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c/w ❀.ೃ࿔ angst, silent treatment, he logs into reader’s IG, hurt/comfort, miscommunication, #male tears, groveling, one-sided voicemails, make-up sex, oral (fem receiving), unprotected p in v, praise, jersey stays on, creampie, spanking, pet names (baby, babydoll, sweetheart, honey, pretty + no y/n) + dean climbs onto reader’s roof ❀⊰ *
By the seventh day, Dean had officially decided something was wrong with your phone.
Not because you never got mad at him—you absolutely did—but because this wasn’t how you fought. You’d tell him exactly what he did wrong. You expected him to listen. You expected the two of you to work through it together. But seven straight days without a single word? That wasn’t you.
He’d texted enough times that your conversation sat permanently pinned to the top of his messages. Half of them had gone unanswered. The other half were just him talking to himself because apparently he couldn’t stop.
Links to TikTok edits that reminded him of the two of you. A screenshot of some guy getting absolutely leveled during practice because he knew you’d laugh. A question about how much sugar he needs for those cookies he loves.
Then the inevitable spiral. You okay? Baby? You still mad? Can you at least tell me if you’re still alive? Nothing.
His foot bounced impatiently against the hardwood while he stared at his phone for what had to be the fiftieth time that afternoon. One more text couldn’t make it any worse than it already was.
. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚗: 𝙱𝚊𝚋𝚢?
He watched the little “Delivered” appear underneath it. Still nothing.
Dean dragged a hand over his face before opening Instagram instead. He was running out of places to check.
Maybe you’d posted something. Maybe you’d liked somebody’s story. Hell, maybe you’d accidentally give him some tiny sign you weren’t planning on pretending he didn’t exist forever.
Your profile loaded. Then it disappeared. He frowned, searching for your username again. Not found.
He closed the app and opened it again.
Nothing.
His eyebrows pulled together as he leaned back against the kitchen counter, thumb tapping impatiently against the side of his phone. He muttered to himself, shaking his head.
You, meanwhile, had just finished throwing a load of towels into the dryer when your own phone buzzed across the kitchen island.
Hadn’t you blocked him? You distinctly remembered pressing the button. You’d even smiled a little afterward because you knew it’d drive him insane. You opened his profile. Sure enough. Following.
You scowled, blocked him again, tossed your phone back onto the counter, and went back to the towels.
This time you stopped folding altogether. “…Absolutely not.”
You opened your settings again. Your blocked list was empty.
You stared at the screen for a long second before another thought crossed your mind.
Slowly, you reached for your laptop instead.
Two minutes later you were staring at your account activity, and there it was. One active login. MacBook.
Your eyes narrowed. “Fucking asshole.”
You didn’t even hesitate this time, changing your password completely, logging out of all devices, adding two-factor authentication as a giant fuck you.
Your phone started ringing before you could even set it back down. ˗ˏˋ ☏ ˎˊ˗ 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚗 𝙳𝚒 𝙻𝚊𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚜
You watched it buzz until it stopped. Then it started again. And again. By the fifth call your curiosity finally got the better of you. You answered without saying a word, lifting the phone to your ear while you folded another towel.
“Baby? Holy shit. Hi—Hey,” his voice cracked nervously, fumbling over his words. You stayed silent, folding your laundry, listening to his heavy breathing on the other end of the phone. “Sweetheart?”
You let the washer lid fall with a clap, giving him the only sign of life he deserved for the moment.
“Uh… did you…” He cleared his throat. “Did you change your Instagram password or somethin’?” he asked casually, like that’s a normal thing.
You smoothed the towel across the counter, stacked it neatly with the others, and reached for another. Dean let out a long breath through his nose, his frustration building on the other end.
“Babydoll?”
Silence.
“Honey?”
Still nothing.
“Are you for real?” he asked, his voice tightening with frustration. “I know I pissed you off. I deserve some of this, alright? But all of it? Why are you shuttin’ me out?” He lets out another breath. “Please, baby.”
You stopped for half a second before reaching for another towel.
“Yell at me… Tell me to fuck off. At least tell me to stop calling. Just talk to me—” You heard a commotion on the other end of the phone—Garrett and Tucker walking through the kitchen, talking about something he couldn’t even make out, Logan yelling about his blue tie and where the fuck it was.
Dean clears his throat, forcing some of the softness out of his voice before Garrett or Tucker can hear it. Even though this weeklong silent treatment had lasted six days and twenty-three hours too long, he still knew you’d be at his game.
You always come.
So he keeps grabbing onto that instead.
You’ll yell at him after if you want. Hell, maybe you’ll wait until they’re back at the house and tear him apart in private. He can live with that.
Silence leaves too much room to think, and every time he lets himself, he ends up somewhere worse than before.
“I love you, baby. I’ll see you tonight, alright? Left you some tickets at will-call like always. Just—wish me luck. Something?” Click.
You hang up before you can give him what he wants, already picturing the look on his face.
The ride to the arena feels longer than usual because pretending he isn’t worried in front of the boys is harder than he thought it’d be.
The locker room is loud, music echoing off the concrete walls while sticks clatter against the lockers, equipment bags unzipping and dropping to the floor, the conversations he should be paying attention to like static.
He sits at his stall, staring at his phone one last time before dropping it into his bag. Nothing. No texts. No missed calls. No miracle message telling him to quit overthinking it. You’ll be there after the game.
His fingers fumble his helmet strap twice before it finally clicks into place. He mutters under his breath, frustrated by a task that should’ve been simple. Garrett finally nudges him. Dean ignores it, so the second one comes a little harder.
“You good?” Garrett asks through a weak laugh, searching for Dean’s eyes.
“Yeah,” he hums.
“Everything alright?”
“Great.”
Garrett snorts out a laugh, leaning into a locker, arms crossing over his chest. “…Everything good with your girl?” he asks. “Feels like I haven’t seen her around.”
The words hit harder than Dean expects, and for half a second, he nearly tells him—says he hasn’t heard your voice in almost a week. No texts. Nothing but one-sided voicemails and desperate pleas for anything. That you blocked him. That he got himself kicked out of your Instagram twice before you changed your password.
That he’s one missed hockey game away from driving to your place and refusing to leave until you look at him.
“‘Course it is. She’s just…” Dean shrugs without looking up. “She’s got a bunch of shit goin’ on with school. Just busy.”
“Yeah?” Garrett tears a fresh piece of hockey tape between his teeth, glancing over. “Doesn’t seem like her.”
No, it doesn’t.
Dean can’t even come up with something in reply.
“We’ll catch up with you guys after the game. We just got into it a little bit. Stupid shit. Nothin’ serious.”
Garrett nods, the answer believable enough to let it go for the moment.
The team skates onto the ice to the roar of the crowd, lights flashing around the arena while the student section pounds against the glass.
Dean skates his usual lap, eyes drifting toward the section where you always sit. The girls you usually come with are already there.
Your seat is empty.
His stomach sinks and by the time they line up for the national anthem, Dean catches himself looking over a third time before forcing his eyes back toward center ice.
The puck drops, and from the first shift he knows he’s in trouble.
Every decision feels a stride behind. His reads come just a little too late. By the second period he’s taken an interference penalty trying to recover from another mistake, left sitting in the box staring at the far end of the rink while the game carried on without him.
The scoreboard keeps getting uglier. Four goals against, then five. Every time he hops over the boards he tells himself to wake the fuck up, and every shift somehow ends worse than the one before it.
The final horn sounds sixty miserable minutes later, leaving Briar with a six-to-one loss. He barely remembers lining up to tap gloves with his teammates before they drift toward the tunnel. Barely remembers skating off the ice.
Dean drags both hands over his face, standing in front of his stall as the room empties around him like he’d forgotten what he was supposed to do next. He’s exhausted, pissed off, embarrassed as fuck, and somehow still thinking about you instead of the scoreboard.
He wants to be mad at you. He really does. It would be so much easier. Instead, all he can think about is the fact that if he’d acted right in the first place, none of this would’ve happened. Whatever the hell he did, it was bad enough to make you do things you normally wouldn’t. Hell, Graham said it best. “This isn’t like you.”
His phone is already in his hand before he’s even halfway down the hallway, thumb hitting your contact out of muscle memory more than anything else. The call doesn’t even get a chance to ring.
Straight to voicemail.
His jaw flexes, nostrils flaring as his grip tightens around the strap of his hockey bag. Water wicks off his hair, not even bothering to fully towel off before running out the door.
Another call. Another voicemail.
The doors slide open and cold night air hits his soaked skin as he steps into the parking lot. The other team filters toward their bus, still laughing about the game as Dean fishes his keys from his bag without slowing down.
“Rough one tonight, Di Laurentis,” an enforcer from the other team hollers lazily, tossing his bag into the side of the bus.
Dean ignores it—ignores the snickering that follows from the opposing team. Garrett yells something back in Dean’s defense, but he barely hears it over the pounding in his head.
“Guess somebody forgot how to play defense.”
“Fuck you,” Dean barks and Garrett grabs him by the shirt, holding him where he is with a heavy hand.
“Let it go, alright?” he says calmly. “You got shit you wanna do, yeah?”
The chuckles die down, but his blood is still simmering. Garrett nods Tucker and Logan toward his Jeep. Something ugly climbs up the back of his throat before he can swallow it down.
He presses your contact again as he sinks into his car. This time, he can’t hold it in. When the beep comes, the frustration that’s been building for a week finally boils over.
“So that’s it, huh? You’re seriously gonna keep doin’ this? Blocking me, changing your password, ignoring my texts—what, now you can’t even pick up the fucking phone?” His voice comes out sharper than he intends, the words practically tripping over each other.
He turns over the engine, letting out a humorless laugh. “Grow up. If you’re pissed, use your fucking words. Tell me you never wanna see me again. But quit pullin’ this silent treatment bullshit because it’s driving me fuckin’ insane.”
His foot slams on the gas, his car screaming toward the exit as he peels out of the lot, breathing so heavily he can hear it in the receiver of his phone.
“You don’t get to disappear when you’re angry. That’s not how this works.” Beep.
The silence afterward is deafening, weighing heavy on his shoulders. It barely has time to settle before his stomach turns and the guilt washes over him like a wave.
The second the adrenaline starts bleeding off, he knows none of that was what he wanted to say. Not a single fucking word.
You hadn’t screamed at him. You hadn’t called him names. You hadn’t done anything except refuse to answer him.
And he’d just repaid that by leaving the kind of voicemail he’d hate hearing from anyone he loved.
His eyes sting with unfallen tears, his chest aching as his speed creeps higher than it should while the phone rings and rings.
“…Hey,” he breathes, emotion clinging to his words. “So… That last voicemail…” He rubs the heel of his hand across his forehead, dragging away the sweat as he turns into the gas station a block away from your place.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, stepping out of the car. “I shouldn’t have talked to you like that.”
He drags the sleeve of his sweatshirt across his eyes, turning his hat to the front—lower than before, head down as he grabs a bouquet of flowers.
“And I know I said you disappear when you’re angry. That’s not fuckin’ true. You don’t do that. I know that—you know that. This—this isn’t like you, and I still talked to you like it was.”
He walks up to the register, pinning the phone between his shoulder and cheek as he fumbles for his wallet, hand trembling as he flips past the picture he has of you tucked inside, grabbing his card, jogging out as soon as “approved” flashes across the screen.
“That game, baby. That was the worst game I’ve played since I’ve been at Briar. Got yelled at by Coach for a half hour. Got chirped by those pricks from the other team on the way out,” he mutters as he pulls out onto your street. “I took it out on you. I’m pissed off. I’m embarrassed. None of that’s your fault and I made it your problem.”
The phone stays pressed against his ear, capturing the silence. The wordlessness was never the problem. The two of you had always been good at that. But now every time he glances toward the passenger seat, it’s dark and empty. That little smile that’s always waiting for him when he looks over is gone.
And he still doesn’t have an answer.
He’s gone looking for it more than once this week.
He knows where you study and where you stop for coffee between classes. He knows which parking lot you leave your car in during the afternoons.
And somehow all of that only makes it worse. It’s painfully obvious you’re avoiding him.
He’s driven past your house enough times this week to notice you finally fixed the little porch light that used to flicker above the front door.
Every time he gets close, he talks himself out of it. The texts and phone calls already feel like they’re pushing the line. Showing up uninvited means admitting this isn’t just another argument.
It means admitting he might actually be losing you.
If you wanted him there, you’d open the door.
His throat tightens and his hands curl around the steering wheel. “Don’t…” The words scrape past his lips into the phone, so soft and broken you probably won’t even catch them when you play the voicemail back—if you play it back. “Don’t fucking cry.”
His head falls back against the headrest, his arms going rigid as he stares through the windshield. His mind circles the last few weeks again, picking through every conversation, every plan, every promise he’s made.
And still, nothing.
What the fuck did I do, baby?
His thumbs tap nervously against the steering wheel as he pulls up to your house.
For the first time all week, your bedroom window is glowing in the dark.
“I’m here. I’m gonna figure out what’s wrong. I’m gonna apologize. And, I’m gonna make it right, alright? I’m a fucking mess without you.” Beep.
He kills the engine, grabs the flowers, and climbs out into the cool night air. Gravel crunches beneath his shoes as he makes his way up the sidewalk, every step giving him another opportunity to rehearse what he’s going to say.
By the time he reaches the porch, his heart is pounding hard enough to feel it in his throat. He shifts the bouquet into one hand and knocks twice against the front door, the sound echoing through the quiet neighborhood before everything falls still again.
Dean waits, listening hard—nothing. No footsteps. No doors. No muffled voice telling him to give you a second. Just silence.
His stomach twists as the realization settles in. You heard the knock. You heard the bell. And, even though you know exactly who’s standing on your front porch, and you’re choosing not to answer.
Maybe it was the voicemail sitting in your phone. Or, maybe that was just a new addition to the laundry list of bullshit that got him to this point.
He lets out a long breath through his nose before stepping off the porch, backing into the yard so he can see your window a little better.
“Baby!” His voice carries through the stillness of the neighborhood before fading away.
Nothing.
He bends down, picking up a rock, rolling it once between his fingers, before he tosses it. Pop. The little stone kisses the glass with a soft tap before bouncing harmlessly away, clicking against the siding and falling back to the pavement below.
His eyes stay fixed on the window.
The flowers hang forgotten at his side while he waits. “C’mon, baby. Please,” he mumbles under his breath.
What the hell happens after this? Sleep in his car? Sit on your porch until sunrise? One more try.
His fingers close around the smooth stone, drawing back, but something catches his eye. The window—cracked open just enough that he barely notices it.
You can ignore his calls. You can ignore the doorbell. You can ignore the knocks and rocks, but he isn’t going home knowing you’re twenty feet away with your bedroom window open. Absolutely not.
The thought of leaving after the week he’d had, the voicemail he wishes he could take back, and the worst game of his career makes his chest tighten all over again.
He looks up, your bedroom turning glassy behind the tears gathering in his eyes.
He pinches his tear ducts between his big fingers, blowing out a breath. His eyes drift toward the side of the house, to the old wooden lattice that climbs to the roof—thick vines and bright flowers—something he’s seen a hundred times over but never seriously considered climbing it.
Because he’d always assumed he’d be welcome through the front door—climbing to your bedroom was never supposed to be the easier option.
He walks toward the lattice, staring down at the flowers for a second, before he lifts the cellophane-wrapped stems to his lips, biting down before he starts to climb.
The wood protests, letting out a long creak that sounds like a warning. A sharp snap echoing through the breezeway when he doesn’t listen, then a sharp crack that has him looking down at just how far he made it.
By the time he finally hauls himself to the roof, he’s sweating and panting, letting the flowers tumble from his mouth into his limp hand. He lifts his hand, tugging his hat from the front to the back, mentally preparing for whatever happens next.
Dean steadies himself against the old shingles before carefully making his way across the shallow slope of the roof—shoes scraping against the weathered surface while his hand trails along the siding for balance.
His hand finds the window frame before his eyes do.
You’re curled up in bed, laptop glowing softly, lighting up the space around you. You’re facing away from the window entirely, watching some old movie on the network he knows airs right after his game.
You snuggle a little more into your blanket, Dean’s away jersey draped over your frame, just a pair of little black panties peeking out the bottom. He exhales through his nose, taking in the rest of your room, following the little trail that got you there—your discarded jeans, sneakers, your jacket, and at the very end of the line your keys.
You were supposed to be at the game.
You made it right to the point of cracking before talking yourself out of it because you were still too angry to watch him play.
His stomach twists. He’d spent the last seven days missing you, but somehow knowing you almost came hurts even worse than if you’d never considered it at all.
Dean doesn’t think. He reaches forward and wraps both hands around the edge of the window, the old frame sliding upward with a rough scrape.
“…Don’t you fucking dare, Dean.” Your voice cuts through the silence, making him flinch, his feet stumbling a little on the roof.
He lets out a short, disbelieving laugh, shaking his head once as though maybe he’d misheard you.
“Just leave.”
“Well…” He gestures helplessly toward the open window, still trying to smile through the knot twisting tighter in his stomach. “You’re talking to me now… so?” His shoulders lift in a helpless shrug. “Why would I leave?”
Your eyes don’t leave his as you slam your laptop shut and step off the bed. “Yeah?” you ask quietly, the softness in your voice somehow making him more uneasy than if you’d screamed. “And why the hell would you listen to me?”
Dean’s eyebrows pinch together, his heart ramping up at your words. Without another word, Dean lets go of the window frame completely.
Even though he doesn’t fully understand what he did, he knows whatever it was, he’s still doing it.
He lowers himself until he’s sitting on the roof beneath your window, his back settling against the old siding with a dull thud.
He stretches his long legs out in front of him, setting the bouquet beside him, dragging his clammy hands down his thighs.
Dean finally clears his throat, his voice coming out rough enough that it barely carries through the open window. “Please.” He swallows hard, fingers knotting together between his knees. “Please just talk to me, baby.”
The silence stretches in the space he’d hoped you’d fill.
“I miss you,” he whispers. “I need you. I...” He rubs a hand over the back of his neck before tipping his head against the siding, finally finding the nerve to look back through the window. “I don’t know what else to do to make it better, but I will.”
He watches your face for any sign at all that you’re softening, finding none. The uncertainty in his chest only grows heavier before he speaks.
“You’re killin’ me.”
Dean blinks at you through the window as you look back at him like you’re trying to decide whether this conversation is even worth having.
“Baby—”
“Don’t ‘baby’ me,” you mumble, grabbing the frame to shut it, but he rests his fist down, not letting it fall.
“Can’t,” the word breaks past his lips. “I know I fucked up. I know I don’t get to tell you when to forgive me. But I can’t do another night of this. I’m not gonna climb through your window. It’s clear you don’t want me in there. I’m not forcing anything. I’m just sitting here begging you to talk to me.”
“Fucking finally, Dean.”
“What am I missing, baby? Holy shit,” his voice breaks.
“Stop calling me baby right now. I’m not—I’m your baby when it’s convenient for you.”
“What?” he asks, the crease between his brows deepening. “What does that even mean?”
“Why do you suddenly care?”
“I've always cared about you—”
“Always?” you ask with a breathless laugh.
“Yes, always. When haven’t I?”
“Making reservations because my boyfriend couldn’t be bothered to call the restaurant when you told me you’d handle it—”
“I—”
“You forgot. So I made them.”
“Okay,” he answers, shifting on his forearms, desperate to get closer, but the glass stays between you. “I just… I didn’t. I don’t know. I'm sorry—”
“I'm not done.”
His eyes widen on yours, taken aback, his big frame seeming to shrink a little. “Of course,” he assures you quickly.
“I waited all week for you to do it yourself. When I finally called, they told me you never did. So I did. I did my hair. I put on that dress you said you liked. I sat there waiting for your text after the game.”
Dean’s stomach twists because he already knows where this is going. Before he’d texted you, he’d already assured the boys you wouldn’t mind—speaking for you. Without you.
“You texted me let’s do Malone’s.”
“Okay,” he whispers, careful not to cut you short this time.
“And then you said we'd swing through there on our way out.”
“I remember,” he breathes.
“Do you think an Italian restaurant is open after bar close?”
He looks down at your hands braced on the window, his heart breaking even more seeing how much you don’t want him inside.
“No. I think they’d be closed, honey. I’m sorry.”
“Of course they would be. You know what I ate for dinner that night?” you ask, and he purses his lips because honestly he doesn’t know.
“What did you eat?” he asks softly.
“Dry cereal after you passed out when you were done fucking me. Alone in your fucking kitchen after I was done playing captain’s girlfriend all damn night.”
His stomach sinks and the blood drains from his face. “Woah—hey, sweetheart. C'mon," he panics. “That’s not what this is—”
“I kept telling myself it wasn’t a big deal. Hockey season. Captain stuff. Team bonding.”
“You know I wasn’t trying to—”
“I’ve done every single thing you’ve wanted to do because I wanted to spend time with you. I asked for one dinner. One.”
He swallows hard, lashes fluttering as he nods, because for the moment that’s all he can manage without breaking completely before he speaks.
“I want to spend time with you too. That’s why I ask you to come with me. I didn’t know that’s how you were feeling.”
“I keep telling you what I want, and you keep telling me how it’s going to work. You don’t listen to what I want.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
“So I stopped…” you whisper, voice tight as you see his eyes shimmer with tears. “I stopped asking. I stopped texting. I stopped calling.”
Dean lifts the sleeve of his sweatshirt, wiping the wet away after it tumbles down his cheeks.
“It took me disappearing for you to finally care.”
He can’t even defend himself anymore because every single thing you’ve said is true—cancelled plans, “let’s do this instead,” “after practice,” “just one beer.”
Every promise turned into another night surrounded by hockey while you quietly lowered your expectations.
“And look,” you sigh, your voice fraying at the edges. “Look how much time you have when you think you’re gonna lose something you love.”
“I didn’t know what to do. I just wanted to get your attention. I didn’t know how to handle this, okay? I didn’t know what I did. I was just—”
“How’s it feel?” you ask, cutting off his rambling, nodding at the bouquet.
“What?” he asks.
“Desperately fighting for someone’s attention?” you whisper, your eyes lingering on the little white tag still hanging from the plastic wrap before you look back at him. “I wouldn’t even say you’re there yet. Tag’s still on them, Dean. $2.99? Really?”
He opens his mouth to apologize again, but you don’t let him.
“This probably wasn’t even a part of your gameplan. You didn’t plan anything because you didn’t think you had to.”
Your voice stays level, but every word lands with more weight than the last.
“You thought I’d be in my seat like I always am. You thought I’d meet you after the game like I always do. You thought you’d say you’re sorry, I’d forgive you because I always have, and we’d move on.” You give a small shake of your head. “You didn’t plan for me not to show up.”
He looks away, unable to face you for the moment, gathering the courage to look back at you, drawing in a shaky breath.
“That’s why you’re here, Dean,” you say softly. “Not because you had some grand gesture planned. Because the bare minimum stopped working.”
“Sweetheart…” he starts carefully, his voice softer than it’s been all night. “We’re halfway through the season. It’s been a lot. I know that.” He nods to himself like he’s finally found the answer. “But it’s not forever. Think about this summer.”
A tired smile tries to find its way onto his face. “We practically lived together. We stayed up ’til three in the morning watching shitty movies. We took road trips because we could. Dates all the time. We were good.” His eyes lock onto yours. “We get through this season and everything goes right back to normal.”
A laugh escapes you before you can stop it, and Dean knows it’s the wrong answer.
You shake your head slowly, looking down at your hands before meeting his eyes again. “I’m not waiting for an entire hockey season to get my boyfriend back. I’m not gonna do this—”
“No. No, hey. I thought you were just giving me the silent treatment,” he blurts, voice shattering around the admission. “Please don’t…” He shakes his head, whatever composure he’d been clinging to finally slipping away. “Don’t break up with me. Please.”
“We’re still together.”
He swallows hard, nodding as his head hangs between his shoulders, tears slipping off his cheeks onto the shingles. “Thank you.”
“You asked me to put our relationship on hold until hockey’s over, and you don’t even realize that’s what you said.”
“I know,” he whispers.
“I don’t want the version of you that’s available when the season ends. I want the one who’s supposed to be my boyfriend while it’s happening—and before you even get it into your head that I’m asking for too much… I’m not. And, it wasn’t just this. It was a bunch of little moments exactly like this.”
He nods in agreement, waiting for more.
“I’m asking for a date once in a while, Dean.”
“Of course, honey.”
“I’m asking for a night where I don’t have to split my boyfriend with twenty hockey players. And, I’m asking that you stick to that plan. Three things. That’s it. If you can’t manage that…” you say quietly, “…then that’s okay.”
“What?” he asks, moving closer like he heard you wrong because nothing about this situation is okay.
“Really. It is. Just means you can’t handle being in a relationship right now. Maybe that’s where you’re at, and I’d respect you a hell of a lot more if you just admitted it.” The words land squarely between the two of you. “Because I’m not spending the few months letting you decide everything we do before summer starts.”
