#dylan minnette fluff

wear something sexy, she said. talking about your best friend of course.

out of all the costumes you could’ve chosen, you had you opted with the not that basic formula 1 driver. the costume showed off your figure extremely well, flattering you.

the process of getting ready wasn’t that long this time considering the costume didn’t need any fixing up. once you were ready you headed to the party and now you found yourself leaning against the counter of the house where the party was taking place.

a red solo cup in one hand and your phone in the other. your friend was somewhere among the crowd partying and having fun. you stood beside the counter scrolling through instagram until you felt another presence beside you.

you turned and met a pair of blue eyes. “i like your costume.” he complimented. the first thing you notice about this man is not only his bright eyes but also his bright pink hair.

it’s not every day you talk to someone with pink hair. “thank you.. i like your hair.” you smiled, sipping your drink.

the man squinted his eyes in suspicion. “do you mean that or are you just saying that because that’s the first thing you noticed about me.” he pressed his lips together to suppress his smile.

you rolled your eyes. oh this guy thinks he’s funny.. “no! i’m serious, i like your hair. it’s very unique.” you laughed, pulling out a big grin from him as well. he squinted his eyes as he laughed.

his mouth moved once again but this time you couldn’t hear him over the music. you let him know but he couldn’t hear you either. he then looked around and waved you over to follow him.

you both found yourself outside in the backyard under a gazebo that was decorated with colorful lights. “i said unique isn’t always a good thing.” he shrugged, getting closer toward you.

you tilted your head. “seems like someone’s said something about your hair in the past, huh? you’re very skeptical.” you raised a brow. he frowned and put his hands up in defense.

you both continued for what seemed like 30 minutes but when you checked the time on your phone it was nearly 1 and there were many more drunk people present than there were before.

“so i meant to ask, how did you find yourself here at this amazing party?” he spoke. you both were sat on a swinging bench.

“my friend invited me here.” you fiddled with the cup that once held your drink.

he hummed. “where are they now?” the way he was sitting back against the bench looking straight into your soul had you thinking.. things.

you shrugged your shoulders. “don’t know.. think she found some guy. i just let her do her thing. i’m not afraid to be alone.”

dylan admired you for that, for not being afraid of being alone. it was attractive to him. “well you’re not alone. you got me.” he grinned, his eyes low. you both looked at each other for a few seconds, your gaze talking amongst themselves. you looked down and blushed. dylan noticed and poked his cheek with his tongue. “you wanna go somewhere else?”

somewhere else? you knew where this was coming from but at this point, you didn’t care, you knew he found you as attractive as you found him — why not act on it?

you nodded before you both stood up and headed inside. “wanna go to mine?” he mentioned.

you thought about it before nodding once more. “yeah sure.” you smiled and he licked his bottom lip with a laugh. he made sure you walked in front of him through the crowd of people before you both walked to the front yard and toward his car.

he opened the door for you to climb in before closing it and crossing over to the driver's side. you pulled out your phone to text your friend.

to mya 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩:

don’t wait up, i met a guy and he is super chill super nice, and yes im sober, love u!!

you drove for 10 minutes max before he pulled up to a condo complex. he parked in his garage and climbed out opening the door for you once more. “welcome to my humble home.” he chuckled offering you his hand. you took it happily and climbed out of the car.

he closed the door and placed his hand on your back guiding you to his door. you both stepped inside and you were met with his room.

hie bedroom had a door toward his own bathroom and then to the garage. he was clean and organized, with nothing on the floor and nothing that seemed dirty. a big turn-off for you was usually if someone was dirty and unorganized.

you set your bag down on the floor beside his bed. “very organized. i love.” you stated still looking around the room. he had a lot of posters and a few guitars strung up in the walls “do you play?” i pointed.

he looked toward his instruments. “yeah kinda, i’m part of a band, wallows. don’t know if you’ve ever heard of us.”

you tried to remember and realized you’d heard a song of theirs a while ago. are you bored yet?

“wait yeah i have heard you guys. never knew. so wait what’s your name, never got it.” you say on his bed.

he followed closely sitting closer than he was at the party. “dylan.” he offered his hand. you looked at him then at his hand and grinned. “and yours?”

you went ahead and shook his hand. “y/n..” he kept your hand in his grasp, refusing to let it go.

“you’re very beautiful y/n.” his voice sounded confident and sultry. the way he looked in his bedroom lighting had you clenching your thighs together.

“are you going to kiss me or what?” you shot at him. he smiled at your comment. it was like an eternity before his grasp on your hand tightened and pulled yours toward him to connect your lips with his. it was strong and coming as he placed hands on your face, one settled on the back of your head. your hands immediately went around his neck and your legs straddled his waist.

he gripped your hips with force opening his mouth into the kiss. you did the same feeling his tongue enter your mouth fighting for dominance. you easily gave it up moaning into his mouth.

you felt his hardness growing beneath you the more you both were locked in the heated kiss. he groaned when you over ever so slightly on top of him. “so beautiful.” he gasped as he pulled away. “can i make you feel good pretty girl?” he kissed your lips a few times.

you nodded, feeling entranced by the way he looked. his hair disheveled and lips an irritated red. he stood up with you as you clung to his waist and laid you down on the bed. he stood up and removed his shirt before hovering over you. he started off by kissing your lips then your cheek then trailed them to your neck. he licked and sucked love bites bringing up your blood to your skin.

he hummed against your skin. “gonna let me take this off you?” his hands smoothed up your body over the leather of your costume.

you bit your lip and laughed. “been thinking about it all night.” you said breathlessly. he chuckled before reaching in the back and unclasping what held the top part together. he then moved down to the zipper and pulled it down. you then helped him by removing it off the top of your body and he did the rest pulling it down and tossing it to the ground.

beneath your costume you wore a black lacy but dainty lingerie set, always wanting to feel sexy regardless if anyone was going to have the privilege of seeing it.

dylan knelt down and swiftly brought his fingers toward your panties. he pressed down in your clothes clit. “can feel how wet you are... need to taste you so bad.” he whispered through the dark, barely getting to see his face because of the small lamp that lit up the room.

he brought himself closer to your center pushing your panties to the side. you swear you heard a tiny whimper escape him as he took a kitten lick. you tried your best to keep your legs open for him as he began to take another lick.

he ended up pulling back and removing your underwear fully before settling down in between your thighs. you bit your lip when you felt his breath blow into your sex. he looked up at you through his lashes before latching his lips onto your pussy. your mouth opened up at the sensation letting out a sigh.

he sucked and made the most pornographic sounds. “god… taste so fuckin’ sweet. gonna give me a sugar high.” he groaned against your pussy, the vibrations sending a jolt through you. “didn’t even need to do all that trick or treating shit, got my sweet thing right in front of me.” he smirked, scanning your face for a reaction.

your hand connected with his hair tugging on it gently. the stimulation from dylan’s tongue was so anticipated it had brought you closer and closer to release faster than you thought.

the more dylan spent time eating you out the more your legs started to shake. “fuck — right there dylan, gonna make me come so fucking good.” you moaned throwing your head back against the duvet.

dylan didn’t want you to cum yet, he desperately needed you to cum around him so he sucked on your folds one last time before climbing up your body. he kissed you while your brain still had been fuzzy from the pleasure of his mouth.

you felt his body heat leave from on top of you then you proceeded to hear the clinks of his belt buckle. you heard him toss it to the ground before speaking up. “want me to wear a condom?” his voice was low and hoarse. you looked up and saw how hard this man was.

you shook your head. “no jus… just fuck me please.” you pleaded, needing him buried deep inside you.

he nodded grateful for your answer not thinking about any consequences that could come up in the future. he dropped his pants and boxers down before stepping out of them. he then removed his top and returned to his spot above you once again. he pumped himself a few times before nudging your entrance. “ready baby?” he questioned earning an eager nod. “c’mon, wanna hear your pretty voice say it.” he whispered kissing your neck.

your chest moved up and down as you muttered the words dylan was looking for. “mhm... i’m ready. please just need you inside me.”

that’s all he needed before he obliged and inched inside you. you felt yourself become full. he stretched you out so good. your hands gripped the bed sheets before holding onto his back. your nails dug into his skin as he pulled out then pushed back into you with slight force.

his tip nudged your g spot over and over causing your stomach to swirl and tighten with each push. his head fell into the crook of your neck, loving the way you wrapped around him so good. “fucking made for me.” he stated groaning in your ear.

the sounds he made just pushed you further and further toward your orgasm. your eyes squinted shut. “shit! so so good dylan. gonna cum soon.” you moaned threading your right hand in his hair. your legs wrapped around his own waist allowing dylan to hit deep inside you. the new angle bringing a new feel and sensation.

his thrusts began to move faster and harsher. “go ‘head, gonna cum too — fuck — cum all over my dick, yeah?” he rasped, his words were just what you needed to spasm and scream his name as you reached your release. your legs shook and your hands scraped up his back.

dylan followed, letting go fully wants he knew you had reached your high. his cum filled you up so good and dylan didn’t stop fucking it back into you. his hips faltered feeling the overstimulation and became sloppier but he pushed through regardless. as he slowed he saw his cum practically leaking out of your tight pussy with a smile plastered on his face.

you lay there as he surveyed the way you had been fucked dumb. he looked so good with the fucked-out look he had on and his disheveled pink hair. “nice to meet you dylan.” you wore a lazy smile.

he licked his top lip. “wanna get to know you more if that’s okay.” he smiled, laying beside you falling onto his back.

you pretended to think before looking toward him. “hmm, sure i guess.” you shrugged followed by a giggle.

The city hummed faintly outside the window of Dylan’s apartment, a low, distant sound that made the silence inside feel even warmer. You were tangled in his sheets, legs loosely intertwined with his, your head resting on his chest while his fingers traced slow, lazy circles along your spine. The room smelled like him faint cologne, clean laundry, and the candle you’d lit earlier.

Dylan’s lips brushed yours again, gentle and unhurried. The kiss was soft, almost reverent. He tasted like the mint tea you’d shared after dinner, and every time he pulled back just slightly to look at you, his blue eyes were full of that quiet, patient affection that still made your stomach flutter.

“You’re so pretty like this,” he whispered against your mouth, voice low and warm. His hand slid from your back to your waist, then lower, cupping the curve of your hip with careful fingers. “I could kiss you for hours.”

You smiled into the kiss, letting yourself melt a little more against him. Your fingers played with the soft hair at the nape of his neck as you deepened the kiss, tongues brushing lazily. It felt safe. It felt good.

Until you felt it.

