buffy

may the odds be ever in your favour

[chaerrybit]

[alcapzr]

I just got introduced to your work through your recent Puck Bunny fic with Garrett and Dean. It's amazing! So I was wondering if you could write a threesome with Allie, Dean, and reader who has the same type of attitude??

𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝑮𝒐𝒂𝒍𝒔 ꨄ︎ (Dean DiLaurentis And Allie Haye X FemReader)

Content: Smut, Praising, Allie Helping The Reader To Take It, Dean Has A Thing For Lesbians, Brat Taming, Double Head, Oral male recieving, Praises, Fingering

You paced the small dorm room, heart hammering against your ribs as you clutched your phone in one hand. The words you’d rehearsed a hundred times echoed in your head: “Allie, I’ve been in love with you for months. I know it’s sudden, but I can’t keep pretending anymore.” Your fingers trembled as you imagined saying them out loud. She was your best friend, your person. The one who made every late-night study session feel like an adventure and every laugh feel like home. You’d waited long enough. Today was the day.

A soft knock at the door made you jump. Before you could even answer, the handle turned and Allie stepped inside, her cheeks flushed and her smile brighter than you’d seen in weeks. She was practically glowing, blonde hair a little messy like she’d been running her hands through it.

“Hey, you,” she said, closing the door behind her and leaning against it for a second. Her eyes sparkled with excitement. “God, I’ve been dying to tell you this all day.”

You swallowed hard, forcing a smile as you set your phone down. Your confession could wait a minute. She looked too happy. “Tell me what?”

Allie bit her lip, then practically bounced across the room and grabbed both of your hands. “Dean and I… we’re official. Like, boyfriend-girlfriend official. He asked me last night after the game and I said yes. I can’t believe it’s real.”

The words hit you like ice water down your spine. Dean. Dean Di Laurentis. The charming, cocky hockey player who’d been circling Allie for weeks. Your stomach twisted, but you kept your face neutral, squeezing her hands back even as something sharp and ugly flared in your chest.

“Wow,” you managed, voice steadier than you felt. “That’s… that’s great, Allie. Really.”

She pulled you into a tight hug, oblivious to the storm brewing inside you. “I know it’s fast, but he makes me so happy. Like, stupid happy.”

You hugged her back, breathing in her familiar scent, your heart aching with every beat. The confession you’d been ready to spill died on your tongue. How could you say anything now?

You tried to match her energy, but the knot in your stomach only tightened. The image of Dean’s cocky smirk and those stupid broad shoulders flashed in your mind, and before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out laced with something sharper than you intended.

“That’s… wow. Dean Di Laurentis, huh?” You forced a little laugh, dropping her hands gently so you could cross your arms over your chest. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, Allie. I’m happy for you. But you know how those hockey guys are. Total manwhores. They’ll fuck anything with a pulse and a short skirt. One minute they’re all charming and ‘baby, you’re the only one,’ and the next they’re ghosting you for the next puck bunny who looks their way.”

Allie blinked, her smile faltering just a little. “Hey, Dean’s not like that—”

“Oh, come on,” you cut in, the jealousy burning hotter now, pushing you forward. You leaned against your desk, trying to look casual even as your voice dripped with shade. “They’re all the same. Popular hockey couple goals, right? Everyone on campus is gonna be talking about how perfect you two look together. The star player and the gorgeous blonde. So cute. So #relationshipgoals. Meanwhile the rest of us are just… here.”

You rolled your eyes, the words tasting bitter on your tongue, but you couldn’t stop. Part of you wanted her to argue, to defend him less, to maybe just maybe look at you the way you’d been looking at her for months.

Allie tilted her head, studying you with a mix of confusion and concern. “Where is this coming from? You’ve never had a problem with Dean before.”

Before Allie could press you further, a familiar deep voice cut through the room from the doorway.

“Damn, I knew I smelled a jealous lesbian from down the hall. Just followed the scent and here we are.”

You both whipped around. Dean Di Laurentis leaned against the doorframe like he owned the place, that signature smirk plastered on his stupidly handsome face. He looked freshly showered after practice, hair still damp, wearing a Briar hoodie that stretched across his broad chest. His green eyes danced with amusement as they flicked between you and Allie.

“I wasn’t eavesdropping,” he added casually, stepping inside and closing the door behind him with a soft click. “But these doors are thin as fuck, and you two weren’t exactly quiet. Manwhores who fuck anything with a pulse? Ouch. That one hurt a little, babe.”

Your face burned. “I’m not jealous,” you shot back quickly, crossing your arms tighter. “You’re imagining things. I was just being honest. Hockey players have a reputation for a reason.”

Allie’s eyes widened for a second, then she let out a soft giggle, covering her mouth with her hand. The sound was light and way too affectionate. “Oh my god… you are jealous. That’s actually adorable.”

Dean’s smirk deepened as he moved closer, glancing at Allie with clear heat in his gaze before turning it on you. “See? Even your best friend thinks so. Cute little jealous girl throwing shade at couple goals.” He tilted his head, voice dropping lower. “Didn’t know I was stepping on someone’s territory here.”

The air in the small dorm room suddenly felt thicker, heavier. Allie was still smiling, cheeks pink, while Dean watched you like he was seeing you for the first time.

“I’m not jealous,” you insisted again, voice sharper this time even as your heart pounded so hard you were sure they could hear it. You took a small step back until your thighs hit the edge of your desk. “I’m just looking out for my friend, okay? That’s what best friends do. I don’t want you getting hurt by some cocky hockey player who—”

“Baby, please,” Allie interrupted softly, stepping closer until there was barely any space between you. Her eyes were warm, knowing, and a little amused. “We’ve been dancing around this for months. I’ve always known you’re in love with me.”

Your breath caught. Before you could deny it again, Allie cupped your face with both hands and kissed you.

It wasn’t soft or hesitant. Her lips were warm and sure, tasting like cherry lip gloss and something sweeter, and for a second the whole world narrowed to just her mouth moving against yours. You froze, then melted into it with a quiet, surprised sound, your hands instinctively gripping her waist.

When she pulled back just enough to rest her forehead against yours, both of you breathing harder, Dean’s low, rough voice broke the silence.

“Wow…” He let out a stunned laugh, eyes dark and hungry as he watched the two of you. “This is definitely hotter than fucking porn.”

Allie giggled against your lips, glancing over at him with a playful spark in her eyes, while you stood there dazed, lips tingling and cheeks burning.

You pulled back from Allie’s kiss, dazed and breathless, your lips still tingling. Your brain was short-circuiting, but the stubborn jealousy refused to let go completely. You glanced between them, heart racing.

“Okay… okay,” you muttered, trying to regain some control. “That doesn’t change my opinion about Dean. He’s still a manwhore. If we did a census around campus, more than half the girls here have probably fucked him at some point.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up, but instead of getting offended, that wicked, confident smirk returned full force. He stepped closer, crowding you gently against the desk until his tall frame loomed over you. His voice dropped into that low, velvet tone that made panties drop across Briar University.

“Well then… let me change your opinion,” he murmured, green eyes locked on yours. “And let me change that census while I’m at it.”

Before you could fire back another retort, Dean cupped the back of your neck and kissed you.

It was nothing like Allie’s sweet, knowing kiss. This one was hungry, dominant, and filthy. His mouth claimed yours with practiced ease, tongue teasing your bottom lip before sliding inside, hot and confident. One of his big hands settled on your waist, pulling you flush against his hard body, and fuck — he smelled like fresh soap and something dangerously masculine.

You tried to stay stubborn. You really did.

But damn it… the man could kiss. Against your better judgment, you found yourself kissing him back, your hands fisting in his hoodie as a surprised, needy little sound escaped your throat.

When he finally pulled back, lips wet and smirk even cockier, Allie was watching the two of you with dark, heated eyes and a soft bite to her lower lip.

“See?” Dean rasped, thumb brushing your flushed cheek. “Not such a manwhore if I can make you melt like that.”

You couldn’t hold back anymore.

The second Dean pulled away, something inside you snapped. All the months of wanting Allie, the jealousy, the frustration, and the sudden overwhelming heat between the three of you exploded. You grabbed Allie first, kissing her hard and greedy, tongues sliding together. Then you turned to Dean, pulling him down by his hoodie and kissing him just as hungrily, biting his bottom lip.

You went back and forth between them like you were starving messy, desperate, greedy kisses that left all three of you breathing raggedly.

Allie let out a soft, delighted giggle against your mouth. “God, look at you… so greedy for both of us,” she whispered, clearly turned on by your sudden hunger.

She dipped her head and started kissing down your neck, warm lips and teasing little nips that made your knees weak. You moaned quietly, tilting your head to give her better access.

Dean watched the two of you for a second, eyes blazing with lust.

“Jesus Christ, thank you God,” he groaned, voice thick. “I owe you one, man. You know how much I love lesbians.”

While Allie sucked a sensitive spot on your neck that made you shiver, Dean reached down and started pushing his sweatpants and boxers down his hips. His hard cock sprang free, thick and already leaking at the tip. He stroked himself slowly as he watched Allie mark your neck and you squirm between them.

Your eyes kept drifting down to Dean’s cock as he stroked it lazily, thick, long, and flushed. You couldn’t help it. Leaning closer to Allie while she kissed your neck, you whispered hotly against her ear, voice shaky with arousal:

“Fuck, Allie… he has the most beautiful, biggest dick I’ve ever seen.”Dean let out a low, amused chuckle right behind you.

“I’m listening, baby,” he said, voice rough with satisfaction. “Keep talking like that and I’m gonna get even harder.”

Allie giggled softly against your skin, then slowly dropped to her knees in front of you, looking up with dark, playful eyes. Her fingers slid under the hem of your blouse and started pulling it up, agonizingly slow, exposing your stomach, then your bra, and finally tugging it over your head and tossing it aside.

She ran her hands up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts as she looked up at you again.“You wanna try it?” she asked, voice sweet but filthy, glancing sideways at Dean’s impressive length. “I don’t mind sharing.”

Your breath hitched, heart hammering wildly as you stood there in just your bra, Allie on her knees in front of you, and Dean watching hungrily with his cock in his hand. You didn’t even think about it. Your knees hit the floor almost automatically, eyes locked on Dean’s thick cock as you reached for him.

Before your lips could wrap around him, Dean’s big hand grabbed your jaw firmly, tilting your face up. His thumb brushed your bottom lip, eyes dark with lust and amusement.

“Look at you… on your knees so fast,” he murmured. Then he tapped his heavy cock against your cheek once, twice, then a little harder dirty, wet slaps that made your pussy throb. “These are for being such a fucking brat earlier. Talking shit about me being a manwhore while you’re dripping for my dick.”

You moaned shamelessly at the filthy treatment, the sound needy and desperate.

Allie watched with hooded eyes, clearly loving every second. She reached behind you and unhooked your bra with skilled fingers, letting it fall away and exposing your breasts to the cool air of the dorm. Your nipples hardened instantly under their combined gazes.

While you knelt there, face still held by Dean, Allie stood up just enough to start stripping herself — peeling off her top, then shimmying out of her jeans, revealing smooth skin and pretty pink lace panties.

“God, you look so good like this,” Allie whispered, voice full of heat as she ran her fingers through your hair.

Dean tapped his cock against your lips this time. “Open up, brat.”

You opened your mouth obediently and took Dean’s thick cock between your lips, sucking him eagerly. He was big — stretching your mouth in the most delicious way — and you moaned around him as you started bobbing your head, taking him deeper with every pass.

“Fuck… that’s it,” Dean groaned, one hand gently stroking your hair while the other reached for Allie. “Such a good girl sucking my cock like you were made for it.”

Allie smiled and moved closer, dropping back down to her knees beside you. She leaned in and started playing with Dean’s heavy balls, massaging them with soft fingers while you worked his shaft with your mouth. The wet, obscene sounds filled the small dorm room.

Dean’s head fell back for a second, a deep moan rumbling from his chest. “Look at you two… my pretty girls. So fucking perfect. Sharing my cock like this? I’m in heaven.”

While you sucked him harder, hollowing your cheeks, your hand slid between Allie’s thighs. You pushed her lace panties aside and found her soaked clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles over the sensitive bud. Allie gasped softly, hips twitching toward your touch, her fingers tightening around Dean’s balls.

“Shit — yes, just like that,” Dean praised, fingers tightening gently in both your hair and Allie’s. “Keep teasing her, baby. Make her nice and wet for us.”

Dean looked down at both of you with dark, hungry eyes, his voice rough with lust.“Kiss each other around my cock,” he ordered, voice low and commanding. “I want to feel those pretty lips on me while you make out.”

You and Allie didn’t hesitate. You both leaned in, lips meeting sloppily right over the thick head of his dick. The kiss was wet, messy, and filthy hot tongues sliding against each other and over his sensitive skin, tasting precum and each other at the same time. Spit dripped down his shaft as you kissed greedily, moaning into each other’s mouths.

You kept your fingers moving between Allie’s thighs, rubbing her swollen clit in tight little circles. Allie whimpered and moaned into the kiss, her hips rocking desperately against your hand.“Fuck, that’s so hot,” Dean groaned, threading his fingers through both your hairs. “Look at you two… sloppy fucking kisses on my cock. You’re both so perfect.”

He watched for a moment longer, then looked at Allie with a wicked smirk.“Touch her pussy, baby,” he told Allie, voice thick. “I want you to feel how wet our jealous little brat is right now.”

Her hand slid down your stomach and into your pants, fingers finding your soaked pussy instantly. Two fingers rubbed over your slick folds before circling your clit, matching the rhythm you were using on her.

You moaned loudly around Dean’s cock, the sound vibrating against him. Allie whimpered into your mouth as you kept stroking her clit, both of you trembling and moaning while you kissed messily over his throbbing dick.

Dean groaned deeply, watching the filthy scene with heavy-lidded eyes.“Don’t forget what you’re doing, girls,” he rasped, voice thick with pleasure. “Keep those pretty mouths on my cock.”

He pushed both your heads down gently but firmly, guiding you back to his shaft. You and Allie obeyed immediately, licking and kissing along his length with even sloppier, wetter enthusiasm while your hands kept working each other’s pussies. The room filled with the sounds of wet kisses, soft moans, and heavy breathing. You curled your fingers inside Allie, searching for that perfect spot, and when you found it she let out a broken moan against your mouth. You rubbed it relentlessly, fast and firm, while your thumb kept working her clit.

Allie came hard.Her whole body tensed, thighs shaking as she cried out, pussy clenching around your fingers. She looked absolutely beautiful when she came — flushed cheeks, lips parted, eyes glassy with pleasure. You couldn’t resist. You pulled your fingers out and immediately kissed her deeply, hungry and passionate, tasting her moans.

Your other hand wrapped around Dean’s thick cock, stroking him fast and tight while you made out with Allie.

Dean watched the whole thing with dark, burning eyes.“Fuck, that’s it,” he praised, voice rough. “Look at you making your girl cum so pretty. Such a good little slut for us.” He groaned as your hand twisted around his cock. “Both of you… my greedy, filthy girls. One cumming on your fingers while the other jerks me off like she needs my load. So fucking perfect.”

He caressed your hair and Allie’s, breathing hard as pleasure built.

Dean’s breathing grew ragged, his hips thrusting into your hand as you kept stroking him while kissing Allie.“Fuck— I’m gonna cum,” he groaned.

You and Allie pulled back just enough. Dean gripped his cock and pumped it a few times before he came with a deep, guttural moan. Thick ropes of cum landed across both of your chests warm, messy streaks painting your tits and Allie’s. You both moaned softly at the filthy sight.

Dean took a moment to catch his breath, then smiled that lazy, satisfied smirk. He bent down, scooped you up easily with one arm and Allie with the other, carrying you both toward your bed like you weighed nothing.

He laid you down gently on the sheets, then dropped between you, pulling both of you close against his chest. His fingers lazily smeared his cum over your breasts, marking you both.

“You know…” he said, voice still husky, “I might not mind if this becomes a regular thing. This was way too fucking hot to be a one-time deal.” He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your temple, then Allie’s. “But since I’m trying not to be a manwhore anymore… how about we make it official? A throuple. You two are stuck with me now.”

Allie giggled softly, cuddling into his side while her hand reached over to intertwine with yours.

You looked at both of them flushed, satisfied, and wrapped around you and for the first time that day, the jealousy was completely gone.

[linaaawrites]

I love love love your Off Campus fics!!! Could you also write something smutty for Garrett pls?

Morning Practice Can Wait

pairing: Garrett Graham x female reader

description: How is Garrett supposed to leave for early morning practice when he has you laying in his bed?

TW: MDNI, smut, lazy morning (unprotected) sex, fingering, praise kink, hand on neck, bit of dry-humping, established relationship.

masterlist

The first thing you register is warmth, a solid, familiar heat pressing against your back, an arm heavy across your waist. Garrett's breath is steady against your neck, soft puffs that stir the hair falling there. Morning light filters through the curtains, casting the room in hazy gold. You're drifting somewhere between sleep and waking when you feel it, a distinct hardness pressing against your ass, moving in slow, subtle thrusts as Garrett shifts in his sleep.

A smile plays on your lips as you press back slightly. "Someone's awake," you murmur, voice thick with sleep.

Garrett chuckles, the vibration rumbling through your back. "Morning," he rasps, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. "And yeah, someone is." He nuzzles your neck, his stubble scraping deliciously against your skin. "I was dreaming about you, but it doesn't even come close to the real thing."

Your heart swells at his words, even as a different kind of warmth pools low in your belly. You shift to face him slightly, but he pulls you back against his chest, wanting to maintain the spooning position. "No, stay like this," he murmurs. "I want to stay wrapped around you forever."

His hands begin their slow exploration, stroking your sides, tracing the curve of your hips, down to your thighs where he lingers, thumbs stroking the sensitive skin. You sigh contentedly, melting into his touch. His hands settle on your inner thighs, gripping slightly and you can't help but wiggle your ass against him.

"Tease," he whispers, though there's amusement in his voice. His fingers dance higher, toying with the little bow on the front of your panties. "You're just so warm here. Perfect."

You try to keep still, to maintain this peaceful morning moment, but his touch is igniting something in you. Each stroke of his fingers, each press of his lips against your neck sends jolts of pleasure through your body. You're becoming increasingly aware of the wetness pooling between your thighs, the ache beginning to build.

"Garrett," you breathe out. "You have to leave for practice soon."

He groans against your neck, pulling you impossibly closer. "Don't remind me. I'd rather stay here with you all day." His hips rock against you again, more deliberately this time. The friction sends a shiver through you and you can feel just how hard he is for you.

Your response is immediate, more wetness soaking your panties, a fresh wave of arousal washing over you. Garrett notices, his fingers dipping slightly higher to brush against the damp fabric.

"Well now," he murmurs, voice dropping to that low, husky tone that never fails to undo you. "Looks like we have a little problem here." His fingers press more firmly against your clit through your panties, making you gasp. "Should I help you with that?"

Heat floods your cheeks as you try to close your legs, but Garrett's strong thighs prevent it. "No, no, don't hide from me," he whispers, his fingers continuing their teasing assault. "Let me take care of you."

His fingers circle your clit, applying just enough pressure to make your toes curl. "Imagine how good I'd feel inside you right now," he breathes against your ear. "Stretching you, filling you up perfectly. Fucking you just the way you like." His other hand slides up to cup your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple. "Worshipping every inch of you."

He finds that spot on your neck, the one that makes you weak and sucks gently. That's all it takes to break your resolve. "Garrett," you gasp, "Please."

With a soft growl of satisfaction, Garrett hooks his fingers in the waistband of your panties and slides them down your legs. He shifts slightly, positioning himself and then two fingers are sliding into you, slow and deep. You arch against him as he stretches you, his fingers curling to find that spot that makes you see stars.

"Feel that?" he murmurs, scissoring his fingers slightly. "That's just a taste of what's coming." He pumps his fingers slowly, deliberately, until you're writhing against him, desperate for more.

Finally, he withdraws his fingers and you feel the blunt head of his cock pressing against your entrance. He enters you slowly, inch by inch, giving you time to adjust to his size. The stretch is exquisite, a perfect fullness that has you sighing in contentment.

"Fuck," he breathes against your neck once he's fully seated inside you. "You feel like home. Always so perfect for me."

He begins to move, establishing a slow, lazy rhythm that's perfect for a sleepy morning. Each thrust is deep, his hips rolling against yours in a way that sends pleasure coursing through your veins. His hands roam your body, one stroking your thigh, the other coming up to wrap loosely around your throat, his thumb stroking your pulse point.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his lips finding that sensitive spot on your neck again. "So beautiful taking my cock like this. Made for me."

His other hand moves to your breast, thumb and forefinger rolling your nipple between them. The dual stimulation has you gasping, your inner walls clenching around him.

"Garrett," you moan, reaching back to tangle your fingers in his hair.

"I know, baby," he whispers, increasing his pace slightly. "I feel it too." His thrusts become more purposeful, hitting that spot inside you that makes your toes curl. "You're so wet for me. Always so ready for my cock."

His words are filthy but loving, each one sending you higher. "Love how you feel around me," he continues, his voice thick with emotion. "Like you were made just for me. So tight, so perfect."

