☄︎ Warnings: thigh ridin’. dean calls himself daddy dean. overuse of sweetheart.
☄︎ Pairing: F!Reader x Dean Di Laurentis
☄︎ Rating/Genre: Mature (🔞). Smut.
☄︎ Words: 1090
☄︎ Summary: You’ve had a frustrating day and your boyfriend gladly lends his thigh in service.
💭: my first thigh riding fic lolol🧍🏽♀️ so i hope it's enjoyable! 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 Dean Masterlist here.
Dean didn’t even look up from his game of chess when his door swung open, but a faint smile ghosted his lips as he listened to the sound of your bag hitting the floor, and you stomping over to his bed. You face-planted straight into his pillows, letting out a dramatically loud groan.
Slowly, he leant back in his desk chair as he looked over his shoulder. You were splayed out on his bed; your skirt have risen up so it lay just below your ass.
“Rough day, sweetheart?” His voice drawled.
You didn’t lift your face from where it was buried in the pillows, you just raised one arm and gave him a weak thumbs down.
Dean let out a soft huff of laughter. He turned his chair around to face you, resting his forearms on his knees.
“Aww,” he cooed. “What's happened? Come tell Daddy Dean all about it.”
When you still didn’t budge, he leant forward and tickled your leg. That got you to move. You rolled over, jerking your leg away and glaring at him, before pushing yourself off of the bed.
He slouched down slightly in the chair, slapping the tops of his thighs. “Take a seat.”
You sat sideways over his legs, burying your face into the crook of his neck. You breathed him in, the scent instantly soothing some of your anger.
“Talk to me,” he murmured, his thumb starting a slow, soothing, circle against your hip. His other hand rested on your bare inner thigh, just above your knee.
For a solid ten minutes, you didn't stop talking. You vented about everything. The professor who wouldn't listen, the additional last-minute assignments your other lecturer had piled on, the minor annoyances that had built up all day.
Dean just listened. He didn't interrupt and didn't try to fix anything with annoying man logic, because that’s not what you needed right now. You just needed to get it out. Now that you were winding down, you were left with a mild frustration, rather than the burning anger. Your frustration, however, still needed an outlet. A different kind of outlet you realised as you shifted on his lap.
His hand slid slowly up from your waist, slipping under your shirt to rest against the warm skin of your back. He brought his other hand further up your inner thigh, resting close to the hem of your skirt. You lost your train of thought as you shifted your weight again, trying to get his hand closer to your warmth.
“What can I do for you?” He murmured. To be fair to him, the question was a genuine one. But you shifted again in his lap, your body subconsciously seeking the relief it had been craving all day.
You placed your palm over the hand that was on your thigh, dragging his hand up between your legs. Your legs parted slightly, so he could easily cup your clothed pussy.
The fingers on your other hand tangled into the hair at the nape of his neck, gently tugging at the short ends.
“I’ve got you, I’ve got you sweetheart,” he cooed in your ear, his voice thick as he pressed his thumb down on your clit over your cotton panties.
He nipped at your neck as his fingers slipped past the waistband of your underwear. He ran his fingers through your arousal, before moving back to your clit. Under his touch, the reminder of your bad day began melting away.
You were wound so tight that you were already becoming a blubbering mess, your hips gyrating on his lap, but you didn’t want to cum like this. Your free hand reached under your skirt to pull at the waistband of your panties, and he immediately moved to help you, guiding them down your hips and over your legs.
“Can I?” you breathed, gesturing down to his thigh.
“Of course,” he soothed, baby blue eyes looking into yours. “Take what you need, sweetheart.”
You shifted so that you were straddling over his right thigh. You tilted your pelvis, moving around on top of him until you found the exact angle that gave you the most friction against your throbbing clit.
Hands dropped against his chest, gripping the fabric of his t-shift as you rocked your hips against his thigh again.
Dean watched with bated breath as your mouth parted, head lolling back as the heat between you built with every hard slide on him.
“You’re so pretty,” he praised.
His hands came to your hips, helping to keep you stable, but he kept his grip light, letting you build up your own desperate rhythm.
Every glide coated his trousers with more arousal. You were dripping with need as you rolled your hips, putting deliberate pressure on your clit that ached so badly for attention.
One of Dean’s hands came to your chin, directing you to look down at him. “You’re using me so well, sweetheart.”
“Need you... so bad,” you panted as your clit caught on the fabric of his pants.
“I know, baby,” he said. He let go of your jaw and brought his hand to give you a soft smack to your ass, “and you have me, you’re doing such a good job.”
“Yeah?” You questioned, the praise sending shivers down your body and making your hips move faster.
“Yes, sweetheart, you’re so perfect,” he groaned, his eyes dark as he watched the effects of his words on your face.
Suddenly, he shifted his position, raising his heel high, purposely flexing his thigh as he pressed harder against you. A sharp gasp tore from your throat at the new angle, your forehead dropping against his shoulder.
You shamelessly whined as the familiar knot in your stomach pulled tighter at tighter, before it released, exploding pleasure over your body.
Dean held you tightly, his arms wrapping around your waist as waves of pleasure hit you. your released washed every bit of the day’s frustration away, leaving your body buzzing in his arms.
“Better?” He asked softly.
“Yeah, much better.” You lifted your head from his shoulder and leant forward to press a few chaste kisses to his lips. “Thanks for listening.”
“Anytime,” he replied, reaching up to cup your cheek and pull you into another kiss. When he pulled back, there was a familiar spark in his eyes.
“Now, what do we do about this?” He asked, wrapping his hands around your wrist and gently bringing your hand down to cup where his erection straining against his pants.
The boys are just sick of the PDA between you and Dean. They’re happy to see their friend in love, but sometimes it’s just too much
I didn't give this one a second read, but I hope it's okay
Summary: Dean wakes up to you making pancakes for the house. Breakfast turns into making out in the kitchen…and Logan and Tucker are not having it
Warnings: making out, soft!Dean,
—
Sunday mornings were for sleeping in…and pancakes.
After celebrating last night’s win with a bit too much alcohol, you decided to whip up some pancakes for the hockey boys still sleeping.
The house was unusually quiet, except for the sizzle of butter hitting the pan and the soft clink of bowls and measuring cups. Sunlight spilled through the windows, warming the countertops while pouring the first round of batter into a pan.
The remnants from the party were all over the kitchen and living room. Empty bottles of beer on every surface. Red cups on the pool table from playing beer pong. And even a pair of panties. People really had no shame…
You cleaned just enough of the kitchen to have some space to cook and chose to ignore the rest. That was not your mess to clean.
The stack of golden pancakes was slowly growing beside the stove. Some of them had blueberries, which you found in the mostly empty fridge, for variety…and because they were Dean’s favorites.
Speaking of Dean, a pair of strong arms slid around your waist from behind. His bare chest was warm against your back and his voice rough from sleep. ‘’You escaped.’’
‘’I'm making breakfast,’’ you said, flipping a pancake.
He buried his face in your neck and kissed under your jaw as his hands travelled under your — his — shirt, rubbing circles on your hips. ‘’With blueberries?’’
You hummed.
‘’I love you.’’
You laughed softly. ‘’Because of the pancakes?’’
Dean pressed another slow kiss to your neck, this one softer and lingering, and then turned his head just enough to peek over your shoulder at the pancake flipping like a pro chef. ‘’Among other things.’’ He gave your thigh a light smack.
The smell of something cooking had been the thing that finally pulled him out of bed. That, and the absence of his beautiful girl beside him. It was as if he had felt the cold sheets on your side of the bed, the absence of a warm body curled against his chest.
His arms tightened around you as he watched that perfect flip, the pancake landing smooth back into the pan like magic. ‘’You’re too good at everything,’’ he murmured, voice still thick with sleep but full of affection anyway. ‘’Cooking…riding my dick…being hot while cooking.’’
You laughed at his antics, shifting your head to give him a kiss.
‘’Can you make coffee, baby?’’ you asked, adding the pancake to the pile. ‘’I couldn’t find the bag of coffee grounds.’’
Reluctantly, Dean moved and got the coffee started. Someone must have moved it when they were snuffing through the cupboards last night.
You focused on the next pancake. The plate you had put them on made it look like you were feeding a whole army. You had never seen this many pancakes. They’ll be gone in ten minutes once Logan, Tucker and Garrett wake up.
‘’Dean…’’ you chastised as his arms slid around your waist again and he pulled you against him.
‘’What?’’ he asked innocently, resting his chin on your shoulder.
You tried — and failed — not to smile.
‘’I need to finish the pancakes.’’
He pressed a kiss to your cheek, his blond hair tickling your face, then your jaw.
‘’Dean.’’
A third one, this time right below your ear.
You laughed and nudged him with your elbow. ‘’Sorry. I’m just so hungry.’’
‘’Sit and eat, then. I don’t need your help finishing up.’’
Without warning, he pulled you against him, pressing the front of his boxers to your ass. ‘’Not just for pancakes.’’
Deciding to play his game, you leaned back into him and moved, slow and deliberate. The heat between you flared instantly, blood rushing to his cock. It was so easy to get him worked up.
