coffee & constellations

You nod slowly. Dean guides your hand toward the tent of his pants. He lets you decide your next move, your hand just barely grazing him. You reach out that tiny bit further and grab his erection firmly. “Oh, fuck,” Dean gasps out, his head falling back. “See?” he chuckles gruffly. “That feel like I’m into it?” As you nod your head slowly again, your hand too begins an up and down motion as you stroke him. 

“Yeah, baby, that feels so good,” he praises. “C’mere.” His hands come to your face, pulling you into a hungry kiss. Your hand that’s not on his cock tangles itself in his lush hair. 

His hand moves down your body, squeezing one of your tits on its way down, then slips into the waistband of your pants. You gasp against his mouth as his fingers meet your quickly slicking folds. He smiles against your lips.

“You’re so wet,” he says matter-of-factly. His fingers trace your wetness a couple times. Too quickly, he takes his hand out of your pants, and you can’t help the whine that escapes you. He chuckles in response then whispers, “Let’s get these off,” and he snaps your waistband at your hips.

“Yours too,” you say. “That’s only fair.” He tugs his pants and boxers down with an easy smile. God, he’s gorgeous. He’s built like a fucking Greek god. His cock at attention beckons you. 

“Okay?” he asks cheekily, watching you admire him. You glare at him for his cockiness, and this makes him really laugh. It’s contagious. Laughing together does a lot to ease your nerves as he tugs your pants down now. He’s kissing you sweetly as he does. He pushes your hips gently, moving you back onto the bed. 

You’re on your back and shuffle your way up. His body follows above yours, kissing you all the while. He lets his weight fall on you, and you’ve never felt so safe and turned on all at once. You make out for a while, his mouth wandering yours, intermittently visiting your jaw, your neck, the top of your chest. When his hands begin wandering your body, you tense a little but don’t stop him. You want to let go, want him to feel you. Your own hands travel his body, clutching his back, tugging his hair, wandering down to his ass. 

The next time his kisses trail down, he keeps going, moving to your chest. His strong hands grasp your tits. He rubs them on his face and moans. “Fuck, your tits are fucking amazing.” He bites one playfully and your surprised sound spurs him on. “Mmmmm,” he voices against your skin, burying his face. 

Then he licks around your nipple and looks up at you, his baby blue eyes dark and piercing but not without their mischievous glint. He sucks it harshly, and you mewl.

“You like that?” he teases. You nod. “Tell me,” he says between sucks. “I want you to tell me everything you like.” “Mhm,” you whine. “I like it when you do that.” “Do what?” He plays dumb, his mouth hovering over you, hot breath giving you goosebumps. You whine again, and he responds with a soft lick of your pert skin. He rubs his face against you again, his nose flicking your nipple, but all his touches are light and teasing.

“I like it when you suck on them,” you say. 

He’s nodding as he takes you into his mouth again, sucking hard.

“Good girl,” he whispers, and it makes you rut up against him. He definitely notices. 

Dean keeps playing with your tits a while, sucking and biting and licking your nipples till you’re incredibly sensitive and incredibly wet. He gives one last long suck, coming off you with an obscene pop. 

“I want to taste you,” he says. You open your legs wider underneath him, and he smiles darkly.

Dean kisses his way down your stomach, and you can’t help but tense under his touches. He doesn’t stop, but when he’s almost between your legs, he looks up at you, and, his eyes not leaving yours, says simply, “You’re beautiful, Y/N.” He plants a firm kiss where your lower stomach meets your mound.

You bring your hand to his hair encouragingly, and he smiles against your skin. It tickles. You rut up against his face, and he nods.

“Atta girl,” he says before licking a long, slow stripe up your soaking folds. You can hear how wet you are, and you silently hope he doesn’t mind. When he moans into your cunt, you let yourself begin to believe he doesn’t.

“Fuck, Dean,” you say as he licks again and again. His tongue explores, delves, swirls. “Yes, shit, it feels really good.”

“Uhh-huh,” he says into your body. The vibrations of his voice tingle. The firm press of his tongue follows, and you move your hips in time with his motions. “That’s it,” he encourages. “Show me how you like it.” Then he dives back in. 

He builds you up, not that slowly, till you’re grinding against his perfect face. His tongue is hard at work, and after a while, when you give a particularly strangled sound, he picks up his pace. Your thighs tighten on either side of his face, and he uses his large hands to shake them. It feels amazing. The tight bud of pleasure blooming, spreading. He pushes a bit harder, shaking his head, and groans into your cunt as you start cumming on his face. Dean keeps at it till you’ve peaked then slowly come down, shivers of pleasure still shooting through you. When his face comes up, a wide smile is plastered on it and dripping with your juices. 

“Okay?” he jokes. You try to glare at him again, but it last only a fraction of a second before a smile simmers underneath it. He laughs and comes up to kiss you. 

“I like our study breaks,” he jokes in between kisses. “Hmm,” you agree against his lips. “But it’s not really fair, is it?” “What?” he asks playfully. “Well,” you tease, amazed at how comfortable he’s making you feel. “You’ve still been hard at work the whole time.” He barks out a laugh, loud and real and fun, vibrating from his chest to yours flush against him.

“What can I say? I’m a giver,” he shrugs. “Yeah, I can see that,” you say, and he smiles. “But the thing is…” you kiss him languidly. “I’m the kind of girl who would never slack on a group project.” “Oh, is that so?” His eyes travel your face, amused and adoring. He licks your lips.

“Mhmm,” you say and suck his tracing tongue into your mouth. Dean moans and kisses you ardently. You relish it a few moments then pull back. 

You push on his shoulder, and he lets you guide him onto his back. You wiggle your way down beside him, still a bit too intimidated to really straddle him, and bring yourself between his thick thighs. His cock is hard and looks delicious right in front of your face.

You look up at him, and a jolt of surprise and desire shoots through you at the look you’re met with. Dean looks bewitched looking down at you, eyes darkened and lidded, mouth parted, brows furrowed. He’s beautiful, and he’s looking at you like that. At you.

“I know you know,” you say softly, almost timidly. “But you’re really beautiful.” You’d meant for it to be a bit more playful, to mimic how simply he’d said it before, but it comes out pure and sincere. Something shifts in his expression, and you don’t know him well enough yet to read it. His thumb comes to your cheek, though, caressing it softly. The moment is a bit heavy, a bit much, and you don’t want to freak him out by letting on how intense you’re feeling all of a sudden. 

“Looks like you could use a hand,” you lighten the mood, your fingers tracing lightly up his cock. It twitches at even the minimal contact. 