He shifts slightly, changing the angle and suddenly he's hitting your G-spot with every thrust. You cry out, your back arching as pleasure overwhelms you.

"Right there, huh?" he murmurs, his hand tightening slightly around your throat. "Right there where you need it." His other hand slides down to your clit, fingers circling in time with his thrusts. "Come on, baby. Let go for me. Want to feel you come around my cock."

The combination of his deep thrusts, his fingers on your clit and his dirty praise is too much. Your orgasm crashes over you, waves of pleasure so intense you're gasping his name. Your inner walls clench around him, milking his cock as you ride out your release.

"Fuck, yes," he groans, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chases his own release. "That's it, baby. So fucking good for me."

With a final, deep thrust, he buries himself inside you, his cock pulsing as he fills you with his release. He collapses against you, both of you breathing heavily, his weight a comforting presence.

For a long moment, you just lie there, basking in the afterglow. Garrett presses soft kisses to your neck and shoulders, his hands stroking your sides soothingly.

"I love you," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. "So much."

You turn in his arms, capturing his lips in a soft, sweet kiss. "I love you too," you whisper against his mouth.

He smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Best way to start the day." Then he glances at the clock and groans. "But I really do have to go to practice."

You laugh, tracing patterns on his chest. "Go on, then. The team's waiting for their captain."

He sighs dramatically but starts to disentangle himself. "Fine. But only because I have to come back to you later." He presses one last, lingering kiss to your lips before getting out of bed. "Think about me while I'm gone?"

"Always," you promise, watching as he gathers his things. As he leaves, he blows you a kiss and you settle back into the warm sheets, feeling completely and utterly loved.

[newtypezaku]

[iceyngi]

Behind the Lens

☄︎ Warnings: not proofread! girl on top. ☄︎ Pairing: F!Reader x John Logan ☄︎ Rating/Genre: Mature (🔞). Smut. ☄︎ Words: 4629 ☄︎ Summary: You work as the Hawks' Social Media Manager, and one of the players has a crush on you.

💭: yeah, so logan and i are locked in now... the social media part was also inspired by a tiktok from England Rugby. if you enjoyed, please consider leaving a comment, ask, reblog etc, it means a lot xx

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

Some days as the media manager for the Briar U Hawks Hockey Team, you genuinely felt like you spent half your life waiting around for them, just to get a 30-second result. Today was one of those days. Anybody who claimed women take longer than men to get ready had clearly never waited on a hockey player to put his gear on.

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other on the rubber floor mats, the freezing arena air biting at your cheeks. You had been standing here with your phone in your hand for far too long. But you stayed ready, camera open and prepped to ambush them the second they exited the locker room corridor.

You silently laughed to yourself, thinking of how you were going to torture them this time. ‘Do it for the fans,’ was your usual go-to when you had to encourage them to participate. It was a strategy that worked on 99% of the roster.

However, for Logan, that rule didn't apply. For him, it was only a soft, ‘do it for me,’ accompanied by a slight pout, that ever actually worked. You had a feeling you might need to put one of those on today.

The double doors finally swung open, and your first victim player walked up the tunnel to the rink.

“It’s content day!” You sang, intentionally stepping right into his path just before the ice gate. “I need five seconds of your time before you hit the ice. Do not look at me like that, Graham. I promise you’ll actually like this one.”

Garrett stopped dead in front of your lens, as he adjusted his helmet. He sighed heavily. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Garrett, I’m like two years older than you,” you laughed, holding the camera steady. “I’m not a ma’am.”

“Yes, boss,” Garrett teased. When you looked at him with an unimpressed look, he let out a loud chuckle. “Hey, don’t look at me like that. You know what you did.”

Memories of the last promotional video you’d edited flashed vividly in your head. To be fair to Garrett, you had slightly embarrassed him in the final cut.

“Okay, fair point,” you conceded with a shrug. “But today, I promise I won’t embarrass you.”

Technically, that wasn’t a lie. If Garrett ended up looking foolish in this video, it would be entirely by his own doing, not yours. Semantics mattered.

You lifted your phone, centring him in the frame. “Just a quick geography question for the away-game promo. We want to show off how incredibly smart our Briar boys are.”

“I feel like you’re baiting me, but I’ll bite. Hit me.” Garrett squared his broad shoulders, his game face instantly switching on as he leant in toward the lens.

“Garrett, how many miles do you think it is from Massachusetts to Johannesburg?”

Garrett blinked, his eyes darting upward. “Uh. Well, if you go from...” He started mumbling calculations to himself, genuinely trying to do the map math in his head. “Maybe like... 3500 miles? Give or take. Maybe.” He said eventually, offering a definitive nod.

You put on the best performance of your life, widening your eyes in surprise. “No way! That’s actually right!”

Garrett paused, looking back and forth between your face and the lens, completely bewildered. “Wait. Really?”

“Yeah, honestly,” you lied smoothly.

“You’re not having me on, are you?”

You were having him on. The actual distance was well over 7000 miles. But you just smiled brightly, giving him an encouraging nod. “No, Garrett. Seriously, good job.”

Garrett puffed his chest out, looking dead into the camera with newfound pride. “Well... I have always been pretty good at geography.”

“Clearly,” you smiled, waving him through.

Next up was Dean, who gladly jogged over the moment he saw you with your camera, a flirtatious smile already pulling at his lips.

“How do you want me?” Dean asked, striking a series of poses for the screen.

“Dean, focus,” you said, suppressing a snort. “How many miles from Massachusetts to Johannesburg?”

Dean smirked, “You've come to the right guy. I have an excellent sense of geography.”

“I’m sure you do,” you deadpanned.

“It's exactly twelve thousand miles,” Dean stated with unearned confidence.

You maintained a perfectly straight face, nodding in solemn agreement. “That is exactly right, Dean. Perfect answer. Spot on.”

Dean pumped his fist in the air. “I knew it! Spatial awareness, baby!”

He skated off onto the ice, completely oblivious to the fact that you were slowly losing the ability to breathe from holding in your laughter.

Birdie and Tucker came out next. You hit them with the exact same question, and they immediately stopped in their tracks, squabbling and throwing wild guesses back and forth. Finally, Tucker turned back to you.

“We’re going down the middle,” Tucker decided. “8500.”

“How did you know that?!” you gasped, feigning shock. “That’s the exact number.”

“Is it?” Birdie asked, his jaw dropping.

“Genuinely?” Tucker demanded at the exact same time.

“Yes! Spot on!” you encouraged, watching their competitive faces light up with pure excitement.

“Yes! Well done, Tucks!” Birdie beams, ruffling Tucker’s hair.

They skated away, thrilled with themselves.

You were still quietly giggling, resetting the recording length, when a shadow fell over your phone screen. You looked up and found yourself staring directly into a pair of dark, but soft, eyes.

“You need me?” Logan asked.

“I do need you,” you smiled softly. Neither of you spoke for a heavy moment, the quiet space between you filling up with a that unspoken heat as you just looked at each other. You cleared your throat, snapping yourself back into media-mode. “Oh, and I also need you for a video.”

You lifted the camera to line up the shot. “Stand there, please.”

“Fine,” Logan chuckled as he moved where you directed him. “Hit me.”

You tried your best to ignore the fact that he was looking directly at your face instead of looking at the camera lens.

“How many miles is it from Massachusetts to Johannesburg?”

Logan blinked, his eyes flicking down to your hands for a split second before returning to yours. “...Two hundred?”

You bit the inside of your cheek; did he even hear the question? “Yup! You’re spot on, Logan.”

Logan let out a low laugh. “Come on. I was way off, wasn’t I?”

“No!” you insisted, maintaining your best poker face. “That’s about right, genuinely.”

Logan’s eyes instantly crinkled at the corners. “That’s actually not fair. You distracted me.”

“I– what? I didn’t do anything!” you stuttered, your face growing hot as you completely lost your professional cool.

“You did! How am I supposed to think when...” he trailed off looking at your now trembling hands.

Before you could fully recover, Logan's hand reached out, wrapping securely around the top of your phone and gently pulling. “Give me that. I'm deleting the evidence.”

“Logan, no! Stop!” you shrieked playfully, causing a few of the guys on the ice to turn around and look over the boards.

“Nope, the public can't know this,” he laughed. He was inches away from you as you both wrestled over the handle, the camera recording a chaotic, blurry feed.

“Coach!” You called out mock-threateningly. “Logan is stealing media property!”

“Logan! Leave her alone and get on the ice!” Coach Jensen’s voice sailed across the rink.

“Snitch,” Logan murmured against your ear. He immediately let go of the camera with a soft chuckle, but he lingered for a second longer, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. “You owe me for my hurt feelings.”

As he finally skated onto the ice, he glanced back over his shoulder once. It was just long enough for you to catch him smiling to himself. And you knew, without a doubt, that he had caught you smiling right back.

A week later, you were on the bus back with them. It was just past nine in the evening, and the three-hour trek back to campus felt twice as long following the frustrating away-game loss.

Up front, you sat alone in the fourth row, the soft glow of your laptop screen lighting up your face. Most of the overhead reading lights were off, leaving the bus in near darkness save for the passing flashes of the highway streetlights. Behind you, the hockey players were scattered across the reclining seats. Some snored softly, others staring silently out the windows, too exhausted and frustrated to sleep.

The mood on the team’s social media account needed to be resilient, but your brain was too fried. At this point, you had spent so much time with these boys, been to so many of their intense training sessions, that you knew exactly how much they put into this sport. Because of that, you felt the weight of the loss almost as heavily as they did.

But Coach Jensen wanted the post-game recap video live by tomorrow morning. So, you were here, desperately trying to get a head start on the editing despite your electronics slowly dying on you.

You finally hit save on your third draft just as your laptop screen faded to black, the battery drained.

Not thirty seconds later, a sudden shadow fell over your row as someone stood next to you in the aisle.

“Is that seat taken?” Logan whispered.

You looked up, meeting his eyes in the dim light. “Go ahead,” you said softly.

Logan slid into the empty seat next to you. “Thanks. I was going to sit here earlier, but I didn’t want to interrupt you while you were working.”

“Oh, so you were watching me?” you laughed quietly, turning your head to face him.

“Hmm,” he hummed thoughtfully, leaning his head back against the headrest. “How do I say yes to that in a totally normal way?”

“It’s okay, I watch you too,” you supplied, a playful glint in your eyes. “I even take videos sometimes.”

Logan let out a low chuckle. “Nice. My own personal stalker.”

“I didn’t say you were the only one I watched,” you countered smoothly.

“But am I your favourite one? That’s the real question.”

“Hm.” You pretended to think about it, tapping your phone against your palm. “There’s no contest, actually.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

He exhaled a long, tired breath, as he sank deeper into the cushion, stretching his long legs out under the chair in front of him. For a few minutes, neither of you spoke, letting the steady hum of the bus engine fill the silence.

“Are you're still awake,” Logan whispered suddenly, though his eyes remained closed.

“Hard to sleep on these roads,” you replied, keeping your voice dropped low so it wouldn't carry past your row. You turned your head slightly on the headrest, studying his side profile in the dark. “Besides, I'm trying to figure something out.”

“Yeah? What's that?” He opened his eyes, turning his head on the cushion to meet your gaze. In the darkness of the cabin, his eyes looked incredibly dark.

“How you guys deal with frustrating losses,” you explained.

“We have our ways,” Logan laughed quietly.

“Does one of them include flirting?”

Logan’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You noticed?”

“Logan...” An amused huff slipping past your lips. “You volunteered for every single media interview these past few weeks. You invented ridiculous reasons just to walk me back to the media office. You literally sat through me editing raw footage for hours with the excuse of 'keeping me company.'“

When you laid it out like that, it was painfully obvious. The little hints he had been dropping over the past few months had all been noticed by you, and the fact that you were finally bringing it up now changed everything for him. He had been testing the waters, and you jumped right in.

“Okay, you caught me... does this mean I can stop pretending?”

“You were pretending?” you teased.

“I was pretending that I wasn’t going insane over you.”

You laughed softly. “You can stop pretending.”

“Why did it take you this long to call me on it if you knew?” he asked, his tone turning a little more serious.

“I wanted to see how long you'd keep trying.”

Not that you thought Logan was that type of guy, but you also wasn’t about to risk your career for a guy who just wanted you to be another notch on his bedpost.  

“And?” he asked, leaning an inch closer.

“You lasted longer than I expected,” you murmured.

Silence settled over the row again, but the air felt different now.

The bus let out a loud hiss from the brakes, slowing down as it finally pulled off of the highway and onto the familiar roads of the Briar campus.

“The guys are throwing a post-game thing at the house,” Logan murmured, his voice laced with anticipation. He turned his body toward you fully, placing his hand softly on your knee. The heat of his palm soaked straight through your jeans. “Come back to the house with me. Just hang out in my room. Away from the team.”

He said it casually. Too casually. It was a tempting invitation, but you knew there was no way you could do that. If Coach Jensen knew you were flirting with the players on a team bus, or if you crossed that line so publicly...

You met his eyes, holding his gaze as you slowly shook your head. “I can’t, Logan.”

Logan’s smile faded slightly, knowing the hesitation was strictly about your position with the team. “I'm not asking you to break any rules right now... just hang out.”

“Logan. If I walk into the hockey house with you at night...” You trailed off.

There were so many ways you could finish that sentence. Dean would never let either of you live it down. Garrett would feel compelled to give some sort of responsible team-captain lecture. The entire team would know by breakfast, and your personal boundaries with them would probably be broken.

“I like my job too much,” you finished gently instead.

A flicker of disappointment crossed his handsome features. “So, that's a no.”

“It is.”

He nodded slowly, swallowing his pride as he accepted your answer. His hand slipped off your knee, leaving a cold space where his warmth had just been. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. I get it. Sorry, I didn't mean to press you.”

“But,” you whispered, a daring smile playing on your lips, “my apartment is off-campus.”

Logan froze mid-movement. He blinked, his dark eyes widening. “What?”

“If you’re not too tired, that is,” you murmured.

The heavy bus finally shuddered to a full stop in the arena parking lot.

You unbuckled your seatbelt and reached down to grab your backpack, putting your phone in the pocket.  

For a second, Logan just stared at you as the reality of what you were offering sank in. Then, the disappointment vanished, replaced by a burning desire.

“Give me five minutes to come up with an excuse,” Logan whispered, his voice incredibly thick and rough. “Don't leave the parking lot without me.”

All around you, the overhead lights clicked on with a harsh flash, and the players began standing up. They groaned as they stretched their sore muscles, grabbing their duffel bags from the overhead racks.

“I’ll wait around the corner,” you whispered as you slipped out of your seat, blending into the crowd of hockey players shuffling down the aisle. Stepping off the bus, the crisp night air hit you instantly, a welcome relief from the stuffy interior.

As the players crowded around the luggage compartment to grab their bags, you walked up to the group casually.

“Great effort tonight, boys,” you said with a warm smile, nodding to Garrett and Tucker. “I’m sorry we couldn’t get the win.”

“Thanks,” Garrett muttered, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “You have a good evening.”

You walked towards your car, quickly sliding in and driving around the corner of the athletic building, parking in the shadows where the bus headlights couldn't reach. Your heart was hammering against your ribs, the thrill of having a secret making this so much better.

It didn’t take Logan long to make his way to you. He walked with a purposeful stride, his eyes scanning the dark street until they landed on your car. He jogged over, opened the passenger door, and slid in.

“Smooth,” Logan murmured as he buckled his seatbelt. “Very professional.”

“I try my best,” you laughed softly, shifting into drive.

When you walked through your front door, you tossed your keys onto the entryway table and kicked off your shoes. Logan did the same, following you through your apartment as he took it all in for the first time.

“Can I get you something to drink?” you asked, walking toward the kitchen nook. You at least wanted to play good host before jumping his bones.

“Water is fine, thanks,” Logan said, walking over to the living room and sinking into your plush sofa.

You poured two glasses of water and walked back over, handing one to him. Instead of taking the armchair across from him, you sat down on the opposite end of the sofa.

“Thanks,” he murmured, taking a slow sip before setting the glass down on the coffee table. He shifted his weight, turning his body toward you and resting his arm along the back of the sofa.

“You look exhausted,” you said softly, pulling one leg up onto the cushion so you were facing him too.

“I was,” Logan admitted, his dark eyes fixed on your face. “But I'm feeling a lot better now.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

You placed your own glass down on the coffee table, before looking back at him. He usually looked at you in one of two ways. The first was when you laughed or spoke; he’d look with a soft expression. The second, like now, was when he’d basically be undressing you with his eyes.

“So...” you started, but you didn’t finish your trail of thought.

Logan watched you for a few beats longer, before blurting out, “Will you think less of me if I’m bold?”

You bit your lower lip, shaking your head. “No.”

“Good, then come here.” He leant forward, sticking out his hand.

When you took it, he pulled you towards him, he kept pulling until you were straddling his lap.

“Hi,” you breathed, looking down at him.

“Hi,” he said back.

He kept looking up at you expectantly, wanting to let you set the pace to this.

You leant forward and bit down on his earlobe. He signed and moaned as you sucked it into your mouth. Then, you moved to where his jaw met his neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin there.

“I’ve been waiting a while for this,” you confessed against the skin of his neck.

“Yeah?” He panted. “Me too.”

His lips slightly parted as you resumed your trail down across his neck, over his jaw, and then to his mouth.

The kiss started slow, almost cautious, as if he was still making sure he wasn’t dreaming. His lips were soft against yours, but the moment you breathed a sigh against his mouth and leant into his touch, the hesitation vanished. You found a rhythm together quickly, his tongue swiping across yours.

You pulled back to get some air and Logan followed you, his breath puffing against your mouth as he came to claim you in kisses once again. He tilted your head so that he could deepen the kiss.

He didn’t stop kissing you as his hands went under the hem of your shirt, warm, calloused hands sliding up your smooth back.  He stopped at the clasp of your bra, fingers moving smoothly over the clasp to undo it on the first attempt.

This time, it was Logan who pulled back, but only for a second so that he could tug your shirt up over your head and pull off your bra. The second you were bare; his lips were back on yours.

Pulling you flush against him, his hand snaked between your bodies and up to your chest. He kneaded your breasts, before focusing his attention on one nipple, softly pinching and rolling it between his fingers.

You moaned into his mouth as he flicked a finger over it, back and forth and back again.

Then, the pad of his thumb stroked firmly over your nipple, and another moan left your lips. He pulled his mouth away from yours, tracing down your throat. Burying his face in your beck, his teeth grazed your pulse point while his hands continued across your chest.  

“Don’t mark me,” you warned, you didn’t want to have to cover up at work.

“I won’t,” he groaned, his voice vibrating right against your skin. “I've pictured this every single day since the start of the season.”

You hadn’t realised how much you were grinding down into him until you begun to feel the rigid length of him beneath you, straining against the fabric. You desperately, purposely, moved your hips against him again, the friction coming from the fabric of your jeans and his length pressed up into you driving you insane.

He shuddered as he leant back against the armrest of the sofa, his hands sliding down to your hips as he looked up at you. his gaze was heavy and heated, roaming over the way you grinded into him, up to your bare chest, and finally to the look of ecstasy on your face. You felt exposed, but so powerful, as you watched his head loll back.

Slowly, you reached down, your fingers catching the hem of his top. “Your turn.”

It’s like your words revived him, he immediately sat up, pulling the top over his head and tossing it onto the floor. The sight of his tanned skin, the trail of hair leading down his body, and the sharp lines of his abs made your breath hitch. He had a few bruises from the game across his torso and it made him look even more attractive to you.

You leant forward, pressing your bare chest against his bare skin, as you captured his lips again, much hungrier this time. Your hands slid down his firm abdomen to the waistband of his sweatpants.

He bucked up to you, groaning into the kiss, as you wrapped your hand around his erection. You squeezed it tightly before dragging a nail along the throbbing vein at the underside of his dick.

Moving your attention to his leaking slit, your thumb traced over it, smearing the small amount of pre-cum around the head.

“Logan,” you purred as you made a ring with your fingers and worked his length.

“Hmm?”

“I’m really wet,” you said darkly, “and I need you to fuck me now, okay?”

Immediately jumping to action, his hands found the hem of your jeans and, together, you worked in a frantic and uncoordinated rush to get rid of the rest of the clothes. You slid off of his lap, your bare feet hitting the carpet as you pushed your jeans and underwear down your legs. Logan kicked off his sweatpants and boxers at the same time, freeing his thick length.

He slid to the floor, back resting against the base if the sofa.

When you looked down at him, he was watching you, mouth wide as he looked over your naked body.

“Come here,” he murmured, his voice rough.

You immediately straddled his lap, the direct skin-on-skin contact sending another bolt of ecstasy through you. he slipped a hand between your legs, collecting your arousal on his fingers before popping them into his mouth, sucking it clean off.

“I can’t wait to properly taste you,” he said.

“Next time,” you huffed as you rubbed your dripping pussy over his dick.

Tilting his pelvis up, he guided the head of his length to your entrance. He paused there for a second.

“Look at me,” he whispered, his eyes locking onto yours when you looked at him. He wanted to make sure you were ready.