Dean let out a low groan and turned off the stove before spinning you in his arms and backing you against the counter. He stepped between your legs, effectively trapping you there without putting any real weight against you, and you rose onto your toes to kiss him.
Kissing escalated into making out. His hands slid up your thighs beneath his shirt, then lifted you with ease to set you down on the counter beside a few empty cups and a stale beer. You locked your legs around his waist, fingernails digging into the thick skin of his back as his hands wandered further up until they reached your breasts.
As if on cue, Logan shuffled into the kitchen wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, took one look at you and Dean, and groaned. ‘’Jesus Christ. It's ten in the morning.’’
Close behind, Tucker came down, his curly hair stuck up in every direction and he looked like he regretted every drink he'd had the night before. ‘’Not on my kitchen counter! Dean! Come on, bro…’’
I absolutely loved your last Dean story!! I was wondering if you would be able to write about a reader who has never been able to finish, with herself or anyone else, and dean helps her learn.
Beautiful writing!
I would've done that sober
Pairing: Dean Di Laurentis x childhood best friend!reader
⟡ Main Index | ⟡ Archive for Earth-66
a/n: Well that was long, but such a delight to write and soooo so sexy
Classification: Smut +18 | Talks of ex's and sexual dysfunction/insecurity, emotional vulnerability, recreational drug use (NOT DURING SEX), dry humping/grinding, getting caught, fingering, tension and arousal descriptions, orgasm, praise and partial undressing/lingerie.
Word count: 12k
Divider by me ;)
You sat across from the fire pit in the boys’ backyard, elbows resting on the armrests of your chair while the flames cracked softly in front of you both. The night air had turned colder hours ago, but neither of you had gone inside. Dean kept talking and you kept letting him or trying to.
Every time he opened his mouth, you exhaled slowly through your nose as if physically releasing air might stop you from interrupting him.
“He’s an arrogant son of a bitch,” Dean repeated for probably the fifth time that night. He took another drag from the blunt before passing it toward you, smoke curling past his lips as he leaned back deeper into the chair.
“That’s what pisses me off the most,” he continued, staring hard into the fire like your ex-boyfriend personally offended him. “He had no clue what he was doing in the relationship from day one and still had the confidence to ask you out.” His jaw tightened slightly. “Usually I respect delusion like that, but that guy’s a fucking disaster.”
You accepted the blunt with a quiet sigh.
Dean had been ranting for nearly a week straight now. Anyone overhearing him would’ve assumed he’d been the one publicly dumped in the cafeteria instead of you but he’d been there when it happened, front row seats to your ex fumbling through excuses while half your friends sat frozen around the table pretending not to listen. Maybe that was enough for Dean.
Now, instead of being out partying with the rest of the team, he sat outside with you night after night, sharing weed and acting personally victimized by your breakup.
“Dean,” you finally interrupted, tone firm.
He stopped talking immediately.
You inhaled slowly before looking over at him through the smoke, holding his gaze while you exhaled. “It’s okay.”
Dean’s expression flattened instantly. “We have very different definitions of okay.”
His eyes drifted back toward the fire for a second, replaying the memory again. You could practically see it happening behind his eyes, the cafeteria, your expression and your ex stumbling through his speech.
“You should’ve let me talk to him,” he muttered.
“What good would that have done?” You brought the blunt back to your lips, inhaling before handing it over again. “It’s not his fault.”
Dean’s head snapped toward you so fast he nearly dropped the thing. “The fuck does that mean?”
You almost rolled your eyes at the offense in his tone. Instead, you looked away toward the fire again, watching orange light flicker against the patio stones.
“I’m lost here,” he scoffed. “Is being wrapped around another girl at a party three hours after dumping you not a dick move now?”
A laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it. “Dean,” you said gently, finally turning your head toward him again. “I think I’m the only person who wasn’t surprised by the breakup.”
His brows furrowed.
You shrugged one shoulder lightly. “He just beat me to it.”
“Oh.” The word left him quietly. Dean looked away immediately afterward, dragging a hand over his mouth while he gathered his thoughts before glancing back at you. “That’s the first time I’m hearing about that.”
He passed the blunt over again.
You took it carefully, staring down at it between your fingers for a second before answering.
“Yeah, well...” You inhaled deeply, smoke burning pleasantly in your lungs before you let it back out slowly. “You’ve got other business to worry about.”
Dean huffed out a laugh instantly. “You are my business.” The certainty in his voice made your lips curl before you could stop them. “So start talking.”
He always did that. Dean had this way of making honesty feel inevitable. The two of you talked about everything, always had. He knew things about you your closest friends didn’t. Hell, he’d bought condoms for you the first time you planned on sleeping with someone because you’d been too embarrassed to walk into the store yourself.
You moved deeper into the chair, pulling one leg beneath you while you searched carefully for the right words. “Um…” You inhaled again, then blurted it out before your brain could stop you. “I suck at the sex thing.”
Dean’s face twisted immediately in disagreement as you passed the blunt. “Bullshit.”
You laughed softly. “No, seriously. I do.” You rubbed awkwardly at your neck before continuing. “Turns out not being able to cum eventually becomes an issue when your partner realizes you never actually have with them.”
Dean’s expression changed instantly. Every conversation you’d ever had about sex clearly started replaying in his head at once because confusion hit him violently.
“But you told me–”
“I lied.” The words came out easier than expected. You shrugged lightly, though your stomach still tightened. “I’ve been lying for years...Faking it until I got tired of faking it and started bruising egos.” A humorless smile tugged briefly at your mouth. “Including mine.”
Dean stayed quiet now so you stared into the fire instead.
“I just…” You exhaled slowly. “I don’t think sex is really my thing.” Your shoulders lifted. “I like the idea of it. I enjoy parts of it…but everyone talks about this huge explosive ending and I just…” You shook your head. “Don’t get there…naturally people stop believing you when you say it was still good.”
Dean watched you carefully. “Was it?”
“The sex?” You let the silence drag for a second before shrugging again. “I think so.” Your lips twitched faintly. “It was good enough to build better stories around afterward.”
Dean stopped smoking entirely after that. The blunt burned slowly between his fingers while he stared down at it, suddenly looking far more sober than either of you probably were. He looked like he was trying to organize his thoughts before speaking again.
“How about alone?” The question came softly, carefully.
If you didn’t know him so well, you might’ve mistaken the look on his face for pity. Thankfully, you did know him, which meant you recognized concern immediately.
You shook your head slowly. “That’s why I’m saying it’s not his fault.”
“It’s not yours either,” Dean argued as he flicked the rest of the blunt into the fire pit before continuing. “It just hasn’t happened yet.” His voice softened further. “Doesn’t mean it never will.”
You let out a slow breath, eyes closing briefly as the weed finally started loosening the tension sitting on your shoulders. “It’s definitely not from lack of trying.”
You could feel him staring at you even with your eyes closed.
The silence stretched comfortably after your confession, softened by the crackling fire and the distant chorus of crickets surrounding the backyard. The flames had started dying down, wood collapsing inward with quiet snaps while smoke drifted lazily into the cold night air.
Dean still hadn’t looked away from you. “So what now?” he asked finally.
You swallowed slowly, still keeping your eyes shut. For a second or maybe an entire minute, Dean genuinely thought you’d fallen asleep mid-conversation.
Then your lips twitched. “Celibacy.”
The offended sound that tore out of him made your smile widen. You heard him trying to hold it back too, which honestly made it funnier but this was Dean. Subtle outrage had never once existed in his body.
“Think I’d look hot as a nun?” you asked lazily.
“You’d look hot in a banana costume wearing clown shoes six sizes too big,” he replied instantly. “And you’re absolutely not dropping out of Briar to become a nun. End of discussion.”
His tone came out firm enough to sound ridiculous considering he had absolutely no authority over your life whatsoever.
You finally peeled your eyes open to look at him. The weed had settled into your bones now, leaving you heavy and relaxed against the chair. Dean looked hazy too, hair falling perfectly while the firelight flickered warm across his face.
“You’re not giving up because some five-eleven idiot couldn’t be patient long enough to figure you out.”
You grinned. “He’s six-one.”
Dean scoffed. “He tried out for the Hawks freshman year. Trust me, he’s five-eleven.”
Your brows lifted. Dean kept going without needing encouragement, already slipping into that protective streak he pretended wasn’t there. He always collected information about people around you, quietly filing it away for future use whenever he deemed necessary.
“He was wearing lifts during tryouts,” Dean added smugly. “One bad pivot and the guy almost snapped an ankle.”
A laugh escaped you softly.
“If you wanna stop having sex altogether, God forbid–”
“You should become a priest,” you interrupted.
Dean barked out a laugh, tipping his head back. “Yeah,” he nodded. “It’d probably take a year and a half to cleanse my sins.” He pointed toward himself loosely. “And that’s assuming I don’t burst into flames the second I walk into a church.” His eyes drifted back to you. “Can I continue now?”
“Yes, Father,” you replied through a chuckle.
Dean shook his head, smiling despite himself before settling deeper into his chair again.
