٠࣪⭑ jane٠࣪⭑

So how has he become the one with the wrong idea?

Somewhere along the way, Dean caught feelings for his fuckbuddy. Friend with benefits. Whatever label you wanted to slap on it, he’d broken the one sacred rule: don’t catch feelings.

You blew into his life like a tornado.

You tore apart his carefully maintained routine and—before he even realized it was happening—made everyone else seem considerably less interesting.

At first, Dean didn’t mind. He’d found a girl who could match his energy, someone who wanted the same uncomplicated physical release he was more than happy to provide.

But then things started changing.

Sometimes, after sex, you stayed.

You’d lie in bed talking about classes, his hockey practices, your bizarre family dilemmas, campus gossip—anything and everything. Neither of you ever intended to fall asleep together, but somehow it kept happening. More than once, you woke up with Dean wrapped around you, his arm draped across your waist as if it belonged there.

Which was honestly very nice.

The problem was that Dean had always been excellent at avoiding things. Yet he’d never felt this way about a girl before.

At least not since high school, and he’d be a senior in a matter of months. The whole thing felt strange. Too serious. Too grown-up. It didn’t fit the effortless, unbothered persona he'd spent years perfecting.

You weren’t much better.

You’d tried to bring up the subject more than once, testing the waters carefully, only to abandon it whenever Dean gave you nothing to work with. Every conversation seemed to end with him brushing things off or changing the subject before it could become real.

Of course you’d caught feelings too.

Because beneath all the flirting, the confidence, and the reputation, Dean was kind. Thoughtful in ways most people never got to see. He was gentle when it mattered, attentive without making a big deal out of it, and he'd never once made you feel disposable.

Not like certain frat boys or other athletes, who only cared about themselves. 

Dean Di Laurentis is boyfriend material.

The problem is that he doesn’t seem to realize it.

Or maybe he does. Maybe he just doesn’t want to admit it.

Which brings you to your current dilemma.

Dean is sprawled across the couch, a girl’s hand resting on his chest as she gazes up at him like he hung the stars himself. And he’s entertaining it.

You’d never explicitly asked for exclusivity, but the two of you had established one rule from the beginning: if either of you wanted out, or wanted to be with someone else, you’d say so.

For the past few weeks, you’d seen each other almost every day. You weren’t seeing anyone else, and you’d gotten the impression he wasn't either. In fact, campus gossip had been practically buzzing about the fact that Dean Di Laurentis hadn’t hooked up with anyone at a party in weeks.

It shouldn’t have made you jealous.

You weren’t together. You weren’t anything.

So why did it feel like you were everything? Why did it feel like he was breaking your heart without even realizing it?

The noise of the party faded into the background as you chugged the drink in your hand and headed for the kitchen in search of something stronger.

You wanted to curse Garrett for hosting this stupid party. For practically forcing you to come, knowing Dean would obviously be here.

Grabbing a bottle of tequila, you started pouring.

Your eyes kept flicking back and forth between Dean’s hand resting on the girl's thigh and the way their faces seemed just a little too close together.

“Whoa, there.”

A voice beside you pulled you from your thoughts.

Beau Maxwell.

Dean’s best friend gently took the bottle from your hands before you could continue.

“Rough night?” He asked, glancing at the alarming amount of tequila you’d managed to fit into one cup

“Yeah,” you said with a tight smile. “You could say that.”

His expression softened. Without a word, he grabbed a random mixer from a nearby shelf and handed it to you.

“Here,” He twisted off the cap and passed it over. “Unless your plan is to drink four tequila shots at once.”

A laugh escaped you despite yourself.

You poured some into the cup and took a sip. Immediately, you coughed.

“That bad?” Beau asked, amused, patting your back lightly as you struggled to swallow.

“It's really strong,” you managed.

“Can I try?”

You looked up at him and held out the cup. “Be my guest.”

Beau took a sip and a second later, he grimaced.

“Damn.” He lowered the cup. “Who hurt you?”

