Summary: You were walking into the hockey house with your friends, Hannah and Allie. Your brother, Garrett Graham, lived here with his teammates and friends. John Tucker, John Logan and Dean Di Laurentis. You all attend Briar University (Briar U). The guys had won a game tonight, which meant that it was party time at the house, the house was packed with people. More specifically, Puck Bunnies.
Warnings: protective uncles, teenage crush
The funny thing about Angel getting older wasn't that Dean got jealous.
Everyone had expected Dean to struggle with it. In fact, the moment Angel had admitted she liked a boy, everyone knew Dean was going to take it personally. This was the same man who still called her his baby despite the fact that she was twelve years old and growing more independent every day. The same man who got emotional whenever he found old photos of her as a toddler.
Dean losing his mind over a crush was practically a guarantee.
The real surprise was that he wasn't suffering alone.
Apparently, Angel having a crush wasn't just Dean's problem.
It was everyone's problem.
Especially Garrett's.
And unfortunately for Oliver, Dean had immediately shared his concerns with Angel's honorary uncles.
Which only made everything significantly worse.
The disaster began approximately three days after Angel admitted she liked Oliver.
You walked into the hockey house one Saturday afternoon and found a scene that looked perfectly normal at first glance.
Angel was sitting at the kitchen island with her homework spread out in front of her.
Tucker stood at the stove making lunch.
Logan was perched on one of the stools, eating whatever Tucker had already finished cooking.
Garrett sat nearby with a mug of coffee in his hands.
Everything seemed peaceful.
Normal.
Then Angel casually looked up from her worksheet and said, "Oliver got an A on our science project."
The reaction was immediate.
The kitchen fell completely silent.
Tucker stopped stirring the pasta.
Logan paused halfway through taking another bite.
Garrett slowly lowered his coffee mug.
You immediately knew where this was going.
Angel, meanwhile, remained completely oblivious.
She continued writing for another moment before adding, "He said my volcano was cool."
Garrett looked up.
"Who?"
You closed your eyes.
Oh no.
Angel glanced at him.
"Oliver."
Garrett repeated the name slowly.
"Oliver."
"Yeah."
The three men exchanged a look.
It was the kind of look usually reserved for discussing game strategies or preparing for some sort of crisis.
You rubbed your forehead.
"No."
Garrett immediately pointed at you.
"What?"
"No."
"What?"
"You are not interrogating a twelve-year-old."
His expression remained completely serious.
"I just want information."
"Garrett."
"Basic information."
"Garrett."
"What?"
"You do not need information."
"I'd like his last name."
You stared at him.
He stared right back.
Not joking.
Not even a little.
Across the island, Logan raised his hand.
"I'd also like the last name."
You let out a long sigh.
Angel, meanwhile, looked delighted.
Watching adults completely lose their minds over something harmless had quickly become one of her favorite forms of entertainment.
"Why?" she asked.
Tucker finally spoke up from the stove.
"Dean told us she has a crush."
You immediately turned toward him.
"Tucker."
"What?" he asked innocently. "He was upset."
Angel's eyes widened.
"Dada told you?"
Garrett nodded.
"For three hours."
Logan swallowed another bite of food.
"He was very emotional."
Angel looked horrified.
"Oh my God."
You couldn't help laughing.
Because honestly, that sounded exactly like Dean.
Unfortunately, things only got worse from there.
About a week later, Dean came home from practice and walked into the living room to find Garrett sitting at the dining table with a laptop open in front of him.
There was a notebook beside the computer.
A coffee mug sat nearby.
And Garrett looked deeply invested in whatever he was doing.
Dean frowned.
"What're you doing?"
Without looking up, Garrett answered, "Research."
Dean immediately looked suspicious.
"What kind of research?"
There was a brief pause.
Then Garrett finally looked up.
"Oliver."
The room froze.
Dean froze.
You froze.
Angel looked up from the couch where she'd been reading.
"Oh my God."
Dean slowly pulled out a chair and sat down.
"What do we know?"
You nearly threw a cushion at him.
"Dean."
"What?"
"You cannot investigate a twelve-year-old."
Dean looked genuinely confused.
"I can if he's talking to my daughter."
Angel buried her face in her hands.
"Dada."
Garrett glanced between all of you.
"Why are you acting like we're crazy?"
At that exact moment, Logan walked into the room.
He took one look at the laptop.
Then immediately sat down beside Garrett.
"How old is he?"
You stared at him.
A second later Tucker appeared carrying a bowl of snacks.
"Oh good."
He sat down too.
"Did we find anything?"
You looked around the room in disbelief.
Four grown men.
One laptop.
One completely innocent middle-school boy.
And somehow it felt like the beginning of a criminal investigation.
Angel looked horrified.
"You're all insane."
Dean pointed toward her.
"He has nice shoes."
Angel groaned loudly.
"Oh my God."
"That's suspicious."
"It isn't."
"It might be."
"IT ISN'T."
Garrett nodded thoughtfully.
"Nobody has shoes that nice naturally."
Dean immediately pointed at him.
"Exactly."
You laughed so hard your stomach hurt.
Angel looked ready to legally emancipate herself.
The situation finally reached its peak about a month later.
Parent-teacher night arrived, and the school gym buzzed with activity.
Families wandered between displays.
Teachers spoke with parents.
Students showed off projects and artwork.
The entire building was crowded and noisy.
You and Dean walked through the gym together while Angel disappeared toward one of the science exhibits with her friends.
Dean seemed relaxed.
Happy.
Normal.
For once.
Then Angel spotted him.
"Dada!"
Dean immediately smiled and waved back.
Then another figure stepped into view beside her.
A boy.
Brown hair.
Glasses.
A polite smile.
Dean stopped walking.
"Oh."
You recognized him instantly.
Oliver.
The infamous Oliver.
The boy who had somehow become the subject of multiple investigations despite doing absolutely nothing wrong.
Angel waved him over.
Introductions were made.
Oliver shook Dean's hand.
Then yours.
He was polite.
Respectful.
Friendly.
Completely harmless.
Honestly, he looked like the kind of kid who apologized when someone else bumped into him.
You relaxed immediately.
Dean did not.
"Oh."
You glanced sideways.
Dean was watching him carefully.
Studying him.
Evaluating him.
Judging him.
"Baby."
"What?"
"He seems nice."
Dean crossed his arms.
"He does."
A pause followed.
Then Dean frowned.
"I don't like that."
You burst out laughing.
Dean looked offended.
"I'm serious."
"Because he's nice?"
"Exactly."
That somehow made perfect sense in Dean's head.
You shook your head.
Dean sighed dramatically before looking back toward Angel.
She was smiling.
Laughing with her friends.
Happy.
The sight softened his expression immediately.
Some of the tension disappeared.
Not all of it.
But enough.
You reached over and took his hand.
Dean squeezed yours automatically without even looking.
The gesture was so familiar that it made your chest ache.
"You know she's going to grow up eventually."
Dean's face fell instantly.
"No."
You laughed.
"Dean."
"No."
"She's twelve."
"No."
You laughed harder.
Dean looked toward Angel again.
Toward the girl who used to fit comfortably in one arm.
The little girl who wore oversized hockey jerseys and screamed his name from behind the glass during games.
The little girl who used to fall asleep on his chest after long days.
The little girl who had somehow become funny and clever and kind.
Someone becoming her own person.
Someone growing up.
Even if Dean wasn't ready for it.
He sighed heavily.
Long.
Dramatic.
Heartbroken.
Then finally smiled.
Just a little.
"Fine."
You raised an eyebrow.
"Fine?"
He nodded reluctantly.
"Oliver seems okay."
A brief pause followed.
Then Dean pointed toward the boy.
"But if he ever makes her cry—"
Three voices immediately interrupted him from behind.
Garrett.
Logan.
Tucker.
All speaking at once.
"We've got it handled."
You turned around.
The three of them stood there with completely serious expressions.
Angel's unofficial protection squad.
Dean looked entirely too pleased by their response.
You laughed so hard your eyes watered.
Because honestly?
Poor Oliver never stood a chance.
Not with one jealous father and three overprotective honorary uncles treating a harmless middle-school crush like a national security threat.
And somewhere across the gym, completely unaware of the chaos he had accidentally created, Oliver smiled at Angel while they talked about their science project.
Meanwhile, four grown men watched from thirty feet away like they were conducting surveillance.
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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.
“Nice hustle, Carter!”
“C’mon Adam remember what we practised last week, eyes up.”
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.
“Eyes up, kiddo. You got it.” You heard him say and then the little girl said -
“That’s my brother, Dean said I’m almost as good as him!” You raised an amused eyebrow as you look back at her.
“Oh yeah?” You ask and she nods quickly slamming shut the book that was on her lap and speaking animatedly to you.
“Dean lets me skate sometimes but they have a game coming up so I can’t distract them. Which would be fine if they were actually good.” You couldn’t help but laugh at her, she was pretty brazen for what an eight year old? “Are you an ice hockey player?” 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.
“No honey, I’m a figure skater.” You tell her softly and she looks confused. “It’s like dancing just on skates.” You explain in a way you think a kid would understand and she gasps impressed.
“Wow!” You can’t help but smile at her as she drags out the word, you go back to digging through your bag.
“Shit I forgot my gloves.” You mumble before looking up at her with a guilty expression, “I mean shoot.” You correct yourself.
“You can borrow mine!” 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.
“Sorry we ran over.” He tells you sincerely and you shake your head.
“It’s okay.” You tell him before looking down at the pink gloves and smiling at the young girl.
“Thank you honey but they’re too small.” You hand them back to the girl who is now running towards Dean, he laughs and lifts her up easily.
“She’s a dancing skater!” She tells him excitedly pointing at you.
“No way? She is?” Dean grinned sarcastically and she nodded making him look at you amused.
He was unfairly attractive.
But you found yourself smiling too.
That wasn’t 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 you’d 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.
“It’s all yours.” 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, that’s 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 wouldn’t start, Garrett was one of those guys that was friends with everyone. They were all nice guys.
“Thanks.” 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 couldn’t do with ease and it wasn’t 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.
“I’m gonna be here a while Di Laurentis, you gonna watch the whole time?” You teased making him shrug as if he couldn’t care less how long you’d be here or whether he stayed to watch the whole thing.
“Maybe.” 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.
“Well, you’ll be pleased to know I won’t actually stay here all night.” He told you and despite it all, despite everything you assumed you knew about Dean, you weren’t actually all that pleased that he was leaving.
“Can you just do me a favour?” He asked and you cock your head to the side in confusion, he throws something black over to you, for a second you think it’s a hockey puck when you catch it it’s a balled up bit of warm fabric. “Put these on before your fingers turn blue.”
He was already walking away by the time you looked down at what it was.
His gloves.
Still warm from where he’d been wearing them earlier.
“Thanks coach!” You called out, voice teasing but fond all at once.
Dean laughed as he headed toward the exit without even turning around.
“Is that gonna be a thing now?” He calls back and you giggle, yes you actually giggle.
“Absolutely.” You tell him and he just nods before disappearing through the doors.
And for the first time in all the years you’d spent orbiting each other around Briar’s rink, you found yourself hoping he’d of stuck around a little longer.
Your mother and Dean Winchester had a short fling when she became a hunter, you were the result. Dean assumed your mother died when he stopped hearing about her in the hunting world. Until Bobby calls him one night telling him your mother needs him- you're missing.
Dean Winchester and your mother had a short lived fling when she entered the hunting world about 16 years ago, and then she was gone. Dean assumed that she had died. It happened. Not everyone was cut out for hunting. It sucked, but that was life. He just kept doing what he did best: hunting. Until one night Bobby called, rousing Dean from his sleep. “Dean, I’m sending you to a little town in Georgia.” He told him without letting Dean fully wake up.
“What? Why?” He grumbled as he sat up, eyes fighting to stay shut. “This couldn’t wait until morning?” He yawned, his body screaming at him to lay back down.
“Y/M/N.” Bobby told him. “Called me in tears. Her daughter is missing. Doesn’t know if it’s because she ran away, because of demons, or if she's been kidnapped.” Clearly Bobby was a bit worried, too. “Told her I’d send you boys her way.”
“She’s alive?” He was suddenly way more awake. “I haven’t seen her in God…years.” It had been about 16 or so year since he’d seen her.
Bobby let out a sigh. “I know, but get a move on. There’s a 15 year old girl out there who needs finding.” Bobby didn’t want to sit on the phone yapping when your mother needed help finding you.
“Oh, whatever.” You rolled your eyes at your mother. “You can go do whatever you want but I’m stuck in this room like a damn prisoner?!” As of last week you had lived your life in one place. You’d grown up in the city, enjoying the concrete jungle. You were a city girl through and through. Then, out of nowhere, your mother made you pack a couple bags and the two of you were in the wind.
Your mother shot you a look. “You know why, young lady!”
“Right, right. Because there are creepy things that go bump in the night that want to get their grubby hands on me.” You said sarcastically as you waved your hands in the air. On the way out of the city your mother ‘explained’ things to you. Frankly, you thought she was crazy. “And because my dad is some big bad ‘hunter’, I need to be locked away like fucking Rapunzel.” Your tone was dripping in mockery.
“I’m doing this for your safety.” She reminded you. “I’ve been lenient for the most part. I let you get tattoos and piercings. I let you dye your hair. I let you be you. Please, let me protect you.” And she was right. She had always encouraged you to be yourself, and up until last week the pair of you got along pretty well. Up until she yanked you from your life. Now she was your number one enemy. Being 15 and torn from everything you’d ever known was hard.
You glared at her as you grabbed your coat. “I was perfectly fine back home. Now I’m in some run down motel in buttfuck nowhere with my mother who has clearly lost her damn mind.” You snapped, storming out.
Your mother rushed after you. “Y/N! Get back here!” All she received was a middle finger over your shoulder. While she normally adored how strong you were, right now it was biting her in the ass. “Damn it.” She assumed you’d take a quick walk, cool off, and come back.
It was now hours later and there was no sign of you. She had driven around trying to find you and…nothing. Finally, she caved and dialed the one number left in her old hunting phone. “Bobby?” She sniffed.
“Y/N?!” He grumbled, half asleep.
“I’m sorry for calling so late, but I need your help.” She let out a breath. “My daughter stormed out hours ago, and she doesn’t know anyone here. Her phone is going straight to voicemail. She’s only 15, and I’m scared.” Calling the cops would be a very last resort.
“Jesus.” Bobby could be heard moving around. “I’ll make a couple calls. Send over Dean. I…I assume he’s her father?” When she’d been in the hunting world Dean had mentioned her a few times, and she’d even shown up on Bobby’s doorstep looking for Dean once. He wasn’t stupid. He knew how Dean was with women. And the time line added up.
There was a long pause where she debated just lying to the older man. However, she just couldn’t. “Yeah, he is.” Her voice was soft, like if she said it out loud someone else might hear it. “I just need her home.”
Dean knocked on her door five hours later. He had no idea what to expect when she opened the door. When she finally answered it was clear how upset she was. “Thanks for coming.” She stepped aside to let them both in. “How much did Bobby tell you?”
He sighed. “Just that your daughter is missing. She’s 15, and you don’t know if she ran away, if it’s demons, or if she was kidnapped.” He finished his coffee and tossed the cup in the garbage. It was obvious he was tired, but refused to sleep until they got a headstart on this.
Sam quickly started setting up his laptop at the little table in her room. “Do you have a picture of her?” He glanced at her with a sympathetic look on his face.
Nodding, she licked a tear from her lip and went to get it. “It’s the most recent. Her and her best friend at home coming just last month.” She pulled out a picture of them from her wallet. You were holding up the camera while the two of you smiled up at it. There was a light in your green eyes that she wished could have stayed there forever. “She’s the one with purple hair, but it’s pink now.” She explained as she handed it over. It was one of her favorite pictures.
As he looked at it, his eyes darted to her for a moment. “What’s her name?” He asked softly as he handed the picture to Dean. He saw it, she could tell. Sam wasn’t blind.
“Y/N Y/L/N.” Her eyes watched as Dean stared at the picture. She could tell he was taking it in. The teenage girl with his eyes.
His gaze slowly moved to her. “She’s mine.” It wasn’t a question. It was a very loaded statement. There were so many emotions behind those two words.
“We can talk about that after we get her back.” That was her only priority.
Sam looked between the two of them for a moment. “What does she like to do? Tell me about her. I can check out local places she might have gone. Start there.” The tension and emotions were high and he was just trying to keep things peaceful for now.
“Uh, she clearly likes tattoos, piercings, and coloring her hair. But I’ve signed for all her tattoos and piercings, so I can’t see her trying to get any without me.” Sitting on the end of the bed, she ran a hand through her hair. “She likes music, art, arcades, reading, going to the mall, horror movies, she was learning to skateboard, and she likes roller blading. She left in the middle of the night, though. I can’t see her being able to do anything here that late. If we were still in the city, sure. But everything here closes at like 10.”
“How long have you been in town?” He asked, quickly typing away on his laptop.
“Just a few days. We’ve been on the road this past week. Finally decided to stop for more than a night.” Now she was regretting that choice. “We got into a fight and she stormed out.”
Dean looked like he didn’t know how to feel at that moment. “What was the fight about?” He asked her.
“We lived her whole life in one city in the same apartment. We never moved or anything. So last week when I made her pack a couple bags and leave everything behind? I became public enemy number one.” It was breaking her heart. “She hated that I was trying to make her stay in the motel room.”
“Why did you leave the city?” Sam asked, furrowing his brows. “I mean it’s random after 15 years.” It made no sense to him. “Did something happen? Did you see something?”
She sighed. “I was hearing whispers and seeing signs of demons. I was terrified they’d come across Y/N/N and know she’s a Winchester. She had no idea about any of it so she would have been dead meat. Or worse. She thinks I’m insane because I tried to tell her everything as we left the city.” She quickly explained what you had said.
Dean shook his head. “You knew that she would have a target on her back but didn’t think to prepare her?” His voice was low, and angry. “We will be having a talk after we get her back.” Kids were a soft spot for him, and you were his kid.
Groaning, you moved to sit up. “Ow.” You touched your hand to your head.
“Well, well, well. Baby Winchester wakes. I will say, you’re not what I would picture Squirrel’s spawn looking like.” Came a deep accented voice.
You blinked a bit before looking over to see a man in a suit. “I have no idea what any of that means.” You snapped. “I’m not a Winchester, I don’t know anyone named Squirrel, and I don’t know who the hell you are.” There was an anger in your eyes. Your mother told you your father was big in the ‘hunting’ world, but you still assumed she was losing it. Some kind of mental break. So there was no way in hell this was connected.
He smirked, amused. “Mommy dearest didn’t tell you about your father, did she?” He asked. “Dean Winchester has been a thorn in my side for years.” He all but seethed. “Now I have something he’ll want.”
“Oh, my God. You’re an idiot.” You sighed. “I have never met my father. He doesn’t even know I exist.” What was this man missing? “You kidnapped some random kid because some guy annoys you? What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you mafia or something?”
His smirk morphed into a grin. “Feisty. I like that.” He chuckled. “And bloody hell. I’m not the mafia. I’m the king of Hell!” His hands were in his pockets as he spoke.
“Did you escape from the asylum? I’m sure they’re looking for you.” You sassed. “And you clearly need to be on some medication.” Why was everyone going insane recently?
His amusement fell as he stared at you. “You’re not bloody joking. You have no idea who you really are, who your bloody father is, or about anything.” In no world would he have guessed that snatching the Winchester brat would lead to this. “Love, I’m Crowley. King of Hell. Your father and uncle are some of the biggest pains in my asses.” He explained. “Your father’s feathery boy toy is currently in the wind or this would be much more of a hassle.”
You made a face. “Ew.” You muttered. “Why would I believe anything you say?” So far you just saw a man in a suit spewing a bunch of craziness. “For all I know you’re a danger-” You cut yourself off when he snapped his fingers and there was a fast food meal next to you.
“Thought you might be hungry.” He shrugged as if it was nothing. “If you’re anything like that buffoon you like bacon cheeseburgers.”
Smelling the food caused your stomach to growl. “...Maybe.” You muttered, reaching for the bag. You glanced at him as you slowly pulled the bag to you. “Is that a power for the king of Hell? Instant fast food?” You asked as you grabbed some fries and ate them, attention now completely on the food.
“Among many other things.” He chuckled as he watched you begin to devour the meal.
After you were about halfway through, you looked at him. “So why does the king need to kidnap a 15 year old? Isn’t that kind of lame?” Made him seem kind of weak in your opinion. Maybe a touch pathetic.
“Your father has something I want. I plan to trade you for it.”
Licking some ketchup from your lip you shook your head. “Won’t work. Like I said- he doesn’t know I exist. So why would he care to trade some random kid for whatever it is you want?” His plan was seriously lacking.
“So, I was able to view all the cameras at the police station.” Sam sighed, letting the motel door shut behind him. He went to canvas while Dean caught a nap for a couple hours. Dean woke up minutes before Sam got back. “She’s seen passing the cameras on fifth but not the next street. She literally just vanishes.” He slipped off his jacket to toss over the back of the chair closest to him.
Your mother sagged. “So she was taken by demons.” She teared up all over again. “How do we even begin tracking her?” Her mind was going to every worst case scenario.
Dean groaned. “Damn it. Crowley!” He snapped.
“Who’s Crow--” Your eyes went wide when a man in a suit appeared. “Who the hell is that?”
“Crowley, love.” He smirked. “I can see Y/N takes after you and not Squirrel here. Lucky lass.”
“You have my daughter?!” She glared. “Why the hell do you have her?” It was hard for her to not hit him.
Crowley’s gaze slowly slid to Dean. “Squirrel here has something I want. He hands it over and I’ll snap Y/N home safe and sound.” He looked back at your mother. “If not, I guess Uncle Crowley will have to spend some more time with her.” He said it like it was nothing. “She’s quite sassy. I’m enjoying her company.”
“Cut the shit. How did you even know about her? I didn’t even know about her until this morning.” Dean ground out.
“As much as I’d like to say it was some master plan, I can’t.” Crowley honestly sounded bummed about that fact. “It was sheer luck.” He went on. “I have people all over the country. Well, when one of my men alerted me that a young Winchester fled the city with her mother? I put all my people on alert. One happened to be in this very town. A recent addition, actually.” That lining up worked in his favor.