“If you really wanna do the celibacy thing, fine.” He shrugged dramatically. “I’ll support you. We’ll find support groups together and hold hands through the trauma.” His mouth twitched. “Though personally, I’d go through withdrawals first.”
“How solidary of you.”
He nodded solemnly. “Exactly. Plus I can probably add it to my extracurriculars somehow.”
You laughed harder at that, shoulders shaking slightly as you leaned back into the chair. “You’re so fucking stupid.”
Dean watched you carefully while you laughed. The sound came out lighter than anything he’d heard from you all week, chest rising and falling unevenly while your eyes squeezed shut again for a second and suddenly the conversation stopped feeling funny to him.
Because underneath the jokes, underneath the weed and the teasing, he kept thinking about what you’d actually said earlier. About you trying and nothing happening.
Dean loved sex. Everyone knew that much about him but you did too or at least you loved wanting it, loved feeling desired, loved the intimacy, the heat and everything wrapped around it and now all he could think about was how frustrating that must’ve been for you. Wanting something everyone else talked about so easily only for your body not to cooperate no matter how hard you tried.
The thought sat badly in his chest. Dean looked down at the dying fire for a second before his eyes lifted back to you.
“Use me,” he blurted out.
Your laughter faded gradually after his words, the smile still lingering at the corners of your mouth while your eyes settled back on him even more carefully this time.
“What do you mean?”
Dean didn’t even hesitate. “I’ll be your last resort,” he repeated easily, like he’d already thought this through far more than he probably had. “Aren’t you always telling me to make myself useful?”
You narrowed your eyes, blinking slowly through the haze settling heavier behind them.
“What exactly are you suggesting?” You rubbed at one eye with the heel of your hand. “Because I’m starting to think I hallucinated that sentence.”
“I hold my weed better than you,” he reminded you smugly.
That part, unfortunately, was true. Dean leaned forward in his chair, elbows resting against his knees now, all lazy amusement gone strangely sincere beneath the teasing.
“You wanna quit? Fine.” He shrugged. “Quit when you’re actually out of options.”
A quiet huff left you, somewhere between disbelief and laughter. “Didn’t realize Six Flags counted as an option.” Your lips twitched faintly. “I hate rollercoasters.”
Dean nodded decisively. “Then I’ll go out of business.”
“You’ll close the park?”
“I’ll shut the whole thing down,” he promised solemnly. “Just so you can ride the teacups.” The grin spreading across his face warned you half a second too late. “Remember when you threw up on the–”
“Yes,” you cut him off immediately, flat and horrified. “I remember.”
Dean laughed anyway. Full-bodied, warm and entirely too pleased with himself as he pointed at you. “You were crying,” he accused through the laughter. “You kept saying your stomach hated you–”
“I was fifteen.”
“And dramatic.” He added. “But so cute…less mouthy too.”
“You held my hair while I threw up into a trash can behind the funnel cake stand.”
Dean’s laughter softened slightly at that memory. Back then he’d been genuinely terrified something was wrong with you. He’d hovered beside you the entire night looking pale enough to pass out himself while you recovered on a bench wrapped in his sweatshirt. Now he just looked fond.
You glanced away first, eyes dropping back toward the dying fire while your thoughts started turning over his earlier suggestion again despite yourself.
It could go horribly. Actually, no, it would go horribly. There were at least seventeen reasons this crossed every boundary imaginable. You already hated rollercoasters, hated fast turns and hated giving up control over literally anything involving your body and Dean…Well, Dean was Dean.
Confident, experienced, annoyingly good-looking and unarguably good at sex if campus rumors counted for anything and unfortunately they definitely did. You hadn’t exactly conducted research firsthand but after years of hearing stories from girls around campus, the reviews were embarrassingly consistent.
“You really think that highly of your dick?” you asked finally.
Dean shrugged lazily against the chair. “Nobody said anything about using it.”
That made your eyes snap back to him fully. “And if nothing works?” you asked quieter this time.
The question slipped out more honestly than intended because suddenly you weren’t thinking about sex anymore. You were thinking about aftermaths, about what happened if this ruined things between you. Dean had woven himself into your life years ago so naturally that imagining him gone felt impossible now.
You genuinely didn’t know how you’d survive losing him too.
Dean studied you for a second and for once the confidence in his face softened into something steadier. “Then we fail,” he decided.
You swallowed.
His grin returned slowly afterward, softer around the edges. “Fail with me,” he corrected. “Fail better.” He pointed between you both lazily. “Fail together.”
A laugh escaped you despite every effort not to give him one.
You rolled your eyes hard enough to make him grin wider, shaking your head while the weed continued smoothing the sharp corners off your thoughts. The night air no longer felt cold against your skin and embarrassment had slowly stopped existing somewhere during the conversation. Maybe that was the dangerous part and not Dean’s suggestion but how easy it suddenly felt to consider it.
You didn’t bring it up again for the rest of the night and neither did Dean.
When the rest of the guys stumbled back into the house loud and half-drunk sometime after midnight, he changed back into normal so smoothly it almost irritated you. He made sure you had food, water, your charger and then bullied one of the sober freshmen into driving you home while standing outside by the car until you pulled away like he always did.
You slept absurdly well afterward.
A heavy sleep and dreamless night, the type that glued you to the mattress the next morning until sunlight was already cutting aggressively through your blinds. By the time you shuffled out with an oversized hoodie you were certain was your ex’s, your phone was buzzing with unread texts from Dean sent hours earlier, probably before morning practice.
You ignored every single one and it wasn’t because of regret. Embarrassment simply crawled into your chest somewhere between the first and third spoonful of cereal and decided to settle there permanently.
The entire conversation replayed so clearly now that you were sober. “Use me,” You nearly groaned into the bowl.
Three hours of class helped, at least temporarily. You sat near the back of the massive amphitheater classroom while your professor rambled enthusiastically about the new book he’d conveniently written himself and would definitely require students to purchase before midterms. You probably would’ve absorbed more information if you weren’t scrolling mindlessly through Instagram the entire lecture.
The doors behind you opened quietly midway through class.
You barely paid attention at first since nobody descended the stairs toward the lower rows and a second later the seat beside you groaned softly under someone’s weight.
You recognized the cologne immediately.
“How hard do you think you need to scrub for that scent to leave your skin?” you whispered without looking up.
Dean grinned beside you, leaning closer enough for warmth to brush your shoulder as his eyes dropped toward your phone screen.
You locked it quickly and finally looked at him. “You’re not in this class.”
“I see your phone works perfectly fine,” he replied.
The professor thankfully dismissed class early before you could answer, students immediately growing louder as backpacks zipped and people exited the space.
You stood quickly and started gathering your things. “Did you need something, Di Laurentis?” you asked flatly.
Dean remained seated on purpose, forcing you to awkwardly climb past him to leave the row. The asshole looked entirely too pleased with himself while you muttered under your breath and stepped over his legs.
The second you reached the aisle, he stood and followed.
You walked fast, actually, aggressively fast. Dean almost struggled to keep up at first, his legs clearly still wrecked from morning practice while you marched out of the building like escape itself was the objective. He finally caught you outside near the steps leading toward the quad.
“We need to talk.”
You slowed at last before turning toward him. “What we need is space,” you corrected, motioning firmly between your bodies.
Dean looked down between you both thoughtfully, then took exactly one step backward.
You almost laughed, especially because he looked unbearably smug afterward, standing there grinning in the middle of campus like he deserved a reward for basic listening skills.
“You’ve gone to New York with me enough times to know I don’t need more space,” he pointed out. “But fine.” His expression softened slightly afterward, amusement fading as he studied your face more carefully. “What’s going on?”
Of course, he was right. Dean practically crawled into people’s personal bubbles recreationally, so the fact he’d backed off at all made it harder to flee the conversation entirely.
You exhaled slowly. “We said stuff last night.”
He nodded once, blinking at the tension written all over your face. “Yeah. That’s usually how conversations work.”
“Stuff you might regret,” you clarified.
Dean’s brows lifted before a quiet laugh escaped him. “Regret?” He pointed toward himself loosely. “C’mon. It’s me.”
His voice gentled slightly after and the worst part was he looked relieved, because apparently the phrase ‘stuff you might regret’ translated in Dean’s brain to ‘good, she’s not upset’.
“I would’ve said that sober,” he assured you.
His eyes stayed fixed on yours while your attention darted briefly around campus before returning to him again exactly like he knew it would. Dean stepped closer instinctively, lowering his voice enough that the passing students around you blurred into background noise.
“You want me to repeat it?” he asked quietly. “Let me help you cum.”
Your stomach tightened at his tone of voice. “It might not work,” you reminded him softly.
You hoped your face conveyed the actual problem because this had never been about his ego. Dean could survive failure, he’d probably laugh through it, so that wasn’t what scared you.
Dean shrugged anyway, maddeningly calm. “What if it does?”
“And what if it doesn’t?” Frustration finally slipped into your voice. “Dean, I don’t want us to get weird.” You shook your head hard once. “I don’t need ‘optimistic Dean’ right now,” you muttered. “I need ‘realistic Dean’, so pull him out of your ass.”