You tried to laugh but the joke landed a little too close to home.

Had Dean talked to Beau about whatever this thing between you was? Did Beau even know you'd been sleeping together?

Your eyes drifted back toward the living room.

Dean now had two girls caressing his face and chest. Logan and Tucker were sitting nearby with girls of their own, laughing about something. Still, the knot in your stomach refused to loosen.

Beau followed your gaze, understanding immediately flashed across his face.

Before you could look away, his hand settled on your waist. He gently turned you around until your back was resting against the kitchen island, blocking your view of Dean entirely.

“He's really dumb sometimes,” Beau said.

You hummed in agreement, taking another small sip.

Then, before you could think better of it, you asked, “Wanna do something maybe even dumber?”

His eyebrows lifted.

“Like what?”

You tilted your head slightly. “Like helping me forget what his name even is.”

For a moment, Beau said nothing, but he didn’t remove his hand from your waist. Instead, his thumb brushed absentmindedly against the fabric of your top, moving back and forth.

His gaze flickered down to your lips.

“He’ll be pissed,” Beau said quietly.

“I doubt he cares.” Your voice came out softer than intended. “Just look at him. Not a care in the world.”

He glanced toward the living room before looking back at you, his jaw tightening. Then he leaned in slightly, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

The word barely left your mouth before the space between you seemed to disappear. For a moment, neither of you moved, caught in the tension hanging between you. Then Beau closed the distance, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was soft and careful, nothing like Dean. 

Dean kissed like everything was urgent, like he was always one second away from losing control. Beau, meanwhile, seemed content to take his time.

You found yourself kissing him back anyway, driven by a messy combination of hurt, anger, and the lingering hope that Dean might finally show that he cared. 

The kiss deepened, and for a moment you let yourself get lost in it. It was nice. Beau was nice. A few weeks ago, you might’ve even considered going back to his place, letting the night unfold into something more. But now, no matter how hard you tried to focus on the boy kissing you, your thoughts kept drifting elsewhere. 

Now, all you could think about was a certain blond hockey player.

Despite the warmth spreading through your chest, despite the attention and the distraction, there was no real desire to take things any further.

Still, even if you’d wanted to, you never got the chance.

You’d barely noticed how much time had passed when a loud clearing of a throat cut through the moment. A heavy hand landed on Beau’s shoulder, the interruption sharp enough to make both of you freeze before slowly pulling apart.

And there stood Dean. His jaw was clenched so tightly it looked painful, his entire body rigid with tension. But it was his eyes that made your breath catch, blazing with a fury that left little doubt he’d seen far more than enough.

“Having fun?” He asked through gritted teeth.

“Hey, Dean,” Beau said breathlessly, moving his hand away from your jaw.

You took a deep breath, glancing between the two men.

“Didn’t realize you two knew each other,” Dean said.

“Yeah, we’ve crossed paths a few times,” Beau answered. “We have a business course together too, right?”

“Yeah, right,” you stammered out, suddenly acutely aware of Beau's hand on your waist and Dean’s eyes burning into your profile.

Dean hummed, his jaw still tightly clenched.

“I think one of your teammates was looking for you,” he said to his friend.

“Who?”

“I don’t fucking know. He was just asking around for where you were.”

You knew it was a lie. You could tell by the bored tone of his voice and the way he seemed far more interested in staring at you than looking at Beau. Dean had never been a particularly good liar.

“Okay...” Beau trailed off. “I’ll see you around?”

You looked up at him and nodded, “See you.”

Dean watched him walk away to search for his supposed teammate.

“You won’t be seeing him around,” he all but growled.

Before you could respond, he grabbed your hand and pulled you toward the staircase leading up to his room. You stumbled after him, startled by the sudden movement.

You barely had time to process what was happening before you were standing in his bedroom, the door locked behind you while Dean paced in front of his bed.

“Dean, what the fuck?” You finally asked, breaking the silence as you frowned at the man in front of you.

