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Summary: Dean has never met a problem he couldnโt charm his way out of or a woman he couldnโt leave completely satisfied. So when he overhears a football player publicly blame you for his own failures in bed, Dean does the only logical thing: he shows up at your doorstep with a duffel bag full of toys and a mission
Warnings: 18+ content
The crisp March wind whips across the Briar University quad, but Dean hardly feels the chill. Heโs running on four hours of sleep, a triple-shot espresso, and the lingering high of a weekend well spent.
โIโm just saying,โ Garrett says, adjusting the strap of his duffel bag over his shoulder. โIf Coach makes us bag skate again tomorrow, Iโm staging a full-team mutiny. Iโm not doing it.โ
Logan snorts. โYou love bag skates.โ
โI tolerate bag skates,โ Garrett corrects him. โThereโs a massive difference.โ
โYouโre both whining,โ Tucker chimes in, his steady southern drawl a stark contrast to Garrettโs rapid-fire complaining. โJust put your heads down and skate.โ
Dean grins, walking backward for a few steps so he can face his teammates. โTuckโs right. Itโs all about pacing, boys. Stamina. You canโt blow all your energy in the first period. You have to finesse it. Read the ice. Just like with a woman.โ
Beau, walking beside Dean, rolls his eyes and shoves Deanโs shoulder. โJesus, Di Laurentis. Does everything come back to your sex life?โ
โWhen itโs as spectacular as mine?โ Dean winks. โYeah. It does.โ
He isnโt trying to be an arrogant prick. Itโs just the truth. Dean loves women. He loves the way they look, the way they smell, the way they sound when heโs doing things right. He grew up surrounded by affection โ two powerhouse attorney parents who actually love each other, a sprawling maternal family with a business empire, and a childhood free of the usual rich-kid neuroses. He knows how lucky he is. And he believes in sharing the wealth. Specifically, by ensuring that any woman lucky enough to end up in his bed leaves it thoroughly, exhaustingly satisfied.
โWho was it this weekend?โ Logan asks, kicking a stray pebble across the pavement. โWait, donโt tell me. The blonde from the Gamma Gamma party?โ
โHer name is Tori,โ Dean says easily. โAnd sheโs a delight. Highly recommend her taste in music. Terrible taste in breakfast food, though. Who orders egg whites and no bacon? Itโs a crime against mornings.โ
โYou bought her breakfast?โ Beau asks, raising an eyebrow.
โI always buy them breakfast.โ Dean turns back around, matching his stride to the rest of the guys. โItโs called manners, Beau. You should try it sometime. Instead of just throwing a football at people.โ
โIโm a quarterback,โ Beau says defensively. โThrowing a football is literally my job description.โ
โYeah, well, my job description is making sure everyone leaves happy.โ
They turn the corner near the student union. The quad is packed with bodies hurrying between afternoon classes, a sea of Briar U hoodies and overpriced coffee cups.
Up ahead, leaning against the low brick wall near the fountain, are two guys wearing Briar football jackets.
Beau groans under his breath. โOh, great. Itโs McMahon.โ
โWho?โ Tucker asks.
โWide receiver,โ Beau mutters. โHands made of stone, ego the size of Rhode Island. Donโt look at him, or heโll start complaining to me about his target share.โ
Dean has no interest in football politics, so he keeps his eyes straight ahead. Theyโre about to walk past the two guys when McMahonโs voice carries over the noise of the quad. Itโs loud. Too loud. The kind of loud a guy uses when he wants everyone around him to know heโs talking.
โI had to dump her, man,โ McMahon is saying to his buddy, a sneer clear in his voice. โTotal waste of my time.โ
โYeah?โ The other guy asks.
โOh, absolutely. Iโm telling you, sheโs a frigid bitch.โ
Dean slows his steps. Next to him, Garrett stiffens.
McMahon laughs, a harsh, grating sound. โI put in the work, you know? But nothing. Swear to God, she just laid there. Something must genuinely be wrong with her. She can never cum.โ
Dean stops walking completely.
Beau takes two more steps before realizing Dean isnโt beside him. He turns around. โDean. Come on. Donโt.โ
โDid you hear what he just said?โ Dean asks, his voice dropping low. All the playful ease from a moment ago evaporates.
โI heard it,โ Logan says, his expression tightening. โThe guyโs a class-A douchebag. Letโs keep moving.โ
โHe just announced to half the quad that he couldnโt get a girl off,โ Dean says, staring at the back of McMahonโs head. โAnd he blamed her.โ
โDean,โ Tucker says, stepping into Deanโs line of sight. โNot our circus. Not our monkeys.โ
โIt is an insult to womankind,โ Dean says. He isnโt joking. His chest actually feels tight with genuine indignation. โA crime. A travesty.โ
โItโs a wide receiver with a fragile ego,โ Beau says, grabbing Deanโs elbow. โLeave it alone.โ
Dean shrugs off Beauโs hand. He isnโt going to start a brawl in the middle of the quad, he has no interest in getting suspended for the next five games. But the sheer audacity of it is ringing in his ears.
Something must genuinely be wrong with her.
No. Dean shakes his head. No, there is nothing wrong with you. He doesnโt even know who you are. He doesnโt know your face, or your laugh, or the way you look when youโre a mess in the sheets. But he knows, with absolute, unwavering certainty, that McMahon is an idiot.
โThereโs no such thing as a frigid woman,โ Dean says, his voice carrying just enough that McMahonโs conversation pauses. โJust lazy, incompetent guys who donโt know where the clit is.โ
Silence drops over their immediate vicinity.
Garrett scrubs a hand over his face. โJesus Christ.โ
McMahon turns around, his face flushing dull red. He spots Beau first, then his eyes slide to Dean. โYou got something to say, Di Laurentis?โ
Dean slides his hands into the pockets of his jeans, rocking back on his heels. He gives McMahon a lazy, condescending smile. โJust offering some unsolicited biological facts, McMahon. Sounds like you need a tutor. Maybe a diagram.โ
McMahon steps away from the brick wall, puffing his chest out. โAre you calling me incompetent?โ
โI think you just called yourself incompetent, man,โ Dean says smoothly. โLoudly. In public. Iโm just agreeing with you.โ
โI donโt need to know her,โ Dean counters, his tone perfectly even. โI know anatomy. I know effort. If a girl doesnโt get off, itโs because you didnโt pay attention. You rushed it. You fumbled the play. Isnโt that what you guys call it? Fumbling?โ
Beau winces. โDean.โ
McMahon takes a step forward, his fists clenching. โYou think youโre so fucking funny.โ
โI think Iโm highly effective,โ Dean corrects him. โAnd I think you should keep your bedroom failures to yourself instead of dragging a girlโs name through the mud because your fragile masculinity canโt handle the fact that you suck in bed.โ
For a second, it looks like McMahon is going to swing. Dean shifts his weight, perfectly ready to slip the punch and drop the guy. Heโs not a fighter by nature, but heโs a hockey player. It comes with the territory.
But Tucker steps in, his frame easily blocking McMahonโs path. โI think thatโs about enough conversation for one afternoon,โ Tucker says calmly. His tone is polite, but his eyes are flat.
McMahon glares at Tucker, then at Dean. He points a finger. โWatch your mouth, Di Laurentis.โ
โWatch your form, McMahon,โ Dean shoots back. โMaybe use two fingers next time. Or, God forbid, your tongue.โ
Logan chokes on a laugh, quickly disguising it as a cough.
McMahon spits on the ground, turns, and shoves his way through the crowd, his buddy trailing awkwardly behind him.
Dean watches them go, his jaw tight.
โWell,โ Garrett says after a moment. โThat was diplomatic.โ
โI hate guys like that,โ Dean mutters, running a hand through his hair. โI really, genuinely hate them.โ
โWe know,โ Beau sighs, clapping Dean on the back. โYouโre the caped crusader of the female orgasm. Weโre all very proud to know you. Can we go get food now? Iโm starving.โ
They resume their walk toward the dining hall, the tension slowly bleeding out of the group as Garrett and Logan pick up their argument about practice drills right where they left off.
But Dean is quiet. He tunes out the banter, his mind replaying McMahonโs harsh, dismissive words.
Itโs just sloppy. Itโs pathetic. Dean loves women too much to stand the thought of one being treated like a chore, or worse, a lost cause. Sex isnโt a race. It isnโt just about friction. Itโs about connection, observation, communication. Itโs about worshipping a body until it unravels for you.
He doesnโt know who you are. He doesnโt know what youโre doing right now. Maybe youโre sitting in a lecture, feeling insecure because some meathead wide receiver told you you were broken. Maybe youโre in your dorm room, crying over a guy who couldnโt even be bothered to figure out what you like.
Dean looks up at the crisp blue sky, mentally sending a prayer up to the universe.
โDear Universe, please watch over this womanโs sadly neglected clitoris,โ he thinks solemnly. โMay it one day find someone who actually knows what theyโre doing. Amen.โ
He kicks a stray leaf on the sidewalk. It is a damn tragedy, thatโs what it is. A tragedy that needs rectifying.
โHey, Beau,โ Dean says suddenly, interrupting whatever Tucker was saying.
Beau glances over. โYeah?โ
โWho did McMahon just break up with?โ
Beau frowns, his steps slowing. โWhat? Why?โ
โJust answer the question.โ
โI donโt know, man. He dates around. I try not to keep track of his personal life. Why?โ Beau squints at him. โWait. No. Whatever youโre thinking, stop.โ
โIโm not thinking anything,โ Dean lies smoothly.
โYou are. You have that look on your face.โ Logan points a finger at him. โThe โDean is about to do something stupidโ look.โ
โI resent that,โ Dean says. โI donโt do stupid things.โ
โYou bought a jet ski on eBay at three in the morning last week,โ Garrett points out.
โIt was a steal, G. An absolute steal. You donโt understand economics.โ Dean waves a hand dismissively. โSeriously, Beau. Does anyone know who she is?โ
โWhy do you care?โ Tucker asks, amused.
โBecause itโs an injustice,โ Dean states flatly. โIt is a cosmic wrong that needs to be righted. Sheโs probably out there right now, thinking sheโs the problem, when the reality is she was just subjected to the sloppy, fumbling hands of a guy who treats sex like a two-minute drill.โ
Beau groans, burying his face in his hands. โYouโre not going to track this girl down, Dean.โ
โI am absolutely going to track her down.โ
โAnd do what?โ Logan asks, laughing in disbelief.
Dean looks at his friends, entirely serious. โAnd give her the orgasm sheโs been so cruelly denied. Itโs my civic duty.โ
โYouโre insane,โ Garrett says, though heโs grinning. โYou are actually insane.โ
โIโm a humanitarian,โ Dean corrects him. โIโm giving back to the community.โ
โYou donโt even know her name,โ Tucker says softly.
โIโll find it out,โ Dean promises. He glances back toward the direction McMahon disappeared.
He doesnโt know you yet. He doesnโt know if youโre blonde, brunette, tall, short, quiet, or loud. But he knows one thing for sure.
He is going to find you. He is going to ruin you for every other man on the planet. And he is going to make damn sure you never, ever think there is something wrong with you again.
***
The stale smell of pepperoni pizza and the frantic clicking of Xbox controllers fill the living room of the off-campus hockey house.
โPass it, pass it, pass it,โ Logan chants, mashing the buttons on his controller as he leans so far forward on the couch heโs practically sitting on the coffee table.
โI am passing it, you pylon,โ Dean snaps back, his eyes glued to the television screen. โIf you would get into position instead of skating around like a lost toddler-โ
โIโm open!โ
โYouโre surrounded by both defensemen!โ
โShoot the damn puck!โ Garrett yells from the armchair, throwing a piece of popcorn at Loganโs head. โYou guys are an embarrassment to the sport. Itโs a video game. It requires a fraction of the athletic ability we actually possess, and youโre still blowing it.โ
โShut up, Graham,โ Dean and Logan say in unison.
On the screen, the buzzer blares. Game over. Logan groans and tosses his controller onto the cushions, dragging a hand down his face.
Dean exhales, leaning back and stretching his arms over his head. His shoulders pop. Normally, heโd be demanding a rematch, relentlessly trash-talking Logan until the guy agreed to play another round just to shut him up. But today, Dean isnโt feeling it. His head isnโt in the game. It hasnโt been in the game since they left the quad three hours ago.
He keeps replaying the conversation in his head. Or rather, the broadcast. That loudmouth wide receiver, McMahon, announcing to half the student body that the girl he was dating couldnโt get off.
It pisses Dean off. It genuinely, deeply aggravates him.
โYouโre quiet,โ Garrett notes, watching Dean from the armchair. โYou won. Usually, you do a victory lap around the coffee table.โ
โIโm conserving my energy,โ Dean says, picking up his phone to check his notifications. Nothing interesting. Just a text from a girl in his sociology seminar and an email from his dad about spring break.
โHeโs still thinking about his crusade,โ Logan says, snagging a cold slice of pizza from the box on the table. โThe caped crusader of the clitoris.โ
โItโs not a crusade,โ Dean says defensively. โItโs a matter of principle.โ
โYou donโt even know her,โ Garrett points out, amused. โFor all you know, McMahon was telling the truth.โ
Dean glares at him. โGarrett. Look at me. Do I look like a man who accepts defeat in the bedroom?โ
โYou look like a man who spends too much time on his hair,โ Garrett deadpans.
โMy hair is flawless, and that is entirely besides the point,โ Dean shoots back. โThe point is, there is a fundamental lack of effort plaguing the male population of this campus. Itโs an epidemic. Guys like McMahon treat sex like a race to the finish line, and then they have the audacity to blame the woman when she doesnโt cross it with them. Itโs pathetic.โ
Logan chews his pizza thoughtfully. โI mean, youโre not wrong. But you canโt save them all, man.โ
โI donโt need to save them all,โ Dean says, his voice dropping a fraction. โI just need to save this one.โ
The front door swings open before Logan can reply, slamming against the wall with a loud thud.
Beau trudges into the house, looking like he just survived a minor war. Heโs still wearing his gray Briar football sweatpants and a tight compression shirt that clings to his exhausted frame. He drops his massive gym bag onto the hardwood floor, kicks off his slides, and groans loudly.
โPractice?โ Garrett asks sympathetically.
โPractice,โ Beau confirms, shuffling into the living room and collapsing onto the empty space on the couch next to Dean. He smells faintly of artificial turf, sweat, and the sharp tang of Deep Relief muscle rub. โCoach made us run the stadium stairs. Twice. Because someone โ who shall remain nameless, but his initials rhyme with DickMahon โ kept dropping his routes during seven-on-sevens.โ
Deanโs ears perk up. He turns to look at his best friend, his previous lethargy vanishing instantly. โMcMahon?โ
Beau closes his eyes and tips his head back against the couch cushions. โDonโt.โ
โYou were in the locker room with him,โ Dean presses, shifting his body so heโs fully facing Beau. โDid you ask around?โ
Beau keeps his eyes squeezed shut. โDean, I am tired. My calves are screaming. I want a shower, a beer, and for you to stop looking at me with that deranged glint in your eye.โ
โTell me you found something out,โ Dean says, ignoring every word Beau just said. โTell me you didnโt spend two hours in a locker room full of gossiping linebackers and come back empty-handed.โ
Beau sighs, a long, dramatic sound that ruffles his blonde hair. He slowly opens one eye, looking at Dean with a mixture of exhaustion and profound regret. โDo you want the good news or the bad news first?โ
Deanโs heart actually kicks up a notch. He leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees. โGood news. Always start with the good news.โ
Beau sits up a little, rubbing the back of his neck. โOkay. The good news is, I know who she is. I asked Howard, the backup tight end, because he knows everybodyโs business. He told me who McMahon just dumped.โ
โWho?โ Dean demands.