“You already are weird,” Dean corrected easily, smiling down at you. “I accepted that years ago.” His grin widened then. “Actually, I encourage it.”
You rolled your eyes, though the corner of your mouth betrayed you.
“Let me try,” he insisted again, the confidence in his voice should’ve irritated you more than it did.
Instead, you found yourself studying him in silence, searching for something off in his expression. Some sign this was ego, curiosity or boredom disguised as concern but he just looked…earnest. Enthusiastic, sure, because he was Dean and apparently incapable of approaching anything halfway but not creepy about it and maybe this was partially your own fault.
You’d spent years talking openly with him about sex, relationships and attraction. About wanting something good someday instead of tolerable, about how when you were old and exhausted with kids running around, you still wanted a partner who looked at you and wanted you back because you were almost certain you’d still want them too.
Dean remembered everything you said…unfortunately.
You sighed heavily. “We need rules.”
“Fine.” He agreed so fast it almost startled you. Dean straightened afterward, nodding once with ridiculous seriousness like the two of you were entering business negotiations instead of whatever disaster this actually was.
You almost reconsidered your next words. Almost.
“No kissing.”
Dean’s shoulders visibly dropped. “Why?”
“Because!” you hissed. “And if we’re doing this, you don’t get to question the rules.”
His face twisted in disbelief. “We’ve kissed before.”
You crossed your arms tighter. “That was different.”
Dean scoffed softly. “We were literally each other’s first kiss.”
Again, he was right. You weren’t just each other’s first kiss either, a few firsts existed between you both scattered through years of friendship and growing up side by side, all except for sex. There was awkward teenage curiosity, truth or dare disasters and one regrettable spin-the-bottle incident Garrett still occasionally referenced against your will.
Which was exactly why kissing now felt dangerous. This couldn’t spiral into some ‘why didn’t we do this sooner’ conversation. It needed boundaries and structure, something detached enough that neither of you accidentally ruined the friendship orbiting underneath all this and selflessly, you also didn’t want the group dragged into the fallout if things exploded.
“We’re adults now,” you said firmly. “So no kissing.”
Dean stared at you for another second before exhaling dramatically.
“Okay,” he relented…Too easily, which immediately made you suspicious he’d already started planning arguments against it for later.
“I’ve also thought about what you said last night,” you continued carefully. “About Six Flags.”
Dean’s brows lifted.
“And shutting down the entire park feels unfair to you,” you explained. “Potentially devastating, honestly.” Your lips twitched slightly. “So you can still hook up with other people if you want. I genuinely don’t care.”
Dean actually looked offended. “Didn’t realize I needed permission.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t.” His voice sharpened for the first time since the conversation started. “But no thanks.” He shrugged once. “It makes this more exciting anyway.” A grin tugged briefly at his mouth again. “I’ve got one ride right now and that’s all I need.”
Your face scrunched at his words. “Does weed somehow make you an even bigger asshole?”
Dean ignored that completely. “I’m not doing anything with anyone else until we’re done here,” he repeated firmly. The teasing disappeared entirely from his voice that time and there was no smugness either, just certainty.
You quieted automatically when a group of students passed nearby, a few of them recognizing Dean instantly and greeting him as they crossed the quad. He responded absentmindedly without taking his eyes off you once.
The second they moved far enough away, you continued. “Why?”
Dean’s expression softened at the question. “Because I need you comfortable,” he answered simply. “And I need you to trust me more than you already do.”
You groaned. “Oh my God,” you muttered, dragging a hand down your face. “You’re making this weird.”
He grinned at your reaction while you grabbed his sleeve and started pulling him further across campus before more people stopped to talk to him. Dean let you drag him along without resistance, looking far too entertained by the whole thing.
“We don’t even know how long this will take,” you pointed out.
“My fist works perfectly fine in the meantime,” Dean decided easily.
You looked up at him so fast your neck almost hurt.
Dean pressed his lips together, visibly trying not to laugh at the pure disbelief written across your face. His head tilted slightly, hair strands falling over his forehead while he watched you stare at him like he’d just confessed to tax fraud.
Your gaze dropped away first.
Contrary to what everyone on campus believed, Dean didn’t actually need constant hookups to survive. He liked the reputation, liked exaggerating it even more whenever it annoyed you enough to argue back or laugh at him but underneath all that, he could handle himself perfectly fine.
Unfortunately for you, he seemed almost smug about proving that now.
“Can I add rules too?” he asked.
You sighed dramatically. “Sure.”
The two of you kept walking through campus side by side, your pace slower now that the conversation had moved on from terrifying to merely humiliating.
“No scheduling things specifically for this,” Dean decided. “If it happens, it happens.”
You blinked once before nodding slowly. “Yeah. Okay.” Relief actually loosened something in your chest at that. “That’s good. I’ll stress less.”
Dean glanced sideways at you, probably pleased you agreed so quickly…Except his rule immediately created entirely new problems.
“Uh…” Your steps slowed slightly. “How do you…” You scratched awkwardly at your eyebrow. “Take it?”
Dean stopped walking altogether. “How do I take what?” he asked carefully. “My coffee?”
You groaned. “No.” Your hand motioned vaguely between the two of you in a series of gestures that explained absolutely nothing. “Like…how do you like it?”
Dean’s brows lifted as realization hit him almost visibly.
You looked away at once. “Fuck,” you muttered under your breath. “Do I need to be clean shaven constantly or not?” Your voice lowered progressively through the sentence while your eyes darted around campus to make sure nobody nearby overheard you discussing grooming preferences in broad daylight.
Dean stared at you for half a second too long before answering.
“Y/n.” The seriousness in his tone made your eyes flicker back toward him. “The day I tell you what to do with your body, you better knock me unconscious.”
Your mouth parted slightly.
“I’ll literally kneel for it if that makes it easier,” he continued firmly. “Do whatever makes you comfortable.”
And he meant it. Dean would enjoy it either way, obviously, but that wasn’t what mattered to him here. What mattered was getting you out of your own head long enough to actually enjoy yourself instead of performing comfort for someone else.
You blinked slowly at him because suddenly your ex’s comments replayed in your head with uncomfortable clarity. Little preferences disguised as jokes and suggestions repeated enough times to become expectations and judging by the expression tightening briefly across Dean’s face, he’d realized exactly where your question came from too.
That only made you feel worse somehow. Your attention drifted toward the students moving around campus nearby.
You suddenly wondered if people would notice eventually. The same way older women always claimed they somehow knew when girls became sexually active. Weird comments about posture and confidence, wider hips and glowing skin that sounded fake until suddenly you became the target of them too.
Your stomach tightened faintly. “What are we supposed to tell people?”
Dean barely hesitated. “To mind their own fucking business.”
You snorted softly.
He looked over at you again, entirely serious despite the amusement still lingering around his mouth. “Just like I’m doing mine.”
The rest of the week passed almost painfully normal.
There were parties, late-night food runs, afternoons sprawled around the boys’ house while someone yelled at a video game in the background and hockey games while Dean acted exactly the same as always. You spent time with Hannah and Allie between classes and after them, listened to Garrett complain dramatically about assignments he’d started twelve hours before they were due, watched Tucker cook enough food for six grown men while Logan disappeared upstairs with company more often than not.
Nothing changed.
Dean still touched your shoulder when he walked past you, still stole fries off your plate and still looked at you too long whenever you laughed at something stupid and somehow that made the entire thing worse because half the time you genuinely convinced yourself you’d imagined the whole conversation by the fire pit entirely.
Maybe the weed had made you both insane and none of it was real.
You sat curled up on the floor of the boys’ living room later that week with your knees tucked to your chest, a notebook balanced across your thighs while formulas blurred together across the page. Your back rested against the couch and the TV played quietly in the background though neither of you actually paid attention to it.
Dean sat opposite you in the armchair, long legs spread comfortably while he hunched over his own notebook with far more concentration than anyone would expect from him or maybe not because he took hockey so seriously. He took school seriously too, despite pretending otherwise whenever possible but unfortunately for you, he also looked unfairly good doing homework.
You tried focusing on your own work, tried hard. Instead, your eyes kept lifting toward him between equations, your brain repeatedly snagging on the memory of everything he’d said days earlier and the fact neither of you had taken any of it back…or done a single thing about it.
“What’d you get for number three?” Dean’s voice pulled you from your thoughts but still didn’t look up from his notebook.
You blinked down at your own page, trying to remember where your brain had abandoned the assignment entirely.
“C,” you answered eventually. “But I’m not confident about it.”
Dean hummed thoughtfully. “I’ve done the math twice and I keep getting B.”
You reread the problem slowly, trying to force your attention into place. “Then it’s probably B.”
Dean finally looked up at that, one brow lifting. “You’re admitting you’re wrong?”
You snorted softly. Honestly, it was extremely possible. Your brain hadn’t functioned properly all week because you kept thinking about him offering himself up like some absurdly confident science experiment.
“Don’t need to dig through my family tree to know I’m not descended from Isaac Newton.”
A smile tugged slowly across Dean’s mouth as he leaned back in the armchair. “If you are,” he said, eyes dragging over your face, “I’m glad the ugly recessive genes skipped you.”