Dean glared at Crowley. “Bring my daughter back. Now.” He was angry enough when he thought you had just been taken by some lowlevel demon. Now that he knew that Crowley was behind this? He was livid.
“Just last month you came across a talisman. I want it.” He said simply, shrugging. “Get me that and she’ll be returned safe and sound. Until then, baby Winchester is my new bestie.” With a smirk, he was gone.
“Dude, I’ve been here two days. I feel gross.” You told Crowley. “I need a shower, I need clean clothes, and I need to smell like something other than fast food.”
Crowley liked that you spoke to him like that, if he were being honest. You did not care that he was the king. You spoke your mind and didn’t seem scared of him. Then again, aside from the kidnapping, he hadn’t given you reason to be. “Let me send someone for clothes for you.”
You gave him a bored look. “You’ll snap me food, but not clothes?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. “Hell, look over my Instagram and you can easily see my style. Boom. Snap me something like that. Wait, do you have Instagram?”
He chuckled. “I do not, should I?”
“Oh my god! Yes!” You urged him. “Let me get cleaned up and then we’ll get you started. Ohhhh you’d do so good on TikTok.”
Crowley grinned. “You’re awfully perky for someone who was just kidnapped.” He half teased.
You were quiet for a moment. “Well, I lived my whole life in one city and out of the blue I was forced to pack up like three bags and dragged away from everything I knew. My friends, my school, my hobbies… And as she’s driving us away from the city she rambles about demons, monsters, my father, and claims she’s doing it to keep me safe. I’m still a bit pissed off about that. We got into a fight right before I wound up here.” Sure, you were pissed, and a little scared, but you weren’t going to let him know that.
“How about you get cleaned up, show me those apps, and then we have a little fun, eh? Hit up your old city?”
At the moment, Dean was torn. He wanted to get you home safe, but he did not want to give Crowley that talisman. Hearing his phone ding, he pulled it out to see a text from Crowley. “Crowley has Instagram?” He muttered, clicking it. It was a picture of you in Hot Topic with the caption ‘I’m the favorite. Sorry, Squirrel.’. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”
“What?” Sam asked, brows furrowed.
“He’s got her at the mall.” He turned his phone to show your mother and Sam.
Her eyebrows shot up. “And that caption…” She sighed. “Wait, why does he call you Squirrel, by the way?” That confused her. “That’s a very strange nickname, especially for someone who seems to hate you. It sounds like a nickname a buddy would give you when drunk.” After an hour of fighting with Dean to go get the damn talisman, she had taken a break. Her head hurt, her heart ached, and she was riddled with worry. Although, at least now she saw you were alive. It had been a very long two days of worry.
“Rocky and Bullwinkle.” Dean sighed. “Although in his phone I’m ‘Not Moose’. So. That’s fun.” He muttered, rolling his eyes. “I hate that our daughter is having a mall day with Crowley, too.”
“Well, we could clear this up by you just giving him the talisman!” She snapped at him. “I can’t believe it’s even a question. Let the King of Hell have our daughter or a talisman…it shouldn’t even be a question! You give it to him, get her back, and then try to get the talisman back from him.”
“He’ll just destroy it.” Dean told you.
She stared at him. “You are refusing to hand over something he’s not even going to use? He’s just going to destroy it?!” That pissed her off even more. “You go get it, you hand it over, and you get my daughter back.” She ground out.
You had no idea that the pictures and TikToks you were making with Crowley were being sent to Dean. You were just having a good time, as backwards as it was. After dinner, Crowley treated you to ice cream. “Looks like our time is up, love.” He glanced at you from across the table.
“He’s giving you what you want?” You asked before taking a bite of your ice cream. “Didn’t think he would.”
“Why not?”
“Again. He doesn’t know me. Would you hand something over for a kid you didn’t know existed?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.
Crowley chuckled. “I wouldn’t have traded it for the son I did know I had.” He countered. “I’m not the best person to ask.”
You stared at him before nodding slightly. “Right…” How did you reply to that? “Part of me wants to ask, part of me really doesn’t want to know.” You told him honestly. “I will say that as far as kidnappers go, you’re not half bad.” A woman passing the two of you gave a concerned look. “Inside joke.” You told her, but you felt she didn’t believe you.
“I’ll have to keep in touch with you, baby Winchester.” He beamed. “You’re the least bothersome of them.”
“I’ll follow you on Instagram and TikTok when I’m back on my phone.” You promised. “And don’t forget to check out those movies.” The two of you had been talking about horror movies while you walked around Hot Topic and Spencers.
He grinned. “Deal.” He agreed easily.
As soon as you (and your new things) were snapped into the motel room, your mother pulled you into a tight hug. “I’m so glad you’re okay.” She sniffed.
You relaxed into her hug, wrapping your arms around her. “I’m fine. Crowley was pretty chill.” A small assurance, but it was something. “I helped him make an instagram and a tiktok, we went shopping, and talked about horror movies.”
She finally loosened her grip on you. “We know. He’s been sending your father links.”
“Alright, Squirrel. Hand over the talisman.” Crowley held out a hand to Dean. “Or I’ll whisk Y/N away again. To anywhere she pleases. How’s Japan sound, love?” He smirked at you, enjoying how this got under Dean’s skin.
Dean’s jaw clenched as he all but slammed the talisman into Crowley’s hand. “There. Now get lost.” He snapped.
Crowley made a tsking noise before looking at you. “Follow me, love.” And he was gone.
“Hey, he bought me those boots we couldn’t afford. So.” You grinned at your mother, making it nearly impossible for her to not grin right back. “I’m sorry I called you crazy. And that I acted like you were trying to just keep me locked up.”
She gave your arm a squeeze. “It’s all water under the bridge. I get it.” She assured you. “Anyways, Dean…this is your daughter Y/N. Y/N, this is your father, Dean Winchester. And that is your Uncle Sam.”
Dean’s anger was slowly melting as you gave him a shy smile. “Hi, sweetheart. I’m sorry I’m so late.” He chuckled awkwardly.
SUMMARY: Dean is completely wrecked after his first ever Pilates class which means a cold drink sounds heavenly. Or the one time Dean’s girlfriend forces him to try matcha after his first Pilates class.
WARNINGS: Nothing but tooth-rotting fluff!! 🍵✨
A/N: Where are all my fellow matcha lovers?! 🙋🏻♀️ SO many of you were asking for a part two to Pilates Princess, so here it is! It's short, sweet, and oh so wholesome! Hope y’all enjoy!! Divider by @dividers-are-us <3
➩ main masterlist
➩ dean di laurentis masterlist
“No. Absolutely not. This is where I draw the line.” Dean was already shaking his head, sneakers scuffing against the sidewalk as you tugged him toward Café Vittoria, the little café you, Hannah, and Grace had accidentally stumbled across a few months ago. "Dean, baby, we just sweat like pigs for the last hour and a half. I deserve a reward for that." You flashed him an exaggerated pout over your shoulder, lower lip jutting out just enough to make his resolve crack.
Damn you.
The worst part? You knew exactly what you were doing. Dean released a dramatic sigh, allowing himself to be pulled along despite his protests. Not that he was putting up much of a fight, he'd willingly follow you almost anywhere. "Babydoll, that doesn't mean we have to drink toxic waste." Nevertheless, when you reached the shop, he groaned under his breath and stepped ahead of you, grabbing the door handle before you could. You beamed up at him, making his chest warmed despite himself.
Then he stepped inside, and immediately regretted every life choice that had brought him to this moment. Pink. Pink was the only thing that came to mind. Pink walls. Pink chairs. Pink flowers. Pink neon signs glowing against the far wall. Even the display cases looked aggressively pink. Dean stopped dead in the entrance, his gaze sweeping across the café in horror. He was surrounded by pink. Fuck the Pilates class. Dean had never felt more out of place than he did right now.
His hockey teammates would have a field day with this. God, if Garrett, Tucker, and Logan saw him now, he'd never hear the end of it. Garrett would take pictures. Logan would make those annoying kissy faces. Tucker would somehow find a way to bring it up during every team dinner for the next six months. "Dean?" Your amused voice broke through his internal panic. He looked down to find you trying and failing to hide a smile.
"Try to look less traumatized."
"Babydoll, I am traumatized."
"You're being dramatic."
Dean gestured wildly at the explosion of pink surrounding them. "This place looks like Barbie threw up in here." A snort escaped you before you could stop it. "Hi!" You smiled, approaching the barista before Dean could make a run for it, not even needing to glance at the menu. "Could I please order two iced vanilla matcha lattes with sea salt cold foam?" The barista typed the order into the register while Dean stood there looking personally victimized by every word that had just left your mouth.
Before you could even reach for your wallet, a warm hand settled against your waist. Dean gently nudged you aside, stepping between you and the card reader. A second later, his card tapped against the machine. You grinned. "Thanks, baby." Rising onto your tiptoes, you looped your arms around his shoulders and pressed a kiss to his lips. Dean immediately kissed you back, eagerly. Very eagerly.
One hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you closer as though he'd forgotten you were standing in a crowded coffee shop at eight in the morning. A surprised laugh escaped you against his mouth. Someone near the pickup counter cleared their throat. Another customer giggled. Only neither of you paid attention. Dean definitely didn't. The man had always been physically affectionate, but ever since you'd started dating, he'd somehow become worse.
The kiss lingered a second longer than necessary. Then another. Then another. When you finally pulled away, Dean chased after you slightly before seeming to remember where he was. A smug smile tugged at his mouth. "You know," He drawled, thumb brushing along your hip. "If that's my reward for buying overpriced grass-flavored milk, maybe this place isn't so bad." You gasped, purposely hitting his sore bicep.
"It does not taste like grass."
"Your taste buds are broken."
"My taste buds are normal. Yours have been corrupted by social media."
"Oh, please. You're just mad because you survived one Pilates class and discovered muscles you didn't know existed."
Dean groaned dramatically at the memory of what he had just endured. Every muscle in his body protested the memory. His abs hurt. His thighs hurt. Hell, his ribs somehow hurt. Hockey practices were brutal. Weight training was brutal. But Pilates? Pilates was a different kind of evil. "I don't want to talk about it." Your laughter filled the café, and Dean simply watched the way your eyes crinkled at the corners, the way your smile stretched across your face, and felt his annoyance dissolve almost instantly.
In less than ten minutes, the barista was setting your drinks on the pick-up counter. The second your name was called, Dean pushed himself out of his chair. "I'll get them." You didn't bother arguing. Mostly because watching Dean walk away in a pair of gym shorts was one of your favorite hobbies. Pilates might have nearly killed him, but the black fitted shirt stretched deliciously across his broad shoulders and narrow waist, the man somehow looking unfairly attractive even while limping slightly from muscle fatigue.
Dean returned moments later carrying both drinks, his expression growing more suspicious with every step. The matcha glowed an alarming shade of green, ice cubes floated near the top while creamy swirls of vanilla and sea salt cold foam marbled through the drink. The cup itself sat inside a pastel pink sleeve, complete with a matching pink straw that looked almost comically cheerful against the vibrant green liquid. Balanced on top of the napkins was a bright pink one printed with the words:
I LOVE YOU SO MATCHA!
Dean stared at it, eye twitching in annoyance.
"It's mocking me."
"It is not."
"The napkin literally has a matcha pun on it."
"Which is adorable."
Dean dropped into the chair across from you and held his drink at arm's length, like it was explosive. His nose wrinkled as he inspected the bright green concoction. "You cannot tell me this isn't radioactive grass-flavored milk." The deadpan delivery nearly broke you. "Shut up and mix it." Dean narrowed his eyes. "You sound exactly like someone trying to poison me." Good, god was this man incredibly stubborn.
"First, you lured me to do Pilates, then, you forced me into a pink café, and now you're demanding I consume suspicious green liquid." Rolling your eyes, you reached across the table and nudged his knee with yours. "Mix the drink." With all the enthusiasm of a man preparing for execution, Dean jammed the straw into the cup. The sea salt cold foam slowly disappeared into the matcha, ribbons of pale cream swirling through green until the drink turned a softer shade of jade.
"Don't be a baby, just try it, Dean." You challenged watching as Dean stared at the cup, almost as if contemplating everything that had led up to this moment. Finally, he lifted it toward his mouth and took a cautious sip. You leaned forward expectantly. His brows lifted, then furrowed. The betrayal on his face was immediate. "Admit it, you like it." He did. The problem was that Dean knew you knew that he did. Which meant he would rather throw himself into oncoming traffic than admit you had been right.
A dramatic grimace crossed his face as he took another sip, as though each swallow physically pained him. "Fine, if you hate it so much then throw it away and order a coffee." You took a sip of your own drink, humming happily as the sweet vanilla and creamy sea salt foam mixed with the earthy matcha. The cold drink was heaven after ninety minutes of being folded into positions no human body should ever be forced into. "Babydoll, this was like eight dollars." You smirked around your straw, eyes twinkling in recognition.
Dean immediately caught the look, his own narrowing suspiciously. The pink cup never left his hand, in fact, he'd already taken three more sips. Your gaze dropped pointedly to the cup, then back to him. A flush crept into his cheeks, clearly being caught red handed. "Don't." A laugh bubbled out of you despite your best efforts to hold it back. "You've drank half of it already." He shook his head, only to look down and see that the liquid level had indeed dropped significantly. Dean groaned and slumped back in his chair.
"This is a setup."
"It really isn't."
"You manipulated me."
"All I did was order you a drink."
"You weaponized my love for you."
Unfortunately for him, the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth gave him away completely.
"You like it!"
"I tolerate it."
"You love it."
"Okay, babydoll, let's not get carried away."
Once again, his words betrayed him, seeing as the cup was nearly empty now. Dean seemed to realize this at the exact moment you did. A look of genuine horror crossed his face. "You drank the entire thing!" Dean looked personally offended by the evidence. "This is ridiculous. I just was conducting research." You nearly choked on your drink at his absurd statement. "Needed to confirm it was terrible." He shrugged, as you leaned closer from across the table, smirk widening. "And?"
Dean glanced at the empty cup, jaw ticking. You could practically see him debating whether preserving his pride was worth lying directly to your face. He sighed dramatically, making your eyes light up knowing exactly what he was about to say. "It was... okay." Dean immediately regretted those words seeing as you were seconds away from launching yourself across the table. "Okay is basically amazing coming from you." Dean rolled his eyes but wrapped an arm around your waist when you slid onto his side of the booth anyway.
The movement was instinctive, automatic, like breathing. You settled against him, resting your head on his shoulder while he draped an arm across your lap. Outside, the morning sun filtered through the café windows, casting warm golden light across the pink walls and crowded tables. Around you, conversations buzzed, espresso machines hissed, and pop music drifted softly through the speakers. For a moment, neither of you spoke, you simply sat there together.
Dean pressed a kiss against your temple before breaking the comfortable silence. "You know," He murmured, fingers tracing lazy circles against your thigh. "If anyone from the team finds out about this, I'm denying everything." A laugh escaped you, taking another hefty sip of what was left of your drink before squeezing his forearm. "The Pilates class or the matcha?" Dean let out a playful scoff before pressing another loving kiss to your forehead, trying to hide his smile.
"Both, babydoll, obviously."
"You literally drank the whole thing."
"Fake news."
"The evidence is right there."
"The evidence is circumstantial."
Dean's green eyes sparkled with amusement as you rolled your eyes. Despite the complaining, despite the dramatics, espite the ten-minute hate campaign against matcha. He looked happier than he had all morning, and judging by the way his arm tightened around your waist when you snuggled closer, he knew you knew it too. "So does that mean you'll come next weekend too?" You asked sweetly, making Dean immediately grow suspicious. "What's next weekend?"
You smiled innocently, lashes fluttering innocently. "A hot yoga class Hannah mentioned." The groan that left him was loud enough for the entire café to hear which in turn made you laugh so hard tears gathered in your eyes. Dean buried his face in your shoulder, muttering something along the lines of "kill me now". Yet, despite all his complaints, you were already willing to bet he'd be right beside you when next weekend rolled around, probably carrying another eight-dollar matcha, too.
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Summary: After practice, Dean would have preferred to just relax with his girlfriend. Instead, she’s teaching him exactly how aerial yoga works.
Pairing: Dean Di Laurentis x Yoga Teacher!Reader
Warnings: Guys it’s Dean- you know he’s making a sexual innuendo about the silks lmao. Dena makes a fool out of himself attempting yoga but he does it because he’s in loooooveeee
One of the things that Dean Di Laurentis loved the most about the Briar weight room was the set of massive windows that looked in on the yoga studio.
It was a show both ways: the guys in the weight room would show off for the sorority sisters in lululemon, and the ladies in the yoga studio were more than happy to ogle the hockey players below.
But over the last couple of months, while his teammates still cheered and grandstanded for the fit young women in downward dog, Dean realized there was only one student that he wanted to see.
She flourished in the liminal space between classes. When her students had left and she was alone in the studio. Dean loved watching her move with the silks. She looked ethereal and angelic, using the delicate silk like a resistance band, suspending her leg in midair as she performed a pose that opened her hips.
She was a goddess, and Dean was so lucky to call her his.
Behind him, Logan wolf-whistled. “Are you going to keep staring at her like a perv, or can I have my spotter back?”
“Fuck off, Logan.” He said quickly. “I’m watching my woman work.”
Logan came to stand next to him as the pair watched her fold herself over the silks in a deep back-bending inversion, effectively suspending herself from the ceiling. Her hands braced against the mat below her, a peaceful expression on her face as she breathed into the stretch.
“Isn’t she amazing?”
He wasn’t going to lie- the flexibility that his girlfriend possessed contributed massively to the success of their sex life. But when he watched her on the silks, it was like watching a work of art.
When the team was finally ready to call it a day, Dean wasted no time drying his hair off before sauntering up the stairs to the studio. The doors, windows and walls were all intended to be soundproof, but he could hear the faint bass of an old pop punk song playing as she sank into another inversion. She looked so relaxed.
He slipped inside the studio as quietly as he could, which was easy when blink-182 was playing so loudly that he couldn’t hear himself think. She had her eyes closed, breathing steadily.
“Nice of you to make an appearance, Di Laurentis.”
Dean laughed, turning the radio down. “How can you focus with the music that loud?”
“It calms me.” She answered. Her eyes were open now, but she was still in the inverted butterfly stretch. “Much better than the white noise I have on for the freshman. If I hear one more whale song I think I’ll scream.”
Dean laughed, hands in the pockets of his Nike shorts as he leaned against a shelf holding yoga blocks. “You going to kiss me, sweetheart, or are you just going to hang there like a vampire bat?”
“Asshole.” She laughed, gripping the sunflower-yellow silk and easing herself into a sitting position, using the silk as a swing.
Dean circled to the other side of her mat, grinning as he pulled her in for a kiss. “You know what terrible idea this is giving me? Two words. Sex. Swing.”
She laughed into the kiss, kicking him lightly. “Not on these. Too much weight will tear the fabric.”
“A man can dream.”
She slipped out of the silk, still giggling as she crossed towards the supply shelves. “Wanna learn something fun?” She grabbed a yoga mat from the shelf, and started examining the silks for length. “Let me show you the inversion. It’ll be a good way to relax before you get on the ice. It will help you get your head in the game.”
She set up a station next to hers, hanging the silk from the metal bar on the ceiling and inspecting it for damage.
“Babe,” Dean started nervously. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
“Why not?” She beamed, settling back into her own silk. “Come on, it’s easy. Start by sitting in the dead middle of the silk.”
Shaking his head, Dean grabbed a hold of his own silk, awkwardly settling his tall, muscular body in the middle. “Okay, humor me. What now?”
“Grab the silk with both hands. Now you’re going to swing your legs up and around the silk. Watch.”
When she did it, she looked so graceful. She leaned back slightly, looping her legs up and wrapping her toes around the silk.
When Dean tried, he looked like a baby deer trying to walk for the first time, and almost kicked himself in the face in the progress.
She laughed, reaching to tap him on the shoulder. “Make sure that the silk stays under your hips, otherwise you’ll fall.”
It took a bit more fumbling, but centrally Dean managed to contort his legs into something resembling the pose that she herself had done.
“Now, make sure you’re holding the silks tight, and then lean back towards the floor. Trust that the silk will support your weight.”
“Babe,” Deans voice was soft. “I’m a hockey player. I don’t think the silk can hold me.”
“Trust, Di Laurentis.” She scolded, bending her back into a deep stretch, forearms planted on her mat. It was the same inversion she had been in when Dean first entered the studio.
Dean leaned back, caught off guard when the silk began to swing, his body gently swaying back and forth. He took a few deep breaths, steadying himself before he let go of the silks.
He attempted to mimic his girlfriends stretch, planting his hands on the floor as he competed the inversion.
“Hey, this isn’t so bad.” He mused.
Of course, he’d spoken too soon. His arms began to shake under the pressure, and he tried to breathe through it, engaging his core muscles. He could feel his sweaty body sliding out of the sling, and was helpless as his hips lost purchase on the silk, sending his body crashing to the studio floor.
“Dean?” She asked through laughter. “Are you okay?”
She swung up and out of the inversion, gracefully stepping out of the silk as she rushed over to Dean, trying to untangle him from the fabric.
“You must have the fucking core muscles of a Greek God.” Dean laughed as she helped him to his feet. “That shit is impossible.”
“Just takes practice, babes.” She grinned, kissing him softly. “You aren’t the first person to fall out of a sling during their first inversion.”
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When Dean asked if you wanted to go to Drunk Shakespeare with him you didn’t actually want to say no, but you were drowning in assignments that were half finished and due like, next week.
So you told him to go ahead and if he’s not back super late you’ll go to his and see him after. You think back to that conversation that morning, he’d been sprawled out on his bed, resting against the headboard, shirtless and with a hand behind his head.
No shame.
Not that you were complaining.
“Come on baby you need one night off and we promised Wellsy we’d go support.” Dean had told you as you shoved your laptop into your bag.
“I’m sorry, I promise I’ll come next time but I have to finish at least one of these essays.” You told him sadly.