โHer name is Y/N Y/L/N,โ Beau says.
Dean processes the name. It suits you. It sounds smart, put-together. โAnd?โ
โAnd,โ Beau continues, โsheโs not just some random girl. Sheโs a junior. Pre-law, I think. And sheโs the president of the Delta Zeta sorority.โ
Logan whistles low. โDelta Zeta? Those girls donโt mess around. Thatโs the house with the insane GPA requirement and the terrifying philanthropy events.โ
Dean smiles, a slow, genuine curve of his lips. He likes this. He really likes this. A sorority president. That means you are organized. Driven. You probably walk around campus with a planner perfectly color-coded to match your outfits. You take charge, you handle responsibility, and you probably donโt take shit from anyone. Which makes it even more infuriating that a guy like McMahon made you feel inadequate.
โY/N,โ Dean says your name out loud, testing the syllables on his tongue. He likes the way it sounds. He likes the way it feels. โOkay. Thatโs excellent news. Whatโs the bad news?โ
Beau hesitates. He looks away from Dean, glancing at Garrett and Logan, who are suddenly very invested in the conversation. Beau scrubs a hand over his jaw, looking distinctly uncomfortable.
โSpit it out, Beau,โ Dean says, the smile fading from his face.
โThe bad news,โ Beau says slowly, โis that McMahon wasnโt the first guy to complain about her.โ
The living room goes dead silent. The only sound is the low hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen.
Dean stares at him. โWhat are you talking about?โ
โIโm just telling you what I heard,โ Beau says defensively, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. โHoward started talking, and then a couple of the other guys chimed in. Apparently, she dated a guy on the lacrosse team last year. And before that, some dude from Kappa Sig.โ
โAnd?โ Dean prompts, his jaw tightening.
โAnd the grapevine says the same thing,โ Beau mutters, looking at the floor. โNobody has ever been able to make her cum. The lacrosse guy said she was completely unresponsive. The Kappa Sig guy said he tried for an hour and gave up. Itโs โฆ itโs a known thing, Dean. The guys in the locker room were joking that sheโs cursed.โ
Dean feels a cold, sharp spike of anger lodge itself right beneath his ribs.
He imagines you, standing in front of a mirror, wondering whatโs wrong with you. He imagines the quiet humiliation of lying in bed while a guy sighs in frustration, rolls over, and goes to sleep. He imagines you carrying around a reputation you didnโt ask for, created by guys who are too incompetent to do their damn jobs.
It makes him want to punch a hole through the drywall.
โThey were joking about it,โ Dean repeats, his voice dangerously soft.
โLocker rooms are toxic,โ Garrett says quietly from the armchair. โYou know how it is, Dean. Guys talk. They exaggerate to protect their own egos.โ
โItโs not an exaggeration if three different guys are saying the exact same thing,โ Beau points out gently. He looks back at Dean, his expression softening into an apology. โLook, man. I know youโre on this crusade to prove McMahon wrong, but โฆ maybe he isnโt. Maybe itโs not a lack of effort.โ
Dean narrows his eyes. โWhat are you implying?โ
Beau shifts uncomfortably. โIโm just saying โฆ biology is weird. Some people have weird wiring. Maybe she really does have some sort of issue. You know? Like, a medical reason why she canโt get off. It happens.โ
โNo,โ Dean says immediately.
โDean, be reasonable,โ Beau tries. โIf multiple guys-โ
โI donโt give a damn if the entire starting lineup of the New England Patriots tried and failed,โ Dean snaps, pushing himself off the couch. He paces across the living room, running a hand aggressively through his hair. โI am shutting that theory down right now.โ
โYou canโt just shut down biology,โ Logan argues reasonably.
โWatch me,โ Dean shoots back. He turns to face his friends, pointing an accusatory finger at Beau. โDo you know what the common denominator is here? Itโs not her. Itโs the guys.โ
โA lacrosse player, a frat bro, and a wide receiver,โ Garrett lists, counting them off on his fingers.
โExactly!โ Dean throws his hands in the air. โThe holy trinity of selfish lovers! What do they all have in common? Ego. They care more about their own performance than her pleasure. They probably pounded away for five minutes like jackrabbits, didnโt bother with foreplay, and then got offended when she didnโt magically explode.โ
Beau sighs. โDean-โ
โIโm serious, Beau,โ Dean interrupts, his voice hard. The anger is settling into something sharper, something far more resolute. โDo not sit there and tell me sheโs broken. Do not tell me she has a physiological issue just because three frat-star idiots couldnโt find the clit with a flashlight and a map.โ
The conviction in his voice fills the room. He isnโt laughing. He isnโt playing around. He means every single word.
โWomenโs bodies arenโt slot machines,โ Dean says, pacing back toward the television. โYou donโt just put a coin in, pull a lever, and wait for the jackpot. It takes attention. It takes communication. You have to learn the body youโre touching. You have to figure out what she likes, what she hates, what she needs before she even knows she needs it.โ
He stops pacing, planting his hands on his hips as he stares down his three friends.
โIf she hasnโt come,โ Dean states, absolute certainty ringing in his tone, โit is because nobody has bothered to learn her properly. Nobody has put in the work.โ
Garrett raises an eyebrow. โAnd you think youโre the guy to put in the work?โ
โI know I am,โ Dean says without a second of hesitation.
โDude.โ Logan lets out a breath, shaking his head. โYouโre talking about taking on a campus legend. If she really is, uh, un-finishable-โ
โStop calling her that,โ Dean snaps. โSheโs not a challenge on a bucket list. She is a girl who deserves to feel good.โ
Beau looks at him for a long, quiet moment. He knows Dean better than anyone in the room. Beau knows when Dean is messing around, and he knows when Dean is dead serious.
Right now, Dean is dead serious.
โOkay,โ Beau says softly, holding his hands up in surrender. โOkay. I hear you. But letโs look at this logically. What exactly is your plan here?โ
Dean drops back onto the couch, resting his elbows on his knees. โMy plan is simple. Iโm going to find her. Iโm going to get to know her. And then Iโm going to help her.โ
โHelp her,โ Beau repeats flatly.
โYes. I am going to give her the release she has been denied. I am going to do what apparently no other incompetent man on this campus has managed to do.โ Deanโs eyes gleam with a fierce, protective determination. โI am going to break the curse.โ
Logan lets out a sudden, bark-like laugh. โYouโre out of your mind.โ
โI am a visionary,โ Dean corrects him.
Beau rubs his temples, looking like heโs developing a severe migraine. โDean, think about this for two seconds. You canโt just walk up to a girl โ a sorority president, no less โ and offer to give her an orgasm.โ
โWhy not?โ Dean asks innocently.
โBecause itโs insane!โ Beau yells, finally losing his cool. โBecause she doesnโt know you! You canโt just stroll up to her in the dining hall, tap her on the shoulder, and say, โHey, I heard your ex-boyfriend has the sexual prowess of a wet sponge, let me fix that for you!โโ
โWell, obviously I wouldnโt use those exact words,โ Dean says, offended. โI have tact, Beau. I have charm. I know how to talk to women.โ
โYouโre going to get pepper-sprayed,โ Garrett predicts, sounding entirely too cheerful about the prospect. โIโll give you twenty bucks right now if you get it on video.โ
โI am not going to get pepper-sprayed,โ Dean says firmly. โI am going to be a gentleman.โ
โA gentleman doesnโt solicit orgasms to strangers,โ Tuckerโs voice drawls from the doorway. Heโs leaning against the frame, holding a massive protein shake in one hand, having apparently walked in through the kitchen halfway through the conversation.
โA true gentleman recognizes a woman in need and steps up to the plate,โ Dean counters smoothly. โIโm going to do it. Thatโs exactly what Iโm going to do.โ
โDean, please,โ Beau begs, sounding genuinely distressed. โSheโs a prominent figure on campus. If you go up to her and say something crazy, sheโs going to ruin your reputation.โ
โMy reputation?โ Dean laughs. Itโs a bright, easy sound. โBeau, my reputation is already that of a shameless flirt who sleeps around. Whatโs she going to do? Tell people I offered to make her feel good? Oh, the horror.โ
โSheโs going to think youโre a creep,โ Beau insists.
โShe wonโt,โ Dean says confidently. โBecause Iโm not going to be creepy about it. Iโm going to be honest. Completely, brutally honest. Women appreciate honesty.โ
Garrett snorts. โYeah, let me know how that honesty works out for you when she slaps you across the face.โ
Dean ignores them. He tunes out Garrettโs laughter, Loganโs skepticism, and Beauโs frantic attempts to reason with him. His mind is already racing, piecing together a strategy.
He knows you are the president of Delta Zeta. That means you are busy. It means you are likely stressed, overworked, and constantly dealing with other peopleโs drama. You probably drink too much coffee, donโt get enough sleep, and carry the weight of your entire house on your shoulders.
And on top of all that, you have the baggage of guys like McMahon making you feel inadequate.
Dean feels that fierce, protective urge flare up again. It isnโt just about his ego anymore. It isnโt just about proving a point to the locker room. Itโs about you. Itโs about the fact that nobody has looked at you and decided you were worth the time it takes to figure out what you need.
He stands up again, suddenly too energized to sit still. โWhen does Delta Zeta usually hold their chapter meetings?โ
Beau groans, throwing himself face-first into a couch pillow. โIโm not telling you.โ
โFridays,โ Logan provides helpfully. โUsually around seven. I know because I hooked up with a DZ last semester, and she always made me leave by six-thirty so she could get ready.โ
โFriday,โ Dean repeats. Today is Wednesday. That gives him two days to figure out an approach. Two days to find you, study you, and plan his move.
โYouโre really going through with this?โ Beau asks, his voice muffled by the pillow.
โI am,โ Dean says. He walks toward the hallway leading to his bedroom, pausing at the threshold to look back at his friends. โIโm going to find her. Iโm going to look her in the eyes, and Iโm going to offer my services.โ
โServices,โ Garrett echoes, shaking his head. โYou make it sound like youโre an independent contractor.โ
โIโm a specialist,โ Dean corrects him with a wink. โAnd Y/N Y/L/N is about to become my top priority.โ
He turns and walks down the hall, already mentally mapping out the campus to figure out where a pre-law sorority president is most likely to spend her Friday afternoon. The library? The student union? A coffee shop?
Heโll check them all. He doesnโt care how long it takes.
Because Dean loves a challenge. But more than that, he loves making things right. And making sure you finally understand that there is absolutely nothing wrong with you?
That is going to be the best thing heโs ever done.
***
Dean does not usually require props.
In fact, he prides himself on his natural abilities. He has spent years perfecting his technique, learning the exact amount of pressure, the perfect rhythm, the right things to whisper in the dark. He is a craftsman, and his hands and mouth are his chosen tools.
But as he stands in his bedroom on Friday afternoon, staring into the bottom drawer of his nightstand, he decides to make an exception.
Because you arenโt just a regular Friday night hookup. You are a mission. You are the final boss of Briar Universityโs dating pool, a girl who has allegedly stumped every self-serving idiot on this campus. And while Dean is completely, undeniably confident in his own mouth, he also believes in being prepared. A good lawyer โ like his mother always says โ never walks into a courtroom without covering all his bases.
So, he grabs a sleek, black duffel bag from his closet.
He tosses in a small, discreet bullet vibrator. Then a curved silicone toy that he knows for a fact works absolute miracles. He adds a bottle of premium, water-based lubricant, just to be safe. He zips the bag up, slinging it over his shoulder.
โWhere are you going?โ Garrett asks, looking up from the kitchen island as Dean walks out of his room. Garrett is eating cereal straight out of the box.
โI have an appointment,โ Dean says, checking his reflection in the hallway mirror. He runs a hand through his hair, making sure it falls with just the right amount of effortless messiness. Heโs wearing a fitted black long-sleeve henley that highlights his shoulders, and his favorite jeans. He looks good. Approachable. Trustworthy.
โAn appointment,โ Garrett repeats flatly. His eyes drop to the black duffel bag. โAre you going to the gym, or are you actually going through with this psychotic plan to accost McMahonโs ex-girlfriend?โ
โHer name is Y/N,โ Dean corrects him. โAnd I am not accosting anyone. I am offering a philanthropic service. Iโm giving back to the community.โ
โYouโre going to get arrested,โ Garrett says, tossing a piece of Capโn Crunch at him.
Dean catches it mid-air and eats it. โHave a little faith, Graham. Iโll be back in a few hours. Victorious.โ
He walks out the door before Garrett can say anything else.
The Delta Zeta house is a massive, sprawling brick mansion situated at the end of Sorority Row. It has white columns, a perfectly manicured lawn, and an intimidating aura of organized femininity. Dean walks up the pristine paved walkway, his heart doing a strange, unfamiliar flutter against his ribs.
He isnโt nervous. Dean Di Laurentis doesnโt get nervous around women. But he is acutely aware that he is operating without a net here. He doesnโt have an introduction. He doesnโt have a mutual friend paving the way. All he has is his charm, a bag of toys, and a burning desire to prove McMahon wrong.
He steps onto the porch and presses the doorbell. It chimes, a soft, melodic sound that echoes through the heavy oak door.
Dean takes a breath. He squares his shoulders. He prepares his opening line. Heโs going to be suave. Heโs going to introduce himself, ask if you have a minute to talk privately, and then gently, delicately broach the subject.
The lock clicks. The door swings open.
And Dean completely forgets how to speak.
You are standing there, holding a clipboard in one hand and a half-empty mug of coffee in the other. You are wearing a pair of faded gray sweatpants and an oversized Briar University sweatshirt that is slipping off one shoulder. Your hair is pulled up into a messy bun that looks like itโs barely surviving, held together by a single, desperate claw clip. You look exhausted, irritated, and absolutely, devastatingly beautiful.
He wasnโt expecting this. He expected a perfectly polished sorority president in a twinset and pearls. But you look real. You look like a girl who has been managing fifty different crises since six in the morning.
You blink at him, your eyes trailing from the toes of his boots, up his jeans, to his face. โCan I help you?โ
Your voice is slightly raspy, like youโve been talking all day. It sends a sudden, sharp jolt straight to Deanโs groin.
โUh,โ Dean says. The suave opening line evaporates from his brain. The delicate approach vanishes. He stares into your eyes, overwhelmed by the sudden, intense urge to drag you upstairs, lay you down, and spend the next six hours worshipping every single inch of you.
โHello?โ You prompt, arching a single, perfect eyebrow. โIโm in the middle of a budget crisis with my treasurer, so if youโre looking for one of the sisters, you need to tell me who, or Iโm shutting this door.โ
Deanโs brain short-circuits entirely. โIโm here to make you come.โ
Silence.
Thick, heavy, suffocating silence drops over the porch.
You freeze. The hand holding the coffee mug tightens so hard your knuckles turn white. You stare at him, your eyes widening in sheer, unadulterated shock.
Dean realizes what he just said a fraction of a second too late. โWait. No. I mean-โ
The slap echoes across the porch like a gunshot. Your palm connects with Deanโs cheek with stunning, terrifying precision. It stings instantly, a hot flare of pain that snaps his head to the side.