“Please,” he begs. “Or a mouth, ideally,” he adds with smirk somehow simultaneously cocky and desperate.

You grip his cock, stroke him hard but slow. He moans loudly, and you love the sound, love being able to cause it. After a few more tugs, you bring your face down to him, and he nods eagerly. You lick up his shaft slowly, and his head goes back in pleasure but quickly comes back up to keep watching you. When you finally take him in your warm, wet mouth, his “fuuck” is low and prolonged. 

“Fuck, Y/N, you feel fucking amazing.” You make a sound of agreement around his cock and are rewarded with more of his delicious sounds of delight.

You take your time sucking him, switching to stroke him a couple times to prolong his pleasure without teasing him much. Your mouth around him, you try to relax, taking him even deeper, and you feel his hard length twitch. His hands come to your hair but don’t push you. They just play with your hair, even massage your head a bit. 

His hands cradling you has him crunching toward you, and this close up, you’re truly amazed at the ridges of his abs. You make a note to lick along them next time. You scold yourself immediately for thinking there will be a next time, but deep down you let yourself hope for one. You take him as deep as possible again and again. A couple times he can’t help but thrust up a little bit into your mouth, but he clearly tries to let you keep complete control. “Fuck, fuck, yeah, just like that, just like that,” he praises as you move faster.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants. “I’m gonna cum, Y/N. Where do you want me to… fuuuck… where can I cum?” His voice is breathy and desperate. You moan around him in response and grip his hips tighter. 

He makes a strangled sound as he releases into your mouth. You take it all, suck him through it, get off on how wrecked he looks as he starts coming back to normal. 

When he’s done, you sit up and just admire him. He’s splayed out on his bed and looks totally fucked out and relaxed. He hums lowly, running a hand over his gorgeous sex-drunk face and through his now slightly damp blond locks. Then he reaches his hand out to you, an almost sleepy grin on his face.

“C’mere,” he says lazily, and you take his hand as he pulls you down to him. He fixes his arm around your shoulders, snuggling into you. His fingers trace patterns on your skin, occasionally play with your hair. You just lie there together for what feels like at least several minutes. It’s peaceful and warm. “That was fun,” Dean says finally breaking the silence. He kisses your temple.

“Yeah,” you agree with a giggle. 

His face still nuzzling yours, he asks, “Do you maybe want to work together again tomorrow?”

~~ When you get to the house, you go up to Dean’s room to change. You like dressing up occasionally, and these parties are a great excuse, but you’re not the kind of girl who’s comfy at the games in full glam. 

You’re giving yourself one more quick appraisal in the mirror when Dean barges in. Your outfit leaves little to the imagination, hugging your curves perfectly. “Y/N, you almost ready? Hannah and Garrett are asking me downstairs if you —” He literally stops mid-sentence when he sees you. “Fuck me,” he says dramatically, looking you up and down. “You trying to kill me, baby? You look…” He spins you around. “Fuck. There’s not even words for how hot you look.” 

You chuckle shyly. You know. You believe him. But it’s still weird — and really nice — to hear it. 

“Thanks, Dean.”

“C’mere.” He pulls you into him and kisses you. His tongue immediately dances with yours, and his hands wander your accentuated curves. You make out for a bit before he says, “Fuck, I think maybe we skip the party, yeah? Or at least be fashionably late?” He kisses all over your neck and keeps squeezing your body to his.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m sure all your friends are waiting for you. Plus this outfit is too good for you to take it off me before anyone else sees it.” 

Dean groans into the crook of your neck. “But I reaaally want to,” he whines. “God, the things I want to do to you…” He pulls back and looks you up and down. “But you’re right.” He smiles, and you know him well enough to read the pride in it. He loves when you talk about yourself like this. It happens more and more often now, your confidence showing. “You’re too hot.” He shrugs jokingly like there’s just nothing he can do about it. “I would be evil to keep you from the world. Come on then, gorgeous.” He gives you one last kiss before taking you by the hand out of his room and down the stairs into the loud party crowd.

~~ You’re having fun with the group, chatting with Logan, DJ-ing with Tucker for a bit, even taking a shot with Garrett. Dean’s having fun, too, but he can never stay away from you for too long. Not that you’d want him to. Every time you feel his arms wrap around you, you lean into his familiar warmth and revel in how happy he makes you, how simultaneously comforting and exciting his touch still is.

“Sorry, Dean, I’m stealing your girl for a bit,” Hannah says, pulling you away from him toward the dance floor with her. She knows you love to dance. “You’re cruel, Wellsy!” Dean yells after you both. You both just laugh and start moving to the music. 

You let yourself relax, moving with abandon. Your hips sway. Your arms travel your body. You and Hannah dance close to each other, occasionally spinning each other and leaning into each other. At least a whole song has gone by before you look back to where you’d left your boyfriend. 

Dean is staring at you shamelessly. His eyes look lidded, and his bottom lip is between his teeth. You can see his dimples from here, and all you want to do is kiss them. Dean notices you notice him, and he gives you a little shake of his head, eyebrows raised, a playful gesture of disbelief at how much he likes what he sees. You smile at him and put on a bit of a show for him. 

Before you know it, he’s making his way over to you. 

“Sorry, Wellsy, now I’m stealing my girl.” “She’s all yours, stud,” Hannah chuckles and makes her way back over to where you see Garrett in lively conversation. 

Dean starts dancing with you in earnest, and it’s so fun. And so fucking hot. He traces your body with the lightest teasing touches before sinking down in front of you in perfect rhythm with the music. His darkened eyes look up at you, and he looks like he’s worshipping you. When he comes back up, you kiss. It’s quick but ardent. He’s smiling when he turns you around and grabs your hips. You lean back into his chest and even rub your ass into him a bit more than you would have if you weren’t a little bit drunk and a lot love-drunk. Dean kisses just under your ear, and the shivers travel down your entire body. 

You dance a couple more songs before you finally break apart, the dance floor getting a bit crowded.

“Can we get some water?” you ask into his ear. He nods, gives your forehead a quick kiss then slowly pulls you with him through the crowd.

You’re walking across the living room, Dean’s arm wrapped around your shoulders when you hear, “Damn, Di Laurentis, you really will stick your dick in anything that moves, won’t you? What happened? Worked your way through all the fit girls till slumming it was the only way to get some new ass?” 

It’s a guy you recognise from the football team. He’s incredibly drunk and incredibly an asshole even when he’s sober. 