Now he’d of been there for an hour at least by now, it’s gone 8PM and you’d been so focused on typing that your friend Mia’s voice made you jump. You’d forgotten she was even sitting opposite you.
“Dean’s at drunk Shakespeare?” She asked obviously seeing something on Instagram.
“Mhm, Garrett’s girlfriend Hannah forced them to go.” You told her absentmindedly.
“Yeah but do not you care there Allie Hayes is like the main focus of the show?” Mia’s voice was careful but also a little outraged.
“No, why would I care about that?” You ask a little impatiently.
“Didn’t they hook up last year? For like a while?” Her words made you feel a little sick, mostly because you didn’t want to think about your boyfriend hooking up with someone else, but also because you’d totally forgotten about that.
Part of you thinks that’s a good thing.
You don’t dwell on his past.
“If I cared about everyone Dean hooked up with I’d have a lot on my mind.” You try and joke to ease the knot in your chest.
Because it’s true, you’re well aware of Dean’s past, of his previous ways. But he was yours now. It was different.
Logically you knew Allie was Hannah’s best friend, you know that Allie and Dean were still friends. It’s not like they dated!
No they just probably had hot sex for months on end.
No, do not spiral, if you cared you’d of gone with him. You trust Dean, you really do, there hasn’t been anything he’s done in the time of your relationship that would make you question him now.
But that ugly feeling sat in your chest most of the night.
Dean’s responses to your texts were getting slower and slower, and now it’s close to midnight and he hasn’t read your last message that you sent almost an hour ago. Throwing your phone onto your pillow you figure a shower would take your mind off it.
He’s probably just at Malone’s now, having a drink with the guys. But that would mean Garrett, and so Hannah is there, and if Hannah is there then Allie is definitely there.
Ugh this is horrendous.
You’re mostly annoyed at yourself for letting it get to you.
But then you go on Instagram, laying on your bed with freshly washed hair and Dean’s t-shirt for pyjamas you scroll on your phone. The first instagram story you see is Hannah’s, it’s a selfie of her and Allie, and then another of Garrett in Malone’s. Then Tucker posts an actual picture, it’s him, Logan, Grace, Garrett, Hannah and then on the end is Dean, tucked under his arm in a full fairy outfit and makeup is Allie.
It’s just a photo.
Friends stand next to each other, it isn’t a crime.
Before you can zoom in on the picture for a third time your phone rings, and Dean’s name flashes across your screen.
Relief floods through you but suddenly now that you’re faced with actually talking to him, you were mad.
Irrational. You chastised yourself.
“Hello?” You answer on the fourth or fifth ring.
“Sorry baby were you sleeping?” He asks and you can hear the muffled sounds of Malone’s behind him. He must of gone outside to call you.
“No, no I just got out the shower.” You tell him and can practically hear the smug grin on face.
“Oh yeah? Are you naked?” He asks cheekily and despite yourself you huff a laugh.
“Perv.” You joke making him bark out a laugh.
“For you? Always.” And then you didn’t know what to say, you sighed a little and started picking a thread on the hem of his shirt.
“You okay?” He asks noticing the shift immediately. Because he’s Dean and he knows you better than he knows himself.
“Yeah, yeah just tired I stayed in the library until like 10 I guess.” You tell him unable to hide the flatness of your tone.
“Do you want me to come over?” He asks at the same time as you say “so how was the show?”
He doesn’t answer you, and you know he’s waiting for you to answer his question.
“No, no you don’t have to it’s late, I was just going to bed before you called.” You tell him quickly.
“What’s wrong?” He asks because he knows you better than that, you’ve let him come over to your place much later than midnight on a Friday.
“Nothings wrong.” You snap at him unintentionally.
“Whoa babe something is obviously wrong.” He says down the line, his tone is firm but he’s not mad.
Before you can respond -
“Are you coming back in Di Laurentis? Logan is starting up darts.”
That was Allie.
You know her voice.
You’ve met her for godsake.
And if you did have a rational thought in your brain it would tell you that she’s been nothing but respectful, and nice and kind.
But, you’re not being rational right now.
“Go back inside to your friends Dean. Don’t worry about me.” You tell him in a whisper before hanging up.
Dean stared down at his phone in disbelief. Did you just hang up on him?
Hell no.
He looks back at Allie who is beyond on amused.
“Did your girlfriend just hang up on you?” She asks laughing and he glares.
“Don’t start.” He grumbles and she laughs more.
“I’ll tell them you went home to your girl.” She tells him over her shoulder before disappearing back inside.
By the time Dean got to your place there wasn’t a single thing he can think of that would have upset you, he didn’t do anything. In fact, he was looking for excuses to leave and come see you when he realised it was midnight by the time he called.
Surely that’s not why you’re mad.
You knew he was out.
He’d gone out without you before.
Jesus he was at a loss.
When the knocking on your door started you thought for a second he wouldn’t possibly have come all the way over here.
“Babe open the door!” He calls through and you gasp throwing the sheets of you and pulling the door open in shock.
“Dean what are you doing here?!” You say pulling him inside so he doesn’t wake up the whole hall with his incessant knocking.
“Something was wrong, you hung up on me!” He argued making your jaw drop.
“I told you I was fine.” You retorted and he gave you an offended look.
There was confusion in his features too but mostly offence.
“Well then you lied to me and hung up on me.” He snapped making you cross your arms and guilt settled in pretty quickly.
He really hadn’t done anything wrong.
And you knew that you just didn’t want to admit it right now.
“It’s going to sound so stupid when I say it out loud.” You say bringing your hands down and then crossing them again.
Dean knew that you were annoyed, whether it was still toward him he wasn’t so sure.
“Well say it anyway.” Dean told you firmly and you huffed looking away from him.
“I don’t want to.” You whined and if he wasn’t so mad at you for lying to him he’d of laughed at how childish you looked, might of even told you to stop pouting and just spit it out.
“I was jealous.” You blurted after a minute and regretted it the second he just blinked at you confused.
“Jealous?” He echoed making you roll your eyes again. God he was going to make you spell it out.
“Yes, I was in the library with Mia and she said if she was me she’d never let her boyfriend go to a show where his ex is performing and then hang out with her after. And then she said especially if said ex is as hot as Allie.” You told him honestly and you saw the moment in all clicked into place.
“This is about Allie?” He asked incredulously and you get it.
You’ve never had a bad thing to say about his friend, sure she was also an ex fling but they were ultimately friends.
“I told you it’s so stupid! Because I trust you, and I like Allie she’s great and yes she is really pretty but it’s not that, it was just the way Mia went on and on I started thinking maybe I should have a problem with it, but I don’t I swear it was just-“
“Whoa, whoa okay slow down crazy.” He tells you softly hands now on your shoulders. “First of all, Mia is batshit crazy and literally stalked her ex for months. Mia isn’t someone we take relationship advice from okay?” He tells you slowly and it seems important to him that you agree with him on that and you can’t help the smile that twitches on your lips.
“Okay.” You agree so he carries on.
“Secondly, you said it, you trust me and Allie is great. I went to drunk Shakespeare because Wellsy was dragging us by our balls and you know how scared I am of her.” You again, nod in agreement because it is quite comical how scared he is of the short brunette. “And can we please not forget that just this morning I was begging you to come with me?” He was eye level with you know, talking earnestly.
“I know all of that Dean, Mia just got in my head and then I was by myself all night thinking about it.” You mumble looking away from him again. “You didn’t have to come over here, I would’ve talked myself into being a rational human being again by the morning.” You tell him and he grins.
It’s his boyish grin that he saves just for you, his dimples on full display and you both feel better for getting back to yourselves. Dean will pick up with you another time on how obsessed he is with you, a reminder that jealous isn’t something you need to feel. His heart that never used to work properly now beats just for you.
“Maybe I wanted to come see you anyway, I missed you.” He shrugs and then stands up straight. “Is that my shirt?” He asks notices it for the first time.
“Yeah. Do you want it back?” You ask with a testing raised eyebrow.
“Yep, right now actually.” He tells you quickly and you gasp with a laugh.
“Dean I have nothing on underneath! I was going to sleep!” You argue as the two of you easily slip back into normalcy. The tightness in your chest evaporated completely and his hands on your hips grounding you, bringing you to reality and not whatever messy version you created in your head.
“Great, that’s even better.” He’s tugging at the hem of it now and you don’t have it in you to swat him away as he trails behind you to your room.
contains: friends to lovers, cheating, breakup, dean is a sweetie pie who comforts you, self-pity, crying, cursing, hurt/comfort, fluff
author’s note: thank u again anon for the request! i hope you enjoy this one <3
You were an absolute cliche. Which, you think, made everything worse.
Because now, you weren’t just the clueless idiot who got cheated on, you were the extremely clueless idiot who didn’t see it coming.
You didn’t consider yourself a very gullible person, nor did you previously think of yourself as naive. And yet, you believed that your high school boyfriend, whom you saw in person—at most—maybe ten times a year, would remain faithful to you all the way through college.
You thought the phone sex and the late night facetimes where you would talk until you fell asleep were enough to satiate him. That proved to be utterly and completely wrong.
And now here you are, wearing his sweatshirt, weeping pathetically into a bowl of rocky road ice cream that was mostly melted while your roommate sits across from you with a pitiful frown and a gentle hand on your knee.
“I gave him an out,” you cried. “I told him it might be best we go our separate ways, but he told me he didn’t want to!”
The thought had been planted in your head by your other friend, Dean. You’d gone to him to ask for a male opinion, and the way he’d repeated the dynamics of your so-called relationship shined an unattractive spotlight upon the cracks and imperfections. You’d called your boyfriend—well, now ex-boyfriend—immediately afterwards and told him it might be healthier for you to chart your own paths. You barely got to talk anymore and rarely got to see each other in person. You were tired of having sex over a phone and falling asleep on facetime to wake up to your phone completely drained of battery the next day. It wasn’t a relationship anymore; it was something else. A battered and tattered thing that the both of you were desperately clinging to for a reason you couldn’t understand.
And then, he started talking. He always knew exactly what to say to get you to cave to him, that’s one of the reasons the two of you didn’t break up right after high school. He’d said all the sweet, thoughtful words that tugged on your heartstrings and sprinkled nostalgia like a garnish overtop.
No one knew you like he did. You were meant to be together.
So, you caved. And like a cherry on top, he showed up at your front door the next morning with a bouquet of flowers and the two of you had actual sex for the first time in months.
And since he’d gone out of his way to make you feel loved and appreciated, you’d only wanted to do the same.
You’d pulled an all-nighter to finish your coursework so you could have a long weekend together, went shopping for new lingerie, and picked up his favorite pie from Malone’s. And by Friday evening, there you were, in a trench coat with nothing under it but lacy suggestions of underwear, holding a cherry pie in one hand while you knocked on his door with the other.
And there he was, opening his door wearing only boxer shorts and a wry grin that very quickly shifted into something a little less steady. You could tell something was off from the moment you saw him, but what really cemented it all was the feminine voice calling out to him from inside going, “who is it, babe?”
The only satisfying part of that evening was throwing the pie in his face. And even that was spoiled when you realized back at your car that you hadn’t eaten in multiple hours and had nothing to snack on now for the lonely ride back home.
When your phone vibrated next to you on the couch, you knew it was going to be one of two people; your ex or Dean. You were ignoring both of them, and only one of them deserved it. Dean had texted you last night as well, just as you had finally gotten home, asking how it went. You couldn’t get yourself to reply and type out the embarrassing events that had transpired. You knew you only had about one more day before he came to find you, but you kept hoping maybe by then you’d have gotten yourself together enough.
But surprise to no one, you hadn’t. You woke up the next day to aggressive knocking at your front door, and all it took was one look at Dean and you were melting into a puddle of tears once again.
“Oh, sweetheart.” To his credit, he wasted no time moving forward to pull you in for a hug, pressing your head to his chest and letting your tears and snot soak his—no doubt designer—sweater.
The two of you spent the rest of the day on the couch, your head hardly ever leaving his chest, except the few times he got up to use the bathroom or grab the food he had delivered to your door. You didn’t even have to tell him you had already gone through your stash of rocky road and cheese puffs, he just went ahead and ordered more.
“It’s not even about him,” you murmured out of the blue around hour six of couch potato status. You felt him look down at you. “I just feel so stupid.”
“You aren’t stupid,” he assures you.
“Yes, I am. Of course I wouldn’t end up with my high school boyfriend. Of course he would cheat on me if we were long distance. Of course he kept me around as some second option. And I did the same to him, really. I was just too stupid to realize it sooner.”
“Honey.” He readjusts, making you lift his head to look at him. “You chose to believe a person was being honest with you. You were honest with him; you told him how you felt and he manipulated you—“
“He didn’t manipulate me.” You roll your eyes.
“He manipulated you.” He sends you a look. You shrink a bit. “It’s your first relationship. Go easy on yourself.”
“Is that why you’re Mr. No-Commitment? Bad first relationship?” You ask half-joking.
He gets a funny sort of look on his face. “Yeah.” He swallows. “Exactly.”
Dean lets you wallow for about another week. But when you start turning down any outing that involves you wearing something other than sweatpants and a stained big t-shirt, even to places he knows you love; like the movies, bookstores, even to Malone’s for ice cream, he stages a coup.
“Alright, get up.” He barges into your bedroom, not bothering to glance at you on your bed, and immedaitely walks into your closet. You don’t get much else out other than an outraged squeal before he’s chucking a pair of jeans and a shirt at your head. “Take a shower, you’ve got twenty minutes.”
He leaves again with a slam of the door, and you stay frozen in place just staring at the space he occupied just a moment ago.
“And don’t think I won’t come back in there,” he threatens through the wood. You grumble to yourself, but make your way to your bathroom.
Twenty five minutes later, you and Dean are walking through the quad, one of you cheerfully strolling and taking in the spring afternoon, the other still moping and wishing the weather matched your mood a bit more.
“Isn’t this nice?” He prompts from beside you, motioning to the green grass and lush trees. “Actually feeling the sun instead of blocking it out with the curtains in your bedroom?”
“Aren’t I allowed at least one more week of moping? Isn’t that breakup code or something?”
“You’re asking me?” He eyes you.
“I got cheated on by my long term boyfriend, Dean. I should be allowed to wallow in my misery for at least another few days.”
He stops abruptly, taking your arm to pull you to the side of the walkway, out of foot traffic. “No.” He crosses his arms over his broad chest, his biceps flexing beneath the thin material of his t-shirt.
“No?”
“No. You’re not allowed to wallow anymore.”
“Says who?” You question, copying his stance by crossing your own arms. “The guy who never does relationships? The guy who constantly avoids emotional intimacy so he doesn’t get hurt? Great, glad I’m taking your advice.” You roll your eyes and turn to walk away, but he reaches out to grab hold of you.
“That’s not—“ he cuts himself off, breathing through his nose frustratedly. “Look, maybe if you were wallowing about something actually worth wallowing over, I’d let you.”
“Excuse me?”
“But you aren’t,” he cuts you off, completely unfazed by your outrage. “You’re not actually upset over him. You’re not mourning your relationship, you’re just beating yourself up over something that isn’t your fault.” That quiets you immediately.
“I’m not—“ you begin, but don’t finish the thought, not confident enough in yourself to argue.
“You should be mad at him, but you’re not. You’re mad at yourself. And that I won’t stand for. Not when you’re the last person to deserve it.”
You stare at him with your mouth slightly agape, blinking like he just spoke a foreign language.
“I know you, okay? And I won’t let that fucking asshole destroy your self-confidence and make you believe you’re not a fucking prize, because you are. He’s an idiot for treating you the way he did, but even he knows what a gift you are because he was willing to trick you into staying with him. So you wanna be angry at someone? Be angry at him for being a manipulative bastard, don’t be angry at yourself for seeing the best in people.”
You’re silent for a few beats, the words melting into you like butter on warm toast. He paces a bit, like the adrenaline wore off and he’s just now realized all he’s said.
“Okay,” you murmur, because you’re not sure what else to say. Dean looks at you then, like he was expecting more of a fight and your surrender was a bit anticlimactic. He nods, more to himself, and extends a hand out toward you.
“Glad we’re in agreement. Now—“ You tentatively place your own hand in his. “Let’s go get some ice cream.”
As you sit in the booth across from him at Malone’s, his eyes downcast into the bowl and avoiding eye contact, you watch him with a new set of eyes. From the first day you met Dean, you’d always seen him as the easy-going, lighthearted, good-time guy. You wrote him off, truthfully, just like nearly everyone did.
And then, when you grew closer as the years went by, you attributed his different behavior towards you as merely friendship. You were in a relationship and he didn’t do serious, what else would you be besides friends?
But now…
“Hey Dean?” He hums, still not looking up to meet your eyes. “Do you like me?”
This time, he does look up at you. He nervously chuckles, his metal spoon clanging into the glass bowl.
“What do you mean? Of course I like you, why would I be friends with you if I didn’t—“
“No, I mean do you like, like me?” You feel as though you might as well hand him a sticky note and ask him to circle yes or no like you’re in eight grade homeroom again.
“I—“ You bite your cheek to hide your grin. You don’t think you’ve ever managed to make Dean speechless before. You doubt anyone has been able to up until now.
“I mean…I just broke up with someone. So, probably not super soon, but maybe we could go out on a date sometime?” You suggest with more confidence than you probably should have.
You can see his throat bob as he swallows thickly. “Uh…yeah. I’d…like that.”
You can’t help the thrill that runs through you; you’d managed to make Dean Di Laurentis blush from nerves. “Great.” You smile brightly and return to your ice cream in front of you, feeling lighter than you have in years. Dean lets out a relieved sigh and then returns to his ice cream as well, a small smile tucked into the corner of his mouth like a secret.
Summary: Waking up to the smell of coffee only to find Dean in the kitchen, wearing nothing but grey sweatpants making pancakes. Because you sent him it on TikTok. But it gets a little heated.
Warnings: Soft kisses, mentions of deans morning wood, mentions of having sex.
You toss and turn in Deans navy blue sheets, it was morning in the off campus house which meant peace, maybe some spared time for a little morning sex, or just some soft kisses. You open your eyes, the sun seeping out of his curtains.
You turn your head to look at your boyfriend, but he wasn’t there. That’s weird, normally he always is up after you. You look at your phone and don’t see any text messages saying goodbye, so he’s clearly still in the off campus house somewhere. You get up from the warm and cozy bed that smells like Dean. You walk over to Deans closet.
You look in his closet and find an oversized shirt. You slip it on your bare skin, it almost shows your underwear but it doesn’t matter, it’s cute and it’s simple, you knew the other hockey players were sleeping so you had to be quiet. You open Deans door. And quietly go by the stairs.
You tip toe down the stairs, making sure they don’t creek. You finally make it to the end of the stairs. You hear noises coming from the kitchen, mixing noises. Was Tucker up cooking breakfast? But when you looked in the hallway earlier his door was closed so no way.
You go into the kitchen and see Dean, in Grey sweatpants, his morning wood still very clear. You look up at deans chest, his abs were to die for. Dean never wears shirts, one of the best parts of dating him.
“Hey baby, did you get a good night sleep?” His voice was groggy from sleep. Dean kisses your lips, his lips were pink and soft, they weren’t chapped or anything.
“Yeah, I slept well” you say as you pull back from the kiss.
Dean plates up the pancakes, “here baby, let me just look for the syrup”
“Hey, theses are like the ones from the TikTok I sent you” you smile, no one has actually paid attention to you with stuff like this.
“They are, I love spoiling my girlfriend, she deserves the world and the universe and everything else” he hands you the sryup
You smile and start laughing, you couldn’t help it. You drizzle the syrup on the pancakes, you cut it slowly with your knife and fork and feed dean.
You love soft moments like this. Dean leans in after he swallows the bite of the sweet golden brown pancake. He kisses you, you put your hands into his soft golden blonde locks. He lifts you up, he carries you up to his room to have some soft morning sex, your favorite kind. You smile, you love this life. You love Sunday mornings.
dean only found out you were a tutor because he was skipping class.
if anyone asked, he’d deny it immediately. he had every intention of attending the lecture that afternoon. he really did. unfortunately, beau had convinced him to leave halfway through with the promise of coffee and food, and dean had decided that sounded significantly better than sitting through another hour of listening to a professor talk about material he’d never remember anyway. he was cutting through one of the academic buildings when he happened to glance through an open doorway, and suddenly the rest of his afternoon ceased to matter.
you were sitting at a table near one of the windows, completely surrounded by textbooks. there were highlighters scattered everywhere, color-coded notes spread across the tabletop, and a half-finished coffee sitting beside your elbow. dean had seen you in plenty of situations by now. he’d seen you nervous, embarrassed, flustered, and desperately trying to avoid him. he’d never seen you like this. you were talking confidently, explaining something while pointing at a page in a textbook, and for the first time since meeting you, there wasn’t a trace of uncertainty in your expression. you looked comfortable. completely comfortable. honestly, it caught him off guard enough that he stopped walking altogether.
then he noticed the guy sitting across from you.
at first dean didn’t think much of it. obviously there was another student there. tutoring generally required at least two people. but the longer he watched, the more annoyed he became. the guy wasn’t paying attention to a damn thing you were saying. every time you pointed toward the textbook, he’d look for maybe half a second before his eyes drifted back to your face. every time you smiled politely, he smiled like you’d personally handed him the greatest gift of his life. after a few minutes it became painfully obvious that he wasn’t there because he needed help studying. he was there because he liked you.
the worst part was that you clearly had no idea.
you just kept talking.
dean watched you spend nearly ten minutes explaining some concept while the guy stared at you like you hung the moon. every now and then you’d push your glasses back up your nose or laugh softly at something awkward he’d said, and each time the guy looked even more interested. meanwhile, you remained completely oblivious. dean honestly couldn’t decide whether it was adorable or infuriating. probably both.
he should’ve left.
a normal person would’ve left.
instead, he stayed.
the tutoring session eventually ended, and dean found himself lingering in the hallway outside the room. he wasn’t entirely sure why. maybe curiosity. maybe annoyance. maybe something significantly more embarrassing that he wasn’t interested in examining. whatever the reason, he remained exactly where he was as you started gathering your notes and shoving books into your bag.
the guy, unfortunately, made no move to leave.
instead, he leaned against the table and smiled.
dean immediately hated him.
even from across the room, he could tell what was happening. the guy wasn’t subtle. he was leaning closer than necessary, smiling too much, finding excuses to keep the conversation going even though the tutoring session had clearly ended. you looked slightly confused but polite enough to keep answering him. dean watched the entire thing unfold with growing irritation.
then the guy asked you out.
dean couldn’t hear the exact words, but he didn’t need to.
your expression gave everything away.
you blinked at him.
laughed awkwardly.
then answered in a way that clearly suggested you hadn’t realized he’d been flirting.
the guy tried again.
somehow you still didn’t get it
dean actually rubbed a hand over his face.
it was unbelievable.
you could analyze books, ace exams, tutor half the campus, and somehow remain completely incapable of recognizing when somebody was interested in you.
the guy tried a third time.
that was apparently dean’s limit.
before he could think better of it, he pushed open the door and walked inside.
you looked up immediately.
your entire face changed the second you saw him.
surprise.
confusion.
then suspicion.
dean ignored all three.
he walked straight over to your table and stopped beside your chair. the guy looked annoyed by the interruption. good. dean hoped he was annoyed.
