[agentstarkid]

🗡 MAY · /maɪ/ — she/her · 27 · libra · infp · paraguayan

˗ˏˋ you’ve stumbled into my chaotic corner—how brave of you. this blog is a mix of rants about formula one, fanfics, lots of yapping and entirely too many thoughts about fictional men.

ⓘ this is a bilingual zone! — i speak english and spanish. así que, también podés mandarme lo que quieras en español, me pone feliz leerte ♡

⚜ HOUSE RULES ⚜ M.LIST ⚜ TAG SYSTEM ⚜

🍰 › ❄️ › 🍉

ⓘ nonnies, you can pick whatever emoji(s) you like!

[disarmd]

I saw some ppl surmising that it was Lando who added the 3 by Daniel’s DR and I think they might be right. I’ve never seen Daniel sign a 3 blocky like that before? Very cute w/ the love you DR3 part if so

oh daaaaaynm!!!! not just lando saying HE LOVES DANIEL but also adding the three to his name... like just the level of attention and detail 🙂‍↕️ that lando gives to daniel 🙂‍↕️ even after all these years 🙂‍↕️ dando nation can't stop winning!!!

[theraininspa]

actually, this is something that I have accepted into my reality. I just know that giant, blocky #3 was done by Lando, Daniel has never signed his 3s that way y’all 😭😭

Daniel’s:

Lando’s (???):

[max-whathappen]

"Formula 1 is a prestigious sport surrounded by glamour": mate the 2026 grid consists of;

a man who has had his multiple attempts at murder televised

a coeliac who skateboards everywhere

you know when life is already hard and then a blond european cunt with a backstory walks in? one of those

a giggly astrology girlie who almost accepted an offer to get a "massage" in Amsterdam on camera

Amy Santiago if she grew up on a farm

a man who once got a tube stuck up his nose and gets called a Good Boy on the daily

a 4 foot tall turbocharged misogynist

Horse Jesus who is also the ultimate omega

Tuna Fish Junior

a man with a mullet and a porn stache who regularly poses in the nude

a twelve-year old werewolf but his wolf form is a pomeranian

the world's oldest rookie soon to have nerve damage

Car Autism whose vocabulary consists mostly of "Um"

a lanky noodle man who looks like he plays the oboe

an accidental lesbian icon and professional WAG

the after photo in those hair loss ads

a better-dressed kardashian with a pokemon obsession

a PR officer's worst nightmare who openly admitted to stealing a credit card in a conference

un perrito traumatizado

Chris Hemsworth but if he were a really, really chill German dude

a man who barks in bed but also at his older team mate

an active track hazard

and they all have daddy issues

[daydreamfiles]

The List - Dean Di Laurentis

ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

Blurb: You and dean had rules. no dates, No sleeping over, and nothing complicated. Then he asks for one uninterrupted night and reveals he has not forgotten a single thing you trusted him enough to want.

Warnings: 18+ only, explicit sexual content, friends-with-benefits arrangement, restraints, blindfold, sex toys, edging, overstimulation, consensual filming, spitting, praise, degradation and humiliation, power dynamics, safeword and boundary discussion, aftercare, and underlying feelings neither of them wants to acknowledge.

꒰১Taglist໒꒱ @littlemissclairebiggs, @legendarychrattgirl, @chrismattnick, @andabuttonnose

Dean’s text had been short.

Come over at ten. Make sure you don’t have anywhere to be tomorrow.

You stared at it longer than you should have.

The two of you did not make plans for the morning after. That was one of the first rules you had agreed on, back when this had been simple enough to list out between kisses.

No dates. No jealousy. No sleeping over.

No feelings had gone unspoken because neither of you had been stupid enough to say it aloud.

Still, you arrived at the hockey house two minutes before ten.

The place was silent when Dean opened the door. Not merely quiet, but emptied out, as though he had removed every possible interruption before you arrived. No television downstairs, no music bleeding through the walls, no one shouting from the kitchen.

His eyes found yours, and the expression on his face made the greeting die in your throat.

Dean was usually easy to read because he wanted to be. Every grin was deliberate. Every teasing comment arrived with the expectation that you would give one back. Even when he wanted you, he made a performance out of it, stretching the anticipation until one of you finally lost patience.

Tonight, there was none of that.

He stepped aside to let you in, his gaze moving over you only once before returning to your face.

“You came.”

The words were quiet enough to sound almost like relief.

Something in your chest tightened. “You told me to.”

He closed the door behind you and stood there for a moment, his hand still wrapped around the knob. He looked like he had spent the entire evening preparing for you and had only now realized that preparation had not made him ready.

You tried to smile. “Are you going to tell me why the house looks abandoned?”

Dean did not answer immediately.

His jaw shifted before he finally said, “I didn’t want anyone here.”

The weight of it followed you upstairs.

His bedroom door was already open. At first, nothing seemed different. The bed had been made, which was unusual enough, and the lamp beside it cast a low amber glow across the room.

Then you noticed the dresser.

A blindfold. Soft restraints. The toy you had once admitted you used when you were alone. Your phone stand beside them, still folded shut.

Your breath caught.

Dean stopped behind you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him without being touched.

“You planned this.”

“Yeah.”

“How long?”

He exhaled through his nose, and you heard the restraint in it. “Since you gave me the list.”

That had been three weeks ago.

You had slipped it into his hand after sex because giving it to him while neither of you was fully dressed had seemed easier than having a real conversation about it. You had expected him to make some obnoxious comment, maybe circle one of your answers and send it back with a joke written in the margin.

Instead, he had folded it once and put it inside his nightstand.

He had barely mentioned it since.

“You acted like you forgot about it.”

“I was trying not to scare you off.”

You turned then.

Dean stood closer than you expected, but his hands remained at his sides. His gaze moved over your face as though he was searching for the first sign that you regretted coming.

It was the hesitation that unsettled you most. Not because he seemed uncertain about what he wanted, but because he cared too much about whether you wanted it too.

“You wouldn’t scare me off,” you said.

His mouth tightened faintly. “You say that now.”