You stared directly into his eyes, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you slowly lowered your hips, taking him inside you.

Logan’s head fell back against the sofa cushions, a low groan rumbling from his throat as you squeezed around him. He gripped your waist tighter than he probably realised he was.

For a long moment, he didn’t move, letting you both adjust to what was happening. His chest heaved as he stared up at you with unadulterated desire.

When he finally began to thrust into you, every stroke hit you deeply, and was perfectly aimed at the spot inside of you that had your toes curling. The room was silent save for the combined sounds of you both raggedly breathing and each slap of your ass against the tops of his thighs.

It had only taken a few bounces before Logan felt his orgasm approach.

“Oh– shit,” Logan called, as he was then suddenly shooting ropey cum up into you.

You leant back, hands resting on the floor behind you as you spread your legs wider. He was still buried inside you, so you opted your small rolls of your hips rather than bounces. His hand came to your clit, it throbbed under his thumb, and the tight coil built rapidly in your lower stomach.

One of your hands came to play with your nipples as he kept gently rubbing at your clit, not sure what kind of pressure you needed. Your orgasm crashed over you, pulling an undone cry from your lips.

He winced as your walls squeezed around his sensitive, and slightly softened, dick.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, turning pink as you came down from your orgasm. “Guess I’ve been holding that one in for too long.”

You were an adult, and knew that the reality was that sex wasn’t always a marathon. You didn’t mind a sprint every now and then, especially considering there was actual build up.

“You don’t need to apologise. I enjoyed it. Really enjoyed it. Did you?”

He nodded sheepishly.

“Then there’s no problem.” You leant in to give him a swift kiss. “Do you want to take a shower with me?”

“I do,” he said eagerly.

You stood up, wincing as you felt his release run down your inner thighs. Walking on shaky legs, you led the way into the bathroom, Logan following close behind. You turned the handle, waiting a moment for the water to warm up before stepping under the spray.

When Logan stepped in behind you and helped you to wash, it was incredibly sweet, feeling way more intimate than what you’d just done. The heat mostly washed away the worries you hadn’t realised you had, but a voice nagging in your head kept asking you what would happen now that you’d crossed that boundary with him.

The shower was over quickly, and you gave him the only pair of shorts you owed that you thought could fit him. You both walked back to the living room and sat on the sofa, putting on a movie, but the exhaustion of the long night was catching up fast.

“By the way,” he said. “I was thinking about what you said on the coach about wanting to see how long I would have kept trying.”

“Hmm,” you mumbled sleepily, shifting closer against him.

“I want you to know I would have kept trying until you rejected me,” Logan murmured, his arm tightening around your shoulders to pull you securely against him. “This isn’t a game to me. I’m serious about this.”

A soft smile pulled at your lips as you felt yourself drifting off.

“Good to know,” you said.

[kzrosa-writes]

dottore and pantalone threesome with f!reader | MDNI

wrote this at 3 am, published this at 4 am, i am horny so this wasn't proofread ,, first post in ages pls spare me

"Keep those pretty eyes on me, love."

A gentle hand tilts your chin, a gloved thumb caressing your cheek before brushing your bottom lip, slipping it between your lips. You gulp, lifting your gaze to meet Pantalone's eyes, before immediately dropping to his exposed torso. His thumb slips into your mouth, rubbing against your thumb. Even after all this time, you still remain speechless and breathless each time you see Pantalone unclothed.

A rough slap against your pussy causes you to gasp, your tongue pressing against Pantalone's thumb. Behind you, Dottore's hand rubs against your aching folds, his fingers rubbing torturous circles against your clit. You whimper into Pantalone's hand, eyes fluttering shut from the sensations between your legs.

"Ah-ah, darling," Pantalone's grip on your chin tightening just a bit, "I said eyes on me."

You let out a shaky breath, trying your best to keep your gaze from straying elsewhere. He withdraws his thumb from your mouth, a pleased smirk on his lips as he watches the soft flush on your cheeks grow. Dottore's hand moves to spread your thighs wider apart, exposed fully for him to see. You shudder from the cold air that brushes against your cunt, bucking your hips slightly at the sensation.

Your eyes drop to Pantalone's hand, watching as he wraps his fingers around his gleaming shaft. He pumps his cock, the soft but lewd squelches causing you to bite your lip.

"Open your mouth," he instructs, bringing his cock towards your lips. You gulp, taking a deep breath before opening your mouth. You lick the tip of his cock, swirling your tongue before taking him in slowly. He lets out a groan, his hand sliding onto your head to grab your hair to guide you further.

You struggle a bit as you shift your position on the bed, resting your elbows in between Pantalone's thighs for support as you continue to suck him. You arch your back, thighs spread apart and ass out for Dottore. You moan into Pantalone's cock as you feel Dottore rub your clit once again, your forehead leaning lightly against Pantalone's stomach.

"Relax, dear," Dottore coos, placing a firm hand on your waist. "I'm sure you'll take us well, won't you?"

Without warning, he presses the tip of his cock against you before thrusting it in roughly, eliciting a sharp cry from your lips. His sharp thrust causes you to take more than what you could from Pantalone, causing you to gag from his length. Tears prick your eyes as Dottore begins to roughly slam himself into you and as you continue to suck on Pantalone, deepthroating him to the best of your abilities. One of your hands grabs onto Pantalone's waist for support, holding onto him for balance.

"Aren't you such a greedy little thing?" Pantalone teases, his hand cupping your head as he guides you even deeper. "Taking our cocks like a good girl. Our good girl."

Dottore's rough grip on your waist as he slams into your cunt, Pantalone's cock reaching the back of your throat... It feels so good, so perfect. You are practically dripping all over, loud squelches filling the room with each thrust. You look up at Pantalone, eyes glossy with tears. His eyes are half lidded with pleasure, a low groan coming from his lips.

Dottore's rhythm begins to grow sloppy with each thrust, the sound of his grunts growing louder. A knot begins to form in your stomach, coiling tight inside you. Pantalone's hand pushes you slighter deeper into his cock, your drool spilling from the corners of your lips.

"Fuck, sweetheart–" Pantalone curses, his eyes fluttering shut. "I'm gonna cum."

A harsh smack lands on your ass, a cry escaping your lips. Dottore's hand grabs your ass, spreading it apart slightly as he continued to fuck you into ecstacy. "Cum for us, will you, darling?"

It doesn't take long. With a few sharp thrusts, a wave of pleasure washes over you, your pussy fluttering from stimulation. Pantalone groans at the sensation, pushing your head deeper into his cock as his thick, warm seed spills into your mouth, coating your tongue with his essence. Not long after, Dottore releases his own cum inside of you, pounding the rest of his cum into you to fill your pussy.

You pull away from Pantalone, his seed leaking onto your lips. After a few final thrusts, Dottore also pulls away, pumping the rest of his cum onto your clit.

"Don't swallow," Pantalone orders, his breath ragged as he reaches his hand to cup my cheek, brushing a bead of cum from the corner of your lips.

You let out a muffled yelp as you felt two fingers curl inside of you. Dottore pumps his fingers inside you, pushing his seed deeper into you. Your knees buck in response, causing you to collapse onto the plush of the mattress.

"What a greedy little slut you are," Dottore teases, giving your pussy a little slap before pulling away.

You don't respond, too drunk on their cum to even think straight. Pantalone shifts his position on the bed before helping you to rest properly, lifting your head to rest on his lap. Dottore sits up on the bed, lifting your legs to rest on his lap. He leans down to press a gentle kiss on your stomach and then your forehead, basking in the sight of you stained with their cum.

"You're such a good girl, darling," Pantalone says as he caresses your cheeks. You only look up at him, your mouth still full to reply. Your eyes glimmer in the light, using your gaze to ask the question you are too exhausted to speak out.

He smiles and nods, rubbing his thumb against your bottom lip. "You may swallow, love."

At his permission, you swallow his cum, licking the rest of his cum at the corner of his lips. Dottore places a hand above yours, intertwining your fingers before giving it a light squeeze.

With them, everything feels perfect.

♡ masterlist ・ navi ・ request rules —

[flipppityflop]

Horny af for dottolone x reader rn ngl

MDNI

Just imagine accidentally walking into the room at the wrong time, knowing Dottore will be in his rare leisure hour for the day that he already rarely gives himself. You can smell the tea he likes to brew to unwind after a long day through the door.

And when you open it, there they are. Zandik has Feofan’s legs braced in either hand as he pummels straight into him, over and over. The Regrator’s leaking, neglected dick bobs in the air with every thrust as his head falls back onto the table that’s contents have been scattered about the floor in a rush.

Their moans are so pretty together. Feofan whimpers and breathes hard as his ass gets filled by Zandik’s cock, while the latter grunts and groans and says all of the filthiest things to his colleague.

“You love being treated like a slut, don’t you, Feofan? Taking my cock like this after reinstating our contract. Is this my true payment to you?”

And Pantalone is just losing his mind, drying cum coating his lower stomach as his next load prepares to splatter in the same place. And he’s right there, his moans picking up in volume and his toes curling and the feeling settling deep in his stomach and-

Zandik stops.

Feofan whines in protest.

“When did you arrive?”

Uh oh.

The two men stare at you, look back at each other, look back at you again, and their dicks throb even harder.

And poor you, Dottore’s little infatuation, accidentally walked in on their noisy, improper fucking. Neither man scowled nor chastised, nor did they rush to cover themselves up. Instead, they regarded you almost quizzically, as if formulating plans in their heads left unspoken to your ears.

“Come” demanded Dottore in a soft but stern tone.

You walked to his side immediately, unsure of, really, what else to do. His hand came up to cup your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. His mask wasn’t on at this time.

As he looked down at you, you noticed that Pantalone’s moans begun to come back in soft, short bursts. Zandik was moving his hips again, slowly, tantalizingly.

“Now, what I’ll do with you,” The Doctor began,

Dottore grabbed the base of the other man’s cock, lowering you down to take him all in one go. Pantalone almost screamed.

He made short work of your clothes, planting his hands firmly at your waist as he continued to fuck into Feofan still, your feet lifting off the ground as you were placed atop him, hovering just above his needy, weeping cock.

“…is make you useful.”

“Do a good job and I’ll forget this little disturbance ever happened.”

The bastard was having far too much.

The feeling of Feofan’s cock having filled you completely almost felt too much, and you begun to ride him in hopes of relieving the pressure. The two of you cried and whined and whimpered all to the pleasure of Zandik’s ears as he plowed his ass, keeping one hand on your hip to guide you up and down on his cock at the same time.

Feofan came hard inside of you at the same time that Dottore came into him, sending you over the edge in a blissful crescendo.

Dottore pulled back, admiring the two of you still on one another.

“Right, then. Both of you, collect yourselves and see yourselves out.”

“Seriously?!”

“I have work to do.”

[chrollogy]

𝓤𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝓞𝐁𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ♱ ྀིྀ

pantalone x fem!reader x dottore

SYNOPSIS: Seeking to deepen his understanding of the human mind, The Doctor offers a ‘special’ experiment to his favourite subordinate—you—and his dear friend, Regrator. Amidst the heat of the study, the fine line between scientific curiosity and personal intrusion blurs as the Second Harbinger finds himself joining in on the fun.

CONTENT WARNING: DUBCON, fatui!reader, reader is dottore’s subordinate, reader is referred to as ‘miss’, petty bickering between the old men, slight scientific jargon, prob inaccurate science stuff (sorry), slight pervert pantalone, smut (mdni), nipple play (?), pantalone-centric in first half of smut, p*rn w/o plot, exhibitionism, dottore gets FOMO lowkey, implied use of aphrodisiac (m), p in v, protected sex but eventual unprotected sex, threesome, double penetration, anal sex (f receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, not beta read.

WORD COUNT: 8.2k

NOTES: happy june :”3 !! i hope you enjoy this very self indulgent piece! i haven’t written a threesome in ages so apologies if its a bit clunky </3. div: babyg4rlhelps

The hallway leading to The Doctor’s laboratory was eerily quiet, his subordinates—like yourself—were currently on break at the cafeteria indulging in much needed fuel to power through yet another hectic day. The soles of your shoes echoed throughout the metallic floors, it served as a reminder at how deserted the corridor was; even though you’ve walked down this same path for years, the atmosphere never once failed to lick an icy shiver down your spine. It didn’t help how lifeless and dull these hallways were. As for the purpose of your early return in The Doctor’s laboratory, one of your colleagues had told you that the Harbinger required your presence urgently, and given your colleagues' words, it seemed to be a matter of importance.

Though, you wondered why The Doctor had specifically asked for you; as far as you were aware, your ranking as his subordinate wasn’t anything special—merely conducting experiments and quality control were your tasks, just like all the other subordinates under his authority. Ah, you didn’t mess up anything, did you? You always always followed protocols and it wasn’t like The Doctor had previously given you an earful for messing up an experiment. 

In fact, he had been nothing but full of praise towards you; there was one instance where the Harbinger gleefully praised your intellect. Although to others, he never held back on his dissatisfaction whenever a colleague of yours messed up certain experimental procedures. The Doctor always spoke to them of the importance of materials as they were not easily obtainable, and to always carefully read the protocols. Unfortunately, his rather strange bias towards you made you the butt of the jokes amongst your colleagues in cafeteria conversations, and you were more than certain they were currently laughing at you behind your back.

“Hah! She’s like a teacher’s pet but instead of a teacher it's Lord Dottore! Hahahahahaha!” One of your colleagues started right after you were told The Doctor needed you back at the laboratory.

Of course, it was all light hearted but you wished they were a bit more mature about the situation because sometimes you couldn’t help but feel . . . weird around Lord Dottore at times—especially at times where he’d lean over your shoulder to inspect your task for the day. Maybe he simply needed a closer look but the way his chest ghosted against your back had you biting the inside of your cheeks.

Stepping inside the laboratory, you were greeted with an empty space, devoid of the man you were looking for. The room was how everyone left it before heading to the cafeteria—powered equipment turned off, hazardous chemicals stored away, and several documents sprawled across counters. For a supposedly urgent matter, you expected him to be at least present in his own laboratory.

Confused, you called out, “. . Lord Dottore?”

Silence stretched for a few moments before you received a response, “I am in my office. It would be preferable if you joined me.”

At the sound of his familiar voice, you followed its origin where it led you to the slightly ajar door to his office. Your heart pounded against your chest, you’ve only been inside there once to drop off research notes because the person who usually did it was absent that day, The Doctor also wasn’t inside when you had entered previously so this was your first time in his office with him.

Something about that unnerved you. Sure, he was somewhat ‘nicer’ to you but there wasn’t denying the fact that he was an interesting individual but you were under the same organisation, so it wasn’t your place to question the Harbinger nor his motives.

As you walked inside, you quietly closed the door behind out of politeness before turning around to get on one knee and bow your head. During the brief movement, you caught a familiar tall figure standing just off to the side of The Doctor’s desk.

“Lord Dottore, Lord Regrator.” But what was he doing here?

There wasn’t much you knew about Lord Regrator other than he was the Ninth Harbinger who was in charge of economic policies in the nation.

“There’s no need for formalities. Sit. I called you here to discuss a special experiment.” Dottore gestured a gloved hand at the empty seat before his desk, the corners of his lips slightly curled.

A special experiment? At the mention of an experiment, your heart calmed a little—it was your expertise after all, so there was no point fretting over it but the strange tension in the room seemed to scream otherwise. It also didn’t explain why Regrator was present, it wasn’t like they were about to start discussing finance with you.

You nodded, standing up to quietly make your way to the empty seat, “Of course. May I ask what this experiment is about?”

As you sat down, Dottore spoke up once more, both elbows atop the wooden desk, leaning a little closer, “Recently, I have been expanding my research on the human brain and its connection to the body regarding its response to bodily sensations such as touch. I have appropriate non-invasive equipment in my personal laboratory, however, the procedure is rather . . invasive.”

Invasive? What could Dottore possibly mean by that?

“Naturally, such an experiment necessitates a suitable candidate and their willing consent.”

A participant—you assumed that was your supposed role, the reason why Dottore required your presence. Once more, your heart thrummed out of nervousness, you weren’t going to conduct an experiment, you were going to be experimented on. The mention of an invasive procedure already had your mind spinning in a million different scenarios; he wasn’t going to cut you open, was he . . ?

“Your intelligence precedes your colleagues which is why I have found you to be the suitable candidate. Of course, it all comes down to your decision but it would be a delight to have your involvement.”

You sucked in a small breath, “May I . . read over the research proposal, Lord Dottore?” He wordlessly nodded, opening a drawer on his desk before sliding a neat stack of papers over. 

Written in bold letters was the title: ‘Sensory cortex activation by stimulation’

The human mind remains an imperfectly understood mechanism. This study aims to document and analyze cerebral activity in response to external stimuli such as touch and pressure in order to better identify the relations between the human brain and body. The implications of this experimental research extend beyond mere academic curiosity, a more complex understanding of neurological behaviour under euphoric conditions may provide valuable insight into artificial human enhancement procedures. Experimentation of this nature requires a fully informed and consenting participant.

Methodology: The participant will be situated within a controlled laboratory environment under my supervision to maintain consistency of neurological readings throughout the duration of the experiment. Neurological activity will be monitored and recorded through the use of neural-imaging apparatus for high resolution cerebral observation. The participant will be gradually exposed to sexual stimuli in certain body areas as follows: nipple, clitoral and vaginal (penile penetration) leading up to orgasm which is the expected peak readings.

To ensure authenticity of collected data, the participant must remain aware and capable of providing continuous informed consent during all stages of experimentation and contraception will be used. Furthermore, a second participant (assigned to Pantalone) is set to carry out sexual stimuli mentioned above and is considered a controlled variable along with the primary participant. Collected findings will subsequently be analyzed for potential applications in the fields of cognitive enhancement and artificial synchronisation of human neural patterns.

In simpler terms, Dottore wanted to observe human neural activity during a euphoric state to better understand the connection between the brain and body? In all honesty, you were speechless. Not only was the former supervising the entire experiment but Lord Regrator was also a participant, at this point you were convinced this was some kind of humiliation ritual. There was no denying that The Doctor was extremely professional when it came to research, and you were more than certain it wasn’t going to be his first time seeing a naked human body—he had even written a formal proposal which further confirms that this experiment wasn’t some kind of perverted shenanigan.

“Do I, uh—Does the experiment require the primary participant to be . . fully naked?” You feigned a cough, flipping a page as you tried your best to avoid eye contact with Dottore. Though he wore a pointed mask, you were certain his eyes remained solely on you.

“It is not a necessity. Only stated areas in the proposal are required to be exposed for efficiency. I’d also like to mention that a generous compensation will be given once the experiment concludes.”

At the mention of compensation, your ears perked up. Even though the Fatui was an influential organization in Teyvat, the pay you received was fairly enough to get by but if you were being honest, you could use a bit more mora especially with this month’s bills rolling around. Without another word, you nodded, finally looking up at the Second Harbinger.

“Alright. I will participate in the experiment, Lord Dottore.”

Beneath the pointed mask, his rosy lips stretched into a wider smile, “Excellent. I require you to sign this contract then I shall conduct a pre-experiment interview to obtain better understanding of the participant.” Reaching over the desk, he flipped over to the last page of the proposal and slid a fountain pen over, silently tapping his gloved fingers against the wooden surface as he watched you sign. 

With your participation officially sealed with a signature, The Doctor carefully placed the document inside the drawer and fixed his attention on you, gloved hands loosely clasped around one another, “Are you sexually active?” His question settled into the thick silence awkwardly, it stuck out like a sore thumb—all too sudden and personal yet your commander had simply asked it as if he were asking about today’s weather.

You were aware this was part of the protocol but having Regrator present in the office seemed a bit much for you; what was he even here for? Surely, he wasn’t about to start asking you medical related questions, he didn’t even work in the field. Discomfort enveloped your warmed skin, a thousand kisses akin to small prickles—hot and itchy.

Shifting ever so slightly in your seat, you spoke, “N-No . . but I have had intercourse before.” Archons, if you were given the option between Her Majesty unleashing her unforgiving ice on you or to explain your sex life to The Doctor, without hesitation you’d pick the former. Dottore was still your boss, after all but thankfully, he was as professional as you expected, keenly listening to your reply while nodding—nothing more, nothing less. If he had any reaction to your answers, he didn’t let on.

“And when was the last time?”

God, when was the last time you had sex? You simply couldn’t remember. Being a Fatui wasn’t a walk down the park, days in The Doctor’s laboratory were long and tedious, by the time you return home late in the afternoon, you’d only have the strength to eat and wash up before welcoming the night. The routine was monotonous, yes but there wasn’t room to mope around  and complain.

“I cannot accurately say but most likely a month ago.” With your boyfriend then but The Doctor didn’t need to know about your past relationship.

The Second Harbinger’s questions continued for a couple more minutes, he asked about every single medical related question you could think of—medical history, current medications, prior injuries, and existing neurological conditions. Naturally, you tried your best to answer as accurately as advised by The Doctor and each response was recorded with meticulous precision.

“Good.” The word sounded less like praise and more like a conclusion. “If at any point you wish to withdraw from the study, you will retain your right to do so.”

Silence stretched inside the cold room.