“Me what the fuck?” He shot back, turning to point at you. “You what the fuck?”

“Huh?”

Your brows knitted together as you stared at him in confusion.

“Why the fuck would you kiss Beau?”

A sharp laugh escaped you, completely devoid of humor.

“You think it’s funny to mess around with my friend? That’s so fucked up.”

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you have no right to act like this or throw accusations around when you’re not any better.”

You let out a deep breath and rubbed at your eyes, trying to gather yourself.

“You don't get to practically entertain a threesome on the couch and then get mad because I kissed someone.”

“It's not just someone. That’s my friend,” he snapped. “And what threesome? I haven’t slept with anyone since we started—”

The words died on his tongue, and you caught it immediately. The hesitation. The way he suddenly seemed unable to finish the sentence. 

Because the truth was, even Dean couldn't figure out what exactly the two of you were. Or, perhaps more accurately, what the two of you weren't.

“You’re gonna act like you didn't have two girls all over you?” You huffed. “Because you looked really comfortable.”

“All over me?” He looked genuinely offended by the accusation, as if it couldn’t have been further from the truth.

“I know we’re not exclusive or anything, but really? You had to do it right in front of me?”

“I don’t know what you think happened, but I didn’t even kiss them.” He shook his head. “I mean, one of them tried, but I just didn’t...”

“Didn’t what?”

For a moment, he stayed silent.

Dean sat down on the edge of his bed, dragging a hand over his face as he searched for the right words. His elbows rested on his knees, his head dipping briefly into his hands before he finally looked back up at you.

The anger had vanished, replaced by something far more vulnerable, something pained enough that it made your chest tighten just looking at him.

“I couldn’t kiss someone else.”

You let out a shaky breath at his words, watching as he waited for your reaction.

“Dean, that doesn’t make any sense.”

“Why?” He asked, genuinely puzzled.

“Because...” Your mind flashed back to all the times you’d carefully tried to bring up whatever this thing between you was. The times he’d thanked you for being so chill about your arrangement. The times he’d said he didn't have time for a girlfriend. How much he enjoyed his freedom.

“Is it so crazy that I could feel something between us?” He asked, a frown creasing his brows.

“You told me you didn’t want a girlfriend,” You replied.

“And you said you wanted a casual relationship.”

“Yeah, because you said you didn’t want to be tied down,” you shot back. “I’m not going to ask for something serious from the same guy who’s with a different girl every night.”

“You should’ve told me that,” he muttered.

Taking a deep breath, he stood and closed the distance between you.

“I've done casual before. It wasn’t an issue for me,” you explained. “But then you started doing things… You remember my friends’ names. You cuddle me. You kiss my forehead when I leave in the mornings...”

His expression softened.

When he gets closer to you, he takes your hands in his, rubbing his thumb across your palm.

“Did you like kissing Beau?”

“What?” You asked, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic when it felt like the two of you had almost finally admitted your feelings.

“Did you like kissing Beau?” He repeated, his gaze darkened now, one hand lifting to cradle your cheek.

“It was nice,” you admitted softly, watching the way he couldn't stop looking at you. “But I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“Yeah?”

His face was closer now, his breath brushing against your skin.

“It wasn’t fair to Beau, to just... use him.”

“You feel guilty, then?”

“I think he knew it came from jealousy, but it still wasn’t right.”

Dean slid a finger beneath your chin and tilted your head up until your eyes met.

“Beau can handle himself,” he said quietly. “He knew what he was doing.”

“So you're not mad?” You asked, the gentleness in his voice was making it difficult to think straight.

“I'm furious,” he admitted, a humorless laugh escaped him. “But I’ll deal with him later.”

His thumb brushed across your jaw.

“You, on the other hand, are another story.”

Before you could even react, Dean slid his hand to the side of your neck, pulling you into a deep kiss. The frustration that had been simmering between you all night seemed to collide at once. 