Something switches instantly inside Dean, his eyes suddenly pure rage.

“What the fuck did you just say?” He grabs the guy and shoves him. “What the fuck did you say, you fucking shit?” he yells. 

The other guy shoves him back, just saying, “You heard me, asshole.” Dean punches him twice in quick succession. The guy tries to punch back, but Dean dodges him and backs him up into the wall. He’s about to punch him again, but you’re trying to hold him back. 

“Dean, stop! It’s not worth it. Please! Just let it go,” you ramble desperately.

He’s obviously strong enough to pull free from you if he wants to, but when he sees it’s you, he stills. His breathing is quick and shallow, and his eyes are boring into yours. It’s clearly taking a lot of self control not to beat the guy to shreds. He’s still got him pinned with one arm, but when you give him a pleading “please,” he gives him one more forceful shove into the wall before taking a step back. 

“You’re fucking lucky she’s here, you little shit,” he spits. “Get the fuck out of my house.” 

Garrett and Logan have just made their way over and quickly grab the guy before Dean can do more damage. You see them shove him out the door as you pull Dean with you up the stairs. 

~~

It’s calm in Dean’s room as you sit on the edge of the bed with him, tending to his messed up knuckles. His hand is in your lap, and when you accidentally press a bit too hard, Dean winces, and his free hand comes to squeeze your arm. “Sorry,” you whisper. It breaks the silence that has fallen over you.

His grip loosens, and his thumb starts stroking your forearm.

“Are you mad?” he asks you. You don’t remember ever hearing his voice sound so small. “No,” you say. He nods slowly. 

“Can you tell me what you’re thinking?” 

You try but don’t really know what to say. 

“Talk to me, baby,” he pleads. He stills your mending hands and takes them in his, turning to face you. 

“I don’t want you fighting,” you say lamely. He lightly squeezes your hands, glad to be talking. “Especially over something so stupid,” you add. 

“Woah,” he interrupts quickly, seeming almost offended. “It wasn’t stupid. That asshole fucking deserved it. I’d fuck up any jerk that talks about you like that. I mean, did you hear what he said?” “Yeah, of course I did,” you say quickly, sternly. This quiets him. Of course you heard it, and it was probably not nice to relive it. “And you didn’t want me to beat him to shit for saying it?” He’s actually asking. 

“Maybe a little… But if you went around hitting everyone who’s ever made fat jokes, there’d be bloody noses and black eyes everywhere you look,” you scoff. “If you added anyone who jokes about why the hell you ended up with me, it’d be half the campus.” “Are you serious?” He looks devastated. 

“I mean, yeah, Dean,” you say softly. “That’s really a surprise?” 

“I don’t know… I guess maybe not if I’d stopped to think about it harder, but… I don’t know… It just… It makes no fucking sense to me.” “People are idiots,” you laugh humorlessly.

“I would pummel the whole fucking campus,” he says seriously. The mix of sadness and anger in his eyes makes the blue much stormier than usual.

“Dean,” you sigh. You bring your hand to his face, caressing his cheek. “I don’t want you to beat up the whole campus.” “It doesn’t get to you?” “Of course it does, sometimes,” you admit. “But less and less all the time.” You smile earnestly, and he can’t help but mirror it a little even though his eyes stay gloomy. “And so much of that is because of you.” His small smile widens. “I mean, I’ve had to do a lot on my own, too… I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t just as shocked as everyone else at first. At you being into me, wanting to be with me.” “Of course I am, baby,” Dean says and slides close to you, taking your face in his hands and resting his forehead against yours. “Fuck, I’m so into you.” He kisses you. “Like, more than I’ve ever been into anyone. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t shocked at first at wanting to be a one woman man,” he chuckles. “But you’re it for me.”

Now you kiss him. 

“I know,” you tell him, with the weight that really believing his words carries.  

“Yeah?” he whispers, kissing you again, lingering this time. “Yeah.” “Good. Because I don’t want you to ever believe anything like what that idiot was saying tonight. I’m so so sorry you have to hear it so much. I wish I could stop anyone from ever saying anything bad to you.” “But you can’t, Dean. It means the world to me that you want to, but you can’t. And that’s just part of being alive, you know? Dealing with shit, with people, with shitty people. I mean it sucks, sometimes, yeah, and it gets to me sometimes, of course, but… it’s like…” You don’t know how to put it. “What, baby?”

“I guess what I want you to get is that what matters to me now isn’t assholes getting what they deserve — which they do — or even fixing them somehow. What matters to me now is you being okay, being good. I don’t want you accidentally getting hurt. Missing games cus you got injured or in trouble. Or even just feeling angry or violent or bad. You and me can just be good, you know? What matters to me now isn’t all of them, it’s just… you.”

Dean kisses you, hard. He pulls you close as he pours it all into your kiss. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he whispers, his lips still brushing yours as he speaks. “How are you so good?” He pecks your lips. “So wise?” He pecks you again. “And so fucking patient with me?” This time it’s deeper. You kiss him back ardently.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ NSFW /MDNI ~~~~~~~~~~ NSFW / MDNI ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I am patient, aren’t I?” you tease. “Cus, you know… I had plans for tonight…” You kiss down his jaw and neck. “I had high hopes for what these hands were going to do to me…,” you tell him, bringing his hurt hand to your lips. “And then you go and do this.” You kiss him carefully, lightly near his knuckles then harder on his palm. You pout playfully. He brings his thumb to stroke your lips then presses on them. You suck his thumb into your mouth, and he groans loudly. 

“Holy fuck,” he says, watching you, entranced. He uses that hand to grab your face and pull you to him, crashing your mouths together again. “Baby,” he says huskily, “I haven’t been taking care of you right if you think I’m not ambidextrous…” His uninjured left hand slips under your clothes and squeezes your hip. It starts to wander your body, tracing teasing circles then gripping you. His mouth travels wetly down your neck now. 

He pulls back a bit, eyes dark and heavy, lips moist and parted.

“Take your clothes off,” he begs.

“Since you asked so nicely,” you joke. You start pulling your clothes off, and he’s eagerly doing the same. 

The second they’re off, Dean pushes you back down onto the bed. You’re on your back, and he takes a moment to just admire you. You don’t shy away from his looking. He groans appreciatively before sinking down to keep making out with you. 

Then he stops kissing you, the focus shifting to his wandering left hand, his face hovering above yours, his nose brushing yours. He’s grinning as his fingers begin their journey down your body. He traces your throat, between your boobs, stopping to play with them. He squeezes them, brushes around your nipples then pinches them. His fingers trail down your stomach, tracing meandering patterns before coming to a stop at the mound between your legs. 