You stared at Dottore. Through his pointed mask, he stared back. Neither of you spoke as his words lingered in the icy atmosphere like wisps of smoke, light and airy yet it held a bitter taste. A beat passed, then, very slowly, one corner of his mouth curved upward.

“I assume you’re wondering whether I genuinely mean that.”

So The Doctor was aware of your growing suspicion regarding his previous statement; you knew well enough how he worked, his experimental endeavours weren’t obtained through ethical and considerate experiments, and for him to state something like that was clearly out of character. Or maybe he actually housed an ounce of decency in him.

“Pardon my brazenness but yes, a little.”

The smile on his lips widened, “Reasonable.”

“Coerced participation produces unreliable results, especially neurological results.”

It wasn’t concern nor ethics but merely data quality, you didn’t know whether to applaud him for being such a dedicated scholar. Surprisingly, his reasoning was sound, emotions can and will affect neurological scans; factors such as stress can create physiological ‘noise’ which would increase variability in data.

At the lack of your reply, The Doctor merely dismissed your silence as acknowledgement and spoke up once more, “As you’re already aware, this study requires two participants. The reliability of the data is dependent upon minimising external variables and, unfamiliarity constitutes as such.”

“In other words, you’re making us socialize.” Lord Regrator finally spoke up, his dulcet voice curling around your body like a serpentine predator.

Well, it wasn’t entirely odd to familiarise oneself with a fellow study participant, especially if intimacy was on the table but the whole situation felt rather awkward. Under more casual circumstances, you’d feel at ease but being confined in your commander’s office with another Harbinger felt nothing but forced; you felt nothing less than a puppet being forced to interact with another toy at the hands of a naïve child.

“Call it whatever you prefer. Participants exhibit measurably different neurological responses when interacting with unfamiliar individuals.” A gloved finger tapped the wooden desk, “Trust levels, social comfort, perceived predictability—they all introduce inconsistencies. Unless, of course, you want me to find another willing participant. After all, you do have the right to withdraw from the study, Pantalone.”

Hidden beneath Dottore’s words was provocation but to Pantalone, the taunt was clear as day. From where he stood, he could see the way the former’s lips curled into a smug smile—a silent challenge between both of them. But Regrator didn’t bite, no, instead, he shifted his attention toward you.

“Well.” He smiled pleasantly, “It seems we’ve been assigned homework. If Dottore wishes us to become familiar with one another, I suppose introductions are in order.”

Satisfied that events were proceeding according to plan, the Second Harbinger immediately returned to his notes. Lord Regrator watched his companion for a brief moment, “He’s actually taking notes. How amusing.” A gentle laugh escaped his lips, he moved a tad closer to get a better view and the scent of tobacco faintly invaded your senses.

For the next hour, conversation between you and Regrator drifted from formal introductions to declassified Fatui affairs to Snezhnayan politics, and for the entirety of it, Dottore wordlessly sat in his seat, taking notes of everything. The conversation started off stiff as expected—Pantalone may be a participant but he was still a Harbinger, and with it came formality but as words flowed, you eased slightly. You learned about his role as a high ranking Fatuus and despite your lack of interest in his field, you simply nodded along.

Lord Regrator differed from Lord Dottore, and whether that observation was positive or not, you were uncertain. Different in a way that the former was clearly built for conversations, he gave flattery when needed, smiled at your words, and gave colourful responses; you assumed he obtained his mannerisms through his role but even with his authority, he was easier to converse with.

“Alright, that is all for today. I shall require both your presence next week once I have the appropriate equipment set up.”

With that, you excused yourself first and headed back to the cafeteria with a racing heart. On the way over, you questioned whether what you were getting yourself into was something you’d regret in the future but all your mind could think about was the coming week. The mere idea of Lord Regrator intimately touching you shouldn’t have invited heat between your legs but with every step taken closer to the cafeteria, the more it grew. It didn’t help how obscene visuals of you and him flashed in your mind every second or so.

The new week rolled around with slight anticipation; it was embarrassing, really, the slight excitement buried in the depths of your core pulsing with expectation. It was weird to anticipate such an erotic experiment but pure lust fogged your mind primarily due to the fact that you simply haven’t had sex in a month. Weeks of pent up stress and emotions? You were definitely overdue for release. Though, you did have to constantly remind yourself that it was a formal study within a controlled environment, and not some kind of one night stand with your commander’s colleague.

“I trust you’re both well rested?”

The three of you were back inside The Doctor’s office, it was late afternoon, the warm glow of the sun spilled through the frostbitten windows, painting the rather dull room in a mellow hue. The rest of your colleagues had already left the laboratory which meant you, along with the two Harbingers were the only ones present. It made you a little nervous—being alone in a room with two of Snezhnaya’s influential individuals.

Pantalone hummed and you replied with a small nod, already feeling your skin starting to prick.

Dottore led you both into another room connected to his office, it wasn’t as vast and you assumed this was strictly out of bounds to everyone but him. The room felt unnervingly sterile, its walls were constructed from smooth metal panels with narrow seams, and bright white lighting illuminated the space.

At the centre of the room stood the experiment’s primary apparatus—a reclining examination chair surrounded by an intricate arrangement of cables, a machine, and polished metallic arms suspended from the ceiling. The most striking feature of the room was the wall opposite the entrance—a single pane of reinforced observation glass stretched nearly from floor to ceiling; beyond the glass you assumed was the control room, housing machinery responsible for operating the experiment.

“For the entire duration of the experiment, I shall remain inside the control room to oversee the study and note down all results. Remove any unnecessary layers of clothing such as overcoats and gloves, and meet me by the apparatus.”

Left in your blouse and pants, you headed to the center of the room where Dottore stood with Pantalone just a step behind. The former tinkered around the apparatus, pressing a few buttons and flipping switches with a gloved finger, causing the machine to whirr to life; it hummed a low, almost quiet tune that somewhat settled your nerves.

“Lie down.”

The Doctor looked over his feathered shoulder, pointed mask gleaming beneath the harsh lighting before turning his attention to the suspended metallic arms for inspection. You did as you were told, positioning the entirety of your body along the examination chair, the leather was cool against the fabric of your clothes which left tiny goosebumps from the difference in temperature. Wordlessly, you watched as he positioned the metallic arms near your head, several inches away from contact; its tips were equipped with a semi-circle that encased your head. So, this was what The Doctor meant about non-invasive equipment.

“Once I operate the machine, you may feel a slight sensation but do not fret, it is simply the apparatus emitting pulses of energy to record neural activity. And as for you, I require complete obedience—every single word.”

“Hah, you act as if I’m some kind of disobedient mutt. I’m wounded.” Regrator pressed a hand over his chest, a mocking smile directed at his colleague.

The latter didn’t bother replying and instead walked off to the control room, the soles of his boots clicking with every calculated step. Pantalone softly shook his head, muttering a faint “Lovely as ever.” beneath his breath, full of sarcasm.

“Any command given will be spoken through this intercom.” 

Your attention quickly moved from Regrator to the mounted speakers on the corners of the room as Dottore’s amplified voice filled the space. Gaze darting over to the foot of the examination chair, just past the Ninth Harbinger’s torso, you watched your commander on the other side of the observation glass. Heat warmed your cheeks at the realisation that you directly faced the latter which meant he’d be able to see everything you exposed.

“Base readings first. In the meantime, Pantalone, I trust you have already taken the concoction I made prior?” 

With the metallic arms whirring to life, you could barely hear The Doctor’s words over the pulsing of the machine. Just as he mentioned, there was a slight foreign sensation in your head, it felt like pressure but also not at the same time, though, it wasn’t painful. You could only watch as the two conversed over the observation glass.

“Indeed.” Regrator nodded.

Two days ago, Dottore had given him a curated substance meant to increase one’s libido, thus concentrating blood flow to the genitalia. He had no qualms consuming it but it was foreign, indeed, he had never taken such a drug before and it took all his willpower not to take you right then and there. It didn’t help how his semi-hardened cock twitched inside his pants, involuntarily rubbing against the fabric of his underwear.

Dottore jotted down a few notes as the monitors displayed your real-time cerebral activity; so far, everything looked good, “Commencing the first phase of the experiment: nipple stimulation. Duration: 30 seconds. For the entire duration—without stopping—the nipples are to be stimulated via gently pinching or twisting.”

Thirty seconds didn’t seem too long, right? With that, you slightly lifted yourself off the examination chair, bringing your blouse over your chest before attempting to unclip your brassiere. Seeing your struggle, Pantalone brought himself closer, a faint whiff of tobacco following, “May I?”

Despite his chivalrous offer, his amethyst gaze kept darting at your clothed breasts and the smoothness of your skin—he knew it was impolite to do so but being under the influence of Dottore’s concoction had him acting a tad out of character. He cleared his throat as his cock twitched at the sight before him, swallowing down the low moan he almost let out. Could you really blame him? The garment was a black lace adorned with intricate patterns, not to mention the fabric being slightly see-through—a feature he found rather brazen. Pantalone could almost assume you wore this specific garment today for him to see. And maybe for your commander, as well.

“Thank you . .” You nodded and allowed Regrator to help.

“Pardon the intrusion.” He laced an arm through the narrow space between your back and the chair, lithe fingers expertly unclasping your brassiere with one hand.

Your heart may or may not have skipped a beat.

In one swift movement, the garment loosened around your torso, threatening to slip off. With slight hesitation and a burning face, you removed the fabric and shyly placed it on the chair right by your thigh. Almost immediately, icy air kissed your warmed skin which caused your nipples to harden, a small hiss almost slipping past your lips. While you were occupied with embarrassment, Pantalone’s gaze traced the curves of your chest, each mound sinfully beckoning his large hands—maybe even his mouth too. Obviously, it wasn’t his first seeing a naked woman but how his mind reeled with selfish fantasies was beyond childish.

In the control room, Dottore was unfazed—he had seen many nude bodies before and yours weren’t any different. It was nothing special, really but your cerebral activity on the other hand . . . That was more interesting.

“Whenever you’re ready.” He spoke into the intercom.

“I’ll be starting now, Miss.” Regrator sat on the narrow space of the chair, his clothed thigh brushing against your own; you tried not to think of the warmth which radiated from his body or how your name effortlessly rolled off his tongue like it was meant to be.

A silent nod was all you could muster—not even a split second eye contact to acknowledge his presence out of politeness but from the looks of it, Regrator didn’t mind at all as he proceeded to bring both hands up to your chest. If only you’d look his way you’d see a shy hue of crimson dusting his pale cheeks and ears but alas, your gaze fixated on the ceiling above.

A small yelp forced its way past your lips; Regrator used both index fingers to gently trace your areolas a couple of times, mere centimetres shy from your pebbled nipples, the tips of his fingers were cold—not icy but enough to send a strong shiver down your spine. You missed the way the corners of his lips subtly curled upwards in utter amusement—who would’ve thought Dottore’s lovely subordinate hid quite melodious tunes? There was no doubt his Harbinger colleague thought of the same thing.

As a matter of fact, despite being behind an observation glass, Dottore heard the sound you made all too clearly. The door to the control room was slightly ajar which caused any noise—minute or not—to spill through. It wasn’t foreign for his experimental subjects to create any noise but today differed, what was usually tunes of pain turned into hums of pleasure, and he couldn’t decide between the two which he preferred.

Maybe, just maybe by a tad bit—from how his core twisted with delight—it was probably the latter.

But Dottore had no room to ponder over that, not when your neurological activity displayed exquisite images on his monitor. As expected, a small cluster of highlights illuminated the somatosensory cortex which indicated its activation; he quickly jotted down notes, eyes trained on the screen before him, trying not to let your saccharine noises get to his head.

Another twitch of his now fully hardened cock had him letting out a low groan beneath his shaky breaths. The sight before him was simply exquisite; Pantalone may not have the best eyesight but he didn’t need a perfect vision to deduce the divine beauty—breasts splayed flat, torso arching ever so slightly, your head turned to the side, bottom lip tucked between your teeth, and brows furrowed in embarrassment.

Oh, what a shy little thing you were.

“Lord R-Regrator—!” He gently pinched your nipples which spread a sharp, quick shock across your chest. Another arch of your back pressed your skin closer to Regrator’s digits, he experimented with a slight twist, turning them between his index fingers and thumbs.

Archons, how embarrassing! You tried. You truly tried to hold back any unwanted sounds but the Lord Harbinger seemed to know what he was doing—how to please a woman—you couldn’t help but moan out his name from how amazing his hands felt against your feverish skin. Save for the low hum of machinery, the room was filled with complete silence and any noise made stuck out like crimson ink on a blank ivory canvas.

“Do let me know if my actions hurt you at some point.” Pantalone mindlessly murmured, mind completely fogged with lust, and senses drowned in your muffled moans.

You finally looked up at him through glassy eyes and wet lashes, it didn’t help how the bright lights above drew sparkles in your irises. He almost missed the wordless nod you responded with, too focused on the growing haze painted on your face. As Regrator continued his stimulation, shallow pants filled the space above your face and by this point, your face was as warm as it could get. Occasionally, your body shuddered beneath his expert touch, slowly and steadily driving you over the edge as each second passed.

Before another embarrassing moan could spill from your lips, The Doctor’s voice flooded the room via intercom, “First phase has concluded. Moving on to the second phase: clitoral stimulation. Duration: 30 seconds. As previously mentioned, stimulation has to be continuous for the entire duration.”

Even though embarrassment had slightly subsided, you hesitantly reached for the button of your pants, undoing them with trembling hands. Once more, the Ninth Harbinger offered assistance to which you thankfully accepted—there was no reason getting shy now, he had already played with your nipples earlier. Driving the soles of your shoes onto the cushioned examination chair, you lifted your hips and pulled your pants down along with your underwear with the Harbinger’s help—just enough to expose your cunt.

His eyes zeroed in on your glistening entrance. All for him? Oh, he was being spoiled, indeed. The sight of your cunt fanned the blazing flames of Pantalone’s ego—all this just from mere nipple play? How adorable. You must’ve been really touch starved.

“Before we commence the second phase, Pantalone, I trust you can find the clitoris, right? Perhaps you need my assistance?”

“I am not ignorant, Dottore.”

“I am simply making sure. No reason to get snappy.”

You wanted to laugh. Two Harbingers bickering should not have amused you but the pettiness behind your commander’s voice and the slight annoyance laced with Lord Regrator’s words was all too amusing. If you were to tell a fellow colleague about them two bickering whether one could find the clitoris or not, they would not believe a single word that’d come out of your mouth. Who knew they could talk about trivial matters, too, how interesting.

Lord Regrator returned his rightful attention to you, his dull expression immediately shifted into the soft smile he always wore, “Ready, Miss?” Meek, you nodded. The Harbinger repositioned himself, right knee slotted between your parted legs to get a better view of your wet cunt.

He gathered the slick coating your cunt, spreading it on the pads of his fingers before pushing back your clitoral hood to reveal the swollen nub of flesh all in its needy glory. Embarrassingly enough, a simple ghostly touch on your clitoris had your entire body jerking against the leather of the chair, followed by a wanton moan of the Harbinger’s title. You quickly turned your head to the side and pressed the skin of your forearm against your lips—a futile attempt as the moment you obstructed your face, Lord Regrator’s digit began rubbing your clitoris in tight circles, as though a wordless protest against muffling the sounds you made.

His fingers were good—amazing, even, to the point where you wished thirty seconds went as quickly as a single second. In your head, clitoral stimulation of that duration was doable but you wholly underestimated yourself and the Lord Harbinger’s skills, on top of that, you were still trying to recover from earlier. You weren’t supposed to orgasm on this phase of the experiment otherwise it would ruin it entirely but it seemed like he had a goal: to drive you over the edge before the thirty seconds were up.

“L-Lord Regrator, I think—Mhm!”

“Hm? Were you saying something?”

The arm slung over your face immediately flew downwards to grasp his wrist, attempting to slow down his actions. Your free hand gripped on the side of the examination chair, nails digging crescents into the leather to ground and steer yourself from the impending orgasm. You arched your back and moaned aloud once more, earning a satisfied smile from the Lord Harbinger.

Dottore’s gaze ripped away from the monitors and landed at the centre of the room where you and Pantalone where, he carefully watched as your body pathetically writhed under the latter’s eager touch. He could barely see your lust-bitten face but judging from the moans you let out, his friend was doing exceptionally well at pleasing you—even the activity displayed on the monitors could back that fact; more regions of the brain were now highlighted indicating an increase in activity,

It was indeed fascinating to observe how one’s brain lit up from mere stimulation.

The tune of shallow, soft pants filled Regrator’s ears, it was amusing to watch you scramble and gather the threads of sanity in your palms, refusing to let pleasure take control of your body. Did he feel bad? A little but he was no saint. He switched from tight circles to figure eights, pressing onto your sensitive nub with a little more pressure. Your legs shook with bliss, fingers wrapped around his wrist tightening as you teetered to the brink of an orgasm.

“Ngh—ah! Lord Re—Haah!” 

“I suggest you use your words otherwise I cannot understand you.” Mockery laced his dulcet voice but with the hum of machinery mixed with your shameless moans, you didn’t pick up on it.

When did Pantalone last have fun like this? Sure, he was powerful enough to control the nation’s economic state with a mere snap of his fingers but being able to control the pleasure you felt? Beyond satisfying. Not only was he rewarded with your lust-fogged expressions but also how your body squirmed beneath his touch—desperate and pathetic.

Your core tightened, it stretched and stretched further waiting for the recoil called climax but before you could reach it, your commander’s cold voice filled the room once more, “Second phase has concluded. We’ll be moving on to the final phase after a short interval.”

With that, Regrator pulled away his hand which elicited an embarrassing whine of protest from you. In a daze, you stared up at the ceiling and silently thanked Lord Dottore for the short interval because you knew well enough you’d be a complete mess once the third phase began. Though, the Second Harbinger’s reasoning was most certainly experiment-related rather than pure concern for the subject.

The tight knot deep in your core disappointingly dissipated as each second passed without stimulation—it was beyond frustrating to say the least, especially after weeks without sex. Despite the cool air inside, a sheen of sweat lightly coated your entire body and you felt stuffy; suddenly, the fabric pulled halfway down your legs felt too restricting, the blouse pooled around your neck didn’t help either. At this point, you just wanted one thing, and judging by the crimson blush on Lord Regrator’s cheeks, he wanted it too—release.

Dottore simply wasn’t being nice with the interval, the main reason for it was to let your cerebral activity return to baseline, otherwise readings from the second phase would carry on to the third phase and mess with the experiment. But he did have a more selfish reason that didn’t need disclosing—the growing tent between his legs.

He only needed a few moments to recollect himself. His bodily response to the scene before him was normal—he was still a man, after all— but in a professional setting, it was undesirable. Dottore knew what he was getting into when he first wrote the proposal for this serendipitous experiment but he didn’t expect to be aroused by it. He leaned back in his seat, a subtle glance at the prominent bulge before letting out a soft sigh.

How truly inconvenient.

After a couple moments of recollecting himself—or simply trying to—Dottore spoke into the intercom to commence the final phase, “The third will be slightly different, there will be no set duration as the end goal of this phase is an orgasm but restrictions will be in order. That means strictly no touching aside from vaginal penetration, this would count as kissing, groping or holding one another. Doing so would interfere with results.”

Since Dottore observed the sensory cortex, other forms of stimulation besides penetration would also be recorded, lowering authenticity of the results.

“Contraception is located above the machinery.” He added.

Pantalone reached for the smooth surface of the machinery next to the examination chair where he grabbed a sealed packet. Lithe fingers curled around the waistband of his pants, you watched as he unbuttoned and pulled it down just enough to reveal his hardened, leaking cock. It slapped against his clothed abdomen, donning a crimson blush that mirrored the hues on his pale cheeks. The pearlescent glob of pre-cum coating his slit had you salivating a little, tongue subtly swiping over your bottom lip.

Wide eyed and lips slightly parted, you could only wordlessly stare at the foreign sight before you, he was decently thick and merely looking at it had you clenching around nothing—eager to have all of the Lord Harbinger inside you.

Pantalone let out a low hiss, expertly rolling the latex down his shaft, “Ready?” Amethyst eyes clouded with lust found your gaze. Lord Regrator’s expression was different from what he usually wore, the cunning, unreadable smile was gone, leaving room for a flustered one.

With a wordless nod from you, the Harbinger fully situated himself between your legs, both hands each circling around the back of your knees to push them to your bare chest, “Hold your legs open for me, will you, dear?” You did as you were told, hooking an arm on each knee, keeping your legs in place and eagerly waiting for his next move.

Knees digging on leather, Pantalone placed a hand on the wide headrest of the chair while the other curled around his base, slowly guiding his cock inside your sopping entrance. A mix of your moans lingered in the air as he bottomed out, the entirety of his shaft sat inside you—heavy and hard. The stretch was delicious, it almost felt purely sinful, you’ve never taken a cock that stretched you this good before and it was dangerous because you might just get addicted to it.

Pantalone leaned over you, free hand now joining the other on holding the headrest. The silvery chain of his glasses dangled mere centimetres from your face, teasing and ghosting over your feverish skin. He sat still for a moment to relish inside your tight, velvety walls, he felt like a boyish virgin all over again with how stimulated he was, and he hasn’t even started thrusting yet.