Your nose scrunched instantly. “What kind of compliment is that?”
“The kind I’m hoping gets you over here to help me.” He motioned you closer lazily with his pointer and middle fingers.
You sighed before setting your notebook on the coffee table and padding across the room toward him. The house was quieter this late afternoon, though not empty. Hannah was upstairs with Garrett, Logan had disappeared into his room hours ago and Tucker was outside training.
“Let’s see,” you murmured.
You bent slightly over Dean and the notebook resting on the armrest, attention dropping fully to the equations scattered across the page. The movement loosened the collar of your shirt enough for cool air to brush your skin.
Dean noticed and his throat cleared quietly.
Your attention remained on the notebook while his eyes betrayed him completely, dropping for one dangerous second to the visible lace of your bra before forcing themselves back upward toward your face instead.
Dean had promised himself he’d take this slow and naturally because the second he acted weird about it, you would too. You’d overthink every movement, every look and accidental touch and unfortunately for him, you’d always been terrifyingly good at reading him.
He moved the notebook slightly farther from you as one hand settled carefully against your hip, guiding you.
You reached automatically for the notebook before he moved it entirely out of reach, successfully grabbing it just as he tugged you forward enough for your balance to tip. A second later you settled directly onto his lap, knees falling naturally to either side of his thighs.
You blinked once. “Smooth,” you muttered, adjusting yourself carefully without looking at him. “I’ll give you that.”
Dean grinned openly now. You balanced the notebook against his chest like it was a table and reached backward for the pen loosely held in his free hand. His fingers brushed yours before letting go.
“Should be a five,” you corrected while marking over the equation. “Not a seven.” Your brows furrowed slightly. “Your handwriting’s gotten worse over the years.”
“You still read it.”
“I’m not the one grading you.” Your eyes lifted straight into his.
You’d sat on Dean’s lap before, during packed car rides, group trips and random stupid moments over the years where proximity stopped mattering because he was just Dean. This didn’t feel like that, not even close.
“Not in math,” he said quietly.
Only one of his hands touched you still, resting warm and steady against your hip like he was making a conscious effort not to overwhelm you. Whether it was intentional or not, it worked. His eyes drifted downward slowly toward your mouth.
“You should be rating everything else though.” A grin ghosted briefly across his lips. “Pretty sure Six Flags has customer surveys.”
You shook your head once, slow enough that your hair brushed lightly against your cheek. “No ride, no survey.”
Dean’s mouth twitched. His legs spread slightly wider underneath you then, subtle enough that you still felt the change as the apex of your thighs aligned more directly with his. The hand on your hip tightened enough for you to notice. “Go on then,” he murmured.
Your gaze dropped before you could stop it, down to the visible tent pressing insistently against the front of his sweats. Heat climbed your throat immediately.
“Interesting moment you picked,” you muttered softly, eyes flicking briefly toward the rest of the house.
You felt comfortable there. Comfortable enough to leave clothes behind, to wander into the kitchen without asking and to nap on the couch when you got tired during movie nights but knowing the others were still around somewhere made your pulse jump harder instead of calming it.
Dean noticed. “Just focus on me,” he instructed quietly.
Not ‘look at me’, just ‘focus’ which you could do.
You looked at him, seeing the genuine curiosity and lack of judgment in his eyes and for the first time, the wall you'd built around your sexuality felt more like a shield and less like a cage.
Slowly, tentatively, you moved as the gravity of the moment pulled you toward him. You settled your weight directly onto him, feeling the distinct, blunt shape of his cock through the layers of your clothes. He wasn't fully hard yet, just a semi-firm pressure against your clothed pussy but it didn't make you recoil. In fact, it sent a low thrum of anticipation through your nerves.
The air between you grew thick, charged with a tension that felt heavy enough to touch. You remembered your own rule: no kissing. So, you kept your face inches from his but you didn't close the gap. Instead, you focused on the sound of his breathing, which had hitched the moment you sat down. You could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting over your lips, a teasing, invisible touch that made your skin prickle.
Dean’s hand still hovered near your waist, trembling slightly but he didn't grip you. He seemed to be fighting every instinct to pull you closer, respecting the fragile boundary you had set.
"I'm gonna keep my hands off," he whispered, his voice strained and rough. "You just keep moving. Take whatever you're comfortable with."
He pulled his arms back, resting them flat against the seat beside him, leaving you in complete control. The sudden lack of physical contact made the friction between your pelvises feel even more intense. You knew what you were doing, you had enough experience to know how your body worked, even if the 'explosive ending' always eluded you. You began to rock, a slow, tentative grind that pressed your pussy firmly against the length of him as a sharp, jagged exhale escaped his lungs.
You felt him react instantly, the semi-firmness beneath you surged, his cock thickening and hardening rapidly against your center. You rolled your hips in a circular motion, aiming for the sweet spot, feeling the dampness beginning to soak into your underwear. You were getting wetter, the friction creating a sliding, sensual heat that radiated upward into your stomach.
"You still okay?" he breathed out, voice barely a murmur.
You simply nodded and tried to focus entirely on him, wanting to give him something perfect, something that would leave him breathless. You pushed down harder, grinding your clit against the hard ridge of his dick. You watched his face, head falling back against the headrest, leaving his throat exposed and pulsing but he forced his eyes to stay open. He wanted to see you. He wanted to witness the way your expression changed as you found a rhythm that worked.
The intimacy was suffocating in the best way. There was no kissing to distract you and no wandering hands to break the spell, just the raw, rhythmic pressure of friction. You could feel the heat radiating off his thighs, the way his chest heaved in time with your movements as your own breathing became ragged, mirroring his, the sound of your synchronized gasps filling the quiet space.
You felt a small, involuntary moan escape your throat, a soft sound of pleasure that made Dean’s hips jerk upward instinctively, trying to meet your descent. You pressed closer, your mind racing, trying to synchronize your pleasure with his but as the tension built, a familiar frustration began to creep in. You were so close to that peak, that elusive edge but the more you focused on his perfection, the more you felt yourself slipping away from your own. You wanted it, you wanted to break through the ceiling you'd lived under for years and the frustration made you grind harder, more desperately.
You were just beginning to lose yourself in the friction, your body humming with a desperate, electric need, when the spell was shattered.
The heavy thud of footsteps hit the wooden porch outside, then came muffled voices.
Tucker.
The sound slammed into you like ice water dumped straight down your spine.
You jolted backward instantly, panic snapping through your body so violently that your balance disappeared completely. The friction, the heat, the dizzy haze clouding your brain shattered in one humiliating second as you scrambled away from Dean in pure instinct.
Dean’s hands had actually stayed off, so when you lurched backward, there was nothing anchoring you in place, no arm catching your waist or grip steadying you. You slipped right off his lap in a graceless tangle of limbs and landed hard beside the chair with a muffled curse, your pulse hammering violently against your ribs.
Dean moved at the same time you did. One hand grabbed the nearest couch pillow and yanked it straight into his lap while the other instinctively reached toward you, fingers brushing empty air because you were already halfway onto your feet.
The front door opened and you froze.
Your breathing came embarrassingly uneven as you tried forcing your body back under control, thighs trembling faintly from the abrupt stop, nerves buzzing so hard beneath your skin it almost hurt. Dean leaned back into the chair with his head tipped toward the ceiling for one brief second, chest rising sharply beneath his t-shirt while tortured frustration flashed openly across his face before he forced himself together enough to look toward the entryway.
Tucker walked in distractedly, phone pressed to his ear while he kicked the door shut behind him with his shoe.
“–No, because that’s not what I said,” he argued into the phone before finally glancing up.
Dean’s voice came out rough and annoyed. “Can't you knock?”
The irritation in it made your eyes widen and before thinking better of it, you reached over and smacked lightly at his arm which made him look offended for half a second.
Tucker’s brows pulled together slowly as his gaze moved between the two of you…You standing there awkwardly and Dean spread out in the armchair with a pillow aggressively covering his lap.
The TV was still playing, forgotten in the background too.
“Wait,” Tucker muttered into the phone, eyes narrowing slightly. “Hold on.” He lowered the phone away from his ear and motioned vaguely around the living room. “I live here,” he pointed out flatly. “If you two wanna study in complete silence maybe turn the TV down or go to the library.”
Your mouth pressed into a painfully tight smile.
“Hey, Y/n.” he greeted, much more gently.
“Hi,” you replied weakly with an awkward nod.
Tucker gave you one more lingering look before wandering toward the kitchen, already returning to his phone conversation while opening the fridge like absolutely nothing life-altering had just occurred in his living room.
The second he was no longer looking, your eyes snapped back toward Dean, his were already on you, wide and still dark with frustration and lingering heat and approximately ten other emotions you absolutely did not have time to unpack right now.
You hurried toward where you’d abandoned your bag near the couch and started shoving your things inside far too quickly.
Dean muttered a curse under his breath behind you as the fridge door opened again. “Wait, wait, wait,” he whispered urgently.
You ignored him completely, nearly dropping your belongings while trying to zip your bag shut.