You whimper when he doesn’t keep going, and he chuckles gruffly in response. 

“I thought you said you were patient, sweetheart,” he teases. “If you’ve been thinking about this all night, a few more seconds shouldn’t be so bad, should it?” “Fuck, Di Laurentis, you better know how to use those fucking fingers.” You’ve never actually stopped to think about whether he always fingers you with his dominant hand, but when he sinks two fingers into you, you stop caring.

“You’re so wet,” he chuckles. You just nod, biting your lip to keep your moans low as he starts curling his fingers deftly. “Yeah? You like that, baby? That what you wanted?” “Yes, fuck, Dean. Yes,” you pant. “I want more.”

“Fuuck.” He loves when you get needy, even more when you admit it and ask for what you want.

He sticks another finger in and presses a little harder. His thumb situates itself perfectly on your clit so that every motion of his hand has pressure and vibrations where you want them most. You mumble a mix of curses and “Dean”’s and “pleases”’s as he builds and builds your pleasure. He switches between watching you with enraptured eyes and making out with you messily.

You feel yourself getting close and start shaking your hips in time with his thrusting. He watches your wiggling body move. 

“So fucking hot,” he says, more to himself than to you. Then looking in your eyes, he says, “You gonna cum, baby?” 

A needy “yes” rips out of you. He nods as he picks up his pace. Your orgasm comes hard and intense. Your whole body shakes. Dean keeps up his ministrations as wave after wave of pleasure shoot through you. It goes on several seconds longer than usual, and you revel in it.

When you finally start to come down, Dean slows. He pulls his fingers out of you and gently rubs your wet lips and clit. You’re so sensitive, but he knows just how much to touch you to extend the delicious shivers of pleasure, not overstimulating you. When he finally stops, you look at him to see his gorgeous smile beaming down at you.

“Good?” he asks in a tone that makes it obvious he knows the answer.

“Shut up,” you smile and bring him down to you. You kiss him with all the overwhelming affection and attraction you feel for him, and he does the same. 

When he shifts on top of you, you feel his erection rub between your legs. You groan deeply into your kiss and rut up into him. 

“Don’t worry, baby. I’m not done with you yet…,” he promises with his sexy smirk. You admire it for a second before erasing it with your demanding lips.

~~

Garrett and Tucker had been really nice about your staying. Dean hadn’t been around when Logan had told them and shown you around. Now you’re getting some work done on their couch since the house is weirdly empty. And warm. It’s great.

A dramatic plop near you on the couch startles you out of your focus. When you see it’s Dean, your raised heart rate has little do with being surprised. “Hi,” he says simply, flashing you a ridiculously perfect smile. “Um, hi,” you respond lamely. He raises his eyebrows at you expectantly, his smile never leaving his face. “I feel like I’m missing something… or I came home to the wrong house.” “No, I, no, of course, it’s just, um, well, Logan’s letting me stay here. Like here in his room, not here on the couch, obviously,” you ramble. He chuckles at how easily flustered you seem to be. “You’re staying with Logan? The asshole hasn’t told me he’s seeing someone. I always tell him about my girls.” “What? No! It’s not… it’s not like that. We’re just friends. He’s not even here. He’s gone for the break already. I just needed a place to stay because my heater’s broken.” 

The suggestion has your mind reeling a bit. You’re not exactly sure why; you’ve never had feelings like that for Logan. It might have something to do with Dean seeing you immediately as someone… what? dateable? was that the same desirable? or were you just insane at an obvious misunderstanding on his part? “Oh, yeah, I forgot he finished so early this semester. Well, cool. Welcome, I guess. Glad we can keep you warm,” he says with a wink. You knew he was a flirt, but what the hell. Even flirty guys weren’t usually flirty with you. Not guys that looked like Dean Di Laurentis at least.

“Thanks?” you say nervously. Again, he chuckles at you, and you’re kicking yourself at how much you seem to react to him even when he hasn’t really done anything. 

Needless to say, you get a lot less work done with him hanging out in the living room, especially when you occasionally notice him glancing up from his phone to look over at you. The next time you catch him, when he notices you notice him, rather than look away like you’re sure you would have, he shoots you another wink. 

~~

You emerge from a long work session in Logan’s room to find Tucker bustling around the kitchen. Garrett left earlier this afternoon, and Dean is “helping” Tucker with dinner, mostly just messing with him. 

“Y/N! You hungry?” Tucker greets enthusiastically. “Oh, um, yeah, I guess. But I really don’t want to impose.” “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re eating with us. It’ll be great,” Tucker says. 

“Seriously, Y/N, if you’re going to be staying with us, it’s rude not to eat Tucker’s food,” Dean adds. It’s the first time you’ve heard him say your name, and it makes your stomach flip more than the delicious smells coming from the kitchen.

“Can I help at least? Seems like you could use it with your current sous chef,” you joke, completely unsure where you got the confidence. 

Dean looks mock-offended, and Tucker cracks up. “Oh, she’s got jokes,” says Dean. “You see how obvious you’re slacking is, man? It’s nice to have someone around who’ll actually help. No wonder Logan likes you,” Tucker goes on. 

The three of you fall into an easy rhythm, having fun till dinner is served. The food is delicious, and talking to them is easy. You’re shocked at how effortlessly and quickly they’ve made you feel at home. 

“So are you guys done with finals?” you ask them. “I just have one more in a couple days. Dean’s still got to write a paper I’m pretty sure he hasn’t even started.” “Ugh, stop reminding me. I’ll do it tomorrow.” “You’ve been saying that for days. You’re running out of tomorrows, man.” “Okay, thanks, dad.” Tucker just glares at him. 

“I’ve still got to work on my paper too. I can’t wait to be done,” you say. “See, perfect!” Tucker says. “Y/N seems smart and studious. The two of you should work together tomorrow to keep you on track, Dean.” I’m sorry, what? You don’t think you could come up with anything more distracting than having Dean Di Laurentis in a work session. “I don’t know, man. I’d probably be too distracted,” Dean says. Was he messing with you? Could he read your mind? Why would he be distracted? He adds with a smirk, “I don’t usually call up hot girls when I’m trying to get work done.”

