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figure skater x dean where she goes on a date and realize she still loves dean
I have a LONG list of fics to write and I'm so excited about it! Tucker and Garrett are on that list if you were wondering
Summary: You and Dean broke up. You get in another relationship in the hope of getting over him, but when The Fifth Line announce that Dean gets injured at a game, you run to him
Warnings: mention of naked men, implied cheating
You thought you were doing the right thing. You thought seeing other guys would help you get over him. But as you sat at a fancy restaurant with one of Briarβs most promising football athletes, you had never been as uninterested as you were right now. He was good looking, sweet and attentive, but he didnβt make you want to stop time.Β
You actually wanted the night to end.Β
The waiter set down your plates, wishing you a nice evening before leaving.Β
ββAre you coming to the game on Friday? My dad is gonna be here, so I was thinking we could go eat somewhere after. You, meβ¦and him.ββΒ
Your fork stopped halfway to your plate. ββYou want me to meet your dad?!ββΒ
ββYeah,ββ Miles replied simply. ββDo you not want to? Is it too soon? I would understand ifβββΒ
You shook your head. ββNo! I want to,ββ you said, forcing a smile.Β
Miles smiled back at you. ββThen itβs settled.ββΒ
Fuck. What did you get yourself into?Β
You leaned back slightly in your chair, suddenly very aware of how tight the restaurant felt around you. The soft piano music, the clinking glasses, the warm lighting β it all felt too much for a night you didnβt even want to be in anymore.
Miles was still smiling, eager that you were going to meet his dad. He had been thinking about showing you off to his family for weeks. A talented, beautiful girl like you. It was a massive upgrade from the last girl he brought home in high school.Β
ββFridayβs gonna be big,ββ he added, cutting into his food. ββCoach is already talking about the playoffs. If we win, we pretty much lock in our ranking.ββΒ
ββRight,ββ you said automatically, picking at your food.
Miles noticed the shift in your attention.
ββYou okay?ββ he asked, reaching over the table and stroking your hand. ββYouβve been kind ofβ¦far away tonight.ββΒ
You blinked, removing your hand and hiding it under the table. ββYeah. Iβm fine.ββ
He didnβt look convinced. ββYou sure? Because it kinda feels like Iβm talking to you, but youβre somewhere else.ββ
You gave a small laugh that didnβt land right. ββIβm just tired, Miles. Iβve been at the rink all afternoon.ββΒ
ββSorry. I forgot. How is the new program going?ββΒ
Back when you were with Dean, you loved talking about your program and all the different figures you had to learn or perfect for the next showcase. He surprisingly knew the difference between a lutz and a flip. Sometimes, you would skate together after everyone left the arena, showing off figures and having races around the rink. It often ended with heavy kissing against the boardsβ¦with a little groping or shower sex, but that was a secret.Β
ββGood.ββΒ
The answer came out flat.
Miles waited, like he expected more.Β
When nothing followed, he smiled awkwardly and took another bite of his dinner.
You hated yourself a little for it. He was trying. He was always trying. He remembered your competitions. Asked about your classes. Showed up with coffee when you had early practices. Any girl would be lucky to have someone like him.
When you began seeing each other, conversations were easy and you were genuinely looking forward to spending time with him. You werenβt thinking about Dean anymore. Only Miles.Β
But that changed when you saw him at the arena a few days ago. He was laughing with Tucker as they headed to the locker room to change into their practice gear. His blue eyes crossed yours and you almost walked into a glass doorβ¦ You even had a dream about him last night.Β
An uncomfortable silence settled between you as you continued to eat quietly. Miles was trying to find something to talk about, but he could feel that you werenβt entirely with him.Β
Your phone buzzed against your thigh.
The sound nearly made you jump.
Without thinking, you pulled it out, seeing a notification from The Fifth Lineβs Instagram.
Your heart sank to your stomach. Medics. That meant Dean was hurt. Small injuries were common in hockey β a nosebleed, a fall that turned into a bruise, etc. β, but if Jules wrote that he wonβt be back to finish the game, it must be serious.Β
You went to text Hannah about the game, trying to know more, but remembered she was working tonight and not attending.Β
Still, your thumb was already opening Instagram. The post had only been up for three minutes. A blurry photo showed Dean being escorted down the tunnel by the team's trainer. Even from a distance, you could see blood smeared along the side of his face.
Your chest tightened.
ββEverything okay?ββ Miles asked, raising an eyebrow.