“You don’t have to leave,” he continued quietly, unable to stand for reasons both of you were painfully aware of. The pillow remained trapped over his lap while he leaned forward slightly, voice dropping lower. “Stay for dinner.” Then louder, “Right, Tucker?”
From the kitchen, still mid-conversation, Tucker lifted a distracted thumbs up without even looking over. Of course you could stay, you were always welcome there and it somehow made this infinitely worse.
“Y/n, c’mon,” Dean tried again, even softer this time.
You finally looked at him, at his flushed face and the way he still looked wrecked from you despite the interruption.
Your stomach flipped painfully. “You can text me that survey of yours,” you muttered.
Dean groaned quietly at the reminder, watching as you grabbed your bag and headed straight for the front door before your embarrassment could physically consume you alive.
You didn’t say goodbye or looked back. You slipped outside into the cold early evening air and shut the door behind you, immediately dragging in one huge breath like you’d been underwater too long.
Fresh air hit your lungs sharply, cool and tensionless.
Your legs felt weird as you walked down the porch steps and somewhere beneath the embarrassment sat an even more irritating realization. You needed to change your panties and somehow, you still hadn’t come.
For the first time in your academic career, you were thankful exam week existed.
The chaos of midterms had given you and Dean something else to focus on besides the fact you’d nearly climbed him in the middle of his living room while Tucker casually walked through the front door. Between study sessions, essays, last-minute cramming and the general emotional collapse that overtook Briar every semester, things had settled back into something manageable.
You and Dean had talked afterward, though absolutely not alone.
He’d insisted on meeting in a crowded coffee shop near campus where old women typed aggressively on laptops and students cried quietly over textbooks in the corner booths. Dean had spent most of the conversation reassuring you Tucker didn’t know anything, swearing repeatedly that if Tucker had known, the entire hockey house would’ve heard about it within twelve minutes. More importantly, he’d made sure you still wanted this and despite the embarrassment, the frustration and how badly your body still reacted whenever he looked at you too long, you did.
“Are you seriously not coming?” Allie paced dramatically across the apartment while speaking, changing outfits for what had to be the fourth time in under an hour. Both you and Hannah tracked her movements from the couch like spectators at a tennis match while she disappeared into her room only to emerge seconds later wearing something slightly tighter each time.
Hannah finally peeled her attention away from Allie to look at you instead.
“She’s right,” she agreed. “Exams are over. Maybe partying would actually help.”
You smiled lazily from your spot curled into the couch cushions, blanket draped across your legs while exhaustion sat heavy behind your eyes.
“What’ll help me is eight uninterrupted hours of sleep,” you informed them. “Which I plan on pursuing aggressively the second both of you leave.” Your mouth twitched slightly. “Now see some boys and make questionable use of your mouths elsewhere.”
Allie barked out a laugh loud enough to echo while Hannah groaned.
“When are we finding your rebound?” Allie asked as she finally settled on an outfit and bent down to tug on her boots.
“It’s too soon,” you decided immediately.
“It is,” Hannah agreed with a firm nod. “She doesn’t wanna think about men right now and we’re respecting that.”
You pointed gratefully toward her. “See? Emotional maturity.”
“Sure,” Allie snorted. “I’m still passing your Instagram around tonight though.” She grinned wickedly while crossing toward the couch. “You can decide what to do with the options later.” Before you could answer, she leaned down and squeezed you tightly against her side. “Don’t wait up for us.”
You watched them drag out the goodbye process intentionally, moving toward the door with exaggerated slowness like they expected you to suddenly change your mind and throw on heels at the last second.
You sighed and stood from the couch, physically herding them toward the exit. “Just go,” you laughed while they protested loudly.
“We tried,” Hannah reminded you with a smile while Allie opened the apartment door. “We’ll send you the address anyway.”
“I won’t change my mind.”
“You say that now...”
You waved them off anyway and finally shut the door behind them once they disappeared down the hallway already talking excitedly about shots and music and whatever terrible decisions the night would inevitably produce.
Silence settled across the apartment immediately afterward.
You exhaled slowly…now what? You considered your options while wandering aimlessly through the living space. You could curl up on the couch with your laptop and a movie or crawl into bed and disappear beneath blankets for twelve straight hours like a Victorian woman with mysterious exhaustion. Or…Your thoughts drifted elsewhere automatically, toward your room and the drawer beside your bed.
You grimaced slightly. Maybe tonight was the night you tried again, actually committed to figuring yourself out instead of giving up midway through frustration like usual. You’d bought enough toys over the years based entirely on optimistic reviews and late-night curiosity alone.
Were they even charged? You were approximately two steps away from your bedroom when knocking sounded at the front door.
You groaned at the sound. “Did you guys forget your condoms again?” you called out while turning toward the entrance. Honestly, it happened often enough that the assumption came naturally now.
You unlocked the door and pulled it open. Then blinked at who you saw. “Dean.”
Dean stood casually in the hallway wearing a baseball cap and dark sunglasses despite the fact it was nighttime indoors, which might’ve worked better if he wasn’t also carrying an enormous black bag beside him.
“I always carry condoms,” he informed you smugly.
Your face scrunched instantly as his answer only emphasized how thin the apartment walls actually were. You narrowed your eyes at him while glancing suspiciously down the hallway.
“Why aren’t you at the party?”
Dean lowered the sunglasses enough to properly look at you over the frames.
You looked soft tonight, comfortable. Wearing sweatpants and an oversized shirt, hair messier than usual from lying around all day. The sight quickly made something warm settle low in his chest.
“Because I’m here with you.”
“No,” you corrected. “You wanted to be here with me.” You pointed vaguely toward campus. “Past tense…You should currently be at that party.”
“No can do.” Dean slipped smoothly past you before you could stop him, nudging the apartment door shut behind him with his foot.
Only then did you fully notice the bag. It was large, rectangular, black and rigid with no visible branding whatsoever. It completely ruined the whole incognito outfit.
Your eyes narrowed harder while Dean looked far too pleased with himself.
“I come bearing gifts,” he announced, then he walked straight toward your bedroom like he paid rent there.
“How did you know I didn’t go to the party?” you asked while following him toward your bedroom.
Dean set the bag carefully onto your bed before finally turning around, fingers hooking beneath the brim of his cap as he pulled it off. The sunglasses followed next, revealing eyes already fixed on you with far too much satisfaction.
“I have my sources.”
You grimaced again. “That sounds vaguely threatening.”
“Hannah asked me the other day to convince you to come out tonight.” He shrugged casually. “I didn’t.”
You crossed your arms. “Who says I would’ve agreed anyway?”
Dean smiled instantly. “Me.” The confidence in his answer came without hesitation. “I’m very persuasive.”
You rolled your eyes before your attention dragged back toward the massive black bag sitting suspiciously at the foot of your bed. “What is that?”
Dean glanced over his shoulder toward it. “Our entertainment for tonight.” His mouth twitched slightly. “Well…mine.”
You narrowed your eyes harder at him before stepping around him toward the bed. The bag gave nothing away from the outside, rigid and sleek and annoyingly mysterious.
Cautiously, you reached inside and your fingers brushed lace first. You blinked then slowly pulled the item free into the light between you both, pinching it delicately between two fingers like it might suddenly attack you.
“Lingerie?” you asked, genuinely confused.
Dean nodded once. “I had to get rid of the boxes,” he explained. “Turns out Agent Provocateur packaging isn’t exactly subtle.”
Your eyes widened immediately. “Agent Provocateur?” You stared at him in disbelief before looking back into the bag. “Are you insane?”
One by one, you started pulling more pieces out. Black lace…cream silk and tiny straps. Things so soft they barely felt real against your fingertips.
Dean watched your growing expression carefully and only then seemed to realize he may have gone slightly overboard. “I got lost on the website,” he admitted. “And then there was free shipping after a certain amount which felt financially irresponsible to ignore.”
You straightened slowly, still clutching one lace bodysuit in your hands while looking at him like he’d lost his damn mind.
“Explain to me,” you said carefully, “how exactly this counts as entertainment.”
“Besides the obvious?”
Your stare sharpened. Dean exhaled quietly before answering, his tone softening as the teasing faded from his expression.
“When you were on my lap the other day…” His eyes flickered briefly toward the floor before returning to you. “You stopped focusing on yourself after a while.”
Your fingers tightened slightly around the lace.
“You started trying to get me there instead,” he continued gently. “Like you were more worried about proving something than actually feeling good.”
Heat crept onto the nape of your neck because he was right. Dean noticed everything.
“And I get it,” he added quickly, voice staying careful. “Probably instinct. You wanted me to enjoy it.” His mouth twitched faintly. “Which I definitely did, by the way. Don’t start doubting that part.”
You stayed quiet while watching him and actually listened instead of acting on your urge to flee.
“Tonight,” he said after a beat, nodding lightly toward the lingerie scattered across your bed, “the lingerie can be for me.” His eyes moved back to yours. “So the rest can just be yours.”
The room went quiet afterward. The plan had probably sounded more coherent in Dean’s head at one in the morning while online shopping half-awake with his laptop balanced on his stomach but somewhere beneath the absurdity of it, you understood what he meant.