The answer carried more than the night in front of you. It held every time one of you had left before morning, every conversation you had refused to have, every moment when the arrangement had started feeling like something neither of you knew how to name.

You looked back at the dresser. “Is this why you told me not to make plans tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“So I’m staying?”

Dean went still.

It was barely a pause, but you felt it.

“That depends on what you want.”

There it was again. The rule sitting between you, suddenly much more fragile than it had been downstairs.

You turned fully toward him. “What do you want?”

His eyes lowered to your mouth before lifting again.

“For once, I don’t want you watching the clock.”

The honesty of it struck harder than anything filthy he could have said.

Dean stepped forward, stopping when only an inch remained between you. He still did not touch you.

“I’ve spent three weeks thinking about this,” he said. “Not just what you checked yes to. Not the camera or the restraints or any of that.”

His voice dropped, roughened by something that had nothing to do with control.

“You handed me a list of everything you wanted and trusted me not to make you regret it.”

Your throat tightened.

Dean looked away for half a second, gathering himself before his attention returned to you.

“I need to know you’re still sure.”

You reached for him first, curling your fingers into the front of his shirt. The contact seemed to undo something in him. His eyes closed briefly, and when they opened again, the last of the distance between you felt unbearable.

“I’m sure.”

His hand rose to your face, but instead of grabbing your jaw or pulling you into him, he brushed his thumb across your cheek.

The tenderness of it nearly frightened you more than everything waiting on the dresser.

“We go through the list again,” he murmured. “Every limit. Every word. You tell me what you want recorded and what stays between us.”

You nodded.

“And if you change your mind at any point, you tell me.”

“I will.”

His forehead lowered against yours. For a moment, neither of you moved.

Then Dean’s hand slid around the back of your neck, his fingers tightening just enough to change your breathing.

He kissed you, and whatever restraint had kept him still until then disappeared.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his breathing already uneven.

“Take it off.”

The command was low, but when your hands moved toward the hem of your shirt, Dean caught them before you could lift it.

His eyes stayed on yours as he pushed the fabric upward himself. You raised your arms, letting him drag it over your head before it landed somewhere behind him. His gaze dropped to your bra, lingering long enough that your skin heated beneath the attention.

Dean reached around you and opened the clasp. He did not rush as he drew the straps down your arms, watching every inch of skin revealed until the fabric slipped from your fingers.

You reached for his shirt, but he caught your wrist.

“Not yet.”

There was no smile accompanying the words. He looked too affected to tease you, too focused on taking you apart exactly the way he had imagined.

His hands moved to the button of your jeans. He opened them, then lowered himself as he pushed the denim down your legs. You stepped out one foot at a time, steadying yourself with a hand on his shoulder while he removed your shoes and socks before pulling the jeans away completely.

Only your underwear remained.

Dean stayed on his knees in front of you, his hands resting against your thighs as he looked up.

The intensity in his expression made you resist the instinct to cover yourself. His fingers hooked beneath the fabric at your hips and slowly drew it down, his mouth brushing the inside of your knee once you stepped free.

When he stood, you were completely bare while he remained fully dressed.

The imbalance made your pulse jump.

Dean guided you backward until the mattress pressed against the backs of your legs. He kissed you once, hard and brief, before urging you down onto the bed.

The soft restraints were waiting near the headboard.

He lifted one of your wrists and secured it above you, checking the space beneath the rope before fastening the other. His fingers lingered against your pulse, the touch quieter than everything else about the moment.

Then he moved to the foot of the bed.

Dean spread your legs and tied each ankle to the lower posts, leaving you open beneath him. The restraints held you firmly without biting into your skin. He checked every knot twice, running his hands along your calves and thighs afterward as though he needed to reassure himself that nothing would hurt you.

When he climbed onto the mattress again, he straddled your hips without removing his clothes.

His mouth closed around one nipple while his palm covered the other. He sucked slowly at first, then bit down just hard enough to pull a sharp breath from you. Your back lifted from the mattress, the restraints drawing taut above your head.

Dean’s hand slid between your legs.

His fingers parted you, moving through the wetness already gathered there before finding your clit. He rubbed slow circles over it while his tongue moved across your breast, drawing out every small sound until you stopped trying to contain them.

Two fingers pressed inside you.

The sudden stretch made you clench around him, and the reaction pulled a rough breath from his chest. He began moving them steadily, curling forward with each stroke while his thumb returned to your clit.

Your hips tried to follow his hand.

Dean raised his head, his mouth damp and his eyes fixed on your face.

“Already this wet.”

The words sounded more strained than pleased, as though the evidence of how much you wanted him had cut through the control he was trying to hold.

He withdrew his fingers and brought them to your mouth.

“Open.”

You obeyed, closing your lips around them and tasting yourself as Dean watched. His jaw tightened when your tongue moved over his skin.

“Good girl.”

He pulled his hand away and climbed from the bed.

Your eyes followed him as he took your phone from the dresser and secured it in the stand at the foot of the mattress. He checked the framing once, making sure neither face would appear, then started the recording.

The small red light came on.

“Everything stays on this phone,” he reminded you, his attention returning to the bed. “But I want you to hear what you sound like when you stop pretending you don’t need this.”

Dean finally removed his clothes.

He dragged his shirt over his head, then opened his jeans and pushed them down with his boxers. His cock sprang free, already hard, the tip slick as he stepped out of the rest of his clothing and returned to the bed.

He settled between your spread thighs.

His mouth moved along the inside of one leg, then the other, leaving kisses and shallow bites that darkened against your skin. He stopped just short of where you wanted him and looked up at you, watching the frustration cross your face.

Then his tongue dragged slowly from your entrance to your clit.

Your wrists pulled against the restraints.

Dean repeated the motion, flatter and firmer this time, before closing his lips around the swollen bundle of nerves. He sucked while sliding two fingers back inside you, curling them with every thrust.

Your thighs trembled against the ropes.

The pressure built quickly, your breathing turning shallow as your walls began tightening around his fingers.

Dean stopped.

His mouth lifted away. His fingers withdrew, leaving you empty and throbbing while he watched your body react to the loss.

You stared down at him in disbelief.

He pressed a kiss against your inner thigh.