Before he can even register the hit, you step back.
โGet the hell off my porch, you absolute creep!โ You snap, and then you slam the heavy oak door directly in his face. The deadbolt clicks into place with a resounding finality.
Dean stands there, staring at the brass knocker. He slowly reaches up, pressing two fingers to his stinging cheek.
โWell,โ he mutters to himself. โThat could have gone better.โ
He doesnโt leave. He canโt leave. If he leaves now, heโs just the lunatic who showed up and harassed you. He drops the duffel bag onto the porch mat, takes a deep breath, and knocks on the door. Firmly.
โGo away!โ Your voice filters through the wood, muffled but furious. โOr Iโm calling campus security!โ
โPlease!โ Dean calls out, leaning closer to the door. โJust give me one minute! I swear to God, I didnโt mean it like that!โ
โYou literally said you were here to make me come!โ You yell back.
โI know!โ Dean winces. โI know I said it! My brain stopped working! I panicked! But Iโm not a creep, I promise!โ
The lock turns. The door cracks open just an inch, held securely in place by a heavy brass chain. Your eyes appear in the gap, glaring at him with a mixture of anger and deep suspicion.
โYou have exactly ten seconds to explain yourself before I pepper-spray you,โ you say sharply. โAnd yes, I have it in my hand.โ
Dean immediately holds his hands up in surrender, stepping back so you can see he isnโt trying to force his way in. โOkay. Okay, fair. Listen to me. My name is Dean Di Laurentis-โ
โI know who you are,โ you interrupt, your voice dripping with disdain. โYou play hockey. Youโre Beau Maxwellโs best friend. And you have a reputation for sleeping with half the female population of this school.โ
โOkay, half is an exaggeration,โ Dean says defensively. โA third, maybe. But thatโs exactly why Iโm here! Listen, Iโm a feminist. I love women. I genuinely, deeply respect women and their right to absolute satisfaction.โ
You stare at him through the crack. โAre you on drugs?โ
โNo! Look, I overheard McMahon talking on the quad yesterday.โ
The shift in your demeanor is instantaneous. The fiery anger in your eyes extinguishes, replaced by a sudden, protective wall of pure ice. Your jaw clenches, and Dean can practically see you putting your armor on.
โOh,โ you say softly. The word is hollow. โI see. You heard what he said.โ
โI heard it,โ Dean confirms, his voice dropping, softening. โAnd I heard what the other guys in the locker room have been saying, too. The lacrosse guy. The Kappa Sig guy.โ
You close your eyes for a brief second. When you open them, the ice is thicker. โAnd you came here to what? Mock me? Place a bet with your friends to see if you can be the one to break the curse?โ
โNo!โ Dean is genuinely horrified. โNo, God, absolutely not. I came here because it pisses me off. It pisses me off that these lazy, incompetent assholes donโt know what theyโre doing, and theyโre making you feel like youโre the problem.โ
You donโt say anything. You just watch him through the narrow gap in the door.
โI came here to right a wrong,โ Dean pleads, leaning in slightly. โTo redeem my gender. I brought toys, just in case, to cover all the bases! I can even give you references, if you want. Seriously. Call Leah from Beta. Call Kayla from the dance team. Call-โ
โStop naming girls youโve slept with,โ you hiss, glancing nervously past him.
Dean looks over his shoulder. A group of freshmen girls are walking down the sidewalk, staring openly at him standing on the Delta Zeta porch, talking to the door.
You let out a frustrated groan. โYou are causing a scene. Di Laurentis, I swear to God, if you make this a spectacle โฆโ
โIโll stand here all day,โ Dean threatens lightly, giving you a small, charming smile. โIโll shout my references to the quad. Iโll sing them. I have a terrible singing voice, Y/N. It will be tragic for everyone involved.โ
You glare at him, a muscle ticking in your jaw. Then, with a harsh sigh, you shut the door.
For a second, Dean thinks heโs lost. But then he hears the rattle of the chain sliding out of the lock. The door swings open wide enough for him to enter.
โGet in,โ you snap. โBefore someone takes a picture.โ
Dean quickly grabs his duffel bag and slips past you into the foyer.
The inside of the house is beautiful โ hardwood floors, a sweeping staircase, the faint smell of vanilla and expensive perfume. But Dean doesnโt look at any of it. He turns to look at you.
You shut the door behind him and lean against it, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. Without the door between you, Dean can see the exhaustion lining your eyes. You look incredibly guarded, like a cornered animal waiting for the strike.
โOkay,โ you say, your voice flat. โYouโre inside. You got your little heroic speech out of the way. Now letโs get one thing straight.โ
โIโm listening,โ Dean says, matching your serious tone. He drops the bag onto the floor.
โYou think this is about them,โ you say, gesturing vaguely toward the door, indicating the male population at large. โYou think McMahon and the others are just selfish lovers who didnโt try hard enough. You think you can waltz in here with your magical hockey-player hands and fix the lazy mistakes of frat boys.โ
โI do, actually,โ Dean says without hesitation. โI know I can.โ
You let out a harsh, humorless laugh. It lacks any real joy. โYour ego is astounding. Truly. But youโre wrong, Dean. Itโs not them.โ
Dean frowns, taking a half-step toward you. โWhat do you mean?โ
โI mean, itโs me,โ you say bluntly. You look him dead in the eyes, refusing to flinch, refusing to look away. โI have never come. Ever.โ
Dean stops. โI know. The rumor-โ
โNo,โ you cut him off, your voice slicing through the air. โNot just with guys. Never. Not with men. Not with women. Not with a vibrator. Not with my own hand in the privacy of my own bedroom.โ
Dean stares at you. The cocky comeback dies in his throat. He literally doesnโt know what to say.
โItโs a dead end,โ you continue, your voice terrifyingly calm. โI have tried everything. I have read the articles, I have bought the expensive toys, I have tried relaxing, I have tried not overthinking it. It doesnโt work. The wires donโt connect. I physically cannot achieve orgasm.โ
Deanโs heart aches. Itโs a strange, sudden pang right in the center of his chest. Because he can hear the resignation in your voice. He can hear the years of frustration, of quiet, lonely disappointment, all packed into those few clinical sentences.
โY/N,โ he starts softly.
โDonโt,โ you say, holding a hand up. โDo not give me pity. I am perfectly fine with it. I have made my peace with my body. I still enjoy sex. I still like the intimacy. Itโs the guys who canโt handle it. They take it as a personal insult to their masculinity. They throw tantrums, they call me frigid, and they whine about it to their friends in the locker room.โ
You drop your hand, your posture stiffening.
โSo, thank you for the valiant attempt to save me,โ you say, your tone dripping in sarcasm. โBut I donโt need your help. I donโt need a savior. And I certainly donโt need another guy treating my body like a puzzle he has to solve just to stroke his own ego. You can take your bag of toys and leave.โ
You reach behind you, grabbing the doorknob.
โWait,โ Dean says, moving faster than he ever has on the ice. He closes the distance between you, stepping just close enough that you pause, but far enough away that he isnโt crowding you.
He looks down at you. You are breathing a little heavy, your eyes defiant, daring him to push.
This changes things. Beau was right. It wasnโt just lazy guys. Itโs a deep-rooted wall. But the thing about Dean Di Laurentis is that he doesnโt back down from walls. He scales them. He dismantles them brick by brick.
โIโm not leaving,โ Dean says quietly.
You frown, your grip on the doorknob tightening. โI just told you-โ
โI heard what you told me,โ Dean says, his voice steady, entirely stripped of the usual playful banter. โYou think youโre broken. You think itโs impossible. And youโre sick of guys making it about them instead of about you.โ
You swallow hard, your eyes flickering with something that looks dangerously like vulnerability. โYes.โ
โI am not them,โ Dean says. He holds your gaze, pouring every ounce of sincerity he possesses into the look. โI donโt care about my ego. My ego is perfectly intact. I care about the fact that you have convinced yourself you arenโt allowed to feel the best feeling in the world.โ
โItโs not that Iโm not allowed-โ
โItโs a mental block,โ Dean interrupts gently. โOr a physical one. Or a combination of both. But itโs not permanent. Nothing is permanent.โ
โYou donโt know that,โ you whisper, looking away. โYou donโt know my body.โ
โThen let me learn it,โ Dean says.
You snap your eyes back to him, shocked.
โGive me one chance,โ Dean pleads. He isnโt cocky anymore. He is practically begging. โOne chance, Y/N. No expectations. No pressure. If nothing happens, I will walk away. I will never bother you again. I wonโt throw a tantrum, I wonโt blame you, and I sure as hell wonโt talk about it to a locker room full of idiots.โ
You stare at him, your chest rising and falling rapidly. You look genuinely torn, the exhaustion and the fear battling against the tiny, microscopic sliver of hope he just offered you.
But then the wall goes back up.
โNo,โ you say firmly. You shake your head, stepping away from the door and pointing toward it. โNo. I am not doing this again. I am not getting my hopes up just to lie there and feel broken while you get frustrated. Out. Now.โ
Deanโs mind races. Heโs losing you. He can see the door closing on this entire crusade, and he refuses to let you push him away just because youโre scared.
He needs leverage. What does he know about you?
Sorority president. Pre-law. Busy. Philanthropy.
โWhat if we make a wager?โ Dean blurts out.
You stop. โWhat?โ
โA wager,โ Dean repeats, the idea taking shape in his mind as he speaks. โA bet. To make it worth your while. If I try, and I fail โ which I wonโt, but letโs pretend for a second that I do โ I will give you something you want.โ
You look at him like heโs lost his mind. โThere is nothing you have that I want, Di Laurentis.โ
โDelta Zeta is hosting the Splash & Dash charity car wash next Saturday, right?โ Dean asks, pointing a finger at you. โTo raise money for the womenโs shelter downtown?โ
You blink, clearly thrown off by his knowledge of your sororityโs philanthropic schedule. โHow do you know that?โ
โI pay attention to things,โ Dean says smoothly. โNow, traditionally, your sisters wash the cars in bikinis. It brings in decent money. The frat guys show up, they pay twenty bucks, they ogle your sisters. Itโs a solid business model.โ
โWhere are you going with this?โ You demand, your patience wearing thin.
Dean grins. The slow, devastating, million-dollar grin that has gotten him out of trouble more times than he can count.
โIf I fail to give you an orgasm,โ Dean says slowly, letting the words hang in the air, โI will personally guarantee that the entire Briar University hockey starting lineup will participate in your car wash.โ
You stare at him.
โAnd,โ Dean adds, leaning in just a fraction, โwe will do it shirtless.โ
Your mouth parts slightly. You donโt say anything, but Dean can practically see the gears turning in your head.
The Briar hockey team is campus royalty. They are the most popular, most sought-after guys at the university. Garrett, Logan, Tucker, himself โ they draw crowds just by walking into the dining hall.
โShirtless,โ you repeat, your voice skeptical.
โShirtless,โ Dean confirms. โWashing cars in the blazing sun. flexing. Sweating. We will advertise it. We will bring in hundreds of girls. Sorority girls, townies, professors โ theyโll all show up. You will triple your fundraising goal in two hours.โ
You look at him, the logic warring with your defense mechanisms. โGarrett Graham would never agree to that.โ
โI am very persuasive,โ Dean promises. โI will make them do it. If I lose.โ
โAnd if you win?โ You ask, narrowing your eyes. โWhatโs in it for you?โ
Dean looks at you. He looks at the dark circles under your eyes, the messy bun, the oversized sweatshirt that hides a body he is dying to uncover. He thinks about McMahonโs cruel words on the quad, and the quiet resignation in your voice when you told him youโve never come.
โIf I win,โ Dean says, his voice dropping to a low, husky register, โthen I get the satisfaction of knowing I made you feel as good as you deserve to feel. Thatโs it. Thatโs the prize.โ
You search his face, looking for the catch. Looking for the punchline, or the arrogant smirk. But there is nothing there except absolute, unwavering sincerity.
The silence stretches out. The grandfather clock in the hallway ticks steadily.
Finally, you let out a long, slow breath. The tension bleeds out of your shoulders. You look down at the floor, then back up at him.
โShirtless,โ you say softly.
โPants are non-negotiable sadly,โ Dean says solemnly. โTucker is very modest.โ
The tiniest, most microscopic hint of a smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. Itโs barely there, but Dean catches it, and it feels like he just won the Stanley Cup.
โOne chance,โ you say, your voice turning serious again. โYou get one chance, Dean. When it doesnโt work, we stop. You leave. And you deliver your team on Saturday.โ
โDeal,โ Dean says instantly. He holds his hand out.
You look at his hand. You hesitate for a second, then reach out and shake it. Your hand is small, your skin soft, but your grip is firm.
โWhen?โ You ask.
โTomorrow night,โ Dean says, unwilling to wait any longer than absolutely necessary. โEight oโclock. My place.โ
You drop his hand, pulling your sweatshirt tighter around yourself. โFine. Tomorrow night.โ
Dean picks up his duffel bag from the floor. He gives you one last look, memorizing the way you look standing in the foyer, the challenge clear in your eyes.
โGet some sleep, Y/N,โ Dean says, stepping out the door onto the porch. โYouโre going to need your energy tomorrow.โ
He doesnโt wait for your response. He turns and walks down the paved path, his heart hammering a victorious rhythm against his ribs.
He got his foot in the door. He got the chance.
Now, he just has to do the impossible.
***
The house is completely, suspiciously silent when you knock on the front door at exactly eight oโclock on Saturday night.
Dean opens the door before you can even lower your hand. Heโs wearing gray sweatpants that hang low on his hips and a plain white t-shirt. His hair is slightly damp, curled at the ends, and the faint, clean scent of his body wash drifts out into the cool evening air.
He looks entirely too calm. You, on the other hand, feel like you might throw up.
โYouโre right on time,โ Dean says, a slow, easy smile spreading across his face. He steps back, opening the door wider. โCome on in.โ
You step into the foyer, clutching the strap of your purse like a lifeline. Youโre wearing jeans and a simple black sweater, a deliberate choice to make this feel casual, even though your heart is currently hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird.
โWhere are your roommates?โ You ask, your voice sounding a little too tight, a little too loud in the empty house.
โI bribed them to leave,โ Dean says easily, shutting and locking the front door. โLogan and Tucker went to a movie. Garrett took his girlfriend out to dinner. The house is ours until at least midnight. I wanted zero distractions.โ
He turns to look at you, and his smile softens. He can clearly see how rigid your shoulders are, how tightly youโre holding onto your bag.
โHey,โ he murmurs, stepping closer. โRelax. Iโm not leading you to the gallows.โ
โI know,โ you say defensively. โIโm relaxed.โ
โYou look like youโre about to take the LSAT,โ Dean counters. He reaches out, his large, warm hands gently curling over your shoulders. He rubs his thumbs in slow, soothing circles against your collarbones. โLook at me, Y/N.โ
You lift your gaze from the center of his chest, meeting his eyes. Theyโre a warm, bright green, and completely devoid of the cocky arrogance you usually associate with him.
โForget the bet,โ Dean says quietly. โForget the car wash, forget McMahon, forget the locker room. Tonight is just about you. And if you want to leave right now, or in ten minutes, or in an hour, you just say the word and Iโll walk you to the door. No questions asked. No pressure. Okay?โ
You swallow hard, the tight knot of anxiety in your chest loosening just a fraction. โOkay.โ
โGood.โ Dean drops his hands, gesturing down the hallway. โMy room is this way.โ
Deanโs bedroom is surprisingly immaculate. You expected a stereotypical frat-boy disaster zone, but the bed is made with dark gray sheets, the floor is clear, and the only mess is a small stack of textbooks on his desk. The bedside lamp is on, casting a warm, dim glow over the room.