You looked up so quickly that you nearly dropped your phone. ββYeah.ββ
The lie came automatically.
His eyes narrowed slightly. ββAre you sure?ββΒ
No. You weren't alright.
Because the possibility of Dean being hurt had completely derailed your evening. Because you had spent the last hour pretending you wanted to be here. Because Miles was talking about introducing you to his father while all you could think about was another guy bleeding in a medic room.
ββI have to go. Iβm sorry,ββ you declared, standing from your chair and grabbing your jacket.Β
Miles blinked, clearly caught off guard. ββWait, what?ββ
You were being unfair. Horribly unfair. But staying here felt impossible.
ββI'm sorry,ββ you repeated, already slinging your purse over your shoulder.
His chair scraped against the floor as he stood too, about to follow you, but you ran out of the restaurant before he could, the image of Dean being led off the ice burned into your brain.
When you made it to the arena, the game was over and people were leaving. Your concern for Dean clouded your judgement as you headed to the locker room.Β
Please be okay. Please be okay.
You pulled the door open and slipped in, laughter, music and the smell of sweat and equipment hitting you immediately.
You opened your mouth to call Deanβs name, but stopped in your tracks. The room was full of naked hockey players. Some had a towel wrapped around them, but some had their dick on full display.Β
ββOh my god.ββΒ
A few of them turned, but not many bothered hiding their nudity.Β
ββBunnies are not allowed in the locker room,ββ one of them said.Β
ββSheβs not a bunny, sheβs Di Laurentisβs ice princess,ββ another one corrected, recognizing you.
ββGarrett!ββ you called, catching him come out of the shower with, thankfully, a towel around him.Β
His head snapped to you and he walked over. Judging by your dress and heels, you hadnβt been in the stands cheering for the team. He ran a hand through his shower-damp hair. ββHey, what are you doing here?ββΒ Β
Before you could say anything, aΒ voice came from the showers.Β
ββHey, G, did you steal Birdieβs shampoo? Heβs moaning about it.ββΒ
And there was the man you were looking for, half-dripping wet with a towel slung low on his hips. Upon seeing you, a cocky smirk curled on his face.Β
ββWell, this is a surprise,ββ Dean pointed out, standing before you with his glistening wet chest. ββI havenβt seen you here in a while.ββΒ
Your eyes stopped at his face where a steri-strips bandaid was taped on his right cheekbone. The skin around it was red and irritated, a faint trace of dried blood visible along the edges of the cut. Was this what had caused all that blood on the ice? Had you rushed to the arena over a cut that barely seemed serious?
ββI know. I saw what happened on the ice. I justβ¦wanted to check in on you,ββ you replied, suddenly feeling foolish.Β
Dean raised an eyebrow. ββYou were at the game? In that dress? I donβt think so.ββΒ
He caught you there.Β
You sighed. ββOkay, fine. I wasnβt at the game.ββΒ
ββWhereβs Mike?ββΒ
ββMiles,ββ you corrected. ββAnd thatβs none of your business.ββΒ
ββI take it Mr. Football doesnβt know youβre here.ββΒ
ββCan we not talk about MilesβββΒ
ββWhat are you doing here, princess?ββ Dean asked, stepping closer and lifting your chin. ββBecause no one runs off from their boyfriend to see their ex without a reason.ββ
Fuck.Β
How did he even know you ran here?Β
ββLook, Iβm not going to call Giles and snitch on you. I just want you to tell me why youβre here βΒ no bullshit β, because I think we both know what youβre avoiding to say.ββ
ββHis name is MilesβββΒ
ββIt doesnβt change anything.ββΒ
You held his gaze for a moment, refusing to look away first. The stubborn certainty in his eyes only fueled your frustration, until the words you'd spent months swallowing rose to the surface.
ββYouβre right,ββ you snapped, the confession tearing out of you before you could stop it. ββBecause no matter what I do or who I see, it always comes back to you. I canβt get you out of my head. Is that what you want to hear, Dean? That I never stopped loving you?ββΒ
The locker room fell silent.
Even the guys still half-naked and toweling off froze, eyes darting between you and Dean like they had just walked into a dramatic movie scene.
The corner of Dean's lips twitched, looking pleased like the cat that caught the bird. Then, barefoot on the wet tile and blond hair dripping from the shower, he leaned down and kissed you.