The second time, he worked you more slowly. His tongue circled your clit while his fingers moved inside you, drawing the pleasure out until every muscle in your body tightened in anticipation.

Then he stopped again.

A helpless sound escaped you.

Dean blew softly over your wet skin, the cool air making you jerk against the restraints.

He did it a third time, then a fourth, learning exactly how close he could bring you before withdrawing. Sometimes he moved his mouth away. Sometimes he left his fingers inside you but held them still until the pleasure began to recede. Once, he simply watched your clit pulse while you begged him to touch you again.

“Please,” you gasped.

Dean wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Not yet.”

He reached into the nightstand and removed the small vibrator you had told him about when you filled out the list.

The sight of it made your stomach tighten.

Dean switched it on at the lowest setting and pressed it against the inside of your thigh first. The vibration travelled through your skin, close enough to torment you without giving you what you needed.

“Dean.”

His eyes lifted to yours as he moved the toy to your clit.

The sudden sensation made your back arch from the mattress. Dean pushed three fingers inside you, working them against you while holding the vibrator firmly in place.

Your orgasm rose fast, sharper after everything he had already denied you. Your body tensed, breath breaking as you reached the edge.

Dean switched the toy off.

His fingers slid out of you at the same time.

A frustrated sob left your throat.

He kissed one thigh, then the other, leaving a darker mark behind with his teeth.

“You wanted me to make you beg.”

The vibrator came back on, higher this time.

Dean pressed it to your clit while lowering his mouth to your entrance. His tongue pushed inside you, then drew back, tracing around the sensitive opening while the vibration spread through your body.

He denied you again.

Then again.

By the time he stopped for the final time, your legs were shaking against the restraints and tears had begun gathering at the corners of your eyes.

“Dean, please.” Your voice cracked around his name. “Please let me come.”

He set the vibrator beside you and climbed up your body.

Dean released one of your wrists, bringing your hand down between you. His fingers closed around yours as he wrapped them around his cock.

You stroked him while he kissed you, tasting yourself on his mouth. His hips moved into your hand despite his attempt to remain still, the control in him slipping every time your thumb passed over the head.

His fingers returned between your legs.

He pushed two inside you and moved them hard enough that wetness spread across his hand and the sheets beneath you.

“You feel how badly you need it?”

You nodded against his mouth.

Dean caught your lower lip between his teeth.

“Say it.”

“I need it.”

The answer seemed to undo something in him.

He kissed you again, rougher now, before pulling his fingers free and releasing the restraint around your other wrist. He rubbed both wrists briefly, checking the skin before securing them together again above your head.

Then he untied your ankles.

Dean turned you onto your stomach and guided your knees beneath you, lifting your hips while your chest remained pressed to the mattress. Your bound hands stayed stretched above your head.

The camera at the foot of the bed captured the position perfectly.

Dean knelt behind you and spread your knees farther apart. His palm moved over your ass, then between your legs, gathering the wetness that coated your thighs.

The head of his cock dragged through your folds.

You pushed backward instinctively.

His hand tightened around your hip.

“Look how desperate you are.”

He rubbed himself against your clit once, then again, coating his cock in your wetness before lining himself up with your entrance.

Dean pushed inside slowly.

The stretch pulled a deep moan from you as he filled you inch by inch, his hands gripping your hips until he was seated completely inside you.

He remained still for a moment.

You could feel his chest rising behind you, hear the effort in every breath as your body tightened around him.

Then he began to move.

His first strokes were long and deep, pulling almost all the way out before driving back inside. One hand stayed anchored at your hip while the other reached beneath you and found your clit.

Your moans grew louder with each thrust.

Dean watched the camera screen only once, his attention immediately returning to the way your body moved beneath him.

Every time your walls began clenching around his cock, he slowed.

Once, he stopped completely, buried deep while his fingers continued circling your clit just enough to keep you suspended. Another time, he pulled out and slapped the length of his cock against your swollen clit, making you cry out before he pushed inside again.

His hips snapped harder against you.

“You think about me every time you touch yourself, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

The answer came out broken.

Dean cursed beneath his breath.

His hand slid from your hip to your hair, wrapping around it and drawing your head back enough to arch your spine. The angle drove him deeper, every thrust dragging over the place that made your thighs shake. His fingers moved faster over your clit.

“Look at you now. Tied to my bed, begging me to let you come.”

The pleasure became almost unbearable.

Your body started tightening again, but Dean changed his rhythm before you could fall over the edge, slowing his hips while keeping himself buried inside you.

You whimpered into the sheets.

He released your hair and leaned over you, his mouth brushing your shoulder.

“Not until I’m ready.”

Dean pulled out.

Your body clenched around nothing, wetness sliding down your thighs as he untied your wrists. He brought each one to his mouth, pressing a kiss against the faint marks before helping you turn onto your back.

For a moment, he only looked at you.

His hair was disordered, his chest damp with sweat, and whatever polished confidence he usually carried had disappeared. He looked hungry, but there was something else beneath it, something almost shaken by the sight of you spread across his bed and trusting him with every private thing you had written down.

Dean moved toward the headboard and sat back against it.

He guided you onto your knees between his legs.

Your hand wrapped around his cock again, stroking him as you lowered your mouth over the head. His breath left him sharply.

Dean’s fingers threaded into your hair, not forcing you deeper, only holding on as you took more of him. You worked him with your mouth and hand together, listening to the control break in his voice every time he said your name.

He watched you the entire time.

When his hips began lifting toward your mouth, Dean caught himself and pulled you away.

His thumb wiped the wetness from your lower lip.

“Come here.”

He drew you back onto the mattress and settled between your legs again.

Dean lifted both of your wrists above your head, pinning them against the pillows with one hand while the other guided his cock to your entrance.

He pushed inside your still-sensitive body in one deep thrust.

The sound that left you made his grip tighten.

His hips moved harder now, the controlled pace from earlier gone. Every thrust drove you higher across the bed while his free hand returned to your clit.

“You wanted to come so badly.”

His forehead lowered against yours.

“Now you’re going to take it.”

The orgasm tore through you almost immediately.