“Actually you do. Then you get no work done,” Tucker responds, like Dean’s joke was a normal thing to say, like you’re not secretly about to implode a couple feet away from him. “But Coach is gonna be pissed if we’re on thin ice next semester, so you’ve gotta get your shit done.” “What do you say, Y/L/N? Could you use a study buddy?” Dean asks, leaning forward on the table, looking you straight in the eyes. Since when did your last name sound so hot? How could “study buddy” make you think of everything other than studying you could do with someone? Or, more importantly, when did you suddenly go insane enough to even entertain those kinds of thoughts when you knew from experience how badly having that kind of hope could go? Dean was just a nice guy. A nice, ridiculously hot guy. But that was irrelevant. He just wanted to write his paper. You were just a means to an academic end. A friend — you could call yourself that now, right? — to help him out when he needs to get his work done.

“Sure,” you say. Your response nonchalant, your feelings anything but.

~~ “You want some?” Dean asks you the next morning, gesturing toward their coffee machine.

“Yeah, thanks.” “A little milk, no sugar, right?” “How’d you know that?” “It’s what you’ve been drinking the last couple days,” he shrugs, like noticing is no big deal. Maybe it isn’t. 

“Thanks, Dean.” “Sure,” he smiles. “So, what’s your boring paper on?”

“Mine’s not boring actually. Annoying to write, yeah, but not a boring topic, you know?” “Not really,” he chuckles. “Enlighten me.” You start telling him about your paper, how you’re actually excited by the argument you’re making. He’s enthralled listening to you. 

“Tucker was right,” he laughs after you’ve been talking for a while, sitting next to each other, drinking your coffee together.

“About what?” “Your being a good motivator. It’s sweet how you talk about this stuff. Maybe being with someone who’s actually excited to do their work will make me not want to suck at mine.” He bumps your shoulder with his and keeps the contact.

“Happy to help,” you say shyly, hiding behind your coffee cup. “I’m sure you don’t suck at it.” “Oh, yeah? Why’s that? As far as you know, I could be hopeless.” He gives you playful puppy dog eyes. “It’s hard to imagine you being that bad at anything.” He smirks a bit, but he seems unsure what to say next. You assume he’s gauging how much to mess with you.

“You just seem so confident,” you add before he can tease you about imagining him doing other things or something along those lines.

“That’s just with the things I know I’m good at, though,” he says. “Like…” he looks you up and down unashamedly. He bites his bottom lip, and you’re sure you must be hallucinating. Smiling, he just says, “You know, like hockey. You should come watch us play some time…” “I have,” you say simply.

“Really? I can’t believe I haven’t noticed you around.” “I can. Why would you have?” 

“I always notice pretty girls. It’s a talent of mine.” He’s fully smirking now. 

You can’t tell if he’s being serious. Despite yourself, you hope beyond hope that he is, but your instincts tell you he must be teasing you. 

Your stomach drops, and you can’t hide the mingled bitterness and sadness tinging your voice when you just say, “Yeah, it’s hard to miss. I’ve seen you with those girls.” Dean tenses at your mood shift, brows furrowed, but doesn’t push it, seemingly unsure what went wrong. 

“Anyway, we should probably get to work, right?” you try to lighten the mood. 

“Yeah, sure,” he smiles, but it doesn’t reach his gorgeous eyes.

~~

It doesn’t take long for things to feel normal again, and it’s not lost on you how strange it is to even have a “normal” with Dean Di Laurentis after such little time spent together. But he just makes you feel comfortable.

You go back and forth between getting work done and talking. A couple times, you have coffee breaks, and you find yourself disappointed every time they end and you have to get back to an essay instead of learning more about Dean, easily chatting and laughing with him.

Your longest stretch of work is finally cut off by Dean groaning dramatically, running his hands over his face and luscious hair. 

“I can’t do this anymore. I need a break, or I’m going to go crazy. The words don’t even make sense anymore,” he complains to you. “It has been a while,” you concede.

“How’s yours going? Want to do something else for a while?” “Like what?” 

“I don’t know. What do you normally do for fun?” “I don’t know. How about you?” “I asked you first,” he teases, shutting his laptop and shifting closer to you on the couch.

“Um, yeah, but I can’t think of anything,” you laugh. “Well I’d usually go to the gym probably,” Dean says. “Get some energy out.” “Right,” you say, not really relating but having a good time picturing him working out. 

“But there are also other ways of getting energy out…” he says. He smirks playfully. He raises his eyebrows at you as if in question. You’re sure you misheard him. Or if you didn’t, you have to be misunderstanding. 

“Oh?” you respond, your voice lilting, giving away your reeling thoughts. He chuckles. 

“I mean, yeah,” he says so casually he might as well be offering you more coffee. “If you want…” He’s worrying his bottom lip again as he looks at you. When you notice how obvious it is that you’re staring at his mouth, you realize how close you’re sitting. 

The tension is palpable, and you can’t take it anymore. You can’t take the tension; you can’t take not knowing if it’s real; you can’t take your stupid inner voice telling you it can’t be.

So you blurt out without thinking, “You’re joking, right?” He seems actually taken aback. “Um, no?” he asks with an oddly nervous chuckle. “I just thought we seemed to be having a good time, and now we could have some other kinds of fun…” Then he adds, “But I’m sorry if I misread it,” as he backs away a bit at your lack of reaction. 

“No, you didn’t,” you say, already missing his proximity, leaning forward to close the distance again. “I’m just surprised is all.” “Why?” He follows your lead and also leans in. You’re speechless as he looks at each of your features then brings his hand to your face, playing with your hair, tucking it behind your ear. His hand lingers, his thumb brushing your cheekbone. 

“Well,” you say softly. “I’m not exactly your type, am I?” you chuckle as you ask, but there’s no real amusement in your voice. You look down, the eye contact too much. He doesn’t let you hide, lightly tilting your chin up with gentle fingers. His thumb comes up to your lower lip, tracing it. 

“Oh, sweetheart, I pride myself on appreciating all kinds of beauty. And you… you are very easy to appreciate… I’m sorry if some other assholes don’t see it, if anyone’s ever made you feel like you’re not fucking gorgeous…” He comes even closer, your faces millimetres from each other. He’s smiling when his nose brushes yours. “But I do love a challenge… and I can make sure you know how hot you are.” And Dean kisses you. 

He doesn’t bother to start off slow, leading with his tongue. He moans as soon as it’s in your mouth. His hand holds the side of your face, fingers in your hair, and he pulls you close. Your hands come up to him. The one on his chest feels his low chuckle at your enthusiasm when your tongue pushes back against his. 