The hard press of him against your thigh, unmistakable even through the thin fabric of his sweatpants. His breathing had grown heavier, more ragged. And then his hand moved — sliding down to grip the back of your thigh, pulling you closer with a low, appreciative hum against your lips.

Your body locked up instantly.

The warmth in your chest turned to ice. Your breath caught sharply in your throat. For a split second you were no longer in Dylan’s soft bed. You were somewhere else rough hands, demanding grips, pain disguised as passion.

The memory hit like static, ugly and fast, even if you tried to push it away.

You froze completely, lips still pressed to his but no longer moving. Your hand tightened on his shoulder, not in desire, but in sudden tension.

Dylan noticed immediately. He pulled back just enough to see your face, his hand instantly loosening on your thigh.

“Hey… baby?” His voice was soft, concerned. Those gentle blue eyes searched yours, brows slightly furrowed. “You okay?”

Dylan’s hand froze the second he felt you go rigid in his arms. His blue eyes widened with immediate worry, the gentle warmth in them shifting to soft concern as he pulled back a little more, giving you space without fully letting go.

“Hey, hey… talk to me,” he murmured, voice low and careful, like he was approaching a scared animal. “Did I do something wrong? We can stop. We don’t have to—”

The pressure of his fingers still lingering on your thigh — even though it was light — sent panic exploding through your chest. Your heart hammered violently against your ribs. Suddenly the sheets felt too heavy, the room too small, and Dylan’s body against yours too much like his. The ghost of rough hands, bruising grips, and words that cut deeper than any slap flashed through your mind in ugly fragments.

“Don’t touch me!” you shouted, voice cracking sharply as you shoved at his chest with both hands. The movement was harder than you meant it to be. “Get off— don’t fucking touch me!”

Dylan recoiled instantly, sitting up and pulling his hands away like he’d been burned. His face went pale, eyes wide with shock and hurt, but mostly worry. He raised both hands in surrender, scooting back on the bed to give you room.

“Okay— okay, I’m not touching you. I’m right here, baby. I’m not moving,” he said quickly, voice steady even though you could hear the fear in it. “Breathe. Just breathe for me, please.”

But you couldn’t. Your lungs felt tight, like someone was squeezing them. You scrambled backward until your back hit the headboard, pulling your knees up to your chest. Tears burned hot behind your eyes and then spilled over without warning. Your whole body started shaking uncontrollably as the memories clawed their way up — the way your ex would ignore “no,” the way pleasure was always mixed with pain, the way you learned to dissociate just to survive it.

“I’m sorry— I’m so sorry,” you choked out between sobs, burying your face in your arms. “I didn’t mean to yell… I just— I can’t. I can’t do this. It feels like him again and I hate it. I hate that he still gets to ruin this—”

Your voice broke into ugly, gasping cries. The kind that hurt your throat. You rocked slightly, trying to hold yourself together, but the breakdown was already swallowing you whole.

Dylan stayed exactly where he was, hands still up, eyes glassy with his own worry and helplessness. His voice was soft, almost broken.

“Shh… you don’t have to apologize. Not to me. Ever.” He swallowed hard, fighting the instinct to reach for you. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. When you’re ready… I’ll be right here.”

Dylan didn’t move for what felt like forever. He stayed exactly where he was — sitting a respectful distance away on the bed, hands still slightly raised so you could see he wasn’t going to reach for you without permission. His blue eyes were full of worry, but there was no anger, no frustration… only that deep, quiet care that always seemed to wrap around you like a blanket.

Your sobs kept coming, ugly and raw, shaking your whole frame. You hated how small you felt. How broken.

Eventually, Dylan spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.“Can I come closer, baby? I won’t touch you unless you say yes. I just… I hate seeing you hurt like this and not being able to hold you.”

You hesitated, tears still streaming down your cheeks, but you gave a tiny, shaky nod.

The second you did, Dylan moved slowly, carefully. He slid across the bed until he was right beside you, then opened his arms without pulling you in. He waited. When you leaned toward him, he gently wrapped you up, one arm around your back, the other cradling the back of your head as he tucked you against his chest. His heartbeat was steady under your ear — a little fast from worry, but strong and safe.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured into your hair, pressing the softest kiss to the top of your head. “I’ve got you, okay? Let it out. Cry as much as you need. I’m not going anywhere.”

His hands rubbed slow, soothing circles on your back — never too low, never demanding. Just comfort. Just presence. You clung to his shirt, fingers twisting in the fabric as another wave of sobs hit you. He held you tighter, rocking you gently like you were something precious and fragile.

After a few long minutes, when your crying had quieted into shaky breaths, you whispered against his chest, voice hoarse and terrified“Dylan… I want to tell you. About why I… why I reacted like that. But I’m scared. I’m so scared of how you’re gonna look at me after.”

His arms tightened around you protectively, but his voice stayed gentle, warm, and steady.“Hey… look at me for a second?”

You lifted your tear-streaked face. His eyes were soft, a little glassy, but full of nothing but love and patience.“Nothing you tell me is going to make me love you less. Nothing. You don’t have to tell me tonight if you’re not ready. But if you want to… I’m listening. And I promise I’ll stay right here holding you the whole time. You’re safe with me. Always.”

You swallowed hard, heart still racing, but the warmth of his body and the sincerity in his voice made something inside your chest crack open just a little more.

“I… I want to tell you,” you whispered, voice trembling. “Just… don’t let go of me, okay?”

“I won’t,” he said softly, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’ve got you, baby. As long as you need.”

You stayed curled against Dylan’s chest, his arms wrapped securely around you, one hand still rubbing those slow, comforting circles on your back. His heartbeat was the only steady thing in the room. You took a shaky breath, fingers gripping his shirt tighter.

“I… I was with someone before you,” you started, voice barely above a whisper. “For almost two years. At first it seemed okay, but then… he changed. He got violent. Not just yelling. He would grab me hard enough to leave bruises. Throw things. Push me around.”

Dylan’s body tensed beneath you, but he didn’t interrupt. His hand never stopped its gentle motion.

You swallowed hard, forcing the words out even though they burned.

“And the sex… it was the worst part.” Your voice cracked. “He was so rough. Always. No matter how many times I told him it hurt, or asked him to slow down, or said I wasn’t ready. He didn’t care. It felt like he wanted it to hurt. He’d hold me down, choke me too hard, ignore me when I cried. Sometimes I just… dissociated. I’d leave my body because it was the only way to survive it. It wasn’t love. It was just pain.”

Tears started falling again, hot and silent against his shirt.

“I want this with you, Dylan. I want you. I want to feel close to you like that. I want to make you feel good and I want you to make me feel good… but every time things start heating up, my body panics. My mind goes back there. I get scared that it’s going to hurt again. That I’m going to feel trapped. I hate it. I hate that he broke me like this and now I’m ruining this beautiful thing with you—” Your voice dissolved into quiet sobs again.

Dylan held you closer, pressing soft kisses to the top of your head, your temple, anywhere he could reach without letting go. His voice was low, rough with emotion, but incredibly gentle.

“Baby… listen to me,” he whispered, his hand carefully cupping the back of your neck. “You’re not ruining anything. Not even close. I’m so sorry you went through that. No one should ever treat you like that. Especially not someone who was supposed to love you. It makes me fucking angry that he hurt you… but that anger isn’t for you. It’s for him.”

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his thumbs gently wiping away your tears.“You’re not broken. You’re surviving. And the fact that you trust me enough to tell me this… it means everything. We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. Ever. If sex is scary right now, then we wait. We take it slow. We kiss. We cuddle. We touch only when it feels good for you. And if you never want to go further, that’s okay too. I’m with you, not just your body.”

He rested his forehead against yours, eyes soft and full of love.“I want you to feel safe with me. Completely safe. So we go at your pace. Always. Okay?”

You nodded weakly, still trembling, but the weight on your chest felt a little lighter now that the words were out.

“Baby… look at me,” he whispered.

You lifted your eyes to his. Those blue eyes were warm, patient, and full of so much love it almost hurt.

“I’m never going to pressure you, my love. Not ever,” he said softly, his voice steady and sincere. “If we never have sex, that’s okay. If we wait six months, a year, five years… it’s still okay. Because I didn’t fall in love with you for your body. I fell in love with you. With the way you laugh at my stupid jokes, the way you steal my hoodies, the way you make me feel calm even when the world is loud. I want you to be safe. I want you to be happy. That’s what matters most to me.”

You felt your chest tighten again, but this time it wasn’t just fear.

“That’s the problem, Dyl…” you whispered, voice shaky and small. “I do want to. I want to be close to you like that. I want to feel you and make you feel good and finally have something beautiful instead of what I had before. But I’m so scared. What if I freeze in the middle? What if everything comes rushing back and I ruin the moment? What if I panic again and you get tired of dealing with all my broken pieces?”

Your voice cracked on the last words.

Dylan’s arms tightened around you protectively. He gently tilted your chin up so you couldn’t look away.

“Hey… none of that,” he murmured, brushing his nose against yours in the softest way. “You’re not broken. You’re healing. And if you freeze, we stop. If it comes back, we stop. We breathe. We talk. We cuddle. There is no ‘ruining the moment’ with me, okay? This isn’t a performance. It’s us. And I’m never going to get tired of taking care of you. Never.”

He kissed the tip of your nose, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth — all feather-light and full of affection. “We can take it one step at a time. Kissing. Touching over clothes. Under clothes. Whatever feels good. And the second anything feels scary, you tell me and we stop. No questions. No disappointment. Just love.”

He rested his forehead against yours again, eyes closed.“I’ve got you. Always.”

His hands cradled your face with so much tenderness it made your chest ache. After a long, quiet moment, he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his voice low and soft.

“Can I… kiss you, baby?” he whispered. “Just kiss you. Nothing more unless you say so.”

Your heart fluttered. Even after everything you’d told him, he was still asking. Still checking.

You nodded, barely audible. “Yes.”

The smile he gave you was small, warm, and full of love. “Thank you.”

He leaned in slowly, giving you time, and pressed his lips to yours — incredibly soft, almost reverent. The kiss was sweet, unhurried, like he was pouring every ounce of care into it. His mouth moved gently against yours, warm and patient, tasting like comfort and safety. One of his hands slid into your hair, fingers threading through it delicately while the other stayed on your waist, holding you but never trapping you.

You melted into it, kissing him back with shaky tenderness. When you let out a small, relieved sigh against his mouth, Dylan smiled into the kiss.

“You can stop me anytime,” he murmured against your lips, voice husky but gentle. “Any second. Just say the word and I stop. Okay?”

“Okay…” you breathed.

