Vibiest Vibes 🇵🇸

You'd been pretending to watch the movie for at least fifteen minutes.

Dean had been doing a terrible job of pretending he wasn't staring at you for just as long.

It was a terrible performance on both sides, especially considering the laptop was still playing some action movie at the end of his bed, and neither of you could've named one thing that'd happened in the last ten minutes. You were tucked under his sheets in one of his old Briar shirts, the hem brushing soft against your thighs because your underwear was the only thing you'd bothered putting on after your shower, and Dean was lying beside you with one hand behind his head and the other low on your hip like he was trying very hard to act like a gentleman.

He was trying to behave, which was sweet, really, but not exactly successful.

"You're staring again," you murmured, not even bothering to look away from the screen.

Dean's thumb moved in a slow circle over your hip. "You're in my bed wearing my shirt. You can't really blame me."

"You gave it to me," you pointed out, like that was supposed to make him less smug about it.

"I know." Dean's mouth curved like he'd been waiting for you to say exactly that. "Great decision, honestly."

You rolled your eyes, but the smile breaking through kind of ruined the effect. "You're impossible."

"Yeah." Dean leaned in, his lips brushing your shoulder through the fabric of his shirt. "But you like me anyway."

"Sometimes," you said, though your smile made it sound a lot less convincing.

"Right now?" he asked, his voice dropping just enough to make your stomach flip.

You turned your head to answer, which was apparently all the invitation Dean needed, because then he was kissing you, slow and warm, one hand sliding up your side beneath the fabric like he'd planned the whole thing. It was easy to melt into Dean like that, a lot easier than you'd ever admit out loud. Dean kissed you like he knew exactly how much time he had, which apparently meant he had no problem spending it dragging every little sound out of you to see how much trouble it got him into.

His fingers slipped beneath the hem of the shirt, warm against your waist in a way that shouldn't have made you gasp as quickly as it did.

Dean smiled against your mouth, entirely too pleased with himself. "There she is."

"Don't start."

"I didn't even say anything."

"You were about to, and we both know it."

He laughed, low and entirely too pleased with himself, before rolling onto his back and tugging you over him like he already knew you'd follow. And you did, because apparently thinking was no longer part of the plan, one knee sliding across his hips until you were straddling his lap.

Then you froze beneath his hands, and Dean felt the change in you immediately.

His hands settled on your waist, thumbs brushing over your sides in a way that was soft enough to make your chest ache a little. "Hey."

You swallowed, suddenly very aware of the fact that you were in his lap with your thighs spread around his hips, his hard length pressing up beneath his sweatpants, and somehow his shirt still covering you didn't make you feel any less exposed.

"This feels like a lot of responsibility," you said, aiming for a joke and landing somewhere embarrassingly close to panic.

Dean's brow lifted like he wasn't sure whether to laugh or be concerned. "Responsibility?"

"I just..." You looked down, your fingers curling into the front of his shirt like that'd somehow make the words easier to get out. "I've never really done this before."

His expression softened, though that amused little spark in his eyes didn't go anywhere. "Been on top?"

Your cheeks warmed, which was annoying because Dean absolutely noticed. "Not really."

"Not really?" Dean repeated, thumbs still brushing over your waist like he was trying very hard not to look too pleased about that.

"Dean," you said, dragging his name out like a warning, even though the warmth in your cheeks made it pretty hard to sound threatening.

He smiled a little, his hands giving your hips a gentle squeeze like he'd decided to behave for once. "Okay. Not really."

"It's not a big deal," you said quickly, which was unfortunate because saying it that fast made it sound like it was definitely a big deal. "I just feel like I'd look stupid, or I wouldn't know what I was doing, and then you'd have to pretend it was hot, which is a very nice boyfriend thing to do, but also something I'd never emotionally recover from."

Dean stared at you for a beat, then laughed in this soft, disbelieving way that only made your face feel warmer. "Baby, I'm hard because you're sitting on my lap in my shirt. You could sneeze right now, and I'd find a way to be into it."

You blinked because, annoyingly enough, it had worked. "That was weirdly comforting."

"I'm great at comfort."

"You're absolutely not."

"I am when you're half-naked on top of me."

You tried to bite back a laugh, but it came out as this breathy little sound instead when Dean's hands guided your hips down, showing you exactly how slowly he wanted you to move over him. The pressure caught against your clit through your underwear, warm and steady enough to make your thighs tense before you could stop them.

Dean's eyes darkened like he'd felt the way your body reacted. "Does that feel good?"

You nodded, your thighs still tense beneath his hands.

His mouth curved. "Words, sweetheart."

"Yes," you breathed, because apparently that was the only word your brain had left to offer.

"There you go," Dean murmured, his voice soft enough to make your stomach flip.

The next kiss was messier, mostly because Dean kept guiding your hips over him like he had all the patience in the world, dragging it out until your underwear was damp, clinging to you, and making it pretty impossible to pretend you weren't affected. At first, the sounds you made were small and half-swallowed against his mouth, but Dean noticed every single one like he'd been waiting for them.

"Don't do that," he murmured.

You blinked at him. "Do what?"

"Hold back." His fingers tightened on your hips like he was making sure you couldn't pretend you didn't know what he meant. "I like hearing you."

Your stomach flipped, which was annoying because Dean absolutely felt it, and then he kissed you again until the friction dragged a moan out of you that you finally let him hear.

Dean groaned, as if he'd heard you'd done something terrible to his self-control.

That helped more than anything else could have.

By the time Dean had pushed his sweatpants down and rolled on a condom, your underwear was shoved to the side, your hands were planted on his chest, and the shirt was still hanging over you like a very pathetic attempt at feeling covered. Dean didn't try to take it off, which somehow made your chest feel tighter. He just held your hips, eyes fixed on your face as he guided himself through your wetness.

"Slow," he murmured. "Take your time."

You lowered yourself carefully, trying to take your time like he'd told you to, but your mouth still fell open the second the head of his cock pressed inside you. The stretch was familiar and different all at once, deeper like this, more intense because you were the one in control, which sounded nice in theory and felt a lot more terrifying with Dean watching your face like that. You sank inch by inch, trying very hard to look like you had any control over yourself, but the second he filled you, your fingers curled against his chest, and a shaky whimper slipped out before you could stop it.

Dean's jaw tightened. "Fuck."

You froze immediately. "Bad?"

His eyes snapped to yours as you'd just said something insane. "Are you joking?"

"You made a face."

"Yeah, baby, because you feel so good, I'm trying not to embarrass myself."

Your cheeks warmed, which was embarrassing enough on its own, but the praise still settled low in your stomach like your body had decided to enjoy it before you could overthink it.

"You're not just saying that?"

Dean's hands slid up your thighs, grounding you in a way that made it annoyingly hard to spiral. "Move once, sweetheart, and see if I sound like I'm lying."

So you did, moving slowly at first.

Your hips lifted, then sank back down, and Dean's head tipped against the pillow with this rough, helpless groan that made it pretty hard to believe he'd been lying about any of it.

"Oh," you breathed, and the second you moved again, it turned into something closer to a moan.

Dean's eyes opened, heavy and dark, like he'd been waiting for exactly that. "Yeah?"