One hand settled at your waist before drifting lower to your ass, drawing you closer as his other arm wrapped around you, hoisting you up and wrapping your thighs around his waist.

He backed you against the door, kissing you like he had a point to prove. When he finally pulled away, it was only to press a trail of kisses along your jaw, his forehead resting briefly against yours as both of you fought to catch your breath. 

His hand moved toward the hem of your skirt, brushing over the fabric of your panties and finding the evidence of just how affected you were. The corner of his mouth twitched as his gaze flickered up to meet yours. 

“This for him or me?” Dean asked, his voice low and rough around the edges. 

“You,” you whispered immediately, your pulse racing as his heated gaze locked onto yours. “Always you.” 

Those three words were all he needed.

Dean pulled away from the door and guided you toward the bed, dropping you on it before leaning over you. His lips found yours again, the kiss softer now, stripped of some of the jealousy and frustration that had fueled it moments before.

Then you suddenly broke away.

“Wait,” you gasped, catching his wrist before things could go any further. “Before we do this, I need to know what we are now.”

For a moment, all you could hear was the sound of both your breathing.

“Whatever you want us to be,” he said finally.

“Seriously? You’d just give up your womanizer ways for me?” You stared at him, a skeptical look on your face.

A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Baby, if you wanted to get married tomorrow, I’d do it.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” you laughed, feeling him press a soft kiss to your cheek.

“Too soon to talk about children, then?”

“Take me on a proper date first.”

Dean's smile widened, “That can definitely be arranged.”

You tried to get past it, understand the situation you're in, but you can't wrap your head around it. How the hell did Garrett manage to convince seven people to squeeze into his car without holding a gun to their head?

The scene you're greeted with when you make your way downstairs is baffling, suffocating almost. 

Garrett and Hannah sit comfortably in the front, giggling over a stupid joke he made as Hannah presses some random buttons to get the music working. Your eyes drift to the back, and that's when you see the disaster.  

Jesus Christ. 

You can't even tell people apart from how cramped it is inside. Logan's sitting by the window, with Jules on the edge of his lap. Tucker sits next to him, tense and looking very uncomfortable. 

Beau is glued to Tucker's side, with Allie comfortably positioned on his lap. They're giggling together as she shows him something on her phone. It's a very warm sight, they've grown really close after their trip to New York together. 

As if things couldn't get any worse, Dean is here. His side of the car is definitely... emptier. He's positioned in the seat behind Garret with his legs stretched over the rolled down window. The door to his side wide open, letting in much needed air. 

He's busy scrolling on his phone, only noticing your presence when your voice erupts through the chaos. 

"Wow, you should've invited a few more people," your tone fills with sarcasm, statement directed towards your brother. "Too much space." 

An amused chuckle escapes Dean's throat at your snarky comment, legs back on the ground as his attention shifts to Garrett. 

"Haha, very funny, Graham." Garret rolls his eyes, causing Hannah to shove his side. "Get in, you kept us stalling forever." 

"Where am I supposed to sit?" You argue, pointing towards the rammed car. 

Your eyes flicker back to Dean, who adjusts his position at your question. His legs spread apart, fingers lightly patting his lap, the silent gesture an invitation, something he voluntarily did to catch your attention. 

The idea of straddling Dean's lap for the entire car ride makes your heart flutter, cause air to get stuck in your throat. You can barely act normal when he's around, turning into a stuttering mess as soon as he joins any conversation, and now you have to sit on his lap for the next thirty minutes. 

"You're the only one complaining," Garrett interrupts through your thoughts, gesturing for you to get in the car. "Quit being a baby and find yourself a place to sit." 

A sigh dreads past your lips, dragging a deep exhale out as you step towards the vehicle. Dean clears his throat, fumbling around to put his phone away and straighten his back. You almost scoff if not for how nervous you are. 

"Hi," you start, avoiding Dean's gaze. 

"Hi," he repeats, but his tone is teasing, amused by how flustered you seem. You pause for a second, mustering up the courage to ask him to scoot, but Dean beats you to talking. "What are you waiting for?"