On the nightstand rests the black duffel bag from yesterday.
You stare at it, your stomach doing a complicated flip.
Dean catches your look. He tosses your purse onto his desk chair and turns to face you. โThe bag is just backup. Honestly, I donโt think weโll need it.โ
โYour confidence is terrifying,โ you mutter, crossing your arms over your chest.
โItโs not confidence. Itโs just a fact.โ Dean steps right into your personal space. He doesnโt ask permission to touch you this time, he simply lifts his hands and frames your face. His palms are slightly rough from handling a hockey stick, but his touch is incredibly gentle. โYou think too much. I can practically hear the gears turning in your head.โ
โI canโt help it,โ you whisper, closing your eyes briefly as his thumbs brush over your cheekbones. โIโm waiting for the part where this doesnโt work, and you get annoyed, and I have to pretend Iโm sorry.โ
โThat part isnโt coming.โ Deanโs voice is a low, raspy murmur right against your mouth. โOpen your eyes.โ
You do. He is staring at your lips.
โIโm going to kiss you now,โ Dean says, the warning a courtesy. โAnd you arenโt going to think about anything except how it feels.โ
He closes the distance before you can argue. His mouth covers yours, warm and firm and demanding. Youโve been kissed a lot, but this is different. It isnโt rushed. He doesnโt shove his tongue down your throat or grope you aggressively. He simply takes his time, parting your lips, tasting you like he has all the time in the world.
A small, involuntary sigh escapes your throat, and Dean swallows it. His hands slide from your face, down your neck, tracing the line of your shoulders before sliding under the hem of your sweater. His warm palms flatten against the bare skin of your waist.
The shock of skin-on-skin contact makes you gasp, and Dean takes advantage, his tongue sliding against yours. He tastes like mint and something inherently dark and male.
โThatโs it,โ he murmurs against your mouth. โJust feel.โ
He walks you backward, his hands pulling you flush against his chest, until the back of your knees hit the edge of the mattress. Dean breaks the kiss just long enough to pull your sweater up and over your head, tossing it blindly over his shoulder.
You reach for the hem of his t-shirt, suddenly desperate to feel his bare skin, but Dean catches your wrists.
โUh-uh,โ he says, a teasing lilt in his voice. โMy clothes stay on for now. You donโt get to focus on me. Tonight is a one-way street.โ
โDean,โ you protest, but he just smiles, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.
He unhooks your bra with terrifying efficiency, letting it drop to the floor. The cool air hits your bare breasts, making your nipples pebble instantly. Dean tracks the movement, his eyes darkening as they drag down your torso.
He pushes you gently down onto the edge of the bed. Youโre sitting there in just your jeans, feeling exposed and hyper-aware of his gaze. But there is no judgment in his eyes, no impatient rush to get to the main event. He just looks at you like you are the most incredible thing he has ever seen.
Dean drops to his knees on the hardwood floor between your legs.
He reaches out, his hands wrapping around your waist, pulling you an inch closer to the edge. โYouโre beautiful,โ he says softly, pressing an open-mouthed kiss directly in the center of your chest.
You shiver, your hands instinctively tangling in the thick hair at the nape of his neck.
Dean unbuttons your jeans. He slides the zipper down, his knuckles brushing intentionally over the sensitive skin of your lower stomach. You suck in a sharp breath. He pulls the denim down your legs, taking your plain cotton underwear with them, until you are completely bare, sitting on the edge of his bed while he kneels between your thighs.
โDean,โ you whisper, your voice shaking slightly as the familiar, suffocating wave of performance anxiety begins to creep in. What if he realizes itโs hopeless? What if nothing happens?
โStop,โ Dean says instantly. He looks up at you, his eyes blazing. He knows exactly what youโre doing. โStop thinking. Stop putting pressure on yourself. If you donโt cum tonight, you donโt cum. I donโt care. Iโm perfectly happy just staying down here and tasting you for the next three hours regardless.โ
The blunt, dirty honesty of his words sends a jolt of liquid heat straight between your legs.
Dean doesnโt give you time to overthink it again. He shifts closer, wrapping his strong hands around the backs of your thighs, and gently parts your legs wider.
He lowers his head.
The first touch of his tongue is a shock to your system. Itโs a slow, broad, open-mouthed slide right up your center. You jerk instinctively, your hands gripping his shoulders.
โEasy,โ Dean murmurs, his breath hot against your dripping core. โIโve got you.โ
He goes back in, and this time, there is no hesitation. Dean Di Laurentis is a master at this, and he proves it in seconds. He doesnโt dive right for the clit, pounding away like every other guy has. He takes his time. He kisses the soft skin of your inner thighs. He traces the delicate folds with the tip of his tongue, teasing, mapping out your body, figuring out exactly what makes your breath hitch and your muscles tighten.
โYou taste so fucking sweet,โ Dean groans, the vibration of his voice buzzing directly against your most sensitive flesh.
He finds the swollen bundle of nerves and swirls his tongue around it, light and teasing. You let out a soft, stuttering gasp, your head dropping back.
It feels good. It feels amazing. But the mental block is a heavy, leaden thing sitting in the back of your mind. You hit the plateau โ the place you always hit, where the pleasure builds and builds but never actually crests. You feel yourself tensing, bracing for the inevitable disappointment.
Dean feels it. He stops immediately.
โLook at me,โ he orders. His voice isnโt gentle anymore; itโs low, rough, and demanding.
You force your eyes open, looking down. Dean is kneeling between your legs, his lips wet and shining with your arousal, his green eyes locked onto yours. The sight is so intensely intimate, so totally raw, that it makes your chest ache.
โTell me what youโre feeling right now,โ Dean demands, his hands tightening on your thighs, his thumbs pressing firmly into your skin.
โI โฆ I canโt,โ you stutter, shaking your head. โDean, itโs not going to-โ
โI didnโt ask whatโs not going to happen,โ he interrupts sharply. โI asked what youโre feeling right now. Describe it to me.โ
โIt feels good,โ you whisper, tears of frustration stinging the corners of your eyes. โBut Iโm stuck. Iโm stuck.โ
โYouโre not stuck.โ Dean leans in, kissing the inside of your thigh, his breath hot. โYouโre in your head. So get out of it. Focus on my mouth. Focus on my fingers.โ
He slides two thick fingers directly inside you. You gasp, your hips bucking up off the mattress as he stretches you open. You are incredibly wet, slick with your own arousal, and Dean uses it to his advantage. He curls his fingers upward, hitting a deep, heavy spot inside you with a firm, relentless rhythm.
โTell me what that feels like,โ Dean says, his eyes never leaving yours.
โItโs full,โ you choke out, your fingers digging painfully into his shoulders. โItโs deep.โ
โGood.โ Dean lowers his head again. He replaces his mouth over your clit, but this time, he isnโt teasing. He sucks the sensitive nub directly into his mouth, applying a firm, steady suction while his tongue flickers against it relentlessly.
The combination of his fingers sliding deep inside you and his mouth pulling fiercely at your clit is a sensory overload.
โDean,โ you sob, the sound entirely involuntary.
He doesnโt stop. He doesnโt ask if youโre okay. He knows exactly what heโs doing. He keeps his eyes open, staring right up at you as his tongue lashes against you and his fingers pump in a rapid, demanding rhythm.
The pressure is building. Itโs a hot, coiled spring in the center of your body, winding tighter and tighter. You try to pull away, terrified of failing again, terrified of hitting the wall, but Deanโs hands are like iron on your thighs. He holds you perfectly still, refusing to let you escape the pleasure.
โCome on,โ Dean growls, pulling his mouth away for a fraction of a second. โLet go, Y/N. Give it to me. Let go.โ
He goes back to sucking, harder this time, dragging his teeth lightly against the hood.
The sensation splinters through your entire body. The wall in your mind โ the mental block that has haunted you for years โ suddenly shatters under the sheer, overwhelming force of what heโs doing to you. You canโt think. You canโt analyze. You can only feel.
The coiled spring snaps.
A choked scream rips out of your throat as the climax hits you like a freight train. It explodes, radiating from your core out to your fingertips in violent, uncontrollable waves of pleasure. Your hips jerk up, grinding frantically against Deanโs mouth as your inner muscles clamp down brutally around his fingers.
Dean swallows your scream, his mouth sealed tightly against you, taking every single drop of your release. He doesnโt stop, even when youโre thrashing, even when youโre begging him to because itโs too sensitive. He forces you to ride out every single wave, his fingers continuing to pulse inside you until you are completely spent.
When he finally pulls his hand out and lifts his head, you collapse backward onto the mattress.
You are panting, staring blindly at the ceiling. Your entire body is trembling. Tears โ actual, physical tears of sheer disbelief and overwhelming relief โ are sliding down your temples into your hairline.
Dean stands up. He looks down at you, his chest heaving under his white t-shirt, his hair thoroughly wrecked from your hands. He reaches over, wiping the moisture from his chin with the back of his hand.
He doesnโt look cocky. He doesnโt look like he just won a bet. He just looks satisfied.
He climbs onto the bed, hovering over you, and gently wipes a tear from your cheek with his thumb.
โYou see?โ Dean whispers, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your slightly swollen lips. โYou arenโt broken, Y/N. You just needed someone to actually pay attention.โ
You let out a shaky, hysterical laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face in his shoulder. โOh my god. Oh my god, Dean.โ
โI know,โ he murmurs, wrapping his arms around your waist and holding you tight. He strokes your bare back, letting you ride out the aftershocks. โI know.โ
You lie there for what feels like hours, just breathing him in. You feel light. You feel like a massive, suffocating weight has just been lifted off your chest. It wasnโt you. It was never you. You just needed a guy who cared more about your pleasure than his own ego.
โThank you,โ you whisper into his neck.
Dean pulls back slightly, looking down at you. His green eyes are dark, glittering with something dangerous. The tender, comforting moment shifts instantly, replaced by a heavy, palpable heat.
โDonโt thank me yet,โ Dean says, a wicked, devastating smile curving his lips. โWe have the house until midnight, Y/N. And I am far from finished.โ
Your eyes widen. โDean, I donโt think I canโIโm so sensitive-โ
โI know,โ he says smoothly. He reaches over to the nightstand, grabbing the black duffel bag and unzipping it. He pulls out the small, sleek bullet vibrator. โBut youโre about to learn that the second time is always easier than the first. The wall is gone now. Now, weโre just playing.โ
He turns it on. The low, electric hum fills the quiet room.
You swallow hard, your core clenching in anticipation.
Dean pushes you onto your back, his knees bracketing your hips. He finally grabs the hem of his t-shirt and pulls it over his head, tossing it onto the floor. His chest is broad, defined, covered in a light dusting of hair that trails down beneath the waistband of his sweatpants. You stare at the prominent V-lines pointing downward, suddenly incredibly desperate to see the rest of him.
But Dean isnโt rushing the main event. He reaches down, parting your folds with two fingers, and presses the buzzing toy directly against your swollen clit.
You arch completely off the bed, a loud, unabashed moan tearing from your lips.
It is instantaneous. Without the mental block holding you back, your body reacts with terrifying speed. Dean grins, watching your face as he manipulates the toy, circling the most sensitive nerves. He leans down, capturing your mouth in a deep, filthy kiss, his tongue mimicking the frantic circles of his hand.
You reach down, frantically grabbing at the waistband of his sweatpants, desperate to touch him, but Dean swats your hands away.
โNot yet,โ he pants against your mouth. โFocus.โ
It takes less than three minutes. The second orgasm crashes through you with even more ferocity than the first. You scream his name into his mouth, your nails digging crescent moons into his shoulders as your body bows off the mattress, shaking violently.
Dean pulls the toy away, tossing it onto the nightstand, and finally reaches for his own waistband.
He strips out of his sweatpants and boxers in one fluid motion. He is heavily, beautifully aroused, his thick erection jutting out, hot and ready. He grabs a condom from the nightstand drawer, ripping the foil open with his teeth, and rolls it on with quick, efficient movements.
You are still trembling from the second climax, your eyes hazy and completely blown out.
Dean settles himself between your legs, his hands gripping your hips to anchor you. He lines himself up with your wet, slick opening.
โLook at me,โ he demands softly.
You meet his eyes.
โYouโre perfect,โ Dean whispers.
And then he pushes his hips forward, burying himself deep inside you in one long, smooth thrust.
You gasp loudly, the feeling of him filling you completely sending fresh sparks of pleasure racing through your overloaded system. Dean lets out a harsh groan, his head dropping back as he gives himself a second to adjust to the tight, wet heat of your body.
He begins to move. He doesnโt pound into you; he makes love to you. He pulls almost all the way out before driving deep again, grinding his hips firmly against yours so that the base of his shaft perfectly rubs against your clit with every single thrust.
It is a steady, relentless rhythm. You wrap your legs around his waist, locking your ankles together to pull him even deeper.
โDean,โ you pant, your head tossing back against the pillows. โPlease.โ
โIโm right here,โ he answers, his voice strained. He reaches a hand down, slipping his thumb perfectly between your bodies to press firmly against your clit while he continues to thrust inside you.
The sensory overload is absolute. The deep, heavy stretching inside and the sharp, electric friction on the outside. You are unraveling, falling completely apart underneath him.
โLet it go again, baby,โ Dean encourages, his thrusts getting faster, harder, completely losing his earlier restraint. โCome for me. Give it to me.โ
You shatter for the third time. The orgasm rips through you so forcefully that your vision actually whites out for a second. You clamp down around his cock with brutal strength, crying out as the pleasure sweeps through you in violent, pulsing waves.
Your tight, milking climax is enough to send Dean right over the edge with you. He lets out a guttural shout, his hips driving into you one final, desperate time as he comes hard, his body rigid and shaking above yours.
He collapses heavily onto your chest, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his chest heaving as he fights to catch his breath.
You lie there, your arms wrapped tightly around his broad back, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his. The room is completely silent except for the sound of your combined, ragged breathing.
A full five minutes pass before Dean finally lifts his head. He props himself up on his elbows, looking down at you. His hair is a wild, sweaty mess, his eyes heavy with post-coital satisfaction.
He smiles. Itโs a soft, genuine smile that makes your chest squeeze.
โSo,โ Dean rasps, tracing the line of your jaw with his finger. โI guess this means the hockey team is keeping their shirts on next weekend.โ
You let out a weak, breathless laugh. โYouโre a menace, Di Laurentis.โ
โIโm a man of my word,โ he corrects you, rolling off you and pulling you flush against his side. He drags the gray sheet up over your naked bodies, tucking you securely under his arm. โThough Logan is going to be incredibly disappointed. Heโs been doing extra crunches all week just in case.โ
You smile against his bare chest, tracing a lazy circle over his heart.
The bet is over. He proved his point. He did what no other guy could do, and he won.
But as Dean presses a lingering kiss to the top of your head, his arm tightening possessively around your waist, you get the overwhelming feeling that this is no longer just a mission for him.
And as you close your eyes, listening to the steady beat of his heart, you realize itโs definitely not just a bet for you, either.
***
The Delta Zeta front lawn looks like a chaotic, high-budget commercial for spring break.