Behind you, the team was forgotten. Miles? Erased from existence right then and there. All noise in the world was drowned out by Deanβs mouth on yours and the familiar scent of his expensive shampoo. You pulled him closer by his shoulders, his chest flush against you as waterdrops were falling on your jacket and dress.
You were fifteen minutes early. Which normally just meant fifteen minutes of pacing along the boards while waiting for the ice to clear. You would normally do a late training session on a Thursday but with finals and assignments taking over your training was now getting sidelined to Friday.
The Briar University rink was occupied by a group of kids in oversized hockey jerseys, weaving in and out clumsily around orange cones while a coach shouted encouragement from center ice. The voice was vaguely familiar and you listened to his words of encouragement as you tied your skates.
βNice hustle, Carter!β
βCβmon Adam remember what we practised last week, eyes up.β
When you finally do manage to place the voice it made your head snaps up in surprise.
No fucking way.
Dean Di Laurentis stood in the middle of the ice, hockey stick tucked beneath one arm. His Briar practice hoodie was half-zipped, blonde hair sticking out from under a beanie hat and black gloves on his hands.
You blinked.
Then blinked again just to be sure.
Dean Di Laurentis was coaching peewee hockey.
A little girl who was sitting a few seats behind you on the bleachers giggled when one of the boys fell over.
Instead of getting frustrated, you watched as Dean skated backward beside him to help him up.
βEyes up, kiddo. You got it.β You heard him say and then the little girl said -
βThatβs my brother, Dean said Iβm almost as good as him!β You raised an amused eyebrow as you look back at her.
βOh yeah?β You ask and she nods quickly slamming shut the book that was on her lap and speaking animatedly to you.
βDean lets me skate sometimes but they have a game coming up so I canβt distract them. Which would be fine if they were actually good.β You couldnβt help but laugh at her, she was pretty brazen for what an eight year old? βAre you an ice hockey player?β She asked excited looking at your skates.
You were wearing your black long sleeve workout top, thumbs tucked through the wrist, zipped up to your neck, black leggings flared over your white skates.
βNo honey, Iβm a figure skater.β You tell her softly and she looks confused. βItβs like dancing just on skates.β You explain in a way you think a kid would understand and she gasps impressed.
βWow!β You canβt help but smile at her as she drags out the word, you go back to digging through your bag.
βShit I forgot my gloves.β You mumble before looking up at her with a guilty expression, βI mean shoot.β You correct yourself.
βYou can borrow mine!β The little girl offers before climbing over the chairs separating you both and passing over her baby pink gloves that were way too tiny but her hopeful face melted your heart.
You had been so engrossed in talking to the little girl you gasped in surprise when the gates flew open and the young boys charged off the ice past you, Dean skidding to a stop by the boards.
βSorry we ran over.β He tells you sincerely and you shake your head.
βItβs okay.β You tell him before looking down at the pink gloves and smiling at the young girl.
βThank you honey but theyβre too small.β You hand them back to the girl who is now running towards Dean, he laughs and lifts her up easily.
βSheβs a dancing skater!β She tells him excitedly pointing at you.
βNo way? She is?β Dean grinned sarcastically and she nodded making him look at you amused.
He was unfairly attractive.
But you found yourself smiling too.
That wasnβt the version of Dean you thought you knew.
Well the Briar U hockey team and your figure skating scheduled orbited each other for the three years youβd been at Briar. Of course you knew of Dean Di Laurentis.
You knew all about Mr Six Flags.
That guy was constantly surrounded by teammates and girls and parties. The lifestyle followed him around.
But this Dean was fist-bumping fourteen year olds and training little girls on how to skate on his Friday nights?
As all the kids finally filtered out of the rink, Dean skated around collecting up a pile of stray pucks and tossed them into a bucket but when he was done he made his way back over to the gate.
He gestured dramatically toward the freshly resurfaced ice.
βItβs all yours.β He chimed stepping off the ice and giving you a once over. His blue eyes sparkling with obvious appreciation and it was like a switch had flipped, there, thatβs the Dean Di Laurentis you knew.
Flirty.
Fun.
You encountered Dean plenty, and Garrett and well all the other hockey boys too in the time you shared the rink, they were a handful sure, and loud but none of them had ever been particularly unpleasant. In fact, Logan had given you a ride back to campus once when your car wouldnβt start, Garrett was one of those guys that was friends with everyone. They were all nice guys.