You kiss him back earnestly, and his other hand comes to your hip, guiding you toward him. You’re flush against him, but he tries to pull you even closer. You’re intimidated to follow where his hands seem to be bringing you, but when he enthusiastically says, “C’mere,” you let him guide you into his lap. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ NSFW /MDNI ~~~~~~~~~~ NSFW / MDNI ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You don’t even have time to stress about it before he’s kneading your ass and whispering a husky “fuck” into your skin as his mouth explores your jawline, your neck. When you feel the prominent bulge forming under you, you know he’s definitely not kidding. You bare yourself to him, and he nips under your ear then sucks the new skin he has access to. You whimper and clutch him, your hands in his hair, on his shoulders.

Dean starts kissing you again as you’re both subconsciously starting to rut your hips into each other. He wanders down your throat till he’s kissing your collarbones. His hands come to your chest and squeeze. 

“Oh, fuck,” you let out.

“Mmmm,” you feel more than hear as Dean buries his face in your tits. He’s laughing when he emerges, saying, “You are soo fucking hot.” His hands keep kneading your tits. He gives you a quick kiss as he asks, “Can I take this off?” tugging on your shirt. You nod quickly, and he rushes to pull it off. His face is immediately back in your chest, his mouth biting and kissing you everywhere. You pull his head to you, looking down at him with lidded eyes. His hands gently trace up and down your back a few times before unclasping your bra.

He pinches and plays with one nipple as the other goes into his mouth, and he sucks. “Fuuck, Dean. That feels so good.” You push your chest into his eager mouth and grab his hair. He moans into you, his eyes coming up to meet yours as his tongue swirls around your now pert, sensitive nipple. He gives it a little bite then comes back up to keep making out with you. His hand splayed on your lower back encourages your grinding into him. 

Suddenly, his phone goes off loudly next to you, startling you. You pull back.

“It’s fine,” he says out of breath. “Whoever it is can wait.” His mouth chases yours. “Okay,” you chuckle. “But maybe we should go to your room?” You’d be mortified if Tucker or anyone else came in right now.

Dean nods eagerly, his smile blindingly beautiful. “Let’s go,” he says quickly, giving your ass a slap before keenly pulling you off the couch with him.

His hands don’t leave your body as you race up the stairs…

Dean picks up the pace and presses just that little bit harder. Your legs start shaking. His hands, gripping your thighs, squeeze tighter and shake them even more. Your pleasure builds and builds until it finally peaks, a loud, involuntary sound leaving you as your orgasm sends jolts through your entire body, as it does every time Di Laurentis gets between your legs.

Your skin is still extra sensitive as Dean licks and nips at you, giving the inside of your thigh a tiny bite as he finally emerges. His characteristic smirk is splayed across his face, as is the shiny evidence of what he’s just done. 

“I’m sorry, ‘annoying’? Obviously I was blowing your mind so hard, you couldn’t even think straight. I think the word you were looking for was ‘amazing’? ‘Astounding’ maybe?” Your hand hasn’t moved from its position on his head, and you tug his long locks again, a little harder this time. He lets you, and it annoys you to no end how hot he looks, chin tilting up from your pulling, his lips parted, an amused smile ghosting them, your juices still coating them.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you deadpan. “I meant what I said.” 

He glares at you but can’t help his spreading smile as he crawls his way up your body. 

“The part where you said I was soo good?” he emphasizes the last couple of words lewdly. “Or the part where you screamed so loud I think the whole campus heard you?”

“Oh my god, shut up.” You roll your eyes, but he can read the mirth in them. “You are so full of yourself.”

“I think,” he teases, giving your lips a quick peck, “You’re just mad because you want to be full of me…” He kisses you again, more tongue this time. He ruts his prominent erection between your legs to punctuate his suggestion. 

“Fuck, Dean,” you can’t help but whimper, rutting up to meet his hips. He doesn’t plan on saying so out loud, but every time you use his first name, especially in bed, his hard-on gets impossibly harder. He chuckles at your reaction, and you laugh with him. “Get inside me then,” you say and wrap your legs around his waist. His responding groan is deep and tells you just how much he wants to.

He devours your mouth as he slowly slips inside you, pausing when he bottoms out. Dean keeps making out with you lazily as he languidly moves in and out. Usually, he’d be pounding in to you by now, but this time, he wants to take his time. 

You grip his ass and encourage him to move faster. “Come on, baby, fuck me, please,” you slur as you don’t stop kissing him. 

Oh, fuck. ‘Baby’ is new, and all he can think about is what to do to you to make you call him that again. His hips pick up speed; his mouth wanders your lips, your jaw, your neck. The sounds you make as he goes harder and harder spur him on.

“Fuck, Dean, fuuuck..” He groans into the crook of your neck. He’s getting way too close, needs to get you there first. He shifts his angle the slightest bit, making his pubic bone hit your clit as he keeps thrusting. He feels your hands clutch him tighter, your legs squeeze around him, and a couple thrusts later, the moans you make as you orgasm, your lips right by his ear, send him over the edge with you even before your pulsing around his cock prolongs it even further.

Dean keeps up his motions as you both come down, just much slower, gently kissing your shoulder and neck. When he finally stills, he doesn’t roll off of you like usual, staying on top of you, feeling you breathe under him. 

He pulls his face back to look at you, and it hits him just how gorgeous you are. He’s too far gone to really notice that that’s usually a thought he has when he wants to fuck someone, not after he already has. 

He pecks your lips then lingers a bit as he plants a kiss on your forehead. You giggle, and he pulls back. “What are you laughing at?” “Nothing, just tickles,” you say easily. His heart flutters. “Oh yeah? What about this?” His hands move to your ribcage, tickling you mercilessly. His weight on top of you keeps you from being able to escape his evil, wandering hands. Not that you are trying all that hard. 

“Stop, Dean, stop!” you laugh, smacking then holding on to his broad shoulders. 

“Okay, okay,” he says as he finally does, still laughing lightly. 

You both just stare at each other as you catch your breaths. Your smiles fade slowly, and when there’s only traces of them left, you realize the mood has melted with them. It’s less playful, heavier somehow. 

Dean’s eyes move down to your lips. You’ve seen him do this many times now, so you don’t know why it catches your attention differently this time. He kisses you. 

As he pulls back, you smile but whisper, “I should probably go. It’s getting kind of late.” 

He looks surprised for a moment then something more somber for a fraction of one before he says, “Yeah, yeah,” with a chuckle as he rolls off of you. 

You can feel his eyes on you as you collect your clothes from around his room then put them on.

“Have you seen my sweatshirt? Sounds windier out there.” “Um, no, I don’t think you were wearing one when you got here. No worries, though, just borrow one of mine.” He gets up and tosses you one. 