But Pantalone had a job to do: to bring you to an orgasm because that’s what he agreed to upon signing the contract of this study—to put your pleasure before his own.

A beat or two passed ‘til he slowly drew his hips back—with only the bulbous tip remaining inside—and languidly thrusted, your nails dug into your soft skin, leaving small crescent-shaped indents. You could really only hold on to your legs and take the steady yet forceful pace Lord Regrator had set which caused your body to jolt repeatedly with every smack of his hips against your own.

It was pure torture for Pantalone, you looked absolutely divine yet he wasn’t allowed to hold you—to grope and squeeze at your bouncing breasts, to rub at your clit, to suck on every part of your exposed skin and finally taste you for himself. Alas, he could only rake his gaze up and down your semi-naked form and fantasize how you’d react beneath his palms.

The examination chair groaned underneath the weight of Pantalone’s thrusts, high pitched squeaks interlaced with the string of moans and whimpers filling the entire space. Pantalone carefully shifted his weight to his upper body, anchoring his hands on the headrest to piston his hips into your own.

“O-Oh, god! Lord Regrator!”

“God? H-Haah! Ngh—‘M no god, my dear.”

Bitterness laced his trembling words, it's almost as though he took offense and now he expressed his disdain by merely picking up the pace, rendering you a babbling mess to shut you up. Skin slapping and the smell of sex dangerously danced in the air, one Dottore couldn’t simply ignore—especially the former.

The Second Harbinger messily jotted down notes, fingers tightening around the pen every now and then whenever you let out a loud moan. He didn’t stop his gaze from wandering to where you and Pantalone were, crimson gaze locked onto your jolting form while his friend eagerly pounded you like a starved man. How your legs vigorously bounced in the air was enough to let him know how roughly Pantalone went on you.

The problem between his legs worsened and Dottore may or may not have rubbed his hard on a few times beneath the desk. Just to get a small taste of friction his hardened cock desperately wanted. Childish? Perhaps but fuck he would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought of trading places with Pantalone—even for a mere second or two. He was more than curious what you’d feel like around him.

“Lord Regrator! I’m—aah! I’m close—ngh!” Legs burning from holding the position, you let go and opted to wrap them around the Harbinger’s waist, locking him in a rather intimate distance. Pantalone let out a breathless chuckle and changed his pace into deep, short thrusts, he grinded into you every few strokes or so, allowing you to see the stars.

A few more sharp thrusts and the knot inside your stomach snapped violently as pure bliss engulfed the entirety of your body. Pantalone, unable to move due to your legs tightening around him, sheathed his cock deep inside and grinded on you, his fat tip rubbing against your sweet, sweet spot. He watched your limp body convulsed beneath him as shocks of pleasure came crashing into you.

He followed suit, spilling his warm seed into the latex while relishing in the tightness of your walls, a loud grunt forced from his rosy lips.

The two of you stayed still for a moment, individuals merely reduced to a heaving mess as the fog of orgasm slowly dissipated from your bodies. As if on cue, Dottore spoke through the intercom,

“The final phase of the study has concluded. Your cooperation is appreciated.”

A breathless laugh from the Harbinger above you, “I sure hope you managed to collect ample findings, Dottore.”

The latter could only scoff, of course he was able to do so. As opposed to his hypothesis—where he had only hypothesized two regions would be active—a handful of regions were active during an orgasm. It gave him a better understanding of how to map the human brain.

At the latter’s silence, Pantalone spoke once more, “Though, I am rather curious,” He let out a small hiss while pulling out. “Why did you need a second participant? Surely you’re more than capable of executing this task yourself, no? Unless . .”

“Unless what?”

“Unless you simply can’t do it.” To please a woman, he wanted to add.

There was only one way to interpret the Ninth’s words and despite it being ‘friendly’ banter, annoyance bubbled in Dottore’s chest, “Obviously, I would need to record findings hence my lack of participation in the study. But if you ask me, I would have done a better job.”

“Really?”

Silence followed.

Solely due to their brief exchange—or was argument a better word?—you found yourself sandwiched between Lord Dottore and Lord Regrator; every article of your clothing long discarded on the cold tiles, and machinery turned off, long forgotten. With the former laying on the examination chair, you straddled him, trembling legs on either side of his waist while the other Harbinger pressed his clothed chest against your back.

“Lord Dottore . .” You bit your lip. 

In a haste, he had unzipped his pants and pulled out his leaking cock, rubbing the bare tip up and down your sensitive slit. Behind you, Pantalone’s hands mindlessly wandered all over your naked form—from the plush of your breasts to the fat of your ass, he left no skin untouched. But it wasn’t his hands alone, his lips trailed open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck, leaving a few small bites in between.

Pantalone gently ushered you forward, one hand splayed across your back to bring you closer to Dottore ‘til your breasts squished against the latter’s chest. Both Harbingers lined their cocks to your entrances and slowly pushed inside. Slumped against the Second, you trembled violently as they stretched your holes out—one wrong move and you were sure to come undone.

With both cocks fully sheathed inside, all you could do at that point was pant like a mere mutt in heat, you haven’t had proper time to come down from your previous orgasm so any form of stimulation quite literally melted your brain and brought tears to your eyes.

Dottore cupped your jaw with a large, gloved hand and angled your face, he examined your fucked out expression momentarily before closing the distance. Messy and desperate, the Lord Harbinger’s kiss simply knocked oxygen from your lungs, he eagerly plunged his tongue past your lips and explored the inside of your mouth. 

The kiss and the sting of his pointed mask digging into your cheek was enough to briefly distract you from their experimental thrusts. Shameless, you wailed into your commander’s mouth, knuckles turning into a lovely shade of ivory as you gripped the collar of his coat.

The examination chair groaned beneath the weight of the Harbingers’ merciless thrusts and one could only hope it was sturdy enough to last an entire round. Creaks of the chair mixed with the sinful harmony of your moans filled all four corners of the room, thankfully this space was a bit more secluded in comparison to your commander’s laboratory which meant anyone else walking down the corridors wouldn’t be able to hear the lewd sounds as much.

Despite the eagerness behind their thrusts, it was certainly surprising to have their movements coordinate with one another—an unspoken rhythm with the sole purpose of bringing you and themselves to release.

Dottore pulled away to catch his breath, leaving a thin translucent string of saliva connecting his kiss-bitten lips to your own, hot breaths mingling together through rough pants. The corner of the Harbinger’s lips curled upwards upon seeing your drunken expression—who knew you looked utterly divine stuffed with two cocks? It made him twitch.

Pantalone’s gaze fixated on your lower half—how your ass bounced and jolted with every powerful thrust he gave. The mere sight of his wet cock appearing and disappearing between the globes of your ass had him heaving a little harder. Maybe it was also due to the tightness of your rear, or the fact that having another cock inside you intensified the pleasurable friction he felt.

A few more harsh thrusts, the coil inside you finally snapped once more, bringing you to a rather earth shattering orgasm. Your body violently trembled in pure bliss as you tried to moan their names to no avail. With the sensation being too much, you fisted Dottore’s clothed chest as if doing so would somewhat ease the pleasurable pain your entire body felt.

The Second soon followed suit, a couple of desperate thrusts into your sopping cunt—ones that had you wailing in overstimulation—before sheathing himself deep inside and releasing thick, warm ribbons of cum. A string of colourful curses in his mother tongue slipped past his kiss-bitten lips as he came inside. Dottore filled you all the way to the brim ‘til his seed slowly seeped out of your greedy hole and onto the leather cushion beneath.

Ah, he’d have to get it cleaned now. 

This left Pantalone who greedily hauled your limp body against his chest; one hand expertly rubbed your swollen clit while the other held your jaw to angle your face upwards so he could plunge his tongue inside your mouth. You choked on the messy kiss as the new angle invited him deeper inside. Dottore’s cock slipped out from the change in position but he didn’t mind, instead, he sat up and took it upon himself to plunge two long digits in your cunt.

His fingers were already long enough to reach far but the added thickness of his gloves had you arching your back. If it wasn’t for Lord Regrator’s firm hold, you would’ve already been slumped against the chair long ago. The former’s fingers moved in a ‘come hither’ motion which allowed him to brush against your sweet spot. Surely you could handle another one, right?

“Oh—hng! Close! Ah—haah!” Hands flew down to circle around Dottore’s wrist, you attempted to pathetically remove his fingers from your cunt which shortly proved futile as he remained unmoved.

You came once more, another blinding orgasm ripping through your orgasm but this time, you could barely even muster a whimper—only a soundless cry and fresh tears streaming down your face. Pantalone grunted and bit your shoulder as orgasm hit him, hot cum painting the walls of your rear; he grinded his hips against your ass to ride out his orgasm before releasing your skin from his bite.

Nothing but the sound of harsh breathing filled the walls and for a long moment, the three of you remained still to catch your breaths with reality slowly seeping in to replace what was once lust. You wanted to sleep right then and there, exhaustion weighed heavy on your body from how hard they both worked you—too tired to even think of the consequences.

None of this was supposed to happen—at least not the unexpected threesome but now that both Harbingers have had a taste of you, they might just come back for seconds.

[starlightwritcr]

Imagine the stretch as Pantalone sinks his cock deeper and deeper inside you. You let out a gasp.

He chuckled, "Am I too big for you? You feel so tight around me."

Your cheeks flushed a deep red at the teasing tone in his voice. But you couldn't deny it. His large body enveloped yours. His thick meaty cock was barely halfway and you were already out of breath.

"Shh, relax, my gem," he cooed as he sunk further. "You can take all of me."

You groaned. "So... big."

Once he was fully inside, he set a steady rhythm. The heat in your abdomen bloomed further. You held onto his back for dear life, while he had your legs around his waist.

He gave a harsh thrust into just the right angle, making you see stars. Your cries echoed against the walls of his chamber.

His lips curled into a satisfied smirk, knowing he struck gold.

Your eyes widened.

His hips rammed into the same spot. It was like his fat meaty cock was rearranging your insides as he continued to thrust into your weak spot.

"Ah!" You reached your peak, toes curling. The heat released all at once.

Upon your high, Pantalone moaned. His cock swelled and cum came flooding inside your hole. It painted the insides white.

You panted, laying there. You thought that was the end of it.

Except, he was still hard. Pantalone looked at you with a smirk.

"I promised you a long night of pleasure. Don't back out now."

Archons, he might be the death of you.

[1-800-c3dr1c]

pantalone makes you beg for it. not because he’s mean (although there are times where he can be), but because he wants to see you all riled up and helpless under his touch.

is surprisingly gentle from the start. asks for permission to do literally anything. prioritizes you, always giving you what you want in the end.

“come on. you can take just a bit more. then i’ll let you cum.” his voice was sickly sweet. it made your head reel.

“pantalone-” you tried to speak, the syllables barely forming on your tongue. you bucked into his hand, gasping.

“mm. are you trying to get yourself off? that won’t do. you know it has to be me. it will always be me.” he leaned closer, lips ghosting over your ear.

“how about i let you cum, and then i’ll show you a million times over why i’m the only one who will ever get the privilege to do so.”

[iceyngi]

Dean is the embodiment of bad idea by Olivia Rodrigo lmao I can almost see everyone telling reader to not see him and all she can think is him

bad idea right?

☄︎ Warnings: None ☄︎ Rating/Genre: PG. Smut referred to, not explicit. ☄︎ Words: 596

💭: omg i dont know if this was even a request or if you were just talking but immediately YES. i just had to write sth short and sweet.

Off Campus Masterlist here. 〣 Dean Masterlist here.

The feeling of your phone buzzing in your pocket shouldn’t have meant much, but somehow, you just knew who it was. Probably because you thought about him every night, you basically manifested this.

Dean (23:10): still at that party?

You looked across the room, your friends were shrieking over their game of beer pong. You had explicitly promised them, and yourself, that tonight was a fresh start. No thinking about Dean. No texting Dean. And definitely no tripping and falling back into Dean’s bed.

The room was spinning just enough that all your decisions felt like good ones. That’s what told you to respond.

You (23:15): no, went home early. about to sleep

Your phone immediately lit up with a phone call from Dean. You answered on the second ring.

♬ But I'm out right now and I'm all fucked up And you're callin' my phone, you're all alone ♬

“Come outside, I’m waiting for you.”

He doesn’t wait for you to respond before he hangs up the phone.

♬ Oh, yes, I know that he's my ex Can't two people reconnect? ♬

You told yourself it was fine. Why can’t two mature adults reconnect? It was purely platonic. Just a quick chat.

That was obviously a lie. If that was the case, you would have walked up to your friends and told them you were leaving, not slipped out the front door.

♬ And I know we're done, I know we're through But, God, when I look at you My brain goes, "Ah"♬

Dean was leaning against the hood of his car, looking infuriatingly handsome with soft curls framing his face. When he caught sight of you, his smile widened. You hated that you loved that.

He held up his phone, shaking it. “About to sleep, huh?”

You crossed your arms, trying to look stern but failing miserably as you walked down the driveway. “Why are you here, Dean? Shouldn’t you be out celebrating the win?”

“Love to know you’re keeping up with the team,” Dean smirked, stepping away from the car. “The party got boring. And then I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“Dean,” you sighed, though you didn’t take a step back as he approached. “This is a bad idea.”

“The worst,” he agreed easily. He reached out and stroked your cheek. “But you still came outside.”

“Only to tell you to go home.”

“Liar.” His grin widened, confident and wicked. “You miss me. It’s okay, I miss you too.”

You took a shallow breath, trying to remember all the warnings your friends had given you. “We broke up for a reason, Dean.”

Dean’s grin softened into something that made your stomach flip. His hand slid down from your cheek to rest against the nape of your neck, his thumb brushing over your pulse.

He leant down, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispered, “yeah, we did. But bad sex wasn’t the reason.”

♬ Now I'm gettin' in the car, wreckin' all my plans I know I should stop, but I can't ♬

Five minutes later, you were in the passenger seat of his car, speeding away from the party and going towards the hockey house. Dean reached over, his hand resting against your thigh.

Your friends were definitely going to text you later, and you were already working on how to tell them the truth without telling them the actual truth.

You’d probably just tell them that you were asleep.

♬ And I told my friends I was asleep But I never said where or in whose sheets ♬

[thebriarbunny]

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙿𝚑𝚘𝚝𝚘𝚋𝚘𝚘𝚝𝚑 𝚒𝚜 𝙾𝚙𝚎𝚗 ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

𝒟𝑒𝒶𝓃 𝒟𝒾 𝐿𝒶𝓊𝓇𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓈⁶⁶ 𝓍 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

2.5K words

c/w ᝰ.ᐟ brat!dean, app-controlled v!brator, public/semi unprotected sex, p in v in the photobooth, praise, pet names (baby, baby doll, bunny, pretty + no y/n), teasing, intox, overstim + dean is having way too much fun at malone’s ୭ ᵎᵎˎˊ˗

“Here you go, baby doll,” Dean hums, passing you a shot, the warmth of his words fanning across your skin as his lips brush against you teasingly.

You take it off his hands and lift it slightly, clicking glasses, his blue eyes glassy from a few too many. You toss back the shot, feeling the sweet liquor burn the back of your throat, his big palm squeezing higher on your bare thigh, thumb brushing underneath the hem of your skirt.

He tilts in for a kiss, nose nuzzling against yours, lips parting—but the moment your lips press against his, a sharp pulse charges through you.

Dean swallows your gasp, blunt nails digging slightly into your upper thigh as you grip the leather seat of the booth, the vibration hitting deep—right where he left it.

“Oh, shit.” A laugh slips out of him when he catches your reaction, his hand tightening slightly against your thigh. “Forgot you were wearin’ those, huh, bun?”

You swallow hard, legs squeezing as the sensation lingers. You don’t back down, leaning closer like nothing’s wrong—except your legs are trembling and your pulse is climbing. Dean catches it instantly and the corner of his mouth twitches.

“Wearin’ that shit like a champ—”

“Shhh…” You hiss, pulling back just enough to glare at him, but that only makes his eyebrows lift. “They’re gonna know—”

Your words die on your lips when Garrett and Wellsy crash down into the booth as well, Tucker and Logan scooting closer, none the wiser.

Dean glances down at the app on his phone before lifting his eyes back to you. “Nobody knows,” he chuckles, relaxing back into the booth and throwing an arm around your shoulder, his mouth brushing your temple. “Trust me—” Buzz!

You press your body back into the seat, eyes pinching shut as you ride out the next wave of vibrations coming from the toy in your panties.

“You doin’ okay, babe?” Hannah asks from across the table and your eyes flash open immediately. Your thighs are already slick when Dean’s hand traces through it. Your legs quake and your hand comes up from its wicked grip on the leather, squeezing his wrist like a warning.

“M’perfect, Han. Just a little hot. Is it hot in here?” You ramble.

Dean’s arm wraps a little tighter around your shoulder. The other hand settles back against your thigh and he has the decency to look pleased with himself.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he murmurs under his breath. “Who do you think bought this for me, huh? Hell of a gift, by the way.”

Your glare sharpens and he tips his drink toward you like he’s proving a point.

Dean is having way too much fun at Malone’s—drink in his hand, shirt half-unbuttoned, chain glinting against his chest every time a laugh works loose.

And even though he’s supposedly lost in a conversation about summer plans, he’s watching. Watching every breath you take. Every little tremble. Every pause while you try to keep up a conversation with Logan and Tucker without coming undone.

“You need another drink, pretty,” he drawls when you go to take a sip.

You gasp, missing the straw completely as another round of vibrations catches you off guard. A little bit of liquid sloshes over the rim of the cup—not much, just enough for Dean’s eyes to drop to it. You quickly lift it to your lips, sucking the rest down.

“Shaky tonight,” he chuckles, putting it on a low, steady vibration.

Dean smiles at you like a bully when he sees you struggling to compose yourself, leaning over to press a kiss against your temple.

“I’m serious, you want anything?” His fingers tap against the glass before he reaches for it like a gentleman—but his eyes are anything but polite, glittering with wickedness as he watches you struggle.

He wraps his hand around the cup too, trying to pull it away, but the death grip you have on it to keep yourself from cracking leaves him chuckling under his breath.

“Dean, please,” you whisper.

“What?” He blinks at you innocently. “You wanna come with me to the bar or somethin’?”

“You’re unbelievable,” you mutter.

“Me?” He presses his hand to his chest, feigning surprise. “Not like I’m waiting for you to beg or anything.”

You look toward your friends, still deep in conversations around you. “I’m not gonna beg,” you whisper.

“Yet,” his lips twitch against the rim of his glass, winking before he tosses the rest back.

You laugh weakly, shoving him out of the booth.

“Where are we goin’?” His hand reaches for yours.

“Anywhere but here,” you press the words through your teeth as you fake a smile, pulling him through the crowd toward the door and he follows.

A long, cruel vibration punches a gasp from your chest as your thighs clamp together, stopping you in your tracks. You whip around, fury and need burning through you all at once. “I swear to God, Dean—”

“What? Did I do somethin’?” He takes a step closer, his voice calm and daring.

“God, I hate you right now,” you whisper-laugh as you glare at him, chest heaving.

“Yeah?” He tilts his head, smile deepening, eyes soft and sharp at the same time. “You don’t mean that, pretty.” He reaches a hand to cradle your face as you look up at him, his thumb rubbing along your trembling lip.

“Stop teasing me, Di Laurentis.”

“Or what?” He asks, condescending. “What are you gonna do, bun? You dragged me over here. Seems like you’re the one without a plan.”

You chuckle helplessly, completely at his mercy while he just stands there enjoying every second of it.

“I want you to stop teasing me.”

“Baby, you don’t even sound convincing.”

“Can you just stop,” you groan through a flustered laugh.

“That’s funny,” he scoffs. “You don’t look like you want me to stop—that’s not what your face is tellin’ me. You are doin’ a hell of a lot of yappin’ I’ll give you that.”

“Fuck you,” you breathe as he dips down for a kiss.

“Fuck me? Now we’re gettin’ somewhere… That sounds like a perfect idea, baby,” he hums. “We can get outta here. Or we can stay right where we are. I’m havin’ a pretty good time either way.”

“I’m aware.”

“Oh, shit… Is it that obvious?” He asks, dimple deepening in his cheeks as he looks down at you. “I know what you want.”

“I’ve said it ten times.”

“You said that twice… ‘Stop teasin’ me, Dean’,” he tries on your voice just to piss you off, dragging you toward his mouth to whisper, “Tell me what you need from me.”

The tension builds between the two of you, thick and heavy with the words you know he wants to hear.

“I want you to fuck me.”

He chuckles, his laugh deep and syrupy, like the night finally went his way.

“There’s my girl,” he mumbles, the words brushing your mouth before he draws back, looking toward the bathrooms, catching the little line of people waiting, backed against the wall. He looks to his left, catching the photo booth, the corner of his lips twitching.

“Dean…”

“Bunny.”

“Dean Di Laurentis.”

“Baby doll.”

“We’re gonna get kicked out,” you giggle, resting your hands on his chest. “Again.”

“And yet,” he hums as he closes the space between you. “They keep lettin’ us back in.” Buzz.