“Of course.”
“And if you can’t give me that, then you can’t handle me.”
Dean bites his cheek, nodding as he takes in every word.
“This summer was amazing… you’re right. Why do you think I’m still here?”
“‘Cause you love me?” he asks pathetically.
“Obviously.”
“I know. I love you too,” he mumbles.
“I know who you are, Dean. That’s why this hurts so much.” You gesture between the two of you. “Because I know you’re capable of loving me better than this.”
His eyes fall to the shitty bouquet by his side, the ones he bought in a panic, his brain on autopilot. The sale sticker covering the barcode only adding insult to injury—the fact that it’s your least favorite color landing like the final nail in his coffin. He pulls the little price tag off the plastic wrap, crumples it into his fist.
“I hate that these still got the fuckin’ tag on ’em,” he says weakly. “Not… Not because you called me out for it. I need that… Just proves exactly what you’ve been trying to tell me all night.”
He nods, rolling everything over just like he has all week, finally seeing what he’d been missing.
His eyes shut softly, thinking about the last weekend, the sound of your voice when you called him between classes, letting him know you made the reservation and the—subtle sound of your disappointment when he yelled over the locker room noise that you should go to Malone’s instead.
His mind lingers on the look on your face at the bar as you smiled for the boys, picking through the bar peanuts as they broke down the game to exhaustion. The way you fucked him just like he liked and then kissed him goodnight. How you were gone when he woke up to piss and he didn’t think twice about it. Just thought maybe you had gone downstairs to get water.
And now, he knows you were all alone.
And this was just a moment, in a collection of moments just like this for you.
His lips tremble, wishing he could rewrite what’s happened but he can’t. And even though you’d said you’re not breaking up, he feels like you have every right to end it—and he can’t risk not telling you everything he wants to say.
“I stopped on the way here because I panicked. I didn’t stop because I planned something. I didn’t stop because I thought about what would actually make you happy.” He pinches his eyes shut—letting the tears fall freely—his pride long gone by now. “I stopped because I realized I was about to lose you.”
He lifts a finger, tapping it against the glass like he’s trying to close a little of the distance between you.
“You’re right about everything… I was counting on you coming.”
He shakes his head, hating what’s going to leave his lips next. “You asked me earlier how it feels. It feels fucking awful.” He laughs but there’s nothing funny about it, he’s just hysterical at this point, leaving it coming out hollow. “I’ve been losing my goddamn mind.”
Your lips draw to the side as you fold your arms across your chest. He doesn’t take this time. His fist slips away from the glass, leaving the space between you completely open—and the next move entirely up to you.
“I got too fucking comfortable.” The words come out, without hesitation. “Not because I loved you less. You just—you’re the one thing I never worried about losing. I treated you like you’d always be there.” His eyes fall for a second, picking at a wilted petal nervously. “That wasn’t me loving you the way I should’ve.” He shakes his head. “That was me taking you for granted.”
You take a step forward, fingers wrapping around the window’s edge, lifting it higher, dropping down to the windowsill yourself.
He takes a breath, blowing it out through his nose. Every instinct tells him to reach for you, but he holds himself back, settling for leaning a little closer instead.
“You asked me if I can handle you.” His eyebrows pull together. “And, baby—Sorry…” He stops himself after the name leaves his lips, shaking his head with a weak laugh. “Just… habit. I’m sorry.”
“Dean—”
“Please,” he stops you cautiously. “Can I… I’m—I’ve got a little more to say. Just…” the word cracks and he lets out a breath, watching as you rest your hand on the roof, so close he can feel his hand tingle.
“Go ahead,” you whisper.
“I don’t want someone easier. I don’t want somebody who expects less from me. I don’t want any girl. I want you. I can handle you.” He nods with absolute certainty. “I should’ve been handling this relationship with the same care I’ve been giving everything else.”
His voice trembles. “I can’t undo this hockey season with one apology.” He reaches a little, palm open, asking for yours. “But I swear…” His eyes shine under the street lights. “If you give me the chance to prove that I heard every single word you said tonight… we’ll never have to have this conversation again. I promise.”
You rest your hand in his and he closes his around you quick like you might change your mind. His eyes cut away for a moment, the contact alone threatening another wave of tears. He takes a deep breath, his shoulders falling.
“You fucking hate this color. I’m sorry,” he mutters, tossing them out toward the driveway, the discount bouquet hitting the hood of his car with a thump. “Shit’s so fucking embarrassing, dear god.”
He hangs his head for a moment, his thumb rubbing absently against your knuckles.
“Tonight is shot,” he says quietly. “Tomorrow, right? Just… Please go out with me tomorrow. Let me make up for a little bit of anything you deserve.” He looks back at you, head resting heavy against the side of your house. “Good flowers, pretty dress, dinner, dessert—I know exactly where you wanna go. Just, please. I’m begging you. And, I know I’m telling you what to do. I’m sorry if you already have plans—”
“I don’t,” you answer with a soft smile. “Seven?”
“I’m tailgating in your front yard. I’m so serious. I’m fucking miserable,” he answers breathlessly, leaning in as you lean in too, your lips meeting with a desperate kiss.
He grabs you, hauling you closer, pulling you into his lap as your fingers slip into the hair at the nape of his neck.
“Tell me you still want me here,” he mumbles between kisses, his voice rough enough that you almost don’t hear it, your thumbs brushing the tears off his cheeks.
“I want you here.”
“Let me in? Please,” he whispers against the corner of your mouth.
“You can ask me sweeter than that, Dean Di Laurentis.”
“Please, baby… Let me come in,” he mumbles, his lips brushing softly against yours. “I’ll be so fuckin’ good for you. I missed you so much.”
“Yes,” you whisper.
Dean’s feet hit the floor a heartbeat later, every bit of tension he’d been carrying for the last seven days finally unraveling. He buries his face against your neck, breathing you in like he’d almost forgotten what it felt like before finally looking back at you.
“Promise me something,” he says as he carries you toward the bed.
You pull his hat free, tossing it somewhere behind you before your fingers disappear into his hair. His eyes close for a second, a tired smile finding its way across his face the moment you scratch lightly at the back of his head.
“Okay,” you breathe.
“Tell me next time. Anything. Right away. Don’t let me keep getting it wrong again.”
“Promise,” you whisper.
“One more promise,” he asks, his voice softer than before.
“Depends,” you whisper teasingly, feeling his trembling lips curl into a little smile.
“Unblock me.”
“Right now?” you whisper through a breathy laugh.
“No—We’re busy. So, so fucking busy,” he hums, holding you a little closer. “Just whenever you get a chance.”
“I promise,” you whisper.
“Thank you, baby.”
“I’m glad you came.”
“Should’ve come earlier,” he says before you can answer. “But I want you to know. I hear you,” he says quietly. “I heard every word you said out there.”
He shakes his head once before speaking again.
“I don’t wanna be the guy that only listens after he fucks up.” His thumb brushes across your cheek. “I don’t want you to play captain’s girlfriend. I want you to feel like you’re mine. You deserve to know how important you are to me. I can tell you—words don’t mean shit. I don’t want you to have to worry about making plans for us ‘cause you’re afraid I won’t.”
“Thank you,” you whisper.
“I’m gonna listen when it’s inconvenient. When hockey’s good. When hockey sucks. When I’m tired. When I’m stressed. When I’m bein’ an idiot…” A weak smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Which apparently is more often than I thought.”
“I love you,” you murmur.
His eyes close as he sits with those words for a second. “Jesus…” he breathes, shaking his head. “Love you so much.”
He sets you on the bed, one hand gripping the jersey on your body as the other cradles the back of your neck.
“Stay?” you ask as he tilts closer, your fingers popping open the button of his pants. “Sleep here.”
He chuckles deeply against your lips before stripping off his hoodie and tugging off his shirt. Your hands rest on his strong chest, feeling his heart bang beneath your palms.
“Yeah?” he asks, his hands finding you again, moving up your arms, over your shoulders, to the sides of your neck, cradling your face like he can’t get close enough. “If that’s what you want.”
“Is that what you want?” you chuckle.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he mumbles as his breath mingles with yours. “Thought I lost you.”
“You didn’t lose me,” you whisper, tracing along the top of his jeans lightly with your nails, feeling him shiver.
You lower his zipper slowly and he tugs down his pants, the buckle landing with a thump to the floor, waiting for you to decide what you want from him.
He sucks in a breath as you cup his thick cock through his boxers, a smile spreading a moment later when you squeeze just enough to make him groan for you.
You pinch the cotton between your fingers, tugging his boxers down, teasing inch by stiff inch until you catch his tip on the waistband. His cock springs out—long and hard, blood pumping through him as you hold his length in your hand.
You stroke slowly, watching precum bead at the tip as your thumb drags through it, teasing both of you.
“Fuck me,” he breathes, his head tipping back to the ceiling, his big hands rubbing over his eyes as he laughs breathlessly.
He lifts you easily, your legs curling around his waist. He smiles against your mouth as he eases you back onto the sheets.
You reach for him, drawing him back down, kissing him harder, fingers twisting into his hair. His chest rises and falls against yours, breath ragged.
“Keep this on for me,” he whispers as he lifts the front of the jersey over your chest, dipping down to kiss higher and higher. “Please,” he mutters, voice rough against your skin when you whimper.
Your breath catches and a moan spills from your lips when his weight presses you into the mattress, voice husky as he mumbles praise into your skin, gripping your thighs, making your pussy throb.
“Been so lonely,” he whispers, mouth moving across your chest, catching your nipple between his lips. “Dreaming about this—I swear to god.”
“Yeah,” you whisper as his big hand slides up your side, squeezing your breast as he sucks your bottom lip slow enough to make you tremble.
“Yes,” he hums. You gasp as his hand slides down between you, cupping your pussy, making you moan for him. He chuckles deeply, fingers dragging up the wet fabric between your thighs.
“I need you,” you whisper, lips grazing his.
“I’m gonna take care of you. I promise.” He circles his fingers over your clit—your hands squeezing around his big biceps, feeling them swell and soften with each movement. “I’d eat it through your panties if that’s all you’d give me… gladly.”
“Don’t tease me,” you whisper.
“I hear you, baby,” he sighs, tugging your panties to the side, rough fingers tracing around your entrance.
Dean’s breath catches as you reach between you, your hand wrapping around the base of his cock, drawing a low groan from deep in his chest.
You stroke your hand up, gliding to his fat tip, watching precum glisten and leak out of his slit onto your body.
You grab his neck, pulling him down to your lips, bringing him in closer as he plunges two fingers into your soaked core, making you throw your head deep into the pillow.
Dean kisses your chest as he starts to fuck his fingers into you, wrapping his lips around your nipple, sucking harshly, making your back arch off the mattress.
His long fingers curl deep inside you, coaxing out breathless moans with nothing but the movement of his hand. He watches you for a moment—your chest rising, lips parted, his name half-caught in your throat—and then he lowers himself between your thighs.
Dean trails slow kisses down your body, your heart racing wildly the lower he goes. When your thighs start to tense, he looks up at you, his cool chain dragging unintentionally up your slit, making your breath hitch.
He presses your thighs down, spreading you open with a firm grip as his eyes fall to your soaked pussy, lowering himself between your legs without taking his eyes off you. His tongue flicks against you with a soft, deliberate taste.
“Yes, baby,” you gasp, with a half-laugh, half-moan—right before he wraps his biceps around your legs, forcing you to his mouth with purpose.
He kisses your clit, then seals his lips around it, sucking gently as you thread your fingers through his hair, yanking him closer. One hand drops from your thigh, sliding between your legs again, and you gasp as his fingers push back into you—working in perfect rhythm with his mouth.
Your body arches off the mattress. Everything blurs except the heat of his tongue, the stretch of his fingers, and the relentless pace of it all.
“I’m gonna cum,” you whisper, already trembling.
He groans into your pussy, the vibration pushing you over the edge instantly. You come hard, clenching around his fingers, stars bursting behind your eyes.
He doesn’t let up—his mouth seals tighter, his fingers working you faster, deeper, until your whole body twitches with overstimulation and your eyes sting with tears.
“That was so fuckin’ pretty,” he murmurs against your dripping center, planting lazy kisses on your clit that make you jolt with every touch.
“Dean…” you breathe out, glancing down at him, reaching for him as your breath shakes. “I need you inside me.”
Dean’s eyes roll back at your words, your taste lingering on his tongue. His hands settle on your hips, turning you to your hands and knees, lifting your ass into the air.
He spanks you, the loud crack of his palm against your supple flesh filling the room. You arch your back, making him release a desperate groan as his eyes drop to your slick, watching your wetness leak down your inner thighs.
Dean wraps a hand around himself, slapping his dick against you, running his velvety head up your thighs, sopping up the mess.
Your breath catches as he presses his tip in, feeling him stretch you out already.
Dean pushes in, inch by inch, making your mouth fall open as your body stretches around him.
“You feel so perfect around me, baby,” he mumbles as he presses his body flush with your ass when you’ve finally taken all of him.
You circle your hips, adjusting to his size, feeling his thick dick hit all the right spots. “Feels so damn good—”
“Yeah? Takin’ me so good, babydoll?” he groans. “This body’s mine.” He pulls his hips back, drawing out nice and slow, letting you feel every ridge and vein as his hands work up your back, pushing the jersey all the way up until Di Laurentis is all that’s left, stitched between your shoulders. “All of it.”
“Yes.”
“Made for me, weren’t you?”
“Yes, fuck!” you whine as he snaps his hips forward, the two of you moaning in unison as your pussy sucks him in.
Dean moves inside you, listening to every sound that falls from your lips. He works you just like you like, until your body melts into the mattress.
“Right there, baby,” you whisper and Dean picks up the pace, hitting your sweet spot again and again.
“Yeah, sweetheart? Right there?” he asks through a smirk. “What else does my girl want, huh?”
“Harder,” you whimper.
“Shit, baby,” he laughs breathlessly as he rolls his hips.
Your fingers claw at the sheets as you feel yourself just seconds away from your climax.
“Play with your pussy for me,” he whispers, the way you squeezed around him feeling like he might fall apart himself if he doesn’t get you there fast.
Your fingers press against your clit and your thighs quake, his cock stretching you and filling you as your fingers work in tight little circles.
“Dean—” you gasp, fluttering around his dick as you fall apart.
“Fucking hell,” he moans, dragging out the words as his cock shines creamy white with your release, each push of his hips making it gather in a ring around the base of his hard skin.
Dean pulls out fast, making you gasp as he tosses you to your back, thrusting himself back in before you can even come down from your high.
“I fucking missed you,” he whispers against your lips and you gasp as his fingers press against your clit, too, rubbing messily as he strokes, your nails digging into his muscular back as he pounds your wet cunt.
“Shit,” you squeal, letting out a choked sound as he grabs your knees, pulling and pressing them up to your chest, making him stroke impossibly deep.
“One more time,” he whispers. “Want you to cum with your lips on mine.”
Your eyes roll back as you climax, Dean moaning your name, his muscles strained when he cums deep inside, swallowing each sound that leaves your lips.
Dean moves inside you slow, covering you with the warmth of his big body, his hot skin pressed flush to yours as he lowers your thighs slowly.
You trace the edge of his jaw, feeling him smile under your touch, his nose brushing against yours, and you know there’s no way he’s going to give you an ounce of room tonight—but after a week without this man, that’s the last thing you want.
For the first time in a long time, it feels like you got your Dean back. Relief settles over you, heat building behind your eyes as you hold back happy tears. He sees it.
“Yeah?” he asks, seeing how much you needed this too.
You bite your cheek and nod. He can’t help but bury his face into your neck, pressing a kiss against your skin before whispering, soft and sure, “I love you, baby.”
c/w ❀.ೃ࿔ angst, silent treatment, he logs into reader’s IG, hurt/comfort, miscommunication, #male tears, groveling, one-sided voicemails, make-up sex, oral (fem receiving), unprotected p in v, praise, jersey stays on, creampie, spanking, pet names (baby, babydoll, sweetheart, honey, pretty + no y/n) + dean climbs onto reader’s roof ❀⊰ *
By the seventh day, Dean had officially decided something was wrong with your phone.
Not because you never got mad at him—you absolutely did—but because this wasn’t how you fought. You’d tell him exactly what he did wrong. You expected him to listen. You expected the two of you to work through it together. But seven straight days without a single word? That wasn’t you.
He’d texted enough times that your conversation sat permanently pinned to the top of his messages. Half of them had gone unanswered. The other half were just him talking to himself because apparently he couldn’t stop.
Links to TikTok edits that reminded him of the two of you. A screenshot of some guy getting absolutely leveled during practice because he knew you’d laugh. A question about how much sugar he needs for those cookies he loves.
Then the inevitable spiral. You okay? Baby? You still mad? Can you at least tell me if you’re still alive? Nothing.
His foot bounced impatiently against the hardwood while he stared at his phone for what had to be the fiftieth time that afternoon. One more text couldn’t make it any worse than it already was.
. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚗: 𝙱𝚊𝚋𝚢?
He watched the little “Delivered” appear underneath it. Still nothing.
Dean dragged a hand over his face before opening Instagram instead. He was running out of places to check.
Maybe you’d posted something. Maybe you’d liked somebody’s story. Hell, maybe you’d accidentally give him some tiny sign you weren’t planning on pretending he didn’t exist forever.
Your profile loaded. Then it disappeared. He frowned, searching for your username again. Not found.
He closed the app and opened it again.
Nothing.
His eyebrows pulled together as he leaned back against the kitchen counter, thumb tapping impatiently against the side of his phone. He muttered to himself, shaking his head.
You, meanwhile, had just finished throwing a load of towels into the dryer when your own phone buzzed across the kitchen island.
Hadn’t you blocked him? You distinctly remembered pressing the button. You’d even smiled a little afterward because you knew it’d drive him insane. You opened his profile. Sure enough. Following.
You scowled, blocked him again, tossed your phone back onto the counter, and went back to the towels.
This time you stopped folding altogether. “…Absolutely not.”
You opened your settings again. Your blocked list was empty.
You stared at the screen for a long second before another thought crossed your mind.
Slowly, you reached for your laptop instead.
Two minutes later you were staring at your account activity, and there it was. One active login. MacBook.
Your eyes narrowed. “Fucking asshole.”
You didn’t even hesitate this time, changing your password completely, logging out of all devices, adding two-factor authentication as a giant fuck you.
Your phone started ringing before you could even set it back down. ˗ˏˋ ☏ ˎˊ˗ 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚗 𝙳𝚒 𝙻𝚊𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚜
You watched it buzz until it stopped. Then it started again. And again. By the fifth call your curiosity finally got the better of you. You answered without saying a word, lifting the phone to your ear while you folded another towel.
“Baby? Holy shit. Hi—Hey,” his voice cracked nervously, fumbling over his words. You stayed silent, folding your laundry, listening to his heavy breathing on the other end of the phone. “Sweetheart?”
You let the washer lid fall with a clap, giving him the only sign of life he deserved for the moment.
“Uh… did you…” He cleared his throat. “Did you change your Instagram password or somethin’?” he asked casually, like that’s a normal thing.
You smoothed the towel across the counter, stacked it neatly with the others, and reached for another. Dean let out a long breath through his nose, his frustration building on the other end.
“Babydoll?”
Silence.
“Honey?”
Still nothing.
“Are you for real?” he asked, his voice tightening with frustration. “I know I pissed you off. I deserve some of this, alright? But all of it? Why are you shuttin’ me out?” He lets out another breath. “Please, baby.”
You stopped for half a second before reaching for another towel.
“Yell at me… Tell me to fuck off. At least tell me to stop calling. Just talk to me—” You heard a commotion on the other end of the phone—Garrett and Tucker walking through the kitchen, talking about something he couldn’t even make out, Logan yelling about his blue tie and where the fuck it was.
Dean clears his throat, forcing some of the softness out of his voice before Garrett or Tucker can hear it. Even though this weeklong silent treatment had lasted six days and twenty-three hours too long, he still knew you’d be at his game.
You always come.
So he keeps grabbing onto that instead.
You’ll yell at him after if you want. Hell, maybe you’ll wait until they’re back at the house and tear him apart in private. He can live with that.
Silence leaves too much room to think, and every time he lets himself, he ends up somewhere worse than before.
“I love you, baby. I’ll see you tonight, alright? Left you some tickets at will-call like always. Just—wish me luck. Something?” Click.
You hang up before you can give him what he wants, already picturing the look on his face.
The ride to the arena feels longer than usual because pretending he isn’t worried in front of the boys is harder than he thought it’d be.
The locker room is loud, music echoing off the concrete walls while sticks clatter against the lockers, equipment bags unzipping and dropping to the floor, the conversations he should be paying attention to like static.
He sits at his stall, staring at his phone one last time before dropping it into his bag. Nothing. No texts. No missed calls. No miracle message telling him to quit overthinking it. You’ll be there after the game.
His fingers fumble his helmet strap twice before it finally clicks into place. He mutters under his breath, frustrated by a task that should’ve been simple. Garrett finally nudges him. Dean ignores it, so the second one comes a little harder.
“You good?” Garrett asks through a weak laugh, searching for Dean’s eyes.
“Yeah,” he hums.
“Everything alright?”
“Great.”
Garrett snorts out a laugh, leaning into a locker, arms crossing over his chest. “…Everything good with your girl?” he asks. “Feels like I haven’t seen her around.”
The words hit harder than Dean expects, and for half a second, he nearly tells him—says he hasn’t heard your voice in almost a week. No texts. Nothing but one-sided voicemails and desperate pleas for anything. That you blocked him. That he got himself kicked out of your Instagram twice before you changed your password.
That he’s one missed hockey game away from driving to your place and refusing to leave until you look at him.
“‘Course it is. She’s just…” Dean shrugs without looking up. “She’s got a bunch of shit goin’ on with school. Just busy.”
“Yeah?” Garrett tears a fresh piece of hockey tape between his teeth, glancing over. “Doesn’t seem like her.”
No, it doesn’t.
Dean can’t even come up with something in reply.
“We’ll catch up with you guys after the game. We just got into it a little bit. Stupid shit. Nothin’ serious.”
Garrett nods, the answer believable enough to let it go for the moment.
The team skates onto the ice to the roar of the crowd, lights flashing around the arena while the student section pounds against the glass.
Dean skates his usual lap, eyes drifting toward the section where you always sit. The girls you usually come with are already there.
Your seat is empty.
His stomach sinks and by the time they line up for the national anthem, Dean catches himself looking over a third time before forcing his eyes back toward center ice.
The puck drops, and from the first shift he knows he’s in trouble.
Every decision feels a stride behind. His reads come just a little too late. By the second period he’s taken an interference penalty trying to recover from another mistake, left sitting in the box staring at the far end of the rink while the game carried on without him.
The scoreboard keeps getting uglier. Four goals against, then five. Every time he hops over the boards he tells himself to wake the fuck up, and every shift somehow ends worse than the one before it.
The final horn sounds sixty miserable minutes later, leaving Briar with a six-to-one loss. He barely remembers lining up to tap gloves with his teammates before they drift toward the tunnel. Barely remembers skating off the ice.
Dean drags both hands over his face, standing in front of his stall as the room empties around him like he’d forgotten what he was supposed to do next. He’s exhausted, pissed off, embarrassed as fuck, and somehow still thinking about you instead of the scoreboard.
He wants to be mad at you. He really does. It would be so much easier. Instead, all he can think about is the fact that if he’d acted right in the first place, none of this would’ve happened. Whatever the hell he did, it was bad enough to make you do things you normally wouldn’t. Hell, Graham said it best. “This isn’t like you.”
His phone is already in his hand before he’s even halfway down the hallway, thumb hitting your contact out of muscle memory more than anything else. The call doesn’t even get a chance to ring.
Straight to voicemail.
His jaw flexes, nostrils flaring as his grip tightens around the strap of his hockey bag. Water wicks off his hair, not even bothering to fully towel off before running out the door.
Another call. Another voicemail.
The doors slide open and cold night air hits his soaked skin as he steps into the parking lot. The other team filters toward their bus, still laughing about the game as Dean fishes his keys from his bag without slowing down.
“Rough one tonight, Di Laurentis,” an enforcer from the other team hollers lazily, tossing his bag into the side of the bus.
Dean ignores it—ignores the snickering that follows from the opposing team. Garrett yells something back in Dean’s defense, but he barely hears it over the pounding in his head.
“Guess somebody forgot how to play defense.”
“Fuck you,” Dean barks and Garrett grabs him by the shirt, holding him where he is with a heavy hand.
“Let it go, alright?” he says calmly. “You got shit you wanna do, yeah?”
The chuckles die down, but his blood is still simmering. Garrett nods Tucker and Logan toward his Jeep. Something ugly climbs up the back of his throat before he can swallow it down.
He presses your contact again as he sinks into his car. This time, he can’t hold it in. When the beep comes, the frustration that’s been building for a week finally boils over.