He kissed you again, deeper this time but still so sweet it made your toes curl. Then his lips trailed slowly from the corner of your mouth, across your cheek, and down to your jaw. He took his time, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along your skin, savoring every inch. When he reached your neck, he lingered there, kissing the sensitive spot just below your ear with feather-light pressure.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered against your skin between kisses. “So fucking beautiful… and so safe with me.”

His mouth moved lower on your neck, warm and slow, sucking gently — not hard enough to mark, just enough to make you shiver in a good way. One of his hands stroked your back in soothing circles while he continued kissing and softly nipping at your neck, never rushing, never demanding.

Every touch felt like a promise: I’ve got you. I’ll wait. I’ll be gentle.

Dylan’s lips stayed gentle on your neck, kissing and tasting you with slow devotion. Each press of his mouth sent warm shivers down your spine. He lingered on the spot that made your breath hitch, then slowly started moving lower, trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone.

His hand slid down your side, fingers brushing the hem of your shirt.

“Can I take this off, baby?” he whispered against your skin, voice low and careful. “I want to feel you closer… but only if you’re okay with it.”

You nodded, heart racing. “Yes.”

He sat up slightly and helped you out of the shirt with painfully slow movements, pulling it over your head and tossing it aside. His eyes roamed over your bare skin with pure adoration, not hunger. Not yet. Just reverence.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he breathed.

He leaned back in, lips returning to your neck before continuing their descent. He kissed down your chest, taking his time, until he reached the soft swell of your breasts. His mouth moved tenderly across your escote, pressing warm, lingering kisses between them, then along the curve of one breast and then the other. Every kiss was feather-light, loving, like he was worshipping you.

His hands rested on your waist, thumbs stroking your skin soothingly.

“You’re safe,” he murmured against your skin, voice husky but incredibly soft. “I promise you’re safe with me, my love. Nothing’s going to hurt you here. If it feels too much, we stop. I just want to make you feel good… only good.”

He kissed lower, lips brushing the top of your bra, then looked up at you with those beautiful blue eyes, checking in again.

“Still okay?” he asked gently, waiting for your answer before moving even an inch further.

Dylan’s fingers traced lightly down your back, finding the clasp of your bra. He looked into your eyes, his gaze full of patience and love.

“Can I take this off too, baby?” he asked softly. “I want to feel your skin against mine… but only if it feels right.”

You whispered a quiet “yes,” your voice trembling but trusting.

He moved slowly, so slowly, unhooking your bra with careful fingers and sliding the straps down your shoulders. He pulled it off gently and set it aside, his eyes never leaving your face at first — making sure you were still with him. Then his gaze dropped to your now-bare chest, and the way he looked at you made your heart ache in the best way. There was desire, yes, but mostly adoration.

“You’re safe,” he whispered, leaning in to press a soft kiss right above your heart. “I’m never going to hurt you. I swear it. You’re safe with me, my love. Completely safe.”

His words broke something open inside you.

The weight of feeling truly safe — maybe for the first time in years — hit you all at once. Tears welled up fast and spilled down your cheeks before you could stop them. Not from fear this time, but from overwhelming relief. From the gentleness in his touch. From the way he was looking at you like you were something precious instead of something to be used.

Dylan noticed immediately. His expression softened even more, and he reached for your hand, intertwining your fingers with his. He brought your hand up to his lips, kissing your knuckles tenderly while his other hand stayed respectfully on your waist.

“Hey… hey, it’s okay,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion. “Let it out, baby. I’ve got you.”

He leaned down and started kissing your bare chest again — slow, warm kisses across your breasts, over your sternum, and up to your collarbones. His lips were incredibly gentle, almost healing. Every kiss felt like a promise. His thumb stroked the back of your hand in soothing circles as he continued kissing you, never rushing, never grabbing.

“You’re doing so good,” he whispered between kisses, lips brushing your skin. “So brave. And so beautiful. I’m right here with you.”

You cried quietly while he kissed you, the tears mixing with the warmth spreading through your body. For the first time in a long time, the touch didn’t feel threatening. It felt safe. It felt like love.

Dylan’s mouth continued its slow, worshipful path across your bare chest. He kissed the soft curve of one breast, then the other, before his lips closed gently around your nipple. He sucked softly, warm and careful, flicking his tongue in slow circles while his hand cradled the other breast with feather-light touches. A quiet, appreciative hum vibrated against your skin.

“You feel so good,” he whispered, switching to the other nipple, lavishing it with the same tender attention. His touches stayed loving, never rough.

After a few moments, his hand slid lower, fingers brushing the waistband of your pants. He started to tug them down slowly, carefully, giving you time.

That’s when it hit.

Your body tensed sharply. The feeling of fabric sliding down your hips brought back flashes — hands that didn’t stop, pressure you couldn’t escape. Your heart slammed against your ribs.

“That’s enough,” you said quickly, voice shaky but clear. “Dylan, that’s enough.”

He stopped instantly.

Dylan pulled his hands away from your pants immediately, moving them to rest safely on your waist instead. He lifted his head from your chest and looked straight into your eyes, concern flooding his face.

“Okay, baby. We stop,” he said softly, voice calm and steady even though you could see the worry in his eyes. He didn’t pull away completely — he stayed close, but gave you space to breathe.

He gently tugged your pants back up to where they were, then pulled you into his arms, holding you against his chest. One hand rubbed slow, soothing circles on your back while the other cradled the back of your head.

“Shh… I’ve got you. You did so good telling me,” he murmured against your hair, pressing soft kisses to the top of your head. “We’re not going any further. You’re safe. I’m right here. Breathe with me, okay?”

You clung to him, heart still racing, but his immediate response and the warmth of his body kept the full panic from crashing over you. He rocked you gently, whispering soft reassurances the whole time.

“I’m so proud of you for saying stop. That’s exactly what I want you to do. Always.” He kissed your temple. “We can stay like this all night if you want. Just kissing. Just holding. Whatever feels good for you.”

your heart swelled with adoration for your friend. you had always felt he was too good to you, and this statement just solidified it once more. even if he says this every time he donates a piece of his wardrobe to you.

"but because i gave you that sweater, can i have that one silver bracelet you got in melbourne?" he continued

you groaned at his request, but it was only fair.

"i guess so... i'll go grab it right now." you said as you let go of him.

as you walked out of his room to retrieve the piece of jewelry, dylan scanned his bed to see how much he had left to fold and put away. it slowly dawned on him as he realized his wardrobe was looking a little... small?

initially brushing it off, dylan looked into is closet and dresser and realized his first thought wasn't exactly wrong. his shirt collection on hangers looked thinned down, sweaters that sat in drawers looked like it was missing a few, and even the necklace and bracelet holder you made for him had an entire row missing.

maybe he misplaced a few clothing pieces he thought. but he was so wrong when he finally got a good look at you when you came back into his room.

dressed in his baby pink sweater from his skims collab a few years ago, his stressed out navy blue adidas sweats, and his silver band that he always wore on his pinky found on your index.

misplaced was an understatement.

"i cannot believe you want this, i always wear this!" you complained as soon as you walked in.

"and i cannot realize that i always let you take and wear my clothes!"

you stopped in your tracks as you put your hand over your heart.

"no way are you accusing me of such a heinous crime. why i never!"

"yn, my friend of many years, you are literally wearing an outfit that is entirely made of my clothes. what's next my underwear?" he asked.

you looked yourself up and down, even checking inside your pants to make sure you weren't. "false actually. i have my own panties on, nice try though!" you retorted.

"ugh, not the point, you've stolen my entire wardrobe! eventually i'm going to be going on stage in nothing but socks and a leaf to cover me!"

you giggled at his exaggerated statement. thinking about what you've taken from him over the few months of living together, it dawned on you that just maybeee there's a section in your closet that's dedicated to everything he's let you take.

it's not like it's your fault he's so willing to give up his clothes like they're worth nothing, and it isn't your fault they're much more comfortable than the clothes you own.

"well that wouldn't be so bad would it? i'm sure wallows fans would appreciate my services!" you offered.

"i would appreciate having my clothes back." he mumbled.

you walked over to dylan and fully leaned into him. "i'll give them back when you share where you get them from." you whispered.

"not a chance." he said while wrapping and arm around you.

"whatever, expect about fifteen shirts, eight pants, and some more in front of your door later tonight then..." you sighed loudly after, feeling so sad your personal collection that would send a diehard fan into a coma, back to its respectful owner.

"thanks, yn! now get out so i can finish putting what's left of my clothes before you steal more." he smiled as he began to push you out.

gasping loudly, you took your chance.

before he could push you fully past his bed, you snatched his long-sleeved striped shirt, and ran out with your last stolen prize.

"I THOUGHT YOU WERE DONE STEALING!" dylan groaned as he heard your laughter down the hallway. even if one day he'd be walking around in trash bags due to your thievery, he wouldn't trade it for the world if it meant seeing you in his clothes.

you rolled your eyes. probably because every girl there was eye fucking you. you thought to yourself. “mm, could’ve been better.” you shrugged, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of a compliment escaping your mouth.

you had to admit the concert was mind-blowing. you loved seeing dylan up on stage, his hot and sweaty body turned you on more than anything, what didn’t though was when you noticed how the crowd was the same as you; turned on and needy.

the words left your mouth, dylan automatically knew something was up. you were always his #1 supporter no matter what so he knew when you had said that, something had to be off.

“how so?” he was combing through his wet hair waiting for you to respond. it purposely took you a while to respond but when you did it was a very sassy remark.