Lingerie wasn’t only about someone else seeing you in it, women bought it for themselves too, to feel pretty, desired and confident. Sometimes just to stand in front of the mirror and reclaim something private but eventually, with partners, it often became performative too, something shared and visual. Dean was trying to remove that pressure from everything else.
Your gaze drifted slowly back down toward the pile of lace but you still weren’t entirely sure what happened next. You tried things on and then, what?
Your voice lowered slightly. “What kind of mind games are you playing?”
You hoped it didn’t sound accusing because it wasn’t meant to. You were just struggling to process the fact Dean had seen through you so clearly after one failed attempt, that he’d gone and actually thought about it, considered it and returned with something tangible instead of empty reassurance and blind confidence.
Dean shook his head immediately. “No games.” His voice stayed soft and patient, ready to leave the second you told him this was too much. “Let’s just give it a shot.”
Silence stretched again before you finally reached for a pair of panties instead. The lace slid smoothly through your fingers as you lifted the panties between you both for further inspection.
Dean’s eyes dropped instantly and despite himself, one very clear thought crossed his mind.
‘Yeah. Definitely one of my favorites.’
“How do you even know these will fit?” you asked honestly. The fabric looked expensive enough to disintegrate if handled incorrectly, soft lace brushing against your fingertips while you inspected the tiny details stitched into it.
Dean opened his mouth…closed it and opened it again. “I’m…observant?”
Even he sounded unsure of the answer.
Your lips twitched as you bit back a laugh while digging through the pile until you found the matching bra, then gathered both pieces in your hands.
“Observant and persuasive,” you mused while backing toward the bathroom. “Let me know when there’s something substantial to add to that list.”
Dean nodded solemnly like you’d given him serious criticism to reflect on. “Will do.”
The bathroom door clicked shut behind you and the second it did, Dean exhaled sharply and looked down at himself...for fuck’s sake.
He adjusted himself miserably through his pants while staring at your closed bathroom door in defeat. Lately everything about you affected him differently, your voice, your teasing and the way you looked at him for half a second too long depending on the day.
It was becoming genuinely embarrassing.
Dean barely moved from the spot you’d left him in.
He stayed planted near the foot of your bed, one hand dragging occasionally through his hair while his eyes remained fixed on the bathroom door like staring hard enough would somehow let him see through it. Every few seconds he twitched awkwardly in his pants, dealing unsuccessfully with the consequences of occasionally hearing your hums through the thin wall while knowing exactly what you were changing into behind it.
Inside the bathroom, you stood frozen in front of the mirror for far longer than necessary.
You tried very hard not to think about how closely Dean must’ve paid attention to you over the years to somehow get the sizing exactly right because it fit perfectly.
The lace sat snug against your skin without pinching anywhere, soft black patterns curling over your chest and hugging your hips beautifully. The bra lifted your breasts enough to make your posture straighten instinctively while the matching panties rested low against your hips, delicate enough to feel expensive but comfortable enough not to make you tug at them every two seconds.
You looked good, not just tolerable under dim lights or acceptable after strategic positioning and reassurance and maybe that was what scared you most because now you had to walk back out there and let someone else see it too.
With one last glance toward your reflection, you finally reached for the doorknob and stepped back into your room.
Dean looked up immediately, the reaction was almost embarrassing.
He stopped breathing for half a second entirely, eyes dragging over you slowly enough to make heat climb straight into your throat. He barely blinked while following your movement across the room as you drifted toward your full-length mirror, fingertips lightly tracing the lace resting over your shoulders before moving lower toward the small details connecting the cups together.
The silence stretched thickly.
You kept looking at yourself mostly because looking directly at him felt dangerous right now, even as he moved behind you slowly without touching. He was just standing there close enough for warmth to gather along your back while his eyes followed yours through the reflection. Wherever you looked, he looked too, until eventually your gazes met in the mirror.
You swallowed. “What do you think?”
Dean inhaled deeply through his nose. “I think,” he said slowly, “Six Flags might be going out of business soon.”
Your brows lifted immediately before a quiet laugh escaped you despite yourself.
You turned around to face him fully then, stepping closer until only inches separated you both. Your hands settled carefully against the center of his chest, fingertips brushing lightly against the fabric of his shirt while you looked up at him.
Dean held your gaze steadily, too steadily, sometimes it genuinely felt like he could read your thoughts if he stared long enough. “What do you think?” he echoed softly.
You hummed quietly, eyes flickering downward toward his mouth before lifting back up again.
“I think…” Your hands began sliding slowly down his chest, fingertips grazing over the hard planes beneath his shirt one inch at a time. “Maybe…” Your voice softened further as your palms drifted lower. “I could show you something I actually know how to do.”
Dean’s jaw tightened as your fingers brushed the bulge straining against his pants.
“With my mouth,” you finished quietly.
You didn’t move afterward and neither did he.
In your head, the logic made sense. Dean already thought you were beautiful, so you didn’t need him witnessing your frustration firsthand too. You could give him something good instead, something you knew how to control.
For one dangerous second, he looked like he was genuinely considering it. Then Dean exhaled sharply and turned you around instead, guiding you gently back toward the mirror until your back rested against his chest.
A startled breath caught in your throat as your ass pressed unintentionally against the hard outline of his erection.
Your eyes met his again through the reflection.
“I don’t doubt you can do those things,” he murmured near your ear. “All of them.”
One of his hands settled carefully against your waist while the other slid slowly downward, fingertips brushing beneath the waistband of your panties enough to make your stomach tighten.
His eyes never once left yours in the mirror. “So why do you?”
The reflection showed the two of you, a study in tension and longing. You could see the intensity in his eyes, the way he watched you not just with desire but with a focused, intentional kind of devotion.
His hand didn't push further, he stopped before his fingertips brushed the outer lips of your pussy, leaving a teasing spark of contact. He held himself there, gaze locking onto yours in the mirror, waiting. He wasn't going to take a single inch more without your explicit permission.
You felt your heart hammer against your ribs, chest heaving. You looked into his eyes and gave a small, shaky nod.
The moment you did, he slid deeper. His fingers glided through the slick already gathering between your thighs, parting you with a gentle pressure that could’ve made your toes curl. He didn't rush, he navigated the wet lips until his fingertip found the small, swollen bud of your clit. He began to circle it slowly with agonizingly steady rotations that sent ripples of electricity shooting straight to your core.
"Tell me what you see," he whispered, voice a low and gravelly vibration against your ear.
You swallowed hard, voice trembling as you focused on the reflection. "You...you touching me," you breathed.
As you spoke, you watched your own body react. Your breathing picked up, turning into shallow, jagged gasps. In the mirror, you saw your breasts heaving, the nipples peaking and hardening into tight, sensitive points through the lace of your bra. As if reading your thoughts, Dean’s other hand reached around, his fingers finding one breast and gripping it. He massaged the hardened peak, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger and you let out a sharp, involuntary swallow, head tilting back slightly.
"And what's at the end of me?" he asked, voice humming with a dark, sensual curiosity.
"Me," you whispered, the word barely leaving your lips.
"What else?" he pressed, fingers continuing that relentless, circling motion. He was forcing you to stay present, stripping away your ability to hide in your head or focus on his pleasure. He wanted you trapped in your own skin.
You stared at yourself, hyper-aware of every inch of your anatomy. "Beauty marks," you murmured, noticing the small moles on your thighs and torso that you usually ignored.
"And here?" he asked, his thumb flicking the tip of your nipple.
"Hardened nipples," you gasped, eyes fluttering.
"And on your skin..." he prompted, his fingers quickening their pace, the friction against your clit becoming more insistent and demanding.
"Goosebumps," you whimpered. You could see them breaking out across your shoulders and arms, a physical manifestation of the arousal peaking within you.
The sensory overload was dizzying. Every time you named a part of yourself, the pleasure seemed to intensify, as if acknowledging your own body was unlocking a door you'd kept bolted shut. Dean’s fingers were no longer just circling, they were fluttering, vibrating against your most sensitive spot with a precision that made your hips instinctively buck back against him. You felt the wetness flooding out of you and coating his fingers, making the sounds of his touch wet and explicit in the quiet room.
You tried desperately to keep your eyes locked on his in the mirror but as the pleasure climbed, the world began to blur. Your eyelids grew heavy, the edges of your vision darkening as the sensation centered entirely on the point where he was rubbing you. You started to moan, the sounds raw but still shy, escaping your throat without your permission. You pushed your backside harder against the rigid length of his erection, craving the friction, the completion.
The tension in your lower belly coiled tighter and tighter, a spring winding up to the point of snapping. You were right there, on the precipice, the beginning of an orgasm shimmering just out of reach. Your breath became a series of broken sobs as your body trembled in anticipation. Was this it?
"I think...I–" you started, voice breaking as the first wave of a climax seemed to form but just before it solidified, just as you were about to believe it would, Dean abruptly pulled his hand away.
The sudden void was shocking. You gasped, body jolting from the abrupt loss of stimulation, the orgasm denied at the very last second of creation. You were left vibrating, aching and halfway undone but before you could process the frustration, he gripped your waist and turned you around in his arms so you were facing him.