The bass from the massive portable speakers is vibrating through the soles of your white sneakers, blasting a remix of a top-forty pop song that youโve heard at least six times since nine oโclock this morning. Soapy water floods the driveway, running in iridescent little rivers toward the street drain. Everywhere you look, girls in bright bikinis and cut-off denim shorts are scrubbing windshields, spraying each other with the hose, and flagging down passing cars with neon pink cardboard signs.
โY/N!โ Jess, your vice president, jogs over to the cash box table where youโre currently organizing a stack of slightly damp twenty-dollar bills. Sheโs out of breath, her blonde hair plastered to her forehead. โWeโre out of microfiber towels. And I think Brittany just accidentally sprayed a physics professor in the face.โ
You sigh, dropping a twenty into the lockbox. โCheck the garage for the backup towels. And tell Brittany to aim lower. Has the line of cars slowed down?โ
โA little,โ Jess admits, wiping her brow. โItโs barely noon, though. The frat guys wonโt drag themselves out of bed for at least another hour.โ
You look out at the street. Sheโs right. The morning rush of faculty and early-risers has died down, leaving an empty spot in the driveway. If you want to hit your fundraising goal for the womenโs shelter, you need a second wave. A big one.
โWe need a draw,โ you mutter, tying your hair back up into a higher ponytail. โSomething to get the foot traffic to stop.โ
โI think your draw just arrived,โ Jess says, her voice suddenly dropping an entire octave. She points toward the sidewalk.
You follow her gaze, and your breath catches in your throat.
Walking down Sorority Row, looking like a slow-motion shot from a movie, are four massive guys. Garrett looks annoyed, Logan is already grinning and waving at a group of sophomores, and Tucker is casually spinning a key ring around his finger.
And leading the pack is Dean.
Heโs wearing a pair of faded board shorts, flip-flops, and a gray Briar Hockey t-shirt. Sunglasses hide his eyes, but the moment he spots you standing by the cash table, a slow, devastating smirk spreads across his face.
A collective gasp ripples through the sorority girls on the lawn. Two freshmen actually drop their hose. The hockey team doesnโt just show up to random philanthropy events unless thereโs a camera crew involved.
You cross your arms over your bikini top, fighting the massive smile threatening to break across your face as Dean stops right in front of your table.
โGood morning, Madam President,โ Dean says smoothly. He pulls his sunglasses down, resting them on the collar of his shirt. His green eyes travel down the length of your body, lingering on the exposed skin of your stomach before snapping back up to your face. The heat in his gaze is entirely inappropriate for a Saturday morning charity event.
โDi Laurentis,โ you say, keeping your voice even despite the butterflies staging a full-scale riot in your stomach. โWhat are you doing here?โ
โWeโre here to wash cars,โ Logan chimes in from behind Dean, dropping his bucket onto the grass. โObviously. Show me to the nearest CR-V.โ
โYou donโt have to be here,โ you say, looking back at Dean. You lower your voice so only he can hear. โYou won the bet, Dean. You proved your point. Vigorously. Multiple times.โ
Just the memory of last Saturday night sends a flush of heat up your neck. You havenโt seen him all week โ midterms, chapter meetings, and his away games kept you completely separated. But you certainly havenโt forgotten. You havenโt been able to think about anything else.
โI know I won the bet,โ Dean says, stepping a fraction closer. โAnd it was the most satisfying victory of my athletic career. But the guys and I took a vote. We decided we want to participate anyway.โ
โOh, really?โ You raise an eyebrow. โJust out of the goodness of your hearts?โ
โNot exactly,โ Garrett grumbles, crossing his muscular arms. โDean wouldnโt shut up about it. He threatened to hide my skates if I didnโt show up. Put me to work, Y/N, before I change my mind and go back to bed.โ
You laugh, motioning toward the empty driveway. โGrab a hose, Graham. The sponges are in the buckets.โ
Garrett, Logan, and Tucker disperse, immediately swarmed by a giggling flock of Delta Zetas who are suddenly very eager to demonstrate proper soap application techniques.
Dean doesnโt move. He stays right in front of your table, leaning his hip against the edge.
โThe teamโs participation comes with a new condition,โ Dean says softly, his eyes locking onto yours.
โA condition?โ You tilt your head. โI didnโt agree to any conditions.โ
โYouโre going to want to agree to this one,โ Dean promises, that wicked smirk returning. โWe wash cars today. We bring in the crowds. And in exchange, you agree to go on a real date with me tonight.โ
Your heart does a stupid, happy little flip. โA date.โ
โA real date,โ Dean confirms. โNo bets. No ulterior motives. Just you, me, a disgustingly expensive Italian restaurant downtown, and absolutely zero talk about hockey or sorority budgets.โ
You bite your lower lip, trying to maintain a facade of careful consideration. โI donโt know, Dean. Iโm pretty busy.โ
โI am offering you free labor, Y/N. Look at them.โ He gestures behind him.
You look. Garrett, Logan, and Tucker have already pulled their t-shirts over their heads, tossing them onto the grass. The reaction is instantaneous. Cars that were driving past suddenly hit their brakes. A group of girls walking on the opposite side of the street literally change direction and sprint toward your lawn.
โWell,โ you say, trying to suppress your laughter. โIf itโs for the good of the charity.โ
โExactly. Youโre a humanitarian.โ Dean reaches out, tracing a single finger over the back of your hand where it rests on the cash box. The light touch sends a jolt of electricity straight up your arm. โSo. Itโs a yes?โ
โItโs a yes,โ you agree.
โPerfect.โ Dean takes a step back. โNow, where do you want me?โ
โYouโre a professional,โ you tease. โIโm sure you can find a spot. Just make sure you follow the dress code.โ
Deanโs grin widens. Without breaking eye contact, he grabs the hem of his gray t-shirt and pulls it smoothly over his head.
You actually forget how to breathe for a second. You saw him naked a week ago, but seeing him out here in the broad daylight is a completely different experience. His chest is broad, sculpted from years of brutal on-ice conditioning, the muscles in his stomach flexing as he tosses the shirt onto your table. The sunlight catches on the light dusting of hair trailing down his stomach, disappearing into the low waistband of his board shorts.
โHowโs the dress code looking?โ He asks innocently.
โAcceptable,โ you manage to choke out.
โGlad to hear it.โ Dean winks at you, grabs his bucket, and jogs over to join his teammates.
The next two hours are absolute pandemonium.
Word spreads across campus faster than a wildfire. The Briar hockey team is shirtless at the Delta Zeta house. The line of cars waiting to get washed stretches entirely down the block. Frat boys show up just to see what the commotion is about. Groups of girls from other sororities line the sidewalk, pulling out their phones to record videos of Garrett spraying Logan with the hose, or Tucker politely scrubbing the roof of a minivan for a local soccer mom.
And Dean.
Dean is putting on a show.
You sit on the hood of a dry, parked Jeep Cherokee near the edge of the lawn, taking your state-mandated break. Jess handed you a plastic cup of spiked pink lemonade ten minutes ago, and you are happily sipping it while watching the chaos unfold.
Dean is currently washing a sleek black Audi. He is entirely soaked. Water runs down the planes of his chest, catching the afternoon sun and making his skin glisten. Suds cling to his arms and the waistband of his shorts. Heโs laughing at something Logan just said, his head thrown back, running a soapy sponge over the hood of the car with long, effortless strokes.
He looks unfairly sexy. Itโs actually offensive to the general public.
Every few minutes, he glances over his shoulder, catching your eye through the crowd. He always gives you a quick smirk or a subtle wink, making sure you know exactly who heโs showing off for.
โIโm going to ask you a question,โ Jess says, hopping up onto the hood of the Jeep next to you. She takes a sip of her own lemonade. โAnd as your sister, I demand absolute honesty.โ
โShoot,โ you say, not taking your eyes off Dean.
โDid you sleep with Dean Di Laurentis?โ
You choke on your lemonade, coughing as the sour liquid burns the back of your throat. โExcuse me?โ
โDonโt play coy with me,โ Jess says, bumping her shoulder against yours. โHe has been staring at you like youโre his last meal on death row for two hours. And you keep looking at him like you want to drag him into the bushes.โ
You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, feeling your face burn. โWeโre โฆ hanging out. Itโs new.โ
Jess lets out a low whistle. โDamn. Good for you. Heโs gorgeous. A menace to society, but gorgeous.โ
โHeโs actually really sweet,โ you defend him quietly.
โIโm sure he is.โ Jess smirks, hopping off the car. โIโm going to go make sure Logan hasnโt flooded the neighborโs flower bed. Enjoy the view.โ
You smile into your cup. The view is indeed spectacular.
You watch Dean finish rinsing the Audi. He wipes his forehead with the back of his forearm, looking genuinely exhausted but incredibly happy. He tosses his sponge into the bucket, says something to Tucker, and then starts walking toward you.
Your heart does that stupid flip again.
He reaches the Jeep and stops right between your dangling legs, resting his wet, soapy hands on the metal on either side of your thighs. He is breathing hard, radiating heat. The smell of coconut-scented soap, clean sweat, and Dean completely overwhelms your senses.
โYouโre working hard,โ you note, reaching out to brush a stray, wet curl off his forehead.
Dean leans into your touch instantly. โIโm earning my keep. The lockbox looks full.โ
โWe broke our fundraising record an hour ago,โ you smile. โThe shelter is going to be thrilled. Thank you, Dean. Seriously.โ
โI told you Iโd deliver.โ Dean steps closer, until his bare, wet chest is practically brushing against your knees. โThough I expect to be heavily compensated tonight. Weโre talking appetizers, an entrรฉe, and at least two desserts.โ
โI think I can manage that.โ
โGood.โ Dean tilts his chin up, his eyes dropping to your lips. โCan I kiss you? I know weโre in public, but you look incredible in that bikini and I have zero self-control.โ
You laugh, tangling your fingers into his damp hair at the nape of his neck. โYes, you can kiss me.โ
He doesnโt need to be told twice. Dean leans up, capturing your mouth in a deep, wet, entirely distracting kiss. He tastes like lemonade and sunshine. You pull him closer with your knees, letting your eyes flutter shut as he hums in approval against your lips.
โWell, well, well. Isnโt this a touching scene.โ
The loud, grating voice slices through the bubble of your perfect moment like a rusty knife.
You freeze. Dean pulls back, his body stiffening instantly.
You look over Deanโs shoulder. Standing on the sidewalk, holding a red solo cup and flanked by two of his giant, meathead friends, is McMahon.ย
He looks you up and down, his lip curling into a condescending sneer. Then he looks at Dean.
โSlumming it, Di Laurentis?โ McMahon asks loudly, making sure the people around them can hear. โI heard you were desperate for a date, but I didnโt think youโd settle for my sloppy seconds.โ
A dead, heavy silence drops over your immediate vicinity. The music is still playing, the water is still running, but everyone within earshot has stopped what theyโre doing. Even Garrett and Logan have dropped their hoses, their heads snapping toward the sidewalk.
Your stomach plummets. You instinctively pull your legs back, suddenly feeling entirely too exposed in your bikini, the old, familiar shame threatening to choke you.
But Dean doesnโt step back. He doesnโt let you pull away.
He stands exactly where he is, keeping his hands planted on the Jeep, shielding your body with his own massive frame. Slowly, he turns his head to look at McMahon.
All the playful, charming energy evaporates from Deanโs demeanor. His jaw tightens, the muscles in his back cording with tension. He looks terrifying. He looks like a guy who spends three hours a day slamming people into glass walls for a living.
โWhat did you just say?โ Dean asks. His voice is eerily quiet. It doesnโt boom. It doesnโt yell. It just carries.
McMahon puffs his chest out, trying to look intimidating, but you can see the slight hesitation in his eyes. He clearly wasnโt expecting Dean to look quite so murderous. โIโm just saying, man. You could do better. I already warned you sheโs a dead end in bed.โ
Garrett takes a step forward, his hands balling into fists, but Dean throws a hand up, stopping his friend in his tracks.
โI donโt need you to fight my battles, Graham,โ Dean says, never taking his eyes off McMahon.
Dean turns fully around, facing the wide receiver. He crosses his arms over his bare chest. He doesnโt look angry anymore. He looks amused. And somehow, thatโs so much worse.
โYou know, McMahon,โ Dean says smoothly, his voice carrying perfectly over the background noise. โI actually owe you a thank you.โ
McMahon frowns, clearly thrown off script. โWhat?โ
โI said thank you,โ Dean repeats, a sharp, patronizing smile touching his lips. โBecause if you werenโt such a loudmouth, incompetent idiot, I never would have found her.โ
McMahonโs face flushes a dark, ugly red. โWatch your mouth, Di Laurentis.โ
โNo, you watch mine,โ Dean steps off the grass and onto the concrete, closing the distance until he is standing a foot away from McMahon. He has a solid two inches of height on the football player, and he uses every bit of it, looking down his nose with absolute disdain.
โI tried to give you the benefit of the doubt, man,โ Dean says loudly, making sure the surrounding crowd can hear every single word. โI really did. I thought, โHey, maybe heโs just new at this. Maybe he doesnโt know where the clit is.โ But then I spent some time with Y/N.โ
You cover your mouth with your hand, your eyes widening as a few sorority girls in the background gasp.
โAnd let me tell you,โ Dean continues, his tone conversational but his eyes lethal. โThere is absolutely nothing wrong with her. In fact, she is perfectly, beautifully responsive. Explosive, actually.โ
McMahonโs jaw drops. โYouโre lying.โ
โI donโt need to lie,โ Dean laughs, a harsh, dismissive sound. โShe came three times, McMahon. Three. In the span of an hour. And the only thing she needed was a guy who actually knows what the hell heโs doing.โ
The silence on the lawn is absolute. A few frat guys in the back actually let out low whistles of impressed shock.
โSo,โ Dean concludes, leaning in so close that McMahon actually takes a half-step backward. โThe fact that you couldnโt get her off? The fact that you blamed her in front of half the campus? That isnโt her failing, buddy. That is a pathetic testament to your own sexual inadequacy.โ
McMahon opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. He looks completely, utterly humiliated. His two buddies have actually taken a step away from him, clearly not wanting to be associated with the collateral damage.
Dean isnโt finished.
He drops the amusement. The lethal seriousness returns, dark and unyielding.
โIf I ever hear you talk about her again,โ Dean says, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous gravel. โIf I ever hear you say her name, or look at her, or breathe in her general direction โฆ I will not use my words next time. I will put you on the ground. Are we clear?โ
McMahon swallows hard. He looks around at the massive crowd staring at him, judging him, laughing at him. He looks back at Dean, the reality of the situation finally sinking in.
He doesnโt say a word. He just turns on his heel and stalks away down the sidewalk, his friends trailing awkwardly behind him.
The crowd immediately erupts into whispers and laughter. Someone starts a slow clap that ripples through the hockey team.
Dean completely ignores them. He turns his back on the crowd and walks straight back to you.
You are sitting on the hood of the Jeep, staring at him in absolute awe. The lingering anxiety that McMahonโs appearance had sparked is completely gone. In its place is a rush of pure, unadulterated affection.
No one has ever stood up for you like that. No one has ever publicly, unapologetically claimed you.
Dean stops between your knees again. He looks a little flushed, the tension slowly draining out of his shoulders. He looks up at you, suddenly looking a little unsure.
โWas that too much?โ He asks quietly. โI know you donโt like a scene, but I couldnโt just let him-โ
You cut him off by grabbing the sides of his face and kissing him.