“So that’s it, huh? You’re seriously gonna keep doin’ this? Blocking me, changing your password, ignoring my texts—what, now you can’t even pick up the fucking phone?” His voice comes out sharper than he intends, the words practically tripping over each other.
He turns over the engine, letting out a humorless laugh. “Grow up. If you’re pissed, use your fucking words. Tell me you never wanna see me again. But quit pullin’ this silent treatment bullshit because it’s driving me fuckin’ insane.”
His foot slams on the gas, his car screaming toward the exit as he peels out of the lot, breathing so heavily he can hear it in the receiver of his phone.
“You don’t get to disappear when you’re angry. That’s not how this works.” Beep.
The silence afterward is deafening, weighing heavy on his shoulders. It barely has time to settle before his stomach turns and the guilt washes over him like a wave.
The second the adrenaline starts bleeding off, he knows none of that was what he wanted to say. Not a single fucking word.
You hadn’t screamed at him. You hadn’t called him names. You hadn’t done anything except refuse to answer him.
And he’d just repaid that by leaving the kind of voicemail he’d hate hearing from anyone he loved.
His eyes sting with unfallen tears, his chest aching as his speed creeps higher than it should while the phone rings and rings.
“…Hey,” he breathes, emotion clinging to his words. “So… That last voicemail…” He rubs the heel of his hand across his forehead, dragging away the sweat as he turns into the gas station a block away from your place.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, stepping out of the car. “I shouldn’t have talked to you like that.”
He drags the sleeve of his sweatshirt across his eyes, turning his hat to the front—lower than before, head down as he grabs a bouquet of flowers.
“And I know I said you disappear when you’re angry. That’s not fuckin’ true. You don’t do that. I know that—you know that. This—this isn’t like you, and I still talked to you like it was.”
He walks up to the register, pinning the phone between his shoulder and cheek as he fumbles for his wallet, hand trembling as he flips past the picture he has of you tucked inside, grabbing his card, jogging out as soon as “approved” flashes across the screen.
“That game, baby. That was the worst game I’ve played since I’ve been at Briar. Got yelled at by Coach for a half hour. Got chirped by those pricks from the other team on the way out,” he mutters as he pulls out onto your street. “I took it out on you. I’m pissed off. I’m embarrassed. None of that’s your fault and I made it your problem.”
The phone stays pressed against his ear, capturing the silence. The wordlessness was never the problem. The two of you had always been good at that. But now every time he glances toward the passenger seat, it’s dark and empty. That little smile that’s always waiting for him when he looks over is gone.
And he still doesn’t have an answer.
He’s gone looking for it more than once this week.
He knows where you study and where you stop for coffee between classes. He knows which parking lot you leave your car in during the afternoons.
And somehow all of that only makes it worse. It’s painfully obvious you’re avoiding him.
He’s driven past your house enough times this week to notice you finally fixed the little porch light that used to flicker above the front door.
Every time he gets close, he talks himself out of it. The texts and phone calls already feel like they’re pushing the line. Showing up uninvited means admitting this isn’t just another argument.
It means admitting he might actually be losing you.
If you wanted him there, you’d open the door.
His throat tightens and his hands curl around the steering wheel. “Don’t…” The words scrape past his lips into the phone, so soft and broken you probably won’t even catch them when you play the voicemail back—if you play it back. “Don’t fucking cry.”
His head falls back against the headrest, his arms going rigid as he stares through the windshield. His mind circles the last few weeks again, picking through every conversation, every plan, every promise he’s made.
And still, nothing.
What the fuck did I do, baby?
His thumbs tap nervously against the steering wheel as he pulls up to your house.
For the first time all week, your bedroom window is glowing in the dark.
“I’m here. I’m gonna figure out what’s wrong. I’m gonna apologize. And, I’m gonna make it right, alright? I’m a fucking mess without you.” Beep.
He kills the engine, grabs the flowers, and climbs out into the cool night air. Gravel crunches beneath his shoes as he makes his way up the sidewalk, every step giving him another opportunity to rehearse what he’s going to say.
By the time he reaches the porch, his heart is pounding hard enough to feel it in his throat. He shifts the bouquet into one hand and knocks twice against the front door, the sound echoing through the quiet neighborhood before everything falls still again.
Dean waits, listening hard—nothing. No footsteps. No doors. No muffled voice telling him to give you a second. Just silence.
His stomach twists as the realization settles in. You heard the knock. You heard the bell. And, even though you know exactly who’s standing on your front porch, and you’re choosing not to answer.
Maybe it was the voicemail sitting in your phone. Or, maybe that was just a new addition to the laundry list of bullshit that got him to this point.
He lets out a long breath through his nose before stepping off the porch, backing into the yard so he can see your window a little better.
“Baby!” His voice carries through the stillness of the neighborhood before fading away.
Nothing.
He bends down, picking up a rock, rolling it once between his fingers, before he tosses it. Pop. The little stone kisses the glass with a soft tap before bouncing harmlessly away, clicking against the siding and falling back to the pavement below.
His eyes stay fixed on the window.
The flowers hang forgotten at his side while he waits. “C’mon, baby. Please,” he mumbles under his breath.
What the hell happens after this? Sleep in his car? Sit on your porch until sunrise? One more try.
His fingers close around the smooth stone, drawing back, but something catches his eye. The window—cracked open just enough that he barely notices it.
You can ignore his calls. You can ignore the doorbell. You can ignore the knocks and rocks, but he isn’t going home knowing you’re twenty feet away with your bedroom window open. Absolutely not.
The thought of leaving after the week he’d had, the voicemail he wishes he could take back, and the worst game of his career makes his chest tighten all over again.
He looks up, your bedroom turning glassy behind the tears gathering in his eyes.
He pinches his tear ducts between his big fingers, blowing out a breath. His eyes drift toward the side of the house, to the old wooden lattice that climbs to the roof—thick vines and bright flowers—something he’s seen a hundred times over but never seriously considered climbing it.
Because he’d always assumed he’d be welcome through the front door—climbing to your bedroom was never supposed to be the easier option.
He walks toward the lattice, staring down at the flowers for a second, before he lifts the cellophane-wrapped stems to his lips, biting down before he starts to climb.
The wood protests, letting out a long creak that sounds like a warning. A sharp snap echoing through the breezeway when he doesn’t listen, then a sharp crack that has him looking down at just how far he made it.
By the time he finally hauls himself to the roof, he’s sweating and panting, letting the flowers tumble from his mouth into his limp hand. He lifts his hand, tugging his hat from the front to the back, mentally preparing for whatever happens next.
Dean steadies himself against the old shingles before carefully making his way across the shallow slope of the roof—shoes scraping against the weathered surface while his hand trails along the siding for balance.
His hand finds the window frame before his eyes do.
You’re curled up in bed, laptop glowing softly, lighting up the space around you. You’re facing away from the window entirely, watching some old movie on the network he knows airs right after his game.
You snuggle a little more into your blanket, Dean’s away jersey draped over your frame, just a pair of little black panties peeking out the bottom. He exhales through his nose, taking in the rest of your room, following the little trail that got you there—your discarded jeans, sneakers, your jacket, and at the very end of the line your keys.
You were supposed to be at the game.
You made it right to the point of cracking before talking yourself out of it because you were still too angry to watch him play.
His stomach twists. He’d spent the last seven days missing you, but somehow knowing you almost came hurts even worse than if you’d never considered it at all.
Dean doesn’t think. He reaches forward and wraps both hands around the edge of the window, the old frame sliding upward with a rough scrape.
“…Don’t you fucking dare, Dean.” Your voice cuts through the silence, making him flinch, his feet stumbling a little on the roof.
He lets out a short, disbelieving laugh, shaking his head once as though maybe he’d misheard you.
“Just leave.”
“Well…” He gestures helplessly toward the open window, still trying to smile through the knot twisting tighter in his stomach. “You’re talking to me now… so?” His shoulders lift in a helpless shrug. “Why would I leave?”
Your eyes don’t leave his as you slam your laptop shut and step off the bed. “Yeah?” you ask quietly, the softness in your voice somehow making him more uneasy than if you’d screamed. “And why the hell would you listen to me?”
Dean’s eyebrows pinch together, his heart ramping up at your words. Without another word, Dean lets go of the window frame completely.
Even though he doesn’t fully understand what he did, he knows whatever it was, he’s still doing it.
He lowers himself until he’s sitting on the roof beneath your window, his back settling against the old siding with a dull thud.
He stretches his long legs out in front of him, setting the bouquet beside him, dragging his clammy hands down his thighs.
Dean finally clears his throat, his voice coming out rough enough that it barely carries through the open window. “Please.” He swallows hard, fingers knotting together between his knees. “Please just talk to me, baby.”
The silence stretches in the space he’d hoped you’d fill.
“I miss you,” he whispers. “I need you. I...” He rubs a hand over the back of his neck before tipping his head against the siding, finally finding the nerve to look back through the window. “I don’t know what else to do to make it better, but I will.”
He watches your face for any sign at all that you’re softening, finding none. The uncertainty in his chest only grows heavier before he speaks.
“You’re killin’ me.”
Dean blinks at you through the window as you look back at him like you’re trying to decide whether this conversation is even worth having.
“Baby—”
“Don’t ‘baby’ me,” you mumble, grabbing the frame to shut it, but he rests his fist down, not letting it fall.
“Can’t,” the word breaks past his lips. “I know I fucked up. I know I don’t get to tell you when to forgive me. But I can’t do another night of this. I’m not gonna climb through your window. It’s clear you don’t want me in there. I’m not forcing anything. I’m just sitting here begging you to talk to me.”
“Fucking finally, Dean.”
“What am I missing, baby? Holy shit,” his voice breaks.
“Stop calling me baby right now. I’m not—I’m your baby when it’s convenient for you.”
“What?” he asks, the crease between his brows deepening. “What does that even mean?”
“Why do you suddenly care?”
“I've always cared about you—”
“Always?” you ask with a breathless laugh.
“Yes, always. When haven’t I?”
“Making reservations because my boyfriend couldn’t be bothered to call the restaurant when you told me you’d handle it—”
“I—”
“You forgot. So I made them.”
“Okay,” he answers, shifting on his forearms, desperate to get closer, but the glass stays between you. “I just… I didn’t. I don’t know. I'm sorry—”
“I'm not done.”
His eyes widen on yours, taken aback, his big frame seeming to shrink a little. “Of course,” he assures you quickly.
“I waited all week for you to do it yourself. When I finally called, they told me you never did. So I did. I did my hair. I put on that dress you said you liked. I sat there waiting for your text after the game.”
Dean’s stomach twists because he already knows where this is going. Before he’d texted you, he’d already assured the boys you wouldn’t mind—speaking for you. Without you.
“You texted me let’s do Malone’s.”
“Okay,” he whispers, careful not to cut you short this time.
“And then you said we'd swing through there on our way out.”
“I remember,” he breathes.
“Do you think an Italian restaurant is open after bar close?”
He looks down at your hands braced on the window, his heart breaking even more seeing how much you don’t want him inside.
“No. I think they’d be closed, honey. I’m sorry.”
“Of course they would be. You know what I ate for dinner that night?” you ask, and he purses his lips because honestly he doesn’t know.
“What did you eat?” he asks softly.
“Dry cereal after you passed out when you were done fucking me. Alone in your fucking kitchen after I was done playing captain’s girlfriend all damn night.”
His stomach sinks and the blood drains from his face. “Woah—hey, sweetheart. C'mon," he panics. “That’s not what this is—”
“I kept telling myself it wasn’t a big deal. Hockey season. Captain stuff. Team bonding.”
“You know I wasn’t trying to—”
“I’ve done every single thing you’ve wanted to do because I wanted to spend time with you. I asked for one dinner. One.”
He swallows hard, lashes fluttering as he nods, because for the moment that’s all he can manage without breaking completely before he speaks.
“I want to spend time with you too. That’s why I ask you to come with me. I didn’t know that’s how you were feeling.”
“I keep telling you what I want, and you keep telling me how it’s going to work. You don’t listen to what I want.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
“So I stopped…” you whisper, voice tight as you see his eyes shimmer with tears. “I stopped asking. I stopped texting. I stopped calling.”
Dean lifts the sleeve of his sweatshirt, wiping the wet away after it tumbles down his cheeks.
“It took me disappearing for you to finally care.”
He can’t even defend himself anymore because every single thing you’ve said is true—cancelled plans, “let’s do this instead,” “after practice,” “just one beer.”
Every promise turned into another night surrounded by hockey while you quietly lowered your expectations.
“And look,” you sigh, your voice fraying at the edges. “Look how much time you have when you think you’re gonna lose something you love.”
“I didn’t know what to do. I just wanted to get your attention. I didn’t know how to handle this, okay? I didn’t know what I did. I was just—”
“How’s it feel?” you ask, cutting off his rambling, nodding at the bouquet.
“What?” he asks.
“Desperately fighting for someone’s attention?” you whisper, your eyes lingering on the little white tag still hanging from the plastic wrap before you look back at him. “I wouldn’t even say you’re there yet. Tag’s still on them, Dean. $2.99? Really?”
He opens his mouth to apologize again, but you don’t let him.
“This probably wasn’t even a part of your gameplan. You didn’t plan anything because you didn’t think you had to.”
Your voice stays level, but every word lands with more weight than the last.
“You thought I’d be in my seat like I always am. You thought I’d meet you after the game like I always do. You thought you’d say you’re sorry, I’d forgive you because I always have, and we’d move on.” You give a small shake of your head. “You didn’t plan for me not to show up.”
He looks away, unable to face you for the moment, gathering the courage to look back at you, drawing in a shaky breath.
“That’s why you’re here, Dean,” you say softly. “Not because you had some grand gesture planned. Because the bare minimum stopped working.”
“Sweetheart…” he starts carefully, his voice softer than it’s been all night. “We’re halfway through the season. It’s been a lot. I know that.” He nods to himself like he’s finally found the answer. “But it’s not forever. Think about this summer.”
A tired smile tries to find its way onto his face. “We practically lived together. We stayed up ’til three in the morning watching shitty movies. We took road trips because we could. Dates all the time. We were good.” His eyes lock onto yours. “We get through this season and everything goes right back to normal.”
A laugh escapes you before you can stop it, and Dean knows it’s the wrong answer.
You shake your head slowly, looking down at your hands before meeting his eyes again. “I’m not waiting for an entire hockey season to get my boyfriend back. I’m not gonna do this—”
“No. No, hey. I thought you were just giving me the silent treatment,” he blurts, voice shattering around the admission. “Please don’t…” He shakes his head, whatever composure he’d been clinging to finally slipping away. “Don’t break up with me. Please.”
“We’re still together.”
He swallows hard, nodding as his head hangs between his shoulders, tears slipping off his cheeks onto the shingles. “Thank you.”
“You asked me to put our relationship on hold until hockey’s over, and you don’t even realize that’s what you said.”
“I know,” he whispers.
“I don’t want the version of you that’s available when the season ends. I want the one who’s supposed to be my boyfriend while it’s happening—and before you even get it into your head that I’m asking for too much… I’m not. And, it wasn’t just this. It was a bunch of little moments exactly like this.”
He nods in agreement, waiting for more.
“I’m asking for a date once in a while, Dean.”
“Of course, honey.”
“I’m asking for a night where I don’t have to split my boyfriend with twenty hockey players. And, I’m asking that you stick to that plan. Three things. That’s it. If you can’t manage that…” you say quietly, “…then that’s okay.”
“What?” he asks, moving closer like he heard you wrong because nothing about this situation is okay.
“Really. It is. Just means you can’t handle being in a relationship right now. Maybe that’s where you’re at, and I’d respect you a hell of a lot more if you just admitted it.” The words land squarely between the two of you. “Because I’m not spending the few months letting you decide everything we do before summer starts.”
“Of course.”
“And if you can’t give me that, then you can’t handle me.”
Dean bites his cheek, nodding as he takes in every word.
“This summer was amazing… you’re right. Why do you think I’m still here?”
“‘Cause you love me?” he asks pathetically.
“Obviously.”
“I know. I love you too,” he mumbles.
“I know who you are, Dean. That’s why this hurts so much.” You gesture between the two of you. “Because I know you’re capable of loving me better than this.”
His eyes fall to the shitty bouquet by his side, the ones he bought in a panic, his brain on autopilot. The sale sticker covering the barcode only adding insult to injury—the fact that it’s your least favorite color landing like the final nail in his coffin. He pulls the little price tag off the plastic wrap, crumples it into his fist.
“I hate that these still got the fuckin’ tag on ’em,” he says weakly. “Not… Not because you called me out for it. I need that… Just proves exactly what you’ve been trying to tell me all night.”
He nods, rolling everything over just like he has all week, finally seeing what he’d been missing.
His eyes shut softly, thinking about the last weekend, the sound of your voice when you called him between classes, letting him know you made the reservation and the—subtle sound of your disappointment when he yelled over the locker room noise that you should go to Malone’s instead.
His mind lingers on the look on your face at the bar as you smiled for the boys, picking through the bar peanuts as they broke down the game to exhaustion. The way you fucked him just like he liked and then kissed him goodnight. How you were gone when he woke up to piss and he didn’t think twice about it. Just thought maybe you had gone downstairs to get water.
And now, he knows you were all alone.
And this was just a moment, in a collection of moments just like this for you.
His lips tremble, wishing he could rewrite what’s happened but he can’t. And even though you’d said you’re not breaking up, he feels like you have every right to end it—and he can’t risk not telling you everything he wants to say.
“I stopped on the way here because I panicked. I didn’t stop because I planned something. I didn’t stop because I thought about what would actually make you happy.” He pinches his eyes shut—letting the tears fall freely—his pride long gone by now. “I stopped because I realized I was about to lose you.”
He lifts a finger, tapping it against the glass like he’s trying to close a little of the distance between you.
“You’re right about everything… I was counting on you coming.”
He shakes his head, hating what’s going to leave his lips next. “You asked me earlier how it feels. It feels fucking awful.” He laughs but there’s nothing funny about it, he’s just hysterical at this point, leaving it coming out hollow. “I’ve been losing my goddamn mind.”
Your lips draw to the side as you fold your arms across your chest. He doesn’t take this time. His fist slips away from the glass, leaving the space between you completely open—and the next move entirely up to you.
“I got too fucking comfortable.” The words come out, without hesitation. “Not because I loved you less. You just—you’re the one thing I never worried about losing. I treated you like you’d always be there.” His eyes fall for a second, picking at a wilted petal nervously. “That wasn’t me loving you the way I should’ve.” He shakes his head. “That was me taking you for granted.”
You take a step forward, fingers wrapping around the window’s edge, lifting it higher, dropping down to the windowsill yourself.
He takes a breath, blowing it out through his nose. Every instinct tells him to reach for you, but he holds himself back, settling for leaning a little closer instead.
“You asked me if I can handle you.” His eyebrows pull together. “And, baby—Sorry…” He stops himself after the name leaves his lips, shaking his head with a weak laugh. “Just… habit. I’m sorry.”
“Dean—”
“Please,” he stops you cautiously. “Can I… I’m—I’ve got a little more to say. Just…” the word cracks and he lets out a breath, watching as you rest your hand on the roof, so close he can feel his hand tingle.
“Go ahead,” you whisper.
“I don’t want someone easier. I don’t want somebody who expects less from me. I don’t want any girl. I want you. I can handle you.” He nods with absolute certainty. “I should’ve been handling this relationship with the same care I’ve been giving everything else.”
His voice trembles. “I can’t undo this hockey season with one apology.” He reaches a little, palm open, asking for yours. “But I swear…” His eyes shine under the street lights. “If you give me the chance to prove that I heard every single word you said tonight… we’ll never have to have this conversation again. I promise.”
You rest your hand in his and he closes his around you quick like you might change your mind. His eyes cut away for a moment, the contact alone threatening another wave of tears. He takes a deep breath, his shoulders falling.
“You fucking hate this color. I’m sorry,” he mutters, tossing them out toward the driveway, the discount bouquet hitting the hood of his car with a thump. “Shit’s so fucking embarrassing, dear god.”
He hangs his head for a moment, his thumb rubbing absently against your knuckles.
“Tonight is shot,” he says quietly. “Tomorrow, right? Just… Please go out with me tomorrow. Let me make up for a little bit of anything you deserve.” He looks back at you, head resting heavy against the side of your house. “Good flowers, pretty dress, dinner, dessert—I know exactly where you wanna go. Just, please. I’m begging you. And, I know I’m telling you what to do. I’m sorry if you already have plans—”
“I don’t,” you answer with a soft smile. “Seven?”
“I’m tailgating in your front yard. I’m so serious. I’m fucking miserable,” he answers breathlessly, leaning in as you lean in too, your lips meeting with a desperate kiss.
He grabs you, hauling you closer, pulling you into his lap as your fingers slip into the hair at the nape of his neck.
“Tell me you still want me here,” he mumbles between kisses, his voice rough enough that you almost don’t hear it, your thumbs brushing the tears off his cheeks.
“I want you here.”
“Let me in? Please,” he whispers against the corner of your mouth.
“You can ask me sweeter than that, Dean Di Laurentis.”
“Please, baby… Let me come in,” he mumbles, his lips brushing softly against yours. “I’ll be so fuckin’ good for you. I missed you so much.”
“Yes,” you whisper.
Dean’s feet hit the floor a heartbeat later, every bit of tension he’d been carrying for the last seven days finally unraveling. He buries his face against your neck, breathing you in like he’d almost forgotten what it felt like before finally looking back at you.
“Promise me something,” he says as he carries you toward the bed.
You pull his hat free, tossing it somewhere behind you before your fingers disappear into his hair. His eyes close for a second, a tired smile finding its way across his face the moment you scratch lightly at the back of his head.
“Okay,” you breathe.
“Tell me next time. Anything. Right away. Don’t let me keep getting it wrong again.”
“Promise,” you whisper.
“One more promise,” he asks, his voice softer than before.
“Depends,” you whisper teasingly, feeling his trembling lips curl into a little smile.
“Unblock me.”
“Right now?” you whisper through a breathy laugh.
“No—We’re busy. So, so fucking busy,” he hums, holding you a little closer. “Just whenever you get a chance.”
“I promise,” you whisper.
“Thank you, baby.”
“I’m glad you came.”
“Should’ve come earlier,” he says before you can answer. “But I want you to know. I hear you,” he says quietly. “I heard every word you said out there.”
He shakes his head once before speaking again.
“I don’t wanna be the guy that only listens after he fucks up.” His thumb brushes across your cheek. “I don’t want you to play captain’s girlfriend. I want you to feel like you’re mine. You deserve to know how important you are to me. I can tell you—words don’t mean shit. I don’t want you to have to worry about making plans for us ‘cause you’re afraid I won’t.”
“Thank you,” you whisper.
“I’m gonna listen when it’s inconvenient. When hockey’s good. When hockey sucks. When I’m tired. When I’m stressed. When I’m bein’ an idiot…” A weak smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Which apparently is more often than I thought.”
“I love you,” you murmur.
His eyes close as he sits with those words for a second. “Jesus…” he breathes, shaking his head. “Love you so much.”
He sets you on the bed, one hand gripping the jersey on your body as the other cradles the back of your neck.
“Stay?” you ask as he tilts closer, your fingers popping open the button of his pants. “Sleep here.”
He chuckles deeply against your lips before stripping off his hoodie and tugging off his shirt. Your hands rest on his strong chest, feeling his heart bang beneath your palms.
“Yeah?” he asks, his hands finding you again, moving up your arms, over your shoulders, to the sides of your neck, cradling your face like he can’t get close enough. “If that’s what you want.”
“Is that what you want?” you chuckle.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he mumbles as his breath mingles with yours. “Thought I lost you.”
“You didn’t lose me,” you whisper, tracing along the top of his jeans lightly with your nails, feeling him shiver.
You lower his zipper slowly and he tugs down his pants, the buckle landing with a thump to the floor, waiting for you to decide what you want from him.
He sucks in a breath as you cup his thick cock through his boxers, a smile spreading a moment later when you squeeze just enough to make him groan for you.
You pinch the cotton between your fingers, tugging his boxers down, teasing inch by stiff inch until you catch his tip on the waistband. His cock springs out—long and hard, blood pumping through him as you hold his length in your hand.
You stroke slowly, watching precum bead at the tip as your thumb drags through it, teasing both of you.
“Fuck me,” he breathes, his head tipping back to the ceiling, his big hands rubbing over his eyes as he laughs breathlessly.
He lifts you easily, your legs curling around his waist. He smiles against your mouth as he eases you back onto the sheets.
You reach for him, drawing him back down, kissing him harder, fingers twisting into his hair. His chest rises and falls against yours, breath ragged.
“Keep this on for me,” he whispers as he lifts the front of the jersey over your chest, dipping down to kiss higher and higher. “Please,” he mutters, voice rough against your skin when you whimper.
Your breath catches and a moan spills from your lips when his weight presses you into the mattress, voice husky as he mumbles praise into your skin, gripping your thighs, making your pussy throb.