βThanks.β You tell him finally standing up and stepping onto the ice, you were aware of Dean packing up the pucks and piling up the cones as you started your laps around the ice. Your music was playing the usual playlist you trained to through the speakers, they were all songs that had easy routines, nothing you couldnβt do with ease and it wasnβt worth doing anything too risky this close to nationals. It was smooth and easy, you feel that familiar sense of being completely at peace gliding over the ice.
Even as your finger tips started to get a little cold.
Dean stared as you gained some speed, spinning and then sliding into an easy jump. The landing was seamless, in perfect timing to the beat of the song playing softly around you. Then just as your routine slowed down coming to an end he smiled and his slow clap echoed around the rink.
You looked over at him with a mock glare as he leaned against the boards, arms now crossed over his chest as an impressed smile took over his face, and so you slow down on your lap. Stopping gently in front of him you put a hand on your hip.
βIβm gonna be here a while Di Laurentis, you gonna watch the whole time?β You teased making him shrug as if he couldnβt care less how long youβd be here or whether he stayed to watch the whole thing.
βMaybe.β He quips.
Your stomach did something stupid at that and then for a moment, neither of you spoke and the rink suddenly felt very quiet.
But then he pushed away from the boards throwing the kit bag over his shoulder.
βWell, youβll be pleased to know I wonβt actually stay here all night.β He told you and despite it all, despite everything you assumed you knew about Dean, you werenβt actually all that pleased that he was leaving.
βCan you just do me a favour?β He asked and you cock your head to the side in confusion, he throws something black over to you, for a second you think itβs a hockey puck when you catch it itβs a balled up bit of warm fabric. βPut these on before your fingers turn blue.β
He was already walking away by the time you looked down at what it was.
His gloves.
Still warm from where heβd been wearing them earlier.
βThanks coach!β You called out, voice teasing but fond all at once.
Dean laughed as he headed toward the exit without even turning around.
βIs that gonna be a thing now?β He calls back and you giggle, yes you actually giggle.
βAbsolutely.β You tell him and he just nods before disappearing through the doors.
And for the first time in all the years youβd spent orbiting each other around Briarβs rink, you found yourself hoping heβd of stuck around a little longer.
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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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Free to watch β’ No registration required β’ HD streaming
Hi i love your off campus stories. can you please write one with either dean or garrett and shes tuckers half sister but shes fully black and even though she likes him the worry of "what if he doesnt like black girls" keeps her away from making a move until he finally confronts her and lets her know that was never even a thought
Not Even a Thought
Pairing: Dean Di LaurentisΒ x Reader
Word Count: 1293
Request open!
Off campus masterlist
Dean Di Laurentis was not used to being avoided.
He was used to people wanting his attention, flirting back, teasing him, chasing him when he got too smug. He was not used to you becoming strangely careful around him.
Not cold. Not rude.
Just distant in a way that did not fit.
It started at a party at Tuckerβs place.
You were standing with the others in the kitchen, laughing at something Garrett said, and Dean had been watching you from the other side of the room because, well, that was what he did when you were in it.
He finally made his way over, but the second he got close, you took a small step back.
That was the first clue.
The second was the way you refused to meet his eyes for more than a second at a time.
The third was the fact that you kept moving away every time he tried to stand beside you.
By the end of the night, Dean was staring at you with open confusion while you smiled politely at everyone except him.
That was deeply irritating.
Later, when the party had thinned out and most people were downstairs, Dean found you in the hallway with a cup in your hand and your expression carefully blank.
He stopped in front of you. βOkay. What is going on?β
You blinked. βWhat?β
βYouβve been avoiding me all night.β
βI havenβt.β
βYes, you have.β
You looked away.
That was somehow worse.
Dean folded his arms. βTalk to me.β
You laughed softly, but it sounded strained. βThereβs nothing to talk about.β
He studied your face for a second, then took one look at the tension in your shoulders and knew immediately that there was absolutely something to talk about.
He lowered his voice. βDid I do something?β
You shook your head too quickly. βNo.β
βThen why are you acting like Iβm contagious?β
That made your face flicker.
Dean caught it.
He tilted his head. βTell me.β
You looked at him for a long second and then said, very quietly, βI just didnβt want to make things weird.β
Dean frowned. βWeird how?β
You hesitated.
And because he was Dean and very, very good at making people say the hard thing by looking at them too honestly, the answer finally came out.
βIβm Tuckerβs half sister,β you said, βand Iβm Black, and I know that probably sounds stupid but I keep thinking,what if you justβ¦ donβt like Black girls?β
The silence after that was immediate.