Itโs not a sweet kiss. It is desperate, hot, and entirely public. You pour every ounce of gratitude and desire you have into it, your tongue tangling with his. Dean lets out a rough sound of surprise before his arms wrap tightly around your waist, hauling you flush against his chest, lifting you slightly off the hood of the car.
The crowd around you actually cheers, but you barely hear them.
You pull back, resting your forehead against his. You are both breathing heavy, smiling like idiots.
โThat was perfect,โ you whisper.
โYeah?โ Deanโs green eyes shine with relief and happiness.
โYeah. Though you just ruined that manโs reputation forever.โ
โHe ruined it himself. I just provided the facts.โ Dean smirks, rubbing his thumb over your hip bone. โBesides. I told him the truth. You are explosive.โ
You swat his shoulder, laughing as a blush covers your cheeks. โShut up and go wash a car, Di Laurentis. You still have an hour on the clock.โ
Dean groans dramatically, dropping his head onto your shoulder. โYou are a cruel, demanding taskmaster. Iโm being exploited for my body.โ
โYou love it,โ you remind him.
โI do,โ Dean admits softly, turning his head to press a lingering kiss to the bare skin of your neck. โI really, really do.โ
He pulls back, giving you one last, breathtaking smile.
โIโll pick you up at seven,โ Dean promises. โWear something thatโs easy to take off.โ
โDean!โ
He just laughs, a bright, booming sound that echoes over the noise of the car wash. He winks, turns around, and jogs back over to grab his sponge, immediately shoving Logan out of the way to take over a sports car.
You sit on the hood of the Jeep, watching him work.
You think about the girl you were a week ago โ convinced you were broken, resigned to a life of quiet disappointment, carrying the weight of incompetent men on your shoulders.
And then you look at Dean. Arrogant, charming, relentless, and fiercely protective. The guy who saw a wall and decided to tear it down with his bare hands.
You take a sip of your lemonade, a soft, permanent smile etched onto your face.
โถ you attempt a prank on deanโwiping off his kissesโuntil his pouting is too much for you to bear.
002. WARNINGS !
โถ really old tiktok trend & a lot of kissing.
word count : 1,4k
gif by @alliecathayes
You had been sprawled across Deanโs bed, lazily scrolling through TikTok while he was downstairs preparing breakfast, courtesy of Tuckerโs cooking and Deanโs determination to steal half of it before anyone else could.
You barely paid attention to most of the videos until one caught your eye. It was of a girl wiping off her boyfriendโs kisses. The poor guy got more offended with every attempt, eventually following her around the room demanding affection like a neglected golden retriever.
Which, honestly, reminded you a little too much of Dean.
Especially the pout he got whenever he thought you were ignoring him.
So, much to your unsuspecting boyfriendโs future dismay, you decided you would be wiping off every kiss he tried to give you. It would be fun to see just how long you could keep the prank going.
A few minutes later, Dean came back upstairs, opening the door before quickly closing it behind him again. A habit your previously exhibitionist boyfriend had been forced to learn after his roommates walked in on the two of you in compromising positions one too many times, and you finally refused to endure the embarrassment anymore.
He walked in carrying two cups of coffee carefully balanced on a tray alongside eggs, fruit, and toast.
โBreakfast is served, mโlady,โ he announced, setting the tray down on the bed before giving an exaggerated bow afterward.
You let out a snort, grabbing your coffee.
Dean sat down beside you, leaning over to grab a piece of toast and pressing a soft kiss to your cheek in the process. Casually, you scratched at the spot and wiped the kiss away.
For a brief moment, you thought Dean hadnโt noticed. Then he frowned and pressed another kiss to the same spot.
Just like before, you rubbed it off.
He let out an offended gasp, staring at you like you had personally betrayed him, but begrudgingly let it slide. Still, he sighed dramatically while chewing on his toast and eggs, already beginning to pout.
โAre you going to the gym with Garrett later?โ You asked after a moment of silence, chewing on a strawberry.
Your boyfriend only hummed in response, quietly eating his breakfast.
โOkayโฆโ you dragged out, an amused smile tugging at your lips at the sight of his puppy eyes, like youโd just insulted his entire bloodline. โIs there something on my face?โ
You already knew there was. You could feel the strawberry juice dripping from the corner of your mouth.
It was practically catnip for Dean. He immediately leaned forward, pressing a tentative kiss to the spot, his lips brushing yours for a second before ultimately settling at the corner of your mouth instead.
The moment he leaned away, you rubbed at the spot and simply said, โOh, thank you.โ
You caught the way his lips parted in pure disbelief, and had to fight to keep your laughter from spilling out.
This time, Deanโs response to what he clearly considered a personal betrayal was far more aggressive.
He kissed you properly, lips parting against yours, warm and insistent enough that for a brief moment you considered throwing the prank out the window altogether and spending the rest of the day hidden away in his bedroom.
But instead, you leaned back and aggressively smudged at your lips, watching his entire face twist in horror.
โDid I get all the juice?โ You asked innocently, still rubbing at your mouth and the skin around it.
โWhy are you doing that?โ Dean asked, sounding genuinely baffled.
โDoing what?โ You finally stopped rubbing.
โYouโre wiping off my kisses,โ he whined. โDid I do something?โ
โDean, Iโm not doing anything,โ you said sweetly, smiling at him. โJust donโt want strawberry all over my face, you know?โ
He held your gaze for a few long seconds before standing from the bed and disappearing into the bathroom.
For a moment, guilt crept in. If Dean had pulled this prank on you, it wouldโve earned him at least a few hours of the silent treatment.
But you were too far in now. You had to see it through.
Or maybe just until he left for the gym.
While your boyfriend sulked in the bathroom, you pulled on a pair, and then headed downstairs, deciding to wash the plates and mugs. Tucker had cooked breakfast, after all. It was the least you could do.
A few minutes later, Dean came downstairs with damp hair and a pair of low-hanging sleep pants slung dangerously low on his hips.
This was undoubtedly payback for your antics.
You kept washing dishes when he walked up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in the crook of your neck.
โDone messing around?โ He murmured against your ear, the deep timbre of his voice making a shiver run through you.
โI didnโt do anything.โ
You turned your head to look at him, and his eyes immediately dropped from yours to your mouth. A second later, he leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to your lips.
You didnโt react right away.
Only once you turned back toward the sink did you bring up your driest hand and wipe the kiss away.
โThere!โ Dean grabbed your waist, spinning you around to glare at you. โYou did it again!โ
โWhat did she do again?โ Logan asked as he strolled into the kitchen, eyes darting between the two of you.
โSheโs wiping off my kisses!โ Dean accused.
As if to prove his point, he grabbed your face with both hands and planted a firm kiss right on your mouth.
A second later, you leaned forward and rubbed your lips against his bare chest.
โOkay, didnโt need to see all thatโฆโ Logan muttered before setting his dirty mug on the counter and immediately leaving the kitchen again.
โSeriously, do I have some disease I donโt know about, or do you just not want me kissing you anymore?โ He asked, his voice sounding more genuinely hurt this time.
โI donโt know what youโre talking about.โ You continued drying off the now clean plates.
โIf you say so,โ he mumbled with a sigh.
You watched as he leaned forward like he was about to kiss your cheek, only to stop himself at the last second.
That was your final straw. There was no way you were making it all the way until he left for the gym.
โDean, wait.โ You quickly set the towel and plate down on the counter.
โHm?โ He turned around, leaning against the wall separating the kitchen from the living room.
โCome here.โ
โWhy?โ He huffed. โSo you can disrespect my kisses again?โ
โIโm sorry,โ you said, walking over and grabbing his hands to pull him away from the wall.
โGo on,โ Dean replied, though there was already a hint of smugness creeping into his tone.
โI saw a prank on TikTok,โ you admitted. โI thought itโd be funny to try it on you.โ
โI guess I forgive you.โ He rolled his eyes, though you could already see the smile tugging at his lips. โBut never do it again. Iโll have you know my kisses are a very hot commodity.โ
You narrowed your eyes at him. โYeah, I think half of Briar knows that.โ
โJust half?โ He joked, though the grin quickly faltered at the murderous look you sent him.
โIโm about to do worse than wipe off your kisses,โ you grumbled.
Dean let out a soft laugh before pulling you closer, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your lips. It was so featherlight it almost tickled.
Then you slid a hand into the hair at the nape of his neck and tugged him back in, kissing him hard enough to make him groan against your mouth.
His hand settled against your lower back before slowly trailing down until he gave your ass a firm squeeze.
You smirked against his lips, slowly lifting a hand toward your mouth again, but Dean immediately caught your wrist before you could do anything.
โDonโt you dare,โ he growled, pinning both of your hands in one of his before kissing you again.
Then he lifted you into his arms, your legs instinctively locking around his waist as he carried you upstairs. After kicking his bedroom door shut behind him, he tossed you onto the bed before crawling over you, pressing hot kisses along your neck until his lips finally brushed against yours again.
And as he tugged yourโtechnically hisโshirt over your head, you couldnโt help but think smugly that if all pranks ended like this, youโd definitely be pulling a lot more of them in the future.
NOTE : hope you guys are enjoying the dean content because i sure am enjoying writing it! also, i need hannahโs version of โcherry pieโ and โthe bitch is backโ on spotify ASAP.
a/n. Canโt say much, this is just how you and Dean roll. (You can go make some request if you want! <3)
warnings & tags. Established relationship. Headcanon. Petnames. No use of y/n. Kissing. English isnโt my first language. masterlist
โช โญ โซ Everyone thought they knew every side of Dean Di Laurentis, or at least his closest friends and family did, but they all had to take it back once they realized there was a completely unknown side of him. The side of Dean Di Laurentis in love.
โช โญ โซ At first, he thought it wouldnโt be obvious, but letโs be honest, since when did Dean Di Laurentis ever come home alone with a smile bigger than usual? Definitely since he met you.
โช โญ โซ It was impossible for Dean not to want you by his side every single day. From going together to Briar University every morning, to having you at every one of his hockey games.
โช โญ โซ He introduces you to everyone as โmy girlโ even in situations where itโs absolutely unnecessary. Delivery guy? โThanks, man, my girlโs starvingโ Random freshman asking for directions? โYeah, my girl and I can show youโ Someone complimenting your outfit? โYeah, my girlfriend has great tasteโ Nobody asked him if you were his girlfriend, but heโll say it anyway with a big smile that could feel almost fake.
โช โญ โซ How could anyone forget the day you decided to play a small prank on Dean by wearing the team jersey with John Loganโs name on it. You had never seen Dean so serious in your life, in fact, you didnโt think anyone could look that serious. Itโs also impossible to forget how he tossed the jersey aside, took off the one he was wearing, and put it on you without listening to a single word. โI could actually throw away every single one of his jerseyโs if I ever see you again with oneโ he said that day rolling his eyes, but a smile appeared when he saw you smiling.
โช โญ โซ Dean is always there for you, so when it came to chasing your dreams, he was the one sitting in the front row, watching you with a smile that gave you confidence and made you feel safe.
โช โญ โซ You probably donโt know anyone more intense than Dean when it comes to hair caresses. It became a habit that every time you were lying down together, heโd rest his head on your chest and you had to run your fingers through his hair. It was impossible to stop until he was fully asleep, because otherwise a confused whisper like โBaby, donโt stopโ followed with a pout.
โช โญ โซ You had never stepped foot on a rink in your life until Dean decided it would be fun. However, after several falls and endless teasing from the blond, he decided it was better to stay home watching your favorite movies, even though neither of you were actually watching the TV.
โช โญ โซ Dean is definitely not a morning person, but he becomes one if it means waking up with you tangled in his arms. Heโll bury his face in your neck, your head resting on his arm, and the other one on your waist pushing you against him, then mumble something like โFive more minutes, babeโ and refuse to let you go even if youโre already an hour late. It was totally normal now to arrive late to places thanks to his bad habits and your lack of strength to refuse.
โช โญ โซ He pretends he doesnโt care when you steal his hoodies, but the truth is he loves it. Heโll tease you about hiding them, but the moment he sees you in your apartment wearing one, he gets that smug little grin that gives him away. Letโs not even talk about how he bites his lower lip and looks you up and down every time you show up at the University with one of his hoddies.
โช โญ โซ Dean isnโt subtle at all when it comes to PDA. If youโre out with friends, heโll sit behind you, wrap his arms around your waist, rest his chin on your head (thanks to the height difference), and kiss your cheek every few minutes. Tucker calls it โgrossโ but Dean just flips him off, completely ignoring him.
โช โญ โซ After every game, even if he wins or loses, he searches for you first. The second he spots you, his whole expression softens in a way only you ever get to see, because he only feels this safe with you. He pulls you into his arms being all sweaty and catching his breath, to then bury his face in your neck for a moment longer than necessary, like he needs it to keep going. His voice always drops a little when he whispers โThank you for coming, baby. I love youโ
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: ฬฬโ "maybe you should have listened to your friends when they warned you. Now you're living one of his liesโฆ and you won't be able to get out of it."
: ฬฬโ contains: dark quinn, lies, manipulation, getting inside your head, masturbation, no p in v, fingering, ejaculating in your mouth without warning, possessive thoughts, a slight mention to isolating yourself from your friends.
: ฬฬโ based on this request
: ฬฬโ taglist
โนโหโง๏ธตโฟโเญจแฐเญงโโฟ๏ธตโงหโโน
when you started living with Quinn, a couple of people tried to warn you about his behavior, as if you didn't know him, or as if they saw a version of your best friend completely different from the one you know. They called him a villain, a manipulator, a liar. They warned you to be careful because he looks at you like he wants to break you. And that caused you to fight with all of them, because the Quinn you know has always been attentive, protective, and sweet. You always laugh with him and feel better after tough days.
he was always the first one there for you, even without you having to say a word, almost as if he already knew everything. You feel like you owe him your life, that you would do anything to see him happy, which is why you accepted without hesitation when he asked you to move in with him, saying that he felt lonely, a little sad about not having someone to be there with him.
you gave up everything for him because to you, no one deserves it more than Quinn. So he knows he has you wrapped around his finger, ready to do anything, like you're his sweet little doll who'll say yes to everything.
it took him months, but he finally managed to get inside your head, and once he knew everything you were capable of, he started using you, from small things to moving with him, and even then he didn't stop. He kept learning about you, spying, stalking, finding out everything about you in ways you don't need to know, because he knows it would scare you.
that's how he put together his plan to take the relationship to the next level: with something that would change everything, that would open a door you could no longer close.
so, that day he came home a little late, with a pained expression, slightly bent over, limping, clutching his bag as if his life depended on it, immediately catching your attention.
you rushed to him, trying to help him walk, leading him to the couch and sitting down beside him immediately. You missed the small smile that flickered across his face for a couple of seconds, a smile he couldn't suppress when he saw you so worried. It breaks your heart to see him in this state, so hurt.
"what happened to you?" you asked softly, caressing his chest, feeling his body relax a little. That's when he began to explain about this supposed accident he'd suffered during practice, where a puck had hit him in his "intimate zone," the very day he'd forgotten his protective gear, causing him to leave early and go to the team doc, requiring immediate medical attention.
you listened, glancing down at his lap when you saw him place his hand there, caressing where you knew his bulge was, causing a slight burning sensation in your neck from the embarrassment of looking there. That's why you looked at him again, noticing that he was already looking at you, while he continued talking, giving you medical terms that you don't know, but that you assume are real, and that sound very worrying.
you asked him how he got home, and he replied briefly, saying that Boldy had offered to bring him without much trouble, even helping him out of the car and walking him to the entrance. That made you smile a little, because it makes you feel better to know that there are still people who see him as a good person, helping him when you're not there.