Your body locked beneath him, walls pulsing around his cock while your cry filled the room. Dean did not look toward the camera. He watched your face, breathing your name against your mouth as he worked you through every wave.

He kept moving after the first tremors began to fade.

The overstimulation struck quickly, pleasure sharpening until your thighs shook around his hips. Dean’s fingers never left your clit, the circles growing faster while his thrusts stayed deep and relentless.

You tried to twist away from the intensity.

His hand held your wrists in place.

“Don’t hide from me.”

Tears slipped from the corners of your eyes.

Dean kissed them away without slowing.

The tenderness of the gesture made the second orgasm hit harder than the first. It was smaller but sharper, ripping through your already-sensitive body until your voice broke completely.

Dean stayed inside you, his breathing ragged, his forehead pressed against yours while your body continued clenching around him.

Dean stayed inside you, his breathing ragged, his forehead pressed against yours while your body continued clenching around him.

“Don’t make me fall in love with you,” he breathed, the words rough enough to sound almost like a warning.

For one suspended moment, neither of you moved. There was no joke waiting to take it back, no rule strong enough to make either of you pretend he had not said it.

Dean reached blindly toward the foot of the bed and stopped the recording before pulling you against his chest. The recording stopped, but neither of you reached for the clothes scattered across the floor or made any move to end the night.

[agentstarkid]

[iceyngi]

Smile for the Camera

☄︎ Warnings: (consented) Filming. oral (f! receiving) ☄︎ Pairing: F!Reader x Dean Di Laurentis ☄︎ Rating/Genre: Mature (🔞). Smut. ☄︎ Words: 1647 ☄︎ Summary: Your ex couldn't make you cum, so Dean promises to fix that

Original request here. 〣 Off Campus Masterlist here.〣 Dean Masterlist here.

You hadn’t planned on venting to Dean about how horrifically bad the sex with your now ex-boyfriend was, but the glass of wine you’d downed significantly reduced your filter.

You: there were times i genuinely considered sneaking into the bathroom and using his electric toothbrush. You: it would have done the job better fr

The three-dot text bubble appeared, disappeared, and then appeared again. In the several minutes it took for his reply to arrive, a wave of anxiety hit you. You worried you’d overshared. Your relationship with Dean was... complicated.

Despite being in a committed relationship, the attraction you’d had to one another was palpable. It hung in the air, thick and obvious, and so you’d done the decent thing and not gotten too close while you were in a committed relationship. That was over now, had been for a few weeks.

The conversation you were having now was territory you had never broached before, and you weren’t sure if the attraction was built more because you were something he couldn’t have.

Your phone buzzed, and Dean’s texts proved your spiralling thoughts wrong.

Dean: you should come over. Dean: let me apologise on behalf of all men ever.

30 minutes later, you were slipping through the unlocked front door of the hockey house. You tiptoed up the stairs to Dean’s room and knocked softly. The door swung open almost immediately. Dean stood there wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts, his hair rumpled.

He didn't say a word. He just grabbed your wrist, pulled you inside, and shut the door behind you.

You walked over and sat on the edge of his bed, your eyes tracking him as he paced the length of the room.

“I can’t believe how useless he was,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

You wanted to laugh; he seemed madder about the situation than you were.

“Dean, it’s fin–.”

“It’s not fine,” Dean interrupted, stopping dead in his tracks right in front of you.

You knew exactly why you had come here tonight, but the sudden intensity in his gaze had you instinctively pressing your thighs together.

“The fact that any guy could have you in his bed and not make it his priority to make you cum multiple times is a crime,” he growled, stepping closer. “It’s insulting actually.”

You crawled back on his bed, moving until your back hit the headboard. “Well, what are you going to do about it, Di Laurentis? Show me how a real professional fucks?”

Dean sank onto the mattress, his eyes locking onto yours as he grabbed your ankle. With one gentle, deliberate pull, he dragged you down until you were lying flat on the mattress, before slowly manoeuvring himself between your legs.

“Yeah,” he murmured, a dangerous little smirk playing on his lips as he hovered over you. “I am.”

Dean closed the distance between you at an agonisingly slow pace, determined to drag it out until you were a begging mess under his arms. When he first pressed his lips to yours, it was just a gentle, barely there kiss. His lips brushed against yours, warm breath fanning your lips.

“Dean~,” you purred. “Stop teasing.”

“It’s not teasing,” he replied as his warm hand slid under the hem of your shirt. “It’s called seduction.”

And Dean was very good at seduction, you decided. His hand moved over your torso and chest expertly, caressing you in ways you didn’t even know you liked. When he finally finally kissed you for real, it wasn’t gentle. It was full of the passion, the fire, that you’d never had with your ex. Dean had a point to prove, and he used the kiss to prove it.

The time with your ex had made you rusty, your mind could barely keep up with all the sensations. His mouth sucking on your tongue; his hand running up your back; his hips rocking into you slowly, it overwhelmed you in the best way.

By the time he pulled away from you, you were left breathless with a dampness between your legs that bordered on embarrassing.

Dean’s thumb traced your plump bottom lip.

“Arms up,” he whispered, voice sounded strained.

You did as he asked and he made a point of slowly taking off your shirt, and then your shorts, humming in approval when he noticed you’d opted out of wearing panties.

Sitting back on his heels, he spread your legs further, taking a minute to appreciate how good you looked.

The way his eyes raked over your body should have made you feel embarrassed, but, somehow, the heat of his gaze only made you feel bolder.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he gasped. You shuddered as he ran a finger though your folds. “Soaking just for me.”  

You didn’t even want to wipe the cocky grin off of his face. He deserved it. “You know what you’re doing.”

Dean’s smirk widened. “You know, I’m tempted to set up a camera right there on the dresser.”

Your mind was so focused on the way his fingers were moving between your legs that you weren’t even sure you heard him right.

“A camera?”

“Yeah,” Dean murmured. “A little video tutorial on how to fuck you right.”

Dean slid a finger into you, fucking you slowly on it as he experimented with how much you could take.

“How benevolent of you.”  

Dean chuckled, dark and low.