"Feels good," you said, already sounding a little wrecked.

His hands squeezed your thighs. "Then keep going, sweetheart."

Your movements were awkward at first, mostly because your brain wouldn't shut up long enough to let your body figure it out, too busy worrying about the rhythm, whether you were doing enough, and whether you looked ridiculous hovering over him in his shirt with your thighs trembling.

Then Dean's hands tightened on your hips like he could feel you spiraling. "Stop thinking."

"I'm trying."

"No." His voice dropped, rough around the edges but still gentle. "You're trying to look good, which is insane, because you already do. Just move how you want."

The words hit harder than you'd expected, mostly because Dean sounded like he meant them, so you tried to believe him.

You rolled your hips instead of lifting so high, chasing the angle that made your clit catch against him every time you sank back down, and the moan that left you was loud enough to make Dean's cock twitch inside you like he was having a very hard time staying calm about it.

Your eyes flicked to his face, and Dean looked so wrecked that it made it pretty hard to keep worrying about whether you were doing it right.

His lips parted, jaw tense, and his hands kept flexing on your hips like Dean was having the world's hardest time remembering he'd told you to move how you wanted.

"You like this?" you asked, and even though your voice shook, it still came out bolder than before.

Dean laughed once, rough and breathless, as the question had actually offended him. "Like it?" His hips jerked up into you, dragging a gasp out of your mouth. "Baby, I'm trying not to lose my fucking mind."

That did something to you, mostly because Dean sounded like he meant it, and apparently, your body liked knowing you could mess him up that badly.

Your next movement was smoother, more confident, and the moan that came out of you wasn't even close to quiet, which Dean clearly noticed because his hands tightened on your hips immediately.

"Dean—fuck," you moaned, and the way his eyes darkened made it pretty clear he'd liked hearing his name like that.

"That's it," he murmured. "Let me hear you."

You rode him slowly at first, then a little faster once you realized your body had apparently figured out what your brain kept trying to overthink, your hands sliding up his chest as his shirt rode higher over your thighs. Your cunt was soaked around him, every movement making it easier, wetter, and a lot harder to feel shy about, especially when Dean looked down to watch where you were taking him and groaned as he'd just lost whatever was left of his self-control.

"God," he muttered, hands tightening on your hips. "You were worried about this?"

You tried to laugh, but it came out closer to a whimper when he helped you grind down harder. "Maybe."

Dean looked like that answer personally offended him. "You're killing me."

His fingers tugged at the hem of the shirt, and you slowed immediately, like your body had decided to panic before your brain could tell it not to.

Dean noticed immediately, because, of course, he did, his eyes lifting back to yours, as if taking the shirt off suddenly mattered a whole lot less than making sure you were okay. "Can I see you?"

Your stomach fluttered.

His hands rubbed up your thighs, warm and steady. "You can keep it on if you want."

You hesitated for only a second before lifting your arms, which felt a lot braver than it probably looked.

Dean pulled the shirt over your head and tossed it aside, leaving you in your bra and still moving over him like your body hadn't quite figured out whether to be nervous or proud. His eyes dragged over you slowly, and for once, Dean Di Laurentis had absolutely nothing to say.

That made your chest tighten, mostly because Dean looking at you like that was a lot harder to handle than any stupid comment he could've made. "What?"

His hands slid up your waist, warm and certain. "You're so fucking pretty."

Your breath caught the second his palms covered your breasts through your bra, thumbs brushing over your nipples beneath the thin fabric, and your rhythm faltered immediately, because apparently, Dean touching you there made moving and thinking at the same time impossible.

"Oh—Dean."

His mouth curved, entirely too pleased with himself. "No, don't stop."

"You're distracting me."

"Good." His thumbs circled again, making you clench around him like your body had decided to prove his point. "Keep riding me anyway."

You moaned louder this time, hips rolling as his hands played with your tits through your bra, and every touch made you stutter in a way Dean very clearly noticed. Every bit of praise made you wetter, every look on his face made you a little bolder, until the embarrassment started slipping away as your body had finally decided to stop fighting him.

"Tell me," he said, voice rough. "Tell me what feels good."

You swallowed, still moving over him because apparently stopping would've been the worst idea. "Your hands."

"Yeah?"

"And your cock." Your voice was breathless enough to be embarrassing, but you said it anyway, and Dean's eyes went so dark that it made the embarrassment feel worth it. "Feels good when I move like this."

You rolled your hips harder to show him, and Dean's head dropped back as you'd just ruined him on purpose.

"Fuck," he groaned. "Don't stop doing that."

Hearing Dean sound like that ruined something dangerous to your confidence, mostly because it was a lot harder to feel embarrassed when he sounded like he was the one barely holding it together.

Your hands moved behind your back, unclasping your bra before your brain could show up and ruin the moment. It slipped down your arms and fell somewhere between you, and Dean stared as you'd just done something genuinely unfair to his ability to breathe.

"Look at you," he breathed, and the way he said it made your whole body feel warm.

The words made your chest warm in a way you weren't sure what to do with.

Then his mouth was on you, lips closing around one nipple while his hand covered your other breast, and you cried out so quickly it would've been embarrassing if Dean hadn't groaned like it'd done something to him. Your fingers slid into his hair, hips moving faster now as pleasure started building low in your stomach.

"Dean, I'm—" Your voice fell apart into a whimper when his thumb found your clit, because apparently your body had no interest in letting you finish a sentence. "Oh my god, right there."

"There?" he asked, smug in a way that would've been annoying if he didn't sound so wrecked.

"Yes. Fuck, yes."

He rubbed slow circles over your clit while you rode him, his other hand on your hip and his mouth moving from your breast to your throat like he wasn't already making it impossible to focus. You were close, so close your thighs had started shaking, but the rhythm was getting harder to keep, your moans turning messier and needier as frustration tangled with the pleasure your body kept trying to chase.

Dean caught it instantly, like every little shift in your body was something he'd been waiting for.

"Come here," he murmured.

Before you could even think about arguing, Dean rolled you beneath him and pulled the sheets over both of you, settling between your thighs without slipping out like he'd decided you'd done enough thinking for one night. The new angle made you gasp, your legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed deeper.

Then Dean caught both your hands and laced your fingers together, pinning them above your head so gently it made your chest ache a little.

Dean kissed you, slow and messy, like he had every intention of making good on that promise. "Let me finish what you started."

"Please," you whispered, and it came out a lot needier than planned, which Dean absolutely noticed.

Dean's expression flickered. Then his hips started moving. Slow, deep, steady thrusts that had you moaning into the space between you, thighs locked around his waist, your hands crossed with his over your head. The sheets tangled around your legs, heat building under the blanket, his body heavy and warm over yours.

"You did so well," he murmured, his mouth brushing your jaw like he knew exactly how badly the praise was getting to you. "Looked so fucking good on top of me."

"Dean," you whimpered.

"I know." His hips rolled deeper, pulling your back into an arch. "I've got you."

His hand slipped between your bodies again, thumb finding your clit like he already knew exactly what you needed, and your whole body tightened around him.

"Oh—fuck, don't stop," you gasped, which was probably unnecessary considering Dean looked like stopping would've killed him.