“there you are,” dean said casually
you stared.
“dean?”
he smiled down at you before looking at the guy.
the guy looked back.
something immediately shifted.
it wasn’t loud or dramatic. it was just one of those silent male conversations that happened entirely through eye contact. dean knew exactly what the other guy was thinking because he’d been in his position before. who the hell is this? why does he know her? why is he standing so close?
dean enjoyed every second of it.
“you ready?” he asked.
your eyebrows furrowed.
“ready for what?”
for a second, dean thought he’d have to explain himself.
then understanding flashed across your face.
slowly.
very slowly.
you finally realized what he was doing.
the guy noticed it too.
“wait,” he interrupted. “you two know each other?”
dean almost laughed.
know each other.
right.
he looked down at you.
then back at the guy.
“yeah,” he said. “she’s my girlfriend.”
the lie came out far too easily.
the second it left his mouth, the room went completely silent.
you froze.
the guy froze.
dean remained annoyingly calm.
the student’s expression visibly fell apart. disappointment hit him so hard it was practically painful to watch. dean would’ve felt bad if he wasn’t too busy enjoying himself.
“oh.”
that was all the guy managed.
just oh.
dean nearly smiled.
you were still staring at him.
he could feel it.
could practically hear the questions bouncing around inside your head.
what are you doing?
why are you doing this?
have you completely lost your mind?
all reasonable questions.
dean planned on ignoring every single one of them.
the guy awkwardly gathered his things, muttered something about seeing you later, and practically fled the room. dean waited until he disappeared completely before finally looking back down at you.
the second your eyes met his, you narrowed them.
“your girlfriend?”
dean shrugged.
“seemed effective.”
“effective?”
“he left, didn’t he?”
your mouth actually fell open.
for a second you seemed genuinely speechless.
then realization hit.
dean watched it happen in real time.
the way your eyes widened.
the way your expression changed.
the way you suddenly looked entirely too pleased with yourself.
oh no.
you’d figured it out.
“dean.”
“what?”
“were you jealous?”
he laughed immediately.
mostly because the alternative was admitting the truth.
“don’t start.”
“you were.”
“i wasn’t.”
“you absolutely were.”
you sounded delighted.
which was unfortunate.
because you were right.
dean leaned against the table and looked away for a moment, already regretting every decision that had led him here. the worst part was that he’d walked into the room fully intending to play it cool. somehow he’d ended up pretending to be your boyfriend in front of another guy and exposing himself in the process.
meanwhile, you looked happier than he’d seen you all week.
your smile was impossible to miss.
and suddenly dean couldn’t remember why he’d been annoyed in the first place.
he just knew he was staring at you again.
staring long enough that your smile slowly faded.
long enough that the teasing disappeared from your expression.
long enough for the air between you to become something else entirely.
neither of you spoke.
you simply looked at each other across the table, surrounded by forgotten textbooks and scattered notes.
for the first time since walking into the room, dean realized he didn’t regret what he’d done.
not even a little.
because pretending to be your boyfriend had been surprisingly easy.
a little too easy, actually.
and judging by the way you were looking at him now, he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed.
Summary: Y/n doesn’t meet Phil’s expectations during an ice skating competition, which results in an unleashed fury and Garett discovering more about y/n’s hidden bruises.
TW: abûse, Phil Graham
Word Count: 2.5K
The arena still smelled like cold metal and sharpened blades.
Even after the crowd had thinned and the bright competition lights dimmed to a softer glow, the scent lingered in Y/N’s lungs as she unlaced her skates in the locker room. Her thighs burned from the routine. Her right ankle pulsed with every movement. And somewhere beneath the adrenaline and exhaustion sat the same heavy feeling she’d carried since the moment her blade hit the ice wrong during the quad attempt.
Not enough rotation.
She already knew before the judges flashed the scores.
Third place.
Respectable to everyone else. A failure to Phil Graham.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she shoved her guards onto her skates. Around her, girls laughed and hugged coaches while cameras flashed outside the room. Someone told her she skated beautifully. Another complimented her performance.
Y/N smiled politely through all of it.
Because none of those people mattered.
Not when Phil Graham was waiting outside with disapproval on his face.
Y/n was sitting in the stands and staring at the ice, replaying her performance in her mind and hating herself for the mistake. She could not bring herself to face Phil.
Even if she had an off-campus studio apartment, she still drove home every weekend for practice and sometimes during the week as well. Y/n spent more time with Phil and trainers than anyone else, which meant escaping his wrath was unavoidable.
Ice skating is not an easy sport, she had fallen on the ice several times, bruising her body. Even now as she was better, her body was still covered in bruises, some of which were because of Phil.
She hadn’t dared tell anyone. Of course Garett knew about Phil’s abuse, but as they got older and Phil stopped hitting Garett, he thought the same applied to y/n as well. But y/n wasn’t strong enough to fight her father, so she just stayed silent and decided not to drag Garett into it.
Suddenly, she felt a hand on her shoulder.
“Thought you’d still be hiding in here.”
Garrett leaned against the frame in his dark Briar hockey hoodie, one shoulder carrying that effortless confidence people always noticed first. But Y/N knew him too well. Knew the tightness around his mouth meant he was watching her carefully.
“Hi” she mumbled tiredly.
He snorted. “Come on, stop hiding, let’s go. I’ll take you home.”
A tiny smile tugged at her lips despite herself.
Garrett pushed off the doorway and walked over, grabbing one of her skate bags before she could protest.
“You got third at nationals,” he said. “That’s insane.”
“I was supposed to land the quad.”
“You were also supposed to not look half dead afterward.”
“Had too much training the day before, was too tired.”
The sentence had too many things hidden inside. Too much training was a given, but it never exhausted y/n, it was Phil’s hits from yesterday that left her body aching and struggling to comply during the competition.
“Jesus,” he muttered. “You spend too much time around figure skaters.”
For a second, things felt normal.
Back before hockey practices and competitions and separate apartments and college schedules stretched the distance between them.
Garrett had always been the shield between her and their father.
Until he left for Briar.
Not intentionally. Life had simply happened. Hockey consumed him. Figure skating consumed her. Calls became texts. Texts became occasional check-ins. Even now that y/n got accepted to Briar and continued her studies there, the distance between those two remained. There was just not enough time in the day, and even if it were, Phil would force y/n to practice more.
And Phil—
Phil got worse when nobody was watching.
“You see Dad?” Garrett asked casually.
The question stiffened her spine instantly.
“Mm.” She shoved a sweatshirt over her bruised shoulders. “He left after scores.”
If Phil was here he would have approached y/n with fury a long time ago. Not encountering him, meant he left and was most likely waiting to unleash his disappointment later, in private.
Garrett frowned but didn’t look concerned. Why would he? Phil always iced them out after losses. Silent treatment was practically tradition in the Graham household.
“He’ll get over it,” Garrett said.
Y/N forced another smile.
Sure.
Eventually.
Outside the arena, freezing wind whipped against her face. Reporters still lingered near the entrance barriers while athletes hauled luggage through slush-covered sidewalks. Garrett tossed her bag into the backseat of his Jeep before climbing in beside her.
“You hungry?”
“Too tired to eat.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
She leaned her head against the cold window. “Maybe.”
“Perfect. Then I’ll stop by Malone’s and get us something.”
Garett went to drop y/n off before heading to get take out. The drive back to her apartment was mostly quiet. Garrett filled the silence with random complaints about his coach and teammates while she listened with half-closed eyes. It felt strangely comforting. Familiar.
Safe.
When they pulled up outside her building, Y/N made a move for the door.
“You go rest,” Garrett ordered. “I’ll get takeout and be right back.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I know. That’s why it’s called being nice.”
She rolled her eyes weakly.
“There’s leftover pasta upstairs.”
“Tragic. I’m still getting burgers.”
Y/N laughed softly under her breath as she climbed out.
Inside the apartment, warmth replaced the icy bite of the night air. She dropped her skate bag beside the couch.
Silence flooded the apartment.
Y/N exhaled shakily.
Her body ached now that the adrenaline wore off completely. She moved slowly around the kitchen, setting out plates mostly to keep her hands busy. The apartment lights were dim, casting soft shadows across the counters.
Then—
The front door unlocked.
Her stomach dropped instantly.
Garrett never knocked, but he also never came back that fast.
Slowly, Y/N turned around.
Phil Graham stood in the doorway.
Still in his dark coat from the competition.
Still wearing that expression.
The one that made her feel eight years old again.
Disappointment.
Cold. Sharp. Controlled.
“You embarrassed me tonight.”
Y/N swallowed hard. “Dad—”
“A triple?”
His voice stayed dangerously calm as he stepped inside.
“A fucking triple.”
“I lost the landing edge—”
“You played safe.”
The door clicked shut behind him.
Every instinct in her body screamed.
Y/N took a careful step backward. “I still placed.”
Phil laughed once under his breath.
“Third.”
The word sounded filthy coming from him.
“You think third matters? You think sponsors care about third? You think coaches remember third?”
Her pulse pounded violently now.
“Dad, please—”
“You got scared.”
“I was injured—”
His hand slammed against the counter beside her hard enough to make her flinch.
“Don’t make excuses.”
Y/N’s breathing shortened.
She knew this version of him.
The dangerous one wasn’t the yelling.
It was the quiet.
“I trained you better than that,” Phil said. “Do you understand how much money I’ve spent on your skating?”
She stared at the floor.
Wrong move.
His fingers caught her jaw instantly, forcing her head upward painfully.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you.”
Fear crawled cold beneath her skin.
“I said I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“That’s your problem. Sorry is all you ever are.”
Then he shoved her.
Hard.
Y/N stumbled backward into the edge of the kitchen island, pain exploding through her hip. Before she could recover, Phil grabbed her arm and yanked her upright again.
“You had one job tonight.”
“Dad—stop—”
His grip tightened.
“You’re weak.”
The words hit almost harder than the shove.
Weak.
Too emotional.
Too soft.
Too fragile.
All the things he’d called her since childhood.
Phil’s hand struck her across the face so fast her vision blurred sideways.
The ringing in her ears came first.
Then pain.
Y/N gasped, stumbling into the dining chair.
“Stand up.”
Her body froze instead.
Wrong choice again.
Phil moved toward her—
And the apartment door suddenly opened.
Garrett walked in holding a paper takeout bag and two drinks balanced in one hand.
For one single second, nobody moved.
Garrett looked from Y/N clutching the side of her face—
To Phil towering over her—
To the terror on her expression.
The takeout bag slipped from Garrett’s fingers.
Fries scattered across the floor.
And Garrett froze completely.
Like every buried memory had just ripped itself back open.
Like his body had stopped functioning before his brain could catch up.
The sound of the takeout bag hitting the floor echoed through the apartment, but it felt distant. Muffled. All Garrett could hear was blood rushing violently in his ears as he stared at Y/N.
Her hand pressed against her cheek.
Fear in her eyes.
Phil standing over her.
And suddenly he was back in his house again.
Standing in the kitchen while his father slammed him against cabinets after a bad hockey game.
He was a child, hearing Y/N crying quietly through the bathroom door while she insisted she’d “just fallen during practice.”
He was back in his childhood room, promising himself that once he left for Briar, things would finally stop.
Because Phil didn’t touch him anymore.
Because Garrett got bigger.
Stronger.
Because eventually he learned how to shove back.
But Y/N—
Oh God.
Garrett’s stomach twisted violently.
Phil turned first. His expression barely shifted, like getting caught meant nothing.
“Garrett.”
That calm voice snapped something inside him.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Garrett’s voice came out low. Dangerous.
Y/N flinched at the tone automatically.
Garrett noticed immediately.
And that hurt almost worse.
Phil straightened slowly. “This doesn’t concern you.”
Garrett laughed once. Sharp and disbelieving.
“You hit her.”
“She needs discipline.”
Before the last word fully left his mouth, Garrett crossed the room.
Fast.
He shoved Phil backward hard enough that the older man stumbled into the counter.
“Don’t touch her,” Garrett snapped.
Phil’s face darkened instantly. “Watch your fucking tone.”
“No,” Garrett barked. “You watch yours.”
Y/N’s pulse thundered painfully as both men squared up in the middle of her kitchen.
For a terrifying second, they looked identical.
Same broad shoulders.
Same furious eyes.
Except Garrett looked horrified beneath the anger.
Phil recovered quickly, sneering. “She blew the competition.”
“She got third in nationals!”
“She failed.”
Garrett looked like he might actually swing at him.
Y/N pushed herself upright immediately despite the sharp ache in her ribs. “Garrett.”
He ignored her.
“All this time you’ve been acting like some proud fucking parent while you’re doing this?”
Phil scoffed. “You think you know anything about pressure? About what it takes to make champions?”
“No,” Garrett said coldly. “I know what it takes to make your kids terrified of you.”
Silence cracked through the room.
Phil’s jaw clenched.
Then his eyes slid toward Y/N.
Disgust.
Blame.
Like this was somehow her fault.
“You should’ve kept your mouth shut,” he muttered.
Garrett stepped directly between them.
“Get out.”
Phil laughed quietly. “Or what?”
Garrett took one step closer.
And suddenly it was obvious.
He wasn’t a scared teenager anymore.
Phil saw it too.
Something uncertain flickered across his face for the first time all night.
“Get,” Garrett said again, voice shaking with rage, “the fuck out.”
The silence stretched heavily.
Then Phil grabbed his coat.
“You’re both unbelievable,” he muttered before heading for the door.
The apartment slammed silent the second he left.
Garrett stood frozen in the middle of the kitchen.
Breathing hard.
Still staring at the door like he couldn’t fully process what had just happened.
Y/N slowly lowered herself into one of the dining chairs, pressing an ice pack from the freezer against her ribs with trembling fingers.
Neither of them spoke.
The room felt unbearably quiet now.
Garrett finally turned around.
And the second he really looked at her, the anger on his face cracked apart.
Her cheek was already bruising.
There were fingerprints forming on her wrist.
And she wouldn’t look him in the eyes.
“Y/N…”
His voice broke slightly.
She swallowed hard.
“I’m okay.”
Garrett actually looked offended by the words.
“No,” he said immediately. “No, don’t do that.”
She stared down at the ice pack.
He dragged both hands through his hair, pacing once through the kitchen before stopping again.
His breathing still sounded uneven.
“How long?” he asked finally.
Y/N’s grip tightened around the ice pack.
Garrett’s eyes searched her face desperately.
“How long has this been happening?”
Silence.
The kind that answered everything before words ever could.
Garrett’s expression slowly changed.
Confusion first.
Then realization.
Then horror.
“No,” he whispered.
Y/N blinked quickly, eyes burning.
“Y/N.”
She stayed quiet.
Garrett stepped closer. “Did he—” His voice failed entirely. He swallowed hard. “Did he keep doing this after I left?”
Still nothing.
And Garrett looked like he was falling apart standing there.
“Please answer me.”
Y/N’s chest tightened painfully.
Because she knew what the truth would do to him.
“I didn’t want you distracted,” she whispered weakly.
Garrett stared at her.
Like he physically couldn’t understand the sentence.
“What?”
“You finally got away from him in a way, not completely but enough to just not worry all the time you know,” she said quietly. “You had hockey and Briar and your team and—”
“So you let him hurt you instead?”
The words came out harsher than he meant them to.
Y/N flinched instantly.
Garrett closed his eyes like he hated himself for it.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, stepping back. “Fuck, I didn’t mean—”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Don’t say that.”
His voice cracked completely this time.
Y/N finally looked at him.
And Garrett looked wrecked.
Actually wrecked.
“I should’ve known,” he whispered.
“You couldn’t have.”
“How?” he snapped suddenly. “How could I not know?”
His eyes darted over her face again like he was trying to replay every interaction from the past few years.
“The bruises…”
“I skate, Garrett.”
“Excuses.”
Garrett turned away sharply, pressing both hands against the back of his neck while breathing unevenly.
“Jesus Christ…”
His voice sounded sick.
“He stopped hitting me and I thought…” Garrett laughed bitterly to himself. “I thought maybe he was done.”
Y/N stayed quiet.
Because what could she even say to that?
Garrett suddenly looked back at her, eyes glassy with anger and guilt.
“All those times you said you were sore after training.”
She looked down.
“All those times you canceled plans.”
Silence.
Garrett’s jaw tightened violently.
“And I just believed you.”
Garrett just stared at her.
Part of him had wanted to believe everything was fine.
Because the alternative was this.
His little sister sitting in front of him bruised and shaking while holding an ice pack against broken trust and probably broken ribs.
Garrett crouched down in front of her suddenly.
Carefully.
Like he thought touching her wrong might break her further.
“Hey.”
Y/N finally met his eyes again.
And Garrett looked devastated.
“I’m sorry.”
The apology sounded torn out of him.
“You have nothing to apologize for.”
“I left you with him.”
“You had to go to Briar.”
The tears Y/N had been holding back finally burned over.
Garrett noticed instantly.
“Oh, y/n,” he said softly before he could stop himself.
That did it.
Y/N broke.
Just silent tears sliding down her face as years of fear and exhaustion finally cracked open.
And Garrett…. Garrett looked like watching her cry was killing him.
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summary: in which nobody realises how much of the group's heart y/n holds until she's the one lying in a hospital bed instead of taking care of everyone else.
notes: thank you so much for this very sweet request, i loved writing it! seriously this group owns my whole heart. i love them. i love them. i love them <3
✩.* found family fics!
✩.* found family masterlist
ꪆৎ
the first sign that something was wrong was the fact that you didn't answer your phone. normally, that wouldn't mean much. people missed calls all the time.
except you always answered your phone, or at the very least, sent a text.
especially when it was allie calling, which was why the third unanswered call made something uncomfortable settle low in her stomach, a feeling she couldn't quite explain.
"that's weird."
grace glanced up from where she was sitting across the table at the coffee shop, "what?"
"y/n isn't answering her phone."
sabrina frowned, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "maybe she's taking a nap?"
allie was already shaking her head. "she texted me forty minutes ago."
allie tries calling you again, however to her dismay it goes straight to voicemail, and the knot in her stomach tightens.
twenty minutes later she's outside your shared dorm, digging through her purse for the keys. the door has barely opened before allie's stomach sinks.
you hadn't even made it to your room. you were curled up on the couch in the common area, one of the throw blankets dragged haphazardly over your legs.
for a second you don't even seem to notice she's there. your head is tipped back against the cushions, eyes squeezed shut, one arm wrapped tightly around your stomach. every instinct in allie's body starts screaming.
she knew instantly that something was wrong. you looked awful. completely, genuinely awful.
pale enough to make allie's chest tighten, your face pinched with pain, your breathing shallow and uneven. one hand was pressed so tightly against your stomach that your knuckles had gone white, like letting go for even a second might somehow make it worse.
"jesus christ," allie breathes, dropping her bag by the door. "y/n?"
your eyes crack open slightly at the sound of her voice, and somehow, seeing the tears already gathering in your eyes makes allie feel even worse.
you try to smile, but the minimal action looks painful, like even moving the muscles in your face takes effort.
"hi."
the greeting comes out weak, barely above a whisper and allie's stomach drops even further, because this isn't you.
you're the person who talks with your hands, who fills every silence, who somehow manages to find something funny in every situation.
even when you're sick, especially when you're sick.
right now you sound exhausted.
drained.
like simply getting that one word out had cost you energy you didn't have to spare. "oh my god," allie says immediately, crossing the room.
"you look terrible."
a breath that might have been a laugh leaves you, or maybe a wince, it's hard to tell.
"thank you."
"i'm serious." she drops into a crouch beside the couch, one hand immediately finding your forehead.
"jesus, you're burning up."
your eyes close again. "i don't feel very good."
the understatement is so ridiculous that it would almost be funny if you didn't look like you were about thirty seconds away from passing out.
"what happened?"
"nothing."
"y/n."
you let out a slow breath. "my stomach hurts."
allie stares. you stare back for approximately two seconds before abruptly folding forward, one hand shooting toward the edge of the couch as your eyes squeeze shut.
the sound that leaves you isn't quite a gasp, isn't quite a groan, just pain.
raw and immediate.
allie's heart practically stops, she'd never seen you like this before.
you were the girl who powered through migraines, the girl who submitted assignments with fevers, the girl who insisted she was fine when she very clearly wasn't. seeing you unable to sit upright feels wrong. incredibly, undeniably wrong.
"we're going to the hospital."
"allie-"
"hospital."
"it's probably nothing."
"you literally can't sit up."
"that's dramatic."
allie gestures toward your current position. "you're folded in half, y/n."
you glance down at yourself, consider it, before nodding once. "okay."
a pause.
"maybe only a little dramatic."
-
twenty minutes later the pair were sitting in emergency. allie was drafting out a text to garrett, her fingers shaking.
allie
something's wrong with y/n
i'm taking her to the hospital
don't panic but maybe panic a little
the response came back in less than ten seconds.
garrett
fuck
which hospital
i'm coming
garrett had been halfway through lunch with the boys when the message from allie arrived. one second he was listening to logan argue with dean about something completely ridiculous and the next he was on his feet, chair scraping loudly against the floor.
everyone immediately stopped talking.
dean frowned.