“Okay, I admit. I want it for myself.” He added another finger, curling them inside you. “I want to be able to replay the look on your face when I make you cum.”

 The thought of being fucked by Dean on camera and being able to watch that back whenever you wanted had your hear racing. “Yeah? You wanna watch how well I take your dick?”

“I do,” Dean grinned, his eyes blazing with a mixture of arrogance and arousal. “And then, the next time you're lying awake at night, aching to be touched, you can watch it too and remind yourself what a real man feels like.”

You swallowed hard, heat pooling low as his weight shifted over you. “Get the camera.”

He didn't take his fingers out of you as he frantically reached toward the nightstand, his fingers wrapping around his phone.

“Ready?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed.

He unlocked it quickly and turned the camera on, blood rushing to his dick as he saw you through the screen. He brought the camera closer to pussy, hoping the microphone could pick up the way your pussy squelched as he fucked you with his fingers.

Trying to hold the camera angled steady at your soaking pussy, he moved until he was flat on his stomach on the mattress, head between your legs.

Dean panned the camera to his face and spoke to the camera, “I wish you could smell how good she smells, I wonder how she tastes.”

“I’ll hold the phone,” you stuttered, holding yourself up on your elbows and looking at the hungry look in Dean’s eyes.

Taking the phone from him, you spread your legs wider. He used two fingers to spread your folds wider, his other hand guiding your wrist so he could position the camera over your clit.

“Look how flushed and swollen you are for me.” His breath fanned over your clit and it throbbed.

You forced yourself to stay propped up on your elbows as his lips closed around clit. Your hips bucked into his mouth as he sucked harder. He worked two fingers back into you, fucking you on them as he licked through your folds. He was sloppy with it, messily eating so the sounds could be picked up.

“So good,” you cooed.

He looked up at you with a cocky grin plastered on his face. There was a line of spit from your pussy to his lips that were glistening with your arousal.  

“Say my name, let them know who’s fucking you.”

He looked up at you with eyes full of desire and you knew that, when you watched this back, this would be the part you had on repeat.

“Dean~ your tongue feels so fucking good, Dean.”

You moaned a little louder than you usually did, urging him on as he dived back into your pussy. It’s not like you’d never been tongue fucked before, but you’d never been eaten like this. Overwhelmed was the only word you could think of to describe it, but you didn’t want it to stop.

Head lolling back against the mattress, the hand holding the camera dropped. Dean moved swiftly, taking it from your hand and angling it down to where he was flicking his tongue against your clit.

“There are various techniques to eating it,” Dean told the camera. “My personal fave is sucking on the clit; it drives women crazy.”

Dean wrapped his lips around your exposed clit, sucking harder than before. He panned the camera over to catch your reaction, your back arched off of the bed, breathing heavily.

Panning the camera back, he wiggled his eyebrows.

All other vocabulary minus ‘fuck’ and ‘Dean’ left your mind, unable to form rational thoughts as he flattened his tongue on your clit, moving it over you as he tested how much pressure you needed.

“It’s all about getting the right pressure,” he said around your clit.

“Like that~,” you told him, hips grinding on his tongue. “Don’t stop.”

And Dean didn’t, he kept that exact pressure on you. he could feel that you were close, your thighs were shaking around his head, your moans unabashedly falling from your lips.

Flipping the orientation of the camera, he recorded your face as you cried out with your orgasm. Your body twitched with the unexpected force of it for a while.

“And that is how you make your girl cum,” he said to the camera. “Ready to go again?”

💭: i'm so sorry this turned out shit, i got burnt out halfway through writing the heat here is still dizgaztingggg. Defo want to write more filmed!reader fics in the future tho

[agentstarkid]

[mads198-9]

Dean’s Inferno

Pairing: Dean Di Laurentis x fem!reader

Summary: Dean is many things. Hot, rich, deceivingly perceptive, and a bit of a slut. But worst of all, a blonde. And you are his friend. Just his friend. And you hate it.

Convinced that your own personal purgatory is the friend-zone, the only way to escape is through a good book. Too bad for you that you’re as subtle as a gun shot. I still hate summaries.

Warnings: ROAD-TRIP!!! High School Musical reference, Dean is the ultimate shit disturber (affectionate), Logan and his fuck ass acronyms, Garrett is confused, Tucker is oblivious, Allie is a star and Hannah is perceptive as hell. No physical descriptions of reader! No use of y/n! Insinuations to sex and ‘happy endings’. I think that’s all, lmk if I missed anything!

A/N: One-shots my beloved. Beta’d by the woman, the myth, the legend @deceasedanddesist

WC: ~1.9k

Graphics: @saradika-graphics

Masterlist

You were a masochist. 

Seriously, there was no other explanation for it. 

‘It’ is your willingness to participate in an impromptu road trip with your best friends. A trip which now included Briar Hockey’s core four in addition to the two earth angels whom you met on your first day of freshman year. 

But back to the matter at hand. The road trip; the reason why you were stuck sandwiched in between the boy you’ve been lying to yourself about liking and your best friend who knew. Knew that even though you said being attracted to blonde men was a ‘recession indicator’, the defenseman to your left had been the star of your most inner fantasies as of late. 

Hannah’s first clue?

Your recent over consumption of romantic novels. 

Most notable to the observant brunette, were the love interests of such novels; of a very specific variety. Cocky, emotionally unavailable, built-like-a-brick-shit-house blondes. 

You said it was exam stress. That you had needed a big ole helping of escapism to get through the barrage of tests you were facing; a little harmless pleasure. 

Nevermind that your recent reading binge had begun just after Hannah had formally introduced you and Allie to Garrett and his friends. Friends including Dean. No, no; that was a coincidence. Something to laugh about over sangria with the girls. 

Well, you laughed. They didn’t. All they gave in response were teasing looks.

Now here you are; months later. Friendships forged with Garrett over your mutual love for Hannah, with Tuck through the sharing of family recipes, Logan via him doubling over laughing at you as you asked him what the ‘genie lamp’ symbol on your car’s dashboard meant, and Dean through… Well, everything. 