Dean stared at you.
You looked like you wanted to disappear.
He blinked once, then twice, and then the realization hit him so hard it actually changed his face.
You saw it and immediately tried to backtrack. βI know thatβs probably,β
βNo.β
You stopped.
Deanβs expression had gone completely still, but not in a bad way. In a serious way. The kind that meant every word after this mattered.
βNo,β he repeated, softer now. βThat was never even a thought.β
Your breath caught.
Dean took a small step closer. βYou really thought that?β
You looked down. βI didnβt know.β
He stared at you for a second like he was trying to understand how you had managed to carry that around without letting anyone see it.
Then he said, very quietly, βYou think I would look at you and see a problem?β
You swallowed.
He shook his head once, almost in disbelief. βThat is not how this works.β
You made a small, uncertain sound. βDean,β
He cut in, calm but firm. βI like you.β
That made you freeze.
His eyes stayed on yours. βI like the way you talk when youβre pretending not to be shy. I like how smart you are. I like that you roll your eyes at me and still laugh at my jokes.β
Your chest tightened.
He stepped closer again. βWhat you are is not a question I ever needed to ask.β
You stared at him, words gone.
Deanβs voice softened. βIβm not sitting around doing mental math about what kind of girl Iβm allowed to like.β
That almost made you laugh through the emotion suddenly stacking in your throat.
He saw it and kept going, more quietly now. βI never once thought about your race like it was something I had to figure out. That was never the thing standing in front of me.β
You looked up at him.
He held your gaze. βIt was you.β
The room went very still.
You swallowed hard. βMe?β
βYeah.β His mouth curved just a little, not smug this time. Just honest. βYou.β
That made your eyes sting more than you expected.
You let out a shaky breath and looked away for half a second before he caught your hand gently and brought your attention back.
βYou donβt have to keep guessing with me,β he said. βIf Iβm interested, Iβm interested. Thatβs it.β
You stared at him.
Deanβs thumb brushed over your knuckles once, slow and steady. βAnd I am very interested.β
That got the first real smile out of you.
He looked relieved instantly, like he had been waiting for that tiny shift in your face more than he cared to admit.
Then, because Dean was still Dean, he added, βYou really thought Iβd be weird about that?β
You gave him a look. βI didnβt know.β
He leaned in just enough to make his voice lower. βWell, now you do.β
You laughed softly, and something in his expression warmed when he heard it.
βGood,β he said. βBecause Iβd like to stop watching you walk away from me for no reason.β
You swallowed.
He smiled a little, then gave your hand a light squeeze. βIβm not scared off. Iβm not confused. And Iβm definitely not sitting here thinking about anything except the fact that youβve been avoiding me for a completely unnecessary reason.β
You groaned and covered your face briefly with your free hand. βThis is so embarrassing.β
Deanβs grin flashed back. βFor who?β
You looked at him through your fingers. βFor me.β
He laughed softly and brushed your hand down from your face. βNot for me.β
You studied him for a second, then asked the question that had been living in the back of your head for too long.
βYou really donβt care?β
He answered immediately. βNo. I care about you.β
That landed hard.
Too hard.
Your face changed, and Deanβs expression softened before he could stop it.
He didnβt push. Just let the truth sit there.
Then he said, almost gently now, βYouβre Tuckerβs sister. Great. That means Iβm probably going to have to deal with him, which is unfortunate. But the part that matters to me is that youβre here.β
You blinked.
Dean smiled. βAnd Iβd like to be the reason you stop looking like youβre about to run away from me.β
That got a laugh out of you. βYouβre very dramatic.β
βIβm very right.β
You looked at him for a second longer, then finally let out the breath youβd been holding all night.
βOkay,β you said quietly.
Deanβs eyebrows lifted. βOkay?β
You smiled, shy now but much lighter than before. βI believe you.β
That made his face soften in a way that was almost unfair.
βGood,β he said.
Then, with a look so obvious it should have been illegal, he added, βBecause I like you a lot.β
You laughed, looking down.
He squeezed your hand again. βAnd if you want proof, I can keep saying it.β
You shook your head, smiling too much to be serious. βNo, thatβs okay.β
Dean grinned. βThought so.β
He leaned in and kissed your forehead, then let your hand fall gently back to your side like he had every intention of picking it up again later.
And for the first time all night, you didnβt step away.
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