He groaned anyway. "Wasn't planning on it."

The pleasure snapped through you suddenly, hot and sharp, and your moan broke against Dean's mouth as you came around him. Your thighs locked around his waist, fingers tightening in his above your head like you needed something to hold onto while your body shook beneath him.

Dean followed right after, his thrusts going uneven as he'd finally lost the last of his control, face buried in your neck as a rough groan broke out of him while he held you close and came.

For a while, neither of you moved, both of you too warm and tangled beneath the sheets to do anything other than breathe.

"You okay?" he asked softly.

You nodded, still trying to catch your breath. "Yeah."

His grin appeared slowly, which was never a good sign. "So."

"No."

"I didn't say anything."

"You were about to."

"I was just gonna say you're definitely not bad at being on top."

Your face warmed, and you turned it into the pillow like that might somehow save you. "You're so annoying."

"And you were so loud."

"Dean."

"I liked it," he said, kissing your cheek like he hadn't just made you want to disappear into the mattress. "A lot."

You tried to glare, but it came out pretty weak, especially when he slipped out carefully and disappeared to clean up like he hadn't just ruined your ability to function. When he came back, he helped clean you with a warm towel, gentle when your thighs twitched, before pulling his shirt back over your head as it belonged there.

"Putting me back in this?" you asked, glancing down at the shirt.

"Obviously." Dean climbed into bed beside you and pulled you into his chest, looking far too pleased with himself. "It's my new favorite thing now."

You laughed softly, settling against him while his arm wrapped around you like he had no plans of letting you go anytime soon.

For a minute, Dean only rubbed slow circles over your back like he was trying to make sure you'd fully melted into him. Then his voice came again, softer this time, though obviously still teasing because it was Dean.

"So..." His mouth brushed your hair, and you could hear the grin in his voice before he even finished. "You wanna do that again sometime?"

You pinched his side, which only made him laugh because apparently even that wasn't enough to make him less pleased with himself.

Dean laughed and pulled you closer, sounding far too pleased with himself for someone who'd just been pinched. "I'll take that as a yes."

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DEAN DI LAURENTIS TAGLIST: @elixirandstars @ethanthequeefqueen @beebeechaos

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The two of you had originally agreed to keep things casual, because he swore that he wasn't the relationship type and you thought that you could handle that. Well, you thought wrong. Super fucking wrong. Somewhere between the late night calls and the in between class hookups, you started developing feelings for the Hawks' star defenseman.

You never mentioned your feelings to him, because you weren't fucking stupid and you knew exactly how things would end if you did. He would give you a pitying smile, remind you that he was a perpetual whore, then stop responding to you completely. So, you started doing whatever you could to avoid him. Well, as much as you could avoid someone who was in half your classes. Why did you have to start hooking up with someone in the same major as you? Anytime he tried to meet up with you for a hookup, you'd come up with some lame excuse, like how your roommate needed your help studying or how you had to help tutor some freshman in college algebra. You suck at college algebra.

You'd think that by now that Dean would've taken the hint that you didn't want to see him anymore, but he didn't. He started showing up out of nowhere, almost as if he had some sort of sixth sense—or a tracker— for where you would be and when you would be there. Did he get ahold of your schedule somehow? How he found the time to trail you in between his classes, his hockey schedule, and whatever frat events he was apart of, you had no clue. But it's kind of hard to get over a crush when the subject is just around every corner. Maybe if you start running like a bat out of hell every time you run into him, he would get the hint and leave you alone.

And yeah, being at a party that was being thrown by his frat probably wasn't the best way to avoid Dean, but your friends had dragged you here and they would not take no for an answer—something about not wanting you to become a hermit, whatever that's supposed to mean. So here you were, grinding against some guy to the beat of the music while he held you against him.

He wasn't the worst looking guy in the world; in fact, if you weren't so hung up on Dean at the moment you probably would've given him a real chance. Floppy brown hair, eyes that match your favorite brand of chocolate, and just the right amount of muscle to not be intruding or bothersome—but he wasn't him. Everything about him was wrong, and his touch… it wasn't repulsive, but it was a far cry from the safety that Dean's hands on your body brought you. His cologne was too strong—he smelled like someone who was trying too hard to be noticed, which was far from the way Dean effortlessly drew attention from everyone the moment he stepped in the room. He was a far cry from Dean Di Laurentis, and therefore a far cry from anything your mind and body craved. So he would just have to settle for this little dance tonight, and when he eventually asked for your number or for the two of you to get a room upstairs, you would politely turn him down and walk away.

Although, your friends have been telling you that the best way to get over Dean was by getting under somebody else. But your heart wasn't in it, at least not for tonight.

"Excuse me, you don't mind if I cut in, do you?" A familiar voice rings out from behind you. You whip around to see Dean standing behind the guy you were dancing with, all charming smiles and tight sweaters. A very nice, very tight sweater that showed off every hard earned muscle throughout his chest and arms.

"No problem, man." The guy says before walking away, probably off to find some other girl to sleep with tonight. On second thought, maybe you should have offered to sleep with him sooner or something. Anything to get you out of your current situation.

"You know, if I were a more insecure or paranoid man, I'd think that you were avoiding me or something, baby." He says as his hands slide into place on your waist, pulling you in so close you could smell the expensive cologne he had already begun to sweat off. "Good thing I'm not either of those things though, right?"

You don't respond right away, sucking in a deep breath to try and figure out what exactly it is you want to say to him. If you just went ahead and told him the truth, all of this could be over. He'd reject you, you'd run out in tears and spend the next couple days holed up in your dorm stuffing your face with whatever junk food you could get your hands on. Sure, it might be humiliating to get rejected in front of all these people, but at the moment it seems more worth it than having to be so close to him, yet unable to truly have him as you wish to.

On the other hand, you could try and keep up this web of lies. Tell him that you've been really busy lately, or that you had to pick up extra shifts at the cafe or something. But these lies you were telling clearly weren't working anymore, or else you wouldn't be standing face to face with the man who's been haunting your dreams as of late.

"Come with me." Dean says before you can make up your mind, tugging you by your hand to one of the rooms upstairs. He shuts and locks the door behind the two of you before turning to you, his arms crossed over his chest.

Fuck, that sweater is really doing numbers for him. Under different circumstances, right now you would be peeling it off of him while your lips melded together. "What's up?" You ask, ignoring the way your voice cracks slightly. As if this situation couldn't get anymore embarrassing for you.

"I don't know, baby, what's up with you? It seems like you spend all your time avoiding me these days." The way he says this almost makes it seem like he doesn't care, but there's this undercurrent of something else, something almost forlorn about his words. The smile on his lips doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Did I do something to piss you off? Why are you acting like I'm some dorky freshman who hasn't figured out how to talk to women properly yet?"

"I'm not ignoring you, Dean, I've just been a little busy lately." The words taste like ash on your tongue, and you wish so badly that you could take them back as soon as you see the hurt flash across Dean's face. But you're a little bit inebriated, and you're panicking, and you just keep fucking talking. "Sorry if I'm not at your beck and call like all your other puck bunnies."