“Been so lonely,” he whispers, mouth moving across your chest, catching your nipple between his lips. “Dreaming about this—I swear to god.”
“Yeah,” you whisper as his big hand slides up your side, squeezing your breast as he sucks your bottom lip slow enough to make you tremble.
“Yes,” he hums. You gasp as his hand slides down between you, cupping your pussy, making you moan for him. He chuckles deeply, fingers dragging up the wet fabric between your thighs.
“I need you,” you whisper, lips grazing his.
“I’m gonna take care of you. I promise.” He circles his fingers over your clit—your hands squeezing around his big biceps, feeling them swell and soften with each movement. “I’d eat it through your panties if that’s all you’d give me… gladly.”
“Don’t tease me,” you whisper.
“I hear you, baby,” he sighs, tugging your panties to the side, rough fingers tracing around your entrance.
Dean’s breath catches as you reach between you, your hand wrapping around the base of his cock, drawing a low groan from deep in his chest.
You stroke your hand up, gliding to his fat tip, watching precum glisten and leak out of his slit onto your body.
You grab his neck, pulling him down to your lips, bringing him in closer as he plunges two fingers into your soaked core, making you throw your head deep into the pillow.
Dean kisses your chest as he starts to fuck his fingers into you, wrapping his lips around your nipple, sucking harshly, making your back arch off the mattress.
His long fingers curl deep inside you, coaxing out breathless moans with nothing but the movement of his hand. He watches you for a moment—your chest rising, lips parted, his name half-caught in your throat—and then he lowers himself between your thighs.
Dean trails slow kisses down your body, your heart racing wildly the lower he goes. When your thighs start to tense, he looks up at you, his cool chain dragging unintentionally up your slit, making your breath hitch.
He presses your thighs down, spreading you open with a firm grip as his eyes fall to your soaked pussy, lowering himself between your legs without taking his eyes off you. His tongue flicks against you with a soft, deliberate taste.
“Yes, baby,” you gasp, with a half-laugh, half-moan—right before he wraps his biceps around your legs, forcing you to his mouth with purpose.
He kisses your clit, then seals his lips around it, sucking gently as you thread your fingers through his hair, yanking him closer. One hand drops from your thigh, sliding between your legs again, and you gasp as his fingers push back into you—working in perfect rhythm with his mouth.
Your body arches off the mattress. Everything blurs except the heat of his tongue, the stretch of his fingers, and the relentless pace of it all.
“I’m gonna cum,” you whisper, already trembling.
He groans into your pussy, the vibration pushing you over the edge instantly. You come hard, clenching around his fingers, stars bursting behind your eyes.
He doesn’t let up—his mouth seals tighter, his fingers working you faster, deeper, until your whole body twitches with overstimulation and your eyes sting with tears.
“That was so fuckin’ pretty,” he murmurs against your dripping center, planting lazy kisses on your clit that make you jolt with every touch.
“Dean…” you breathe out, glancing down at him, reaching for him as your breath shakes. “I need you inside me.”
Dean’s eyes roll back at your words, your taste lingering on his tongue. His hands settle on your hips, turning you to your hands and knees, lifting your ass into the air.
He spanks you, the loud crack of his palm against your supple flesh filling the room. You arch your back, making him release a desperate groan as his eyes drop to your slick, watching your wetness leak down your inner thighs.
Dean wraps a hand around himself, slapping his dick against you, running his velvety head up your thighs, sopping up the mess.
Your breath catches as he presses his tip in, feeling him stretch you out already.
Dean pushes in, inch by inch, making your mouth fall open as your body stretches around him.
“You feel so perfect around me, baby,” he mumbles as he presses his body flush with your ass when you’ve finally taken all of him.
You circle your hips, adjusting to his size, feeling his thick dick hit all the right spots. “Feels so damn good—”
“Yeah? Takin’ me so good, babydoll?” he groans. “This body’s mine.” He pulls his hips back, drawing out nice and slow, letting you feel every ridge and vein as his hands work up your back, pushing the jersey all the way up until Di Laurentis is all that’s left, stitched between your shoulders. “All of it.”
“Yes.”
“Made for me, weren’t you?”
“Yes, fuck!” you whine as he snaps his hips forward, the two of you moaning in unison as your pussy sucks him in.
Dean moves inside you, listening to every sound that falls from your lips. He works you just like you like, until your body melts into the mattress.
“Right there, baby,” you whisper and Dean picks up the pace, hitting your sweet spot again and again.
“Yeah, sweetheart? Right there?” he asks through a smirk. “What else does my girl want, huh?”
“Harder,” you whimper.
“Shit, baby,” he laughs breathlessly as he rolls his hips.
Your fingers claw at the sheets as you feel yourself just seconds away from your climax.
“Play with your pussy for me,” he whispers, the way you squeezed around him feeling like he might fall apart himself if he doesn’t get you there fast.
Your fingers press against your clit and your thighs quake, his cock stretching you and filling you as your fingers work in tight little circles.
“Dean—” you gasp, fluttering around his dick as you fall apart.
“Fucking hell,” he moans, dragging out the words as his cock shines creamy white with your release, each push of his hips making it gather in a ring around the base of his hard skin.
Dean pulls out fast, making you gasp as he tosses you to your back, thrusting himself back in before you can even come down from your high.
“I fucking missed you,” he whispers against your lips and you gasp as his fingers press against your clit, too, rubbing messily as he strokes, your nails digging into his muscular back as he pounds your wet cunt.
“Shit,” you squeal, letting out a choked sound as he grabs your knees, pulling and pressing them up to your chest, making him stroke impossibly deep.
“One more time,” he whispers. “Want you to cum with your lips on mine.”
Your eyes roll back as you climax, Dean moaning your name, his muscles strained when he cums deep inside, swallowing each sound that leaves your lips.
Dean moves inside you slow, covering you with the warmth of his big body, his hot skin pressed flush to yours as he lowers your thighs slowly.
You trace the edge of his jaw, feeling him smile under your touch, his nose brushing against yours, and you know there’s no way he’s going to give you an ounce of room tonight—but after a week without this man, that’s the last thing you want.
For the first time in a long time, it feels like you got your Dean back. Relief settles over you, heat building behind your eyes as you hold back happy tears. He sees it.
“Yeah?” he asks, seeing how much you needed this too.
You bite your cheek and nod. He can’t help but bury his face into your neck, pressing a kiss against your skin before whispering, soft and sure, “I love you, baby.”
Author's Note: Dean x Figure Skater!Reader. I'm not sure if this needs a part II...
Trigger Warnings: Head Injury, Hospital
Dean and the boys sat in the stands overlooking the rink, bundled against the chill that seemed to seep through every inch of the arena. It still felt strange being on this side of the glass. Usually, he was the one on the ice, skates laced and stick in hand, while other people watched. Now he was the spectator.
But that's what boyfriends did. They showed up. They cheered. They learned the difference between a lutz and a loop, even if they still couldn't identify either with any confidence.
He smiled to himself.
You and Dean had started out exchanging harmless comments in passing. The hockey team finished practice just before your figure skating sessions, and there always seemed to be a few minutes where your paths crossed. At first, it was nothing more than teasing smiles and sarcastic remarks.
Neither of you had planned for it to become anything more.
You had a strict rule about never dating hockey players. Dean, meanwhile, didn't do girlfriends. Casual was easy. Commitment wasn't.
Then one party, one conversation that lasted until nearly sunrise, and one kiss neither of you had expected changed everything.
That had been months ago.
Since then, life had become a whirlwind of road games and competitions, late-night food runs, weekends in New York, and hundreds of quiet moments that somehow meant more than any grand gesture ever could.
Dean had never felt so completely known.
You saw past the jokes and the constant need to make everyone laugh. You recognized the parts of him he usually kept hidden beneath sarcasm and confidence, and somehow you loved those parts just as much.
Talking to you never felt like work. Silence never felt awkward. Whether you were wandering through the city, studying together, or simply sitting in comfortable silence, being with you felt effortless.
For the first time in his life, Dean understood what people meant when they talked about finding home in another person.
Being with you felt steady.
Safe.
Like the most natural thing in the world.
And somehow, despite that comfort, you still made his pulse race. Every date turned into an adventure. Every kiss still made him grin like an idiot. Every time you stepped onto the ice, he found himself staring with the same mix of admiration and disbelief.
He glanced over at Garrett and Hannah sitting a few seats down. He used to give them endless grief about being nauseatingly in love, constantly teasing them whenever they got caught stealing glances at each other.
Now he got it.
As you and your partner glided to center ice, Beau nudged him with an elbow.
"Try not to look too jealous," he teased. "She has to skate with him."
Dean rolled his eyes but couldn't hide his grin.
"Shut up."
The boys chuckled before their attention returned to the ice as the opening notes of your music filled the arena.
Dean loved watching you skate.
It was impossible not to.
The moment your blades touched the ice, everything about you changed. You looked lighter somehow, every movement effortless, every edge deliberate. Graceful. Confident. Completely at home.
It was like watching someone breathe.
He'd seen you perform dozens of times, yet every routine left him speechless.
You made the impossible look ordinary.
The program built toward its final sequence. Dean recognized it immediately.
The grand lift.
Your partner's hands settled at your waist before lifting you high overhead as they gained speed down the length of the rink.
Dean smiled.
Then everything went wrong.
It happened so quickly that his brain couldn't process it.
A slight stumble.
A hand slipping.
Your body tipping just enough to throw off the balance.
Then—
You fell.
Dean swears he heard the crack of your head striking the ice despite the music. A collective gasp swept through the crowd.
His friends all released a string of curse words.
You didn't move.
Dean was on his feet before he even realized he'd stood.
"Y/N!"
The stairs blurred beneath him as he vaulted down toward the boards, the boys right behind him. Arena staff were only just beginning to react, but Dean was already pushing through the open gate onto the ice.
Someone shouted for him to stop.
He barely heard them.
His skates weren't on, forcing him to half-run, half-slide across the slick surface until he reached you.
You were exactly where you'd landed.
Perfectly still.
Your partner had scrambled backward, horror written across his face as he stared at you, frozen.
Dean dropped to his knees beside you, every instinct screaming at him to pull you into his arms.
He knew better.
Years of athletic trainers and emergency protocols echoed in his head.
Don't move her.
Not if there's a chance of a neck injury.
His hands hovered helplessly over yours before he carefully settled one against the ice beside your fingers, close enough that you could feel his presence if you were conscious.
"I'm here," he whispered, his voice shaking. "Don't try to move, okay? Just open your eyes."
There was no response. The fear that flooded his chest was unlike anything he'd ever experienced.
He had taken hits that left him unable to breathe. He'd broken bones. Played through injuries. None of it came close to this.
Behind him, he heard the pounding footsteps of the medical team racing onto the ice.
"Sir, we need you to step back."
Dean looked at you one last time, fighting every instinct telling him not to leave your side.
"I'm right here," he said softly, his eyes never leaving yours. "I'm not going anywhere."
Unresponsive.
Cervical collar.
Backboard.
Possible neck injury.
Possible spine injury.
Possible head injury.
The words blurred together, each one hitting Dean like another body check.
He sat on the narrow bench in the back of the ambulance, his knees pressed against the cabinets as the vehicle sped toward the hospital. The sirens wailed outside, but inside everything felt strangely controlled.
One paramedic knelt beside you, monitoring your airway while another secured the last of the straps across the backboard. The rigid cervical collar kept your head perfectly still. Electrodes dotted your chest, a pulse oximeter glowed on your finger, and the cardiac monitor filled the compartment with a steady, rhythmic beeping.
Dean couldn't tear his eyes away. Your chest rose and fell on its own, slow but steady, and for some reason, that tiny movement became the only thing he could focus on.
"Is she..." His voice cracked. He cleared his throat before trying again. "Is she going to be okay?"
Neither paramedic lied.
"We don't know yet."
The honesty somehow hurt more than false reassurance ever could.
Dean reached toward your hand before stopping himself, afraid of getting in the way. Instead, he rested two fingers gently against yours where they lay strapped beside your hip.
"I'm here," he whispered. "You don't have to wake up right now... just... keep fighting."
There was no squeeze. No twitch. Nothing.
One of the paramedics glanced at the monitor before speaking into the radio.
"Twenty-one-year-old female. Figure skating fall from an overhead lift. Unresponsive since impact. Cervical collar in place, fully immobilized. Concern for cervical spine injury and traumatic brain injury. Vitals currently stable. ETA three minutes."
Dean closed his eyes for a second.
Three minutes.
It felt impossible that his entire world had unraveled in less than ten.
The emergency department doors swung shut behind the trauma team, leaving Dean standing alone in the hallway.
"Sir, you can't come back here."
The nurse's voice was gentle but firm.
"We need room to work."
Dean looked through the small window in the doors one last time. He caught a glimpse of doctors and nurses surrounding your stretcher before someone pulled a curtain closed.
Then you were gone.
The waiting room was painfully quiet.
Dean sat hunched forward, elbows resting on his knees. Every few seconds, he glanced toward the double doors, hoping someone would come through with an update.
The entrance doors opened. Logan was the first one through, followed closely by Garrett, Hannah, and Beau. Garrett carried your bag over his shoulder. No one spoke at first.
Logan walked straight over to Dean.
"Any news?"
Dean slowly shook his head.
"They took her straight for imaging." His voice was hoarse. "They're worried about her head, neck, and spine."
Logan ran both hands over his face, pacing a few steps before stopping himself.
Garrett quietly set your bag on the floor beside Dean's chair.
"Hannah grabbed everything from the locker room," he said.
Dean nodded absentmindedly.
"Thanks."
He opened the bag and looked through it, finding your phone.
The lock screen lit up, revealing a picture of the two of us smiling back at him. His chest tightened. He remembered you mentioning the passcode months ago, laughing that it was "the easiest number for Dean to remember."
His birthday.
The phone unlocked.
Dean hesitated for only a second before opening your contacts and finding Mom.
His thumb hovered over the call button.
"I can do it if you want," Garrett offered quietly.
Dean swallowed.
"No."
He took a shaky breath and pressed call.
It rang twice.
"Hi, sweetheart!" your mom answered cheerfully. "How'd the competition go?"
Dean couldn't speak.
Not at first.
"...Mrs. Y/L/N?"
There was a pause.
"Dean?"
Silence. He didn’t know what to say.
Then her tone shifted immediately.
"Dean? Is everything okay?"
He squeezed his eyes shut.
"There was... there was an accident during her program."
Another silence.
"What do you mean, an accident?"
"Her partner dropped her during a lift." Dean felt every pair of eyes in the waiting room turn toward him, but he couldn't look at any of them. "She hit her head on the ice. She was unconscious when the ambulance took her."
The line went completely still.
When your mother finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper.
"Is she okay?"
Dean looked toward the trauma bay doors.
"They're still evaluating her. She's in CT right now. The doctors don't know how badly she's hurt yet."
"I'll be there as fast as I can."
"I know."
"Dean, love, she’ll be okay."
Dean's grip tightened around the phone.
After the call ended, the waiting room fell silent once again.
No one knew what to say.
Time crawled.
Every time the emergency department doors slid open, every head in the waiting room snapped up in unison.
A nurse calling another patient.
A family leaving with discharge papers.
Someone from housekeeping pushing a cart.
Never a doctor.
Never anyone coming for them.
Dean had lost track of how long they'd been sitting there. Twenty minutes? An hour? Three? Time had stopped making sense the moment the ambulance doors closed.
The doors opened again.
This time, your skating partner stepped hesitantly into the waiting room.
His competition jacket was draped over his shoulders. His hair was still damp, and his eyes were bloodshot.
The moment he spotted Dean, he froze, guilt written all over his face.
"I..." His voice broke. "Dean, I'm so—"
Dean stood before he could finish. For a split second, Garrett thought he might actually swing. Instead, Dean wrapped him in a hug. The other skater completely fell apart.
"I'm sorry," he choked out. "I lost my grip. I don't know what happened. I tried—I tried to catch her."
Dean closed his eyes, summoning a strength he didn’t know he possessed, "I know."
"I dropped her."
"I know."
"It's my fault."
Dean pulled back just enough to look him in the eye, "No."
Your partner shook his head, tears spilling freely. Dean understood why he blamed himself. He probably always would. But Dean also knew what came with loving an athlete. Hockey players blew out knees. Football players broke bones. Figure skaters trusted another person to throw them into the air and catch them again. Sometimes things went wrong. That didn't make it anyone's fault.
Dean squeezed his shoulder, "She'd tell you the same thing."
Before either of them could say anything else, the doors opened once more. A doctor in navy scrubs stepped into the waiting room, clipboard in hand.
"Dean Di Laurentis?"
Dean's heart lurched.
"That's me."
The doctor smiled—a small one, but enough for Dean's shoulders to loosen for the first time all day.
"I have some good news."
Everyone stood.
"The CT scans of her head and cervical spine are normal. There's no evidence of bleeding, no skull fracture, and no injury to her neck or spine."
Dean let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
"The neurological exam looks reassuring as well. Her strength, sensation, and reflexes are all intact."
Garrett quietly muttered, "Thank God."
"She does have a significant concussion," the doctor continued. "Given the mechanism of injury and the length of time she was unconscious, we're taking it seriously. She's going to have a rough few days with headaches, fatigue, and she'll need plenty of cognitive and physical rest."
Dean nodded, absorbing every word.
"Is she..."
The doctor smiled again.
"She's awake and she's been asking for you."
A laugh escaped him before he could stop it, equal parts relief and disbelief.
"Can I see her?"
"You can."
The doctor handed him a packet of discharge instructions.
"If someone can stay with her continuously for the next forty-eight to seventy-two hours, we're comfortable discharging her. We want someone around in case her symptoms worsen, and she'll need to avoid driving, strenuous activity, alcohol, and anything that risks another head injury until she's cleared."
"I'll stay with her," Dean answered immediately.
The doctor nodded.
"I had a feeling you'd say that."
Dean didn't wait another second. He was already halfway to the doors before anyone else had a chance to move.
He stopped just long enough to toss your phone to Garrett.
"Call her mom, please, G. Password's my birthday."
Garrett caught it with one hand.
"You got it."
"Dean-o."
The greeting came out weak and raspy, but it was unmistakably you.
Dean stopped in the doorway.
For a long moment, he simply stared.
You looked exhausted. Your hair was a mess, and your skin had lost its usual color. But the cervical collar was gone.
That alone made his chest loosen.
You turned stiffly toward the nurse as she removed the last of your IV.
"Look at him," you said, gesturing lazily toward Dean. "Isn't he just a beautiful specimen of a man?"
The nurse laughed.
Dean let out a watery chuckle, covering his face with one hand as he tried—and failed—to hide the tears threatening to spill over.
"Seriously?" he asked, crossing the room. "You give everyone a concussion scare, and that's your first line?"
You frowned in mock offense.
"It was..." You paused, clearly searching for the rest of the sentence.
"...a really good line."
"It was."
He bent down, pressing the gentlest kiss imaginable to your forehead before resting his own there for a moment.
"I was so scared."
The smile faded from your face.
"I know."
A beat passed.
"I'm sorry."
Dean shook his head immediately.
"Don't apologize."
"I didn't mean to..."
"I know."
His thumb brushed gently across your cheek. He opened his mouth, ready to make some smart remark to lighten the mood, but the door swung open before he had the chance.
"Fuck," Logan said as he walked in. "I don't think I've ever seen Dean move that fast."
Garrett, Hannah, and Beau filed in behind him.
"There she is," Beau said, relief washing over his face. "The woman who gave three Division I hockey players simultaneous heart attacks."
You blinked at him.
"Only three?"
A sleepy grin spread across your face.
"Must be losing my touch."
Logan folded his arms.
"You can barely keep your eyes open, and you're still making jokes."
"It's called commitment."
Dean laughed.
The sound had barely left him before you winced, squeezing your eyes shut.
Instantly, every smile in the room disappeared.
"You okay?" Dean asked quietly.
"Yeah..." You pinched the bridge of your nose. "Just... don't laugh so loud."
He gave you an apologetic smile.
"Noted."
Garrett stepped closer to the bed.
"We called your mom. She's on her way to the hockey house to meet us."
You nodded slowly.
"Okay."
"Your partner's downstairs in the lobby, too," he continued. "We told him he could come up, but... he didn't want to."
Your expression softened.
"He thinks it's his fault."
No one said anything.
"It isn't," you murmured. "Can you... tell him that?"
"We will," Garrett promised.
The nurse, noticing everyone had finally settled, stepped forward with a clipboard.
"All right, since it looks like you have plenty of people volunteering to keep an eye on you..."
She launched into the discharge instructions, making eye contact with each of them as she spoke.
"No driving until you're cleared."
"No alcohol."
"Lots of rest."
"Limit screen time if it makes the headaches worse."
"If she starts vomiting repeatedly, becomes difficult to wake up, develops worsening confusion, weakness, numbness, or has a seizure, bring her straight back to the emergency department."
Everyone nodded with surprising seriousness.
Dean looked like he was mentally memorizing every word.
By the time the nurse finished, you looked utterly drained.
You let your eyes drift closed, your head sinking carefully against the pillow.
Dean noticed immediately.
"If you guys don't mind..." he said softly, glancing at the others. "Can I have a couple minutes?"
No one argued.
Within seconds, the room emptied.
The moment the door clicked shut, Dean turned back to you.
"Think you can get changed?"
You cracked one eye open.
"Depends."
"On what?"
"Whether you're volunteering to help."
A small smile tugged at his lips.
"I am."
With slow, careful movements, he helped you sit up, one hand supporting your back while the other steadied your arm. Every motion was deliberate, giving you plenty of time whenever you paused because the room threatened to spin.
He slid the sweatshirt Hannah grabbed from your locker gently over your head, careful not to bump the tender spot hidden beneath your hair. Then came a pair of soft sweatpants, guiding your feet through one leg at a time while you leaned against his shoulder for balance.
When you were finally dressed, he crouched in front of you to help you into your sneakers.
Only then did he stop.
He rested his hands lightly on your knees and looked up at you.
"You don't have to be brave with me."
The room fell quiet.
His eyes searched yours, taking in the exhaustion, the lingering confusion, and the effort it was taking just to stay awake.
"How are you really doing?"
For the first time since the fall, there was no audience.
Just the two of you.
You stared down at your hands for a long moment before speaking.
"I think..." Your voice caught.
Dean stayed silent.
"I think I'm done skating."
The words hung in the room.
He knew what they cost you.
Skating wasn't just a hobby. It was early mornings before class. Hours in freezing rinks. Competitions. Blisters. Bruises. Missing holidays. Chasing scores by fractions of a point. It was the language you spoke before you knew how to put your dreams into words.
It was part of who you were.
Dean swallowed hard.
"Hey."
You finally looked up at him.
"You don't have to decide that today."
A tear escaped before you could stop it.
"But what if I never trust another lift again?"
Dean reached up, brushing it away with his thumb.
"Then you don't."
"I almost..." Your voice broke. "Dean, I don't even remember hitting the ice. I woke up in a hospital."
"I know."
"What if next time is worse?"
He took both of your hands in his.
"Then that's a conversation for months from now."
You let out a shaky breath.
"I don't know if I can go back."
"You don't have to."
You searched his face.
"But if I quit..."
"You won't be quitting."
"You don't know that."
"I do."
He squeezed your hands gently.
"If you decide, after you've healed, after the headaches are gone, after you've had time to think—not today, not tomorrow, but when you're ready—that skating isn't what you want anymore..."
He paused.
"...that's not quitting."
"That's choosing."
"You've already proved how tough you are. You don't owe anyone another performance just because you've spent years getting here."
You looked away, tears quietly slipping down your cheeks.
"It feels like I'd be losing part of myself."
Dean's expression softened.
"I don't think skating is what made you who you are."
"It isn't?"
He shook his head.
"You make little kids stop and watch through the glass because they think you're magic."
A watery laugh escaped you.
"You make my teammates feel like family."
Another tear rolled down your cheek.
"You make my mom think I'm finally dating someone good for me."
That earned him a tiny smile.
"You make every room brighter the second you walk into it."
He rested his forehead against yours.
"The ice is just where everyone else got to see it."
Your eyes closed.
For the first time all day, you let yourself cry.
Not because your head hurt.
Not because you were scared.
But because someone had finally given you permission not to have all the answers.
Dean wrapped his arms around you as carefully as he could, mindful of your aching body.
"You don't have to decide today," he whispered again.
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Tags: F!reader, fuck boy!joost lowkey,,, porn with plot, toxic sex, unprotected sex, angst, aforementioned established relationship, slightly mention of drinking/tipsyness, fingering, choking, mentions of cheating, toxic toxic toxic man, creampies galore, written in the first person.
Warnings: RPF! Smut, 18+ minors dni.
W/c: 4.5k+
Notes: I can’t seem to stop writing angsty toxic sex…. Maybe I need help or something smh because I busted this shit out in the span of like eight hours, man. Slightly proofread. Title taken from ‘jilted lovers’ by the naked and famous.