“i don’t know, maybe less eye sex with the crowd?” you picked at your nails. your comment brought a tiny smile to dylan’s face. dylan loved when you got jealous of how the crowd loved him. the way your jaw clenched as you commented about the crowd.

he laughed under his breath. “oh so you were jealous? is that it?” he turned to look at you, his eyes burning into you.

you felt as if you shrunk where you stood. “n-no!” you stuttered immediately defensive. you avoided eye contact trying to look at anything else. “why would i be jealous? just saying, that’s probably why you thought it was your best performance.

he clicked his tongue. “not necessarily, i was more focused on how well we genuinely performed. i don’t know.. you seem jealous though, baby.” he teased, wanting to get a rise out of you.

you finally looked at his face and his beautiful eyes. “doesn’t matter.” you muttered, still bitter. the scene that replayed in your head when dylan was singing directly in front of a group of girls, as they all pawed at his shirt pulling him closer. one girl even grabbed his hair and caressed it; just like how you would. “they can have you.”

of course, you weren’t serious, he knew that. you had always been a brat about these kinda of things and dylan loved putting you in your place. today though, he wanted to take a different approach.

you watched as dylan stood up and set down the shirt he was about to change into. how he then walked toward you slowly looking down at you. your gaze moved down staring at the ground feeling his intimidating gaze he put two fingers under your chin to move your head up to look at him.

his damn smile, it practically killed you. “d’ya need me to show you how i’m yours and only yours?” his thumb moved to your bottom lip pulling it down slightly to reveal your bottom teeth. you were in a trance as he bent down, head centimeters away from yours. “hmm?” he was waiting for a response. like always, you didn’t know what to say or respond with.

he kneeled down on both knees. “why’d you go all quiet on me now, huh?” his hands trailed over your thighs, meeting in the middle multiple times before trialing back to the side and up again. the connection sending you chills that followed its path. “i can show you, baby. you just gotta say the words. go on don’t be shy, say em’”

your breathing had begun to increase at a more rapid pace. his touch always had this effect on you. you leaned back letting the tickling sensation of his fingertips relax you. he was looking at you through his lashes as he grinned slightly loving how his actions impacted you.

you wouldn’t say you were nervous but… you were nervous. a few seconds later you had gained the courage to speak up. “show me.” you whispered, encouraging him to go further and do what he was going to do to you.

he licked his lower lip before nodding. “yes ma’am.” he began by tapping your hips so you could lift them. he then slowly began to pull your bottoms down, bringing your panties down with them leaving you bare in front of him. his mouth watered as he made eye contact with your pretty glistening pussy. like a starving man, he pulled your knees closer to him causing you to be leaned back at a 110-degree angle trying to keep yourself propped up.

he licked his lips before leaning down stopping right before he touched your center. “m’gonna show you how much you mean to me. gonna make you feel so good.” his breath feathered your pussy causing you to buck your hips up with impatience.

you nodded not speaking up, just wanting him to touch you already. he noticed how desperate you were for him so he went ahead and closed the gap wrapping his lips around your lower ones making the most obnoxious sounds. your hand immediately went to his hair and clutched it in your grasp. “ohh fuck — “ a tiny moan slipped past your lips.

he slurped up your arousal slathering his saliva all over your sex. his hands were smoothing over your thighs before he moved them to your pussy and used his fingers to spread your folds more, stimulating where you needed him the most. he worked his tongue like magic, making you clench your eyes shut as you felt your legs try to close at the sensation.

he tutted before moving them apart. “cmon, keep em’ open.” he groaned against you; the vibrations sending chills throughout your body. your mouth fell agape when you looked down and saw the sight of dylan completely devouring you. he flicked his tongue over and over sending you closer and closer. “God, you’re the only one for me.” he praised, making the most pornographic sounds.

you bit your tongue as you embraced the wave of pleasure that was about to hit you. you pathetically whined to dylan, trying to voice how close you were. “mmnph — m’so close.” you gasped, your thighs shaking around his head.

he smirked at you. he took your words as a sign to act like a starved man. “then give it to me baby, don’t i deserve it? made you feel soo good and showed you how you’re the only one for me. need you to cum on my tongue, please.” he whispered as he pulled you impossibly closer.

it wasn’t much longer until you wailed and whined as your body seized because of the euphoric state you had reached. your hand was clutching dylan’s hair tight as you tried to close your thighs around his head. that didn’t stop his antics. he didn’t falter as he rode you through your orgasm licking up all your juices.

when you came down from your high, you looked exhausted. dylan though, had a lazy smile on his face. “love when you look like that.”

your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “like what?” you questioned. his response only had you rolling your eyes.

“like i’ve just given you the best orgasm of your life.”

The air smells like roasted coffee beans and fresh pastries as you push open the door to The Brewed Awakening, a cozy little café just off Brown University’s campus.

It’s your second week at Brown, and you’re still finding your rhythm new city, new classes, new everything. You’re majoring in English Literature, drowning in assigned readings, but you love it.

The café’s warm lighting and mismatched wooden tables feel like a safe haven from the chaos of syllabus week.

You order a chai latte, settle into a corner booth with your battered copy of Mrs. Dalloway, and try to focus, but your eyes keep wandering, scanning the room for something someone interesting.

That’s when you spot him. He’s sitting a few tables away, hunched over a laptop, his dark hair falling into his eyes. He’s got this intense look, like he’s trying to solve world hunger or debug a particularly stubborn line of code.

You’re not sure what draws you to him at first maybe it’s the way his brow furrows in concentration, or the nervous tap of his fingers against the table.

But then you see it: a sticker on his laptop, faded at the edges but unmistakable. “Alien Killer Robots”.

The comic you’ve been obsessed with since high school, the one you’d sneak-read under your desk during boring history classes.

Your heart does a little flip. No way. This guy’s one of your people.

You take a sip of your chai for courage, grab your book, and walk over before you can overthink it.

He doesn’t notice you at first, too absorbed in whatever he’s typing, so you clear your throat.

“Hey, uh, is that an Alien Killer Robots sticker?” you ask, pointing at his laptop with a grin.

His head snaps up, and you’re met with the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen, wide with surprise. He looks like you just caught him stealing cookies from the jar.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” he stammers, pushing his hair back nervously. “It’s… kind of my favorite comic. You know it?”

“Know it?” You laugh, sliding into the chair across from him without waiting for an invitation. “I’ve read every comic at least twice. I’m still mad about the cliffhanger in number 27. Like, who does that to Commander Zax ? He was like Percy's brother”

His face lights up, and it’s like watching a puppy realize you’ve got a tennis ball. “Right?! I mean, they left us hanging for months!” he says, leaning forward. “I’m Clay, by the way. Clay Jensen.”

“I’m Y/N,” you reply, feeling a spark of something warm in your chest. “And I’m calling it now—Zax is totally coming back in the next arc. No way they’d kill off the best character.”

Clay grins, and it’s a little crooked, a little shy, but so genuine it makes your heart skip. “Okay, bold prediction. I’m holding you to that.” He pauses, glancing at your book. “Mrs. Dalloway? You’re a Lit major?”

“Yup, guilty as charged,” you say, tapping the cover. “What about you? Let me guess… Computer Science? You’ve got that coder vibe with the laptop and the sticker.”

He laughs, a soft, nervous sound that’s somehow endearing. “Close. Engineering. I’m kind of a tech nerd, but I swear I’m not that stereotypical.” He gestures to the sticker. “Well, maybe a little.”

You spend the next hour talking, the conversation flowing like you’ve known each other forever. You learn you’re both freshmen at Brown, navigating this new chapter after high school.

He’s from a small town, Evergreen, and you can tell there’s a story there, a weight in his eyes when he mentions it, but he doesn’t elaborate, and you don’t push. Instead, you bond over Alien Killer Robott, arguing about whether Zymorg is secretly evil, and swap stories about your first week on campus.

He’s shy at first, tripping over his words, but the more you talk, the more he relaxes, his smile growing brighter.

When you finally check your phone, you realize you’re late for your next class. “Crap, I gotta run,” you say, grabbing your book. “But this was fun. We should, like, continue the Zax debate another time.”

“Yeah, definitely,” Clay says quickly, his cheeks pink. He hesitates, then adds, “Maybe we could grab coffee again? Like, on purpose?”

You grin, scribbling your number on a napkin and sliding it across the table. “Text me, Comic Boy. I’m free most afternoons.”

As you leave the café, you feel lighter than you have all week, like you’ve just found something you didn’t know you were looking for.

And when your phone buzzes later that night with a text from Clay

>“Zax lives, right? Coffee tomorrow?”

you know this is the start of something good.

It’s been a week since you scribbled your number on that napkin at The Brewed Awakening, and you and Clay have been texting nonstop.

His messages are a mix of nerdy rants about Alien Killer Robots, random memes, and shy little compliments that make your stomach flutter like when he said your laugh was “kind of contagious” after you sent him a voice note.

You’ve met up for coffee twice more, always at the same café, always losing track of time debating comic book lore or laughing about your disastrous first days at Brown.

He’s awkward in the cutest way, tripping over his words but lighting up when you tease him, and you’re starting to feel that spark something warm and electric that makes you check your phone way too often.

Tonight, you’re not at the café. You suggested a change of pace, and now you’re both at a small park near campus, sitting on a bench under a string of fairy lights strung through the trees. It’s chilly, and you’re bundled in a scarf and a cozy sweater, your breath puffing out in little clouds.

Clay’s next to you, wearing a hoodie under a denim jacket, his knees bouncing nervously as he talks about his engineering project.

You’re only half-listening, distracted by how his eyes catch the light when he gets excited, like he’s a kid explaining his favorite game.

“...and then the circuit kept shorting out, which was, like, the worst,” he’s saying, hands waving animatedly. “I thought I was gonna have to rebuild the whole thing, but hey, you okay? You’re kinda quiet.”

You snap out of your daze, smiling. “Yeah, I’m good. Just… enjoying this. You’re cute when you geek out, you know.”

His face turns pink, and he ducks his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “I, uh, I’m not trying to bore you or anything.”

“You’re not,” you assure him, nudging his shoulder with yours. “I like it. Makes me feel like I’m getting the real Clay Jensen.”

He looks at you then, his expression softening, but there’s something heavier in his eyes, like he’s wrestling with something. You tilt your head, waiting, and he takes a deep breath, his knees stilling. “Can I… tell you something? Kind of personal?”

“Of course,” you say, turning to face him fully. Your heart picks up, sensing the shift in his tone.

He stares at his hands, twisting his fingers together.

“It’s just… I haven’t talked about this much since I got here. To Brown, I mean. Back home, in Evergreen, I went through some stuff. A lot of stuff, actually.” He pauses, swallowing hard. “A few months ago, I lost my brother. Justin. He, uh… he was sick, and it was rough. Really rough. I’m trying to start over here, you know? But sometimes it feels like I left a piece of myself back there.”

Your chest aches at the rawness in his voice, the way he’s trying to hold it together. You reach out without thinking, placing your hand over his. “Clay, I’m so sorry,” you say softly. “I can’t imagine what that’s like. You don’t have to talk about it if it’s too much, but… I’m here. For real.”

He looks at your hand on his, then up at you, his eyes glassy but grateful. “Thanks. It’s just… hard to let people in, you know? After everything. But you make it easier. You’re, like, so easy to talk to. I don’t know how you do that.”

You smile, squeezing his hand. “It’s ‘cause I’m awesome, obviously. And I meant it you can tell me anything. I’m not going anywhere.”

For a moment, you just sit there, the fairy lights casting a soft glow over you both, the park quiet except for the rustle of leaves.

Then Clay does something unexpected he leans closer, his shoulder brushing yours, and you feel that spark ignite into something more.

Your heart’s racing now, and you’re hyper-aware of how close his face is, how his breath catches when your eyes meet.