The way that Dean's jaw clenches should be even more reason for you to take back everything you just said, but you don't. Maybe this is the way to go; insulting him and the people around him until he decides he wants nothing to do with you. Who would've thought all those months ago that you would ever be so desperate for a man—this man in particular— to be the one to break your heart?

Dean says your name with the same reverence one might call their loved one, which makes no sense. He's not in love with you—in fact, you would put good money on the fact that he just might be incapable of such a powerful feeling. And even if he was, it certainly wouldn't be directed towards you. Dean Di Laurentis was not in love with you, and you were not the kind of girl he would ever love, no matter how many nights you sat on your bed and wished that things were different.

"You know what, I can't do this anymore, Dean. It was insane of me to think that the two of us hooking up could end any other way than this." You make sure to interrupt him before he can get another word in, before he could sweet talk you into changing your mind about what you were about to say. Because you were a weak woman, and even the simplest of words from the mouth of Dean Di Laurentis would crumble what little resolve you had to end this. "This was a mistake, I never should have slept with you in the first place."

There was no mistaking the hint of truth in your words; it was a mistake for you and Dean to sleep together. But not because of him or anything he'd done, but because you were a fucking idiot who walked through life with your heart on your sleeve. And that was a dangerous way to live when dealing with the campus' biggest self proclaimed commitment-phobe.

The silence hung between you like heavy rain clouds, just before the pressure became too much and all the rain came crashing down on everyone.

When Dean speaks, his voice and face were devoid of any of the emotion and warmth you had grown used to and begun to crave. "Alright."

The door shut behind him, the sound echoing through your brain like the final nail in the coffin. For a second there, you could have sworn that there were tears threatening to fall down his cheeks, but you must have been imagining things.

Dean Di Laurentis was not a crier, and he most certainly would never be crying over a girl that he was just hooking up with. So why did you feel like you were the worst person in the world right now, and why was there a pit in your stomach the size of the Grand Canyon?

You would think that after finally breaking things off—or would severing with a rusted butcher's knife be a more apt description?— between you and Dean, you would finally be able to move on.

Oh, how wrong you were. Silly you, for thinking that anything involving getting rid your feelings for Dean would come easy.

If anything, you were worse off now than you had been when you were just straight up ignoring him. You spent most of your time outside of class and work in your bed, scrolling through Dean's Instagram page obsessively like a crazy ex girlfriend. What exactly were you looking for? And why were you even looking in the first place? Things ended between the two of you because of what you said to him, so you really shouldn't be so enthralled with what may or may not be going on in his life.

After another long day of pretending not to notice him in your classes, you were once again curled up under your blanket, cyber stalking the man who you just couldn't seem to forget. He hadn't been posting to his story much lately—maybe he was busy? Yeah, he was probably just busy, or something. There's a fleeting thought in the back of your mind that he could have already found another girl to fuck, but you push it and it's bitter taste deep into the chest that is your brain.

Since there was nothing new to check out on his story, and there certainly weren't any new grid posts, you decided to just scroll through his old posts for a bit. Most of the ones at the top were him and his teammates doing stupid shit, or clips from post game interviews analyzing just how well he played that night. You smiled softly as you listened to what was being said about him; you didn't know much about hockey, but you could still tell just how good he was at the sport, and hearing the well deserved praise be directed at him made you happy.

You fall into a familiar rhythm, giggling softly at your screen as you watch Beau hold Dean upside down for 2 minutes as part of some dumb dare. Your finger moves on autopilot before you can even think, liking Dean's post.

"Shit!" You exclaim as you shoot up, quickly unliking the post and throwing your phone on the other end of your bed with a little too much force. "Shit, shit, shit!"

As if the past couple weeks hadn't been bad enough for you, you just went and liked one of Dean's posts. A post from 3 months ago, making it quite obvious that you were stalking him—and still thinking of him— like some weirdo.

"Oh my fucking god." You groan as you aggressively rub your hands over your face. "I can't believe that I just did that, what the hell is wrong with me?" The words are whispered in shock as you look at your phone.

There's always the chance that he didn't see the notification. He could be in bed with some other girl, his phone on his nightstand while he did things to her you could only wish for now. You quickly ignore that resurfacing thought and the conflicting emotions it brings, grabbing the offensive device from atop your covers and reopening Instagram. You hesitate for a moment, biting your lip before blocking Dean's account for your own safety and sanity. Clearly you couldn't be trusted with unlimited access to it, or the man behind it.

Tonight, you would push the last of Dean Di Laurentis and the whole ephemeral affair out of your mind once and for all. Tonight, you would pretend like you didn't still dream of all the nights you spent tangled in his sheets as if you belonged.

Getting over Dean Di Laurentis was hard. Really fucking hard, despite your consistent effort to never come face to face with the man ever again. But the universe was a cruel mistress, and she seemingly had other plans for you.

Of course you knew that there was a partnered project coming up in your Mass Media and Politics class, you'd spent an absorbent amount of time studying it to make sure you wouldn't fall behind in your work. But you had mistakenly assumed that you'd be able to pick who you partnered up with for the project. What a huge fucking mistake that was on your part.

Not being able to pick your partner was less than ideal, but you could make it work. You were a pleasant person to be around, and you could work with almost anyone when it was important enough. And 15% of your final grade was pretty fucking important to you, so were determined to not fuck this up, no matter who you got partnered up with.

Until you walked to the front of the classroom and saw who your professor paired you up with for this assignment. "You have got to be fucking kidding me." You muttered under your breath as your eyes went over the name beside yours.

Of all people in this class you wanted to work with, Dean Di Laurentis was at the very bottom of your list. Not because he was a bad student—no, annoyingly enough he was great in this class, with the two of you competing for that coveted top spot all semester. But how were you supposed to spend the next 3 weeks working beside him when the last time the two of you were face to face, you shattered your own heart into a million little pieces and treated him like the gum at the bottom of your shoe?

"Looks like me and you will be spending a lot of time together for the next couple weeks, sweetheart." Dean whispers into your ear from behind. You flinch at his sudden appearance, clutching a hand over your chest as you spin around to face him.

There was nothing different about him, at least not physically. His hair was still perfectly styled, his jaw was clean shaven, and there was not a single piece of lint on his shirt. Anyone who didn't know him would think that there was nothing wrong. But you knew better than that. There was something missing from his eyes—a warmth or a feeling, maybe?— that you used to look forward to when you met up with him. Now he reminded you of an old broken sculpture; beautiful in every way imaginable, but cold, dull, and somewhat lifeless. It was unnatural for him, but why? What could have sucked the life out of the most energetic man you've ever known?

"Yeah, looks like it." You say casually, clearing your throat as you readjust your grip on your bag. There was no reason for you to be so nervous about this; the two of you could act like civil adults around each other for a bit. Especially considering the fact that the two of you were never anything serious, and your grade depended on the two of you getting along for a while. "Look, I can figure out a schedule so that you don't have to take too much of your time to meet up with me. I know you're probably pretty busy with hockey and, like, everything else."

There's a flash of something in Dean's eyes at your words, but it's gone almost as quickly as it came. "Yeah, sure, whatever. But you know, for this project to actually work, you need to actually respond to my messages."