I felt the thunderstorm erupting in the center of my chest, feeling lightening keep shocking my brain; trying to calm myself. I knew I should’ve said no to this nights outing; my best friend’s boyfriends birthday party. It started with a dinner last weekend, her practically begging me to come so she could have somebody she considered ‘family’ there and ‘wouldn’t feel so alone’, plus throwing in ‘he said he misses you too and you were also his friend, ya know?’ and I stupidly, half heartedly agreed. I couldn’t be that mad anyways, I only met her because of the man who plagued my thoughts for the last five months; that beautiful blonde boy with bright blue eyes that ruined my perception of love. He was lifelong friends with her boyfriend, forcing us to be close but it ended up with our friendship instantly clicking and realizing i genuinely liked her and she just wasn’t ’one of my boyfriends friends girlfriends.’ And that’s what friends do, show up for each other at the end of the day, unfortunately.
It’d been five months since I’ve seen joost in person, him clearing his things from our shared flat with the help of a few friends as I sat on the couch; crying, embarrassing myself even more when I yelled a few choice words at him.
I told everybody the breakup was mutual but it wasn’t, he sprang it on me by surprise. He came home one day and told me that he’d been thinking about for the past month and that maybe both of us needed room to grow, experience life away from each other; all while I sat in a ball on the floor, sobbing, trying to combat a panic attack while he sat in front of me, trying to soothe me while simultaneously hurting me.
There had been a few drunk texts and calls here and there; mostly him texting me how he ‘needed to come over and sink his cock into me’ or me sobbing into the phone about how much I loved him and nobody could ever compare, that usually happened around one in the morning, with nothing ever coming to frutition.
But those stopped around a month and half ago, around the time I noticed him in the likes and comments of the same girl who kept popping up on my Instagram ‘people you may know’ tab. It took everything in me not to reach out to him, or even embarrassingly enough; her. I eventually blocked his number and socials, but pathetically that only lasted a week before I sneakily unblocked him after boasting about it to all my friends.
But tonight, I felt the most pathetic I have felt in the last five months; making my way up to the front door of my best friend’s, Sofia, shared condo with her boyfriend. I decided on a pair of uncomfortable heels that my ex had help me pick out a few months before we ended things, him telling me how sexy they made my legs look while I was trying them on at the store, paired with a black short dress that he also always complimented me on; telling me how great it made my figure look how it always ‘drove him wild’ when I wore it. I chose each piece of my outfit carefully tonight, with the thought of him in the back of my head, coming to terms that I might just be the most genuinely saddest person there is in the world, or maybe at least top ten.
I made my way to the front door, pulling my hand back and letting my finger hit the doorbell; hearing it go off on the other side while hearing music and loud conversation drone on the other side of the door. It was a few seconds of me gnawing on the skin around my fingers before the door slowly creeped open, Sofia’s face coming into view before her eyes widened, flinging the door open and taking me into a hug that I half heartedly reciprocated back. “Thank you so much for coming, it means the world to me. Its mostly his friends and some of their girlfriends, truly makes me notice how much I miss you in these situations.” She said before stopping, realizing her mistake, “wait- no, I’m sorry.” She blushed, pulling away as I shook my head, “it’s no big deal, we’re all adults, yeah?” I gave a small smile and she nodded, pulling me into her warm house from the coldness of the fall air outside.
“Of course, I mean, I’m not the happiest to be here… but you know, I’d do anything for you.” I gave her a small, tight lipped smile and pushed my arm out forward; handing her small gift bag, thankful that it was relatively easy to shop for her boyfriend’s birthday present. She took it from hands, going on about she’s so glad and grateful I came but frankly, I was slightly tuning her out with the knot of anxiety growing in my chest and brain, I kept telling myself ‘how I could do this’ and tonight wasn’t going to be a disaster. I followed after her through the front hallway that connected the living and kitchen area to the front of the of the house, taking deep breathes and chewing harshly on my lower lip. Keeping my arms loosely crossed over my chest, we emerged to the living room, a a few familiar faces waving at me and me giving them a polite smile. I definitely overdressed for this, but at the end of the day, does anybody wanna see their ex-partner dressed stupidly? I didn’t think so.
I heard a voice that I knew all too well come out from behind me, in the kitchen area; letting out a loud laugh and I slowly tired to give a nonchalant peak over that area, getting a glimpse of him for the first time in five months. He looked angelic almost, he let his hair grow out a bit and was keeping the clean shaven with a mustache look; something that I told him I loved and he looked incredibly well with. He was standing around the island counter with Sofia’s boyfriend, Willem and a couple of their other close knit friends from their group. He was taking sips off his bottle of beer, before looking over to where I stood; awkwardly with my hip jutted out, and small frown almost on my lips.
He nearly looked as if he seen a ghost and I quickly turned my head away from him, dropping my arms to my side and turning my body away, facing my back towards him as another one of my acquaintances came up; a girlfriend of one of their friends, that barely started dating a month before we broke up, giving her a hug and taking her invitation to come sit ‘with the girls’ over in the den area, thankful to get out of that situation. I was already cursing Sofia out in my head, but also cursing myself out for thinking I’d be okay.
───
An hour and half later, I was only slightly thankful that I came after all; talking with the small group of girls here, mostly catching up on our day to day lives. Until the last shot came into equation and I realized, the burning in my chest was trying to claw its way out; I began trying to pathetically dig for information as they all tried to keep a tight lip, giving each other side eyes and deflecting the situation. Making my pathetic meter ‘ding’ again in my head, realizing I needed to learn how to shut up.
Sofia was going between us and the kitchen, mostly trying to play girlfriend of the year; she always tried to make everybody happy, it was one of the qualities I loved about her. before she stood at the door of the den; letting us know happy birthday was about to be sung and she wanted everybody in there, because she wanted to ‘make the night perfect’ as we all nodded and got up from our positions; filing into the kitchen after her.
The lights were already dimmed as she quickly lit the candles and started up on the song, us following suit as I took a sip of the drink in my hand, leaning against the back of her couch, trying to sit away from the crowd around the counter; singing along lowly. Picking my eyes up from my shoes, looking forward; noticing a pair of blue eyes already trained on me from across the room. I licked my lower lip and took it between my teeth, suddenly not feeling up to finishing the rest of the song and wanting to escape the situation, as soon as possible.
I watched as willem blew out the candles, Sofia giving him a kiss and thanking all of us for coming and I suddenly felt sick to my stomach with the situation, feeling the knot that was in my stomach begin to unravel. Realizing it was my time to make my way out, I’ve over stayed my welcome on this outing. I reluctantly made my way over to Sofia, getting closer to joost in proximity; thanking her for inviting me but making up an excuse about how I ‘had an early morning tomorrow and that I needed to get up early’ and how I’ll text her when I get home, and that we’re still on for dinner next week. I said bye to a few more people quickly, making promises that I’ll be better about replying and making plans with them; trying to make it out the door before I felt the tears spill over onto my cheeks.
Getting to the front door and grabbing my bag from the the pile of coats that had gathered on the bench and quickly making my way back out into the night. I was stupid for thinking I could do this and make it away unscathed, I needed to be scolded like a child who just got a caught with their hand in the cookie jar.
I made it down their front steps and half way down the block before I heard my name being called, and footsteps frantically following. I stopped in my tracks, turning around; noticing joost pushing past a few people running at me, full speed like he was trying to win a marathon. He reached me and let out a hard breath; me instinctively taking a step back and crossing my arms over my chest, trying to look tougher than I was. “What do the fuck do you want?” I let out, him standing up straight and looking at me, “can we talk, please?”
I saw red before I realized my mouth was moving, letting out cries and yells; pushing against his chest as he tried to contain my anger, apologizing to a couple passing us on the street, staring at me like I was crazy. “You’re making a scene.” He hissed at me, grabbing onto my wrists to keep me from pushing into his shoulder again, “so? I have so much anger right now that I could make it worse, this is light work.” I spat out, trying to pull his hands off my wrist.
He dropped my wrists, and I looked up at him; taking his face up close and personal, realizing that all that trash talking I’ve done over the last couple of months maybe wasn’t real, truly not how I actually felt. Knowing, deep down he made me so angry that night he left but also, how many nights I cried over bottle, stalking his social media in the hopes he’d call me.
Looking into his eyes brought something back to me, something I’ve been desperately pushing down inside me; beating it with a bat to ignore it. I still loved and cared for him; I still wanted him to chose me at the end of the day, I would always take him back.
I stood there for a second, going back and forth in my head before I took a drunken step forward and brought my arm up to grab onto his shoulder, snaking my arm around the back of his neck and reached up to press my lips against his; moving them softly against his, noticing his body slightly tense up before bringing his arm around my waist, pushing my body into his, resting his palm against my back. He moved his lips against mine, moving his other hand to hip and softly pulling away, “schat….” He whispered out before I sushed him, “please, just for tonight. Please… come back home. I need you.”
───
We drunkly stumbled into our old shared apartment, it looking a lot more barren lately with his things moved out; feverishly pressing our lips on eachothers exposed flesh. Getting the door closed, we made our way to the couch where we use to stay up, watching movies and cuddling. He laid me down, standing up over me as I pushed my body up onto my elbows; looking up at him through my eyelashes. He got down to his knees and grabbed my leg, pressing a soft kiss to my shin and slowly taking my heel off, following suit with my other heel. “I did always say I like the way your legs looked in these, huh?” He whispered before pressing a quick kiss to my knee and placing his hand on it, signaling to spread my legs apart.
I sat up fully, resting my back against the back of the couch and sunk down slightly; moving my legs apart as I watched him place himself infront of me, pushing my dress up to my stomach. Leaning back, biting his lip as he moved his hand forward, rubbing my already senstive clit through my underwear. I let out a sharp breath, and stiffened my muscles; we hadn’t been intimate in the months leading up to our breakup, mostly due to our schedules and the fighting, meaning it’s been well over eight months since I’ve last had sex.
He let out a chuckle and moved his hands up to the elastic of my underwear, hooking his fingers into it and began to pull them down my legs and I tried to relax my mind and body. As he got them off, I noticed he stuffed them into his back pocket and I swear that alone made me more turned on than I ever had been for him; he always knew how to surprise me.
He placed his hands on my thighs and pushed them even more apart, looking down at my sensitive and dripping core; looking like a predator about to go in for the kill. He brought his hand up and moved his thumb against my swollen nub, illiciting a whine from me as he pushed down softly and started rubbing it in small circles. Bringing his pointer and middle finger down to push into my hole, keeping his other hand planted on my thigh; squeezing it softly. He began to slowly push his fingers in and out of me, while I brought my hands up above my head, grasping onto the couch while I let out soft pathetic whines and moans. Keeping my eyes pressed shut, tightly; I couldn’t bring myself to look him in the eye while he was doing this to me, some form of hatred and feeling sorry about the situation still lurking in my brain.
He kept at for a few minutes, whispering how he was going to make ‘make me cum all over his fingers’ and then finally letting out a, “I missed your pussy so fucking much, leifde.” In a husky tone that made me tip right over the edge, unraveling on his fingers as I let out a strangled cry. He removed his fingers from me as I reopened my eyes, watching him bring them up to my mouth; pushing his fingers into my mouth, letting me taste myself on him. “You were always such a freak, I missed that.” He said, with a heavy look of lust in his eyes as he watched me suck on his fingers.
He pulled away as softly grabbed onto my chin and leaned down, pressing a sloppy wet kiss to my lips before quickly pulling back, moving to take off his shirt and start to unbuckle his pants, “Joost?” I called out from my sitting position, “ja?” I stood up letting out a shaky breath, “can we fuck in the bed? For old times sake? Please?” He looked up to me from his kneeling position, noticing a look of pain flashed over his eyes before nodding a few times.
I started making my way to our old shared bedroom, bringing my fingers to the zipper on my dress; tugging it down and letting the dress hit the floor, moving my hands to the clasp of my bra and undoing it; throwing it over to the pile of laundry that overtaken the corner of the room.
I turned around and sat on the edge of the bed, watching him take in the dark space where we use to sleep together, side by side, every night. I could tell he was slightly nervous and so I leaned forward and began to unbuckle his belt for him, unbuttoning his pants after and pushing them down his thighs. He quickly stepped out of them, pushing them off to the side before leaning forward, putting his hands on either side of on the bed and gave me a deep kiss, pulling away to trail his lips down to my neck and sucking softly at the flesh.
I brought my hand up to the hem of his underwear, pushing my fingers past the elastic as I brushed my fingertips against his stiffened length. He pulled away before grabbing my arm and pulling it away from him; directing to me lay down. I scrambled to get into position, as pathetic as it was; I was excited for this, I spent most nights dreaming about this.
I laid on my back as I watched him remove his boxers and crawl onto the bed, making his way to hover over me before leaning down and pressing a tender kiss to my forehead. “This’ okay?” He whispered and I nodded my head, moving my thighs apart as he reached down to give himself a few swipes at his dick, rubbing it through my folds and finally finding the entrance; pushing the head in as I let out a soft groan. I picked my hips off the bed, in a desperate plea for him to fuck me as he began to push himself down into me, going agonizingly slow; making sure I felt every inch of him.
I moaned out his name as he bottom out inside me, our body’s pressed against eachother as he pressed another kiss to my cheek. He began to thrust his hips in and out, very slowly as if he was punishing me, almost. I let out a few cries as grabbed onto his biceps, him leaning down to take one of my nipples in his mouth; sucking and biting on it softly, making me let out even more desperate cries and pleas. He moved up to push his head into my neck, whispering in my ear, “bring your leg up, baby.” I nodded, knowing exactly what he meant; our old favorite position.
I swung my leg out and brought up over his shoulder, l him helping me by placing his hand on the bed, keeping my leg in place and I fully felt myself stretch around him; feeling him even deeper than before. That’s when he let out a guttural moan, drilling down into me, now with a sense of ergency. He brought his free hand up to begin playing with my nipple, twisting it as I let out a small cry of pleasure.
He let out a chuckle as I looked up at him, his eyes meeting mine as he was pounding into me, “please…” I trailed off, “please what, baby?” He asked me and I blushed, dropping my voice, “please put your hand around my neck. Like old times.” He smiled and nodded, bringing his hand up from my breast to my neck; taking in between his fingers, giving it a slight squeeze on either side of it. I closed my eyes, letting out a cry as I could feel my brain getting lightheaded, finally realizing I was reaching my orgasm, the first organic one I’ve had in ages.
He noticed as my walls clenched around him, squeezing tighter as his thrusts began to get more erratic and sloppy before I finally felt him rut down into my cervix, knowing the face he made when he came; all too well. Mine following shortly afterwards, making my leg twitch as it fell from his shoulder and onto the bed.
He leaned forward and pressed a small kiss to the area beside my lip and sat there for a second, slowly pulling himself out of me before flopping onto the bed next to me. I let out a couple of deep breaths, recollecting myself before I heard him call out my name, turning towards him and he motioned for me to come closer; moving into his chest as he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into his chest and rubbing my shoulder.
We sat there for an hour saying nothing as he rubbed my back and pressed kisses to the top of my head every once and a while, finally relaxing against each others touch as I slowly felt myself drift off into a restless slumber.
───
I awoke about three hours later, noticing the sun coming up and looked over to the space next to me, that was just being occupied by my ex boyfriend only to notice it empty. I sat up quickly and noticed his frame sitting at the edge of our once shared bed, fully clothed and pulling his shoes on. I called out his name, pulling the sheet up over my exposed body only for him to let out a exasperated sigh and stand up, “I shouldn’t have come over here last night, this was a mistake. For both of us.” He said in a flat tone, turning around to face me.
I looked up to him and noticed that he had his phone in his hand, pinging a couple times; signaling an incoming text. I hurriedly got off the bed and reached for a shirt from the floor, one of the ones he left that I’ve worn almost every night since and pulled it over my head, grabbing some underwear and slipping it on; trying to at least defend some of my dignity while looking at the fully clothed man in my bedroom.
I watched him walk into the living room, crossing my arms across my chest and followed after him. “Wait, what’s going on? I mean, I know this probably wasn’t good for both of us but-“ I started rambling as he stopped in the middle of the living room, turning towards me, saying my name softly to get me to shut up. “That’s what I wanted to talk about actually, I uh, actually been hanging out with somebody.” His eyes caught mine and I backed up slightly, feeling my world start being torn apart as I thought I was gonna start dry heaving. “W-what?” Was all I choke out as I moved to the couch, sitting on the arm of it. “I needed to tell you because she was suppose to be there last night, and I didn’t know you were going to be there. I mean, I should’ve guessed since you and Sofia are close and willem mentioned in passing but… I wanted to talk about it since it’s bound to happen again.” He stood there awkwardly, shoving his hands in his pocket.
I suddently felt a pang of anger hit my chest as I looked up at him, shaking my head, “are you fucking serious right now?” His eyes widened and I stood up, “we were together for 3 years and it only took you four months?” I took a shaky breath and threw my hands up in the air, moving over to him and pushing against his arm, “this isn’t fucking fair to me, Joost.” I almost wailed out as he grabbed onto my wrists for the second time tonight, locking them into place.
“I know, schat. I know.” He murmured as I let the tears well up in my eyes, “no you don’t fucking know because all you ever do is put yourself fucking first. You always did.” I cried out as I pulled my arms away from him sinking down into the floor as I pulled my knees into my chest and buried my head in my arms, letting out strangled sobs. He sat down next to me and wrapped his arm around my shoulder and pulled my body into his, wrapping his other arm infront to hug me into his body; now I felt truly pathetic.
We sat like that for another fourty minutes as he pressed kisses onto my head and tried soothing me, before picking me up and moving me back to, what he called ‘your bed’; that comment breaking me even more as I curled into a ball and told him to get, ‘the fuck out of my flat’ before he let out a sigh, tapping my thigh a few times before I heard him shuffle out of the room and out of the once shared flat, shutting the door behind him.
I spent a couple more hours crying in bed and feeling sorry for myself until I decided I needed water and pulled myself out of the bed, stabilizing myself and making my way to the kitchen and pouring myself a glass of water and taking small sips, noticing my hand shaking when I tried to pick the glass up. I decided that maybe trying to pick up my mess would help distract my mind even just for five minutes, knowing I needed those five minutes.
As I went to grab my discarded dress and bra from last night, crumpling them up and pulling them into my chest before looking for my underwear last night. I moved around the front room as I checked on the floor, leaning down to check under the coffee table and couch; even between the cushions and in my bedroom, maybe thinking I forgot where they got discarded. I threw my dirty clothes in my over flowing hamper, as I sat up quickly, in horror remembering watching my ex boyfriend pocket my underwear last night.
I hurriedly made my way to grab my cellphone, noticing I had a new incoming text message from “joost DO NOT ANSWER” that came in and hour ago. I quickly unlocked my phone, pulling up the first text message I’ve gotten from him in almost two months. It was a picture, from what I assumed was his new bedroom in his new flat, holding my underwear in his hands, around his hardened cock, with the text following it; ‘hopefully u don’t miss these because ur not getting them back.’
a/n: what is wrong with meeee put me in a hospital please. I can’t seem to keep writing fucked up stories!!! Man. But anyways hi, love u guys.
tags: f!reader, non famous!reader, American!reader, tattoo artist!reader, plot development, ANGST, smut, TOXIC smut, slight choking, porn with plot, f!masturbation, m!masturbation, oral!m receiving, slight fluff, they being toxic… again, no physical descriptions of reader except they have tattoos/piercings, written from the first person.
warnings: rpf!!! SMUT
word count: 4.8k+
notes: okkkk besties, here’s part 5 to my on-going fic *bows* they are pissing me off atp. Somebody separate these two losers. Anyways as always, slightly proofread. Title of fic is taken from “pretty when you cry” by vast, banger.
part one / part two / part three / part four
I heard my alarm clock go off as groaned, quickly stirring up out of my deep sleep that I was enjoying. I turned around in my bed and noticed it was seven in the morning, on the dot. I took a deep breathe and started pushing my way out of bed; beginning my morning routine.
Things have gotten a lot better in the last month or so, I finally started to feel at home here. Johannes even offered me a full time position at the shop, he even offered to help me look into applying for some kind of permanent solution to actually stay here. We had dinner last week, after I was struggling at work and I finally opened up to him; much to his horror. He kept telling me, ‘we’re gonna figure out something’ and ‘I’m not sending you back to that environment’
It had been over four weeks since I last saw a certain blonde haired musician, after reading his text message that came in that night; I did something completely deplorable. I snuck into my bedroom as I tried to use his sleeping face for the Face ID on his phone, finally getting it to work after a few tries. An hour later, and scrolling through multiple text threads and finding out there had to be at least three other women. I heard a “what the fuck are doing?” From behind me as I was huntched over, sitting on my knees on my couch.
That lead to at least a three hour fight as he kept throwing words like ‘psycho’ and ‘insane’ towards me as I cried and tried to defend myself, finally ending our fight with a “we’re not even together, this is ridiculous.” As he walked out of my apartment, slamming my door behind him.
After that, I took some deep reflection on my habits and trauma; deciding it was time to turn a new leaf. I needed to try and move on from my past, as much as it was going to hurt; oh boy it hurt despite the strides I was making. I allowed myself to start opening up more and making connections, allowing my coworkers to invite me places and make friends with their friends. Allowing myself to feel my hurt and pain, and crying it out. I even started looking into therapy, once I got my status in place.
And that’s how I met Mark. We’ve been hanging out for the last two weeks or so, nothing serious at all but he’s been making actual efforts to get to know me and make plans with me. I met him at a dinner party that I got invited to by a friend of a friend I met through Maria; he was quiet and shy until he made a sarcastic joke while we were sat next to each other and I piggybacked off his joke, making both of us have to stifle our laughter. He was safe, he worked in IT for a company in the city and had his own condo, two cats and was raised by a single mother and two older sisters.
That’s how I ended up with plans for this Saturday night, he told me to clear my schedule because he absolutely just had to see me and wanted to take me out; even if we had just had dinner at his place the Thursday before, and went to see a movie on Monday.
I made my way through the streets of the city, deciding heels weren’t my best friend tonight. I looked down at the strappy platforms I decided on and cursed myself before moving my handbag strap farther up my shoulder and trucking along before seeing a familiar face in the crowd. “Beautiful!” He called out to me and I hurried my pace up, forming a big smile and threw my arms around Mark as I got near him. “Well, if it isn’t the most beautiful girl here in the Netherlands,” he quipped and gave me a small kiss on my cheek while helping me pull down the back of my dress that had ridden up as I gave him a hug. “And if it isn’t the most sweetest and handsome man in the Netherlands, standing right in front of me.” I replied back, pushing the slight feeling of ‘ick’ that popped into my brain; telling myself this is the new me. The new me doesn’t get the ick with nice men, she welcomes them in her life with open arms.
────୨ৎ────
Fourty minutes later and we were situated in a bar area that apparently had the best food in Rotterdam, as he put it. It was a nice change of pace not wanting to drink to get absolutely hammered and instead, have a few drinks with dinner.
Mark was telling me something about what was happening in his current workplace drama. When I heard a voice that I knew all too well behind me, enter into the bar area. I swiftly took a sharp breath, and moved my hand to my vodka cran; pulling it up and taking two large gulps of it. I cut Mark off, telling him sorry but I had to go to the bathroom real quick and how I was just dying to hear the rest of his story but I was about to pee myself. He let out a laugh and waved me off in a friendly manor.
I quickly got up from the table; cursing that of course the bathroom was towards the front of the space. I quickly turned around and scanned the area, locking my eyes on my avoided target; a certain blonde boy named Joost Klein, who was accompanied by a few friends and what looked to be a small model-like girl, who was hanging off his arm and letting her head rest against his bicep.
I took a deep breathe and told myself, ‘you’re okay.’ As I tried to duck behind other tables and patrons of the bar, basically crawling on the wall to try and avoid him. Realizing I probably looked like a freak, but I’d rather look like a freak than embarrass myself in any other way. I successfully made it past them as I walked into the women’s restroom and made my way to the sinks; turning the water on and washing my hands, aptly splashing some water onto my face. I looked up into the mirror and tried giving myself a pep talk, about how I was a ‘bad-ass bitch’ and how I deserve to be here as much as anybody else, even if I only half believed my mantras.
Ten minutes had gone by before I doubled checked myself in the mirror one more time after replying my lipgloss and gave myself a nod. Making my way to the door and flinging it open, right as person who I was dreading seeing began walking down the hall to the men’s restroom. He abruptly stopped in his tracks as I stood in the doorway, slightly beginning to panic. He almost looked like he seen a ghost, and I couldn’t imagine my expression was much better.
