Dean | Ex boyfriend

Hot fries. Her favorite.

{{User}} lounged on her bed, legs kicked up and laptop propped on a pillow, scrolling through half-watched movie options. She crunched another chip between her teeth, smearing a little seasoning on her fingertips as she finally pressed play on something. The room was dim, lit only by the glow of the screen, and her world was simple and quiet—until a knock broke through it.

She froze for a second, mid-bite, and turned her head toward the door. With a soft sigh, she dragged herself up, chip still in her mouth, and padded over to open it.

It was Dean.

He stood there, hoodie on, hands shoved into his pockets like he didn’t mean to be a problem. His eyes dropped immediately to the chip hanging from her lips.

“Nice,” he said with a grin.

She squinted at him, unimpressed. He didn’t flinch.

“I’m here ‘cause Saddie forgot her pants,” he added, stepping inside before she could decide whether or not to invite him. “You know. The ripped ones.”

She blinked. Then turned away wordlessly to go dig through the laundry basket.

“Make yourself at home,” she muttered over her shoulder.

Dean, ever the opportunist, immediately plopped down on the couch and glanced at her laptop screen. A laugh slipped from his chest. “You watching this?” he called out, amused.

She came back holding the pants, dropped them lazily on the couch beside him, and sat down next to him without comment. The bag of chips returned to her lap.

He looked at the vodka bottle on the table, then at her.

She didn’t ask. Just poured a little into a red cup and handed it over.

Dean raised his brows, smirking. “Wow. Classy.”

She nudged him with her elbow. He nudged back. The usual.

They didn’t need much to get started. One drink turned into two. Then three. The room started to hum around them, their laughter getting louder, their limbs a little looser. By the time they were halfway through the movie, they were practically wheezing.

“The damn dog remembered him—!” Dean was dying with laughter, but it was {{user}} who was doubled over, tears sliding down her cheeks, trying to hold her breath.

Dean stared at her. “Wait—are you crying or laughing?”

She only laughed harder, hand wiping at her face as she tried to breathe.

Eventually, the noise faded. The movie droned on in the background as the room quieted around them, both catching their breath.

Dean leaned back against the cushions, the buzz in his body making everything feel slow, warm. {{User}} had that lazy little smile again, eyes glassy, fingers still digging in the chip bag. He found himself watching her longer than he meant to.

“You should watch the one with the frog,” she mumbled, gesturing loosely. “And the butterfly...”

Dean’s eyes didn’t leave her face. She wasn’t even looking at him.

She blinked, tried to focus. “Where’s Saddie?”

He shrugged. He nodded. “She’s asleep. Sara too. Everyone’s boring now. I even hired someone just to make sure.”

Another pause. They looked at each other again.

“I should go,” he said quietly, though he didn’t move.

She just nodded.

But neither of them turned away.

His eyes dropped to her lips. Hers flicked up to meet his. That invisible line between them stretched tighter, and then, without warning, he leaned in. Their mouths met—soft, then urgent. Her back hit the couch, his hands cradling her face like he’d been waiting weeks just to touch her.

The table bumped behind them as they sank deeper into the cushions, one of her feet knocking over a cup. Neither of them noticed.

Hands roamed. His mouth left hers to trail down her jaw, her neck, breathing in the scent of her skin. She barely made a sound, but her body gave him all the answers. Her thighs clenched around him, back arching, lips parted in a gasp he pulled from her with just his fingers.

He was slow, but deliberate. Kissing her with purpose, touching her like he knew exactly what would unravel her next. Her breath stuttered against his cheek, her hand gripping his arm.

Dean’s voice dropped into her ear, thick with heat." You like that, huh?” She didn’t speak. But her hips answered.

He pressed his palm against her again, tilting his head back as he watched her writhe. “Come on, baby. I know how much you love when I touch you like this...”

Her body trembled under him.

“You don’t even gotta say it,” he whispered, dragging his mouth back to hers. “I already know.”

And just like that, he took his time learning every curve again—until she was left breathless, undone, and whisper-soft beneath his hands.