"what?"
garrett was already reaching for his keys.
"y/n is in the hospital."
silence. absolute silence.
"what?"
"why?"
"what happened?"
"which hospital?"
"was there an accident?"
the questions came all at once and garrett didn't have any answers. somehow that was the worst part, because if he knew what was wrong maybe he could handle it.
instead all he had was a text message.
something's wrong.
hospital.
don't panic.
which was exactly the sort of message guaranteed to make him panic.
"i'm driving."
dean was already standing, “we're all coming"
-
by the time they arrived at the hospital sabrina and grace had too, sitting beside allie, waiting.
nobody looked relaxed, nobody looked okay.
the harsh fluorescent lights washed everyone out. the waiting room smelled faintly of coffee, antiseptic and exhaustion. people came and went, televisions murmured quietly overhead, time seemed to move strangely.
too slow, and yet too fast all at once.
dean had started pacing approximately fourteen seconds after arriving.
he hadn't stopped since.
back and forth. back and forth. wearing an invisible path into the hospital floor.
at some point he'd walked such a precise route between the reception desk and the vending machines that the nurse behind reception had started glancing up automatically every time he passed.
every now and then he'd drag a hand through his hair, ask if there were any updates, receive the same answer, before starting to pace again.
logan had bought six coffees, nobody drank them. they sat untouched on a nearby table, slowly going cold.
tucker had six different tabs open on his phone, every single one worse than the last.
"apparently if it ruptures-"
"tucker."
"what?"
"shut up."
"okay."
thirty seconds later.
"apparently recovery time-"
"tucker."
"right. i've got it, sorry"
garrett hadn't said much, which somehow worried everyone more.
he sat with his elbows on his knees and a folded information sheet in his hands. the nurse had given it to him forty minutes ago, he'd read it immediately, then read it again, and again, and again.
by now the edges had started to crease beneath his fingers while tiny white lines appeared where he'd folded and unfolded the paper too many times.
not because he was learning anything new, but because reading it felt better than doing nothing.
because doing nothing, and sitting in the waiting room helpless felt impossible, because every second he wasn't sitting right by your side looking at you felt wrong.
-
the thing nobody talks about later is the surgery.
or the diagnosis.
or even the fact that it had been appendicitis.
what everyone remembers is seeing you in the hospital room. that was the moment it became real.
the moment they finally saw you, hospital blanket wrapped around your shoulders despite the fact it wasn't cold.
hair messy, face pale.
hospital bracelet hanging loosely around your wrist, eyes glassy from exhaustion and pain medication.
small. you looked impossibly small.
for a second nobody moved. they'd all been imagining it, the hospital was abstract when it existed in a text message.
in updates from allie, in worried phone calls, in unanswered questions.
it was something happening somewhere else, something they couldn't quite picture.
but now, it wasn't abstract anymore.
there you were. curled beneath a blanket, one arm wrapped protectively around your stomach. you looked exhausted, fragile. smaller than any of them had ever seen you and suddenly it became terrifying, because this wasn't right.
this wasn't you.
you were supposed to be the person carrying snacks in your handbag for everyone else, the person forcing garrett to eat breakfast before practice, the person who somehow always noticed when somebody's smile looked a little forced.
the person who checked in, constantly, who remembered things, who took care of people. you were never supposed to be the person sitting in a hospital bed trying not to cry.
allie sat beside you, one hand wrapped tightly around yours. garrett was on the other side, not sitting, standing, like if he sat down something bad might happen.
every few seconds his eyes would scan your features.
checking. still there, still breathing, still okay.
or as okay as you could be.
he hadn't let go of your hand once, not once. his thumb moved absently over your knuckles, like he needed the physical confirmation that you were still next to him.
the automatic doors slid open behind him. nurses came and went, phones rang, doctors crossed the corridor.
you winced, barely. just slightly, the sort of movement most people would've missed. seven heads however immediately turned towards you, the reaction so automatic it would've been funny under any other circumstance.
"you okay?"
the words come from four different people at once. you blinked, mildly startled by the attention.
"yeah."
you weren't, everyone knew you weren't. your hand remained pressed protectively against your stomach. your face still tightened every few minutes when another wave of pain rolled through, and every single time it happened somebody in the group visibly tensed with you, as though they could somehow absorb part of it if they worried hard enough.
somehow you still managed a tired smile. "you guys don't have to stay."
logan looked genuinely offended, grace scoffed, sabrina stared, tucker looked like you'd personally insulted him and dean actually stopped pacing.
which might have been the most alarming thing he'd done all night.
"seriously?"
you blinked.
"what?"
"we're obviously staying."
"dean-"
"we're staying."
simple, final.
because there had never been any other option on the table.
you looked down. "i'm okay."
the shared expression around the room suggested absolutely nobody believed you.
"you've cried four times in the last hour," sabrina said gently.
"five," grace corrected.
allie lifted her hand, "six."
"guys."
"you cried because the nurse asked if you had allergies", grace states gently.
"that wasn't why i was crying."
"baby, you cried because they brought you apple juice," garrett said softly.
your face immediately flushed. “i was overwhelmed."
"exactly. that's not helping your argument."
the tiny smile that followed was enough to make the entire group visibly relax, which seemed ridiculous.
you had noticed it. the way they were watching you, the way dean kept pacing, the way garrett wouldn't let go, the way logan's jokes had completely disappeared, the way tucker kept looking up from his phone every thirty seconds just to make sure you were still okay. for the first time all day the brave smile slipped, just slightly.
fear replacing it. raw, honest, small.
everyone noticed and suddenly the room felt quieter, because they'd never seen that expression on your face before.
not once, not ever.
you were the strong one, the steady one, the safe place. seeing fear in your eyes felt wrong in a way none of them could explain.
garrett swallowed hard, dean looked away, grace squeezed allie's shoulder and logan stared at the floor. somehow the scariest part wasn't the surgery to come. it wasn’t the hospital or appendicitis itself.
it was seeing the person who always made everybody else feel safe looking like she needed someone to make her feel safe instead, and none of them were prepared for how much that would hurt.
summary: You and Dean figured that breaking up was the best decision for the both of you. But he is always one number away and you're still his favorite contact. or… in which there are 3 times you need each other and 1 time you stop running from it.
pairing: dean di laurentis x reader
w.c: 3.6K
warnings/content: exes; lots of feelings; fluff fluff; angst with a happy ending (sort of); canon divergence.
A/N: I really liked the song and it gave me huge angst vibes. this is a 3+1 one shot. I barely write in his format cause I never gave it a chance, but now I decided to give my writing a challenge. I liked it a lot. it's kind of little short drabbles but that still connect. aaaaand yes I changed my moodboard style again cause apparently I can't follow a pattern. gifs offer so much more to imagination, am I right?
The Cranberries’s Linger was playing softly through the radio as you drove back from visiting your parents. It was a three-hour drive, maybe two if there was no heavy traffic.
It became five though, because your car stopped and it didn't turn on anymore. It would have been a perfect weekend if your car hadn't broken down on the road.
“C'mon.” You kicked the tire after raising up your phone to get reception. There weren't even that many trees around. “Fucking hell.”
You stared at the phone screen, the little No Service icon mocking you. Of course because when things started going wrong, everything went wrong.
As soon as you got one bat of reception, you placed your phone to your ear. You only realized the number you dialed when he picked up.
“Hello?”
You stared blankly at the ground. What the fuck had you just done?
“Dean?”
A sigh on his end. “Did you butt dial me?”
“No.” You rolled your eyes, shoulders slumping in defeat. “You're my only chance. I only got one bar of reception and my battery is dying out—”
“What? Where are you? Is everything okay?”
“I'm fine.” You cut in to not lose your short time with your working phone. “My car broke down on the middle of fucking god knows. I… I wouldn't ask it if I didn't need it.” Pride was a hurtful thing that twisted at your chest and it clawed at your insides. Pride wasn't the only feeling. “But I need—”
“Send me your location.”
“Uh, okay but if you're busy—”
“I'm not.” You could hear a car door closing. “... inside your car?”
You sent the location to him and put your phone back to your ear again, having heard only partially of what he was saying.
“Hi, what? I didn't hear.”
“Are you inside your car? Is there anything else close by, like a.... a establishment?”
Your brows furrowed as you looked around, your gaze finding that old diner so you told him that.
“Is it open? Are there people in there?”
You squinted through the windshield, seeing the warm, yellow glow spilling out from the windows and the silhouette of a truck parked out front. “Yeah, a few people.”
“Alright,” he said, the sound of his turn signal clicking on through the phone. “Listen, go in there. Take your bag, make sure your car is locked and take your keys with you. Grab a booth or something, order a coffee, I don't know. I'll be there in about fifteen to twenty minutes.”
“Or… I can just wait inside the car.”
“It's getting dark.” Dean said in a deadpan tone that made you roll your eyes. “Can you just not stay in the middle of the road for my peace of mind?”
You should've said no. Why would you should give peace of mind to your ex? But since you didn't want him to give up from saving you…
“Fine, I'll go in.” You said between balancing your phone between your cheek and shoulder while you got your purse from the backseat.
The waitress, Marge, was kind and funny. When the rest of the customers left, she started talking to you and asking about the car trouble she saw you facing on the other side of the street. Both of you held a long conversation until the diner door jingled. You let go of the straw you were sipping your strawberry milkshake with to look at the newcomer.
Blonde. Red jumper. Slightly wet hair. Extremely hot.
And your ex. You had to remember that.
He slid next to you, offering one of his charming smiles to Marge, who smiled politely and asked if he wanted to order something. He said he wanted a latte. God, he's such a sweet tooth. “Your favorite?” He pointed to your milkshake.
You pulled it closer to you, glaring at him. “It's mine.”
“I just asked a question!”
“You always steal it.” You mumbled with the straw in your mouth.
“Yeah cause that's my favorite.” Dean pushed his hair back when a few wet strands had fallen on his forehead. “You never order strawberry.”
You snort, pulling the half finished cup away “What? Yes, I do. Why wouldn't I if it's my-”
“It's not your favorite.” Dean pulled the glass toward him, watching your reaction as he slowly put the straw in his mouth.
“It is though. You're just gaslighting me.” You ignore that he has taken your strawberry milkshake. Every time you ordered, you never finished it because you thought it was too sweet. And it was his favorite. Maybe, unconsciously, that was why you ordered the strawberry one every time. Our brains do have trouble with letting go of old habits, they seem to seek the ghost of what it was.
Marge came back and placed Dean's latte in front of him.
“You're a cute couple.” She said, casting a knowing glance at you while she cleaned a stain on the counter with a dishtowel.
“Oh, no, we're not—”
“Thank you.” Dean cut you off, didn't even bother to correct her or anything. After finishing your milkshake, he grabbed his latte and took a sip.
Your jaw snapped shut and your body, as usual, betrayed you in the worst way possible. You felt it as your cheek heated up.
Setting the empty milkshake glass down with a soft click, he shifted his focus to his own drink. "By the way," he started, blue eyes meeting yours "I called a tow company on the way here. They’re about forty minutes out. Since my car is already blocking yours and there’s no point in us standing out in that downpour….” he sipped his latte. “we’re going to be here for a bit.”
You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden pivot. "Forty minutes?”
"Probably closer to an hour with this weather," he added, lifting his latte. He didn't look at you as he spoke, his gaze fixed on the steam rising from the cup. “You hungry?”
You pondered the question, turning to check your car outside and the pouring rain, which was coming down in sheets now, turning the world outside the window into a blurred, gray painting.
“I guess I can eat while we wait.”
“Mhm, do you want the pancakes?”
When you looked back at him was already checking out the menu. You could hear Marge leave the room with a little laugh.
“I remember you loved those when we came here last year.” He added, looking up at you when you didn't answer his question.
You remember a lot about me. Guess two years dating would do that to two people.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
II. 𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑯𝒆 𝑾𝒊𝒏𝒔 𝑺𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈
The bass from the house party was so heavy it made the windows vibrate, a dull thud thud thud that followed Dean out onto the porch. The cool night air hit him as soon as he arrived outside, his sneakers crunching on the dead leaves, putting as much distance as he could between himself and the muffled, sounds of the party inside.
He just let out a long, shuddering breath when you picked up. In his defense, he expected to be ignored.
"We won," his voice was raspy and he sounded tired but relieved. "Double overtime. I swear to god, I thought my lungs were going to give out, but we pulled it off.”
Dean paused, tilting his head back to look up at the dark, empty sky, his thumb nervously rubbing the edge of his phone screen. "I know I shouldn't be calling. I told myself I wouldn't. But you were the first person I thought of." He let out a short, hollow laugh that quite reached his eyes. "The only person, really.”
You could hear him shift on the other end, the faint sound of the wind rustling past his microphone, and for a second, you imagined him standing there in the dark, looking just as lost as you felt.
"I heard," you said, your voice small. Guilt creeping in because you should've been there to see him win but at the same time you did the right thing by not going. "Everyone's talking about how great you guys were... congratulations, Dean."
On his end, the line went deathly quiet. You could almost feel the weight of his exhale, a long, shaky sound that carried the exhaustion of the game and the cure phone call.
“Thanks,” he finally whispered. “Why didn't you come?”
No, don't ask me that. You inhaled deeply before answering. A bad excuse you had come up with.
"I was studying. My finals are coming up." You still had a whole month for your finals, actually.
"It's just one night." Dean insisted. "You wouldn't fail your finals because you watched one game—"
"Dean, seriously?” you snapped. "Don't do that. Don't act like it's just a game, and don't act like you don't know exactly why I wasn't there.”
"I know why." His voice had dropped its softness. Now, it was guarded and clipped. "I just thought, after all this time, maybe we were past the point of avoiding each other.”
The silence that followed was different now. It was definitive. Reality setting in for what it truly was. Two people realizing that if they didn't pull the plug, they were going to fall right back into the same old habits that didn't belong to them anymore.
"Dean, we're not doing this. We're not avoiding each other. We're not doing this because we’re done. Remember?”
"Yeah," he said, shaking his head because he just realized how stupid he was for dialing your number. "I remember. I don't know why I called. It was a mistake."
"It was," you agreed, though the words felt like they were scraping your throat raw.
“I'm gonna go back to the guys.” You could hear him shift, the crunch of gravel under his sneakers as he turned back toward the warmth and noise of the house. “Have a good studying section for your finals.”
“And you have a good party.”
“Oh, I will.”
The first thing he did when he entered the noisy house was to go upstairs, throw his phone on his bed and close the door. Better not have any chances when he's drunk to the point of calling his ex.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
III. 𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝑯𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒂 𝑩𝒂𝒅 𝑫𝒂𝒚
“Why do you keep answering my calls?”
You were sitting on the cold floor of your dorm room, knees pulled up to your chest, wearing an oversized shirt that swallowed your frame. Your hair was held together by a fraying elastic.
“Seriously, Dean, why haven't you blocked my number?”
His line went silent for a long second and you thought he had hung up on you. But he speaks.
“I could ask you the same thing.” His tone is amused and you hate him even more for that.
“It would make it easier. It wouldn't even ring.” You said, picking at the fabric of your shorts.
“You can also just not call.”
“You're the only one who gets me when I'm like this.” You admit, voice cracking up as much as you force yourself to sound strong.
“Bad day?”
“I really bad one.”
“Wanna tell me about it?”
In a perfect world, you would say no and hang up. It was the right thing to do. But this wasn't a perfect world and you were far from perfect.
You spent an hour on the phone with your ex boyfriend, crying and sobbing and just letting out every fucking shit that had crashed on you during the week. Dean listened because that's what he does best.
“I feel like an idiot,” you admitted after you vented, the shame of the last hour finally settling in.
“Don't,” he cut in, his tone firm. “You’re a lot of things, but an idiot isn't one of them. You’re just exhausted.”
Your back complained as you stood up, having spent more than two hours in the same position.
He let out a short, quiet breath that sounded almost like a laugh when he heard your groan. “You’re getting off the floor now, right?”
“Yeah,” you breathed, slowly uncurling your legs and standing up. Your joints ached, and your head felt like it had been put through a grinder, but the suffocating panic had ended.
“Feeling a little better?”
“Yes.” The twitch in your lips that resembled a smile was only there because of him. Dean was still the only person who could pull that reaction out of you on bad days. “Thank you.”
“You're welcome.” He mumbled and you heard what sounded like him yawning.
“Go to sleep. Thanks for picking up.”
“I'm never ignoring your call.” He repeated, voice even lower now, muffled by the pillow he was likely pressing his face into.
You closed your eyes, the quiet of the dorm room feeling safer now. When you did that it almost felt as if you were beside him.
“Goodnight, Dean.”
“Goodnight, b—” He stopped himself right before the crime was done. Goodnight, baby may just have been the nail in the coffin. “Goodnight, sleep well, okay?”
“You too.”
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
IV. 𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑯𝒆'𝒔 𝑩𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒅
Behind him, the noise of his teammates was a constant, distracting hum. Logan was complaining about one of the new guys on the team, while Tucker and Garrett were arguing about where to head next. But Dean barely heard them. His focus was entirely on his phone.
He pulled it out of his duffel bag, his thumb finding your contact with a muscle-memory familiarity that he hadn't been able to break.
He didn't have to hesitate on calling you anymore because you had reached a common ground. No need to avoid each other like the plague, you could now be friends. Who said you couldn't be friends with your ex clearly hadn't met the two of you. Two mature people who definitely could be around each other without bringing up the past.
A few steps back, Tucker nudged Garrett, his eyes darting toward Dean’s profile.
That small, secret smirk had taken root at the corner of his mouth before the phone even reached his ear.
“There it is,” Tucker murmured, his voice laced with a knowing, tired sigh like a dad with a difficult child. “The look.”
Garrett and Logan followed his gaze, watching Dean intentionally fasten his pace, letting the gap between him and the rest of the group widen.
“Always the same,” Logan muttered, shaking his head, though there was no teasing to it but a hidden concern for a friend who wouldn't let go of his ex-girlfriend. “He’s calling her. Again.”
“Bro, we're headed off!” Garrett yelled so Dean could hear since he had walked a significant distance away from them.
“I'll meet you later!” Dean yelled back and his attention went right back to his phone when you picked up on the fourth ring. “Hey,” he said the moment you picked up. “I'm off the ice.”
“Oh? And how was practice?” You sounded careful not to raise your voice and he wondered if you were in the library.
“Good. Yeah. Are you at the library?” He reached the building where he suspected you were in.
“Mhm. And Miss Stewart is glaring at me.”
Dean let out a low, rough chuckle that vibrated through the speaker. “Sounds like she’s just jealous you’ve got something better to do than organize dusty archives.”
“Don't do her dirty like that.”
“Sorry,” he said, though he wasn't sorry at all. “Are you sitting at that corner spot?”
“How'd you know?”
“I don't know. I guess I know you a little too well?” His smirk grew into his dimpled grin as you looked up and caught him walking toward your table at the farm corner of the library. Miss Stewart staring daggers at his back.
You froze, your fingers hovering over your keyboard. “What are you… God. you can't live without me, can you?” You teased him, quickly recovering from your heart's doing a strange, stuttering skip.
When he reached your table, he didn't sit. He just leaned over, his hands braced on the wood, effectively blocking your view of the rest of the room and creating a small, private pocket of air that smelled faintly of ice and cedar. He lowered the phone, but he didn't hang up.
“Why should I when I have the choice of not to?” He clearly didn't want to provoke the librarian any longer since his tone lowered to slightly more private. “What you studying?” He pulled a chair to sit next to you, leaving his duffel bag on the floor.
“Nothing.” You offered him a tired smile, not letting slip how good he looked in that outfit. Dean knew how to dress, more than half of the population in Briar University was plenty aware of that. But it wasn't just the clothes, he walked with a confidence that inevitably made him more attractive. “Just finishing up answering emails for the students I'm tutoring.”
“How many left?”
You looked down at the laptop and press send on the last email, shutting it off. “I'm done.”
Outside, the campus was bathed in the bruised purple and gold hues of early evening. The sun was dipping below the horizon, casting long shadows across the buildings.
A few students blurred past on bicycles, others sat by a tree enjoying the end of the afternoon. No one was rushing to get to class — well, except for the ones who had evening lectures, of course — so the campus carried a calmer atmosphere.
“That was awful, oh my god.” You made a face as Dean recalled Drunk Shakespeare from last week. “Garrett cannot dance for the life of it.”
“Well the public was very happy with it, they didn't complain.” Dean pointed out. And it was true.
“His dance was terrible but people have eyes, Dean.”
He turned to you, an expression of disbelief. “What is that supposed to mean?”
You laughed at how much he sounded offended.
“He's hot. Y'all are. Now, moving on…”
“No, absolutely not.” Dean opened the door for you to get in first. “You think Garrett's hot? He's not even your type.”
“Who told you I have a type?”
“Baby.”
The smirk that had been dancing on his lips vanished, replaced by a look of sharp realization. He hadn't meant to say it and that's what caught him off guard.
You stood in line. A short one, three people. The two of you awkwardly looking anywhere else but each other.
Baby.
It was a slip. A reflex.
He made sure to put a mental note on not calling you that because friends definitely don't call each other baby. Well, he did call Logan that sometimes but it didn't mean the same thing obviously.
“I hear Summer is coming here this weekend?” You asked him, fingers tapping against your coffee cup.
Dean sighed as if the thought itself of his little sister arriving at Hastings would be too much. “Yeah, I'll pick her up from the airport. My parents are cooking every favorite meal of hers.”
“Aw, she's the baby of the family. Let them do that.”
“Favorite child, I guess.” Dean shrugged, lips tugging down in a pout. “They would never do that with me.”
“Oh, shut up.” You rolled your eyes, lifting your cup to your lips. “They totally would. Whenever they come to a game, they scream the loudest and smother you with kisses when they find you. It's cute.”
Redness crept up his neck, blooming dark and warm against the pale color of his shirt, quickly climbing to his cheeks. You covered your amusement with the rim of your cup.
“Wait, how'd you know Summer is coming?”
You shrugged. “We still talk. She told me.”
“You and my sister still talk.”
“Yes, Dean…” You drawled out. “Is that bad?”
“Well, I don't know. Summer loves to talk shit about me.” Dean was still thinking about that information actually.