"and what do you have to do now? are you gonna play tomorrow?" you asked, still touching his chest. He had an answer for that too, saying that he would have to miss a game to finish recovering; doctor's orders. That made you nod, although you thought it was a short time considering all the medical terms he'd just mentioned.
then he started talking about medication, about painkillers. But he said that it wouldn't be enough, that the doc had suggested an even more effective option, but that he was embarrassed, so he would try to ignore it and stick with just the pills, which made you frown, a little annoyed that he hadn't considered a better option.
โQuinn, if they gave you a better option, you have to leave the embarrassment behind,โ you scolded him, watching him lower his head slightly, feigning shame, which led you to place a hand on his cheek, forcing him to look at you. โWhat is it?โ you asked, in a soft tone.
he sighed, trying to look anywhere but at you, and began to speak. Apparently, the injury could cause knots to form inside him, and that would hurt quite a bit. These can't be dissolved with medication, so the only way to avoid them is with massages. Now, because of the area, these massages have to be on his dick, but the doctor had told him that he might not be able to do it himself, since the pain wouldn't let him continue.
you feel your face burning just from understanding what he's saying, but an alarm inside you tells you it's your duty to help him, just as he's helped you so many times, regardless of the embarrassment, because he's your best friend, the best person you know, and he doesn't deserve for you to turn your back on him like this. You couldn't.
so you react impulsively, standing up from your seat, kneeling between his legs, swallowing with some difficulty. โShow me what i have to do,โ you say, looking at him firmly, even though inside you're melting.
he looks at you with feigned surprise, trying to deny it, but you stop him, telling him you want to help.
that's when he lowers his pants, freeing his cock, since he had to take off his underwear after what happened, to avoid putting too much pressure on it. And you see it, a little hard, swollen, with its veins and a little reddish. And you wonder if that's normal, if it's supposed to look soโฆ big, even when it's not fully erect.
that makes you feel nervous, frozen. You know technically what you have to do, but you've never tried it before, so you look at him, lost in thought. He smiles slightly, taking one of your hands and guiding it to his cock, which you grasp gently, listening to his sigh, making you think it hurts, which causes you to stop squeezing it completely.
he tries to reassure you, reminding you not to stop. That once you start, you have to go all the way. So you squeeze it again a little, feeling how heavy it is.
โfirst you gottaโฆโ he began, his hand on top of yours, moving it up and down, showing you how. You followed, feeling it throb beneath your hand, more intensely as you moved faster. โJust like that,โ he sighed, tilting his head back for a moment before looking at you again. โYou can play with the tip; that will help it not hurt so much,โ he instructed, and you did as he said, feeling it get harder and swollen, and watching as the tip began to glisten and become wet.
you looked at him, trying to learn, feeling a strange urge to put it in your mouth, as if a magnet were drawing you in. So you waited until he closed his eyes, moving your hand while you left a small lick on the tip, watching as he suddenly opened his eyes, staring at you with dilated pupils.
โdo that again,โ he ordered, to which you nodded, doing it once more, with a little more confidence, watching as he clenched his jaw, his hand now moving to your hair, pulling you closer to his cock. That made you smile, believing you were doing a good job, so you continued, daring to lick its entire length, from base to tip, making it easier to masturbate him, wet as he was.
and you moved quickly, squeezing just enough, seeing how much he was enjoying it. And that made you feel something, like a strong heat in your belly, which traveled down to your pussy. You felt her panties start to get sticky, and you tried to get rid of that sensation by rubbing yourself against the floor, stimulating your pussy and making you moan against Quinn's cock.
โfuck,โ he moaned, tightening his grip on your hair, which only made you whimper more. โPut it in your mouth,โ he ordered, and you obeyed immediately, slowly sliding his cock into your mouth until it touched the bottom, causing you to gag slightly.
it feels heavy on your tongue; hot, but something inside you doesn't want it to leave your mouth, so you start moving your head up and down, swallowing it, masturbating what won't fit in, while you keep moving your hips, rubbing yourself desperately against the floor, trying to find some relief in your pussy, which is now dripping, wetting your thighs and the wood, under Quinn's eyes, who looks at you like you're prey, his next meal.
he feels in control, like everything is going according to plan, and that makes him feel powerful, so he lets you continue, trying not to thrust into your mouth, listening to your little gags as you try to swallow as much as you can, feeling addicted to its taste, to its weight.
you wanna have him inside you all the time, hearing him moan your name, in such a vulnerable state that it makes him look even more beautiful. God, if you had known this before, you would have done it a thousand times.
does he look the same when he masturbates alone? did he do it in this house? with you here?
you imagine him, running his hand over his cock. The same hand he has in your hair now. Squeezing it like you do, while he moans your name and thinks about you. That makes you move faster, making Quinn feel the need to come.
and he thought about it, about whether he should warn you, but you look so beautiful that he doesn't want to interrupt you. He doesn't want you to think. So he just comes in your mouth, while you swallow it all desperately, whimpering, drool running down your chin until you pull his cock out of your mouth, breathing heavily, trying to calm your racing heart, having to cough a little because you choked.
and he looks at you with loving eyes, caressing your cheek, making you look at him, your eyes filled with tears and a shy smile on your face. โThank you, baby,โ he smiled at you, leaning in to give you a little kiss on the lips, surprising you, making you melt inside, with a new but beautiful feeling.
and from that moment on, you couldn't pull away, you couldn't stop. Every time you felt the urge, you reached out and touched his bulge, making him smile, under the excuse of wanting to help him, wanting to be good to him, so he wouldn't feel pain anymore.
you become more skilled, moving your head to the rhythm he likes, while one of your hands massages his balls and your drool runs down his base. It's almost obscene, but you discovered you like it, and there's nothing better than hearing the sweet sounds he makes.
but it gets even better when you try it again in his bed, when you were sitting next to him and decided to lie face down beside his cock, leaving your ass exposed, which he began to caress while you swallowed its entire length, making you moan, needing his attention. Until he touched your pussy for the first time, giving you your reward for being such a good girl. So innocent, so willing to help him, expecting nothing in return, yet still receiving your prize.
his fingers slide into your cunt, opening your walls as you swallowed everything he had to give you, being a mess of moans thanks to him. Getting more and more cockdrunk. Dependent.
you don't think you can let him go when he has to go back to the games. You need him. So much that you can't even think about his injury anymore. You need to do it all the time. Feel him.
you don't know why, but this became an addiction. Just what everyone warned you about. But you couldn't care less, because you're enjoying it, and Quinn? he knows you're his now, that there's no going back, so he'll make sure to break down every barrier in your mind. Fuck you stupid until you can't think straight anymore. Until you can't tear yourself away from him.
Sam x soft spoken reader? Just thinking of him leaning down during a conversation just to hear better and not thinking anything odd of it, while reader is just scrambling to get their words out without stuttering while their eyes flick anywhere but him lol. And maybe when they have sex they arenโt as vocal but then Sam coaxes it out of them? Love your stuff!!
โ๏ฝก ห the quiet ones break the loudest
summary หห๐ขึดเปึด youโve always been soft-spoken, especially around samโstumbling over words when he leans in close to hear you, eyes darting awayโuntil he finally shows you how vocal you can.
pairing หห๐ขึดเปึด sam winchester x reader ( f )
wordcount หห๐ขึดเปึด 1012 genre หห๐ขึดเปึด smut!!
warnings หห๐ขึดเปึด explicit sexual content, soft-spoken/shy reader, size difference, gentle dom!sam vibes, coaxing/encouragement, praise kink, voice kink (sam coaxing sounds out of quiet reader), p in v, emotional intimacy
notes หห๐ขึดเป ึดโเป consider supporting my work .แ
The library in the bunker is dim, just the desk lamp and the faint glow from Samโs laptop screen. Youโre tucked into the corner armchair with a lore book open on your lap, legs folded under you, voice barely above a whisper as you read him the passage about the djinn variant youโre hunting.
Samโs sitting on the floor in front of youโback against the ottoman, long legs stretched outโhead tilted back so he can look up at you while you talk.
Heโs close. Too close.
His shoulder brushes your knee every time he shifts.
You get to the part about the venom dosage and your voice drops even lower, automatic, like youโre afraid of disturbing the silence.
He turns fully toward you then. Leans in. His face is suddenly inches from yoursโear tilted toward your mouth so he can catch every murmured word. His hair brushes your cheek. You smell cedar and coffee and the faint trace of gun oil on his skin.
Your sentence dies halfway.
โโฆand theโthe antidote needs to uhm be administered withinโโ You swallow. Blink fast. Eyes flick to his mouth, then the bookshelf behind him, then the ceiling. Anywhere but the warm hazel staring at you like youโre the only thing in the room. โWithin, um. Forty minutes.โ
Sam doesnโt move back. Just stays there, patient, waiting for the rest.
You try again. โItโit has to beโโ Your voice cracks. Tiny. Barely audible.
He smilesโsmall, soft, the kind that makes your stomach flipโand murmurs, โYou can talk quieter. Iโll hear you.โ
Thatโs the problem. You know he will.
You nod jerkily. Finish the sentence in fragments. He nods along, serious, focused, like this is normal. Like leaning in so close your breaths mingle is just practical.
Itโs not practical.
Itโs devastating.
Laterโhours later, after the huntโs done, after showers and takeout and the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that makes everything feel slowโthe motel room is dark except for the bathroom light you left on. One bed. Always one bed lately.
Youโre already under the covers when Sam climbs in behind you. Big spoon by default. His chest presses to your back, arm sliding around your waist, hand splaying wide over your stomach.
He kisses the nape of your neck. Soft. Once. Then again.
You shiver.
โStill thinking about that djinn?โ he asks, voice low against your ear.
You shake your head. Barely.
โGood.โ His hand drifts lower. Slips under the hem of your sleep shirt. Fingers trace lazy circles over your hipbone. โBecause Iโve been thinking about you.โ
Your breath hitchesโquiet, but he hears it.
He always hears.
โTell me what you want,โ he whispers.
You bite your lip. Shake your head again.
Sam chucklesโsoft, fond. โCanโt hear you, sweetheart.โ
His fingers dip between your thighs. Find you already wet. He groans against your shoulder. โFuck. Youโre soaked.โ
You whimperโtiny, almost silent.
He circles your clit slow. Teasing. โUse your words. Tell me.โ
โIโโ Your voice is threadbare. โWantโฆ you.โ
โLouder.โ
You try. โWant you inside me.โ
He rewards youโslides one finger in, then two. Crooks them just right. You arch, mouth open on a soundless gasp.
โMore,โ he coaxes. โLet me hear you.โ
You shake your headโhabit. Too shy. Too much.
Sam pulls his fingers out. You whineโsmall, pitiful.
He rolls you onto your back. Settles between your thighs. Big hands push your knees wide. Heโs already hard, heavy against your stomach. โLook at me.โ
You do. Barely. Eyes flicking to his, then away.
He notches himself at your entrance. Doesnโt push in yet.
โSay my name.โ
โSamโฆโ
โLouder.โ
โSam.โ
He sinks inโslow, inch by inch, stretching you open. Your head tips back. Mouth falls open. No sound.
He bottoms out. Stays there. Lets you feel every thick inch. โTell me how it feels.โ
You swallow. Try. โFull.โ
โNot enough.โ He rolls his hipsโjust enough to drag against that spot. โTell me.โ
You gasp. โSo fullโSamโpleaseโโ
โPlease what?โ
โMove.โ
He does. Slow, deep thrusts that make the bed creak softly. Every time he bottoms out you make a tiny, choked soundโbarely there.
He leans down. Lips at your ear againโjust like in the library. โLouder, baby. I want to hear every little noise you make when Iโm fucking you.โ
Your hands fly to his shoulders. Nails digging in. He picks up the pace. Deeper. Harder. Precise. Youโre trembling now. Trying to stay quiet. Failing.
A real moan slips outโhigh, broken.
โThere it is,โ he breathes. โThatโs my girl.โ
He hooks one of your legs over his elbow. Changes the angle. Hits deeper.
You cry outโsharp, surprised.
He groans. โFuck yes. Again.โ
You canโt stop now. Every thrust pulls another sound from youโwhimpers, gasps, his name over and over, getting louder each time. โSamโSamโoh godโโ
He kisses youโmessy, deepโswallowing the noises. Then pulls back. โLet me hear. Donโt hide.โ
You donโt. Canโt.
The sounds spill outโdesperate, wrecked. โPleaseโharderโSamโdonโt stopโโ
He gives you what you need. Pounds into you. Hand sliding between your bodies to rub tight circles over your clit.
Youโre loud now. Unrecognizable. Moaning his name like a chant. Begging. Crying out when he hits that spot again and again.
โCome for me,โ he growls. โLet me hear you come.โ
You shatter.
Back arching. Thighs shaking. A long, broken cry ripping out of youโhis name, garbled, loud enough the walls probably hear it. He follows right afterโdeep, grinding thrusts as he spills inside you, groaning low against your throat.
Youโre both panting. Shaking.
He doesnโt pull out yet. Just stays buried, kissing your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth.
โGood girl,โ he murmurs. โSo fucking good for me.โ
Youโre still trembling. You hide your face in his neck. Embarrassed. Pleased.
He chuckles. Soft. Wraps both arms around you.
โNext time,โ he whispers, โIโm leaning in close again. Just to hear you try to talk.โ
You groanโhalf mortified, half already aching at the thought.
He kisses the top of your head. โGet used to it, sweetheart.โ
You donโt answer.
You just hold him tighter.
And hope he never stops making you break the quiet.
๊. all works ; writing guidelines ; writing schedule.
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- summary : after dating sam for a while, during your first time with him, he's surprised when he finds out how dirty you can talk. divs by toastray wc 2.1k
cw heavy makeout, dry humping, unprotected p in v, dirty talk, praise, pet names "baby", brief descriptions of male anatomy, creampie, breeding kink if you squint, aftercare, sweet sam
sam was never the hookup type. after jess it took him a while to even think about kissing someone else.
he became good at burying it, until he met you. it was passing thoughts he pushed down until the only option was his hand helping him out.
besides all the joy and love you show him, dating you has brought back those feelings he's been repressing. sam was always fine being patient, but with how you look, it's been hard.
he's so attracted to you, in a way he hasn't felt in a long time. he wasn't ever pushy, excusing himself to the bathroom, thinking of your mouth around his cock instead of his hand. shooting spurts of cum down the shower, as his neediness washed away.
it would work for now, even if he dreamed of more. hunting alongside dean and sam didn't make your relationship easy, you didn't have much time to just the two of you.
but today was different, you woke up with a mission. dean would be gone, went to see a movie he's been talking about all month. that left you and sam.
sam woke up earlier than you as usual, comfortable in his grey t-shirt and jeans incase he needed to step out, while you stayed in your pjs.
before your boyfriend could put himself to work, submitting himself to scanning all news outlets for the next case, you crawled into his lap. he was reading a book on the dingy motel bed, denim covered legs taking up all the space.
his chin tilted up as you settled in his lap. "hi." you spoke softly, eyes shining as you admired the pretty man infront of you.
"hi." he smiled, putting the book on the table beside him.
"you look good." you said, hand moving to stroke his shoulder. he seemed surprised, he was used to you complimenting him, but this felt very different.