It started one night in the hockey house after a call from back home. Nothing easy, it never was, and Dean knew. You didn’t say anything; didn’t have to. He knew something was wrong from how hard you were staring at the TV during a group movie night; the flick of the evening supposedly being your favourite, but when your expression hadn’t shifted in the first 15 minutes he knew something was wrong.

And so, you’d talked about it. And kept talking. About the mundane, the serious, anything that made you laugh or think just a little too hard. 

Despite the seemingly shallow charisma that practically oozed from his pores, Dean was smart. He could read you not just like a book, but like a damn billboard posted on the highways of America. Much like the ones you were currently passing. 

Thus made the seating arrangement in the minivan (because yes, mama Tucker had rented a minivan for your road trip) all the more awkward. 

For you at least, strapped between Dean and Hannah in the middle of the van. 

Curse your car sickness. If not for that, maybe you could have been asleep in the rear rather than practically hyperventilating from the forced proximity to your friend. Your hot, hot, blonde, hockey player friend who knew your signature coffee order and what kind of god forsaken reels made you laugh. 

Fuck my life you thought.

Hannah was having smug, silent conversations with Garrett through rearview mirror eye contact alone. But even with all her NOT so subtle galances toward you and Dean, the poor boy still couldn’t get it. 

Tucker was at the wheel with a rod-straight spine and his hands at 10 and 2 like he was 16 again.

Allie was belting High School Musical, playing solely in her own ears via her headphones, and Logan was somehow sleeping through it all across from her in the back seat. 

But Dean–

Ooooh Dean was practically vibrating with self satisfaction. Comfortably leaning back in his seat with his right arm across your headrest, bent at the elbow to allow his wrist to rest loosely on your shoulder. All while he smiled happily and whistled to himself as he looked out the window. 

You thought you were going to die here.

Sure you were comfortable with these people. Probably more comfortable with them than you were with anyone else on the planet. 

But this was different. 

Because as much as you’d convinced yourself that it was a trick of the mind—only a consequence of ovulation—you were in fact crushing on Dean, hard. 

As hard as the rigid muscles that had been pressed against your side since before the state border. 

“Gettin’ a little low on gas here guys. I’m gonna take the next exit to top ‘er up.”

Thank. God. 

You thought you could kiss Tucker from the pure relief that flooded you after his statement. But alas, you already wanted to kiss one Briar Hockey player, and that was more than enough for your nervous system at the moment. 

The second Tucker put the car in park, you practically crawled over Hannah’s lap to escape the confines of this soccer-mom-mobile. 

Much to the entertainment of Hannah… and Dean

And the bewilderment of everyone else in the car who was conscious. 

“What the fuck was that all about?” 

Garrett had never been one to sugar coat things, as much was evident as the group watched you practically sprint into the store ahead of you. 

Both Hannah and Dean couldn’t contain their laughter. 

Hannah immediately snapped her eyes over to the blonde positioned a seat over from her. Laughing hard enough to shake blonde tendrils out of his eyes like a golden retriever. 

So he knew. Like really knew. 

Dean didn’t even bother to respond with words. Only throwing a wink her way before he was tossing open the vans sliding door and strutting in after you. 

Tucker was already headed in to put sixty bucks on pump four before Garret could speak again. 

Still confused.

“Again I say, what the fuck was all that about.”

Logan and Allie were still in the back.

Still sleeping.

Still singing.

Hannah couldn’t fight her smile as she responded. 

“Like Allie said. It’s the start of something new.”

-

You hadn’t meant to bolt like that; to high tail it out of there like you were on fire. But to be fair, it sure felt like you were. 

The second Dean slid into the seat next to you, your temperature had gone up. Heat rising to your cheeks because apparently your body couldn’t differentiate between physical proximity to an attractive male, your friend, and being held at gun point. 

You were in dire need of some escapism. Again. 

So naturally, you had found yourself in the print section of the gas station. 

Magazines, newspapers, sudoku books and a slim selection of novels. Romance novels.

Here we go. 

You grabbed the first one that caught your eye. 

It also happened to catch Dean’s eye. Who was roughly three feet behind you, grinning like a jackass as he watched you grope for a novel with a muscle-toned football player on it. 

Football?

He could forgive you for that, he decided, because said football player was blonde. 

Oh so blonde; with hair that swooped in front of his eyes as he seductively dipped the woman on the cover. 

You didn’t even bother reading the synopsis. You’d both seen and read enough novels in your lifetime to know the contents of this one. So, you did what any hormonal, touch-starved, forever friend-zoned woman your age would do. 

You skipped to the good part. 

Right to the centre of the book.

Right to where Dante (because of course that was his name) slowly slid his hand into the back of Mel's jeans. 

You were so entranced in the book it was as if someone was whispering the words into your ear.

“Fingertips edging past her delicate lace-”

Oh dear god.

“Shit!” 

Exactly. Because a shit eating grin is what you saw when you turned around to find that it was Dean of all people who was leering over your shoulder, softly reading to you the straight up smut you had chosen to peruse. In public.

“Hey, wait! It was just getting good.”

That fucking smile.

“Dean. You scared me.”

“Clearly.”

Silence. But you swore that megawatt smile of his had to be humming with electricity.

“Well, what do you want? Perve.”

“Oh I’M the perve?!” He asked giddily, pointing a thick finger at himself, “you’re the one reading porn in the middle of a gas station.”

“Yeah, well, you were the freak reading it to me!” You hushedly screeched back at him.

He didn’t say anything; just stepped closer. Close enough his head tilted further down to keep your gaze.

“I happened to like where it was going. The devilishly handsome blonde jock and his girl, who seems far too oblivious for her own good. Who seriously thinks that said handsome devil would sit in a minivan for four hours listening to country music, because he just wants to be next to his friend.”

This was getting too real. 

Real enough that your first instinct was to shy away from his eyes. Convinced his flirting was teasing. 

“Yeah, but it doesn’t end well. Trust me, I know.”

Dean softly, but sternly, gripped your chin and raised your gaze back to his own piercing blue one.

“No. You don’t.”

You dropped the book as he released your chin for your hand and tugged you further into the store. Into the bathroom of all places. 