Your breath catches in your throat when he says this, your mouth opening and closing as you try and come up with a response. What could you possibly even say to something like that? Should you even respond to his little dig about you ignoring him? "I'm sorry." Is all you can manage, your voice so soft you can barely even hear it yourself.

Dean's jaw clenches as he studies you, taking in the way your shoulders have tensed up and you seem to have shrunken in on yourself. "It's whatever, it's not like we were in a relationship or anything. It was just your good old, casual sex, right? Because that's all I'm good for, according to you."

Your eyebrows furrow at that, your mouth parting from shock. It wasn't like Dean at all to get angry, and especially not because of a girl he used to hook up with. But hadn't he been the one to insist that the two of you kept things casual? Why was he acting like all of this was your fault, when he's the one with commitment issues?

"Dean, I didn't mean any of it like that—"

"Just forget it, forget that I said anything. I'll text you whenever I'm free next." He says, turning and practically flying out of the classroom before you even get the chance to finish your sentence.

In an ideal world, you'd like to say that things between you and Dean weren't awkward at all. You would love to be able to say that you and him worked together on your project with no problems, and that the two of you even managed to become friends again. But that would be a lie, because ever since you and Dean started meeting up again to work on your project, the two of you have been bickering like school children. Or an old married couple, a voice in the back of your head declared.

You knew that his schedule was packed, but finding time for the two of you to meet was turning into one giant headache. At this point, it would be easier for you to pull someone's teeth out with your bare fucking hands. And whenever you did manage to find time for the two of you to meet, it always had to be at his place because it usually fell in between classes and his hockey practice. Once again, everything in your world revolved around him, and his needs, and what it was that he wanted.

The only upside to this was that one of his roommates seemed to be some sort of aspiring chef, and was always looking for new recipes to try out. Who were you to turn down a free home cooked meal?

"So, what class is this project for again?" Tucker asks as he stirs some red sauce in a pan.

"Mass Media and Politics, it's a requirement for all Poli Sci majors." You explain as you steal a cherry tomato from the cutting board, ignoring the glare Tucker shoots your way.

"I thought you were majoring in journalism?" Tucker asks as he moves the cutting board out of your reach, much to your dismay.

"Because I am, I just also happen to be a political science major as well." You grin at the look Tucker gives you, the look that most people give you when you share that piece of information. "Yes, I know, double majoring is an insane thing to do. But I want to be a journalist who reports on politics, and I figured that it would be better to kill two birds with one stone."

"Wow, you really are insane. It's no wonder that Dean is so obsessed with you, you two are the same brand of crazy." The last part of his sentence is muttered under his breath, almost like a secret, but you still manage to catch it. There isn't a chance for you to get clarification though, because Dean chooses that exact moment to come down the stairs. In only a towel, and still dripping wet from his shower, steam still radiating off his body.

You didn't trust yourself to not stare and say something ridiculous and embarrassing, so resigned yourself to staring solely at the countertop. He had to be doing this shit on purpose to mess with you, right? There was no way that he normally walked around the house in just his towel.

"I should be ready in a couple minutes, don't worry. You won't have to sit here and listen to Tucker much longer." He says as he casually waltzes over to the fridge for a bottle of water.

From the way Tucker doesn't even spare his teammate a glance, you can tell that this is a common occurrence. You wait until he is fully up the stairs and in his room before even thinking about lifting your head in the direction he just came from.

"What did you mean by him being obsessed with me?" You ask once you're sure that the coast is clear and Dean can't hear the two of you.

"Hm?" Tucker hums innocently, but you can see straight through his act. His shoulders are tensed up, and he's moving slower than he was before.

"You made a comment, something about Dean being obsessed with me, what did you mean by that?" You ask as you lean closer, staring him down in hopes that he would crack. Tucker was clearly a very sweet boy and somewhat of a people pleaser, which means that you probably wouldn't have to apply much pressure to get what you want.

"I don't remember saying anything like that, what do you mean?" Tucker is avoiding your gaze entirely, suddenly very focused on the dish he was making. You narrowed your eyes at him, but Dean was calling your name and he wasn't the most patient man in the world.

"This isn't over, John Tucker!" You call over your shoulder as grab your bag and walk upstairs to Dean's room. When you push the door open Dean is already sitting at his desk, thankfully fully dressed, his notebooks and laptop arranged carefully in front of him.

You and Dean were about halfway through the research part of your project, which meant that soon enough you could go back to pretending that the other person didn't exist. But you weren't quite there yet, so you perched yourself on the edge of the bed and started taking out your own supplies.

"Did that article from the New York Times help at all?" You ask after a few moments of awkward silence. There was no reason for the two of you to be completely miserable while working on this project, and a little small talk never hurt anybody.

"Yeah, it did." Is all that Dean says in response, causing you to frown. The two of you had gone from arguing every few minutes, to him seemingly ignoring your presence all together. The two of you just sat there quietly, each working on your part of the project. There were no more funny jokes, no more suggestive looks or flirtatious comments that used to make you blush, or comments about how your days have been. It was almost as if the two of you were strangers, not people who had shared the very bed you were sitting on right now.

"Okay, look, I can't fucking take this anymore." You say as you slam your laptop shut, ignoring the way the loud noise makes Dean jumps in surprise. "Could you please just, like, talk to me, or something? Hell, you can even yell at me if it's what makes you feel better, but just please say something because the silence makes me feel like I'm losing my goddamn mind!"

For a moment, there is no response from Dean. He's just staring at you—actually, staring through you might be a better description. It's been impossible for you to read his face lately, and it's especially frustrating to not have that skill right now when you would give anything for the tiniest hint of emotion from him. But the silence just drags on, and you refuse to embarrass yourself in front of Dean even more than you already have.

You've packed up your stuff and have walked out the door before Dean can even fully process what you've said. There's a moment where you think you could've heard Dean say something like "I'm in love with you", but you know that you're just imagining it. Because someone who loved you would not be treating you like Dean is treating you right now.

Fuck this stupid fucking Mass Media project, and fuck Dean Di Laurentis and his stupid fucking charming nature. If he was more of a dick, you never would've fallen for him and you wouldn't be sitting on the edge of your bed contemplating if 15% of your grade was really worth it. How and when did things in your life manage to become so messy, and why had you let it get this way?

Your laptop is open in front of you, the draft for your presentation open and mocking you. You've been trying to work for 2 hours now with no luck, because all you can focus on is Dean Di Laurentis. You slam your laptop shut and push it away with a frustrated groan, flopping back onto your bed. You weren't getting anywhere with this project tonight, so there was no point in trying to force words onto the document.

It was too late in the semester to drop the class, but failing it and taking it again next semester was not an option for you. Maybe you could talk your professor into letting you do the project by yourself instead of with a partner? Without Dean as a distraction, you're certain that you could do everything yourself, even with only a week left until the due date. The all nighters might kill you, but anything would be worth it at this point to get away from him.

You're pulled out of your spiral of useless self pity by a loud knocking at the door. Did your roommate leave her keys in her room again? You push yourself up with a groan as the knocking grows even louder and more insistent. "I'm coming, I'm coming, don't rush me! You can't get mad at me for taking too long to open the door when you're the one constantly leaving your keys in your room."