The sharp vibrations nearly buckle your knees and you shove him hard enough to send him stumbling back a step. He catches your wrist immediately, laughing as he pulls you with him.

His eyes flick one way, then the other, checking the crowd before he reaches for the little sign hanging outside the booth. You already know exactly what he’s thinking. The sign spins between his big fingers from Open to Out of Service.

You’re still laughing when he tugs you inside, the curtain swinging shut behind you. His grin matches yours as your hands find his belt. Dean's fingers disappear into your hair. His mouth crashes into yours before either of you can say another word, his body pressing tight against yours.

“How am I supposed to help myself when you’re so fun to tease, baby?” He asks quietly, dragging his lips against yours.

“Enough,” you breathe, your voice shaky and thin as the constant vibration keeps you on edge. You feel him smile against the kiss. “I told you what I need, alright, I—”

“Easy, baby,” he murmurs against your lips, huffing a quiet laugh when you grab another fistful of his shirt. “You’re alright. M’just messin’ with you.”

“Really?” You chuckle against his lips as his big hands drag up your thighs, lifting your skirt up with it. “Who woulda thought?”

“I know,” he mutters, his words ghosting across your lips. “I almost never fuck with you. I should do this more, huh?”

He hooks his thumbs around the lace of your panties, tugging them higher, pressing them harder against your clit as you try to maintain your composure, leaving you twisting his shirt in your fingers for balance.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” you hum.

“Been enjoying myself all fuckin’ night. Can you blame me?” He buries his face in your neck, hand diving between your thighs.

“Shit!” You gasp.

“Fuck me.” The words drag out of him against your skin as he feels the vibrations hum against his palm, pressing it higher, your hips answering with a slight buck.

The music from the bar pulses around you, his big body taking up most of the little booth leaving the air around you hot and thick. His zipper slides down, and he bends you over just enough, not letting you get far.

“Goddamn,” he breathes, voice roughening as he kisses down your neck, feeling how wet the panties are. “Made a mess of these, huh?”

A couple people pass by, leaving the curtain swaying slightly in the breeze. His head snaps toward it and he draws back the curtain just enough to check, the other hand shoving his jeans down just enough.

You bite your lip, gasping as you feel him, hard and thick, dragging against your thigh, the press of his thick tip maddening. “I can feel your legs shaking, baby.”

“Dean, please…” You breathe, hand flying back to claw at his hip as the other hits the booth’s wall.

Dean breathes out a laugh, nuzzling into your hair, his fingers hooking into your panties to tug them just aside.

His hand curls over your mouth, sealing off the sound as he sinks into you. It’s slow and deep, your moan trembling against his palm while his catches tight through his teeth. His strong arms tighten around you, holding you steady to his chest as he moves.

“Squeezing me,” Dean grunts as his hips snap forward again, rougher this time. His belt clinks at his hips, jeans shoved just low enough, the cold buckle grazing your thigh with every deep, hungry thrust. He buries his face into your neck—groaning against your skin.

You answer with nothing but a whimper, legs trembling, the slap of skin loud in the booth, the bar music louder overhead.

“So good,” he grits out, pulling your hips back to meet every thrust, fingers digging in—cruel and punishing, needy and greedy, desperate to have every part of you.

Your skin claps against his, the sweat and slick between your bodies making each motion obscene. You look back over your shoulder, catching him in the dim light, his shirt caught between his teeth so he can watch the way he slides in and out, his eyes rolling back before his head lulls to the ceiling.

The knot in your stomach tightens, the pleasure that has been building inside you coming to a head. Your thighs tremble beyond belief, Dean’s muscles swelling as he keeps you in place, biceps tugging the sleeves of his shirt taut.

His hips snap forward and you stumble slightly, hands reaching out to catch yourself, the two of you laughing and breathless—Ding. Ding. Ding. Pop!

The photobooth goes off and your stomach sinks as it captures a picture. Dean’s grip locks around your hips with no plans to stop, your body teetering at the edge of ecstasy anyway.

“It’s fine. It’s fine,” he mutters. Ding. Ding. Ding. Pop!

A second photo snaps as you throw your head back, hips tilting, grinding into him as you gasp.

“Fuck, Dean,” you moan as he picks up the pace.

The third and final flash bulb cracks as you shudder, your orgasm breaks and he lets out a guttural groan, almost losing his balance as he fucks into you, spilling deep, clutching you so tight as his head falls between his shoulders.

“Oh my god,” you mumble, forehead pressed to your forearm as you try to get some air through the heat, your body trembling as you fight the panties off your clit, pushing them down your thighs just enough to escape the vibrations, your body still warm and sensitive everywhere Dean touched.

“Fuck, that was good, huh?” He asks, grin spreading as his hand reaches around, hooking under your chin, pulling you back to his chest, pressing his lips to yours. “So beautiful when you cum. You know that?”

His blonde fringe is wet, hanging in his eyes, his shirt opened just a few more buttons, showing off the slick of sweat on his chest.

His laugh melts right into your skin as he kisses his way to your jaw, lips resting on your shoulder, thumb rubbing on your bare hip as he pulls out.

“Absolutely not,” he tuts, smiling against your skin as he pulls the panties back in place, the hum of the toy, so soft you can barely feel it, but it’s there before he smoothes your skirt back down.

“Dean—”

“You complainin’, pretty?” He taunts and chuckles. “What? You want it higher?”

“You’re such a bully,” you whisper as he turns you around, taking two steps back with you, sitting down on the photo booth bench, guiding you to climb on his lap.

He reaches down to his phone, shutting the vibrations off completely, before setting it to the side.

“You turned it off?” You hum.

“M’done messin’ with you, bunny,” he chuckles as you straddle him.

“Why?” You ask like there has to be a catch.

“Just wanted to kiss my girl for a minute,” he mumbles, reaching for you when your body settles, kissing you slow and lazy, so tender it makes you lightheaded. His tongue drags along yours, his other arm binding around your waist with a heavy hand.

“This thing’s always broken?” Someone bitches from outside the curtain and you and Dean freeze, the two of you collectively holding your breaths, while the people stand right outside the curtain.

Dean watches you through half-lidded eyes as you pinch the zipper of his jeans between your fingers, gliding it up slow.

They disappear and Dean pulls back with a laugh, pressing his lips against yours while the two of you try to catch your breath.

“The pictures,” you whisper.

“If they took ‘em I’m gonna lose my shit.”

“Yeah?” You giggle, smiling against his lips.

“Mhmm,” Dean hums as his hand slides up your back, settling between your shoulder blades before he pulls you a little closer. The photo booth suddenly feels too small for him. “Those are mine,” he mumbles as he reaches out, pressing the button.

“They are,” you smile.

“Hell, yeah they are. So are these.”

The camera flashes and neither of you look at it. His hand settles against your cheek, thumb dragging softly against your skin as his gaze settles on you—another flash lights up the booth.

“Just like that,” he hums, shifting for the next shot, smiling when you climb closer.

The next kiss is slower, the corner of his lips curling into a smile as his eyes flash toward the lens as the camera flashes again.

“You’re so beautiful. You know that?”

Your smile tugs against his mouth. “You tell me that every day.”

“Yeah, well.” He looks at you for a second before his thumb drags across your cheek again. “M’gonna keep tellin’ you.”

“Dean.”

“Baby?” His forehead falls against yours as the final picture snaps.

“We should probably get outta here.”

“Probably…” He sighs, arms tightening around your waist. “Couple more minutes.”

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[sc3ptre]

Finally some good Dean content 👏 💖 would you be open to writing an NSFW alphabet for him (or any of the off campus men)?

Dean Di Laurentis' NSFW Alphabet

Pairing: Dean Di Laurentis x girlfriendr!reader

⟡ Main Index | ⟡ Archive for Earth-66

Classification: Smut +18 | Detailed descriptions of penetrative sex, oral sex (including deepthroating), creampies, multiple orgasms and marathon sessions, rough sex and power dynamics, BDSM/kink elements, praise, degradation, dirty talk, risky, exhibitionist and voyeuristic sex

Word count: 2,4k

Divider by me ;)

A - Aftercare and adrenaline: Dean might come across as the ultimate cocky fuckboy who’d roll over and smirk after wrecking you but he’s surprisingly attentive once the high fades. He pulls your trembling body flush against his sweaty chest, big hockey-player arms wrapping around you like he never wants to let go. His voice is low and rough as he murmurs against your hair, “You good, baby? Fuck, you took my cock so deep…such a perfect girl for me.” 

Post-game adrenaline turns him feral, after a win he’ll still be buzzing, scooping you up in his suit jacket or half-dressed, carrying you straight to the shower where he fucks you slow and deep against the tiles, water cascading over your bodies while he praises how hot you looked screaming his name from the stands.

B - Bondage and teasing: Dean loves restraining you with his hockey tape or expensive silk ties, stretching your arms above your head and tying you to the headboard so you’re completely at his mercy. He steps back, slowly stroking his thick cock while his eyes devour every squirming inch of you. “Look at you, all tied up and dripping for me. So fucking pretty when you’re desperate.” 

He teases you mercilessly with his fingers and tongue, circling your clit and dipping inside your soaked pussy without giving you what you need until you’re begging with tears pricking your eyes. Only then does he finally sink into you, groaning at how tightly you clench around him as he fucks you hard and deep, using your bound body exactly how he wants.

C - Creampies and breeding kink: Dean is absolutely addicted to filling you up. He loves pounding you until he’s buried to the hilt, then holding himself deep as he cums hard, thick ropes of hot cum flooding your pussy while he growls filthy breeding talk right against your ear.

“Gonna knock you up, baby. Want this tight cunt full of me until it takes.” He’s obsessed with watching his cum leak out of your stretched hole, pushing it back in with two thick fingers while kissing you messily. The thought of you swollen with his kid makes him feral, he’ll fuck you for hours, spilling multiple loads deep inside, keeping you plugged with his cock afterward so nothing escapes.

D - Dirty talk: That smooth, cocky voice gets low and filthy the second your clothes come off. “Fuck, listen to how wet this greedy pussy is for me,” he groans while thrusting deep, the wet sounds of your bodies echoing. “This tight little hole was made to take my cock, wasn’t it? My perfect dirty girl.” He mixes praise and degradation effortlessly, calling you his good girl when you’re clenching around him and his filthy little cumslut when you’re begging. He keeps eye contact the whole time, watching your face as he tells you exactly how good you feel squeezing his dick and how he’s going to ruin you for anyone else.

E - Edging and overstimulation: With his insane hockey stamina, Dean can edge you for hours. He’ll work your clit with his tongue in slow, teasing circles, bringing you right to the edge before pulling away with a wicked smirk. “Not yet, baby. I want to hear you fucking beg for it.” 

When he finally lets you cum, he doesn’t stop, he fucks you through it with deep, punishing strokes, then keeps going until you’re shaking, oversensitive and sobbing his name. He loves the way your thighs tremble around his head and how your pussy flutters desperately around his cock as he wrings every last orgasm out of you.

F - Frat house / Fast and rough: Dean thrives on risky, spontaneous fucks around the hockey house. When the team’s out, he’ll bend you over the kitchen counter or the couch, yanking your panties aside and slamming into you from behind without warning. If they’re home, one big hand covers your mouth to muffle your screams while the other grips your hip hard enough to bruise. “Shhh, baby. Don’t want the boys hearing how loud you moan for my cock.” He fucks you fast and rough, the thrill of possibly getting caught making him even harder as he fills you up and leaves you dripping.

G - Goon and guided sex: Dean loves when you ride him but he’s still very much in control from below. He grips your hips with strong hands, guiding you up and down his thick length while watching your tits bounce. “That’s it, just like that…fuck yourself on my cock, baby. Look at you using me so well.” He thrusts up hard to meet you, turning it into a sweaty, filthy battle. When you start getting tired he takes over completely, flipping you onto your back and driving into you with powerful strokes until you’re creaming all over him.

H - Hickeys and hair pulling: He marks you up like he owns you, with dark and possessive hickeys on your neck, breasts and inner thighs that he traces with his tongue the next morning. He loves when you pull his hair while he’s devouring your pussy and he returns the favor by fisting your hair tightly, guiding your mouth down on his cock until your nose presses against his pelvis. “Fuck yes…Choke on it, baby,” he groans, hips twitching as saliva drips down your chin.

I - Impromptu and intense: Spontaneous sex is Dean’s addiction. In the locker room after practice, in a bathroom at a party or in the back of his luxury car with tinted windows, he takes you whenever the mood strikes. He’ll push you against the nearest surface, drop to his knees to eat you out like a starving man, then stand up and fuck you senseless, whispering how he couldn’t wait another second to be inside you.

J - Jealousy and possessiveness: Dean pretends he’s chill but seeing someone flirt with you makes him snap. He drags you to the nearest private spot, bathroom, alley or empty room and pins you against the wall and fucks you hard and claiming. “You’re mine,” he growls between deep thrusts, biting your shoulder. “This pussy belongs to me. Say it while I fuck you stupid.” The sex is rough, apologetic and intense, ending with him filling you while murmuring how sorry he is for losing control.

K - Kinky games: Everything becomes a game with Dean. Strip poker that ends with you on your knees sucking him off or betting how many orgasms he can pull from you before the movie ends. Loser gets spanked with his big, rough hands, leaving perfect sore prints on your ass while he laughs and teases you for being so easy to beat.

L - Lingerie and lap dances: Dean goes feral when you wear expensive lingerie just for him. He leans back on the couch, legs spread, palming his hard cock through his pants while you give him a slow, teasing lap dance. “C’mere, baby. Let me feel how soaked that pretty set is.” He eventually pushes the lace aside, burying his face between your thighs and eating you out until your legs shake before pulling you down onto his cock.

M - Manhandling and mirror sex: Those strong defenseman arms make manhandling effortless. He flips and lifts you like you weigh nothing, fucking you against walls or tossing you onto the bed. His favorite is mirror sex, bending you over in front of the full-length mirror in his bedroom so you both watch as his thick cock stretches your pussy. “Eyes on the mirror, baby. Watch how well you take every inch of me.”

N - Nipple play and neck kisses: He’s obsessed with your tits, sucking, biting and pinching your nipples while he fucks you slow and deep. His mouth on your neck leaves dark marks as he grinds against you, whispering filthy praise that makes you clench around him.

O - Oral (giving and receiving): Dean eats pussy like it’s his favorite meal. He throws your legs over his broad shoulders and devours you, moaning against your clit and tongue-fucking you until you’re grinding on his face. When you suck him off, he’s loud and filthy, groaning your name, praising how good your throat feels and gently fucking your mouth while his hand tangles in your hair.

P - Praise and public teasing: “Such a good girl taking my cock,” and “Fuck, you’re so perfect for me.” He’s generous with praise but loves teasing you in public by sliding his hand up your thigh under the table at team dinners and whispering exactly what he’s going to do to you later until you’re squirming and soaked.

Q - Quickies and quality: Even his quickies are intense. A hard, fast fuck in the stairwell or his car where he still makes sure you cum hard, often twice before pumping you full. He makes every minute count.

R - Rough sex: When the mood hits, Dean fucks like he plays, hard, fast and relentless. He pins your wrists above your head, delivers deep powerful thrusts and lightly chokes you while feeling your pulse race, and growls filthy things in your ear. He always checks in afterward, making sure you’re okay before going for round two.

S - Stamina and sweaty sex: Hockey conditioning means he can fuck for hours. Expect sweaty, loud, bed-breaking sex where the sheets end up soaked. He loves the slide of your slick bodies, the way your skin sticks to his as he drives into you over and over, both of you panting and moaning.

T - Toys and teasing: Dean’s adventurous with toys. He loves using a remote vibrator on you during team events, controlling the intensity from across the room while watching you try to stay composed. He’ll edge you with dildos and plugs before finally giving you his cock.

U - Uniform kink: The hockey gear is a huge turn-on. He’ll fuck you with his jersey still on (on your or him), pads half-off in the locker room, the scent of sweat and ice on his skin driving you crazy. You love riding him while he’s still in parts of his uniform, gripping the fabric as you cum.

V - Voyeurism and risk: Dean loves the thrill of almost getting caught. Balcony sex, fingering you under the table or fucking you against the floor-to-ceiling windows of his apartment where anyone could see. The risk makes him fuck you harder and deeper, hoping to make it worth the potential trouble.

W - Worship: He worships your body like a trophy by kissing, licking and praising every inch while buried inside you. You return it just as eagerly, tracing his abs, scars and cock with your tongue until he’s groaning your name like a prayer.

X - eXhibitionist tendencies: He’s shameless. He’ll let you ride him in the hot tub at a party or record you sucking his cock so he can rewatch it later and get hard again. The danger of being seen only turns him on more.

Y - Yearning and make-up sex: After away games or fights, the reunion sex is desperate and intense. He pins you against the door the second he’s home, tearing clothes off and fucking you deeply. “Missed this tight pussy so fucking much,” he growls, pounding into you like he’ll never get enough.

Z - Zoned out and cockdrunk: Dean lives for fucking you into a blissed-out, cockdrunk mess. He keeps a relentless, grinding rhythm with deep strokes that hit your G-spot perfectly, watching with dark eyes as your eyes roll back, drool slips from your parted lips and you can only whimper and tremble. “That’s my girl. Look at you, all fucked stupid on my cock. So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, hips still moving as he keeps you floating in that mindless pleasure for as long as he wants.

The sight of your vacant expression only fuels his aggression. He grips your hips with bruising force, fingers digging into your skin to anchor you as he drives himself deeper. Every thrust is a violent, calculated strike, his thick cock slamming against your cervix with a wet, slapping sound that echoes through the room.

He shifts his weight, hooking one of your legs over his shoulder to open you up completely. The change in angle allows him to bury himself to the hilt, balls slapping hard against your soaking wet pussy. He focuses on that one specific spot, grinding his pelvis in a circular, punishing motion that sends electric shocks through your entire nervous system.

"You're not even here anymore, are you?" Dean growls, his voice a low, possessive rumble. He leans down, biting hard into the sensitive skin of your shoulder, marking you as his while he continues to pump into you.

You try to form a word, a plea or a moan but all that comes out is a broken, airy whimper. Your head thrashes against the pillow, eyes fluttering, seeing nothing but white light and the blurred image of his dark, hungry gaze. You are completely undone, your mind stripped away by the sheer intensity of the friction.

Dean watches the drool leak from the corner of your mouth, a smirk playing on his lips. He loves this, the total erasure of your will, the way you become nothing more than a vessel for his pleasure. He increases the pace, his breaths coming in harsh, jagged gasps. The sound of his cock sliding in and out of your drenched pussy becomes a rhythmic, frantic drumming.

"Take it all," he commands, voice dripping with dominance. "Take every fucking inch of me until you can't remember your own name."

He feels your internal muscles begin to spasm, the first waves of a massive orgasm beginning to ripple through you. Instead of letting you peak and crash, he slows his pace to a torturous, agonizing crawl. He pulls out until only the head of his cock remains inside you, then plunges back in with a sudden, savage force that makes your back arch off the bed.

The sensation is too much. You scream, a raw, guttural sound, as your orgasm rips through you. Your pussy clamps down on him in tight, rhythmic pulses, milking him desperately. Dean lets out a low groan, his own control finally snapping. He hammers into you one last time, hips locking against yours as he fills you deep, his hot cum erupting in thick pulses against your G-spot.

He stays buried inside you long after the shaking stops, heavy chest heaving against yours as he leans in, licking the stray tear from your cheek, eyes dark and satisfied.

"That’s my good girl," he whispers, his voice possessive and cold. "Now stay right there. I'm not done with you yet."

a/n: Comments, likes and reblogs really do mean the world and help more than you know! More stories will be added to the archive soon, so stay tuned for new content. Thank you so much for reading! 🤍

[honeyslibrary]

NSFW A-Z | Dean Di Laurentis

Pairing; Dean Di Laurentis x Reader

Warning(s); 18+ but no explicit smut, mention of sex, oral, spit kink, cursing (?), barely edited so apologies for any grammar errors

Summary; NSFW alphabet featuring Dean. I tried to encapsulate him best based on my personal opinion of what I think he'd be like + how he is shown in the books as well as the show.

Word Count; 5.6k

Author’s Note; This took a little longer than I thought it was going to, but I still do like it. Hope I captured Dean well, I tried my best. Also, yes, I did give Dean a spit kink. To be honest, I have a hard time not giving every hockey player I write about, a spit kink. I just find it soooo sexy. You might get a Dean fic about that in the future if there is interest. Please let me know your thoughts if you have any, and feel free to send any requests through my inbox (: Hope all is well in your corner of the world. Go Canucks! - Honey

Dean Masterlist

A - Aftercare (what is he like after sex?)