“Uh… um, hey.” He said and I almost wanted to start backing into the bathroom and spend the rest of my night there, “hi.” Came out of my mouth before realizing it, I made my way out of the door and let it slam behind me before slightly inching toward him; realizing there was realistically only a couple feet between us. “Um… how are you?” He rubbed the back of his neck, “I’m fine. How are you?” I replied lowly, beginning to pick at my cuticle. “Fine….” He trailed off and that’s when I noticed he moved his eyes down my body; specifically my chest. That fucker.
“I actually have to get back to my table, my dates waiting for me.” I started walking forward, trying to push past him. “Date?” He asked, it almost sounding hurt. I nodded and moved my hand to his shoulder, slightly pushin him. “Yeah, date. I kind of, sort’ve, met somebody.” I nodded to myself and finally got past him, “and it looks like you did to. Or at least somebody for the night.” I said over my shoulder and sauntered off before even giving him a chance to reply to my snarky comment.
────୨ৎ────
After the small set back, the night went really good despite it all. I noticed joost and his friends quickly left after our awkward encounter in that hallway and I had a good dinner and allowed myself to get slightly tipsy. Mark insisted to at least walking me to the metro station, I still wasn’t comfortable letting him in his space yet and he respected that, which in turn made me realize that being truly respected was nice.
I got into my apartment, and started taking my shoes off and gave myself a deep breath and started up my mantras again, hoping they would help whatever feeling I had deep in my stomach at the moment. I decided a shower was much needed, and maybe one of the canned cocktails that Mark had gifted me a four pack of after mentioning I liked it. I grabbed one of the cans from my fridge, opening it and grabbing my small speaker from my counter; going to get myself set up in my bathroom. I walked back out and grabbed my phone from my purse, remembering I had told Mark I’d text him when I got home.
I unlocked my phone as noticed a notification from none other the man I’ve been trying to forget about for the last couple weeks. I furrowed my brow and opened it seeing he sent me his location, followed by a ‘come over.’ I quickly closed out of the thread before moving over to the text thread with Mark and sending him a quick ‘made it home’ text, connecting my phone to the speaker and turning some music on low.
I finally made it into the shower, washing my day off my skin and hair. Twenty minutes later, I finally felt clean enough and got out of the shower; turning it off. Quickly getting my robe on and beginning to dry my hair off, I heard my phone start ringing, without thinking I picked it up and and brought it to my ear. “Hello?” I asked into the microphone, “schat.” I heard come through the phone, and I my eyes snapped open, “what do you want.” I asked in an accusing tone, recognizing that voice all too well.
“I know you saw my text, I want you to come over.” He replied. “Are you drunk? On some type of hard drugs? Have you fallen and hit your head in the last twenty four hours, and could possibly need to go to the emergency room?” I replied, in a rude tone and moved into my living room, sitting on my couch.
“I had a few beers, no and no,” he said, “I just…. I’m thinking about you in that dress. And thinking about whatever nerd had the pleasure of taking it off of you tonight.” I laughed, genuinely let out a guttural laugh and went on, “and even if somebody did get to take it off me tonight, what does that have to do with you?” I heard him take a breath in that sounded like it came through his teeth, “It doesn’t have anything to do with me but that doesn’t stop me getting annoyed about the thought of your pretty, tight pussy around some other’s cock, baby.”
────୨ৎ────
An hour later on the phone later, I was in the back of a ride share service car, biting my nails. After going back and forth, until he started talking dirty to me in Dutch; I realized I might need to do this, truly the ‘go back till you hate them’ method. I promised that after tonight, I was truly a changed woman. I had a gnawing feeling in the back of my brain and stomach, knowing it had to do with the man I was on a date with just a couple hours ago, I knew I was gonna have to tell him but that’s for me to worry at a later date.
My phone kept going off with pings signaling incoming text messages, mostly telling me what he was gonna do to me and a couple explicit photos of him from what looked like his couch. I thumbed up the pictures and sent a few sexts back, mostly half assing them.
The driver slowly came to a stop, and said something to me softly in dutch, I think about how this was my stop. I gave them a quiet, ‘thank you’ and made my way out of the car; clutching onto my bag as I felt the breeze hit my bare legs. I decided on wearing a pair of sleep shorts and tshirt, he didn’t get anything special out of me. I quickly made my way up to the door and unlocked my phone sending a ‘im here’ text before shoving my phone in my bag; after turning my location off. I crossed my arms over my chest and shifted my weight over to one leg while waiting a few minutes.
I heard fumbling with the lock and the door slowly creeped open, revealing him standing there; shirtless and in a pair of pajama pants hanging low on his waist. He gave me a smirk as he opened the door wider, taking a step back and motioning for me to come in. I rolled my eyes and began to walk into the space, feeling stupid and embarrassed I found myself in this situation but I had nobody to blame but myself at this point.
I took a few steps in, looking around the front entrance of his home while I heard him close and lock the door behind me, slowly creeping up and snaking his arms around my waist; placing his hands on my stomach and pushing the tips of his fingers into the top elastic of my shorts. “I knew you would come,” he said in a low voice and he pressed a kiss to the side of my head, “and I’m so glad you did.”
I bit my lip and decided to play into it, pushing my back up and his chest and leaning my head back into his shoulder, “I’m so glad I came to, hopefully in more than one way tonight.” He let out a chuckle before removing his hands from my waist and walking into the main living area, calling out for me to follow. He motioned to his couch, which I noticed was leads better than mine and asked if I wanted anything to drink. “I’m all out of wine but I have beer,” he teased me as he made his way into what I assumed was the kitchen and I yelled out that should be fine. He returned with two open bottles of beer, handing one down to me as he sat next to me on the couch, picking up his remote and pressing play on whatever he had paused from before. I nervously took a sip of the beer and kept my hand on my knee, staring straight ahead.
“Liefde,” he whispered, and I looked over, “you don’t have to be so scared. Its only me.”
I nodded and took another chug of the beer, moving forward to sit on the coffee table, removing my bag from my shoulder and letting it slip onto the floor; while kicking my shoes off. I could feel his eyes bore into the side of my head before I slowly leaned back into the couch, picking my legs up to tuck them under me and turn towards him. He took a big swig of his beer and followed suit, setting it next to mine on the table. “Come over here, come closer.” He commanded me and I began to lean forward, slightly crawling towards him like scared puppy. He smiled and brought his hand up to my face as soon as I was close enough and rubbed his thumb over my jaw.
“I don’t know what it is about you and driving me nuts, making me think about you all the time. Making me so fucking mad. Making jealous.” He almost spat that last part at me, before grabbing onto my chin and bringing my face forward to crash his lips onto mine, kissing me with force and power. I closed my eyes and let my lips work around his, placing my hands on his thigh and felt his bulge rub up against the side of my fingers. He pulled away and I let my eyes snap back open, he looked at me for a good second, licking his lip and smirking; “But it looks like I won anyways tonight, I have you here right now.”
He let go of my chin and asked me to lay back onto the couch and I followed commands, laying back and resting my head on one of the decorative throw pillows. He sat on the other side of the couch, palming himself through his thin pajama pants and said my name in a low voice that almost made me melt right into the fake leather of his couch. “What?” I asked, “I want you to touch yourself for me.” He threw out into the air and let out a deep breath, as I harshly bit down on my lower lip. “Okay,” I replied, “but only if you do it at the same time.”
He nodded and I stood up, moving my shorts and underwear down my legs and sitting back on the couch, as I watched him shimmy out of his pants; cock springing out. I lazily moved my leg up onto the back of the couch, resting the foot of my other on the floor; giving him a full display. He stopped for a second, staring at me with amazement as I noticed his pupils dilate. I gave him a half nod and moved my hand down my stomach and onto my own clit, slowly moving my fingers in small circles as he moved his hand to his dick; beginning to tug on it slowly.
I leaned my head back and leaned my hips up into my hands, picking up pace before I heard him call out to me, “keep your eyes on me.” I picked up head up lazily and push my fingers down my folds, pushing them in myself, pumping them a few times before bringing them back to up to my most sensitive area. I watched as his lazily jerked his own dick, moving his eyes between my face and my fingers going to work.
This went on for a few more minutes before he let go of himself, and I followed his lead. Dropping my leg back down, resting my foot down on the top of his calf. “Fuck,” he muttered, “come here again. Stand in front of me.” He began to sit up straight on the couch as I stood up, coming to stand in front of him. “On your knees.” He directed me, before I slowly dropped to them; folding my legs under me as he moved his fingertips to the hem of my shirt, helping me take it off; leaving both of us fully naked and exposed.
“I’ve tasted you and now I think it’s my turn to get pleasured.” He leaned back, slightly spreading his legs. I bit my lip and looked up to him through my eyelashes, nodding and moved forward, taking his rock hard length into my hand moving my body up; sitting over it before letting some spit dribble out of my mouth onto the tip of his dick, as he let out a sharp breath and bit his lip. I began moving my hand up and down, opening my mouth open and moving my head down, letting my mouth fully engulf the tip. Flattening my tongue out against the bottom of it and moving down, hearing him let a out a string of ‘fucks’, before quickly moving back up, finding my rhythm for the next couple minutes.
I reached the tip again, circling the tip with my tongue as I bought my hands to his thighs, grabbing onto them as he let out the most pathetic moans into the air. “You keep that up and I’m gonna cum all over your face again.” He let out a sigh and brought his hand down to push some hair off my shoulder. I moved off his dick and set the side of my head on his thigh, looking up to him once again. Taking in how the moonlight hit his skin from the wide windows in his living room, as I watched his chest move up and down rapidly.
“I want to fuck you.” He finally let out as he sat up from his position on the couch and ran the back of his knuckles on my cheek bone, as I nodded in complacency. I moved back and felt my shoulders hit the coffee table, placing my hands on the edge and lifting myself up from my kneeling position. He watched from his position, taking a few swipes at his dick as I decided it was my turn to take command of the situation, moving over to the couch and climbing onto it; setting my knees on the edge and letting my head rest against the back of the couch.
“Then come fuck me.” I said as I closed my eyes, feeling him push himself up from his sitting position. I waited for a few seconds before I felt his hand grab my ass, rubbing his thumb over the skin and quickly letting his core meet mine; slowing pushing his tip into my open and aching hole. He started pushing down into me while I let out a string of whines and moans. “Fuck,” he started, bringing his free hand up to my shoulder, “so tight and warm…. Just like I remembered. I don’t think I can share this pussy with anybody.” He let out an almost whine as he reached my cervix, sitting there for a few minutes.
I folded my arms across the back of the couch and laid my head down, he mumbled something I didn’t catch before pulling his hips away from my ass and began thrusting against me. I bit my lip as I let out small mewls and whines, calling out his name as I could feel his hand sneak up my spine, resting his hand on my shoulder and slightly pulling me back; moving my hands to hold my body weight up. “Fuck, moppie. You feel so good. I don’t know how I’m suppose to last long in you.” He groaned behind me as his hand slowly made its was up my collar bone and rested his fingers on the front of my chest.
I took a shaky breath and moved to pick my hand up, putting it ontop of his as I moved his hand to my throat; encouraging him to grab onto it. “You stretch me out so good, better than anybody could.” I felt his fingers clasp onto the sides of my throat as he let out a strangled cry, I could tell his orgasm was coming so I started moving my hips back to meet his; letting his pelvic bone bounce against my ass.
A few more thrusts and I could feel him come unraveled as I felt the soft liquid of his cum pool inside of me, he let out a string of whispers as he removed his hand from my throat and set it against my shoulder and leaned forward; resting his body against my back. “Holy shit,” was I all I picked up before I felt a pair of lips connect with my shoulder blade. He leaned back up and slowly started pulling out of me, telling me to stay still while he went to go grab something to wipe me up with.
He quickly left the room, as I stayed in my position; feeling completely vulnerable and trying to push back terrible thoughts in my head; I kept telling myself this was exposure therapy and maybe letting him fuck me from behind would help unravel all the trauma behind it. He quickly came back into the room and squatted behind me, pushing what felt like a warm washcloth to my center and wiped me down, moving his hand up to my ass and spreading it slightly; trying to clean me thourougly. I felt him drop his arm as I felt his lips connect with my pussy, giving it a soft kiss before he stood back up.
I took a deep breath and started standing up myself, shaking slightly and moved to grab my shirt and shorts. “What are you doing?” He asked in a puzzled tone, “I’m gonna get dressed so I can head back home… where’s your bathroom?” He raised his eyebrow at me, “well the bathrooms over there if you have to pee or something…. But you know you could stay the night?” I turned around to look up at him, holding my crumpled clothes against my chest and letting out small sniffle, trying to push some tears back from my eyes.
His face softened and he moved forward, grabbing my clothes from my hands and throwing them on his couch. “Are you okay? Was this okay for you?” He asked me and that alone made something in me break as the tears sprung forward, rushing down my cheeks. He pulled me into his chest and started petting the back of my hair, giving the top of my head a kiss. “We don’t have to talk about it.” Was all he mumbled as I nodded, against his chest.
We stood like that for a few more moments as he suddenly leaned down, bringing the back of my thighs into his hands and lifted me up against his body, wrapping my legs around his hips as he kept his hand steady on my back. He slightly wobbled as he started backing up, making his way through the living area and down a hall; into a dimly lit space and I realized it was his bedroom.
He sat me down on the edge and told me to make myself comfortable, I nodded in a submissive nature and laid back; laying my head on the pillow and pulling my knees up slightly towards my chest and moving one of my hands underneath my head. I felt the bed behind me slightly dip and felt his presence behind me, pulling the sheet over our bodies until he he settled in, moving his arm around me and his chin ontop of my head.
“We can’t keep doing this,” I whispered, “it can’t be good for either of us.” I felt him huff slightly and hum out, “I know, schat.” He whispered out into the darkness, “I wish I could’ve met you at a different part of my life, maybe when I wasn’t so broken and not repairable.” I whispered back to him. I felt him press a kiss to the top of my head, “do you actually think that? That you can’t be fixed?”
I closed my eyes and let a deep sigh out, “sometimes. Yeah, I feel like something in me is just… not right and can never be right again. I mean, I just… don’t know.” He tightened the grip on my waist and said, “nobody’s truly evil. We all make mistakes at the end of the day.” I nodded and moved my hand down to his, setting my palm onto the back of his hand, rubbing my fingers over the flesh of his fingers.
“So… that date you were on?” I could tell he was nervous to ask me, almost like he was testing the waters. “It’s just some guy I met at dinner party, nothing serious I guess. I don’t know, I think he likes me more than I like him.” I felt him slightly stir behind me, “is that so?” I let out a soft ‘mhm’ and laced my fingers through his.
A couple moments of silence followed before he broke it, “let me take you on a date. An actual date.” I opened my eyes and whispered, “you want to?” I felt him nod, “yeah, let me make up for this. How I should’ve done it in the first place. Take you to dinner, have a conversation with you… get to know about you, on a deeper level.”
I sleepily agreed and felt his body relax against mine as he nuzzled his face into my neck, slowly letting sleep overtake both of our bodies.
A/N: now we getting into the good stuff besties. These two are so broken and toxic and annoying I want….. I need them to block each other fr. Anyways, ofc thank you all for ur support on my story that I mostly write at work when I have down time and am bored :,) ily.
I was happy for Ein Mann, getting to be on stage dancing with joost. Till I saw one of his friends he brought is literally a stalker who doxxed joost's family in the past. And got to hang out backstage and meet joost. Literally why
Joost eating u out def after not seeing u a while… so he makes it worth you time
Fucking joost in his balaclava after u told him it kind of turns u on.. him being a total sub while smacking ur ass when ur riding him
Joost’s little sextape of you two.. he just misses you so much ya know so he needs something with him.. he cant stay pent up all that time without you, without seeing your fucked out gaze beneath him..
He feels so big inside of you the size difference turns him on sm as he sees hes dick poke trough ur belly
Riding his face when u tell him youve been feeling stressed out he’s got the perfect solution for you.. he doesn’t mind u use him to get off and could lay there all night, feeling your sweet juices on his tongue while your thighs press against his jaw
Slow morning cuddles with joost him just caressing your body, feeling every part of you cause you are his.
Having a quickie in the backstage dressing rooms dont tease him to much cause he’ll keep trough to his word and fuck u right there, passionately tho.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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summary: Joost is your perverse roommate who can’t help himself. Sneaking in your bedroom to snoop and dig through your laundry sends him down a spiral of depravity.
perv!roommate!joost x reader part 1
Content Warnings: 18+ RPF SMUT MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, male masturbation, panty sniffing, somnophilia (in that he's sexually aroused by seeing reader asleep and touches his dick next to where they're sleeping), using underwear to jerk off, drunk cuddling
word count: 2,618
a/n: this part is in Joost's POV, reader is gender neutral here but feminine and I plan to make the next part female!reader's POV - I gave this a quick proof read and spell check in my word processor but nothing else.
Title and the two sentences under the picture are from Catalog of Unabashed Gratitude by Ross Gay
Joost shifts, uncurls his legs, puts his feet on the floor and stands from his desk. His legs feel like they're about to give out under him, shaky from the way he had been sitting. He checks the time on his phone and sees a text from you, his roommate. 'dinners up caesar salad ^-^'. He stares at the emoticon, it's cute, touching that you added it. Then he notices it was sent an hour ago.
Shit.
He pushes his door open and pads out of his room, legs aching a little still. You squeak and gasp when he comes up behind you, mumbling out a quiet 'hallo'.
"Scared me!" You scold, pouting. You're too cute, he feels like he's going to melt.
"Sorry.." Joost murmurs sheepishly.
"I was just about to wrap everything up, I didn't think you were coming out." You sigh stepping away from the kitchen counter.
He gives another sorry and starts filling a bowl with greens. He berates himself mentally for irritating you.
"Do you want to watch TV with me while you eat?" You offer with a smile, blissfully unaware of his sudden anxieties.
Joost pauses forking chicken into his bowl. "Sure." He says simply, filling a glass of water before following you into the living room.
He takes the other end of the couch from you, any closer and he wouldn't be able to focus on anything else. Not like he focuses on the show you put on anyway, some sort of competition show, he nods and hums as you explain everything.
You moved in together some time ago and it's only been the past few months that he started feeling this way. It reared its stupid ugly head when you had asked him to watch TV like this but you were curled under a blanket, holding up the edge in offer. His hands started shaking and he felt sure he'd get a boner and make it weird, so he just declined and left with a Monster back to his room. He almost said no this time, but didn't want to be rude. He perches on the couch, legs crossed, behaving himself. Though it's so hard to behave.
About a week later, he's milling about the kitchen when you pop out of your room. It's hard not to ogle your legs, your ass in those shorts as you flit past him, grabbing a soda can from the fridge and say you're going out with friends. He nods giving an 'ok', nonchalantly asks when you'll be back. Just a few hours you promise, then ask why. Just curious, he promises.
He waits to make sure you won't come back before sneaking into your room.
God, it's wrong and Joost knows it is but he can't help himself. He feels like he's going to get caught red handed at any moment. Gently pushing your door in like he's not alone in the apartment. There's a mess of clothing on your bed from trying stuff on before going out, a couple of the dresser drawers askew, a pair of underwear hanging limp over the edge.
He pulls open a drawer, slow and careful before reminding himself he's alone. None of it catches his interest, until he opens the lowest drawer and finds his roommate's stash. A vibrator, a dildo and a bottle of lube. He never knew, you never made a sound. Well, he tried to keep quiet when he jerked off too, but he finds he's a little disappointed he never once heard a single noise from your room. The dildo is smaller than him. God. You're masturbating with a dildo smaller than his cock when he'd be more than happy to satisfy your needs properly.
His fingers pass over your journal, closed on your desk. He feels at your bedding, the comforter, the stuffed toy bunny. Its fur is soft, a little fuzzed like you sleep with it often. He eyes the laundry basket, knowing he shouldn't. He shouldn't be in here at all.
Joost pushes his hand into the worn clothing, fishing out a shirt. It smells like you, your perfume. His hand shakes a little when he finds a pair of used underwear. Fuck he shouldn't. He shouldn't.
He can't help himself. He pulls them from the basket, feeling the soft material under his thumb. His other hand is slinking down his own body, as he raises the underwear to his nose to take a sniff, just like he smelled the shirt. But this time he feels almost dizzy from the smell.
He starts rubbing his dick through his shorts as he reaches in again, clumsily looking through his roommate's laundry with one hand. He finds a pair, cute and pink, lace around the edges, soft under his fingers, eyes rolling as he sniffs them. He pushes his shorts and boxers down enough to get his dick out.
Wrapping a hand around himself, Joost sighs a little, he bites his lip glancing down to see himself throb. The panties change hands, he wraps the soft material around his cock and gives a whimper.
God he can't believe he's doing this. He feels dirty and perverse and fucked up, standing in his roommate's bedroom with their underwear wrapped around his hard cock because he just couldn't help himself. He watches precum bead, seeping through the fabric, rubbing his tip with the panties.
Whatever little control he had before he loses now, one hand braced against the wall as he humps his own hand. His eyes shut as he focuses on the feeling, the soft material of his roommate's underwear around his dick. He pants, pathetic noises leaving his throat. It's not long before he's coming into the underwear, cock throbbing, cum soaking the fabric.
Shame fills him on the comedown. He stuffs the mess he made towards the bottom of your basket. You won't notice. God he hopes you won't notice.
Joost can't stop thinking about it. He hears you come home later when he's shut away in his room. You hum, singing softly as you go down the hall to your room. Probably drunk, he thinks. You won't figure out what he did in that state.
"Hey," He says, knocking on your door that's ajar. You sit on your bed doing something on your laptop. It's been a few days, the incident is still on his mind and you're still none the wiser. "I'm gonna do my laundry, want me to do yours too?"
You look almost shocked. Well, he has never offered before, it's weird that he is all of a sudden. "Uh, yeah! Sure, okay." You nod, returning the gentle smile he gives.
"Thank you!" You chirp as he lifts your small basket by the handles, taking the detergent and softener sheets next to the basket before he goes.
"Ja, you're welcome." He gives a sigh of relief as he nudges your door shut again. He was so nervous you'd find out what he did if you did your own laundry.
He watches every piece of clothing as he tosses it in the washer. Every tank top, t-shirt, pair of jeans. Every pair of used underwear.
There's no one around, the air is quiet and still and Joost can't help himself. Before starting the laundry he gets off with a pair of his roommate's underwear in the middle of his apartment's laundry room. One last time he tells himself. He cums all over the cute green and white striped fabric and thinks about what you look like wearing them.
He zones out listening to music waiting for everything to finish. He doesn't think about what he's done, he doesn't think about you. He folds your clothing carefully, piling it all in the basket once more, ignoring someone who arrived and decided to stand right by the folding tables talking on their cell. Then he folds his own and hauls it all back up to the apartment.
"You didn't have to fold it.." You laugh, sounding a little nervous maybe when he returns your laundry.
"Figured it'd be the nice thing to do." He shrugs, glancing at the pair of cute socks he put on the top of the stack. You're looking too. Surely realizing folding everything meant he touched and saw everything. You don't know the half of it.
"Well, thanks. You're so sweet!" You smile up at him anyway, standing in front of him in a tank top and sweatpants, they hang low on your hips and he can see the pink leopard print of whatever underwear you're wearing now.
He gives a little giggle, glancing away. "Welcome." You don't hug him, he wishes you did, it seems like you wanted to but you shuffle away a little and mumble something about putting everything away and he knows that's his cue to leave.
You weren't teasing him, wearing what you were, he knows that. Joost knows it's wrong to think you would be, you're just being comfortable in your own space. But god, you looked so good in that little tank and the low, loose sweats. It's unfair.
It feels like you are teasing him, but he knows better. But it's hard not to stare at you, when you ask how you look before going out in tiny denim shorts. It's hard to behave when you tell him to sniff perfume on your neck. He gets you your favorite candy at the store and you squeeze him in a big, tight hug, your chest against his. Joost cums with your name silent on his lips in the night after the hug, thinking of the contact.
He comes home one day and finds you asleep, sprawled on the couch. The moment the first little noise leaves your lips he feels his dick start to twitch. His head spins, god he can only imagine how sweet you'd sound under him if the little sleepy noises you make sound this good. Little moans and whimpers from whatever dream you're having. He doesn't think twice before he's getting his dick out, biting his lip to stifle his own sounds.
Just a little, just enough to satisfy the urge. The need to jerk off next to you, your sweet, soft sleeping face. He doesn't go any further, just stroking his cock watching your lips part in a soft sigh. Then he's tucking himself away and hurrying to his room before you wake up so he can finish.
So he can finish with a pair of your dirty underwear, that he swiped from your laundry while you were out, held to his nose.
God he's fucked.
One night he's chilling on the couch drinking beer and channel surfing when he hears a thump at the door, about to stand when the knob twists and you stumble in with your shoes in your free hand. "You're up?" You ask giving Joost a crooked smile.
"Ja, I was watchin' TV." He says taking a drink.
"Can I join you?" You ask, just a little clumsy as you walk to the couch, steadying yourself with a hand on the arm of it.