But when you open the door, it's not your roommate standing across from you; it's Dean, and to be frank, he looks like absolute shit. There's a small part of you, a very small part, that takes joy in the fact that he looks almost as bad as you feel on the inside. "Do you mind if I come in for a bit? We need to talk."

You nod, stepping aside wordlessly and opening the door more so that Dean could step inside. He'd been in here a few times before, but now he looked awkward and out of place just standing in a space that was yours. He was wearing a Briar U Athletics Department hoodie with regular—probably old—grey sweatpants, looking around the room like he had never been there before.

"What is it that you wanted to talk to me about?" You ask as you toy with the hem of your shirt, unable to meet Dean's gaze. God, this was so fucking awkward.

"I came here to apologize to you, for, you know, acting like a dick these past couple weeks." Dean's words are blurted out, and they're too jumbled together for you to decipher what was said at first. He clearly takes the prolonged silence as a cue to keep talking, so he does. "It's not fair of me to be mad at you the way I have been, especially when you don't know what you did wrong—not that you did anything wrong, of course! It's completely valid for you to decide that you don't want to hook up with me anymore, and you are under no obligation to reciprocate my feelings for you, no matter how shitty it makes me feel."

Dean and you stand there for a few moments after he finishes speaking, looking at each other but neither of you daring to speak a word. Of all things to happen to night, Dean Di Laurentis coming into your dorm was already at the damn near bottom of the list, but him seemingly admitting to having feelings for you? Never in a million years did you think that you'd be in this position right now, and what's worse is that you don't know how to feel about it.

"Are you saying that you're in love with me, Dean?" You whisper as you look up at him, your hands flexing from nerves. Dean scoffs at your question, shaking his head and stepping closer, as if you had just said the most unbelievable thing in the world.

"In love with you? Baby, I would worship the fucking ground that you walk on if you would just let me. In fact, I would do any and every little thing that you wanted me to, without a moment of hesitation, just because it was what you wanted. And believe me, I know how fucking crazy I sound—the guys told me as such when I told them what I was coming over here for—but I just can't bring myself to give a shit. I'm in love with you, sweetheart, and the worst part of it all is that I don't even care if you tell me you feel the same way! But I couldn't just keep walking around, knowing what I know and feeling what I feel, without at least trying to tell you about it."

Your breath hitches in your throat at the sheer intensity of Dean's words. They've floated through your head and settled in your brain, taking root there like they never planned on leaving. This was everything you'd been hoping for these past couple weeks, and more, because Dean Di Laurentis of all people was standing here in front of you, professing his love to you. So why was it so hard for you to think of a response to his confession?

"Fuck this was a crazy idea—I'm sorry for springing this on you, I should go." Dean mumbles under his breath, rushing towards the door. You grab the sleeve of his hoodie before he can get too far away from you, tugging his body towards yours and bringing him down for a kiss. There's a moment where his body tenses from shock, and you worry that you've made a mistake, but he quickly melts into the kiss, one arm wrapping around your waist while his other hand gently cups your cheek. The kiss is electric, more than any kiss the two of you have shared in the past. This isn't just a kiss born out of passion, it's a kiss born from a want, a need, a desperation for each other that was not there before, and that would not be understood by most others.

Because before this, the two of you didn't understand each other as well as you thought you did, but you do now. Dean's eyes are a bit unfocused when the two of you finally pull apart, the both of you taking shallow breaths from such an intense kiss. "Is that enough of an answer for you, Di Laurentis?" You ask with a small smile as you look up at him, your hands resting on his shoulders.

"I don't know, I think that I might need another kiss or something; you know, to see if I really get your answer." Dean says with a smirk, hooking a finger under your chin to bring your lips together again. You giggling softly against his lips, standing on the tips of your toes just so that you could be as close to him as possible. He pulls away with a groan after a moment, resting his head on your shoulder and inhaling the scent of your shampoo. "Fuck, sweetheart, you're making it really hard for me to be a gentleman right now."

"And who said that I wanted you to act like a gentleman right now?" You asked with a raised brow, trailing your finger down his collarbone. Dean's jaw ticks, his eyes roaming slowly down your form before coming back up to meet your heated gaze.

"All you had to do was ask for it, sweetheart." He murmurs, hoisting you up by your legs as he carries you to your bedroom. You waste no time wrapping your legs around him, trailing kisses and nibbling on his neck as he gently lays you down on your bed.

"Did you lock the door?" You ask as you gently push Dean away. He pouts softly, glancing between you laid out in front of him and the door behind him. It seems like it physically pains him to walk away, but he gets up nonetheless and locks the door to make sure no one would walk in on the two of you. "You're killing me here, baby, did you know that?"

"Oh please, you've waited this long to have sex with me again, the 5 extra seconds it took you to get up and lock the door is not going to kill you." You say as he climbs back on top of you, your hands immediately reaching to pull his hoodie over his head.

"Are you kidding, have you seen yourself? I'd be a fool to not be crazy about you, sweetheart." He says with a chuckle as he leans down to kiss you once more. Each kiss grows more and more desperate, as if he cannot live without touching you in some way, and you can't live without being close to him. His hands trail a familiar path down your sides, his touch leaving a heat in their trail as he makes his way to the waistband of your shorts. "Can I take these off of you, pretty girl?"

"Fuck yes." The words are out of your mouth before your brain can even catch up, and you choose to ignore the smug grin on Dean's face as he pulls down your shorts and underwear at once, leaving hot kisses along your thighs and down your legs as he goes. He nips your ankle as he sits up straighter, throwing your shorts and underwear over his shoulder.

"I have an idea, baby—you trust me, right?" The question is paired with the feeling of his thumb tracing circles on your ankle as he settles himself between your legs. When you nod, he hums disapprovingly and shakes his head. "No, I need words, baby. I can't have kissed you stupid already, can I?"

"Yes, Dean, I trust you." You whisper, making sure to look him directly in the eye as the words come out your mouth. There's a beat where neither of you say anything and nothing is done, before Dean is laying down and pulling you up on top of him. "You want me to ride you? We've done that a million times before, why'd you ask if I trust you?"

"Because you won't be riding me, baby—at least, not in the sense that you're used to." Dean says, tilting his head back to look in the mirror across from your bed. You can tell that he's getting another idea, but he tucks it away for now to look back up at you as he rubs the bare skin of your thighs. "You're gonna ride my face, sweetheart."

Your heart drops to your stomach as you look at the man underneath you, your mouth falling open in shock. "I'm going to do what now? Dean, I'm not sure that that's a good idea, what if I like, suffocate you or something?"

"Then I'd die a very, very happy man, baby." He says with a snort, that smile of his a little too happy at the prospect of being smothered to death by your pussy. "Just trust me, okay? I've got you, I'll make sure that this is a pleasurable experience for both of us."

You hesitate, biting down on your lip as you take a moment to think this through. On the one hand, this is something that you've always wanted to try, and the thought of Dean being the one you were doing it with excited you more than you'd like to admit. But on the flip side, there were about a dozen things that could go wrong with this swirling around in your head, making it hard for you to relax and fully enjoy this.

But you trusted Dean—way more than you probably should, if you were to be honest with yourself—and if he said that this was safe and that he'd take care of you, then who were you to doubt him? And you knew that if things became too much for you and you started to freak out, all you had to do was tell Dean and he would put an end to it immediately. There was no way you were letting that stupid voice in your head get in between you, and some of the best head you were ever going to experience.