Dean's surprisingly attentive afterward, though he plays it casual. He's not the type to make it overly sentimental or awkward, but he'll check in with you in that easy way of his, asking if you need water or whatever while already reaching for a bottle from his nightstand. There's usually some light conversation, a joke to keep things from getting too heavy, because that's just how he operates. He's perceptive enough to read what you need without you having to spell it out. If you want space, he gives it. If you want to stay close, his arm finds its way around you like it's the most natural thing in the world. He's had enough experience to know the basics of taking care of someone after, and despite his reputation, he doesn't just bail immediately. With you specifically, he's gotten better at the small things: making sure you're comfortable, handling cleanup without being weird about it, staying present instead of immediately moving on to the next thing. It's not performative; it's just Dean being Dean, that underlying decency that exists beneath the cocky exterior. He might not be writing poetry about the experience, but he makes sure you're good before he lets himself fully relax. His previous hookups might answer otherwise, it wasn’t unusual for them to see the door after fucking, but for you it’s different. He’s different.

B - Body Part (his favorite body part of yours)

Dean's absolutely a boob guy, which he's never been shy about. He loves your breasts, is borderline obsessed with them in a way that would probably be embarrassing if he cared enough to be embarrassed. His hands gravitate there constantly: when you're kissing, when you're lying in bed together, absent-mindedly when he comes up behind you when you’re washing dishes. He loves burying his face between them, the softness and warmth of it, the way you react when he does. Watching them bounce when you ride him might be one of his favorite pictures in existence, something he's definitely mentioned more than once in that appreciative way he has. He's got a thing about taking your nipples in his mouth too, the way you arch into him when he does, the sounds you make. His hands span your ribcage and slide up with clear intent, thumbs brushing over sensitive skin in ways that make you shiver. There's a possessive element to it, the way he touches you there, like he's claiming that part of you specifically. And he's shameless about it, will tell you straight up how much he loves them, how perfect they are, how the sight of them does things to him. It's probably a cliche answer if anyone asked, but Dean genuinely doesn't care. He knows what he likes.

C - Cum (anything to do with cum)

Dean's got specific preferences about where he finishes, and he's never been shy about communicating them. He loves cumming on your chest, watching his off-white seed spurt across your tits in a way that satisfies something deep inside him. There's a visual component to it that gets to him significantly, the evidence of what you do to each other, the way you look marked by him like that. He also loves finishing in your mouth when you let him. The way you look up at him when you do it, the way you gag slightly before he’s pulled off, drool pooling around your mouth. That might be his favorite, honestly. The sight of you like that, the knowledge that you're willing to do that for him, destroys any composure he has left. He's vocal about what he wants, has no problem telling you exactly what he's thinking, and he gets off on your reactions as much as the physical sensation. The mess doesn't faze him at all; if anything he finds the whole thing incredibly hot rather than something to be awkward about. He has no problem with cleaning up. 

D - Dirty Secret (a dirty secret of his)

Dean actually gets off on exhibitionism more than he'd readily admit to most people. It's not just that he doesn't mind the possibility of getting caught; he actively likes it. The thrill of it, the risk, the idea of someone walking in and seeing exactly what he's doing to you... that does something for him that goes beyond just the physical aspect. He's had sex in the living room of his house multiple times, in positions and locations where any of his housemates could walk in, and have, and that edge of danger makes everything more intense. He's told you before, that once he gets caught, he likes being watched. It's the combination of control and display, the confidence of knowing he's good at fucking and not caring who knows it. There's also the fact that he thinks about you way more than is probably reasonable for what's supposed to be casual. He'll see you in his space, wearing his shirt, and his brain immediately goes somewhere it shouldn't when he's supposed to be focusing on homework or game film. And despite his reputation as someone who hooks up freely, he's been effectively exclusive with you for weeks now without either of you naming it, which is its own kind of secret he's keeping from himself.

E - Experience (how experienced is he?)

Dean's extremely experienced, which is fairly common knowledge around campus. He's got a reputation for a reason: he's slept with a lot of people, doesn't make a secret of it, and has the skills to back up the confidence. He knows what he's doing, has figured out through sheer volume of practice what works and what doesn't, how to read women and adjust accordingly. But he's also smart about it in that analytical way he applies to everything else. Dean's a poly sci major who got into Harvard Law, he's not just coasting on natural talent. He pays attention, remembers details, treats it almost like a skill to be mastered. With you, though, there's been a learning curve that's made things better. He's had to figure out your specific preferences, what works for you individually, and he's put in the effort because apparently you're worth it. If anything, all that practice has made him better at this with you specifically, because he knows what questions to ask, what signs to look for, how to make it good rather than just adequate.

F - Favorite Position (what is his favorite position?)

Dean likes you on top, which makes sense given his thing about watching. Seeing you take control, the view it gives him, the way your body moves when you're chasing what you want... that visual does more for him than almost anything else. Plus his hands are free to roam, to grip your hips and guide the pace when he needs to, cup your breasts in his palms, touch you everywhere he wants. He's also partial to you bent over various surfaces in his house: the arm of the couch, his desk, the kitchen counter that one time when Logan walked in on you guys. There's something about the angle and the semi-public nature of those locations that just appeals to him. He likes taking you from behind in general, the view and the depth and the control it gives him. But he's not opposed to more traditional positions either, especially when he wants to see your face, watch every reaction flicker across your features. You on your back with your legs around his waist works perfectly fine when the mood calls for it. He wants to see what he's doing to you, wants to watch you fall apart, and he's shameless about arranging things to make that happen. Variety keeps things interesting, and Dean's creative enough to make use of whatever space you're in.

G - Goofy (is he serious or humorous during sex?)

Dean strikes a balance that somehow works perfectly. He's not overly serious or performative about it, but he's not cracking jokes the entire time either. Sex with Dean feels natural, comfortable in a way that allows for both intensity and lightness. If something awkward happens, a weird noise, a clumsy moment, someone bumping their head, he'll laugh it off with a quick comment that diffuses any tension. Taking it too seriously isn't really his style. He's the type to grin against your mouth when you say something bratty, tease you when you're being impatient, make some smartass remark that makes you laugh even when you're supposed to be annoyed with him. But when things get heated, when the tension builds and you're both too far gone to think straight, he gets more focused, more intense. The humor doesn't disappear completely, though. He's still Dean, still can't resist a well-timed quip, but it takes a backseat to everything else. He's good at reading the room, at knowing when to keep things fun and when to let the intensity take over. The combination works because it never feels forced either way; he's just genuinely comfortable enough with you to be himself.

H - Hair (how well groomed is he?)

Dean's pretty low maintenance in general, but he's not a slob about it. He keeps things neat and trimmed because he's an athlete and it's just practical. Nobody wants to deal with excess hair when you're sweating through practice or games. He's not obsessive about it, doesn't spend forever on grooming or manscaping, but he's aware enough to keep things under control. His routine is efficient: regular trimming, stays on top of it without making it a whole thing. The rest of him is similar. He keeps his facial hair in check when he bothers to have any, though usually he's clean-shaven because of personal preference. His hair gets styled with minimal effort, just enough product to look intentional without looking like he tried too hard. He showers after every workout without fail, uses decent products because his mom raised him right, and generally smells good in that casual way that suggests he's put in exactly enough effort and no more. He's not vain about his appearance, but he's definitely aware of it, takes care of himself in the same way he approaches most things. Good hygiene is just a given. He's sleeping with you regularly, so of course he's going to maintain basic standards. It's not even something he thinks about much; it's just part of the routine.

I - Intimacy (how is he during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Dean's not naturally romantic in the traditional sense. He's not going to recite poetry or light candles or do any of that Hallmark movie nonsense. But there's an intimacy that exists in how he touches you, in the attention he pays to what you need, in the way he makes sure you're good before he worries about himself. His guard comes down during sex in ways it doesn't otherwise, and you can see it in those moments when things slow down, when the urgency fades and it's just the two of you. The way he'll brush hair out of your face, maintain eye contact in a way that feels almost dangerous, trace patterns on your skin like he's memorizing the feel of you... those gestures communicate more than his words typically do. He's not great at verbalizing feelings, that's never been his strong suit. But he shows up, pays attention, makes you feel like you matter even within the undefined parameters of whatever this is between you. Lately there's been more softness creeping in, more lingering, more of those quiet moments where his forehead rests against yours and neither of you needs to say anything. The intimacy is there, just expressed in his own language rather than some prescribed romantic script.

J - Jack Off (does he masturbate?)

Obviously. Dean's a college athlete in his early twenties with a high sex drive and a healthy relationship with his own sexuality. It's a regular part of his routine, something he doesn't think twice about. Post-workout, late at night, morning showers when he has time. It's just a normal physical need he takes care of efficiently. He's never been weird about it. Though since you've been in the picture, his mental material has definitely shifted in your direction. He thinks about you more than he'd probably admit out loud: specific moments you've shared, things you've done, scenarios he'd like to try. That time you wore his jersey with nothing underneath? Yeah, that's made multiple appearances in his highlight reel. The way you look on top of him, breasts bouncing as you fall apart on top of him, the sounds you make, specific things you've said. All of it gets filed away for later use. He's also not above texting you when he's thinking about you, those late-night messages that start innocuous and escalate depending on your response. And if you've sent him photos, even relatively tame ones, those definitely get revisited with some frequency. His drive is high enough that even with regular sex, he still takes care of himself when you're not around. It's efficient, uncomplicated, just part of managing his physical needs.

K - Kink (one or more of his kinks)

Dean's got a serious praise kink that goes both ways, and it's one of the things that genuinely gets to him beyond just the physical. He loves telling you how good you are, how perfect you feel, how well you take him. Watching your reaction to his words, the way you respond when he tells you exactly what you're doing to him, that does something for him that's hard to articulate. It's not just dirty talk; it's specific, genuine praise that makes you fall apart in his hands. And when you return the favor, when you tell him how good he makes you feel, how much you want him, how perfect he is at this... that absolutely destroys his control. He'll get visibly affected, his breathing will change, and whatever composure he was maintaining completely shatters. There's something about verbal affirmation during sex that intensifies everything for him. Then there's the spit kink, which was a revelation for both of you when it first happened. He'd been caught up in the moment, let saliva drip from his mouth into yours almost without thinking, and your reaction, the way you opened for him willingly, the way it clearly turned you on, unlocked something in him he hadn't fully known was there. The first time he did it, he felt this rush of power and control simultaneously, something raw and primal that went beyond normal dirty talk or physical acts. The way you wanted it, eyes practically begging for it as you opened your mouth for him, tongue resting on your plump bottom lip. The moan you let out as a line of spit fell from his mouth, hitting your tongue as you swallowed eagerly, he just about came right then and there. 

L - Location (where's his favorite place to do it?)

Dean's not particularly picky about location, which is part of his whole thing. His bed is convenient and comfortable, offers privacy and familiarity, but he's equally likely to pull you onto the couch in the living room, bend you over his desk, or find some other semi-public spot in the house. He's had sex in most rooms of the place at this point, doesn't really see the point in limiting himself to one location when variety is available. The living room is a frequent choice because of the exhibitionist element, the thrill of his housemates potentially walking in. His desk chair has become a regular spot, you in his lap while he's supposed to be studying. The shower works when logistics align, though it's more cramped than ideal. He's also not above finding semi-private spots at parties: bathrooms, empty bedrooms, his car parked somewhere dark. The common thread is that he likes a little edge of risk, the possibility of being caught or seen. That said, his bed late at night or during lazy afternoons is still good for when you actually have time to draw things out without worrying about interruptions.

M - Motivation (what turns him on, gets him going?)

Dean's got pretty consistent triggers. You in his clothes will derail his entire train of thought: his t-shirts, his Briar U jacket, anything that marks you as his in that possessive way he doesn't fully acknowledge. Confidence gets to him, when you know what you want and aren't shy about taking it or asking for it directly. He loves when you're bratty with him, challenging him or talking back, because it becomes about proving a point and asserting control. Competence is surprisingly hot to him; watching you be good at something, seeing you in your element, attracts him beyond just the physical. The visual component matters a lot: the way you look fresh out of the shower, how your body moves, specific clothing choices that highlight what he already knows is underneath. Intelligence turns him on too, which makes sense given he's smart enough to get into Harvard Law. He likes verbal sparring, the back-and-forth banter that has an edge to it. And yeah, the casual touches throughout the day build in ways that culminate later: your hand on his arm, fingers in his hair, the way you lean into him without thinking. The juxtaposition of normal life and the knowledge of what you're like behind closed doors creates tension he can't ignore.

N - No (something they wouldn't do, turn offs)

Dean's got clear boundaries despite his generally adventurous attitude. Anything that feels faked is an immediate turn-off. He can tell when someone's doing something because they think they should rather than because they want to, and that kills his interest completely. He needs genuine enthusiasm, real desire, or he's not into it. He's also not into actual pain beyond the occasional bite or mark; anything that crosses into genuinely hurting someone doesn't appeal to him at all. Humiliation is off the table too. He'll talk dirty, sure, but it's never cruel or degrading in a way that's meant to actually make someone feel bad. There's a difference between sexy confidence and being an asshole, and he knows where that line is. Another turn off being threesomes. Dean has been a part of plenty of threesomes within his college experience, but the idea of having one with you and another girl? Maybe. Another guy? Absolutely not, no way in hell.

O - Oral (preference in giving/receiving, skill, etc.)

Dean's genuinely enthusiastic about going down on you, which tracks with his overall approach to sex. He's good at it too, has enough experience to know what he's doing and pays close enough attention to figure out what works specifically for you. He likes the control aspect of it, having you completely at his mercy, making you come apart with just his mouth. There's definitely an ego component: he takes pride in his skill, in reducing you to incoherence. He's the type to hold your hips down when you start squirming, to make eye contact at the worst possible moments because he knows it destroys you, to talk you through it in that low voice that makes everything more intense. As for receiving, he's absolutely not going to turn it down. The visual component gets to him as much as the physical sensation, watching your mouth wrap around his cock is its own kind of torture in the best way. He's vocal about what he likes, will guide you with his hands in your hair, but he's good about letting you set the pace too. 

P - Pace (is he fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Dean's pace depends entirely on context and mood, and he's gotten good at reading what any given situation calls for. When there's urgency, when you've been building tension all day, when you finally get a moment alone after wanting each other for hours, he's fast and intense. Those times are rougher, more desperate, neither of you particularly careful about it. He likes it like that sometimes, likes the raw energy of just taking what you both need. But he's equally capable of slow and passionate when the situation calls for it, especially during those long afternoons when there's no rush. He'll draw it out then, make you wait, because he likes watching you unravel slowly and he's patient enough to make it happen. The variety keeps things interesting, means you never quite know what you're getting. Sometimes it starts slow and builds to something frantic. Sometimes it's urgent from the start and stays that way. He's good at switching gears mid-way through if needed, responsive to what's working in the moment.

Q - Quickie (his opinion on quickies, how often, etc.)

Dean's absolutely a fan of quickies. They happen regularly: between classes, before practice, stolen moments when the house is briefly empty or when he just doesn't care if it's not. There's something appealing about the haste, the "we need this right now" energy that doesn't allow for extended foreplay or overthinking. He likes the efficiency of it, the way you both know exactly what you're doing and can make it work in whatever time you have. Against the wall, bent over his desk, you in his lap in that chair, in the living room when he's pretty sure the guys will be gone long enough. Quickies serve a purpose that's different from taking time. They satisfy immediate need, that pressing want that can't wait. He's good at them too, knows how to make it satisfying despite time constraints, knows exactly where to touch to get you there fast when necessary. That said, he definitely prefers having time to really take you apart when possible. Quickies are great for what they are, but they don't replace the longer sessions where he can be more thorough. They probably happen a few times a week depending on schedules and opportunity, usually initiated by whoever's more desperate, and they're a pretty regular part of the dynamic at this point.

R - Risk (is he game to experiment? does he take risks? etc.)

Dean's generally open to experimentation within reason. He's got his preferences, but he's not rigid about them. If there's something you want to try, he's usually game to at least discuss it, even if that leads to him tied up at the wrists. He approaches new things with characteristic confidence, willing to figure it out as you go. Some of his favorite things came from spontaneous experimentation rather than planning. The spit thing, for example, wasn't discussed beforehand; it just happened and you both discovered you were into it. He's also gotten more comfortable with relinquishing control as things have progressed between you, which was its own kind of risk for someone who usually likes being in charge. That's been surprisingly rewarding. He's never going to suggest anything too extreme on his own, but if you bring something up, he'll consider it seriously. His intelligence means he thinks things through, weighs potential outcomes, but he's not so cautious that he misses out on things that could be good.

S - Stamina (how many rounds can he go for? how long does he last?)

Dean's stamina is legitimately impressive, which makes sense for a college athlete in peak condition. He can go multiple rounds given enough recovery time between them. Two or three isn't unusual during those long days when neither of you has anywhere to be. The refractory period isn't instant, but it's relatively quick, especially if you're actively working to get him there again. As for duration, he's got solid control under normal circumstances. He's experienced enough to know his own limits, can hold off when he needs to, generally makes sure you finish first because that matters to his ego. But there are specific things that wreck that control: you on top, when you talk dirty unexpectedly, if you've been teasing him for extended periods before actually getting started. Those scenarios shorten his fuse considerably. He's learned his triggers well enough to adjust, to change position or slow down when he needs to make it last. And he's got no problem using other methods if he finishes before you're satisfied: his hands, his mouth, whatever it takes. The athletic conditioning definitely helps with endurance; he doesn't get winded easily, can maintain pace and intensity without tapping out. Those marathon sessions where you go multiple rounds with breaks in between appeal to the competitive side of him.

T - Toys (does he own toys? does he use them on himself or you?)

Dean's got some experience with toys, specifically using them on partners. He's used a vibrator during sex before, knows how to incorporate it effectively, sees it as another tool to make things better rather than something to be intimidated by. If you have toys, he's definitely interested in them, wants to know how you use them when you're alone, finds that information extremely useful for his own purposes. He's the type who'd be into using one on you, controlling when and how you get stimulation, because that plays directly into the authority thing he likes. Watching you fall apart because of something he's controlling appeals to him significantly. He doesn't own much himself and hasn't really experimented with using them on himself, that's not territory he's explored. But he's practical about their use in general: if it works and makes things better, why not? It's not something that gets incorporated every single time, most encounters are just the two of you without additional equipment, but when toys do come into play, it adds a dimension he's learned to appreciate. He approaches it with the same confidence he brings to everything else, no weird hang-ups about it.

U - Unfair (how much he likes to tease)

Dean is absolutely merciless when it comes to teasing, and he's completely shameless about how much he enjoys it. He's figured out exactly what gets to you and deploys it like it’s second nature, because it kind of is to him. He'll start early sometimes, casual touches throughout the day that seem innocent but are clearly intentional: a hand on your lower back that drifts too low, fingers tracing patterns on your thigh, standing close enough that you're hyperaware of him. He likes watching you try to maintain composure when he's actively working to destroy it. During sex, he's even worse. He'll bring you right to the edge and then pull back, slow down exactly when you need more, make you beg for what you want before he'll give it to you. The power dynamic of it appeals to him, seeing how desperate he can make you, how much you want him. And he's smug about it too, that infuriating smirk when you finally break and tell him to stop messing around. It goes both ways though; when you tease him back, when you give him a taste of his own medicine, he gets visibly affected even while pretending otherwise. The building tension, the back-and-forth of it, makes everything more intense when you both finally get what you want. He's learned that anticipation improves the payoff exponentially, so he's willing to draw things out as long as you can both stand it.

V - Volume (how loud is he? what sounds does he make? etc.)

Dean's not overly loud as a baseline, but he's definitely not silent. He modulates based on circumstance: when the house is full and walls are thin, he controls it best he can, though you can still hear his breathing change and catch the low sounds he makes. When you're actually alone or when he just doesn't care, he's more vocal. He talks during sex, likes telling you what he's going to do, what he wants, how good you feel. His voice drops lower, gets rougher, and that alone is enough to affect you. He groans when something feels particularly good, curses under his breath when you catch him off guard. When he's getting close, his breathing gets ragged and he becomes less articulate, words fragmenting into your name and profanity. He's vocal in other ways too: sharp intakes of breath, the sound he makes when you kiss his neck a certain way, that low rumble of approval when you do exactly what he wants. He's louder when you're on top and he's given up control, like relinquishing that authority loosens something in him. And when he finally cums, he's definitely not quiet about it, though he'll muffle it against your shoulder or mouth if the situation requires it. The sounds he makes are half the appeal for you, hearing the evidence of how much you're affecting him.

W - Wildcard (a random headcanon)

Dean has a thing about mornings after that he doesn't really talk about. When you stay over and wake up in his bed, there's this window of time, usually while you're still half-asleep, where he's content in a way he rarely is otherwise. He'll watch you sleep sometimes, not in a creepy way, but just taking in the fact that you're there, in his space, comfortable enough to be completely unguarded. It grounds him somehow, makes the casual thing you have feel less casual even though he's not ready to examine that too closely. He's also weirdly domestic in ways that surprise both of you. He'll make sure you eat, will order food without asking because he knows you're hungry, keeps your favorite drinks stocked in the fridge even though he doesn't drink them himself. Small things that suggest he's paying more attention than he lets on. And he's got a whole mental catalog of details about you that he's accumulated without trying: how you take your coffee, which of his shirts you prefer to take, the specific way you like to be touched when you're tired versus when you're wound up. He files all of it away like it matters, because apparently it does, even if he hasn't said that out loud yet. The casual arrangement has stopped being truly casual for him a while ago, but he's letting you both exist in the comfortable denial of not defining it for as long as possible.