“I, uh,” he starts, voice shaky, “I really like you. Like, a lot. And I’m kinda freaking out because I don’t know how to do this, but—”

You don’t let him finish. You close the gap, pressing your lips to his, soft and tentative at first, but certain. His lips are warm, a little chapped, and he freezes for a split second before melting into the kiss, his hand finding your cheek. It’s sweet, a little clumsy, but perfect, like it’s exactly where you’re supposed to be.

When you pull back, his eyes are wide, his face lit up like a golden retriever who just got a treat. “Your lipstick,” he blurts, breathless, “shit, your lipstick tastes incredible.”

You burst out laughing, your cheeks warm despite the chilly air. “Clay Jensen, you absolute dork,” you tease, but before he can respond, you lean in and kiss him again, deeper this time, your fingers curling into his hoodie.

He kisses you back with a kind of eager, clingy energy that makes your heart soar, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go.

When you finally break apart, he’s grinning so wide you think his face might split. “Okay, wow,” he says, still holding your hand like it’s his lifeline. “That was… wow. Can we do that again? Like, a lot?”

You laugh, resting your forehead against his. “Oh, we’re definitely doing that again, Clay Jensen. You’re stuck with me now.”

And as you sit there under the fairy lights, his arm slipping around your shoulders, you know this is only the beginning of something beautiful something that feels like home.

It’s been a few weeks since that first kiss under the fairy lights.

And Clay Jensen has officially become your personal Velcro. You’re not complaining not even a little.

His clingy side is like a warm blanket you never want to shrug off. He’s always reaching for your hand, brushing his shoulder against yours, or pulling you into hugs that linger just a second longer than necessary.

It’s like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he’s not touching you, and honestly, the way his blue eyes light up when he’s near you makes your heart do cartwheels.

You’re walking across Brown’s campus now, leaves crunching under your boots as fall settles in. Clay’s got your hand in his, fingers intertwined, his thumb tracing little circles on your skin like it’s second nature. He’s rambling about a new Alien Killer Robots number that just dropped, his voice bright with excitement, but you catch him sneaking glances at you, like he’s checking to make sure you’re still there.

“You’re staring again, Babe,” you tease, bumping his hip with yours.

He blushes, that adorable pink flush creeping up his neck. “Can you blame me? You’re, like, way more interesting than robotics. And that’s saying something.”

He swings your joined hands, pulling you closer so your shoulders touch. “Hey, so, I was thinking… you free this weekend? I kinda planned something.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Another one of your mastermind dates? Lay it on me, Jensen.”

He grins, all nervous energy and golden-retriever enthusiasm. “Okay, don’t laugh, but I found this place an old drive-in theater about 20 minutes from campus. They’re showing Back to the Future on Saturday. I thought we could go, maybe bring a blanket, some snacks… I even made a playlist for the drive.”

You stop walking, turning to face him, your heart melting at how hopeful he looks. “Clay, that’s literally perfect. You’re, like, the king of thoughtful dates.”

He ducks his head, but you can see the pride in his smile. “I just… I want you to have fun. With me, I mean. I know I can be kinda… a lot sometimes.”

“A lot?” You step closer, tugging on his hoodie strings. “You’re exactly the right amount of a lot. I love it.”

His eyes soften, and before you know it, he’s wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into a hug right in the middle of the campus quad. His chin rests on your head, and you can feel his heartbeat against your cheek.

“You’re too good to me,” he murmurs, his voice a little shaky, like he’s still not used to someone wanting him this much.

You pull back just enough to look at him, your hands resting on his chest. “Hey, you’re pretty good to me too. Like, who else plans a Back to the Future date with a custom playlist?”

He laughs, but there’s that flicker of vulnerability again, the same one you saw when he told you about Justin. You’ve noticed it comes up in quiet moments, like when you’re studying together in the library and he zones out, or when he grips your hand a little tighter after a long day.

Tonight, as you’re curled up on his dorm bed after a study session his arm around your shoulders, your legs tangled together he gets quiet again.

“You okay?” you ask, tilting your head to meet his gaze.

He nods, but his fingers tighten around yours. “Yeah, just… thinking. Sometimes I still can’t believe I’m here, you know? At Brown, starting over. After everything back home, I didn’t think I’d get to have… this.” He gestures vaguely, but you know he means you, the closeness, the way he can hold you like you’re his anchor.

You shift closer, resting your head on his shoulder. “You deserve this, Clay. More than anyone. I know it’s been hard, losing Justin, starting fresh. But you’re doing it, and you’re not alone anymore. You’ve got me.”

He looks at you like you just hung the moon, his eyes glassy but warm. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. Then, in true, he pulls you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you like you’re his favorite teddy bear. “You’re, like, my favorite person. Ever.”

You laugh, swatting his chest playfully. “Okay, clingy, I get it. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good,” he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, then your nose, until you’re giggling uncontrollably. “Because I’m planning, like, a million more dates. There’s this bookstore with a cat that lives there, and I thought we could go, maybe find some comics. And then there’s this stargazing event next month, and—”

“Clay!” you interrupt, cupping his face. “You’re gonna spoil me rotten.”

He grins, all teeth and sparkling eyes, leaning in to kiss you softly. It’s slow and sweet, his hands cradling your face like you’re something precious. When he pulls back, he’s still smiling, his forehead pressed to yours. “I’m okay with spoiling you. As long as I get to keep doing this.”

The weekend arrives, and the drive-in date is everything he promised. You’re snuggled under a blanket in the back of his borrowed car, a bag of popcorn between you, Marty McFly zooming across the screen.

Clay’s arm is around you, his fingers tracing patterns on your shoulder, and every few minutes he leans over to steal a kiss or whisper something dorky about time travel. By the time the credits roll, you’re both laughing, quoting lines, and planning your next adventure a hike to a nearby lake, because Clay’s already googled the best trails.

As he drives you back to campus, his hand resting on your thigh, you realize you’re falling hard for this boy who plans perfect dates and holds you like you’re his whole world. And from the way he looks at you, like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded, you know he’s falling just as hard.

Sunlight filters through the blinds of Clay’s dorm room, painting soft stripes across the tangled mess of blankets wrapped around you.

You’re nestled against his chest, his arms locked around you like you’re his personal teddy bear, his steady breaths tickling your hair.

Last night was… intense. Your first time together, a mix of nervous giggles and whispered reassurances, left you feeling closer to him than ever and, okay, maybe a little sore. Your body aches in that good, slightly uncomfortable way, but you’re too blissed out to care, especially with Clay’s warmth enveloping you.

You stir, blinking awake, and realize he’s already watching you, those blue eyes soft and a little hazy with sleep. His hair’s a mess, sticking up in every direction, and he’s got this dopey, golden-retriever grin that makes your heart skip.

“Morning,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep, as he tightens his hold and pulls you closer, if that’s even possible.

“Morning, My love,” you mumble back, your voice muffled against his chest. You’re hyper-aware of your morning breath, but Clay doesn’t seem to care he leans in and presses a lazy kiss to your lips, slow and sweet, like he’s savoring every second.

You laugh against his mouth, pulling back slightly. “Babe, my breath’s probably gross.”

He grins, undeterred, and kisses you again, this time on the corner of your mouth. “Don’t care. You taste perfect.” His lips find your jaw, then your neck, and you’re giggling despite the slight ache in your muscles.

You swat at him playfully, but he just catches your hand and laces his fingers with yours, kissing your knuckles like it’s his job. “You’re ridiculous,” you say, but you’re smiling so wide your cheeks hurt.

That’s when you hear a loud thump against the door, followed by a muffled, “Jensen, you owe us big time, man!” It’s one of Clay’s roommates probably the one who’s been grumbling about being “exiled” to the common room couch last night.

You wince, suddenly remembering how Clay not-so-subtly kicked them out so you two could have the room.

“Oh no,” you whisper, hiding your face in his shoulder. “Your roommates totally hate me now.”

Clay snorts, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. “Fuck ‘em, let ‘em deal,” he says, with a confidence that’s rare for him but so damn cute. “They’ll survive one night on the couch. Besides, I’d rather be here with you.” He punctuates it with another kiss, this one deeper, morning breath be damned, and you melt into it, your fingers tangling in his messy hair.

You pull back, breathless, and rest your forehead against his. “You’re gonna get me in trouble with the whole dorm,” you tease, but your voice is soft, and you’re too happy to care.

“Good,” he says, his arms tightening around you. “Let’s just stay like this forever. What classes you got today? Doesn’t matter skip ‘em. We’re not moving.”

You laugh, shifting slightly and wincing as your sore muscles protest. “Clay, I’ve got Lit Theory at 10, and you’ve got that engineering lab, don’t you? We can’t just ditch everything.”

He pouts, actually pouts, like a puppy denied a treat, and it’s so adorable you almost cave. “But I wanna stay here,” he whines, nuzzling his face into your neck. “You’re all warm and cozy, and I’m, like, stupidly happy right now.”

His hand slides down to your hip, gentle but possessive, and he notices your wince. His eyes soften instantly, concern replacing the playfulness. “Hey, you okay? You’re sore, aren’t you?”

You nod, a little embarrassed. “Just… a little. Last night was a lot.” You smile to reassure him, but he’s already shifting into overprotective mode, his hand moving to rub your lower back gently.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he says, his voice laced with that anxious edge you’ve come to recognize. “I didn’t mean to—did I push you too hard? I should’ve—”

“Clay, stop,” you interrupt, cupping his face. “It’s a good kind of sore. I’m fine. More than fine. I’m, like, ridiculously happy too.”

He exhales, relieved, but still looks at you like you’re made of glass. “Okay, but we’re taking it easy today. No hiking or anything crazy. Just… cuddles and maybe some pancakes later? I can make those. Kinda. They might be a little burnt, but I swear they’re edible.”

You laugh, your heart swelling at how much he wants to take care of you. “Pancakes sound perfect. But only if we can keep kissing like this.” You lean in, brushing your lips against his, and he responds eagerly, kissing you back with that clingy, desperate edge that makes you feel like the only person in his world.

Another thump on the door interrupts you, “Jensen, we’re starving out here! Wrap it up!”

Clay groans, burying his face in your shoulder. “I’m gonna kill them,” he mutters, but you can feel his smile against your skin. He lifts his head, kissing you again, soft and lingering. “Okay, new plan. We ignore them, stay in bed all day, and I’ll order us food later. Deal?”

You grin, snuggling closer, your aches forgotten in the warmth of his embrace. “Deal. You’re stuck with me.”

He beams, his eyes sparkling with that golden-retriever joy. “Good. ‘Cause I’m never letting you go.”

Clay Jensen has officially turned date planning into an art form, and you’re his favorite canvas.