"Alright, but if I tap you on the shoulder it means I want down, got it?" You say, adjusting slightly in Dean's lap.

"Of course, of course, all you have to do is ask me. Whatever you want, sweetheart." He says as he presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist. "Now, come sit on my face."

You roll your eyes at his phrasing, but you still scoot until you're hovering nervously over his face. He gives you a small reassuring nod, his hands gripping your hips as he brings you down so that you're fully sitting on his face. He takes a moment, allowing you a moment to get comfortable in this new position before giving that first, tentative lick up your slit. It feels good, like it always does with Dean, but it's taking you a bit longer to get used to the new position than you would like.

"You're thinking too deeply about this, pretty girl." Dean whispers as he presses a soft kiss to the inside of your thigh. "You just need to relax a bit, and let me do all the work. Think you can do that for me, sweetheart?"

You give a soft hum of acknowledgement, allowing Dean complete and total control over your body right now. He squeezes your thigh reassuringly before bringing you down almost impossibly closer onto his mouth. You moan softly as he sucks and nips at your clit, leaning back slightly and resting your hands on his chest to help you keep your balance.

The only way to describe Dean's skill at eating you out is by calling him a natural born talent; he knows just how and when to suck, when to nip, and just how much pressure to apply to drive you crazy. You don't even realize that you're doing it, but your hips are moving on their own to meet Dean's lips. Your head is tipped back and your eyes are fluttering shut and Dean is holding onto you like you might roll off him at any second—which you honestly might from how good this feels if he keeps this up—and it's all so much all at once.

"Dean." You whine as you grind your hips down against his lips, your hands gripping onto him just a little tighter.

"Yes, beautiful?" He whispers as he nips at your clit, the vibration from his words inching you closer and closer to the edge. "Are you gonna cum for me, is that what you're trying to tell me?"

"Fuck, yes! Yes, please, just—for the love of god, don't fucking stop." Your voice already starting to get hoarse from all the moaning you've been doing since Dean decide to suck your soul from inside your body. You can feel the smirk on his face—you'd curse him out for that later—as he doubles his efforts, sucking and licking your clit so hard that you cum with a shout, your vision blurring around the edges.

He works you through your orgasm, kissing along your slit and your thighs as you come down. You slide backwards onto his lap, your chest rising and falling with each deep breath you take. "You okay, baby?" He asks softly, rubbing his thumbs along your hips to soothe you.

"More than okay." You say with a snort as you smile down at him. "How long have you been thinking about doing that?"

"If I'm being honest, I've been thinking about that since the first time we slept together." Dean says with a smirk, sitting up and wrapping his arm around your waist. "And it seems like you enjoyed yourself very much, so if anything you should be thanking me for having such a brilliant idea, sweetheart."

"Don't get too full of yourself, Di Laurentis." You say as you glare at him, but it doesn't reach your eyes. It's hard to be annoyed with him when you know that he has a point.

"I bet that you'd love to be full of me right now." Dean wriggles his brows at his stupid joke, rolling the two of you over so that he was hovering over you. "I can make that happen for you, baby, all you have to do is say the magic words."

His words are whispered between kisses down your jaw, which turn into nibbles along your collarbone that are sure to leave a mark in the morning. An impatient hum is all the warning you get before he's pulling your shirt off of you and moving his kisses slowly down your torso.

"Don't think I've ever seen someone so fucking beautiful, sweetheart." Dean mutters as he brings one hand up to cup one of your breast, wrapping his lips around your nipple and sucking gently. Your whole body is sensitive from the first orgasm he gave you, making it hard for you to do anything but gasp and moan as he swirls his tongue around your nipple.

He moves his attention to your other breast, giving it the same love and care that the first one got. The great thing about Dean Di Laurentis is that he got off on giving you pleasure, and he didn't really expect anything from you in return. Well, he expected you to cum more than one time, but who were you to complain about that when he took it as a challenge to make it happen?

"You look so gorgeous underneath me like this, pretty girl. Would keep you here forever if I could, make you cum until you can't take it anymore." It's becoming clear to you that Dean has reached a point of delirium, where he just says any and every little thing that comes to his mind. "Fuck, baby, you're killing me here."

"Then why don't you do something about it, Di Laurentis?" As soon as the words leave your mouth, you regret them. Because that was a challenge, and if there was one thing Dean Di Laurentis didn't back down from, it was a challenge.

"All you had to do was ask, pretty girl." Dean says with a smirk, holding you down with one hand while using the other to remove his sweatpants and boxers. "You're such a fucking brat when you're needy, did you know that? What am I to do with someone so impatient and demanding?"

"Would you just shut up and fuck me already, or do I have to do everything myself around here?" Maybe it wasn't the best idea to snap at him right now, but you've waited long enough to have him inside you again, and he's taking forever. Perhaps he was right, you are a bit of a brat when you're not getting your way.

"Alright, but just remember that you asked for this, pretty girl." Dean whispers in your ear, biting down on your earlobe gently and tugging before flipping you on your stomach. You let out a yelp, your hands reaching out to grip onto the edge of the bed as Dean drags you onto your hands and knees.

Dean holds onto your hip with one hand, using it to pull you closer to him while the other runs his tip along your entrance teasingly. The head notches against your clit, causing you to suck in a sharp breath and move your hips back in attempt to get him inside you. He pulls away from your attempt, causing a groan of frustration to fall from your lips.

"Dean, come on, stop being such a fucking tease." You whine, bringing your hips back once more to attempt to get his dick inside you.

"I thought you liked it when I teased you, sweetheart?" Dean say mockingly as he continues running his tip up and down your slit. You open your mouth, an impatient insult on the tip of your tongue, but before you can even get it out Dean is slowly sliding inside of you.

A curse falls from your lips as you squeeze your eyes shut and your grip on the sheets tightens; after weeks of the two of you barely even speaking to one another, getting used to the size of him again is worse than you'd thought it'd be. The stretch of him is a familiar and welcome one, but you don't have it in you to wait a bit longer for your body to adjust.

"Stop it, you're going to hurt yourself." Dean warns, using his grip on your waist to hold you in place when you try and thrust yourself back onto him. "Just need you to be a little patient with me, baby. Come on, I know you can use that pretty little brain of yours to wait a bit. Besides, I might be a little bit bigger than you remember."

"You are so fucking full of yourself—" A sharp moan cuts off your retort as Dean sinks in another inch, and you can't see him but you just know he has that smug smile on his face.

"Actually, it seems like at the moment, the only one who's full of me right now is you." He says as he pulls out, taking a moment before sinking in only slightly deeper than he was before. He repeats this process for the next couple minutes, muttering soft praises and words of reassurance while rubbing your sides until he's worked himself up to the hilt. "There you go, good girl."

You let out a whimper that could only be described as pathetic, your pussy clamping down on Dean at the nickname. If Dean feels the movement he doesn't say anything, focusing instead on rolling his hips into yours to find that special spot inside of you.

Once he finds that spot inside of you—thanks to a very loud moan that you're glad no one else is around to hear— he puts a little more speed and intention behind his thrusts, his fingertips leaving indents in your skin.