"you too." he muttered shyly, a soft pink spreading across his cheeks. his hands moved cautiously to settle on your hips, you leaned in then.
your lips crashed into his softly, he made a cute noise, his hands tightening around the fabric of your sleep shorts. you hummed against his mouth, hand reaching to rest on his neck as you kissed him deeper.
he groaned, tongue swiping against your bottom lip before you opened your mouth wider. you felt him hardening against you, pressing right where you needed him most.
you moaned as you kissed him sloppily, sucking on his tongue when he let you. his breathing was unsteady before you started rocking. sam sighed happily, breaking the kiss to watch you.
his lips were parted and swollen. a perfect shade of pink, and his hazel eyes glistening as he took in your figure. braless under your regular sleep shirt, and your shorts riding up as you moved.
"so pretty." he breathed, hand moving to hold your waist, leaning in to kiss your neck. you let out a groan, letting your fingers tangle in his hair.
you could hear the noises as he sucked soft marks on your skin, air fanning while he breathed out his nose.
you moved faster, more desperate, definitely soaking your shorts. he had to be fully hard now, he felt so big. he groaned against your collarbone.
"fuck sam." you whined, the grind against him bringing you closer to the edge along with his noises.
he looked up at you, he was truly a sight, hair tousled, eyes dilated with lust, soft lips begging to be kissed.
you caught his lips in yours again, fully stopping your movements. his hands roamed your body, squeezing your breast softly, happy when you moaned into his mouth.
you left a few parting kisses before pulling away. the room felt hot, the fabric between you not helping the heat coursing inside you both.
"sam," you spoke, hands moving to the hem of his shirt "let's get these clothes off hm?"
his eyebrows shot up, "are you sure?" eyes pleading for reassurance, he's fantasied about this moment countless times but never imagined it'd feel this perfect.
you nodded, "i'm sure." admiring the man in front of you, perfect in both personality and appearance, always making sure you were okay no matter what.
he smiled, letting your hands pull his shirt over his head. he was built, softly tanned skin and toned abs, moles scattered across his stomach.
you looked back up at him, his eyes already on you, full of love & lust. his hands reached for your shirt before pausing, waiting for your nod of approval before pulling it off.
your breasts fell free, his eyes following your body. "god." he swallowed, adam's apple bobbing while his thumb stroked your thigh. "you're so beautiful."
you felt flushed, head turning to the side to laugh "don't make me nervous.." he chuckled, looking down before apologizing.
you laughed again, moving off him to pull your shorts & panties down. sam unbuckled his jeans at the same time, zipper opening as he slid his pants and boxers off.
you could feel his eyes on you, all clothes tossed beside the bed before you looked at him. "you're perfect y'know that?" he smiled, cheeks flushed pink as he spoke.
you returned a soft grin, "could say the same to you" you let your eyes scan his body, your throat drying up at the sight of his cock.
he was bigger than any guy you've slept with, twitching against his stomach, precum dripping down his blushed tip.
the sound of his laugh took you out of your daze, "now you're gonna make me nervous." he joked, doing that awkward smile he does.
"sorry.." you shook your head, frowning with a tender look on your face before settling back on top of him. your knees bracketed his thighs, heart beating fast in your chest.
he watched you carefully, checking for any signs of discomfort, he wouldn't find any. you were right where you wanted to be.
"by the way i'm on the pill, we don't have to use the condom unless you want to?" you spoke hesitantly, eyebrows creasing as you looked up at him.
his eyes dilated further, mouth parting before he spoke "that's fine with me, only if you're comfortableโi haven't been with anyone in a long time."
you smiled at him, heart full with your love for the man "i haven't been with anyone else either." he looked at you like you hung the damn moon, watching as your hand moved to grip him.
up close it was even prettier, twitching in your hand, slight curve to it, vein up the middle with good girth and lengthโgod he was pretty everywhere.
you gave it few strokes before rubbing it between your folds, coating it in your wetness before pushing it in. you braced both hands on his chest, watching his stomach tense before seeing his face.
his mouth was wide open, cute tongue prodding out, watching you sink down on him. you grinned before sighing. he was stretching you out, it felt new yet pleasant.
you both moaned as you bottomed out, skin to skin, his hands moved to grip the plush of your waist.
"you're so tight." he groaned, head falling back. you let out a shaky breath before grinding against him, your eyes rolled back. "fuck sam."
he grunted roughly, thrusting up to meet your grinds, fingers making small indents in your skin. "you feel so perfectโkeep going baby."
you listened, moving faster, whines spilling out your parted lips. "fuckโyou're so deep, stretching me out so good."
he almost chokedโtaken completely aback by your words. "shit.. your mouth," he almost whimpered, eyes shut as his lips stayed parted.
you felt him throb inside you, it was taking everything in him not to cum right there. "didn't know you could talk like that."
you flushed, still making small movements, hands steady on his stomach. "sorryโit slips out.." you said breathy, almost embarrassed before he spoke.
he twitched inside you again, hips still meeting yours, "don'tโfuck, don't be, drivin' me crazy."
you smirked, growing a confidence before getting closer to his ear. "yeah? like it when i tell you how good you feel? how big you are? i think i feel it in my stomach sam." you whined, feeling him rut into you harder.
"godโthat's so fucking hot." he groaned, you smiled in response, pulling back to kiss him, hands holding his face, speeding up your drags along his cock.
he was a whiny mess, hands traveling to your stomach, gripping at any part of you. he wanted to be all over you, his mouth trailing down your neck and breasts.
you sighed, hand moving to grip his messy hair. you changed between small grinds and circles against him, the friction bringing you closer and closer.
in the next moment he held your waist tighter, quickly turning you over without pulling out. your mouth fell open in a high moan at the position change.
"shitโlook at you.." he moved slow, eyes scanning over you, his hands passing over your stomach, noticing a bulge outline on your pretty skin. "feel that? how deep i am?"
you whined, eyes shut at the lewdness of this man's voice. "sam," you breathed "fuckโyes i feel it."
he thrusted slower, almost reverent, soft sounds of skin slapping echoing along with the squeakiness of the cheap bed.
"say that again, wanna hear you." he groaned, he was practically mumbling at this point, completely drunk off you, hands gripping your supple skin.
"feel it s' deep, you fuck me so good baby." your back arched as he sped up, hitting your g spot perfectly, string of moans falling from both your lips.
"you're so good for me." he babbled, leaning in to kiss you. it was wet and hungry, faint taste of coffee on his tongue, his pace struggling not to falter while his mouth stayed on yours.
his head trailed down your body, leaving hot open-mouthed kisses to your collarbone and breasts, smoothing over the blooming marks from earlier.
one hand of yours was gripping the sheets, the other on his neck, it felt like pure bliss. the drag of his cock along your fluttering walls was heaven-like.
he groaned against your skin, feeling how you clenched harder. "fuck, gonna cumโwhere do you," he gritted before you interrupted,
"inside, come in me please." you begged, hearing him make a noise too similar to a whimper, his thrusts uneven and speeding up as he chased his high.
his head was buried in your neck, hair brushing your cheek as more moans fell out his lips cracked and high pitched.
your wetness coated his thighs, squelching heard throughout the room and maybe the neighbors too.
"fuck!" he gasped, his hips stuttered, once, twice before burying himself at the hilt. his cock throbbed as he spilled into you, perfect white ring around his base.
the pressure brought you completely over the edge, "ah, sam!" your hands gripped him closer, arching off the bed, eyes rolling and shutting at the same time.
he moved slowly against you, helping you ride out both your orgasms. he watched where your bodies connected, the urge to push his spend back in was strong.
he sighed happily, sweat covered skin glowing in the light. your chest heaved as you came down from your high, head still thrown back and eyes struggling to open.
he pulled out with a hiss, fingers near your warmth as he watched his cum leak out of you. "fuck.." he dragged out, eyes glistening while he gaped. you couldn't help but throb at the sight, his abdomen tensing and his softening cock twitching as he looked at you.
he snapped out of his daze, looking at your pretty, but fucked out face, hand coming up to rest on your cheek. "you look so beautiful, did so good f'me." he sighed, toothy smile making your heart ache.
you held yourself up with your elbows, noticing his eyes fall to your breasts quickly as you breathed heavily.
"god, you're telling me i'm gonna get that all the time? that was the best sex i've ever had." you laughed airily, shaking your head, thinking about what you just experienced.
he huffed, soft grin tugging at his lips. "i feel the same way." he stroked your cheek before getting up, grabbing a towel to wipe you up, even though the sheets were another story.
he was gentle, knowing you were still sensitive, smile never faltering as he cleaned you.
"thank you, givin' me the special treatment here." you joked, nervously scratching your neck while you watched him. he looked up at you, eyes filled with much adoration.
"you deserve every bit of it, i'll do it any time." he spoke so gentle, a tone that showed he would do anything for you. this was the first time of many, and you both were looking forward to that.
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT having sam winchester as your coworker isn't for the weak. especially when he demands much than you except it, so much. semi public sex, fingering, oral sex, exhibisionism.
CO-WORKER!SAM who was the first to introduce at the company's welcome lunch. it was your fifth change of work relocation since last december and you were exhausted to say the least. so the fact that him among all the people came to you with that characteristic smile of his, made your world a little more simple than before.
you both talked for hours and so, finding out you shared a lot of things in common: comics, books about history, being the youngest sibling, etc. the night ended with sam taking your phone just to register his number on it sayingโ "promise that you'll call me whenever you need it. we're coworkers now, you can't escape from me."
CO-WORKER!SAM who in between of your work schedule, always has time to send you a message thread with jokes. like, he's the absolute king of "did you see this?" links just to see your reactions across the room. and if you look upโ gosh he's already looking towards you with a full on smile while chuckling and busting a laugh.
sometimes, your other coworkers just stare at you both. trying to understand why you always find a chance to give him some type of signal from the other side of the office. even when you slightly lift your middle finger at him just for making you laugh. but they really don't get it.
CO-WORKER!SAM who in the past weeks you've been working on a huge project, everytime knocks on your door just to have a excuse to see you and slide a cup of fresh and warm coffee on the desk without saying a word. he knows exactly how you like it and that amazes you.
"sam, it's not necessary," you say. " i can do it myself."
but he doesn't buy it. "i was getting you one anyways."
but he only ever brings one back for you.
CO-WORKER!SAM who tries to be professional and formal with you but fails like a champ on it. and you couldn't blame him.
when you're around your boss and he passes by, he gets weirdly formal using your full goverment name and an act so called managerial, voice dropping an octave and adjusting his tie while doing it. he thinks he's being as subtle as a window and youโon the other hand, are trying not to melt at the sudden change.
seeing him being quite dominant while giving the other orders, how his vocabulary changes to one more intelligent as he explains an assignment. fuck! yeah that was something new.
if another co-worker is being annoying or messing a lot with you, sam suddenly is right behind you. and he's recognizable. 6'4 frame and big broad shoulders shadowing his way onto you.
"what was that about? he was just being friendly."
but it was the way the air in the room seemed to vanish when he walked in, how he lowered his stance just to look you directlyโeyes dropping on your lips, puffed in a pout while arguing. he isn't aggressive, he just took space advantage on your cubicle before leaving with a smirk on his face.
and he notices. he notices everything. god forbid a man trying to have the prettiest girl in the office to himself.
CO-WORKER!SAM who since that encounter find a strategy to catch your gaze. he'll lean back on his chair, fingers interlaced btween his hair and just stare. a slow and heavy brownish colored gaze that tracks from your eyes down to your lips and back up again.
CO-WORKER!SAM who corners you on a crowded elevator after every single schedule. it's five o'clock and he's already inside of it, waiting patiently. or so he thought.
he steps into your personal space like the biggest golden retriever he is, using his 6'4 frame again to effectively box you in the corner. he doesn't touch you. not at all. instead he just get closer and closer to you body so you can hear his breath busting through your ears.
"long day, huh? 'bet you're tired."
CO-WORKER!SAM who iniciates slight touches when you're handling him a folder, a contract or even a cup of coffee with oat milk. he doesn't pull away, like ever.
sam's thumb tracing a slow and deliberate invisible circle over your knuckles while he asks mundane and simple question about another report, wanting to see if you break that facade you had.
CO-WORKER!SAM who stays late at night when he hears that you will take a midnight shift to work on that said report.
you're struggling a lot with the new software the company had installed, the system is brand new and some of the options are too difficult to understand even for you, and that's when he appared through the door. sam reaches around you, his chest flush against your backโhis large hands covering your as he guides the mouse, his breath slowly becaming a mumble as he explains everything but your mind is already outer-space.
"eyes on the screen, pretty thing."
"sorry," you added. "i didn'tโ"
"don't be distracted, i've been standing here for a certain amount and you haven't watch the screen even once."
"why are you still here, sam? i know you're just tryna' help me.. but believe me. i'm surely able to do something here."
"i was just doin' some research on an assigmnent." he lied, of course. "and thought you might need some help."
"very chivalrous of you, winchester."
yet he stood there all night waiting for you to finish like a loyal guard dog.
CO-WORKER!SAM who insisted on leading you into the elevator because, according to him, he didn't know if anyone from outside could enter the building. a silly thing to say, yes, butโhe didn't let you refuse the offer and quickly dragged you to the nearest elevator.
CO-WORKER!SAM who didn't just step towards you when you were already inside the elevator but instead erased the distance between you both, looming over you, hand on the wall.
"you're doing it again," sam said, voice lower than usual. "what's up with you and those looks you gave to me?."
"you officially lost all your braincells, winchester."
but you couldn't even come up with another response because sam's hands tangled between your hair and pulled you by the head towards his lips, selling all that build up tension with a heated kiss. it was frustated, starved and sloppy.
the taste of coffee grew on you by the time his tongue was narrowing its way onto the kiss, groaning low as he pressed his weight on youโ pinning your body against the mirroed wall. his right hand tightened on your neck just enough to make you let out a whimper.
CO-WORKER!SAM who screw everything when he starts eating your pussy, mouth full of your cunt and juices. kissing you wasn't enough for him, he needed to eat you like a five course meal.
his lips encircling your clit with wet and slippery kisses, going up and down between your folds, staining his chin and the corners of his mouth while devouring your cunt.
"look at her, she takes my tongue s'well," sam moaned against your core, sending shivers among your spinal. "and taste even better, c'mon princessโ open your legs a bit more, 'wanna finger this pretty pussy until you squirt on my fucking mouth like the good girl you are."
his middle and index fingers were brushing your g-spot, thrusting them while his tongue were running laps across your puffy clit, groaning and moaning against it. begging, pleading you to mess them up by cumming.
and being railed by your CO-WORKER!SAM against the mirroed wall wasn't on your plans either, seeing you taking his fat cock in just one thrust made your mind go empty-handed and just started to moan his name all over again without even thinking the amount of chances this might get you both expelled out.
"that's it, baby. i've got you," he replied with a half-smile on his face, smudging the rest of your lipstick with a messy kiss as he went full on beast mode, grasping your waist until his fingerprints were all over your skin.
"sammy, pleaseโ i need. i, i want to."
and he understood perfectly. of course he did.
soon enough you both were panting against the wall, fogging it as a sharp moan stained the mirror, seeing him cumming firstโ his load pumping inside your gummy walls, straining them and his cock with it.
when the elevator landed on the last floor, nobody else but you and sam was inside the building. it was safe to say that this changed everything. and it was also safe to say that you might start repeating this type of encounter more than you can even though.
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