Over the past few weeks, he’s been whisking you away on adventures that make your heart feel like it’s glowing.

There was the night he took you to a tiny indie record store, where you spent hours flipping through vinyls and ended up slow-dancing to an old Fleetwood Mac album in the back aisle, his hands on your waist and his shy grin lighting up the dim shop.

Another time, he surprised you with a picnic at a nearby botanical garden, complete with a lopsided peanut butter and jelly sandwich he swore he “worked really hard on.” You teased him mercilessly for the jelly dripping everywhere, but the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered made you forget the mess.

His clinginess is your favorite part, though. He’s always finding excuses to touch you: holding your hand as you walk to class, slinging an arm around your shoulders during movie nights in his dorm, or just pulling you into random hugs because “you looked too cute not to.” It’s like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go for too long, and you love how safe and wanted it makes you feel.

Today, though, is one of those perfect fall afternoons where the air is crisp and the leaves are a riot of red and gold.

You and Clay are sprawled under a massive oak tree just off the main quad at Brown, a plaid blanket spread beneath you.

Your copy of The Bell Jar required reading for your Lit Theory class is open in your lap, but you’re barely reading because Clay’s got his head resting on your shoulder, one arm draped across your waist, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on your sweater.

He’s reading along with you, or at least trying to, but you can tell he’s more focused on being close to you than on Sylvia Plath’s prose.

“This book is… heavy,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your neck. “Like, Esther’s going through it. You sure this is your kind of thing?”

You laugh softly, turning your head to meet his eyes. They’re as blue as ever, sparkling in the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves. “It’s not about liking it, it’s about feeling it,” you say, tapping the page. “But yeah, it’s intense. You okay with it?”

He nods, but his expression softens into something more vulnerable. “Yeah, I get it. Feeling trapped, like you’re stuck in your own head… it hits kinda close to home sometimes.” His voice dips, and you know he’s thinking about Evergreen, about Justin, about the weight he still carries.

He doesn’t say it outright, but you can feel it in the way he tightens his grip on you, like you’re his lifeline.

You set the book down, shifting so you can face him fully. “Hey,” you say, brushing a strand of his messy hair off his forehead. “You’re not stuck anymore, okay? You’re here, with me, under this ridiculously picturesque tree. And I’m not letting you get trapped in your head.”

His lips curve into that crooked, golden-retriever smile you adore, and he leans into your touch. “You’re too good at this,” he says, his voice a little shaky but full of warmth. “How do you always know what to say?”

“Natural talent,” you tease, but you soften it with a kiss to his forehead. He closes his eyes at the contact, letting out a contented sigh, and you swear you’ve never seen him look so peaceful.

You settle back against the tree, pulling him with you so he’s practically in your lap, his head tucked under your chin. It’s like he’s trying to merge into you, and you’re more than happy to let him.

“Okay, but for real,” he says after a moment, his voice muffled against your sweater, “we should do more stuff like this. Just… chilling, reading, being together. I was thinking maybe next weekend we could hit up that used bookstore with the cat? I checked, and they’ve got a first edition of The Catcher in the Rye. I know you’re obsessed with Salinger.”

You grin, your heart swelling at how he remembers every little thing you mention. “Clay Jensen, are you trying to bribe me with rare books?”

“Is it working?” he asks, lifting his head to give you that puppy-dog look, all wide eyes and hopeful grin.

“Obviously,” you laugh, leaning in to kiss him. It’s soft and lingering, his lips warm and familiar, and he kisses you back with that eager, clingy energy that makes your toes curl.

When you pull away, he chases your lips for another quick peck, then another, until you’re both giggling under the tree.

“God, I love this,” he says, resting his forehead against yours. “I love you.”

The words slip out so naturally, like he’s been holding them in forever, and your breath catches. It’s the first time he’s said it, and the way his eyes search yours, nervous but so damn sincere, makes your chest ache.

“I love you too,” you whisper, and his face lights up like you just gave him the world. He pulls you into a hug, burying his face in your neck, and you can feel his smile against your skin.

“Okay, new date idea,” he says, his voice muffled but buzzing with excitement. “We stay here all day, read The Bell Jar, and I keep kissing you every time Esther says something depressing to balance it out.”

You laugh, running your fingers through his hair. “Deal. But you’re gonna be kissing me a lot, then.”

“Good,” he says, already leaning in for another one. “I’m cool with that.”

As the afternoon fades into evening, you stay there under the tree, trading lines from the book and stealing kisses, wrapped in each other and the kind of love that feels like it could outshine the falling leaves.

The afternoon sun has dipped lower, casting a golden glow over the oak tree where you and Clay are still tangled together on the plaid blanket.

The Bell Jar lies abandoned beside you, forgotten in favor of the warmth of his arms around you, his head nestled against your shoulder.

His fingers trace lazy patterns on your arm, and every so often, he presses a soft kiss to your temple, like he can’t help himself. The air smells like crisp leaves and his cedarwood cologne, and you feel like you could stay here forever, wrapped in his clingy, golden-retriever love.

Clay’s been quiet for a minute, his breathing steady but his grip on you a little tighter, like he’s working up to something.

You nudge him gently, tilting your head to catch his eye. “What’s going on in that head of yours, Babe? You’re all pensive.”

He lifts his head, his blue eyes catching the sunlight as he looks at you with that mix of shyness and adoration that makes your heart skip. “I, uh… I had this dream last night,” he says, his voice soft but earnest. “It was… really beautiful. Like, the kind of dream you don’t wanna wake up from.”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued, a smile tugging at your lips. “Oh yeah? Spill. What was it about?”

He blushes, rubbing the back of his neck a classic Clay move when he’s nervous but he doesn’t look away.

“It was about us,” he says, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “We were getting married. Like, full-on wedding, with flowers and lights and… you in this amazing dress. And we were dancing to ‘Some Unholy War’ by Amy Winehouse. You know, that song you’re always playing? We were just… swaying together, and it felt so real. Like I could feel how happy we were.”

Your heart does a full-on somersault, warmth flooding your chest. You can’t help but grin, leaning closer to tease him. “Oh my God, Clay, that’s a sign from your subconscious that my love for Amy is rubbing off on you!” you say, laughing. “I mean, ‘Some Unholy War’ at our wedding? That’s peak me influencing you.”

He laughs too, but it’s softer, and his eyes are serious as he shakes his head. “No, for real,” he says, his voice steady now, like he’s anchoring himself. “It wasn’t just the song. It was… everything. You, me, the way it felt. I woke up and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Like, I want that. With you. All of it.”

Your breath catches, and for a moment, you’re speechless, caught in the intensity of his gaze. He’s looking at you like you’re his entire future, and it’s overwhelming in the best way. You shift closer, cupping his face with one hand, your thumb brushing over his cheek.

“Clay,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, “you’re getting all serious on me under a tree. You trying to make me cry?”

He smiles, that crooked, golden-retriever grin, but his eyes are still locked on yours. “Maybe a little,” he admits, leaning into your touch. “I just… I’ve been through a lot, you know? Back in Evergreen, with Justin, with… everything. I didn’t think I’d ever feel this safe again. But with you, I do. And I keep thinking about what our life could be like. Like, really together.”

You tilt your head, your heart pounding. “Okay, Jensen, hit me with it. What’s this life you’re dreaming about?”

He takes a deep breath, like he’s gathering courage, and then the words spill out, eager and unfiltered.

“I see us, like, after college. Maybe we get a little apartment somewhere, with a shelf for all your books and a corner for my comics. We’d have a dog—definitely a dog, maybe one of those fluffy ones you like. And… kids, someday. Like, a couple of tiny humans who’d probably be as nerdy as us. I’d teach them to code, you’d read them The Bell Jar when they’re old enough. And we’d just… build a life. A happy one.”

Your eyes are misty now, and you don’t even care. The thought of Clay dreaming about a future with you dog, kids, and all feels like a hug from the inside out.

“Clay,” you say, your voice thick with emotion, “that sounds perfect. Like, stupidly perfect. You really want all that with me?”

He nods, his hand finding yours and squeezing tight. “More than anything. I know it’s early, and we’re just starting out, but… I want a family with you. I want everything with you.” His voice cracks a little, and you can see the vulnerability there, the fear that maybe he’s saying too much too soon.

You don’t let him spiral. You lean in, kissing him softly, your lips lingering against his as you pour all your feelings into it. He kisses you back, his hands sliding to your waist, pulling you closer like he’s afraid to let go.

When you pull back, you rest your forehead against his, smiling through the tears prickling your eyes.

“I want that too,” you whisper. “The apartment, the dog, the nerdy kids. And definitely Amy Winehouse at our wedding. I’m in, Clay. All the way.”

His face lights up, that golden-retriever joy bursting out as he pulls you into a hug, practically crushing you against him. “God, I love you so much,” he mumbles into your hair, his voice muffled but so full of feeling it makes your heart ache. “You’re my favorite person. Like, ever.”

You laugh, snuggling closer, your cheek pressed against his chest. “You’re mine too, Babe. But you’re gonna have to learn all the words to ‘Some Unholy War’ if we’re dancing to it at our wedding.”

“Deal,” he says, kissing the top of your head. “I’m already practicing in my head.”

You stay there under the oak tree as the sun dips below the horizon, talking about your future—where you’d live, what you’d name the dog, and how many kids you’d want he says two, you say three, but you’ll figure it out.

Every word feels like a promise, and with Clay’s arms around you, his clingy warmth grounding you, you know you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

dylan’s concert just ended and you were waiting patiently in his dressing room backstage for him to arrive. you knew he was saying hi to people and making his rounds but you had been so impatient all day.

what made matters even more irritating was that at the concert today dylan was extra interactive with the crowd. now you didn’t want to be misunderstood when you said that because you loved when dylan interacted with his audience but this time he was looking sweaty and hot and all the pretty girls were just pawing at him and touching him. you wanted to be the one doing that.

you sat on the couch staring into the wall across from you, awaiting his arrival. you heard footsteps outside every second but somehow some way you knew when he’d walk through the door. when he opened the door he looked happy and excited to see you.

“hey pretty girl.” he greeted before setting his water bottle on the counter of the dressing room. “how’d you enjoy the show?” you saw how his shirt was sweaty and clung to his body showing off his biceps in the best way.

“it was good.” you said nonchalantly, trying not to pounce on his good-looking ass.

“just good?” he turned toward you surveying how you were sitting on the futon with your legs and arms crossed. “what’s up?” he wiped his head with a towel and turned on the ac unit.

“mm, nothing? why do you ask?” i questioned busying myself by looking at the outlines of his abs through the shirt.

