this?” he asked you directly.
You felt your cheeks starting to heat up, Dean answered before you could.
“You don't need to know.”
Logan shook his head, amused.
“I don't want to know what happened.”
“Then don't ask,” Dean replied.
“Believe me, I wasn't planning to.”
Garrett looked at the marks again and then at you.
“Although I have to admit I've never seen Dean this happy about having his neck looking like a mess.”
“Because it's not a mess.”
You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. Dean noticed, leaned slightly toward you and murmured:
“You're the one doing this.”
Garrett was still watching the two of you with a look of absolute amusement.
“Something definitely happened.”
“Nothing that concerns you,” Dean replied.
“That's what someone who clearly did something would say.”
“You have marks on your neck.”
“That doesn't prove anything.”
Garrett burst out laughing.
The conversation continued and, little by little, everyone's attention stopped focusing on the two of you. The music picked up again and someone started another ridiculous argument about what song to play next. The party returned to its usual rhythm.
But Dean didn't let go of your hand.
Every now and then, his thumb absentmindedly brushed over your knuckles as he talked to the others, as if he needed to remind you that he was still there, and every time he did, something warm settled in your chest.
After a few minutes, Dean leaned toward you.
“I like that you finally admit it.”
You shook your head and briefly rested your head against his shoulder.
Dean turned slightly toward you.
“You don't have to apologize.”
“You didn't do anything wrong.”
You stayed quiet, Dean lifted a hand and gently caressed your cheek.
“Besides,” he added with a smile, “if this is how you get when you're jealous, I'm definitely not going to complain.”
You let out a small laugh.
“And you're pretty possessive.”
There was a brief silence, one of those silences that didn't need to be filled. Dean looked at you for a few seconds before leaning closer and placing a quiet kiss on your lips. It wasn't long or desperate. Just warm, familiar and enough to remind you of everything that really mattered.
When he pulled away, he stayed close.
“By the way,” he murmured.
Dean discreetly pointed to his neck.
“I think you should leave me another one.”
You looked at him incredulously.
“Because this time I want them to know I'm proud of who left them.”
Your expression softened.
Dean intertwined his fingers with yours again.
And this time there was no doubt.