“Thanks,” comes out muffled as you slip it on. 

“No problem.” “Alright then.” “Yeah.” Why was this awkward? Saying bye was never awkward with you. “See you later?” “Yeah, sure,” he says with a smile. He hopes it looks easier than it feels.

“I’ll give this back next time,” you say, tugging the sweatshirt. Damn, it looks good on you. He almost wants to tell you to keep it. 

“Yeah, of course, whatever,” he shrugs.

“Cool.” “Cool.”

“Toilet,” James responds simply. You nod. “Seriously, Y/N, why are you scowling in a corner by yourself? You alright?” 

You’re touched at his genuine concern. He may be constantly distracted by love, but he’s still a good friend, and you don’t want to take your frustrations — frustrations directed much more immediately at your other “friend” — on him. 

“I’m fine, Jamie, really. Just really didn’t feel like coming tonight.” 

It’s easy to say convincingly because it is in fact true. You had been in no mood for a party today and had come on one condition. A condition since broken utterly and completely. 

This morning you’d been hanging out with Sirius. You’d had a brilliant time, perhaps a bit too brilliant. You were drained from a long week anyway, so tonight seemed the perfect time to take a break from people — well, person really — and all your exhausting feelings. Getting dressed up sounded like too much effort anyway. When you’d told Sirius you were thinking of skipping the big Halloween party, he’d stopped you immediately. “What? Don’t be ridiculous. Of course you’re coming! I’ve been looking forward to it forever, and it wouldn’t be the same without you.” 

Warring impulses: his words tugging your heart toward him, your mind urging you even more to pull back because of it. 

“I don’t know, Sirius, I’m tired. You’ll have a great time anyway. It’s always so easy for you to be around people. Me, if it’s not you lot, it’s a bit too much effort sometimes. With Remus not around, and we both know James will be busy, I think I’d rather just have a chill night in.” 

“And where does that leave me then? If James and Remus aren’t there, I’m not good enough?” He says it jokingly, but you know him too well to miss the hurt under the teasing facade.

“Of course you’re enough, you idiot. More than enough.” You bump his shoulder with yours, keeping the contact as you continue. “I just know you want to be around other people too. I don’t really feel like seeing anyone other than you, but I don’t want to hold you back. You shouldn’t be worrying over me when you could be having a good time.” 

“Why would it be worrying over you? I want to spend time with you. If you really don’t want to go, I’ll stay in with you.” 

He sounds sincere, and you know how much he loves Halloween parties. Your anxious, wishful mind starts whirring about how he’d choose you over a good time that only comes once a year, but you stop yourself before you give away how much of an effect he’s having on you. “Sirius. You just said you’d been looking forward to this for ages. Of course you’re not missing it!”

“Well, I’m not going if you’re not going,” he says matter-of-factly, shrugging casually into you as you’re still leaning against him. 

You glare at him. He holds your gaze expectantly. 

“Fiiine, we’ll go,” you give. 

Beaming at you, he throws his arms around you in a warm, playful embrace. 

“Thank you, thank you,” he smiles, and he punctuates his gratitude with a firm kiss to your cheek. You were touchy friends, sure, but you never kissed each other. You hope he didn’t linger long enough to feel the warmth spreading where his lips had just been. He looks into your eyes a beat too long then saves you from having to say anything as he goes on. “I won’t leave you alone. Sure, we can catch up with everyone, but especially if James is, um, otherwise occupied,” he chuckles, “I’ll make sure you’re taken care of, darling.” 

When Sirius had said those words earlier, their possibly suggestive meaning ringing in your ears, you couldn’t help but wonder how he’d meant them. Now, watching him flirting away with some random, extremely fit girl across the room from you, you just wonder if he’d meant them at all. 

Lily reemerges, looking radiant as ever, probably having just gussied up. She’s dressed as an angel, and it suits her. James, silly, enamoured James, seems to forget everything as soon as he sees her. You chuckle at him.

“What?” he shoots.

“She should be dressed as Cupid with how lovestruck you get every time you look at her,” you tease. “Shut up,” he says with no bite, shoving you lightly. Lily smiles at him, and he’s a goner. “Alright, maybe you’re right, you grump, but when the day comes you’re a lovestruck idiot, I won’t let you live it down.” If he only knew it was your twisted, unrequited version he’d just interrupted. 

“Alright, lover boy.” “You sure you’re alright?” “Fine, fine. Go have fun.” He hesitates but gives your shoulder a squeeze as he heads off toward Lily, shooting a quick “find me if you need anything!” over his shoulder.

You venture a look toward Sirius. He seems completely oblivious to you, and it’s driving you mad. You’d meant to have a night without him, without the confusion he’d been stirring in you, but you’d ended up here on his insistence. And he’d been completely ignoring you all night. It was so unlike him. Especially after he’d promised he’d keep you company. It didn’t make sense. You tried thinking back on the night, trying to pinpoint where things had gone wrong, if something had happened. 

Sirius had come over again, only a few hours after leaving you, to come to the party together, and he’d been weirdly distant since. He hadn’t even complimented your costume, which seemed insignificant but actually rather stung. 

He’d never been shy about complimenting you, and it had always been a major self-esteem boost. Even though Sirius was naturally flirty, you knew he was honest too, and regardless of how romantic you were feeling toward him over the years, you always loved hearing him tell you you were beautiful, which he did. Often. And yet today, when you looked not just different than usual but, if you do say so yourself, really hot, he said nothing. 

You couldn’t help but notice when his eyes raked over you in your witch costume. It made you feel warm and… wanted? And you’d be lying to yourself if you said you hadn’t had him in mind while you were getting ready and everything seemed to be falling into place especially perfectly, your costume, your makeup, your hair, even your mood. But when the moment had come for Sirius to appreciate your look, he’d sputtered out a stunted, “Ready?”

Incredibly uncharacteristically, he’d said nothing else the whole way, occasionally looking over at you then looking away quickly anytime you tried to meet his eye. When you were approaching the party, you’d finally frustratedly pleaded, “Alright, what’s wrong, Siri?”

“What do you mean?” “Oh, come on. You’re acting so weird! Why are you so tense?”

“I’m not.” 

“You are.” A beat. “Did I do something?” you asked more quietly. You couldn’t help but wonder if he’d noticed the recent tension you’d been feeling toward him. Worse, you worried he knew the cause, knew how you were feeling but didn’t know how to tell you he didn’t feel the same. 

His eyes softened at your shift.