“you look upset.” he walked closer sitting beside you on the futon. “and you usually give me the biggest hug afterward.. not in here but you wait for me out there.” his voice was soft and sultry. you couldn’t help but clench your thighs as impure thoughts made their way to your mind.

dylan noticed your action and smiled lightly. he went ahead and teased you by placing a kiss on your shoulder “just missed my girl out there…” your neck reluctantly moved further from him to encourage him to trail those kisses elsewhere.

“figured you had enough people waiting for you.” your breathing quickened as you felt his lips trailing more toward your ear.

“you’re all that matters..” he whispered before bringing his hand up and placing it on your chin before moving your face to look at him. you guys made eye contact before his eyes went to your lips and finally, like you waited for years, he connected them in a passionate kiss.

your lips molded with his, eagerly moving and wanting more. his hands immediately went to your waist pulling you closer while yours went to his face. you laid back against the futon as dylan explored your body with his hands. he was eager, kissing your neck and sucking love bites to show everyone who you belonged to.

two of his fingers went into your skirt ready to slide them down your legs. “this okay?” he murmured whilst continuing to mark your neck.

“mhmm.” you nodded threading a hand in his hair enjoying how he took his time. he went ahead and slid your skirt down nudging it off the futon. he then put his hand inside your panties immediately navigating his way toward your center.

he moved his fingers all over spreading your arousal after he dipped his hands in your leaky hole. “so wet and perfect for me already.” he groaned before bringing his hand up to your mouth. “wet them for me, yeah?”

you obliged opening your mouth for him. his fingers entered and you let out a moan as you swirled your tongue around him tasting yourself on his skin. he pulled them out connecting your lips once before you felt his fingers enter you. your mouth fell open against his as he immediately started to thrust them in and out of your entrance.

you gripped his shoulders as he nudged that spot inside you that had you go feral. your tiny whimpers shot straight to his dick. “feels so good.” you whispered, opening up your thighs more to allow dylan to place himself in between them.

“gotta be inside you, right now.” he groaned in pain. you looked down and saw his boner struggling behind his jeans. you quickly removed your hands from his shoulder and reached down to unbutton and unzip his pants. you then pushed them down with your feet so that all that was separating you was the fabric of his boxers.

you felt his manhood poking your inner thigh. “hurry..” you whined reaching down, removing his boxers as well as relieving his cock, and causing it to spring up. he grinned loving how eager you were to be filled up.

he lined himself up with you before pushing in all at once knocking the wind out of you. “that needy for my cock?” he questioned, immediately pulling your legs around his waist and pounding into you. “fuck, look at my pretty girl.” he moved your hair out of your face. your eyes were squinted shut as you felt him hit your sweet spot over and over. “looking so pretty and taking me so well.” he moaned with his head back.

you bit your lip as you made eye contact with yourself in front of the full body mirror that was behind dylan. you saw how fucked out you looked and made eye contact with dylan who was watching you watch yourself. “see how pretty you look, baby?” he grunted, out of breath as his thrusts were starting to falter. “fuck — !”

you felt that rubber band in your lower belly about to snap. your nails dug into dylan’s back as he quickened his pace to speed up your release. “gonna cum for me pretty girl? need it. need you tight around me. wanna fill you up so good” echoes of your skin slapping against each other filled up the room as you nodded to his proposal. “m’gonna fill you up so fucking good that you’ll milk that shit.” his grunts and moans were the push you needed to clench around him and ascend to the euphoric state of your orgasm.

your body seized involuntarily as the wave of pleasure hit you. your legs tightened around dylan’s waist keeping him still which he didn’t notice because he had reached his peak as well, shooting his load of cum into your tight hole. his moans were staggered but so angelic, truly music to your ears.

you both came down from your high panting in heavy breaths. “always so good for me.” he kissed you.

Sunlight filtered softly through the half-closed curtains of the luxurious hotel room in Florence, casting a warm golden glow across the tangled white sheets. You stirred slowly, every muscle in your body deliciously sore from the night before. A deep, satisfied ache lingered between your thighs, a reminder of how thoroughly Dylan had loved you again and again until the early hours of the morning. Your skin still tingled where his hands and mouth had been.

A soft hum vibrated against your neck. Dylan’s arm was wrapped securely around your waist, his bare chest pressed flush against your back. He was naked too, his skin warm and comforting against yours. You felt him smile before he even spoke, his lips brushing lazy kisses along your shoulder.

“Good morning, baby,” he murmured, his voice still rough with sleep. His fingers traced gentle circles on your hip, careful and reverent, as if he couldn’t bear to stop touching you even for a second.

You let out a small, contented sigh and shifted slightly, wincing a little at the pleasant soreness. Dylan noticed immediately. He propped himself up on one elbow, his messy brown hair falling into his eyes as he looked down at you with that soft, adoring expression that always made your heart stutter.

“Too sore?” he asked quietly, leaning down to press a tender kiss to your forehead, then your temple, then the corner of your mouth. His hand moved up to brush through your hair, fingers carding gently through the strands in slow, soothing strokes. “I was a little rough last night… but you felt so good I couldn’t help it.”

You smiled sleepily, reaching up to touch his cheek. “Worth it,” you whispered.

Dylan’s eyes crinkled with that boyish grin you loved so much. He dipped his head and captured your lips in a slow, deep kiss, the kind that made time feel irrelevant. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, still playing with your hair.

“I’ve got the whole day planned for us,” he said softly, excitement lighting up his face. “We’re sleeping in as long as you want first. Then I thought we could order breakfast in bed those pastries you liked yesterday and really good coffee. After that, I reserved a private boat on the Arno River this afternoon. Just you and me, no crowds. We can float around, take photos, and I’ll probably stare at you the entire time like a lovesick idiot.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, and kissed the tip of your nose.“Then for tonight I found this tiny little restaurant off the main streets that the locals recommended. Super private. We can walk there holding hands without worrying about anything.” His thumb stroked your cheek. “I just want to enjoy this with you, baby. No pressure, no cameras, no one else. Just us being normal for a little while longer.”

Dylan pulled you closer, tucking your head under his chin as he wrapped both arms around you protectively. His heartbeat was steady against your ear, and the scent of his skin faint cologne mixed with the warmth of sleep made you feel safe and completely loved.

“I’m so happy you’re here with me,” he whispered into your hair, pressing another kiss there. “These past few weeks… being yours in secret has been the best thing in my life.”

You closed your eyes, melting into his embrace, the Italian morning sun warming the room around your tangled bodies. For now, the world outside didn’t exist. It was only Dylan, his gentle hands, and the promise of a perfect day ahead.

A soft knock at the door pulled Dylan away from you for only a few minutes. He slipped on a pair of gray sweatpants that hung low on his hips, leaving his toned chest bare, and padded barefoot across the room. You stayed nestled in the warm sheets, watching him with a lazy smile as he signed for the food and thanked the hotel staff in surprisingly decent Italian.

When he returned, pushing a silver cart loaded with fresh pastries, fruit, coffee, and orange juice, his eyes immediately found you again. “Come on, baby. Let’s eat outside. The balcony is perfect right now.”

He helped you out of bed, his hands gentle as he wrapped you in one of his oversized shirts. The fabric smelled like him. Your legs were still a little shaky from the night before, and Dylan noticed, of course. He smirked softly but didn’t tease you instead, he simply scooped you up bridal-style for a few steps, kissing your cheek before setting you down again.

The balcony overlooked the Arno River and the beautiful rooftops of Florence. The morning air was warm and sweet with the scent of blooming flowers from the gardens below. Dylan pulled you onto his lap the moment he sat down on the wide cushioned chair, one arm securely around your waist while the other reached for the coffee.

You couldn’t stop kissing him. Every few seconds your lips found his soft, lingering kisses between bites of croissant and sips of coffee. Your fingers played with the hair at the nape of his neck as you shifted comfortably in his lap, your thighs straddling him.

“The view is so beautiful,” you murmured against his mouth, glancing out at the sparkling river and the golden morning light bathing the city.

Dylan smiled into the kiss, his hand sliding slowly down your back until it rested on your ass. He gave it a firm, playful squeeze, pulling you even closer against him.

“Yeah?” he whispered, his voice low and warm. He trailed his lips along your jaw and down to your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses there that made you shiver. “I had a better view last night… watching you fall apart underneath me. And this morning, when you were all sleepy and naked in my arms. Honestly, baby…” He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze soft and full of adoration. “Since the day I met you, you’ve been my favorite view. Nothing else even comes close.”

He squeezed your ass again, a little harder this time, and captured your lips in another deep kiss. His free hand cradled the back of your head, fingers tangled gently in your hair as the city hummed quietly beneath you.

Eventually, the breakfast tray was pushed aside and the two of you finally stood up from the balcony. Dylan kept stealing kisses as you walked back inside, his hands never leaving your body for long resting on your hips, sliding under the hem of his shirt you were wearing, pulling you back against his chest every few steps.

“Baby, we’re never gonna leave this room if you keep looking at me like that,” he laughed softly, but he didn’t sound like he minded at all.

You turned in his arms and kissed him again, slower this time, your fingers tracing the lines of his bare chest. “Then maybe we shouldn’t leave,” you teased against his lips.

He groaned playfully and squeezed your waist. “As tempting as that is… I promised you a boat ride and a cute hidden restaurant. Get dressed before I change my mind and keep you in bed all day.”

You both moved around the room in a comfortable, lovesick haze. Dylan pulled on a simple white t-shirt and some light pants while you chose a sundress that made his eyes linger. Every time you passed each other he found an excuse to touch you—tucking your hair behind your ear, kissing your bare shoulder, wrapping his arms around you from behind while you brushed your hair in front of the mirror.

“You’re killing me,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck as his hands rested on your stomach, pulling your back flush against his chest. “You look so fucking pretty.”

You turned around and kissed him properly, your arms looping around his neck. The kiss deepened quickly, his hands sliding down to grip your ass again as he walked you back toward the bed. Just when things were heating up, Dylan’s phone started ringing on the nightstand.

He sighed against your mouth, clearly annoyed at the interruption. “Ignore it,” he whispered, kissing you again.

But the phone kept ringing. He pulled back with a reluctant groan and glanced at the screen.

“It’s my manager,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Give me two minutes, baby.”

Dylan answered the call, keeping one arm around your waist as he held you close. “Hey, what’s up?” he asked, his voice still soft but with a hint of impatience.

You rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart while his fingers continued to play with the straps of your sundress. Whatever the call was about, Dylan’s body stayed relaxed against yours, his free hand gently stroking your back as if he couldn’t bear even a second of not touching you.