You chuckled, head tilting to the side. “Mhm. We do that together now.”
Dean let out a sharp, incredulous laugh that drew a few looks from the people heading into the coffee shop. He sat up straighter, his smirk deepening into a look of genuine, albeit mock, betrayal.
His smile turned softer. “Summer always liked you,” he said quietly. It wasn't a question, but a statement of fact he’d known for years. He leaned back, his shoulders relaxing, gaze lifting to find yours again. “I don't know how or why ‘cause she never warms up to anyone that fast.”
“We bonded over Heated Rivalry.”
He gave you a puzzled look. “Is that a dish?”
“Let's call it that.” You shook your head, chuckling. “I… um. I like what we're doing.”
He stayed silent for a long beat, his thumb unconsciously rubbing against the heel of his palm as he studied you like you were something worth losing time with.
“Yeah?”
“Mhm.”
“I like it too.”
“I've missed you.” You don't look at him as you say it, deciding that staring at the rest of your coffee is best.
“Hey.” He tugged at your wrist so you'd look at him. “I've missed you too. It's nice having you around again.”
You offered him a mirror of his smile, a small, shy curve of your lips. You wondered then if that little bubbling in your chest meant healing. Maybe it could happen. Being friends with your ex. You and Dean were doing a good job at that, right?
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 Briar’s most promising football athletes, you had never been as uninterested as you were right now. He was good looking, sweet and attentive, but he didn’t make you want to stop time.
You actually wanted the night to end.
The waiter set down your plates, wishing you a nice evening before leaving.
‘’Are you coming to the game on Friday? My dad is gonna be here, so I was thinking we could go eat somewhere after. You, me…and him.’’
Your fork stopped halfway to your plate. ‘’You want me to meet your dad?!’’
‘’Yeah,’’ Miles replied simply. ‘’Do you not want to? Is it too soon? I would understand if—’’
You shook your head. ‘’No! I want to,’’ you said, forcing a smile.
Miles smiled back at you. ‘’Then it’s settled.’’
Fuck. What did you get yourself into?
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 — it all felt too much for a night you didn’t 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.
‘’Friday’s gonna be big,’’ he added, cutting into his food. ‘’Coach is already talking about the playoffs. If we win, we pretty much lock in our ranking.’’
‘’Right,’’ you said automatically, picking at your food.
Miles noticed the shift in your attention.
‘’You okay?’’ he asked, reaching over the table and stroking your hand. ‘’You’ve been kind of…far away tonight.’’
You blinked, removing your hand and hiding it under the table. ‘’Yeah. I’m fine.’’
He didn’t look convinced. ‘’You sure? Because it kinda feels like I’m talking to you, but you’re somewhere else.’’
You gave a small laugh that didn’t land right. ‘’I’m just tired, Miles. I’ve been at the rink all afternoon.’’
‘’Sorry. I forgot. How is the new program going?’’
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 boards…with a little groping or shower sex, but that was a secret.
‘’Good.’’
The answer came out flat.
Miles waited, like he expected more.
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 weren’t thinking about Dean anymore. Only Miles.
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 door… You even had a dream about him last night.
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 weren’t entirely with him.
Your phone buzzed against your thigh.
The sound nearly made you jump.
Without thinking, you pulled it out, seeing a notification from The Fifth Line’s Instagram.
The Fifth Line: #66 Di Laurentis taken off ice by medics 🚨🩺 Doubt he’ll be back for the rest of the game!
Your heart sank to your stomach. Medics. That meant Dean was hurt. Small injuries were common in hockey — a nosebleed, a fall that turned into a bruise, etc. —, but if Jules wrote that he won’t be back to finish the game, it must be serious.
You went to text Hannah about the game, trying to know more, but remembered she was working tonight and not attending.
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.
‘’Everything okay?’’ Miles asked, raising an eyebrow.
You looked up so quickly that you nearly dropped your phone. ‘’Yeah.’’
The lie came automatically.
His eyes narrowed slightly. ‘’Are you sure?’’
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.
‘’I have to go. I’m sorry,’’ you declared, standing from your chair and grabbing your jacket.
Miles blinked, clearly caught off guard. ‘’Wait, what?’’
You were being unfair. Horribly unfair. But staying here felt impossible.
‘’I'm sorry,’’ 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.
· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·
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.
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 Dean’s 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.
‘’Oh my god.’’
A few of them turned, but not many bothered hiding their nudity.
‘’Bunnies are not allowed in the locker room,’’ one of them said.
‘’She’s not a bunny, she’s Di Laurentis’s ice princess,’’ another one corrected, recognizing you.
‘’Garrett!’’ you called, catching him come out of the shower with, thankfully, a towel around him.
His head snapped to you and he walked over. Judging by your dress and heels, you hadn’t been in the stands cheering for the team. He ran a hand through his shower-damp hair. ‘’Hey, what are you doing here?’’
Before you could say anything, a voice came from the showers.
‘’Hey, G, did you steal Birdie’s shampoo? He’s moaning about it.’’
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.
‘’Well, this is a surprise,’’ Dean pointed out, standing before you with his glistening wet chest. ‘’I haven’t seen you here in a while.’’
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?
‘’I know. I saw what happened on the ice. I just…wanted to check in on you,’’ you replied, suddenly feeling foolish.
Dean raised an eyebrow. ‘’You were at the game? In that dress? I don’t think so.’’
He caught you there.
You sighed. ‘’Okay, fine. I wasn’t at the game.’’
‘’Where’s Mike?’’
‘’Miles,’’ you corrected. ‘’And that’s none of your business.’’
‘’I take it Mr. Football doesn’t know you’re here.’’
‘’Can we not talk about Miles—’’
‘’What are you doing here, princess?’’ Dean asked, stepping closer and lifting your chin. ‘’Because no one runs off from their boyfriend to see their ex without a reason.’’
Fuck.
How did he even know you ran here?
‘’Look, I’m not going to call Giles and snitch on you. I just want you to tell me why you’re here — no bullshit —, because I think we both know what you’re avoiding to say.’’
‘’His name is Miles—’’
‘’It doesn’t change anything.’’
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.
‘’You’re right,’’ you snapped, the confession tearing out of you before you could stop it. ‘’Because no matter what I do or who I see, it always comes back to you. I can’t get you out of my head. Is that what you want to hear, Dean? That I never stopped loving you?’’
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 Dean’s 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.
Don’t know if you’re interested, but can we get a beau x reader x dean work?
The wood experiment ²
Pairing: Dean Di Laurentis x fem!reader x Beau Maxwell
⟡ Main Index | ⟡ Archive for Earth-66
Summary: After years of disappointing experiences with toys that never quite satisfied you, you take a bold risk with two friendly strangers during a camping trip to finally test whether the problem was you or simply the wrong dildos.
Classification: Smut +18 | Threesome (MFM), first-time vaginal penetration, dry humping, fingering, double genital stimulation, creampie, cum play, spanking, edging, orgasm control, dirty talk, praise kink, mild dominance, no-strings-attached sex, light impact play, crude humor and mention of sex toys.
Word count: 4,8k
Divider by me ;)
You didn’t know where you stood on the spectrum of sexuality and sensuality. You had never felt the touch of a man, yet you were no saint. You owned toys, you read erotica and watched porn when the mood struck. Most of all, you liked the part of yourself that refused to wait for a man to drop out of the sky before you could feel pleasure.
Your friends had plenty of experience with men and you were happy for them but you simply preferred to stay in control of your own.
For a long time that had been more than enough. You could take care of your own needs in under five minutes with the cheapest vibrator on the market or with your fingers in ten if you were worked up enough. Dildos had never done it for you, no matter the material, the shape, the length or the width, they left you feeling little and never brought you to orgasm. That fact had left you uneasy about the idea of sex with a man. You hoped that when it finally happened, penetration would feel good, you'd make sure of it, but a quiet fear lingered. Were you numb?
Still, you felt no rush to enter a relationship just to test the theory. You had watched enough friends tumble into messy entanglements and then ignore every piece of advice you gave them.
Why would they listen to you, right? But after all, coaches never played…until tonight.
You sat around the crackling fire, thoughts drifting. You had come camping for a few nights to get some distance from your usual life and step down from your unpaid role as couple’s therapist to your friends. The first evening, Dean and Beau had set up camp near yours. They were university students like you, barely a year older, friendly and easy to talk to.
You had fallen into hiking and kayaking together with surprising comfort and now the three of you sat around their fire, the night air cool against your skin while the flames threw warm light across your faces. Since this whole trip was an experiment and a chance to push your own limits…why stop at flirting?
“Are you two…?” Your question trailed off as you gestured between them. You sat in the middle, each of you in your own camp chair.
Dean chuckled and shook his head. “Best friends…Not that he isn’t a good-looking guy.” He motioned toward Beau. “Look at him.”
Your gaze slid to Beau. He smiled, a little shy and sweet, clearly less bold than Dean. Still, the firelight traced the strong line of his jaw and the breadth of his shoulders.
“He’s right,” you said quietly.
Beau nodded, cheeks warming. “Uh, thank you.” He took a sip from his soda can. “Only one of us is Six Flags, though.” He grinned and Dean laughed.
You looked between them, lips curving despite yourself. “Six Flags? What does that mean?”
“He’s a ladies’ man,” Beau explained. “They come for the ride and then leave.”
“And I’m okay with that,” Dean added, raising a finger as if to make the statement sound more sincere.
You nodded slowly, eyes returning to Beau. You lifted your half-empty soda can in his direction. “And what kind of ride do you offer, handsome?”
Both of them turned their full attention to you, lips parting.
“Offer?” Beau repeated, voice low.
You hummed in confirmation, letting the moment stretch. The fire popped softly as crickets filled the silence between your words. “Just seeing if I could get two-for-one access tonight.”
Dean’s eyebrows rose as a slow, interested smirk tugged at his mouth. Beau’s gaze darkened as he set his can down on the ground beside his chair. The easy conversation from earlier fell away, replaced by something heavier and charged.
Dean leaned forward, elbows on his knees, firelight dancing in his eyes. “That’s a bold ask, sweetheart.”
You held his stare, pulse quickening. “Think of it as an experiment…I figured the woods were a good place for it.”
Beau glanced at Dean and immediately caught the eager look on his face. Dean looked about two seconds away from saying yes on the spot. Before he could, Beau cleared his throat.
“Hey, man. Can we… talk for a minute?” He asked, the last part tilting up as he motioned away with his head.
Dean blinked, then shrugged as he stood. “Sure.” Before he took a step, he turned and flashed you a quick smile.
Beau stood next and walked a short distance away from the fire as Dean followed, far enough for a private conversation but still in your line of sight. You kept your eyes on them, heart beating faster. You did not know what you were thinking, but you wanted this to happen. You wanted the overwhelming feeling of several hands on your body at once. The idea of sex without commitments felt like the perfect answer to your questions tonight. You wanted to try the real thing and the mere thought of being greedy enough to take both of them was making you awfully wet.
Beau crossed his arms. “Did I understand her right? She actually wants both of us? Like…at the same time?”
Dean grinned, nodding eagerly with his hands on his hips. “Sounded pretty clear to me.”
“What if she asks us to kiss?” Beau pressed, voice low but urgent.
Dean turned his head and looked straight at you. Your eyes were locked on them, curious and steady. Beau followed his gaze, then dropped his eyes lower. Dean was already visibly hard, the outline clear against his pants. Spending the past few days with you had been fun, and you were undeniably pretty.
Beau smacked him right on the cock with the back of his hand.
Dean doubled over with a groan, hands flying to cover himself. “Fuck, dude! The fuck was that for?”
“Can you focus for a second?” Beau hissed, eyes returning to Dean’s folded-over posture.
Dean straightened up slowly, still wincing but laughing under his breath. “One of us clearly is. Come on, isn’t this what we came here for? You wanted spontaneity. This is as spontaneous as it gets out in the woods.”
Beau rubbed the back of his neck, glancing back toward you. “We take this to the grave, right? No matter what happens. And if it gets too weird, we can always take turns instead of… everything at once. It’ll be her choice. I’m big on communication.”
“So am I,” Dean said easily. “But I’m not worried about ‘weird’. I have no issue seeing your dick, man. I’m a hockey player. I shower in rooms full of them and I can tell you that eventually your eyes start to wander.” He reached over and gave Beau a firm pat on the shoulder. “It’s not ‘if,’ it’s ‘when’… and that time comes pretty soon.” He nodded, eyes tracing Beau’s worried face.
Beau looked down at himself. He was getting hard too, though it was not nearly as obvious as Dean’s situation. Still, a flicker of doubt crossed his face as he wondered if size would be an issue once things got started.
Dean caught the look instantly. “Comparison is the thief of joy, my friend.”
Beau let out a short laugh despite himself, the tension easing a little. Dean’s grin returned, cocky and sure.
“I can show you a nude right now so there’s no surprises,” Dean added, his grin spreading wider.
Beau groaned. “Size isn’t all there is. It’s how you use it.”
Dean chuckled, nodding. “That’s my boy.”
During the conversation they had not noticed you stand and walk closer. When their eyes finally left each other and found you, you were only a couple of steps away.
“Don’t worry, guys. I don’t think we’ll hit max capacity of my tent tonight.” You smiled as you walked toward your tent without looking back. Both of their gazes followed your steps, matching smiles spreading across their faces.
“I think I just came in my pants,” Dean sighed.
“I’ll go first then,” Beau said, patting Dean’s chest. “You should start getting used to coming second…or even third.” He started walking after you. A second later, Dean followed.
The air inside the tent was thick with the scent of nylon and the musk of three bodies humming with anticipation. You sat there, trembling slightly, heart hammering against your ribs.
You hadn't told Beau or Dean that this was your first time, that the dildos you’d tried in private had left you feeling cold and empty, leaving you with a nagging, terrifying fear that you were somehow broken. You didn't know if you could actually feel pleasure but as you looked at them, the desperation to find out outweighed the fear.
The clothes had been discarded in a frantic heap, leaving you all in just your underwear. The space was cramped, which only added to the intensity, forcing your skin to brush against theirs at every turn.
Beau, always the sweeter of the two, had laid back first. He looked up at you with soft, wanting eyes as you climbed over him. You straddled his hips, settling your weight down so your core pressed firmly against the hard line of his cock, separated only by the thin fabric of his boxers and your own underwear. When you started grinding against him, you gasped, eyes widening slightly. He was warm and pulsing beneath you, the thick ridge of his erection rubbing right against your clit with every roll of your hips.
You began to rock yourself on him, moving in a slow, experimental rhythm. The friction of his clothed cock sliding against you sent sparks through your nerves, a sensation so vivid it almost made you cry out.
Dean was right behind you, kneeling and straddling Beau’s thighs to get closer. He was a wall of heat against your back, his confidence radiating off him in waves. His large hands reached around, sliding up to capture your clothed breasts. He squeezed and massaged them firmly, his fingers kneading your flesh while he leaned in to bury his face in the crook of your neck. He nipped at your skin, teeth grazing your pulse point, sending shivers racing down your spine.
Your hands rested on Beau’s chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart beneath your palms as you moved while his hands locked onto your hips, fingers digging in to help guide them, pushing you down harder onto him with every roll.
Whenever Dean got close enough, pressing his front to your back eagerly, you could feel the hard, thick length of his cock pressing firmly against your ass, a promise of what was coming.
The feeling of being sandwiched between two men, the weight of them and the heat of their breath created an overwhelming sensation. You weren't close to coming yet but the tension was already building, in a new coil of heat tightening in your lower belly that you had never experienced before.
Dean’s hands moved, fingers hooking into the strap of your bra. With a swift, confident motion, he flicked the clasp and peeled the fabric away, exposing your breasts to the dim light of the tent.
Beau let out a low groan at the sight of your breasts spilling free, hips bucking upward instinctively. He looked up at your chest, eyes glazed with lust and breath coming in ragged gasps.
"Fuck," Beau choked out, his voice strained. "You're so beautiful...It’s gonna make me cum."
He tightened his grip on your hips, pulling you closer as you ground down against him. He held back, fighting the urge to come in his underwear while the two of you moved in a desperate, sweaty rhythm.
Dean stayed pressed behind you, mouth hot on your neck and shoulder, kissing and biting softly as his hand slipped around your waist and slid slowly beneath the waistband of your panties.
His fingers found your slick folds and immediately began drawing slow but firm circles over your clit, the sudden direct touch making you moan loudly into the space.
Meanwhile, his other hand stayed cupped around your breast, thumb brushing across your nipple in time with the movement of his fingers, forcing pleasure to surge through you from both angles.
Your hips lifted on instinct. Breathing hard, you reached down between your bodies, slipped your hand into the waistband of his boxers and wrapped your fingers around his thick, heated length. You pulled him free, stroking him once from base to tip as his breath hitched sharply.
You then hooked a finger into the side of your soaked panties and tugged them roughly aside, exposing your dripping pussy completely to him.
Dean chuckled low against your neck. "Taking initiative, I love that…Beau here likes spontaneity."
Holding Beau’s cock steady, you lined him up at your entrance and slowly sank down onto him.
The stretch was immediate and intense. A broken moan and gasp escaped your lips as his warm, bare cock pushed inside you, filling you inch by inch. It truly was nothing like your toys, he felt alive, hot and so much fuller than you had imagined. You kept sinking until you were fully seated in his lap, walls fluttering and clenching around him then releasing in ways no toy had ever made them do. "Holy fuck," you breathed.
"Nothing holy about this," Beau answered, voice rough. "Get to riding."
You laughed shakily as Dean’s laugh vibrated against your skin. "And here she thought you were the sweeter one."
"Please," Beau added, smiling up at you and the word made your lips part around another curse.
Dean’s hand left your breast and slid up to the back of your neck, pressing you forward firmly until your chest was flush against Beau’s, nipples brushing his warm skin with every breath. The new angle pushed you deeper onto Beau’s cock, drawing a shared moan from both of you.
Behind you, Dean rolled his hips, grinding the hard, clothed length of his cock between your ass cheeks. The thick ridge of his erection, still trapped in his boxers, dragged slowly, applying steady pressure against your most sensitive area. He matched every roll and lift of your hips as you rode Beau, thrusting in perfect sync so that every time you sank down onto Beau’s cock, Dean’s pressed firmly against your ass.
His fingers never stopped their steady circles over your swollen clit, slick and fast now, pushing you higher with every stroke. The sensation of being filled by Beau while Dean ground against you from behind left you trembling between them, caught in a rhythm that grew steadily more desperate.
"Tell her again," Dean said, grinning. "I’m pretty sure her pussy will thank you for your manners."
Beau’s hands settled on your waist, guiding your drags up and down his length. "Ride me, sweetheart. Nice and slow so you can feel every inch."
You kept moving and each time you rose, Dean’s dry thrusts pushed you forward again, the fabric of his boxers catching and dragging against sensitive, wet skin. The tent felt smaller with every breath and shift of bodies while your knees slid over your sleeping bag as you found a rhythm, Beau’s cock stretching you as Dean’s fingers kept your clit puffy and throbbing.
Beau’s grip tightened as he grabbed handfuls of ass. "Fuck, you feel so good…so tight around me."
"She’s dripping down your cock already. Keep talking to her, Beau…she likes it." Dean grinned.
Beau’s voice stayed soft even as his hips failed to lift to meet you halfway. "You’re doing so well…taking me so deep. That’s it, let Dean play with that pretty clit while you fuck yourself on me."
Dean’s fingers pressed firmer, faster and your moans broke into something higher. The combined sensation from Beau filling you and Dean’s cock grinding against your ass while his fingers worked your clit, made your thighs shake. You rocked harder, chasing the feeling you’d never found with silicone.
"That’s right," Dean murmured. "Use us. Show us how you want it."
Beau’s hands slid up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. "You can go faster if you need to, it’s all yours to take."
You did. The wet sounds of your pussy taking him fully grew louder inside the small tent. Dean’s dry thrusts grew more insistent, the head of his cock catching on the thin fabric of your panties with every roll of his hips as your clit pulsed under his fingers, every circle sending sparks up your spine.
Beau’s breathing turned ragged, eyes fluttering shut. "You’re squeezing me so tight…Fuck, don’t stop."
Dean’s hand pressed firmly on the delicious curve of your spine…Fuck, he wanted to lick along it. "She won’t…not until she comes all over your cock. Right, beautiful?"
The words hit you harder than you expected. Your hips stuttered for a moment, then resumed their frantic rhythm, chasing the edge that had always stayed just out of reach with your toys.
Beau’s hands gripped your waist, steadying you as you rode him and Dean’s fingers never faltered on your clit, circling with relentless pressure. The three of you moved together in the cramped tent, bodies sliding against each other, hot breaths mingling in the thick air while the quiet night outside faded completely.
Beau pulled you into a deep, searing kiss, his tongue sliding against yours as he met every desperate roll of your hips, which you were greedy for. You rode him harder, walls clamping down tightly around his thick shaft with every downward plunge. The wet, filthy sound of your bodies meeting filled the small space as the tension coiled tighter and tighter in your core, centered beneath Dean’s skilled fingers.
Your orgasm crashed over you without warning, violent and overwhelming. Your back arched sharply, pressing your chest harder against Beau’s as your hardened nipples dragged across his heated skin. The kiss broke with a wet gasp as a loud, broken moan tore from your throat.
Your pussy spasmed hard around Beau’s cock, milking him in powerful, rhythmic pulses while pleasure tore through every nerve in your body.
You were so drenched that your juices coated his length and dripped down onto his balls, the slickness becoming too much. With one final, shaking shudder, Beau’s cock slipped out of you with a loud and obscene wet pop. You slumped forward against his chest, gasping for air, your empty pussy visibly twitching and pulsing in the open air between your spread cheeks.
Dean, who had been watching the entire spectacle with dark, predatory hunger, let out a low hiss. Seeing your walls contract and flutter had pushed him past the point of restraint. He snatched his hand away from your clit, the sudden loss making you whimper in protest and in one fluid motion, he shoved the front of his boxers down, freeing his thick, rigid cock.
He leaned forward, lined the swollen head against your soaked entrance and began pushing in.