Joost just nods, taking a deep breath, willing his hands to stop shaking. "Okay," You sigh, standing up straight. "I'm gonna get 'jamas.." You mumble heading to your room.
He's started another beer by the time you come back, in sweats and a tank. You plop on the couch next to him with a sigh. You're so warm and sweet smelling next to him, it's almost hard for him think. But that's also due to the alcohol in his system.
"Whatcha watching?" You ask shifting closer, leaning your head on his shoulder.
"Erm, nothing. Just looking, you wanna pick?" He offers the remote, you take it just to set it on the coffee table.
"This is good." It's some movie, neither of you are paying attention at this point.
He can't, not with how you're touching him, fingers brushing his arm. He drinks his beer to distract himself, pretending to focus on the TV.
After a few minutes, "You wanna cuddle?" You draw your legs up under you.
He doesn't answer right away, finishing his beer, setting the empty can on the table. It wobbles and falls over, rolling against the remote.
"C'mon, we're both drunk, it's okay.." You plead softly, pouting at him a little.
He thought you were already cuddling with him, all tucked up against him. "Fuck. Yeah, please."
You giggle at him, eyes soft, pupils big in the darkness of the living room the two of you only lit by the movie playing. "You're so cute, you know that?"
He laughs as well, a quiet sound. "You're cuter.." What is he saying? What is he even doing? Letting you lace your fingers with his, your body slouching against his but your head tilted up so you can look at him.
"No I'm not… You are, with your pretty hair an' pretty eyess," You coo, blinking hard, swaying a little as you sit up straighter. "Can I take your glasses off?"
He nods, letting his eyes flutter shut when your hands come up to his face. He blinks them open again when he feels your presence return from putting them on the coffee table. "Sooo pretty…" Your hands return to his face again, thumbs smoothing over his cheekbones, his sideburns.
He touches you in return, carefully stroking a hand down your side. He can't see you very well with how close you are, but he calls you pretty too just because. You climb into his lap, hands on his shoulders now. He doesn't know if it's your touch or the beer making him feel light and dizzy.
Fuck. He can't believe this is happening. His hands move with a mind of their own, up your sides, to your back, then your ass.
You mumble mindlessly, petting his chest down to his belly. You haven't noticed his boner yet. Then you slump against his chest, sighing heavily.
"We should…You should get to bed.." He murmurs, rubbing your back.
"Don't wanna.. I wanna be with you.." You snuggle into him and he tries to stop breathing so heavy.
"You should though. We shouldn't do this. Can you stand?" He tries getting your arms off himself, knowing he can't shove you away.
You groan, crawling off him and standing unsteady. "Mh, okay…Okay I can do this."
Joost follows quickly, there to make sure you don't tip over. "Yes, you can. Very good." He mumbles, helping you walk to your room.
You giggle at him, happily leaning on him for support. "Say that again."
"Shh, we're almost there." He can't think too hard about you wanting him to praise you right now. Not when you're so close and touching him so much.
"I like mh- your voice.. Has anyone ever told'ya that? You gotta nice voice." You fall back into your bedding once he gets you there.
"I'll get you some water." He gives your hand a squeeze before taking off.
He just has to do this and he can leave and jerk off all night in his room. You're curled under your blanket when he returns and he sets the glass on your nightstand and slips out of your room and into his own.
He shoves down his pants and underwear the second he steps in his bedroom, muscle memory at this point. His cock throbs in his hand as he sits on the edge of his bed, his mind a blur with thoughts of you, the sweet way you talked to him and kept touching him.
Fuck, he feels pathetic. He can't begin to think about how you're going to act after this.
•ᴥ︎• Anon asked: Imagine reader being joost new dogsitter!! He’s away for tour or something and he constantly asks her for updates on his dogs :-)) when he returns they have some tension ?? Friends to lovers if u may
•ᴥ︎• a/n: sorry for the wait again but who is surprised at this point. i was really hoping to get this done before Joosts next tour but uh… thats not gonna happen rip
•ᴥ︎• (dog) tags: 10.8k words! that’s really it
part one, part two, part three, part four, part five,
•*⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧ *•*⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧*•
Part 5
You remember the day Joost had pulled you home, eagerly showing you every room in his house and making you promise you would treat it as your own. Yet all the places Joost had tugged you into with a big smile were all places you felt like an outsider. A week ago you felt wrong even sliding into the inviting warmth of his bed, and in a way you were right, it brought on thoughts you weren’t ready to come to terms with. You figured you had the time to work through them but as your phone buzzed in your hand and his face flashed on the screen you realized it was much worse than you thought.
A couple of weeks ago you would’ve never felt so frenzied at the thought of a simple text from a friend. But here you were, feet cemented in place as the implication of his words rattled in your brain.
“Got time to talk?” He said, “Yeah sure ofc!” you responded a little too quickly. But then he surprised you, threw you off when he said “can we call?”. You and Joost weren’t strangers to a phone call, many times had he called you slurring his words after a night out. Shouting into the microphone about how they played a song you would’ve loved, crooning as he told you he tried your favorite drink and it was ass. This had gone both ways of course, you calling him and saying something so embarrassing he would repeat it back to you for months.
But now you hesitated, knees shaking as the phone rumbled in your hand. You weren’t the biggest fan of phone calls, but this sinking feeling wasn’t just from the echo of the ringtone of the air. For some odd reason you felt as soon as the call went through, Joost would hear a change in your voice. He would somehow sense an extra sweetness in your voice, honeyed words birthed from lingering thoughts through the weeks. You also knew though, if you didn’t answer he would definitely know something was wrong, a shift in the dynamic or the sharp silence between you.
You wished you could freeze time, weigh the options as the phone settled in your hand. But you knew time was fleeting, each ring a clump of sand sliding through the bend of an hour glass, each second giving him more of an excuse to ask you what took so long. So you held your breath and pressed against the smooth glass, hoping your hand was steady enough you wouldn't press the wrong button, and waited as the call sprung to life.
His name taunted you on the screen as there was a bloated pause, it lasted so long you had to check to make sure your volume wasn’t muted. Joost broke the silence first.
“Uh, helloo?” He sounded almost timid through the static of the voice call.
“Oh! Uh yeah, hi!” You cringed at how fast you responded. “um, how are you, everything good?” You slapped a hand over your face. Jesus, this isn’t a work call.
You heard his laugh ring through the speaker, thanking god for the fact he chose to do a voice call, glad he wasn’t able to see the goofy face it caused to form. You heard him take a breath and a creak from a chair. Suddenly feeling foolish letting yourself think it would be any different this time, anxiety almost melting away just hearing his voice. You almost forgot how genuinely comforting his company could be.
“God, you don’t have to be so proper with me. Has it been that long!” You could hear the smile on his face, could almost picture him slouched in his chair. Lackadaisically poured into the cushioning with his hand engulfing the phone against his ear.
“Sorryy, who is this again?” You tried to stifle the giggle bubbling through, failing when his shrill laugh ripped through the phone. Your eyes fell to Onion, who still sat in front of you. His ear perked at the sound of Joost’s voice, tail knocking into the chair behind him as it shook.
“Y’know Onions right here with me, he perked up when he heard your voice…” Your voice trailed off as you scratched the fluffy dog, cooing ‘aint that right, boy’ when he leaned into the touch.
“…That's why you called, right?”
“Uhh, yeah! Just homesick I guess.” There was a pause before he spoke, like he had to hold himself back from saying something.
“Well he’s been showing me around lately, he brought me to some interesting stuff actually.” You stepped closer to the record player, leaning down to look at the hanging picture.
“Yeah…? like what?” Joost’s voice was softer now, tentative like he was waiting on the edge of his seat for what you would say next. A part of you wanted to avoid talk of the pictures you had seen displayed in his house, scared bringing it up would reveal how deeply it had affected you. Like the sickly reverence would seep through the cracks and right into his hands, slipping through the gaps in his fingers and staining every thing between you. Yet you couldn’t stop yourself from speaking once you heard his voice, It was impossible for you to speak to him and not start spilling your guts.
“Well, when I woke up Onion was sitting by your record player in the corner here. You’ve got a cute little setup going.” Despite the thumping in your heart your voice sounded smooth. You leaned closer to the display, reaching out to brush your fingertips against the satiny finish of the picture.
“The music was actually blasting, I’m surprised I even noticed these little decorations you got here. Do you always leave your records under the needle?” You tried to be discreet about bringing up the picture, sandwiching what you really wanted to say between fluff. You painted a lighthearted facade despite the way your cheeks burned when you saw it.
“No, not always, but I like to listen before I set off. I’ll usually play it as I write, I’ll sit in the chair right where it’s loudest and write out what I’m thinking or how I feel. That's where my best work comes to me and Onion’s probably leaving fur all over.”
His voice worked like medicine for you, targeting spots of stress and melting them away like streams in the rain. Listening to him speak so tenderly about the intricate simplicities of his life made you feel closer to him.
“I bet you’ve seen the picture too huh?” His voice rumbled through the strange feeling bubbled up in your throat, you’re not sure exactly where this was leading even though you’re the one who brought it into conversation.
“Yeah, it’s cute! when was this again…?” Ok. very nonchalant. Casual, even.
“Oh don’t act like you don’t remember! That was that good bar a couple streets down. When a bunch of people canceled and then out of the last two, one got really drunk and had to be carried home by the other. We were the last ones left.”
The moment of reminiscing made your heart swell, the static speaker did nothing to hide the sweetness in his voice as he recounted the moments.
“Oh I remember, I don’t know, I guess I just didn’t expect to see it taped here.”
“Well… why not?” He smoothly responded.
“Oh umm…” You actually hadn’t thought that far ahead. It really shouldn’t be that weird, he had plenty of pictures littered around his house like stars, lighting up the wallpaper in every direction. There was no real excuse for you to be feeling any more special than his other friends. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was a difference between how you were displayed. Maybe it was wishful thinking, the quiet hope that as he hung up your pictures he used more love and care than he did for anyone else. Why else would you be found everywhere he was bound to spend a moment in.
“So how is the tour? Where are you headed now?” You asked though you knew the answer already.
“It’s tiring but I swear I wouldn’t ask for anything more. Tonight is Austria, then Prague. The traveling is a lot but god it’s so worth it to hear the people. It’s unreal and… hard to explain.”
Hard to explain, he says, you fight not to overthink the little phrases but you fail that battle quickly. Does he mean that he finds it hard or that you would struggle to understand? Sometimes you felt this distance between you was far greater than the miles on the road. As if each ticket pushed you farther from him, into a world of flashing lights and outstretched hands. You feared being left behind more than anything, scared of freezing as a picture in a frame while he went out and changed lives.
“Yeah, I guess I'm not one to be in the spotlight…” A simple statement that felt more like you were bearing your heart to him. There was a part of you that wished he would deny your deprecation, say you two were more alike than you thought. It never came.
“It’s so different up there. Like, I could be full of anxiety all night, scared I'm gonna let everyone down or fail to live up to their expectations. But as soon as I hear the first beats of music or feel the anticipation of the crowd it just… melts away, like it was never there. You might not get it but…”
Your brain shut off at those words.
You might not get it
The end of his sentence dissolved into the air, the words bouncing off the walls of your brain. They hurt more than they really should. Though you knew he meant no harm, it still sunk deep into your skin and embedded itself like a tick.
“Yeah, I guess… I might not.” Unspoken emotion seeped out of every word.
“Thats okay, like I said, it’s just different.” He seemed so dismissive from across the borders, so… indifferent.
Before you could continue to spiral into your own head, you heard the softest scratching at the door. You asked Joost to hold on as you pattered towards the door, as the whining grew louder you knew exactly what was waiting for you on the other side.
“Y’know, I don't think I’ve ever met a dog so clingy!” You chuckled as a black and white fluffy mass poured into the room, tail hitting the door as he looked up at you. His body could barely contain the excitement from the anticipation of an incoming pet, hips swaying viciously as he tried to sit and be good. You tilted your outstretched hand upward and he exploded in affectionate energy. Unable to decide if he wants to lick your hand or roll over for belly rubs, he ends up contorting half way until you lean down to give him your full attention.
“Oh I bet I can guess who that is, I can hear his tail slapping the ground.” Joost stated through the phone, The canine's tail hitting the ground so hard you were surprised there wasn’t a dent in the floor.
“You think he’ll recognize my voice?” Joost continued. “Max! It’s me! remember?” Max barely looked up, too enthralled with the way you scratched his sweet spot. His foot thumped like a bunny as you made cooing noises at him.
“To be honest, I don’t think he realizes you’re speaking” You watched as he flopped over in ecstasy, switching to rubbing the soft fur on his underbelly. When you pulled away, Max looked up at you with the biggest brown eyes as if to say “thank you!”.
“You should’ve seen him when I first got him, he’d flinch if I brushed up against him while walking past. It was so heartbreaking, until one day he just… stopped, I guess he realized his past life was in the past.” You walked back towards Onion, still sat in the chair, as Joost recounted his first memories with Max. You sat in the space beside the small dog, Max followed your every move. He followed you across the room and planted himself at your feet, tilting his head as you looked down at him with a smile.
When you first met Max you were enamored, he seemed to battle between two versions of himself. One side wanted to run from you, the fear of you hurting him as the wind in his sail. The other side was drawn towards you, seeing you as a fresh source of affection and ear scratches. He alternated between the two frequently, chasing you down for attention and promptly scurrying away when he felt you moved too quickly. This pattern repeated and repeated, until Joost couldn’t bear to watch anymore.
Back when Joost was still walking you through the care process, when he was still home, he was rambling on about serving sizes and grooming days when your eyes drifted to the tuft of fur peaking around the corner. When you made eye contact with Max he perked up, tail wagging viciously as Joost droned on in the background. You looked away quickly in an attempt to gain his trust. You tried to refocus your attention on Joost, nodding and watching his plush lips form daily tasks and tips, but your head snapped away when you heard the clack of claws stalking closer.
Max had inched closer, head bowed as you locked eyes with him. You wanted so badly to earn his trust, turning your body towards him as you sat at Joost’s kitchen table. But as soon as the chair squeaked under your weight Max flinched hard and scuttled away.
“You’re not listening, are you?” Joost’s dissatisfied voice cut right through your thoughts.
“What? Nooo! I heard you…” If your tone of voice didn't tip you off, he would definitely notice the hurt in your eyes as Max slinked out the room.
“So what did I say?” He tipped his head as he questioned you.
“Uhhh…” You truly tried your hardest to recall anything he’s said in the past five minutes, you ultimately failed.
“Listen if you really want to get on Max’s good side, I can just show you.” He swept his hands against his dark wash jeans, seemingly tired of explaining, and pushed himself out of his chair. Before you could defend yourself he was crossing across the room to reach into a cabinet above the counter.
“I had to put them up here because Abba figured out how to open the cabinets.” Joost pulled out a small plastic bag half full with soft bone shaped chews.
“Is bribery really gonna work?” You felt skeptical as he shoved the bag into your chest, a meaty scent hitting your nose immediately.
“This is just the bait.” His long legs take him across the room, you watch as he pulls open the kitchen door and disappears through the frame. You can hear him calling out from the other room so you scuttle towards the door with a vice grip on the treats, bumping into Joost as he stands on the other side. Your face warms rapidly as you push yourself off the plush fabric of the back of his sweatshirt, realizing he’s calling Max and not you. Joost turns to look at you with a cheeky smirk gracing his lips. You can see the snarky comment bubble into his throat, but it fizzes away when the soft tap of paws hit the hardwood.
“Oh! He's coming. Here, hand me those.” You held out the plastic bag to him, he didn’t spare you a glance as he reached out in your direction. Joost’s hand engulfed yours around the pouch, your heart felt strange as his warmth encapsulated your hand. The soft brush sent electricity through your fingertips. Your gaze traced his arm up to his turned face, blue eyes turned away from yours as he focused on the dog across the room. You silently admired the focus pulling his blond brows taught but quickly willed your brain to concentrate on the task at hand.
Max’s ears perked at the sound of crinkling plastic, instantly intrigued by the prospect of a mouth watering treat. You watched his brown eyes dance from you to Joost's outstretched hand, trusting Joost enough to take a cautious step forward but not enough to close the distance between you. Max sat again before he called to him again, his dark tail swishing timidly against the tile floor as he cocked his head to the side.
“C’monnn, I know you want it.” His voice leaped in pitch as he tantalizingly waved the treat. It always made you smile to watch him interact with his dogs, the tenderness always made sure to peek through, it was evident how much time he spent to learn each individual personality and quirks. You watched as Max’s front paws shuffled closer, fighting against staying a safe distance between you and grabbing what was rightfully his.
Joost dropped to one knee, blue eyes locking with yours as he motioned for you to follow his lead. You sank down beside him, meeting his soft smile with a timid one of your own. You convinced yourself the tenderness in his eyes was a product of Max’s proximity, once again retreating from his gaze with a turn of your head. Max had decided he had enough, willpower melting away as he lunged forward for the tantalizing treat. He snapped his teeth around the soft bone, drool flying as he swallowed it nearly whole. Joost swiftly pulled out another one as Max swallowed thickly, but before he could pounce he shoved it into your hands.
You held the small treat between you, watched as Max realized the betrayal at hand. He looked at you, looked at the treat between your fingers, then at the empty space in Joost’s still outstretched hand. The air was heavy as you watched the gears in his head turn. Eventually he made a move forward, you stayed still as if a single movement would send him running for the hills. Timidly, Max moved towards you. Tail wagging as his defenses started to melt away. He gently pulled the treat from your fingers, dribbling drool on you in the meantime. You glanced back at Joost and he threw you an overzealous thumbs up, eyes crinkled shut from the wide smile stretching his lips.
“Why don't you try giving him a quick pet?” Joost watched as Max seemed to grow tender around you. You reached a tentative hand towards Max, who was partially distracted by the mouthwatering taste on his tongue, and brushed your finger tips against the top of his silky forehead. The loud smacking stopped as he realized what exactly he was feeling. You paused with him until Joost grabbed your elbow and guided your hand to scratch behind his ear, Max paused again at this but this time he leaned into it, head angled to the side as you applied more pressure. Almost instantly he forgot he didn't trust you, one leg thumping as you hit the perfect spot behind his ear.
“See? She's not so nasty, is she?” Joost's voice rang low beside you, His eyes on Max as he bared his stomach to your massaging hands. You don't think you've ever seen his eyes so bright as they are the moment Max finally warms up to you. The way Joost looked down at you and him in pure affection had been ingrained into your memory and played repeatedly and in moments like now, you couldn't help but to wonder if Max had only trusted you because he trusted Joost.
Since then Max had trusted you with anything, as long as you kept a steady supply of pets coming his way. But you never shook the thought of Joost whenever Max would plop over to bare his warm tummy to you. He flopped out in front of you as you padded from the bedroom towards the bathroom, ear still pressed against the smooth glass of your phone. Even as you made your way to the kitchen Max was close behind, eyes on your every move as you caught up with Joost. He spoke on about the beautiful things he had seen in every city, the people he met along the way and how he’s never seen so many people happy to see just him. At first, the sound of him speaking so fondly of the experience had brought you contentment, but the more he spoke the more you replayed what he said earlier.
You might not get it
Even though you knew he didn't mean it, you couldn't help but to wonder if what he said was a subconscious confession. You drifted around the kitchen and listened to him talk about the sweet life and the spotlight, swallowing down bile whenever Joost would mention the amount of people crowding outside the doors. He rambled on as your responses grew more dry, “mhm” as he recounted how many pictures he posed for, “wow…” when he told you about how the green room was filled to the brim with snacks. You looked down at Max as Joost carried on, lost in his giant brown eyes that were focused on only you.
It felt wrong to wish that Joost would focus on you like Max would, But that didn't stop you from fantasizing about him looking up at you like Max did. When you moved Max was with you, when you spoke he held onto every word. Even now as Joost spoke to you, you felt yourself zoning out at the thought of being his first priority, above the fans and the fame. Thinking of having him to yourself, the life you could live with just him and his little fur family. Your daydreams were harshly cut short by reality. You knew this little fantasy of yours was unrealistic and unfair. To try to put yourself in front of his livelihood, the one thing he spent so long striving to build. Maybe it was best for you if you stayed in the past chapter of his life, having one part of him was better than having nothing, right? It's not as if you could ever keep up with his demanding life anyway.
A heavy sigh split your lips, anxiety from a somber epiphany emerging through you like the carbonization in a shaken soda. You closed your eyes, shielding yourself from the hopeful gaze of Max as you reeled from a thought you weren't quite prepared for.
“Umm… You okay?” Joost rang again from the other side. You stammered as you were brought back to earth, realizing you hadn't said anything in too long.
“Uh, yeah!” you couldn't sound less convincing if you tried.
“Well I was just saying, I really miss you…”
Your heart skipped a beat, usually you would've loved to hear such charming words from him, but right now you felt so full of conflicting emotions that your brain short-circuited. the attempt to both be a good friend and to protect yourself from the fiery emotions bursting from your heart. You had to be honest with yourself, even if there were… feelings brewing for him, you could never keep up with his demanding lifestyle. You would fade out, become another face in the endless sea of fans, just a warm body he would have to come back to after seeing the world.
“Hey, are you still there?” His voice sounded pensive.
“Yeah, I'm still here…" Right where you left me.
You made a shoddy excuse about having to leave, hanging up before you could let him convince you to stay. Joost promised to call you again tomorrow, swore he would make enough time in the day. Typically your heart would beat heavily against your ribcage at that, but now you wondered if it was still beating at all. You must've had whiplash with how quickly you could build yourself up and back down again, it was almost funny how as the call went on you went from so delighted to a moping mess. You felt bad for turning so sour on Joost but you felt so betrayed by the picture of him you had painted in your mind. You couldn't help but get lost in the whirlwind of your mind, both indulging in the illusion of affection and punishing yourself for doing so.
After what seemed like forever you plopped down on his couch, having done as many chores to clear your mind as you could without collapsing. Of course the patter of paws was not far behind and soon there was an assortment of warm fur covering every plush surface around you. Abba laid across your feet and let out a heavy sigh, you pushed out a heavy sigh to match him. Max was the first to bombard you with energy, tail wagging as he looked up at you expectantly. You reached down solemnly and watched as he tenderly leaned into your touch. Looking at his tufts of soft fur and soft round eyes only reminded you of how you treated Joost earlier. Your heart wrenched and guilt bubbled in your chest, yet Max only looked at you with a tilted head and an open heart, trusting you to the fullest.
You felt yourself needing to talk about what happened despite the embarrassment you felt talking to Onion, the thoughts nearly bursted out of you as you now looked at Max. You let out another heavy sigh and spoke with hesitation.
“Max, can I be honest?’ The words were only met with a deep silence.
“I just have been feeling… well, so shitty.” You leaned down towards him, as much as you could with Abba restraining you.
“It's just that, Joost has been as good as he could be, making time for me even if he's busy, yet I punish him for emotions he doesn't even know I'm feeling.” You smoothed a hand from the smooth coat around the top of his head to the stubbly tufts at the bottom of his chin.
“I mean it's strange, I have intrusive thoughts that materialize so fast, by the time I realize it's not right I've already acted and the moment already feels so far in the past. I'm just reeling all the time, like, as soon as I feel somewhat stable, like how I felt before I met you, I guess… something that should be small offsets me like a nuke.”
You felt so confused and upset you actually felt tears well up in your eyes which only led you to feel frustrated and more confused.
“I just don't understand why I have to be so self destructive. Like none of this would be happening if I wasn't acting so weird. Joost trusted me enough to stay here and watch over you and I paid him back by lashing out and being cold, but why?”
A part of you knew exactly why, most of you knew exactly why, but the fear inside you was far more stubborn than any other part.
“Max, I think I'm scared of admitting something to myself.” As if Max could tell how choked up you were feeling, he pushed himself impossibly closer into your touch, whimpering as you furrowed your brow in uneasiness.
“Dont look so nervous, it's just-” You look across the room at where Onion is laying in his little plush bed. You felt foolish for what you were about to say, but feeling foolish hasn't exactly stopped you yet.
“Well before, when I was talking to Onion, I brought up how I don't feel like a good friend.” You trailed off briefly, thinking how you felt almost jealous of all the people who get to see him, all the attention Joost movies to his fans. To be put in the forefront of his mind so frequently was something you wanted for yourself, all for yourself.
You felt differently than you should when you saw your pictures hung around his house, not to mention how you felt watching those edits…
“But I think it's not being a good friend I'm looking for…” You feel the warm fur of Abbas underbelly against your feet. Mayo yawns in the corner, head resting on the back of another dog. Max looks up at you as you reach down to scratch behind his ear, he closes his eyes and thumps one leg softly as a hopelessly sweet smile on your face as you looked down at him.
“Max, I think I fell in love with Joost.”
Cars pass by outside the warm home, street lights flood through the cracks of the blinds. The street is quiet barring a quiet drip of rain sliding through the gutters. The hushed energy mirrored your surroundings, soft breaths and huffs surrounded you. The only thing that didn't match the atmosphere was the pounding of your heart. Even just saying what you had been avoiding for so long had your chest feeling like it was bound by a burning wire. Before you could notice you felt the same heat coating your face, hot trails of tears slid down your warm cheeks and you could only laugh at how insane you felt.