X - X-Ray (let's see what's going on under those clothes)

Dean's built like a hockey player: lean muscle, broad shoulders, strong core and legs from years of skating. His body is functional, trained for performance on ice, but the aesthetic result is objectively good. Defined abs, solid chest, muscular thighs that come from explosive movements and endurance training. He's got good hands too, large and capable, equally comfortable gripping a stick or gripping your ass. As for specifics, he's proportional to his frame and definitely nothing to worry about. Above average in both length and girth, substantial enough that the first time required adjustment. He's experienced enough to know how to use what he's got effectively, and that confidence isn't unfounded. A few scars from hockey injuries scattered across his body, faded marks that add character. He moves with the unselfconscious confidence of someone who's never had reason to doubt his physicality, comfortable in his body in a way that translates to how he approaches sex. Overall, the package matches the personality: confident, capable, built for endurance, and fully aware of his own assets while being only slightly obnoxious about it.

Y - Yearning (how high is his sex drive?)

Dean's sex drive is consistently high, which tracks for someone in his early twenties with his activity level and general approach to physicality. It's not that he's constantly thinking about sex, but there's a baseline interest that's pretty much always there, ready to activate given the right circumstance. Having regular access to you has meant his natural drive has a consistent outlet, and if anything it's intensified because he's genuinely attracted to you beyond just physical availability. He's usually the one initiating, though you've learned to read when he's particularly wound up. Post-workout he's especially energized, endorphins making him more forward. Late at night when he should be tired and gets a second wind if you're around. The mental component is strong: he'll get going just from thinking about you, from replaying previous encounters, from anticipating next time. Being in close proximity doesn't help; having you in his space tends to put ideas in his head even when he should be focused elsewhere. Recovery time between rounds is relatively short because his drive doesn't quit just because he's already finished once. It's healthy and normal for his age and activity level, but definitely on the higher end of the spectrum, which works fine given he's got the outlet for it.

Z - ZZZ (how quickly does he fall asleep afterwards?)

Dean doesn't immediately pass out after sex, which seems relatively uncommon based on general reputation. He'll stay awake for a while, sometimes just lying there, sometimes talking about random things, sometimes on his phone while you're against him. The physical exertion doesn't knock him out the way it might others; his hockey conditioning means efficient recovery. That said, there's a specific tiredness that sets in maybe twenty or thirty minutes later, especially if it's late or if you've gone multiple rounds. He gets quieter, responses slower, and you can feel him starting to drift. He usually makes sure you're settled first though, that you've got what you need, before he lets himself fully relax into sleep. Once he does fall asleep, he's out solidly. Doesn't move around much, and sleeps hard. Morning practices and early workouts have trained him to sleep efficiently when he gets the chance. But immediately after sex? He's still present, still engaged, not checking out before you do. It's one of those small things that makes the arrangement feel less transactional than his usual hookups, the fact that he sticks around rather than disappearing into unconsciousness the second it's over.

If you made it this far, thanks so much for reading! I really hope you enjoyed, I had fun writing it ☺️ - Honey

[autumngirlcherry]

🫙 AT THE SAME DAMN TIME ( 18+ )

you had no idea how much you needed both hottest guys in briar u at the same time, until your situationship dean asked you, if you ever had threesome. and then offered his help in exploring something new.

WARNING : mention of weed, characters are a little high, blowjob, doggy, logan likes praising his partner during sex and dean likes talking dirty, mention of marking. dean and reader kinda have something but they kinda don’t, it’s complicated. logan is a manwhore.

A / N : just let me be, guys, i craved to write something like this. y/n mentioned to have a long hair but i didn’t attach a colour, needed that for the blowjob scene, please forgive me. also lmk if you liked it !! enjoy ;)

never in your life you thought that you would end up on the porch of the hockey house. with dean and john. smoking weed. but here you are, pouring your soul out, while both guys listened.

“wait,” dean interrupted her, “so you guys did like… only missionary? nothing new, nothing exploring ?”

you sighed and shook your head, “he was like one of those guys who believed that sex is not necessary. i mean— it is not necessary for some people, we all have different levels of libido, that’s fine. i just haven’t met someone who could match my level, yet.”

logan nodded knowingly, “on what level is your libido? i mean how much crazy are we talking?”

you stopped for a moment and took a deep breath, “well… i’m pretty kinky.”

“oh”, dean smiled mischievously and leaned closer, “so what is it ? dirty talks ? praising ? choking ? roleplays ?”

“uh… everything, i guess.”

“shit, fuck that guy, use me.”

you froze for a second and then bursted out of laughter.

“god, you’re so fucking crazy, di laurentis.”

“can’t judge him, though,” logan said lazily, “it’s not every day when you meet someone who could match your wants.”

“do you think about what i think…?”

“dean, she’s not gonna agree.”

“come on, we didn’t even ask yet.”

“um… asked about what..?”

dean smiled charmingly before fully turning to face you, “did you ever tried to do threesome?”

your jaw dropped. logan looked away, as if already regretting what dean said, but dean didn’t look away, didn’t move. just waited.

“oh shit, you’re serious.”

“i’m always serious when it comes to threesomes.”

“idiot.”

“yeah, i’ve been told before.”

you sighed heavily, deciding whenever it’s good idea or not. i mean, college years are for trying something new and exploring things, right ?

“i didn’t. i mean threesome. never tried that shit.”

“it’s not that scary, though. me and dean had it like… many times.”

“wait, you two fucked the same girl countless times?”

“oh god, no!” dean immediately stepped forward, “we had like two girls at the same time. and for a while we thought about having one girl together. it’s just exploring new stuff, call it whatever you want. we promise to make you feel as comfortable as possible, we set whatever boundaries you need, just say yes.”

you were silent for a good 13 seconds and then raised your head, looking at both of them, “when i say stop — we’re stopping, no pressing further. and we ask before doing something crazy.”

“deal.” dean nodded enthusiastically and threw you over his shoulder, “now bedroom”

you laughed and hit his back, “i’m gonna kill you!”

“you wish, sweetheart.”

dean’s bedroom was large, bed was king size, big enough for three of them. logan smiled and turned off main lights, leaving only soft dim light from bedside lamp. dean behind you already took off his shirt and wrapped his arms around you from behind, nuzzling his nose against your neck. you melted immediately. logan’s smile softened and he walked closer to you. hands are resting on your hips as he leaned closer and pressed his lips against yours. logan tasted like apples and something spicy, you weren’t sure, but you never wanted to stop kissing him. your hands moving under his t-shirt, fingers slowly dancing over his skin, and when he sucked in air sharply? you smirked into kiss and pulled him closer.

dean’s hands working on the button of your jeans, pulling them down slowly, his fingers leaving hot trails on their way. your knees gets weak when he parted your thighs with his fingers.

“you good?”

“y-yeah…” you nodded shakily and bit down logan’s neck, making him hiss.

one by one, logan’s thumb and forefinger worked the clasp open, each hook letting go like a held breath. he didn’t rush.

“relax, gorgeous… i’ve got you.”

meanwhile dean’s tongue flicked on your inner thigh, making you cling onto logan’s shoulder like on a lifeline. dean knew exactly what he was doing, he’d done that countless times before, but this time feels special. dean's fingers hooked into the damp fabric at your hip, not pulling it down, just tugging it gently to one side — enough to bare your pussy, enough to let his breath fall hot against sensitive skin before he started eating you out.

you moaned loudly, hands clenching against logan’s chest. the air left your lungs, you felt so surreal right now. logan’s strong hands held you still, pressing soft kisses over your shoulder.

“shhh, gorgeous, you’re doing so good.”

dean ate you out like he was starving, son of a bitch, he was a way too good at it, “that’s it… ride my face, sweetheart.”

your hands wandered lower logan’s stomach, one hand pulling inside of his jeans. he groaned at the sudden touch and quickly took his jeans with boxers off.

“come here,” he whispered, making her stand on all the four. dean kept eating her from behind, but on the front ? logan gently moved the tip of his cock over her lips, before slowly pushing inside. you immediately sucked him in deep and gagged.

“shh, easy there. you’re doing so good, i’m so proud.”

you’re close, but you want him first. your rhythm shifts — tighter, quicker, your jaw relaxing as you take him deeper. his fingers tangle in your hair. your cheeks hollow. and then you feel it: the way he stops breathing entirely. logan’s hips jerked once, twice, and then his hand fisted your hair tightly, riding his orgasm.

“fuck… such a good little girl.”

dean picked up his pace, now one finger joined his tongue. then another one. he finger-fucked you thoroughly, paying attention to the every shiver, every shaky breath. when your walls started clenching around him ? he suddenly pulled away, making you whine.

“sorry, princess, be patient.”

he quickly rolled condom onto his cock and pushed inside you, making you both groan. logan kissed all over your face, comforting you.

“fuck, baby… you’re so tight.”

dean wasn’t the type who fucked fast, but he was the type who fucked hard. you know that he will probably leave bruises on your hips from how hard he’s gripping them. he slowly picked up his pace, when he found the exact spot that made you gasp.

you whined and wobbled uncontrollably, feeling too good right now, right on the edge, “dean… i’m gonna—”

“that’s it baby… squeeze me…”

dean thrusted exactly three times more, before you screamed, arching your back. you milked down every drop out of him and leaned against logan, feeling completely wasted. dean kissed you back before pulling out slowly and getting rid of used condom.

logan helped you to lay down on the bed and tucked you under the blanket. dean looked at them with quiet awe and lied down behind you. logan kissed your forehead softly before picking up his clothes and walking out of dean’s room.

“how is my baby feeling?” dean asked, his voice low and calm.

“good… finds out i love being praised.”

“i’ll make a note.”

“you should.”

he chuckled softly and kissed the top of your head.

“now sleep. you need a good rest after that.”

[munsonsmixtapes]

Return the Favor

Dean Di Laurentis x fem!reader

summary: You and Dean go down on each other and then he does something that you really don’t expect.

word count: 1.4k+

cw: MDNI (18+) oral (both f and m receiving) fingering

It's close to 9:00 when you check your phone again. Dean is supposed to be here any minute and you don't know why you're nervous to have him over. This is the second time you're seeing him and you feel a little more confident. You spent some of your tip money on a lingerie set that you convinced yourself to buy and it was a fucking bitch to get into, but you have to admit that you look good.

You can't stop staring at yourself in the mirror, moving this way and that as you admire the way that you look. You've bought lingerie before, but not for anyone else to see. It feels weird for someone to see you like this. But you like it and you hope he does too.

There's a knock on the door and you put on your robe before hurrying out of the room. You're picking up some trash from the coffee table as you get back into the living room and toss it in the trash in the kitchen before you hurry over to the door. You open it with a wide smile, pulling Dean inside by his shirt. He's dressed differently tonight, wearing a t-shirt and jeans. And you can't help but notice how good they look on him.

He lets out a laugh at how bold you're behaving and follows you to your bedroom, letting you pull him along. Your room is just as he imagined with everything neat as a pin-like something out of a catalog. Now he understands why you spend so much time here. It's cozy with the string lights lining the walls and the rain pouring outside just adds to it.

He brushes his thumb along your bottom lip and you take it into your mouth, sucking on it as you maintain eye contact with him. You don't know what's gotten into you but you like who you've become since transferring.

"Where the hell did you learn that?" He doesn't sound jealous, more surprised than anything. He doesn't think you're totally innocent, but you just seemed so…different the night he met you.

"You're not the only one that knows stuff," you tell him as you pull him closer. He wants to find out exactly the kind of things you know-what you're into, and he really hopes you show him.

"Oh, really?"

"I know all kinds of things." You're much more flirty and confident than you were the first time and Dean likes seeing this side of you. "Want me to show you?"

"God yes," he replies, a gasp falling from his lips as you push him onto the bed. You climb on top of him, straddling his waist and grinding against his crotch. He's already so hard, so needy for you. He's been thinking about this-and you-all day.

"Can I take care of this for you?" You ask, your hand moving down to his crotch.

"Please," he whines and you take no time to unbutton his pants, pulling them down his legs, his boxers following. You toss them into a pile on the floor before taking him in one of your hands.

You truly have no idea what you're doing but you don't want him to know that even though it's painfully obvious. Your cheeks grow hot as spit into your hand before taking him again, moving your hand up and down in a slow pace.

Dean lets out a shudder and you're pretty sure that means you're doing it right. He already feels like he's close to coming, so pent up from thinking about the photo you sent him earlier to give him a taste.

"Take me in your mouth," he says, his tone breathy as he lets out a moan. He grabs hold of the bedding underneath him as your lips wrap around him. "Start with the tip." You watch him come undone as you hesitantly lick and suck, your tongue moving back and forth along the tip. "A little more, baby."

The nickname makes your heart flutter and you do as he asks, taking even more of him into your mouth. It's such an odd sensation but you have to admit that you like it. And the sounds. God, the sounds are driving you crazy and you're so wet at the thought of him getting off just from your mouth.

"Fuck, yeah, just like that, baby," he breathes, hands now white-knuckling the comforter. You take him even deeper, sucking even harder and his eyes shut tight as he lets out another loud moan. His back arches as he reaches his peak and you stay there, continuing to suck as you get wetter and wetter, your panties surely now soaked.

You pull him out of your mouth with a loud pop and you swallow even though Dean assures you that you don't have to. He never wants you to feel pressured and you know that. You just wind up comparing yourself to the other women he's slept with-the ones who have more experience.

"Come here," he says, as he helps you up on your knees, his lips finding yours again. "Fuck, you're amazing, he sighs against your lips and your heart rate picks up again. You don't like that you're already starting to fall for him and decide that it's best to push that all down. This is just supposed to be fun, absolutely no feelings involved. You're just going to complicate everything.

"How about I return the favor?" He asks and you're definitely leaking through your panties, desperate for him to get his mouth on you.

"God, please."

"What have you got going on here?" He asks, noting the wine color peaking through your robe. You untie it and push it off your shoulders, revealing the lingerie. Dean's eyes widen as he takes you in, the sheer lace of your bra showing off your very hard nipples.

He's already seen it in the photo, but seeing it in person is so much better. He wasn't sure how long he was going to be able to wait when you texted him before practice, but this was well worth the wait.

He pulls you close, bringing one of your nipples to his mouth. His lips wrap around it over your bra, his hand moving up to your other breast, giving it a squeeze.

"Mmm," you sigh against his lips. Dean helps you onto the bed, the two of you switching spots. He kisses his way down your torso and you take notes for the next time you suck him off.

Once he spreads your legs, he sees that you're already soaked, a wet patch on your sheer underwear. He's quick to pull them off, and he tosses them to the side before he slides his fingers inside.

He pumps and pumps, watching you as he does so. Every breathy moan makes him even more hard as you respond exactly as he wants you to. He leans forward, mouth on your clit as he sucks roughly, pulling a loud moan out of you.

He grabs hold of your legs and drapes them over his shoulders before he digs in, removing his fingers and replacing them with his mouth. He licks and sucks, watching you come apart as you moan over and over, knowing that the sounds will stick in his head long after he leaves along with that damn photo.

"Fuck, oh my god," you whine as his tongue finds its way inside your pussy, your hands grabbing onto his hair and giving it a hard tug. This is unlike anything you've ever experienced and you're glad to know that you'll be able to have it any time you ask. Dean has already made it clear that he's at your beck and call, always making himself available to you no matter what time of day it is.

You reach your peak, pulling on his hair even harder as your own back arches. Dean pulls away as you come down and you grab a towel before cleaning yourselves up. You expect him to leave afterwards, but after he's put on his boxers, he climbs into your bed, getting under the covers and patting the spot next to him.

"Will you read to me?" He asks, eyeing the book on your bedside table. You crawl into bed beside him and he hands you the book, not giving you a choice.

"You really want me to?"

"Yeah," he nods, snuggling into your side as you open the book to the first page. You start reading to him, moving the book so he can see and after a few chapters, you can hear his soft snores. You smile down at him as you close the book and turn out your lamp, snuggling into him and wondering if he'd be okay with making this a regular thing.

This part of a series and you can find the rest of the Deanverse here!

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[iceyngi]

Shower Time

☄︎ Warnings: NSFW, impractical shower sex, oral (m! & f! recieving), not proofread ☄︎ Pairing: fem!Reader x Dean di Laurentis ☄︎ Rating: 18+, MDNI ☄︎ Words: 1046 ☄︎ AN: so i was thinking about that bath scene andddd now we're here. i should be sleeping but i'm thinking of a blonde haired hocky boy, sigh

“This is the last time,” you moaned into Dean’s mouth. You were serious this time. You had to be serious this time.

“You’re the insatiable one,” Dean said, giving you a loud wet slap to the ass.

He wasn’t lying, you couldn’t get enough of him and the cocky bastard knew it. You had come over with the intention of completely platonic studying. You concentrated better when he was around, you had told yourself.

You were sitting on his bed, having used the spare key he had given you, when he arrived back from the gym. He was pleased to see you; he loved coming home to find you waiting for him on his bed even if it was for ‘platonic’ reasons.  

“Just going for a quick shower,” he had called as he stripped down in front of you.

10 minutes later, you were moaning in his arms against the slick tiles of the shower.

He dropped to his knees in front of you, the shower water was hot enough that the room was steaming but that didn’t stop the goosebumps forming at his missing warmth.

Dean gently lifted one of your legs over his shoulder, mindful of the slippery floor beneath you.  

Your eyes fell shut as Dean worked you with his mouth. He took his time with you, tonguing you where you were most sensitive. He worked a few fingers into you, speeding up his usually long wine and dine process. He was conscious the water would soon be running cold. He needed you to cum before that.

His own arousal stood painfully between his legs. He couldn’t think about that, not when he had the taste of you on his lips. His entire focus on the way your head was thrown back, lips parted as you moaned.

You ran your hand through his, now tangled, blonde hair. The water was hitting him directly from above and you wondered how he was breathing down there.

He’d probably tell you he’d die a happy man between your legs. He was always so eager to be between them.

His fingers curved in you in just the right way at the same time as he circled your clit. You came with a strangled moan of his name, walls tightening around his fingers.

He talked to you as you rode the waves of your orgasm. He looked up and showered you with praises, telling you how pretty you were and how good you were for him.

Once he felt your body settle, he took your leg from his shoulder, ensuring you were able to stand firmly before kissing his way back up your body. He pressed a few kisses to your mouth; you could taste yourself on him and it was getting you worked up again.

You pushed him back against the wall, fully intent on repaying the favour when the doorknob jiggled. You raised an inquisitive eyebrow at him.

“I don’t know,” Dean mouthed back. Nobody was supposed to be home for another hour.

“Dean, you in there?” It was Garrett. Dean’s best friend didn’t know that you guys were fucking, and really you wanted to keep it that way, but the panic in Dean’s eyes had your lips curving to a smirk, a playful idea forming.

You stood on your tip toes to reach Dean’s ear, “Answer him.”

Now it was your turn to drop to your knees. You immediately went to work, taking his dick in your hand. Your tongue swirled around the tip before dragging it along the prominent vein on the underside of his shaft. Your actions were deliberately slow; he liked being teased and you liked to hear him whimper.

The doorknob jigged again. “Dean,” Garrett called impatiently.

You looked up at him through curved lashes, raising both eyebrows in question as you slowly licked the leaking slit. Dean obliged your command, wanting to play your game.

“What’s up bro?” Despite Dean’s obvious attempt at keeping his voice levelled, it came out breathy. In reward for answering, you took more of him in your mouth, sucking around the head. Your other hand came up to play with his balls, he hissed as you fondled him. You loved how sensitive he was.

Garrett didn’t seem to notice.

“Open the door man, Hannah’s left her scrunchie in there and she needs it.”

“I’m…shower.” Dean was really trying to stay composed, bless him.

He put his hand on your head trying to urge you on. He was careful not to tug on your hair, he knew you hated that.

“What?”

Dean’s entire body twitched as you finally took him in fully, bobbing up and down his length. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you, loving the way your lips stretched around him.

He had forgotten where he was, his mind consumed with how you were working him. You couldn’t make sense of anything he was mumbling, a good sign that he was close. He whimpered, loudly, as he thrusted back into your mouth.

“Ew, dude, are you jerking off in there?”

Dean didn’t answer him. You looked up and saw he was biting into his arm, trying to suppress another loud moan.

You took that as a challenge.

You flicked your tongue over the head in the way that you knew he liked. Then took him in fully again. With hollowed cheeks and a flick of the wrist, warm, ropey, cum came shooting down your throat. Your nails dug into the skin of his ass as he held you in place. He wanted to see you swallow it all.

“God, I love you.” Dean never came quietly.

“Sure… love you too, I guess,” Garrett’s confused reply pulled your attention away from the orgasm-induced confession. You hadn’t realised Garrett was still on the other side of the door.

Dean groaned as you quietly giggled around his dick, the vibrations hitting his sensitive tip. You hoped you were laughing quiet enough that Garrett couldn’t hear you. Tickled with the knowledge that he thought Dean’s words were directed at him.

Dean pulled you up to stand, pinching your sides, which only made you laugh harder.

“You’re going to pay for that,” Dean rasped with a mischievous glint in his eye that sent a shiver down your spine.