The lock clicked as he softly pressed you up against the door.

“Let me show you how it ends. Really, because I think you’ll find it’s just the beginning.”

The earnestness in his eyes was almost enough to make you forget your surroundings.

Almost. 

You couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Dean. There will be no happy ending in this gas station bathroom.”

He released his breath in soft laughter and leaned his forehead against your own. Hands smoothing over your denim clad waist. Meeting a respectable end right above your curves.

“Later then?”

“…We’ll have a lot to talk about first.”

“Hmmmm. How about you write it down first? I’d rather have you read to me this time.”

“As long as it’s not the only time.”

Releasing a pained groan he lowered his face into the crook of your neck. Hot breath at your pulse.

And - 

Unlocked the door behind you.

“Deal.”

-

Grinning in disbelief you let him guide you out of the single bathroom. 

Back into the open, and into the awaiting gaze of John Logan.

So he finally woke up, you thought.

Logan rapidly looked from the toilet behind you two, to your flushed face and back. Rubbing his eyes in between each glance. 

“Did you just desecrate the room where I'm about to TAS?”

TAS?

It didn’t even take 10 seconds to figure it out.

“Let me guess. ‘Take A Shit’.” 

You just shook your head at the steep drop in the conversation.

“Correct. This is a nightmare; an unhygienic nightmare.”

“Maybe your nightmare. But my dream bro.”

Dean’s clarification didn’t help the heat crawling up your skin.

“We didn’t -”

“Yet.”

You should have known by now that glaring at Dean wouldn’t dissuade him, but you tried anyway. 

“Slow down hot shot.”

“Oh trust me, I’ll go slow. You can’t spell Dante without Dean, baby.”

And with the combination of Dean’s gleeful expression and the look of sheer disgust on Logan’s face, you knew you were never going to live this moment down. 

And honestly? If Dean had meant what he said about this being just the beginning, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.  

[starkeymedia]

DREW STARKEY as Cary Masterson in the limited series ‘LUCKY’

‘LUCKY’ will be streaming on Apple TV July 15!

[filmjules]

⋆˙⟡ DEAN LOVES YOUR NEW NIPPLE PIERCINGS ꣑ৎ

Getting your nipples pierced was a last minute decision.

Earlier that day, you went with Allie to get her navel pierced. She was so excited, talking about all the piercings she would love to have but isn’t sure about. Which led to her saying, “You would look absolutely fucking amazing with your nipples pierced. I bet Dean would have a field day with it, too.”

She kept babbling, saying stuff like, “Not that I’m suggesting it for him. Only for yourself, obvi. And me and Han, I know she would agree.”

You laughed it off, saying it was cool but not your thing.

Until you were inside the piercing shop.

The girl at the counter asked what the two of you needed, saying for a piercing it would be around a ten minute wait. Allie told the girl what she wanted, but before she wrote it down you butted in.

“Um, actually—I wanted to get my nipples pierced, can we do that today too?”

The worker responded politely, “of course!” before writing your information down.

Allie whipped her head around to face you as you walked away from the counter, her curls swaying. “Really? I thought you weren’t into the idea…” She squealed, excitement clearly coursing through her body.

You shook your head, hoping she didn’t see through your false confidence when you replied, “I mean, why not? It’s cute.”

When you got home later that day, Dean was already cozying up in your bed. He knew you’d be out with Allie for a while but you’d told him he could be there if he wanted to. You didn’t really think he’d take the offer.

“Oh! Hi,” you mumbled as you walked in the door, your brain hyperaware of your new piercings. You’d been so consumed by the thought of the piercings themselves that you’d forgotten that Dean was going to see them, probably very soon.

You’d also forgotten how sensitive they’d be.

“Hey, baby,” his voice was muffled from being beneath a big pile of your blankets and stuffed animals, “Have fun with Allie?”

The way you paused mindlessly before answering with a soft, “Yeah,” was Dean’s first red flag. The second was how stiff you were standing as you walked around the room, putting your purse away and taking off your shoes.

He sat up, moving the little bunny stuffy he got you for Valentine’s day.

When you finally met his eyes, your guard was up immediately. His bright blue eyes were narrowed and his lips were pressed in a pout. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay. Tell me what happened.”

Laughing, you sat on the empty side of the bed. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Dean rolled onto his stomach, taking up the empty space and revealing his shirtless torso. “You’re acting weird. I want my girlfriend back, please.”

You rolled your eyes, running your hand over his hair soothingly.

“Okay,” you cleared your throat, trying to push down your racing thoughts. What if he hates it? What if he has to pretend to like it? What if—“I have something to tell you.”

His playful smile dropped, worry taking over his features. “Yeah?”

Dragging a hand over your face, you let out a heavy breath. “I got my nipples pierced,” you mumbled against your palm.

There was a beat of silence before Dean said, “What was that?”

“Dean.”

“I really couldn’t hear you, baby,” He laughed, his hands coming up to wrap around your wrists and pull your hands away from your face. “Can you repeat it? Please?”

Groaning, you repeated louder, “I got my nipples pierced.”

There was another silent beat, but Dean’s eyes had an unmistakable fire in them. The corner of his lips quirked up, his eyes dropping to your chest and back up.

“What?”

“I am not repeating myself again, Di Laurentis.”

“No, no. I just—Wow,” he blew out a breath, his chest rising and falling more dramatically than before. “Can I see?”

That’s how you ended up here, with Dean’s hands resting on your hips and his legs open wide for you to stand between. Your shirt was in a pile on the floor, the cool air making your nipples hard and even more of a view for Dean.

“Wow. You look…” he trailed off, his gaze never straying from your tits. His hand reached up, aiming for your new piercings, until you stopped his hand.

“Can’t touch. Y’gotta be careful with ‘em.”

Your boyfriend dragged out a low groan, dropping his head to your stomach—making sure to avoid hitting your sensitive piercings. “You’re already killing me, and now I can’t even touch you? What am I being punished for?”

You scoffed, “You’re not being punished, you big baby. And if you’re expecting me to wait until my piercings are fully healed for you to touch me at all, I’m offended.”