"Huh?" You hum, caught off guard. 

"Sit," his voice lowers into a whisper, gesturing you to sit on his lap. Your stomach twists into knots, the demand carrying so much tension, it makes your knees grow weak. "Sit on my lap." 

You fight the choked breath threatening to leave your chest, flashing him a tight-lipped smile, but still doing as you're told. You shuffle around to get in the car, carefully propping yourself across Dean's lap. 

Your whole body's tense, and you're sitting uncomfortably at the edge of his lap, barely providing yourself any space. The length of his legs is of no help, unnecessary long, you're practically holding onto the headrest to keep yourself from falling. 

"I'm gonna fucking kill you, Garrett Graham." You mutter through gritted teeth, causing your brother to freeze in his spot.

"Alright, now that everyone's here," Hannah bursts into laughter at Garrett's change of topic, completely ignoring the threat you threw in his direction. 

Annoyance fades into surprise when Dean slings his arms around your waist, using your astonishment as an opportunity to tug you close. Your back hits his firm chest with a thud, the proximity of the touch overwhelming you in an instant. 

Your body radiates with heat, as Dean's breath fans over your ear, the feather-like sensation causing goosebumps to break out across your back. He's so close, you can smell his stupid cologne, the aroma intoxicating, it almost melts you in your spot. 

You try to shuffle back into your old position, in case you're too heavy or causing Dean any discomfort, but the hand he presses to your hips interrupts those thoughts from rummaging through your head.

"You should get comfortable," he whispers in your ear, drawing circular motions to the sliver of skin just above your skirt. "It's a long ride." 

Fuck. 

Heat travels to in between your legs, gaze lowering to the arms caging you in place. His grip is firm, unwavering even when you move around to adjust yourself into a comfortable position. 

Dean doesn't budge, he pretends you're not even in his lap. He laughs, makes jokes, sings along as Hannah plays music, and it's like you're not even there. Unlike him, you're having a hard time playing this off as casual, nothing about this is normal, you skipped from ground zero to a thousand in the span of minutes. 

You try not to pay him too much attention, or his fingers as they're tracing small patterns to your hips, or his breath gradually blowing over your neck. All of it is so overwhelming, you want nothing more than to break free and breathe. 

This feels intimate, maybe too intimate, even more so because you're aware his touches are for you only, everyone else is doing their thing, and you two are in your own little world. 

After a while of resisting, you eventually settle back and relax against Dean's chest, satisfied by the way he tenses beneath you. His breath grows ragged, but he doesn't let you have it, tightening his arms in response, his hold engulfing most of your frame. 

This is okay, it's totally fine that you're tangled in this position with your brother's best friend, whom you've had a crush on since forever. 

You can get used to it. 

But you can't. Not when he's pulling every string to get your attention and get a reaction out of you. 

A few minutes pass by, and your body feels stiff from maintaining the same stance for too long. You shuffle around to find a comfortable position, hips stuttering when you feel something twitch underneath you. 

You're mistaken, have to be. It's all in your head, there's no way what you felt just now is real. 

"Fuck," Dean grunts, confirming your suspicions. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

He sighs, very shaky, but delibaret, the sound ringing in your ear, and making you pulse in reaction. You can feel hie semi-hard erection growing beneath you, failing to keep it under control. 

Fuck, Dean Di Laurentis is hard. 

You hate how much it's turning you on, your heat heaving with arousal when you feel another pulse through the thin fabric of his sweats. 

You angle your face towards the window, casually, without causing any suspicion, and Dean fights the embarrassment he feels to spare you a glance, regretting it soon as your hips move forward, instantly earning a choked breath out of him. 

It's not on purpose, you only realize what happens after he reacts. 

"Do you want me to–" he gives your hip another squeeze, locking you in place as the words die on your tongue. 

"Don't fuckin' move," he warns, practicing restraint. "Please." 