"Oh my god, Dean, fuck!" You whine as his hips slam into yours, nearly knocking the breath out of your lungs. Your head is resting against the mattress, your ears filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin.

"What's wrong, sweetheart? Am I fucking you so good that you've gone stupid?" Dean's words only serve to make the experience better, your eyes fluttering shut once more as you slump against the bed. "Don't run away from me, pretty girl, I thought we were having fun?"

One of Dean's arms slides under and around your waist to pull you flush against him, the other wrapping around your neck to put you in a headlock—not to cut off your air, but to make you aware of just how in control of you he was right now. From this position you can see you and Dean's reflection in your mirror, your eyes immediately drawn to where his cock is drilling into your hole. The sight is something of a work of art; the way Dean's muscles are straining as he holds you up against him, the fucked out look in your eyes, and the way your tits bounce from each of Dean's powerful thrusts. It's all too much, and you have this need to do something, and Dean's arm is right there, so naturally you sink your teeth into his arm, hard enough to leave a mark but not enough to draw blood.

"Did you just fucking bite me, you brat?" Dean growls, but from the way his hips stutter and his dick pulses, you'd say he was into it more than he's willing to admit. "Look at you, so drunk from being split open on my dick that you bit me."

He uses the arm that's wrapped around your throat to force you to keep looking in the mirror, making eye contact with you through it. "Now you see what I see, hm? A pretty little slut who'd spend the rest of her life like this if she could."

"Don't stop, Dean, please don't stop." There are tears beginning to well up in your eyes from the feeling of Dean hitting that spot inside of you over and over again, and if Dean keeps speaking to you like this, they would certainly fall.

"Are you gonna cum, baby?" Dean asks, the hand around your waist moving down to your clit and beginning to rub tight circles on it. "Come on, pretty girl, cum on my cock for me. You always look so pretty when you come apart for me, did you know that?"

The attention on your clit is just the thing you need to send you over the edge, your eyes rolling back as you cum all over Dean's cock. He fucks you through your orgasm, keeping a firm grip on you so that you don't fall over from the sheer intensity of your release. When you've finally come back into your body, you can't help but slump against the bed, whimpering at the feeling of Dean sliding out of you.

"Come here, baby, I'm not done with you yet." Dean's voice is gentle as he rolls you over onto your back, throwing one of your legs over his shoulder and holding it there by your thigh.

You're too fucked out to even say anything, allowing him to manhandle you into the position he wants you in. Every point of contact between the two of you is simultaneously too much and not enough, your body trying to move towards him while also trying to shrink away from him. He taps his tip on your clit, smirking at the way you whine and roll your hips up towards him.

"Stop teasing me." You complain, finding just enough strength in yourself to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer. He chuckles into the crook of your neck, the breath warm against your skin as he sinks back into you.

"Sorry, sweetheart, I just can't help myself when you get all needy and pliant for me like this." He whispers, gently nipping at your collarbone as he buries himself to the hilt with a groan. "Has anyone ever told you how amazing you feel, pretty girl?"

"You have, quite a few times." You say with a smile, tilting your head back as Dean starts kissing up your jaw to give him more access. He hums softly, kissing from you jaw, to your cheeks, then to your forehead and to your nose, before finally slotting his lips against yours. The kiss is softer than the ones before, because now neither of you are in a rush to have each other. You already do, and there's no way that either of you will be letting go any time soon.

He begins thrusting again—slower this time, because he knows that you're sensitive from your previous two orgasms and wants to draw this out a bit more. "It's because it's true. And you're so fucking gorgeous like this; it should be a crime to be so fucking sexy when I'm ruining you."

With this position, Dean is able to focus more on hitting that sweet spot inside of you with more precision, causing weak moans and whimpers to fall from your lips. You dig your nails into his back, dragging them down his back as he picks up the pace with his thrusts. You've lost yourself and the ability to form proper sentences, only able to beg and plead for him to keep going and to never stop. The way he rolled his hips and brushed against your clit, the feeling of him on top of you, the scent of sex in the air—it was overwhelming and all consuming, and you weren't ready for it to end.

"Baby, if you keep clamping down on me like that I'm not gonna be able to last much longer." Dean says through gritted teeth as he slides an arm under you and pulls you up slightly so that you're arching off the bed. Dean rests one knee on the bed for better leverage, fucking up into you even harder like this. Your moans have become animalistic at this point, tears falling down your cheeks as you cum one last time with a shout. Dean only gets in a few more shallow thrusts before he's spilling inside of you with a loud moan, his grip on your hips tightening as he fucks his cum deep inside you.

The two of you collapse onto the bed, Dean rolling off to the side so that he doesn't crush you with his weight. He takes a moment to catch his breath before kissing your temple and getting out of the bed, grabbing a tissue from your desk. You whine when as he cleans up the mess between your legs, trying to push him away.

"I know, I know. But we need to get you cleaned up, okay?" He whispers, continuing to wipe you down with gentle motions. Once he's done he tosses the tissue in the trash can by your desk, climbing back into bed and pulling you into his warm embrace. "You did so well for me, pretty girl."

The two of you lay there in silence as you come down from your high, Dean tracing patterns on your back to help calm you. It takes a few minutes but your breathing finally evens out, and you lift your head up from it's spot on his shoulder. "Sorry for biting you, I hope it didn't hurt too badly." You say with a sheepish smile.

"Are you kidding me, sweetheart? That was the hottest thing you've ever done." Dean says with a snort as he tugs you closer. "No need to apologize, baby, I clearly enjoyed it very much—more than I should have, if we're being honest."

You giggle at that, shaking your head. It was good to know that you were helping Dean discover new things about himself, in more ways than one. "Sorry for like, freaking out on you and ignoring all your calls and texts, by the way. When I realized that I was developing feelings for you, I panicked because I didn't think that you would feel the same way—guess I was wrong, huh?"

Dean smiles at that, a resigned one that doesn't fully show off his dimples. "Yeah, I can't really blame you for that when I'm known on campus as the guy who will never commit to anyone." He says softly as he runs his hand along your arm. "But I promise you, I meant everything that I said earlier; I want to be with you, and I will do everything in my power to prove it to you."

"You don't have to prove a single thing to me, Dean." You say with a frown, shaking your head as you place a hand on his cheek. "I don't want you to feel like you have to put on some sort of act to be with me, I just want you to be yourself."

Dean's gaze softens, as if those were the exact words he needed to hear from you in this moment to absolve him of his insecurities. Despite the fact that he tries to act all tough and like he doesn't care if people like him or not, you know that he needs a bit of reassurance from time to time.

"Careful, if you keep being so nice to me, I won't be able to keep my hands off of you." Dean says as he nips at your earlobe again. You roll your eyes at that, because you had foolishly forgotten just how fast Dean could recover after sex.

"Are you trying to kill me or something?" You ask teasingly, squealing when Dean rolls you over onto your back.

"Kill you? I wouldn't dream of it, sweetheart—but I do plan on making you feel very good for the rest of the night." He says with a smirk before diving in to leave more hickeys along your neck and collarbone. Fuck, you were in for a treat tonight.