His head snapped up at that, his eyes telling you everything you need to know. That and the very clear boner he’s sporting through his sweats. “I just gotta avoid the tits for a little? That’s all? No surprise piercing down there that I need to know about?”

You shook your head, recognizing the undeniable heat in his voice, “Everything else is still on the table.”

The entire night felt like it was just Dean complimenting you. He said something at every point.

Took your pants off? “Gorgeous.” Came on his fingers? “So fucking hot.” Finished on his face? “Delicious.”

He would not stop.

Even when he was buried to the hilt inside you, while you were squirming from the pleasure and milking his cock dry, he felt like he had to keep praising you. “You’re so pretty, baby. I fucking love—Holy shit—I love your nipples. I love your nipple piercings. So fucking sexy, baby.”

The man literally begged you to go on top. He said he “wanted to have your pretty tits up close and bouncing in his face if he couldn’t even touch them.”

You agreed, expecting to have to take control. Not expecting to have him fucking up into you, hitting you at a new angle that made your back arch and your entire body shake. Your eyes were teary and clamped shut, moans spilling out of your mouth faster than you could feel them coming.

“That feel good, sweetheart?” The cocky bastard asked you with a devilish grin on his face. “Looks like it from down here.”

Your hand cupped over his mouth, your way of telling him to shut up without having to speak. He kissed your palm and grabbed your hand, lacing his fingers through yours.

The new angle you took to reach his mouth made your clit rub against his solid body, adding extra pleasure that made you squeeze around him. “Oh my god. Dean.”

Dean groaned at the sound of your shaky voice gasping his name, the feeling of your tight pussy around him and your nails digging into his biceps bringing him closer to his release.

“I’m close,” his deep voice rasped in your ear, his hands gripping your hips as he continued plowing into you. You threw your head back with your body, Dean’s fingers promptly coming to toy with your clit, working you over the edge.

“Dean—”

“I know, baby. Ride it out f’me,” he cooed, continuing his thrusts until you pushed on his chest to stop him.

You slowly pulled off, careful not to overstimulate your very sensitive cunt. Flopping over on your back, Dean was quick to roll on his side to look at you. He didn’t say anything more, just stared until you turned away in embarrassment.

masterlist

[lacyydollette]

₊  ֹ  ˖ DEAN DI LAURENTIS AS YOUR BOYFRIEND ᱺㅤㅤ   ୨౿ 

he’s such a nickname abuser. ‘pretty girl’ and ‘sweetheart’ are his go-to, but sometimes he switches to more cheesier terms of endearment to call you in front of other people just to embarrass you—pookie, munchkin, shnookums? yes! and hes loud about it too! this is my official statement that in another universe dean would pair extremely well with a shy, quiet reader. he’d love pulling her out of her comfort zone with his silly antics.

as his girlfriend, you’re entitled to receive random pecks and kisses all the time. i’m talking all the time. if you’re watching a movie together and he’s feeling a little neglected, he’ll grab your arm and kiss the entire length of it, not missing an inch, until you cuddle him. if you’re standing in line for something, he’ll be reading instructions while leaving kisses on your temple and in your hair. if you’re hanging out with friends and you’re on the couch while he’s sitting between your legs, he’ll be kissing your thighs the whole time until you gently kick him to stop.

he finds a random mic and sings you cheesy love songs when you’re having bad days, and him being so bad at it makes you laugh. dean makes it his mission not to stop until you’re laughing your ribs off and feeling better. sometimes it ends with him pulling you in to dance, or just holding you in his arms. those cuddles are your favorite because there’s so much love and safety in them. he’s genuinely the only person who can lighten your mood immediately with his stupid jokes, stupid kisses, and stupid big arms.

he’s a sniffer, and he would die and come back for the scent of your body. he perks up immediately, gorgeous green eyes finding yours the second he smells that coconut and vanilla scent in a packed room. he has a dramatic habit of randomly sniffing all over you and pretending like he’s high off it. it doesn’t matter if you’re alone or with other people. if you’re laying down together or hugging, his nose is immediately buried in your hair.

he cherishes your routines together. morning routines where he lets you shower first while he stays in bed for a couple extra minutes, then he goes after, and you brush your teeth together while he gets dressed and fixes his hair, and you do the same in front of the counter you’ve definitely used for more than just getting ready. eating breakfast together. post-dinner walks where he tangles your hands together. cooking dinner on friday nights—well, you do most of the cooking while he cleans and does basic prep, because if he’s in charge, you’re definitely eating burnt food. and the nightly gossip sessions, both of you with face masks on, leaning on your elbows facing each other. he makes you smile so much with all the locker room gossip your cheeks hurt, and you tell him campus rumors while he lets out theatric gasps.

besides physical touch and quality time, his love language is definitely gift giving. mention one thing one time, and boom—you have it next day or for a special occasion. he never runs out of gift ideas. it ranges from material things to more meaningful ones, like love letters he gets embarrassed about giving you.

to conclude, dean would be an amazing boyfriend. he’d be loyal and fully devoted to you. in his eyes, you would be the girl for him.

masterlist

[romancegifs]

THE CUTTING EDGE (1992) dir. Paul Michael Glaser

[lindensea]

Tony Gilroy needs to write another romcom. Nora Ephron is dead, Nancy Meyers hasn't made a good movie in years, but Tony is still out there. Making the best star wars of our time, I'll admit it. But he's got another romcom in him. I have to believe it. Tony, it's what the people want.

[ltbelanna]

THE CUTTING EDGE (1992) dir. Paul Michael Glaser, writ. Tony Gilroy

[bloodmoonlich]

The Cutting Edge is one of my favorite rom-coms because the main characters are both so annoying and so lovable at the same time

[greengableslover]

THE CUTTING EDGE (1993) dir. Paul Michael Glaser

[dailyflicks]

HUGH DANCY as PRINCE "CHAR" CHARMONT

ELLA ENCHANTED (2004) dir. Tommy O'Haver

[jamiextartt]

FILMS WATCHED IN 2025: 13. Ella Enchanted (2004)

[underatedwords]

more importantly, the national helpline for domestic abuse's phone number is 08082 000 247