Dylan kept one arm wrapped around your waist, his thumb absentmindedly stroking your side as he listened to his manager on the other end of the line. You felt him tense slightly after a few seconds. “Wait, what?” His voice changed, sharper now. “Slow down. Say that again.”

You pulled back a little to look at his face. His brows were furrowed, jaw tightening as he listened. His free hand came up to run through his hair, messing it up further.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. Then, louder: “How bad is it?”

Your stomach dropped. You mouthed “What’s wrong?” but Dylan just shook his head gently and pulled you closer again, as if trying to shield you from whatever was coming.

After another long pause, he spoke again, voice low and controlled. “Alright. Yeah… send me the links. I’ll call you back in a bit.” He hung up and let out a heavy sigh, tossing his phone onto the bed.

“Dylan?” you asked softly, suddenly nervous.

He looked at you for a long moment, his expression softening the second his eyes met yours. Cupping your face with both hands, he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.“Someone took photos of us on the balcony this morning,” he said quietly. “And apparently more from the last few days. There are pictures from the beach too… us holding hands, kissing. They’re already all over Twitter.”

Your heart sank. You had both been so careful these past weeks—keeping everything private while you figured out this new, beautiful relationship. No public announcements, no posts, just the two of you enjoying the privacy you both desperately wanted. “Shit,” you whispered, closing your eyes.

Dylan pulled you into his chest immediately, wrapping his arms tightly around you. “Hey, hey… breathe, baby. It’s gonna be okay.” He kissed the top of your head, then your temple, his voice steady even though you could feel the tension in his body. “My manager said the fans are… having some strong opinions. A lot of comparisons, some not very nice stuff about you. But I don’t care what they’re saying. You’re the only one who matters here.”

He tilted your chin up so you would look at him. His eyes were serious but full of that same warmth and protectiveness that had been there since the moment you woke up.“We knew this might happen eventually,” he continued softly, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “I just wanted a little more time with you like this… just us. But I’m not letting this ruin our day. Not if you don’t want to.”

He leaned in and kissed you slowly, tenderly, trying to pour every bit of reassurance into it.“I’ve got you,” he whispered against your lips. “Always.”

You nodded weakly against Dylan’s chest, trying to hold onto his warmth and his words, but the knot in your stomach only tightened. “I just… need a minute,” you whispered.

Dylan searched your eyes for a second, clearly reluctant to let you go, but he kissed your forehead softly and released you. “Take all the time you need, baby. I’ll be right here.”

You slipped into the elegant marble bathroom and closed the door behind you, leaning back against it for a moment. Your phone was still on the nightstand, but you had grabbed it on the way in. Heart pounding, you opened Twitter.

It didn’t take long to find the thread. The photos were everywhere blurry but clear enough: you and Dylan on the balcony this morning, wrapped up in each other, his hand on your ass, your lips on his. There were older ones too walking along the beach, him carrying you piggyback in the water, stolen kisses in the streets of Florence.

The comments flooded your screen.

“isabella is a literal model… lydia is an actual singer… and now he’s with y/n?? like be serious”

“Dylan could do so much better honestly”

“y/n is cute but she’s just… normal? Dylan Minnette deserves a goddess”

“another downgrade lmao poor dylan”

“she’s not even famous what does she even bring to the table”

You scrolled faster, unable to stop even as your eyes stung. Every comparison hit like a slap. Isabella with her runway legs and editorial shoots. Lydia with her voice and stage presence. And then there was you just… you.

The bathroom felt too bright, too quiet. You sank down onto the edge of the luxurious bathtub, phone shaking slightly in your hands as another wave of comments loaded. The comments kept pulling you deeper. You refreshed the thread again and again, watching the numbers climb as more people joined in.

“she’s not even on their level fr”

“dylan going from models and musicians to a random girl is crazy”

“y/n bring nothing to the table, he’ll get bored in 2 months”

“this is literally his worst choice yet”

Every new reply felt like a punch to the gut. Your breathing grew faster, shallower. The marble walls of the luxurious bathroom started closing in. Your hands trembled so badly you almost dropped your phone, but you kept scrolling, tears blurring the screen.

Your chest tightened painfully. A heavy weight pressed down on your lungs, making it impossible to take a full breath. Your heart raced wildly, pounding in your ears. A cold sweat broke out across your skin even as heat flushed your face. The room spun.

You slid down onto the cool floor, back against the bathtub, knees pulled tight to your chest. Soft, broken whimpers escaped your lips as the panic attack crashed over you fully. Black spots danced at the edges of your vision. All you could hear was the roaring in your ears and the cruel voices in your head telling you that you weren’t enough.

Outside, Dylan was still on the phone with his PR team, his voice low and frustrated as he paced the bedroom.“…no, we’re not commenting yet. Just tell me what’s trending and how bad it is,” he said, running a hand through his hair. He had no idea you were falling apart just a few feet away behind the closed bathroom door.

Dylan paced back and forth across the hotel bedroom, phone pressed to his ear. His free hand was clenched at his side, knuckles white.“Yeah… I’m still here,” he said, voice tight. “How bad is it?” He stopped near the balcony doors, staring out at the beautiful Florence morning that now felt completely different.

His manager’s voice rattled off updates quickly.“It’s everywhere, Dylan. TMZ, Just Jared, all the big gossip accounts. It’s trending worldwide — #DylanNewGirlfriend, #DylanAndYN, the photos from the balcony, the beach shots… it’s a full explosion. The fandom is going wild. Comparisons to Isabella and Lydia are trending too. It’s messy.”

Dylan let out a sharp, bitter laugh, running his hand through his hair.“I don’t give a fuck,” he said firmly, cutting his manager off mid-sentence. “I really don’t. Tell the label, tell PR, tell everyone — I’m not making a statement right now. This isn’t their business.” He turned around, eyes flicking toward the closed bathroom door. His voice softened but stayed determined.“I care about my relationship. That’s it. She’s my girlfriend. Not a PR move, not a headline, not something for people to dissect. We wanted privacy for a reason, and now it’s blown up in our faces. But I’m not letting them ruin this for us.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. Dylan’s tone left no room for argument.“I mean it. Handle it however you want, but I’m not throwing her under the bus or pretending this is anything less than real. She’s the best thing that’s happened to me in years. So if the internet wants to lose its mind, let them. I’m gonna take care of my girl.”

He hung up without waiting for a response and tossed his phone onto the bed. His shoulders were tense, jaw set, but the second he turned toward the bathroom door his expression shifted to pure worry.“Baby?” he called gently, walking closer. “You’ve been in there a while… can I come in? Baby?” he called again, softer this time. Still no answer. Only the faint sound of shaky breathing reached him.

His stomach dropped. Without another second of hesitation, he turned the handle and pushed the door open.

The sight that greeted him broke his heart.

You were on the floor, back pressed against the bathtub, knees hugged tightly to your chest. Your breathing was rapid and shallow, tears streaming down your face, phone discarded beside you with the cruel comments still glowing on the screen. Your whole body was trembling.

“Oh my God… baby,” Dylan breathed, voice cracking with panic. He dropped to his knees in front of you instantly, his hands hovering for a split second before gently cupping your face.

“Hey, hey, look at me. I’m right here,” he said urgently but as softly as he could. His thumbs wiped away your tears even as new ones fell. “You’re having a panic attack, okay? I’ve got you. We’re gonna breathe through it together.”

He shifted closer, sitting on the floor and pulling you carefully into his lap so he could hold you against his chest. One of his arms wrapped securely around your back while his other hand stroked your hair.“In for four… hold for four… out for four,” he whispered, demonstrating the breathing pattern right against your ear. “That’s it, just like that. You’re safe. I’m not going anywhere.”

His voice stayed steady even though his heart was breaking seeing you like this. He pressed kiss after kiss to the top of your head, your temple, your wet cheeks — anything he could reach.“I’m so sorry,” he murmured between kisses. “I should’ve checked on you sooner. I’m here now. I’ve got you, baby. Let it out. I’m right here.”

He held you tighter, rocking you gently as he continued guiding your breathing, refusing to let go even for a second.

Your fingers clutched desperately at Dylan’s t-shirt as the panic kept rolling through you in waves. The words spilled out between broken sobs, raw and trembling.“I-I don’t deserve you…” you choked out against his chest, voice cracking. “They’re right, Dylan. Isabella was a model… Lydia is talented, famous… and I’m just… me. I’m going to ruin everything for you.”

Dylan’s arms tightened around you instantly, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other rubbed soothing circles on your back.“No. No, baby, stop,” he whispered fiercely, pressing his lips to your hair. “Don’t say that. Please don’t say that.”

You shook your head, tears soaking into his shirt as your breathing hitched again. “The comments… everyone’s saying it. That you’re too good for me. That this is going to hurt your image, your career… I’m going to fuck everything up for you. You should be with someone better. Someone who matches you.”

Dylan pulled back just enough to cup your face with both hands, his thumbs gently wiping your tears even as his own eyes glistened with emotion. His forehead rested against yours, breath warm on your skin.“Listen to me,” he said, voice low but steady, full of conviction. “I don’t care what they say. I don’t care about Isabella, Lydia, or anyone else. I chose you. I’m with you because you’re the one who makes me happy. You make me laugh, you understand me, you make me feel like I can just be myself. That’s more than enough. That’s everything.”

He kissed your forehead, then your wet cheeks, then the tip of your nose, refusing to let you look away.“You’re not ruining anything, baby. If anything, you’re the best part of my life right now. The career, the fans, the noise none of it matters if I don’t have you. So please… don’t listen to them. Listen to me.”

His arms wrapped around you again, pulling you impossibly closer as he rocked you gently on the bathroom floor.“I’ve got you. We’re going to get through this together. Okay?”

He waited until your sobs quieted into shaky breaths before speaking again, his voice soft but full of quiet intensity.“The press and the comments? They’re not going to ruin what we have,” he murmured against your temple. “Not even close. What we’ve built these past weeks… that’s real. That’s ours. And no one gets to take that away from us.”

He pulled back slightly so he could look into your eyes, his thumbs still wiping away the tears on your cheeks.“These last few weeks with you have been the best thing that’s happened to me in a really long time,” he continued, his voice cracking just a little. “Waking up next to you, sneaking around Italy, laughing at stupid things at 2 a.m., making love like the world doesn’t exist outside our room… I’ve never felt this happy. This peaceful. You did that for me, baby. You.”

Dylan leaned in and kissed you softly, tasting the salt of your tears on your lips.“I don’t care how loud they get out there. I don’t care if it trends for days. You’re not a downgrade. You’re not ‘just’ anything. You’re my girlfriend. You’re the girl I want to be with. And I’m not letting a bunch of strangers on the internet make you doubt that.”