“No, no, of course not, love. You didn’t do anything. I’m just… I… Well, I just have some stuff on my mind.” “What stuff?” 

“It’s not important, Y/N. Can we just drop it?” he snapped. 

“Fine, whatever.” You’d walked on before he had the chance to say anything else.

Basically as soon as you’d gotten to the party, you’d parted ways. You’d chatted here and there with people, not noticing the way he kept looking over at you, but after a while, you’d receded into your current sulking corner. 

You’re still glaring at him when he looks over, and your eyes meet. You maintain your steely gaze, and he seems almost pained as he looks you over. You raise your eyebrows in challenge, an implied “well?” shooting across the room. He responds with a stiff smile, nothing like his usual effortlessly bright one. 

You scoff, unsure what you’re even still doing here if you’re not in the mood to be out and Sirius is going to keep ignoring you. Shaking your head, you start making your way to the door. You’re approaching the exit when his familiar hand grabs your arm, his rings cold against your skin. 

“Woah, where are you going?” “Are you joking?” you shoot. 

“Y/N…” “What?” 

He doesn’t say anything. “I’m going home, Sirius. Not that it seems you care much.” “Of course I care!” “Really? You’ve been ignoring me all night! I dare you to even deny it.” 

He doesn’t. His hand that hadn’t left your arm goes to his stressed out face then runs anxiously through his perfect raven hair. 

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re the one who told me to come,” you say, your sadness and confusion starting to surpass your anger. 

“I know, I know. I’m so sorry. Really.” He takes a step closer to you and grabs your hand. “Please don’t go.” His hand squeezes yours. “I’ll quit being a twat,” he adds, trying to lighten the mood. “Why are you?” you ask, not letting him.

He’s still flailing for words when the music changes to a song he knows you love. He smiles. “Come on, darling, dance with me. Please? Let me make it up to you.” He tugs you to the dance floor, and though you resist at first, you begrudgingly let him guide you.

“Come on, Y/N, I know you love this song,” he says into your ear, in close proximity now that the noise necessitates it. His lips graze you just the lightest bit, and it sends shivers down your neck. “Don’t let it go to waste just cos you’re cross with me.” 

You glare at him, but when he takes your hand and unexpectedly spins you around, catching you close at the end, the shock melts your anger a little. It melts a bit more when you can’t help but look into his upsettingly beautiful, unnervingly close eyes. His stormy orbs seem lost in yours. You roll your eyes at him, breaking the intense eye contact, before letting the sway of the song move your hips the slightest bit. He gives a short, warm laugh as he pulls you close. His hands slide to your hips, following and encouraging their movements. 

He looks up at you, and you start, worried he’s noticed you staring. If he has, he doesn’t let on, just grins at you. “You know I read somewhere once that seeing someone reading a book you like is like a book recommending a person instead of the other way around,” he tells you. He lifts the book in his hand, shows you the cover before handing it back to you. “This happens to be one of my favourite books,” he says more softly, almost conspiratorially. 

“Oh,” you say, and you really wish you’d remember how to speak soon. 

“Hm,” he affirms. “Please tell me it was part of your selection and not the table’s. Otherwise, I’m going to have to insist it change categories, so you can at least consider it.” “No, yeah, it was mine.” Okay, good. At least when he asks questions, you give actual answers. 

“Brilliant,” he smiles. His smile is what’s brilliant. “So you’ve probably not read it yet?” “No,” you say softly. “I envy you your first time.” 

“I’m excited,” you whisper. 

The books sorted, you both finally stand up again. He’s finishing returning the display books when he notices your scarf still on the floor. 

“Oh, here,” he says, grabbing it. But your hands are full, and you’re not sure how to grab it from him without dropping everything again and making an even bigger fool of yourself. You both do an awkward little dance of trying to figure out how to accomplish the seemingly very simple task of his handing you your scarf. Finally, with a chuckle, he straightens it out and brings it over your head, adjusting it over your shoulders. He doesn’t get too close, but he did have to move closer to put it on, and your heart is beating very fast at the proximity. You were right about the warmth, and you’re sure your cheeks are reflecting it, but there’s not much you could do about it. When he takes a step back, you wish he hadn’t.

A few seconds go by, and when you still don’t say anything, with a bit of an awkward air but a warm smile nonetheless, he says, “Alright, well, I hope you enjoy the book.”

“Thanks.” 

He nods and slowly starts to turn to go. You’re so nervous, but your heart is screaming at you not to let it end there just because you can be a bit shy. 

“And thanks for helping me,” you add a bit too quickly, simultaneously praising yourself for your bravery and scolding yourself for your awkwardness. He turns toward you again. “Yeah, no worries,” he says, and he lets out a seemingly relieved breath. 

You chuckle nervously. He does too. 

“I’m Remus, by the way,” he says, extending a hand. 

You go to take it, but realize your hands are still busy holding the books. 

“Oh, right. Obviously,” he says, realizing and looking a bit embarrassed himself as he brings his hand down.

He’s looking at you like he’s expecting something, and you don’t know what it is. Until you do, a few too many seconds later. “Oh!” Too loud, yikes. “I’m Y/N.” Too soft, over-correcting. You cringe at yourself. “Hi, Y/N.” Okay, maybe getting to hear your name in his voice has made all the awkwardness more than worth it. “Hi.” 

“That’s a lot of books,” he says, nodding toward your arms. 

“Yeah, I, uh, well, yes, I can’t get them all. But I hadn’t gotten to the choosing part yet.” “That part’s always painful,” he says. “Fun, but painful.” “Mhhm.”

He’s slightly swaying back and forth; his hand comes to rub the back of his neck. For the first time, you think that maybe he’s nervous too. 

“Well, you’ve helped,” you say. He lifts his eyebrows in question. “Well, I can’t take your favourite book out of the running now, can I?” He chuckles.

“That would be quite tragic.” 

“Quite.” 

Another awkward silence. But you’d suffer through as many awkward silences as would let you keep talking to Remus. Remus, what a lovely name. So fitting.  

“Um, have you read any of these other ones?” you ask, lifting your stack. “Maybe you can help me choose?” Wherever this new found bravery was coming from, you thanked any gods that were listening for it. When he smiles at you, it hits you like a wave that this man is probably going to pull a lot more bravery out of you yet. “Um, yeah, I’d love to take a look. I probably haven’t read them… but it sounds nice to talk about them anyway?” “Yeah, it does. Sound nice.” 

“Great.” “Mhhm.” “Do you want to go sit down and look through them?” “Mhhm.”