“I mean- how stupid could I be? Falling in love with him is-” You pause like saying it physically hurts you, saying it out loud makes it so much more real than you were ready to make it.
“Its just so stupid of me…’ You've finally run out of words, the only thing running through your mind was a hurricane of emotions. Your body shook as you laughed through the tears, which turned to soft sobs as you sat in the deafening silence of the room.
“How could I? Have I just set a bomb in our friendship?" You're not sure if you're asking Max or yourself, though at this point it doesn't matter, you've already convinced yourself the answer is yes. You let out a deep shaky sigh.
“Joost said he missed me on the phone today, and all I did was give him the cold shoulder. I regret it so much, how is it fair that he treats me the same as always and I start acting differently in retaliation?” You rubbed your hands roughly across your face, hoping to wipe away your feeling but all you did was make your hand slick with tears.
“Maybe it will be okay.” A lie. “I can still love him, right? I just have to be careful of how strong that love goes.” You sniffled softly, by now Abba had turned to look at you, your huffs alerting him that something was wrong.
“I can do that, stay just close enough that I have him but not close enough to fall.” Max looked at you blankly, like he didn't believe it was possible.
“What other option do I have? Even if I told him how I feel, it's not like he would feel the same way…” Another empty look from Max, you were unsure how a dog could look so emotive (you pretended like you weren't imposing your own thoughts unto him).
“Joost seems like he would want someone who would be able to keep up with his lifestyle and I just… I can't, I'm not that type of person.” He couldn't love me back, It hurt too much to even say.
“Either way, he's not here so I still have time to get myself in check, I'll pretend for as long as I have to! Promise they'll be giving me an oscar for my performance, i swear! It'll say ‘best leading best friend!”
This worked well for a little while, meaning the time between your goal of becoming a top actor and the seconds before Joost's number flashing on your screen the next morning. You slid your thumb across the screen as you took a deep breath, telling yourself to remember what you said and putting on your best acting face.
He told you about his last concert in Austria, how he was getting ready to start heading towards Prague. You nodded along like he could see you as he complained about having to stay on the road so long. The bus hummed as he wished he could stay in each place, that being trapped on the bus was almost as bad as watching all the cities blur in the window. He even spoke about how Apson was getting on him for his ‘lack of promotion’, even putting on a facetious voice as he recounted their conversation.
“He said I'm not doing enough marketing, can you believe that?” Joost sounded so perturbed, you could almost see the way his hands gestured in dramatic anguish.
“Well… yes.”
“What! Oh not you too…”
“I mean honestly i've seen more content from your fans-” He cut you off with an exasperated groan.
“Jesus, you sound just like him.”
“Well maybe it's because we’re both right...” You stifled a laugh as you heard another, more dramatic groan from the other line.
Talking to him like this again made your heart fill with a warm heat, you couldn't wipe the endeared smile off your face if you tried. You stifled what you said to Max, choking down girlish giggles as you exchanged banter through the phone. You twirled a strand of hair as you responded to his questions of your day, telling him how working from home is much harder when Max keeps shoving his big head in front of your laptop. Joost laughed when you complained about Abba slobbering all over your slippers whenever you slept in for even ten minutes, how yesterday was the first day in a week you woke up with bone dry slippers.
You talked and talked about everything and nothing until Joost had to leave, lobbing promises of calling you again when he had a spare second. You waved a dismissive hand even though you knew he couldn't see, but even after the goodbyes there was a long silence on the other end, like he didn't want to hang up just yet.
“Before you go Joost, I just wanted to, well…” Words started spilling out of you before you could stop them or even think about what you were saying.
“I just wanted to apologise if I was being weird on the phone the other day. I'm not feeling like myself, that's all.”
“It's okay, I figured it was just nothing I guess…” So he had noticed.
“Yeah, it was nothing. Good luck at your concert, superstar.”
Joost Let out a soft squeaky chuckle at the nickname before the line when cold and dead. You had convinced yourself your acting was top notch until you felt the emptiness fill the room. Joost had noticed you were acting weird, he could've spent the day feeling like he did something wrong or making excuses for you when he did nothing wrong. The thought of him being distracted from your selfishness, balancing tour life and your sensitive outbursts made guilt fill your throat like bile. Nevertheless you swallowed it down, taking a deep breath and smoothing a hand over your face roughly.
The day dragged on like any other, with you pretending he wasn't consuming every corner of your mind by floating through your day to day chores.
You tried to scroll through social media as a way to distract yourself but of course Joost was every other post on your feed. Not even a simple cat video could play without an edit of Joost playing right after. After the fifth time you saw his face you loudly groaned and threw your phone across the room, watching as it bounced off of the couch and onto the floor. You pushed yourself off the plush cushions of the couch, despite having just sat down, and stumbled towards the kitchen.
The fridge hummed as you tugged it open, a soft light illuminating your features and cooling your fingertips as you poked around. Its contents were… honestly bleak, you took note of what you needed and decided to go to the store tomorrow, opting to get ahead of work while you ordered in tonight. So back to the couch you stalked, setting up your laptop and hoping the dogs wouldn't get into any trouble as you tried to get ahead in your work. Though, of course that wasn't the case.
Max immediately took your concentrated face as a cue to shove his face into your typing hands, whining and licking at your fingers as they tried to type through the chaos. You pushed him away once, twice before he even turned away from you but he decided even your shoving hands was enough affection.
“Max please, what could you possibly want from me.” Saying his name was a mistake you didn't account for, he only took it as affirmation that you would give him more attention that you couldn't spare. Though his back was turned to you his head tilted at the sound of his name, you passively scratched his head then tried to get back to your work. You focused strongly for about five minutes before he came back to beg at your feet. You tried to distract him by tossing a ball but that only excited Mayo, causing him to chase the bounding toy across the room and leave Max at your feet. You sighed, looking down at his big brown eyes and roused fur from when you haphazardly pet him, his tail wagged like even just your eyes on him raised his heart rate.
“Max, you are equally cute and distracting…” you were sure he would've barked a “thank you!” at you if he could, instead opting to wag his tail harder and place his head against your knee. Slobber soaked into your pants as you tried to ignore him once again, you only made it a couple more minutes before your mind started to wander once more. You had to be honest with yourself, less than half of your attention was on your work anyway. So, with an exasperated sigh, you stilled the hands that danced around your keyboard and flopped back into the feathery cushions of the couch. You relinquished any form of productivity, reaching for your phone with a troubled sigh, you started to judge your options. You scrolled and passed up options of fast food and places that had traumatized you with the worst cases of food poisoning and decided on your safest bet.
You took the time to look around the room you had been inhabiting for what felt like so long. For someone who spent so little time here, Joost knew exactly how to make it feel like his. You envied the scattered trinkets and plastered pictures, he made your home look like a hospital waiting room in comparison. You could hear him now, “You should never compare.” He would say, “If living in an Ikea display house makes you happy then whatever!” And he would laugh, and you would laugh with him.
Looking back, it was frustrating to think of how easy it was to fall for him, Joost was so naturally charismatic and kind. There wasn't a single moment where you felt he was inauthentic, or put up a front. It was a constant fact that you could be yourself when he was around and it must've led you to let your guard down. The bastard.
You almost hated how he had ripped your walls down without you noticing. When you had first moved you had never felt so alone and afraid, new faces at every corner you turned and new experiences to go with them. It was overwhelming and it terrified you.Yet when he swooped in it was like meeting an old friend, like someone you had known much longer than you lived. He felt so familiar and the instant sense of normalcy didn't go unappreciated on your part. It made you wonder how long ago you really fell for him. How long since this feeling has been sitting dormant inside you, swelling and intensifying slowly. Surging so timidly that it had burst before you even knew it and now you were here, failing to scoop the remnants back where they belong. You wanted so badly for things to go back to how they were, but you weren't sure it was possible.
It gave you a headache to think about, but you couldn't get yourself to think of anything else. In between the nauseating thoughts of his face you tried to get any form of work done, but every pause, any brief break you took to look away from the screen brought you back to him. You would type a few sentences, click a few links then sit back to think and be brought right back into that sickening feeling. Sucked into memories of the record store and long nights out together.
There was a point where it became too much. Even after eating and working you couldn't get yourself to think of anything else. One last heavy flop into the couch and you were resigning, you decided to start heading to bed. You trudged up the stairs with Onion and Max in your wake, you let the sweet thought of a shower pull you through the halls and into the bathroom. You set the shower to steaming hot, watching yourself fade in the mirror as the room filled with fog. The same pictures littering the glass, some even curling from the moisture sitting heavy in the air. The older pictures showed signs of damage, the ink around the corners bleeding and warping into each other. You noticed though, your picture had been covered in layers of clear tape, a handmade defence against the elements.
Stepping into the smooth porcelain tub you let the heat flow over you. Fragrant soap filled the warm air as you lathered it between your loofah. A deep sigh left your lips as you washed away the day.
Steam rolled out as you stepped out of the bathroom, the shower working wonders for your mood. Your skin glistened from your skin care and Joost's room now smelt like your lotion. You flopped on the bed with the biggest sigh and for once in your day felt content. Tugging the weighty duvet over yourself and letting the warm blanket over you you finally laid your head against the pillows and let your eyes flutter closed as you waited for the sweet peaceful embrace of sleep.
Except, it never came. You tossed and turned, tangling yourself between the sheets like an alligators death roll. You tried relaxing your body, focusing on releasing tension in each muscle from your toes to your finger tips, but the tension in your head was much more stubborn than any muscle. You even tried counting sheep, but you only got distracted after imagining so many pure white pelts. You resigned to doing the only thing you hadn't tried yet, shining a blistering light in your eyes and scrolling away until you couldn't anymore.
The night rolled endlessly on, your phone worked too well to distract you, quickly causing you to put sleep last on the list. You slid your finger against your phone, flipping through videos faster than you can watch them. Your eyes felt sore from the light, with a sigh you set your phone against your heart. You let the warmth spread through your chest as some video murmured in the background. The heat was strangely calming, a random video playing acting as white noise as you finally drifted softly. Your hand vibrated softly You hummed at the sensation before it vibrated again and you realized what was really happening. Pulling the phone back off your chest you checked your notifications.
It's Joost.
He's asking if you're awake and have time to call again, how polite! You waited before you clicked on the message, an exact and agonizing two minutes, How nonchalant…
You picked up the phone and were met with his grumbly voice, the faint hum and occasional thump of the tour bus as a backdrop. Your tired eyes fluttered shut as you spoke.
“Hey superstar, whatcha’ you up to?’ Your voice was just as grumbly as his, you wondered if he matched your faint smile.
“Nothing much, I was just thinking…” He trailed off shortly, sorting through the whirlwind of words he wanted to say.
“Ive been having such an… just unbelievable time here, I've dreamed about this for so long, y'know? But sometimes I just feel a little guilty ‘cause like…” He paused for so long you thought you had lost connection, you almost spoke into the phone but he finally spoke up.
“I just wish I could share this with the people I love, I feel selfish for wanting more but sometimes I just…”
“I don't think it's selfish at all Joost, I think It's charming that you could think of others while everyone's focused on you.” He sighed from the other side of Europe. You pictured him sprawled in his cramped tour bed, whispering as to not wake anybody in earshot.
“I know I know, but that's not what I was trying to say.” You heard Joost let out a humourless laugh, the sound of him scratching his light scruff faintly. Sleep eked out from his voice with every syllable, you felt it start to take hold of you, too. Your jaw stretched as you yawned heavily, you weren't sure how much longer you could stay awake.
“Just say what you're thinking, Joost.”
“I was just trying to say… I really wish you were here with me.”
You woke up laying on your dead phone with the sun peeking through the blinds. With a heavy groan you poured out of bed, judging by the lack of alarm and heat of your phone you must've fallen asleep mid call with Joost. You plugged in your phone and headed downstairs to pour the dogs breakfast. As you sectioned out food you thought of what you remembered from your call last night. In your sleepy state you recalled Joost's words, wishing you could be with him to experience the light of touring he was experiencing. The last thing you remember is the smile that graced your lips as he mumbled against your ear. It was hard not to think deeply into what he said. You wondered if he had said the same things to his other friends, if Joost had called them first and that's why he had been up so late after such a long day. But you relished in the possibility that he had saved those words especially for you.
You thought about his tour, what a big accomplishment in his career this truly is, and how even as he stepped further and further into it he still took the time to look back for you. You decided today, after the dogs have been tired out and taken on their walks, you would go out and get the best post tour gift you could find. As the day went on you thought about the stores you could stop into to get a gift for him. Maybe you could find a nice new pair of sunglasses for him, the ones he always looked at in the window when you would stroll by together. Maybe you could check the bookstore and see if there was something he might like, maybe The Little Prince or the collection of poems he would always glance at. Would it be too personal to get him something like that? Maybe just a card and a note would be good but that felt too… impersonal.
You let out a hearty huff, overthinking as you did your daily chores, mind wandering as you washed the dishes, sun gliding across the sky as you swept the floor. The time to go approached quickly, with you still fussing on what gift would be proportional to going on such a big trip. You decided to visit every store you had planned too, no amount of effort would be too much for Joost.
“Joost… Joost? You good bruh?” A voice broke Jost out of his stupor. He had been sitting hunched, staring at the glowing screen of his phone. He had been stuck, stunlocked into this haze since he had called you that night. Joost had been so vulnerable, so honest with himself and you, Yet you had said almost nothing back. “I miss you” He was being so honest, hoping you would look past the ambiguity and see how bad he was really yearning. But that would simply be too easy for him, you responded with “Of course Joost, i miss you too.” Saying his name in that sultry sleepy voice you had, making his head spin and his heart drop at the same damn time. The bitter cherry on top is when he tried to push further, to tell you he didn't wish for anyone else to be here with him, you had already slipped into slumber, soft snores echoing from his headphones. Joost said it anyway, spoke his feelings into the empty night so it could disappear into the sky like a shooting star. Then he fell asleep, cheeks blushed after having confessed that he couldn't have wished for anyone else. That he knew now that the amount of space you took up in his mind was far greater than any tour or music or person could compete with.
“Dude seriously, are you good? You've been like this all day man…” Joost barely looked up from his phone, sparing a swift glance before forcing out a “Yeah, im all good man” And sending whoever on their way, He didn't even catch their face.
What Joost really wanted to do was call you again, explain that what he meant was much more than he said. It bothered him that you were so far away from him, thinking he was just being friendly. He had worked himself up so much to even be able to say that much and for it to be shrugged off like that, nah he wasn't having it. Joost stuffed his phone into his pocket, slid a large hand across his face and scratching the light scruff at his chin.
See, he didn't want to come off too strong, couldn't just call you up and drop a bomb on you. “Oh yeah by the way, on the phone the other day when i said that thing what i really ment was its torture to not see your face for so long! Unless you were letting me down easy then just ignore me!” Stupid. And that little thought haunted him, maybe you knew exactly what he meant and felt too awkward to tell him that you didn't feel the same.
Even so, Joost had to know. He couldn't sit in a limbo state without being sure he had made it known how he truly felt. The only thing he truly feared was destroying the relationship he already had with you, but he had remembered what Tantu had said to him not too long ago.
“You can’t control how they feel about you, only how you respond.”
Those words had been the reason he had even thought to do this. Nevermind the fact Tantu never knew what Joost was really talking about, back when he was feeling anxious on the bus. And nevermind that fact it had taken him so long to build up the courage, even avoiding you for days to see if what he was experiencing was as long lasting as it felt. It was the worst few days of his tour. Usually when there were issues he could be sure to come to you. But you didn't, and he couldn't blame you. He could almost see you from across Europe telling yourself he was busy, that he didn't have the time to spend on you. But he did, and instead he spent it doing a stupid experiment that had stupid results that he would’ve known without the heartache.
He promised himself, sooner or later, that he would tell you how he really felt. No more hiding, no more beating around the bush, and no more pretending he couldn't stop thinking of you. And so Joost spent the rest of the day with you on his mind, in the background as he did soundchecks and run-throughs, in the forefront as he waited for fans to pour into the arena. He used you to get through the day, to build up adrenaline and to cool himself down after everything he's gone through.Thats exactly how he knew what he felt for you was really true.
A light bell rang as the storefront door closed behind you, hands disappointedly empty as you stepped out of the bookstore. Having browsed several stores and come up with nothing, your spirit had been effectively broken. The books Joost would've liked had been bought out, the clerk said there wouldn't be another shipment for a while. He must've seen the way your heart sank because he tossed a sulky “sorry” your way as you slinked out of the store. Now you were wandering around empty handed, racking your brain for alternatives to get him before the night grew too old. You only had one more idea you could try, but if it turned out like any of the many others you tried you would have to run home with your tail between your legs.
You stopped outside the record shop, taking a deep breath and smoothing a hand over your heart before you pushed through the threshold. A familiar face stood behind the counter as your nose was hit with a light papery musk and the sound of a faint record spinning. She didn't bother looking up before responding to the light ring of the bell hung above the door.
“Hello, welcome in! Just letting you know we’re gonna be closing- Oh I didnt realize it was you my love!” The older woman waved a hand at you as she threw you a sweet smile.
“Oh I'm sorry, are you closing soon? I can come back tomorrow-”
“Oh for you my love we can stay open as long as you need! Please, don't feel the need to rush, I miss seeing your face anyway!” You watched as she pulled a box of records from behind the counter, the word “returns” scrawled across the worn cardboard. She moved from behind the counter and you turned to walk through the aisles Joost would've started in before you overstayed your warm welcome.
“It feels so long since you last visited, where is that boyfriend of yours, huh?” Your polite smile dropped as the words were fully processed.
“Oh uhh ha.. We're not… He’s not my…” You could only laugh nervously at the thought that this woman thought you and Joost had been involved. How long
“Hes not? Well, are you sure?” She trailed off before mumbling under her breath “I mean, I've seen the way he looks at you, I'm not blind.” When the silence grew between you she continued to speak, her lighthearted tone returning to her voice.
“I'm sorry sweetheart, It’s just I’ve never seen you two separated before, I didn't mean to make any assumptions.”
“Oh it's ok! He's on a work trip right now, I'm actually here looking for something to give him when he gets back.” You scanned through the records with a soft smile, the thought of making Joost happy as soon as he got back playing through your head like a dream.
“Oh how sweet, what a good girlfriend you are!” You rolled your eyes and laughed softly, knowing by now you couldn't change her mind even if you tried your hardest. You decided instead to focus on your goal of number one best friend, following Joost's trail through the store that you've watched him trace so many times. The farther you went the more you grew more defeated as you tracked through the aisles. The more you looked the less you found, duplicates of records he had already had, albums he had ranted about hating to you, even the one album you two had made a joke of months ago still sat there mocking you. The cashier must've seen how your shoulders dropped further and further because she beckoned you over to where she was standing.
“Now, why have you got such a sad look on your face? Not finding what ur looking for?” you were surprised by how well she could read you, more surprised how honest you wanted to be with her.
“Yeah, it's just… I've been all over town and I haven't found anything he might like. Searched all his favorite shops and even some he had mentioned in passing and still nothing.” You started to fiddle with the trinkets by the checkout. Nonsensical stuff placed there to hike up the prices, keychains of popular records and figurines of famous singers. There was even a little stitch keychain that caught your eye, you twirled it between your fingers before the cashier spoke up again.
“Well… I have something he might like but you're not gonna find it in those boxes.” Her voice turned to a whisper. Speechless, you watched her move towards the front door, switching the neon sign off and locking the door. If this was some plan to kidnap you, It was working extremely well. She walked right past you to the back of the room, opening the employees office and sliding inside without a word. You stared at the cracked door for a long moment, was putting yourself in such a strange position really worth it?
“Of course I'll need your help to make it. C'mon, what's taking you so long?”
You heard her voice from beyond the threshold and you found yourself pushing past the doors before you could think.
Not long after, the sun had sunk deep into the sky and you found yourself back at the front of the store, thanking the clerk as she unlocked the door for you.
“Seriously, you have no idea what a big help that was, I was starting to lose hope before you swooped in! Now, how much do I owe you?” You clutched the small paper bag containing Joost's gift against your chest.
“Oh please! All I ask is that you listen to this. You and that boy, whatever you want to call him, you remind me of me and my partner when we were younger. Always dancing around each other, acting like we couldn't see what was going on. Now I look back and think how much time we wasted playing coy when we could've just been in love.”
Listening to her be so vulnerable with you made your walls crumble effortlessly, maybe it was from having spent the last hour or so confined in a room with her, or maybe it was the quiet of the night that made you want to be honest with her.
“If I can be frank, I'm just a little scared. I don't want to ruin what we already have, is it really worth it?” you let out a heavy sigh, she was pensive for a moment, looking at you with a knowing sweetness in her eyes.
“Well when I was in your position, It felt like being trapped between a rock and a hard place. The comfort of what we knew was so warm, and the fear of destroying it was so, so cold. But I had to ask myself, could I live the rest of my life knowing I never even tried? Sometimes it's best to be a little selfish and to reach out for what you want most. Plus, he and I were such good friends, would it be so easy to ruin that?” She slapped a supportive hand on your shoulder like she didn't just drop the most insightful words you've heard all year and pulled the door open in one swift motion.
The bell rang softly as you stepped out of the store, you turned back to offer a thank you or anything but nothing came out. She spoke before you did.
“Just ask yourself, are you happy where you are?”
Fur flittered at your feet when you finally got home, you trudged up the stairs and tossed the paper bag containing Joost's gift across the room. You didn't expect to be so drained only to come home with one bag, but in a way you were grateful. If you hadn't gone to the record store so late in the day you would've never gotten to have such a profound conversation, or worse, you never would've gotten Joost's gift. You chalked it up to burnt toast theory and laid the day to rest.
The morning was so young the sky was just a faint dust of blue, night still waving goodbye as the sun began to roll above the horizon. The house was quiet and still, the faint chirp of the birds outside a soft backdrop to your early morning. You brought yourself to flop onto the couch, happy to start the day but far too tired to be in motion so early. Max didn't hesitate to weasel his way close to you, climbing onto the couch and curling up against your chest like a lap dog. You scratched behind his ear and smiled as he completely melted under your touch, it was nice to have a steady, sweet morning with them.
You wondered if Joost had been in your same position. The thought of sharing this moment crossed your mind, curled up beside him on a cool morning and fighting max over who can get the most contact from Joost. A part of you wanted to feel afraid of the daydream, but for once, you didn't. You allowed yourself to relish in the feeling, leaning into the warmth and butterflies instead of swatting them away. Being vulnerable doesn't have to be so scary, you know now that sometimes it can just be.
Max jostled over your chest as you laughed aloud. ”Jesus, what an epiphany, huh?” Max only wagged his tail as he watched you drag your hand across your face and sigh heavily. This time though, there was a smile plastered across your face. No fear, no acting, and no more hiding.
Your gushy thoughts were cut off when you felt your phone vibrate against your chest, you swiped it open to see a notification from Instagram. Joost’s name was all you saw before you tapped your thumb against the stream.
Joost was laying back in his tour bus, the same early sun shining behind him as he read from the chat as it flew across the screen. His voice was low, still laced with sleep in a way that made your heart ache. Joost's words fell onto deaf ears as you watched the screen, His blue eyes framed with yesterday's dark makeup, grumbly voice already sounding jovial despite the early morning. You watched with a smile as he said good morning to everyone watching, raving about being on tour and the mixture of bliss and exhaustion. You pretended he was talking to you and only you.
With a full heart, you looked on as Apson popped on the screen. Laughing along like you were there when Joost posed into the camera, having to stifle garish giggles when Apson scolded him for his lack of album promotion. You were briefly tempted to click a little button and see if Joost would let you join the live, but the thought of all those eyes on you stops you. You were happy to watch from your warm couch in the arms of Max and the company of all the others. It was nice to see his face and how laid back and happy the tour was, you thought of all the stories he'd have to tell you when he finally got back.
Eventually the screen went black and the comments stilled, you set your phone back against your chest and sighed deeply. You could only think of how his tour had made you feel a little closer to him, even though you were so far apart. Your phone felt warm against your heart, you relished in the feeling until you felt it rumbling against your ribcage. You lifted the screen and were met with the blushing picture of Joost you had set as his picture, this time, you didn't wait to answer.
This call was different in a few ways, you were actually met with his face for once. Both of you laying back as the morning sun grew higher in the sky, you could see the faintest blush against his cheeks as the call blipped to life. But also he started the call in a new way, in a way that had your expression reacting before you could stifle it, voice still gruff from the early morning and the strain of performance and he spoke to you.
“Good morning, beautiful”
•*⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧ *•*⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧*•
•ᴥ︎• a/n2: constructive criticism always appreciated lmk if this was too much. i fear i get lost in the little details too much </3
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