You let out a loud, shocked moan against Beau’s lips, your eyes widening at the sudden heavy intrusion. Beau had been long and smooth, gliding easily along your walls, Dean was thicker and the wait had made him even harder. He was ridged and pressed firmly against every sensitive spot as he moved. He stretched you to your absolute limit, forcing your walls to open around his girth as he sank deeper.
Beau reached down with both hands and gripped your ass cheeks. He spread them wide, fully exposing your dripping pussy to Dean’s relentless push, the new position leaving you completely open between them.
Dean gave a few slow, careful thrusts at first, testing how your body responded while it was still vibrating from your orgasm. The waves hadn’t faded, instead, they continued pulsing around his cock with every shallow stroke, drawing a deep groan from his chest.
You whined, a high and needy sound escaping your throat. Dean rested his forehead against the back of your neck for a moment, breathing hard, before he straightened up again on his knees.
“Fucking glorious, right? So warm,” Beau murmured, his voice thick with lust.
Dean chuckled, the sound vibrating through your spine. “She’s still cumming from your cock, dude.” He paused, his voice softening even as it stayed dominant. “I’m not hurting you, am I, sweetheart?”
You shook your head gently, breath coming in short, jagged gasps. A powerful wave of relief washed over you. You weren’t broken or numb, you could feel everything, every ridge, vein and throb of their cocks inside you. The sheer intensity proved you were more than capable of this kind of pleasure.
Dean’s arm wrapped around your waist and hauled you upright, pulling you off Beau’s chest and holding you tight against him in a firm bear hug, your back flush to his front. Your skin burned where it pressed against his.
“Do me a favor and wrap that pretty hand around Beau’s cock,” he whispered hotly against your ear.
He began to thrust in earnest, each powerful stroke driving deep and pushing fresh wetness out around his thick shaft. You melted back into him, head falling against his shoulder as a full-body shudder ran through you.
“Come on, be a good girl,” Dean murmured, voice rough with passion.
He looked down at Beau’s cock lying hard and twitching against his stomach, shiny and dripping with your juices. The swollen head glistened under the low light while a thin string of your slick stretched from your pussy to Beau’s skin every time Dean pulled back and slammed in again.
Your hand reached down on instinct, fingers wrapping around Beau’s slick, hot length, feeling it pulse strongly in your palm. You stroked him slowly at first, spreading the wetness up and down his shaft while Dean fucked you steadily from behind, the three of you locked together in the cramped tent.
You guided the broad head of Beau’s cock firmly against your swollen clit and the drenched opening of your pussy. Every time Dean slammed his hips forward, driving his cock deep into you, the force pressed your pelvis down onto Beau’s shaft. The friction was electric, a constant, slippery grind that sent sparks of pleasure shooting through your nerves. You whimpered, head tossing back against Dean’s shoulder anew as pre-cum and your own slick lubricated the filthy contact.
Beau’s chest tensed beneath you, his muscles rippling as he fought for control. “Ugh, fuck,” he moaned, the sound vibrating through your thighs. You let out a breathless chuckle between your moans, fingers digging into his skin to keep his cock pressed tight against your throbbing clit.
“You guys…do this often?” you gasped, voice trembling as Dean’s thrusts grew more urgent, hitting your cervix with blunt, satisfying thuds.
“We can, if you call us,” Beau answered instantly.
Dean let out a low, rumbling laugh that vibrated against your back. “Took the words right out of my mouth,” he said, teeth grazing the shell of your ear before he gripped your waist tighter and pulled you back harder onto his cock.
The pace changed, becoming a relentless, kinky assault on your senses. Dean began to rotate his hips, grinding his cock deep inside you while you continued sliding against Beau’s tip. The wet, slapping sound of skin meeting skin filled the tent, mixed with the heavy, intoxicating scent of sex and musk. You were drowning in it as pleasure built into a towering wave that stripped away your ability to speak. You could no longer form words, all that left your lips were high, needy moans and broken whimpers.
As you lost the ability to talk, the men took over. Their voices became low and praising as they talked about you like a prize, describing exactly how your tight walls squeezed Dean and how your clit pulsed against Beau.
“Look at her,” Dean groaned, his breath hot on your neck. “So fucking wet for us. I can feel her twitching around me, trying to suck me dry.”
“She’s perfect,” Beau rasped, his eyes locked on your blissed-out face.
Suddenly, Beau sat up, his movement fluid and hungry. He lunged forward and wrapped his mouth around one of your stiff nipples, sucking hard while his tongue swirled around the sensitive peak. At the same time, his hand reached up to massage your other breast, kneading the soft flesh with a firm grip. The combination of Dean’s deep pounding from behind, the constant friction on your clit and Beau’s hungry mouth on your breasts pushed you right to the edge.
Your back arched sharply, toes curling. “Fuck…I’m gonna cum,” you wailed, your internal muscles clamping down violently around Dean.
“Hold it,” they both commanded in unison.
The sudden order snapped you out of your haze for a split second. They didn’t stop moving, if anything, Dean slowed to a torturous, shallow grind, teasing the entrance of your womb, while Beau kept his cock pressed firmly against your clit. They went right back to their seductive murmurs against your skin, praising how your body trembled and how desperately you were leaking for them. They kept you hovering right on the precipice, denying your release and stretching the tension until your entire body hummed like a live wire, trapped in agonizing, wet ecstasy.
The friction continued, a relentless, slippery torture. The sheer amount of lubrication, a hot cocktail of your soaking wetness and their pre-cum, made every movement smooth and loud.
As you ground desperately against Beau, the slickness became so intense that his cock suddenly slid from your clit and glided effortlessly toward your entrance.
You gasped, eyes widening in shock as you felt the broad, blunt head of his cock press firmly against your opening, right beside where Dean’s thick shaft was sliding in and out. He didn’t push inside but the overwhelming pressure of two cocks fighting for the same tight space was too much and the dam broke.
You screamed, body convulsing in a violent, crashing orgasm. Your walls clamped down hard on Dean in rhythmic, desperate pulses, milking him with every spasm. You whined and moaned, voice breaking as wave after wave of pleasure ripped through you, leaving you shaking and breathless.
The intensity of your climax triggered both men. Beau, feeling the frantic pulsing of your pussy against his sensitive head, let out a raspy moan into your nipple. His body stiffened as he erupted, thick ropes of hot cum shooting across your drenched pussy and mixing with the mess already coating your inner thighs.
At the same moment, the crushing grip of your orgasm pulled Dean over the edge. He let out a low, animalistic growl and buried himself as deep as possible, filling your womb with heavy, pulsing loads of cum. He kept thrusting slowly and heavily, pumping every last drop deep inside you while your body continued to shake between them.
Eventually, Dean slowed and pulled out with a wet, suctioning sound. The sudden emptiness left you feeling sensitive and open.
You collapsed forward onto Beau’s chest as he lay back down, breathing hard against the crook of his neck.
Your skin was warm and glistening with sweat and seed…And just as you started to relax, Beau reached down and delivered a sharp, loud smack to your ass.
You whined, the sting sending a fresh spark through your exhausted nerves while Dean groaned, voice thick with lingering lust as he stared at the sight of you.
“How’s it looking?” Beau asked, glancing at Dean, who seemed completely mesmerized by your lower body.
Dean leaned in, eyes tracking the way their mixed cum and your wetness dripped from your swollen and still pulsing folds. “Like an overfilled twinkie,” he muttered.
The absurd comment shattered the tension and all three of you dissolved into tired, breathless laughter. You propped yourself up slightly, lifting just enough to capture Beau’s lips in a deep, lingering kiss. Your fingers threaded through his hair, pulling him closer as you tasted the salt and heat of everything you had just done.
“You might not be Six Flags,” you whispered against his lips, a playful glint in your eyes, “but they should make you employee of the month.”
Beau grinned triumphantly and surged up to reclaim your mouth, his hand sliding down to squeeze your ass firmly, kneading the flesh.
“Hey…how come I got no kiss?” Dean’s voice drifted from behind you, mock-offended.
You didn’t bother to look back, too focused on Beau’s tongue sliding against yours but you had to pull back. “You came inside me,” you murmured breathlessly. “Don’t be greedy.”
You sank back into the kiss, feeling Beau’s chest rumble with a chuckle.
“Few more minutes and I’ll come on it too,” Dean whispered, voice low and promising as you felt Beau grin against your lips.
You had never seen men as the answer to much of anything, least of all your pleasure. So maybe the next thing you would acquire wouldn’t be a boyfriend, but a nice, realistic, warming and throbbing dildo to add to your collection… and perhaps a couple of phone numbers to call on those nights when your toys needed charging.
a/n: Comments, likes and reblogs really do mean the world and help more than you know! More stories will be added to the archive soon, so stay tuned for new content. Thank you so much for reading! 🤍
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Summary: Somehow you find yourself co-parenting with the biggest manwhore in all of Briar U.
⋆˚࿔ tina's note 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ I'm so glad people are liking the series, like I said I will be writing this kind of in my free time so updates might not be super consistent (but also if I am in the mood I'll write and right now this seems to be the only thing I can manage to write), let me know if you have any ideas you'd like to see and I might incorporate them in somehow! Also we'll probably get to the show timeline in the next 2 or so chapters! (And I don't plan on making these series super long so idk how many chapters there'll be)
taglist is closed (for now) (sorry)
College Baby masterlist
Start of the spring semester - your apartment - early morning
"Alright, you're going to be fine, I'm going to be fine, we're all going to be fine" You say to Seb who stares at you with those wide curious eyes and gummy smile.
"You realize he's been to the daycare before and you have had college classes before as well right?" Dean gives you a weirded out look.
You narrow your eyes at him "What are you even doing here anyways?"
"Contrary to popular belief, I am not a deadbeat"
"Literally no one believes you're a deadbeat" You tell him picking up your tote and triple double checking for the 20th time this morning if you have everything.
"Okay, either way I wanted to drive you for your first day of school" He rolls his eyes taking the baby into his arms, Seb immediately becoming distracted by the chain under his shirt.
"You do realize I've had college classes before right?" You throw his words back at him making him scoff.
"Let's go" He turns to the door and then whispers loudly to your son "Your mom is not good at firsts, I should know, I've been there for a few of them"
"For fuck's sake Dean, I was not a virgin the first time we slept together!"
"I didn't say anything about that, get your head out of the gutter, I meant your first time skating, and your first time in New york, oh and get this… Your first time giving birth!" He makes jazz hands that get him a roll of the eyes and a push as you walk ahead of him through the door, he just laughs and makes sure the door is locked behind him.
Malone's - Later the same day
"I think I might just find myself a sugar daddy" You sigh stacking napkins, you're in the middle of a shift complaining to your co-workers and new friends, Hannah and Allie "I forgot how much I disliked school"
"Okay" Hannah drags on the word "And what's that supposed to mean exactly?"
"Well… we share a kid so anything else would only complicate things" You tell them.
"Okay but what if it doesn't?" Allie perks up "Like what if you two fall madly in love and it all works out and you end up being the perfect little family? You should always give love a chance"
"Or, we find out we don't work out as a couple and maybe we realize it too late and then we have a nasty split that leaves Seb in the middle of a custody battle" You shrug "It's too big of a chance to take, plus Dean Di Laurentis? Not a settling down kind of guy"
"But-" Hannah doesn't let Allie keep arguing.
"Listen, Allie is a romantic, she's going to keep arguing for you to give it a chance, so I'm going to play devil's advocate" Allie frowns "And say, if you think it is not a good idea then don't force anything, but if you choose to give it a chance, we'll back you up"
You're surprised and moved by her words, you have not known the two for that long but the best friends have basically adopted you in the short time you've been around "Thank you guys" You say "But Hannah, I'm not sure that's how devil's advocate works"
"Whatever" She shakes her head "You still got my point"
Hockey House - Wednesday night
The house is filled with chatter when you walk in, the guys have probably the entire hockey team plus a good amount of football players plus girlfriends in here.
"Hey! You're here" Logan greets you as you're setting your things on the table by the door.
"Yeah, something smells good" You say walking towards the smell curious on what Tuck's preparing for the group they've assembled tonight.
"Oh! Thank god you're here!" Beau exclaims, there's a crowd of around 10 guys in the kitchen, your son in a football's player you can't remember the name of arms throws himself your way the second he spots you, thankfully the football player has good reflexes and grips him tighter before safely passing him over.
"I am! What's all this?" You eye the kitchen counter while Seb slaps you with a wet 'kiss' that's more of a blubbering smack with his whole face "Oh thank you"
"Last night I couldn't sleep so I called my mom and she gave he all the baby pureed food recipes I ate as a baby and then I also got some more from a mom website so I thought we could run a taste test with Seb and find out what he likes" Tucker explains with an excited glint in his eyes "But we wanted to wait for you"
"Okay" You nod "And the party you have going on here?" You look at the full house.
"Oh, some of the guys on the team heard about it and were curious"
"And then Dean mentioned it and I might have invited my teammates" Beau adds.
"Cool" You resign yourself, at least you knew people would show up for your son if ever needed.
Some time later Dean has Seb in his lap while you sit infront with a spoon and the bowls, so far you've discovered he loves peaches, bananas and carrot and hates squash and apples.
"That looks like diarrhea" Beau grimaces at the bowl Tucker hands you next.
"It's literally just pumpkin" The curly haired chef narrows his eyes at the quarterback "And if your shit looks like that I think you should get checked up"
"Can we not talk about shit while feeding the baby?" Garrett complains.
You ignore them and give Seb a taste of the puree, he doesn't even give it a chance, as soon as it touches his pursed lips he slips his tongue out letting whatever little food had gone in out and squirming when you try to give him some more.
"See" Beau points "Diarrhea"
"I'm actually curious about the taste" Nick, a football player says and you hand him the bowl with a disgusted look, you've tried not to make faces so Seb tries all the new flavors unbiased but he's already decided he doesn't like this one and the smell is quite frankly, nauseating. You all pause and look at Nick as he takes a big spoonful into his mouth, the regret is instant and he runs to the sink to spit out and rinse his omouth making you all laugh, Sebastian joining in.
"Okay this is the last one" Tucker hands you the bowl, this one's bright green and when you look up you can already see Beau making a face at it "It's broccoli"
"All right, open up Seb" Dean grimaces behind as your son tries reluctantly, surprising you all when he opens up his mouth for more, giving you a satisfied hum as he savors it, you offer him more half expecting him to throw it out but he eats it and claps his hands "Oh he likes broccoli"
"There's no way" Beau shakes his head "Give me some" He takes the bowl and spoons some up bringing it to his mouth, Seb screams then making grabby hands at the bowl clearly angry at Beau for taking his food "Yeah, no, all yours kid" The quarterback grimaces handing the food back to you as everyone laughs.
Hockey house - Thursday afternoon
Garret has been awkward around the baby ever since he was born, being an only child and not having any younger cousins he had never been around kids that small before. Today he's the only one in the house, Logan out with Jules, Dean on a quick trip to New York for a family emergency and Tucker probably still on campus. His plans? To melt into the couch while watching as many of the Jurassic park movies he can get through until he falls asleep.
His plans, however, get interrupted only a few minutes into the first movie when you burst in through the front door with the baby bag in one arm and the baby in the other.
"Tuck!" You call out.
"He's not here yet" Garrett lets you know from his spot on the couch.
"Shit" You curse contemplating your options before walking his way "Okay, I'm so late, Tuck agreed to watch him over and-" Your phone buzzes, Tucker letting you know he's late and will be there in 15 minutes "Oh, he'll be here in 15 minutes but I can't wait so can you just-"
Garrett almost jumps when you plop the baby on his chest "Uh-"
"Tell Tuck I said thanks and I'll Dean will be here in a few hours! Thanks G, bye!" You don't let him get any words out before you're gone.
The brunette blinks at the baby who stares back at him with a gummy smile devouring his own fist, drool spilling down into Garrett's chest. "Okay… um… no, yeah, we're okay" He sits up slowly making sure to keep Sebastian as safe as possible "Do you uh… you like Jurassic Park?" The baby makes a noise and slaps him on the chest "No… okay sure, no dinosaurs how about um… what the fuck do babies like?" He whispers to himself "Oh i meant frick, shit, no, I'm sorry, don't tell your mom"
He pulls out his phone and texts a 'hurry your ass home' to Tucker who replies with a thumbs up and nothing more.
For the next ten minutes Garrett awkwardly sits on the couch with the baby in his lap, his duck plushie clutched in the hand he's not chewing on as he stares curiously at the man holding him and every time the baby so much as shifts Garrett holds his breath, eventually Sebastian grows tired rubbing his eyes and settling into his uncle's chest, droopy eyes closing and soft snores escaping.
"Great, now stay like that until Tuck gets home and we'll be fine bud" He whispered settling back into the cushions and pressing play on the movie again.
Just a few minutes later, under the heat of the baby on his chest, Garrett falls asleep too.
It's not until hours later that he wakes, Sebastian now turned the other way around, eyes wide on the screen that's now playing cartoons but still on his lap and Dean, Tucker and Logan sit around him with plates of food with their attention also on the tv.
"Welcome back to the land of the living G" Dean greets him shoveling a forkfull of steak into his mouth.
"How long have you guys been home?" Garrett asks all confused "And why didn't you take your kid?"
"I tried" The blonde shrugs "But every time I got close to getting him off of you he'd cry so I just let him do his thing"
"Okay well, take him" Garrett motions to the baby that's now looking up at him with a smile, completely unaware of the awkwardness coming from the man holding him.
"Fine, look for yourself " Dean puts his plate down, by now Logan and Tucker are watching intently "Hey bud, come with daddy" The baby's smile disappears the moment his dad puts his hands under his armpits to get him up and instead he complains with a screech and flailing of his arms "See? Seb, son, we need to change your diaper at least before you leak all over uncle G"
Garrett grimaces at the sentence "Get him off please"
"I'm trying!" Dean argues picking Sebastian off finally, the baby wailing immeidately "Yeah, yeah, I'm such a bad dad for not letting you stay with Garrett even though your diaper is full and you can get a rash" He rolls his eyes "So dramatic, you get this from your mom"
Your apartment - Saturday afternoon
"So this one then?" You're on a facetime call with Allie and Hannah while trying on different outfits.
"Yeah, that one makes your boobs look fricking amazing" Hannah says, Allie agrees.
"Okay great, and then do we think hair up or down?" You're getting ready for a date, your first one since before having Sebastian, a date with a guy from the Tennis club "Wait, I think Dean's here"
Lo and behold, when you open your apartment door Dean stands there with a bright smile and a paper bag he lifts proudly "Uncle Tuck sent some snacks for Seb"
"God bless uncle Tuck" You say letting him in "Thank you so much for agreeing to babysit him tonight"
"I'm his dad" Dean deadpans "It's not babysitting, just taking care of my kid while his mom has a deserved fun night out, so you going out with friends? Hitting Malone's, someone's apartment, what is it?"
"See, most guys don't see it that way, especially on a Saturday night when they could be out partying" You point out "And neither, I'm going on a date"
Dean chokes on nothing "A date?"
You shrug "Yeah" And walk back to your room to finish getting ready and say goodbye to Hannah and Allie. Dean's already texting Beau about it.
"So… do I get to meet the date?" He asks trying to act nonchalant and failing.
"Well, I'm meeting him at the movie theater so no" You tell him putting on your shoes "But if it all goes well maybe next time"
"He's not even picking you up?" The blonde asks in disbelief "Who is this guy?"
"Goodbye Dean!" You ignore his questions and walk out the door.
The movie theater - Just a bit later
"Dude, I've always wanted to do espionage" Beau whispers loudly to Dean, both guys looking obvious as hell as they stand in the movie theater lobby dressed in black and with sunglasses even though they are inside, Seb sporting his very own little pair strapped into his dad's chest too.
"Lowkey, me too" Dean admits "Probably not for this but hey, we have to make sure she's not dating a complete douche"
"Look! There she is" Beau points at you, the two wait until you're walking into the room and follow a minute later, somehow managing to make it to their seats, three rows behind you without you noticing "Are you sure you won't just think whatever guy she dates is a douche anyways?"
"No" The blonde frowns "Only the ones who deserve the title" Beau hums unconvinced.
The movie, as it turns out, is an action one that has Beau hooked, but Dean can't stop looking at you and your date, noting every move he makes and scoffing at them. Then, something in the screen explodes loudly, Beau gasps, Seb wails in fear, that's when you turn around and notice them, Beau looks scared, Dean is trying to calm the baby down and you sigh offering your date an apology and telling him you have to go before walking up to Dean, taking Seb and walking out of the movie.
Dean immediately follows behind but you don't turn, too busy trying to calm your baby down until he stops you by your elbow, finally you look at him with anger "What?" You snap.
"I'm sorry" Is all he can say.
"Oh yeah?" You chuckle and that's when he understands how badly he fucked up "For what exactly? For bringing our seven month old baby into a loud action movie and scaring him to death or for ruining a perfectly fine date for me?"
"Everything"
"No Dean, I don't think you understand" You sigh, Seb's cries have calmed now and he tucks his little head into the crook of your neck as you continue to rock softly "That" You point to the movie room where you left your date "Is probably the only guy in all campus that's not repulsed by me being a mom and you've ruined it for me"
Dean's heart breaks a little at your words "No one is repulsed by you"
"You don't get it" You are about to cry out of frustration "You are Dean Di Laurentis, girls bow at your feet, you can have your pick every single night, you get to keep your perfect body. I don't have that Dean, guys won't even give me a second look, I can't just date around or sleep with someone because they all know I am Dean Di Laurentis' baby mama" He hates the way his name comes out of your mouth like it's venom "And if they do, they see someone with stretch marks, and loose skin and-" You choke on your words "You'll never get it Dean, how can you?" He says your name and you don't let him say anything more "Can you just drive us home?"
Now, Beau did notice you two leave earlier, but he didn't think you'd forget about him, I mean, surely you didn't just abandon him at the movie theater right? Well, now that the movie is over and he's done two laps around the parking lot with no luck finding Dean's BMW he realizes he's been left behind.
"Damn blind idiots" He mutters pulling his phone out to order an Uber "God how I hope they get their heads out of their asses and realize they love each other so they stop doing this shit"
Summary: While investigating a string of fairy tale-inspired attacks, you become the next victim of the curse. Dean refuses to accept there's nothing he can do about it.