How can you not when his crotch is practically poking at your entrance, drenching your pussy from how tingly it's making you feel. 

"Dean," you whisper through a breath, causing his cock to twitch with need. The reaction you receive is immediate, anticipated, the only sign you need to grind down against his hardened length. 

His lips part in a hefty moan, barely dismissed by the loud music occupying everyone else. 

"You did that on purpose, didn't you?" He whispers, toying with the hem of your skirt, as his other hand caresses the exposed flesh around your stomach. 

"Maybe." You coyly offer him a response. 

This is your brother's best friend, someone way out of your orbit. You shouldn't cross the line, and let your lust drive you over the edge when you fought to keep yourself under control. 

Your brain short circuits, and panic rises in your chest before you can even stop it, but the pleasure surging through your body takes over when Dean's hips meet yours halfway, completely dismissing the guilt you're feeling. 

You've avoided Dean just fine till now, so why is it that you're involuntarily rolling your hips down for a mere fraction of his cock? 

Your pedicured nails dig into his arms, the force of the touch forming red marks all over his flesh. Dean smoothes out the fabric of your skirt to hide the circular motion of your hips. You ground him into place, repeatedly rubbing your wet cunt over his crotch. 

Pleasure builds through your insides, and you start to lose control over your grinds, messy and needy. Dean encourages you with a hand to your side, guiding you down to chase his own high, slowly building.

His cock aches, leaking with precum that stains a a patch in his underwear, wet and sticky, but he doesn't feel disgusted from it, but more so turned on because you're the cause of it. You're the reason he's in this mess, risking one of the most precious things to him just to touch you, feel you, even for a little. 

"I'm–" You fight the whimper threatening to leave your lips, leaning your head against the head rest to avoid locking eyes with anyone. 

Your pussy drenches in your arousal, thrusts growing sloppy as you feel your orgasm reaching its peak. Dean can almost tell that you're close, grip tightening around your stomach as he thrusts into you, rolling his hips once more before you came undone. 

Your legs shake from the overstimulation, Dean uses his hands to stabilize you in his lap. You ride him through your orgasm, sensitive, but desperate to please him and make him feel good. 

"You don't have to," he whispers, like he knows exactly what you're thinking. "I can take care of myself, darling."

"I want to," you reply, out of breath, with sweat forming at your forehead. Your face flushes with heat, and your energy goes down the drain in an instant, but you're persistent on making Dean come. 

His breath gets caught in his throat, and he uses your back as a shield to hide his expression as he reaches his own high. It only takes you a few more grinds for him to come undone. 

He releases into his pants, sticky stripes of semen coating a mess in his underwear. He stills your hips as he comes down from his high, a sigh of relief escaping his throat in the process. 

"That was– fuck." He chokes out, "So good for me, baby." 

You almost mewl at the praise but hold it back for the sake of not being caught. 

That was... insane. Probably the best orgasm you've had. 

The rest of the car ride seeps into silence on both your ends, too tired to engage with the rest of the group as they broke into a whole karaoke session.  It's not uncomfortable, nor is it unbearable, just... silence, you almost find it comforting. 

Garrett announces your arrival soon after, wrapping up the karaoke session as everyone engaged in another conversation.

You use their banter as an opportunity to pull at the strings of your thong, wiggling around on Dean's lap in an attempt to get them off. They slide down your thighs, bunching around your knees before eventually falling down your legs.

Dean doesn't do anything, simply sits back and observes you with a hint of confusion, eyebrows pinching as you bent down to grab it into your hold. 

And as everyone's busy getting out, you turn around and hand him the lacy material. 

"Huh?" He questions, taken aback by the sudden offer. 

You get off his lap, and land on the ground, smoothing down your skirt. Your gaze flickers back to him, a teasing grin smeared all over your lips. 

"A gift." You reply, attention shifting down to the mess on his lap. "Good luck cleaning that up." 

And with that, you take off with the rest of the group, barely sparing him a second glance. 

Fuck, now he has to deal with another boner.