Pairing: Dean x F.Reader (Hunter) / (Established relationship)
Warnings: Fairy tale stuff, magical sleep/unconsciousness, (really)soft Dean, hurt, comfort, light mention of Dean's deal, softness, too much softness, takes place during Season 3 Episode 5.
Notes: I am watching spn again, bedtime stories gave me this idea and why not do this with my favorite Disney princess?
Word count: 4.3k
“All right, maybe it is fairy tales,” Dean said, staring at the frog sitting in the grass. He still looked unconvinced. “Totally messed-up fairy tales,” he added, pointing at it with two fingers, “but I’ll tell you one thing. There’s no way I’m kissing a damn frog.” You couldn't help smiling.
“The stories follow a script, right?” you said, glancing toward Sam. “You probably don't have to kiss one unless something forces you to.”
“That’s usually how fairy tales work.” Sam nodded toward a house across the street. “Check that out.” He looked toward one of the houses across the street, a lone pumpkin sat on the front porch steps.
“Yeah, it's close to Halloween,” Dean said with a shrug, like that explained everything. Maybe, but still, it felt a little early.
“You remember Cinderella? The pumpkin that turns into a coach? The mice that become horses?” at this point, you were pretty sure he was talking mostly to you. Dean looked like he'd rather wrestle the frog than discuss fairy tales.
“Dude, could you be more gay?” Dean scoffed.
“Dean.” You nudged his arm with yours. “Leave him alone.”
Dean looked at you. “You're taking his side?”
“I'm taking the side of the guy who actually read a book once in his life.” Sam smirked. Dean shot you an affronted look.
“Wow.”
“I'm just saying.”
“You wound me.” You laughed as the three of you headed toward the house.
Sam unlocked the front door. Inside, the place felt abandoned. Too quiet.
You split up, checking the downstairs rooms while Dean and Sam moved further into the house.
The living room was empty.
Dining room too.
Then you heard something, a metallic rattling sound. You immediately headed toward it.
Someone sat on the floor beside the cabinets, handcuffed to one of the drawer handles. You crouched beside her.
“Hey, hey, it's okay.” Sam and Dean appeared a second later. “We're here to help.”
The girl looked relieved once she realized nobody was going to hurt her, the words started spilling out all at once.
Her stepmother had beaten her, locked her in the kitchen, handcuffed her to the drawers, and forced her to clean while the rest of the family went out.
Definitely Cinderella.
While Sam worked on the handcuffs, movement caught your attention.
A little girl appeared on the other side of the hallway, half of her body was visible. She didn't seem to have anything to do with it, but it made sense when you remembered one of the victims mentioned a little girl before.
“Dean,” you called. He was already moving, you watched them disappear through the hallway. Meanwhile, you called 911 while Sam freed the girl and made sure she was okay.
When the police arrived and the victim was being looked after by paramedics, the three of you regrouped outside.
Dean tossed something into the air and caught it. A shiny red apple.
“The kid left this.”
You exchanged a look with Sam. “Snow White,” he nodded.
“So what? We look for a…”
“A girl in a deep sleep,” you completed.
“Of course,” Dean said. You couldn't help smiling at his tone. May not be the easiest task but at least you knew what you were looking for.
“We should start with hospitals,” Sam said and the three of you headed back toward the Impala.
You had barely made it halfway across the street when a wave of dizziness hit without warning. The ground seemed to shift beneath your feet for a second, forcing you to slow down.
Dean noticed immediately.
“You okay?”
You blinked hard. “Yeah. Just... tired,” you admitted quietly. “Head hurts.” Dean’s brows pulled together.
“You should’ve said something.”
“It literally just started.” He still didn't look convinced, not even a little persuaded by your explanation. You reached the Impala and leaned against the door. “Would you mind dropping me at the motel first?”
He exchanged a look with Sam. “We're heading to the hospital anyway.”
“I think I just need sleep.” He hesitated. You could see him weighing the options in his head, so you reached out and touched his hand. “Dean,” you said softly. “Really. I'm okay.”
The second your fingers brushed his, his hand turned instinctively, fitting against yours perfectly like it had done a hundred times before.
“Okay,” he finally said.
You knew that tone. It wasn't agreement. It was Dean deciding to worry about it later.
His hand lingered around yours for a second longer before he finally let go.
“…Call me if anything feels weird.”
Sam snorts from the door.
“A little late for that warning, don't you think?” Dean shot him a look but didn't argue.
You squeezed his hand once. “I'll be here when you get back.”
Dean leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. “Better be.”
Then he and Sam were gone.
The motel felt strangely empty after that.
You tried distracting yourself for a while. Flipped through channels. Sat on the edge of the bed. Eventually, you stretched out on top of the covers, hoping sleep might take care of the headache.
It didn't.
The headache hadn't gotten any better. If anything, the longer you lay there, the worse it felt. Not painful enough to alarm you, just enough to keep you from relaxing.
You closed your eyes, hoping a few minutes of rest would help, when a faint sound drifted through the silence.
Your eyes snapped toward the door.
Nothing.
Just the television and the hum of the motel's air conditioner. You almost convinced yourself you'd imagined it when the sound came again.
It wasn't loud enough to make out. Not a voice, not exactly. Still, something about it settled deep in your chest, tugging at you with quiet persistence.
Without really deciding to, you swung your legs over the side of the bed and stood.
The movement felt natural, automatic. One moment you were in bed, the next you were reaching for the door.
The cold night air greeted you outside, but it did little to clear your thoughts. Across the road, beyond a chain-link fence and a row of storage units, stood an old warehouse you'd barely noticed earlier that day.
Now it was impossible to look anywhere else.
You crossed the empty lot without hesitation. Somewhere in the back of your mind, a warning whispered that this was a bad idea. That you should turn around. Call Dean. Go back to the motel.
Instead, you kept walking.
The warehouse door stood slightly open, swaying gently in the wind. You pushed it wider and stepped inside. Moonlight spilled through broken windows, illuminating dust-covered machinery and forgotten crates. At first, nothing seemed unusual.
Then you saw it.
A spinning wheel sat alone in the center of the room.
Your stomach dropped.
Every instinct screamed at you to leave. To run. To do anything except take another step forward, but you did.
“No...” you whispered.
The word sounded weak, swallowed by the darkness around you.
That was the worst part. You could still think. Still understand exactly what was happening. Somewhere between leaving the motel and walking through that door, you'd lost control of everything except your own awareness.
The spinning wheel waited silently beneath the moonlight.
Waiting for you.
Your hand lifted despite every effort to stop it. Your arm trembled as you fought against the movement, and for a brief second, you thought you might actually win.
Then your fingertip brushed the spindle.
A sharp sting shot through your hand and the room vanished.
Darkness swallowed everything.
Dean knew something was wrong before Sam even finished parking the Impala.
The hospital had given them answers, just not the ones they needed. They knew who was behind the attacks now. They knew why people were ending up trapped inside twisted fairy tales. What they didn't know was how to stop it.
None of that mattered the second your call went to voicemail.
“She’s not answering.” Dean was already trying again as he crossed the motel parking lot.
Straight to voicemail. His jaw tightened.
“She said she'd stay here. She's probably asleep.” Sam didn't answer right away. By the time he stepped into the room, Dean was already inside.
The television was still playing quietly in the corner. The blankets were tangled on the bed like you'd only gotten up a few minutes ago.
But you were gone. You wouldn't just leave. Not after the conversation they'd had before he left.
“The door was open, Sam.” His eyes swept across the room, searching for anything out of place. Your bag was still there. So was your jacket.
Enough to tell him you'd walked out in a hurry. Or hadn't had much choice.
Dean was moving out of the room before the thought had even finished forming.
Outside, his gaze traveled across the empty lot until it landed on the warehouse across the road.
The same warehouse they'd driven past earlier.
The same warehouse sitting there now like it had been waiting all along.
“Sam.” That was all he said. Sam followed his gaze and immediately understood.
They ran.
The metal door slammed against the wall when Dean shoved it open. For a second, everything seemed frozen.
Dust hung in the air, illuminated by moonlight spilling through the broken windows.
The spinning wheel standing in the center of the room, and you, lying motionless beside it.
Dean crossed the distance in seconds and dropped to his knees beside you. “Hey. Hey, come on.”
Nothing.
His hands shook as he reached for your pulse. The relief nearly knocked the breath out of him when he found it.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he muttered, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “Wake up.”
Behind him, Sam had gone completely silent. Dean looked over his shoulder, his brother was staring at the spinning wheel.
"What?" Sam swallowed but didn't answer. A knot immediately formed in Dean's stomach. “Sam?”
“Sleeping Beauty.” Dean frowned.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“In the original Grimm story, the princess pricks her finger on a spindle and falls asleep.” Dean glanced at you. Then looked back at Sam.
“How do we wake her?” Sam hesitated. Which was answer enough. “Sam.”
“We can’t. She’s sleeping for a hundred years.” The words seemed to echo through the warehouse. Dean just stared at him.
“A hundred years?”
“Dean, listen—”
“No.”
“Dean—”
“No.” His voice cracked. “Fix it.”
“We don't even know if—”
“FIX IT, SAM.” Silence settled between them. After a moment, Sam nodded.
"We need to get back to the hospital."Dean didn't answer. He simply slid one arm beneath your knees and the other around your back before lifting you carefully into his arms.
Like letting go wasn't an option.
Hours had passed.
Sam had gone to talk to the doctor after putting together a theory, leaving Dean alone with you.
The hospital room had grown darker as the afternoon slipped into evening. Nurses came and went, the muted television murmured from the corner, and at some point Dean had stopped paying attention to any of it.
You hadn’t moved once.
And Dean hated it.
Sitting beside your bed, he rubbed a hand over his face and glanced at you again, as if maybe this time something would be different.
It never was.
The worst part was how normal you looked.
No pain. No fear. No sign that anything was wrong.
Just asleep.
Dean's fingers tightened around yours.
“Y'know,” he muttered after a while, staring at the floor, “I'm starting to think fairy tales suck.”
The joke landed exactly as well as expected.
Silence.
A humorless smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before fading again. His gaze drifted back to you. “I should've stayed.” Guilt sat ugly in his chest. “I’m supposed to protect you.”
Then Dean exhaled slowly and leaned closer, pressing a soft kiss against your forehead. Another against your hair. And finally, a lingering kiss against your lips.
Not magical. Just Dean.
When he pulled back, something shifted. A tiny movement. So small he almost thought he'd imagined it.
Dean froze.
“Sweetheart?” Your brows furrowed slightly before your eyes slowly opened.
Dean laughed out a breath that sounded suspiciously close to breaking. You blinked up at him slowly.
“...Dean?”
“Yeah.” He immediately leaned closer. “Yeah, sweetheart. I'm here.”
“What happened?” Dean let out a short laugh.
“You know what? Better if you don’t ask.” Before you could ask anything else, the door opened. Sam walked in carrying a folder under one arm. He took one look at you sitting awake in bed and stopped cold.
“Sammy,” Dean said proudly, pointing at you. “Awake.”
“I can see that.” He smiled.
You looked between them. “Now can you tell me what happened?” Sam pulled a chair closer.
“The doctor finally let his daughter go.” Your confusion must have shown immediately because he continued. “The girl who's been in a coma all these years? She was the one causing all of this. The fairy tales, the curses... everything.”
You slowly remembered pieces of the case.
“The doctor?” Sam nodded.
“He couldn't let her go. Not after everything that happened. But once he finally did...” He gestured toward you. “The curse ended.”
“That's rough,” you murmured.
“Yeah,” Sam agreed softly.
The silence lasted all of three seconds before Dean ruined it.
“So, Sleeping Beauty, huh?” He teased, you groaned immediately.
“Shut up. I would've preferred the Disney version.”
“The Disney version?” Dean asked.
“Way more romantic.” You explained.
“More romantic? I literally kissed you and you woke up.”
“You did?” He looked at you offended. You were unconscious back then, so you really had no clue.
“I did.”
“Dean,” Sam interrupted, fighting a smile, “that's not actually why she woke up.” Dean pointed at him without even looking.
“Nobody asked.”
“In the story, the curse ends because enough time passes.” Dean rolled his eyes.
“Okay, and the hundred years are up?”
“Dean—”
“Looks like all that fairy tale knowledge finally failed you, Sammy.” Sam sighed. You laughed, and for the first time since he'd found you lying beside that spinning wheel, Dean felt the knot in his chest begin to loosen.
Without thinking, he reached for your hand again.
This time when your fingers curled around his, he didn't let go.
The next few days were... weird.
Not bad.
Just different.
Dean didn't let you out of his sight. At all.
At first, you thought he was being subtle about it. Then you woke up one morning to find him already awake, sitting in the chair across from the bed with a lore book open in his lap. He was supposedly reading, but his eyes kept drifting over the top of the pages.
"...Dean." He didn't even blink.
"What?"
"Why are you staring at me?"
"I'm not."
"You literally are." Dean shrugged.
"Could be dead asleep for a hundred years right now. Think I earned staring privileges." You just stared at him.
From the other bed, Sam snorted loudly into his coffee.
"Oh my God." Dean tossed a balled-up napkin at him without looking.
"Shut up."
But it kept happening.
Dean hovering. Constantly.
A hand at your back whenever you walked somewhere. Asking if you were tired. Checking if you felt dizzy. Reaching out to touch your arm for no reason at all, like he needed proof you were actually there.
A few days later, you were sitting at Bobby's kitchen table with a book in your hands when Dean came through the door carrying groceries.
The second he spotted you, something in his shoulders relaxed.
It was subtle. Most people probably wouldn't have noticed, but you did.
Dean caught you watching him and immediately frowned.
"...What?"
Your expression softened. "You're doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"Checking if I'm alive." Dean scoffed.
"That's exactly how I’d say it."
From the couch, Sam spoke without even looking up from his book. "But it’s true."
Dean pointed at him.
"Nobody asked you." Sam grinned.
"You almost went full Disney prince in that hospital, man." Dean looked genuinely horrified.
"Do not call me that."
"You said it yourself. You kissed her and she woke up." A laugh slipped out before you could stop it. Dean's head immediately turned toward you and there it was again.
That tiny shift in his expression.
Like hearing you laugh settled something inside him.
Sam noticed it too. Which meant Dean was completely doomed.
The teasing faded after that, leaving a comfortable silence behind. Dean set the groceries on the counter while Bobby disappeared somewhere deeper into the house, muttering about beer.
Then Dean spoke again.
"You scared me." The words came out quieter than expected.
You looked up.
Dean wasn't joking this time.
"I mean it." His gaze dropped briefly to the floor before returning to you. "When Sam said you'd be asleep forever..."
The sentence died there. You knew Dean well enough to hear the rest anyway.
The fear.
The helplessness.
The thought of losing someone and not being able to do a damn thing about it.
Dean looked away for a second, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. "I hated that."
Something in your chest ached.
Dean usually hid behind jokes when things got too real. If he was saying this out loud, it meant he'd been carrying it around ever since.
You stood from the table and crossed the kitchen. Dean's eyes followed you automatically. They always did.
When you stopped in front of him, your hands slid into the front of his jacket, lightly gripping the fabric.
"You know," you said softly, "hovering isn't actually preventing supernatural attacks." Dean hummed. "Counterpoint: maybe it is." That earned a smile.
Then, more quietly, you added, "I'm okay."
Dean looked at you for a long moment. Like he was trying very hard to believe it.
Finally, his hand lifted and brushed gently along your cheek before settling at the back of your neck.
"I know." But even as he said it, he tugged you a little closer. Instinctively. And you let him.
Dean pressed a kiss to your forehead.
From the couch, Sam immediately made a disgusted noise. "Okay. That's enough."
Without taking his eyes off you, Dean flipped him off. You laughed against Dean's shoulder.
For a moment, Dean closed his eyes. Just a second, long enough to feel the warmth of you standing there.
The steady rise and fall of your breathing. The simple fact that you were alive.
Still here.
And for now, that was enough.
Dean had been unbearably clingy all day.
Not that you minded.
At some point, while Bobby and Sam were out getting supplies, Dean had somehow ended up stretched across the couch with you trapped between him and the cushions, one arm around your waist while he half-watched some old western on TV.
His fingers absentmindedly played with the ends of your hair. Every few minutes, he pressed a kiss somewhere random, your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth, like he physically couldn't help himself.
You finally laughed softly after the fourth forehead kiss in ten minutes.
"What?" Dean looked down at you innocently.
"What what?"
"You're being weirdly affectionate today." Dean scoffed.
"Weirdly? Rude."
You smiled, shaking your head. "Sorry, sorry."
Dean narrowed his eyes suspiciously before leaning down to steal another kiss anyway. You laughed against his lips this time.
"You know," you said once he finally pulled back a little, "Sam was right."
Dean groaned instantly. "Those are words nobody should ever say."
You ignored him completely.
"You kind of are my Prince Charming."
"Sweetheart, I'm way hotter than Prince Charming." You rolled your eyes. Dean looked entirely too pleased with himself. "You seen me? C'mon."
You laughed, fingers idly playing with the collar of his flannel.
"Well... Prince Phillip was really handsome."
Dean froze.
"...Excuse me?" You nodded seriously.
"He was always my crush when I was little." Dean stared at you in disbelief.
"Cartoon prince?"
"He had the sword, Dean."
"I have guns."
"That's true."
"And a car."
"Also true."
"And better hair." You pretended to think about it. Dean immediately grabbed your jaw, turning your face toward him. "Wrong answer. Try again."
By now, you were grinning. "Okay, okay. Maybe you're hotter."
"Maybe?"
"Don't push it." Dean squinted at you before lightly biting your cheek in retaliation.
"Dean!"
"That's what you get." You were still laughing when he kissed you again, slower this time. His hand slid up your side, settling comfortably at your waist while his thumb brushed absentmindedly against your sweater.
When he pulled back, you were still smiling at him.
Dean tried very hard to look unaffected.
"...You liked that." He immediately looked away.
"Liked what?"
"The Prince Charming thing."
"I did not."
"You did."
"Nope." You watched him for another second, amused. Dean suddenly seemed very interested in whatever was happening on the television, which told you everything.
Your expression softened. "You know," you murmured quietly, "I don't actually care about the prince part."
That got his attention.
You reached up, brushing your fingers lightly along his jaw.
"If I got to choose..." Your thumb traced softly over the little crease near his mouth. "I'd still pick you." His breath caught.
Tiny.
Barely noticeable.
But you saw it anyway. God, you always saw right through him.
"Yeah?" he asked quietly.
"Yeah." A small smile tugged at your lips. "Even over Prince Phillip."
"Good choice." His hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing gently across your skin. "I really like having you here."
The honesty in his voice almost hurt.
Instead of answering, you leaned forward and pressed three quick kisses against his lips. Dean smiled helplessly into the last one.
"See?" you whispered against his mouth. "Definitely my prince." He rolled his eyes, but the faint blush creeping into his ears ruined the effect.
For a while, neither of you spoke.
The TV droned quietly in the background while Dean's arm stayed wrapped around your waist, his thumb tracing lazy patterns against your side. Neither of you were really paying attention to the movie anymore.
"You went somewhere."
You blinked. "Hm?"
Dean tilted his head slightly, studying your face.
"That look." His thumb brushed lightly against your hip. You looked down at the fabric of his flannel between your fingers.
"...I just wish this could stay like this." The words were quiet, but Dean felt them anyway. Because he knew exactly what you meant.
Not the couch.
Not the teasing.
Not the kisses.
Him.
His hand stilled for a moment before he forced himself to keep moving, thumb brushing gently against your side again.
"Hey..." You shook your head quickly.
"No, it's okay." But your voice already sounded thinner. "I just..." You exhaled shakily. "I hate that every good moment turns into me remembering..." You couldn't finish it.
You didn't need to.
Dean's chest tightened painfully.
Less than a year.
He hated that you had to carry that around now. Hated that every happy moment came with a countdown neither of you could ignore.
His hand slid up slowly, fingers curling gently beneath your chin until you looked at him. Your eyes were already glossy.
Dean swore it wrecked him every single time.
"Don't do this to yourself." You laughed softly, but it broke in the middle.
"How do I not?" Dean didn't have an answer. Because honestly, he didn't know either.
So instead, he brushed his thumb beneath your eye, careful and gentle, like touching something fragile. "I'm here right now," he said quietly.
You nodded. "I know."
But the sadness remained. Dean could still see it.
So he leaned down and kissed you softly. Not trying to distract you. Not trying to fix it. Just reminding you he was here.
You kissed him back immediately, almost desperately, your fingers tightening in his shirt as you pulled him closer.
Dean paused for a second when he realized what you were doing. Trying to stop thinking. Trying to drown it all out before it settled in your chest again. His heart ached at that, but he didn't call attention to it or make you explain.
He simply slid a hand into your hair and kissed you back slowly, carefully, giving you something else to hold onto for a little while.
When you finally pulled apart, you kept your forehead resting against his, eyes closed and breathing uneven.
"C'mere." Dean pressed one last kiss near the corner of your mouth before pulling you fully into his lap.
You went willingly, arms wrapping around his neck. He held you there for a moment, content just to have you close.
"You know what I think?" You hummed quietly. "I think we should go get dinner before Sammy eats everything." A tiny smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. Dean noticed immediately and looked absurdly pleased about it.
"There she is." You shook your head.
"You always do that."
"Do what?"
"Change the subject when things get sad." Dean thought about it for a second.
"...Yeah."
You finally opened your eyes and looked at him properly again.
For once, there wasn't a joke ready on his tongue.
"I can't fix this one, sweetheart." The words were quiet. Honest. "I can't." You swallowed hard. Dean's hand settled against your cheek. "But I can get you pancakes at midnight." A laugh escaped before you could stop it. Dean smiled immediately. "And pie," he added. "Very important."
You leaned forward and kissed him again, softer this time.
"I love you," you whispered against his lips. Dean's expression softened instantly.
"Love you too." Then, because he physically couldn't leave a serious moment alone for too long. "Now c'mon, princess. Your prince is starving."
You groaned. "You ruined it."
Dean grinned, pressing a kiss to your temple as he stood and pulled you up with him.
"Yeah," he said, lacing his fingers through yours. "But you're still smiling."
And annoyingly enough, he was right.
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