Your eyes were wide, glazed with lust and confusion, chest heaving as you looked up at him.
"What the hell are you doing?" you asked, voice a breathless wreck.
Dean didn't answer immediately. He just looked at you, taking in the desperate hunger in your eyes. He gripped your hips firmly, knuckles white and began backing up toward the bed, pulling you with him.
"Trusting you to do it first," he murmured.
As the back of his knees hit the mattress, he let himself fall back, laying flat on his back and spreading his arms wide, leaving himself completely open and vulnerable to you.
You climbed over him, your movements determined, fueled by a desperate, humming need that had been wound tight in the mirror. You braced your knees against his sides, feeling the hard muscle of his thighs beneath you and planted one hand firmly on his chest. Beneath your palm, you could feel his heart hammering a frantic rhythm, a mirror to your own. With a renewed sense of determination, you slipped your other hand beneath the fabric of your panties, your fingers finding the slick, swollen heat of your pussy.
As you began to touch yourself, you closed your eyes for a moment, repeating the litany he had forced you to acknowledge in the mirror. You focused on the hyper-awareness he had instilled in you, turning that mental lens inward. You found your clit, already engorged and sensitive and began to circle it. Your breathing became ragged, each exhale a shaky shudder that vibrated through your entire frame.
You opened your eyes and looked down at your hand on his chest. You watched the way his pectorals heaved under your touch, his skin flushed and warm. Then, you felt his hands slide up your legs, his large palms gripping your thighs firmly. The sheer intensity of his gaze, the way he watched your every movement with a hunger that felt almost tangible, made a low moan escape your throat.
You had never reached this point before, never felt this close to the edge of something so profound. The pleasure was a rising tide, threatening to pull you under.
"Be patient," Dean breathed, his voice a low, grounding rumble that seemed to vibrate through the mattress and into your bones. "Listen to your body."
You nodded, eyes locked onto his and focused entirely on the sensation. You ignored the noise in your head, everything except the friction of your own fingers. You kept your hand working at a speed you liked, a steady, rhythmic pressure that built a coil of tension in your lower belly. You began to squirm, hips rocking in a slow, undulating motion against your own hand, chasing the spark.
In your haze of arousal, you shifted, pressing your soaking wet clothed cunt directly onto the rigid length of his erection through his pants. The sudden, blunt pressure against your clit sent a shockwave of pleasure through you and you let out a loud, uncontrolled moan. Dean groaned in response, a sound of pure, tortured restraint as he kept his hips from jerking upward to meet you.
You quickly lifted your hips again, holding them high in the air, body arching as you fought to maintain the rhythm.
“Holy fuck,” You were so close now, the world was narrowing down to the point where your fingers met your flesh.
"Attagirl. That's it," Dean whispered, voice thick with praise. "You're doing so good. Just like that...look at you, taking it all in. So fucking worth it."
His words were like fuel to the fire. The praise made you bolder and movements more frantic. You pressed harder, your fingers fluttering with an urgency that bordered on desperation until the tension reached a breaking point, a white-hot spark that suddenly ignited into a roaring flame.
The orgasm hit you like a physical blow. Your head snapped back, your spine arching as the first wave of pleasure crashed over you. Your lips parted and an unreal, unabashed sound, a high, keening cry of release slipped out of you, echoing through the room. It was your first time ever coming and the sensation was overwhelming. It didn't just peak and fade, it rolled through you in long, rhythmic pulses that seemed to last forever, shaking your entire body, leaving your muscles twitching and your mind a complete blank.
Dean didn't move. He looked at you, completely mesmerized, eyes wide and unblinking. He watched the way your throat worked as you gasped for air, the way your breasts heaved and the way your body shuddered under the aftershocks. Beneath you, his cock throbbed and twitched painfully against the constraint of his pants, a visible manifestation of the agony and ecstasy of watching you shatter.
As the waves finally subsided, leaving you limp and floating, you collapsed onto his chest with a sultry whine, skin damp with sweat and breathing heavy and synchronized with his as you caught your breath.
The silence of the room was thick, charged with the lingering electricity of the moment.
You swallowed hard while still catching your breath, voice a mere whisper against his skin. "Is it too soon to say that was the best orgasm I've ever had?"
Dean let out a heavy, uneven breath beneath you, the sound shuddering straight through his chest and into yours. Only then did his hands finally leave your thighs. Slowly, almost cautiously, they slid upward along your sides until his palms settled against your back.
Gone was the restraint that had kept his fingers tense and controlled earlier. Now he touched you lightly, almost reverently, fingertips drifting along the curve of your spine over the lace while he tried to steady his breathing. Every few seconds his hands flexed against you instinctively, like he still couldn’t quite believe what had just happened.
“Definitely the best one I’ve ever had,” he murmured.
His voice sounded wrecked, dizzy, like simply watching you come apart on top of him had pushed him somewhere dangerously close to losing it himself.
You lifted your head slowly from where it rested against his chest, pushing up enough to properly look at him.
Dean blinked up at you lazily, pupils completely blown.
You swallowed once. “Did you…?”
The question barely finished forming before Dean’s expression morphed into something sheepish and amused all at once. He swallowed too before nodding once against the mattress.
Your eyes widened slightly as his hand slid upward from your back, fingertips brushing softly along your jaw while he looked at you with an expression so openly fond it almost hurt to hold eye contact with him.
“Am I still not deserving of a kiss?” he asked quietly. Half joking, half absolutely not.
You hummed thoughtfully like you were genuinely considering it. “You want a cookie and a gold star too?”
Dean’s grin spread slowly across his face, matching yours instantly despite the pleasure still weighing down his features. “Better than the survey.”
You laughed softly through your nose before finally leaning down the rest of the way.
The kiss was warm, searing and long overdue.
Dean’s hand moved instantly to the back of your head, holding you in place like he’d been waiting weeks to finally do exactly this. It started slow for approximately two seconds, soft lips parting against yours carefully, almost disbelievingly, before weeks of tension snapped apart all at once.
You melted into him with a breathless sound as his mouth pressed harder against yours.
Dean kissed like he did everything else, thoroughly.
His thumb pushed lightly beneath your jaw, tilting your head back enough for him to deepen the kiss, tongue sliding against yours slow at first, exploratorily, before the restraint he’d been clinging to all night dissolved completely. The taste of him, the warmth of his mouth and the low groan that rumbled out of his chest when you kissed him back with equal desperation made your stomach tighten all over again.
The kiss quickly turned messy, hungry. You could barely catch your breath between them, mouths reconnecting instantly every time you pulled apart for air like neither of you could tolerate the distance anymore. Dean’s grip tightened on your hair as his other hand spread wide against your back, dragging you flush against him while his tongue swept against yours again, deeper this time, making heat rush straight through your body.
So much for rules.
Seems like Six Flags had just been privatised for a single Agent Provocateur wearer…indefinitely.
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! 🤍
☄︎ Warnings: NSFW, use of vibrator, light bondage, not proofread, idk my tenses
☄︎ Pairing: Dean Di Laurentis x F!Reader x Beau Maxwell, Dean Di Laurentis x F!Reader
☄︎ Rating: 18+, MDNI
☄︎ Words: 1575
☄︎ AN: I had WAY too much fun writing this. Written for this request. Hope you enjoy x
You’re lying on your back on Dean’s desk; legs pulled into your chest.
"Are you sure you can behave yourself?" Dean drawls, as he drags a finger through your already slick folds. A shiver runs down your spine, you know he isn’t speaking to you; you were actually told to be on your worst behaviour tonight.
“I can.” The words sound strained as they come out of Beau. He’s already been told off once. That’s why he’s sat with two pairs of your lace panties securing his wrists to the armchair. The chair is positioned so that Beau has a clear view of you spread open.
This whole thing had stemmed from Beau’s idea. Two nights ago, the three of you had been hanging out in the living room. You and Dean were playing on the PlayStation, giggling as loud explosions blasted from the TV, when Beau suddenly turned to Dean and blurted out. “I want to watch you fuck my girlfriend.”
“I don’t know why you had to mute the TV for that,” you snorted. “You’ve watched him fuck me a hundred times at this point.”
“Yes,” Beau swallowed hard, “but those times I was involved. This time, I just want to be in the room. Watching.”
That had your eyebrows raising. This was new. You like new.
Dean let out a dark, sharp laugh, leaning back against the sofa cushions. “You really think you can handle that, my man? You know how bad I want her; I’m not going to hold back to spare your feelings.”
“I can handle it,” Beau insisted.
Now, two nights later, you aren’t so sure he could.
Dean raises a finger, the one that’s slick with your arousal, to his mouth. He makes a show of sucking on it, humming around his finger. He pulls it out of his mouth with a loud pop. You both keep your eyes on Beau the entire time.
“She’s delicious, Beau. God, I wish you could taste it.”
Dean swirls his fingers around your clit, before running them between your pussy lips again. His fingers are glistening with your arousal when he walks up to your very frustrated boyfriend. Dean brings his fingers close to Beau’s face, close enough that he could smell you on his hand. Beau inhales deeply as Dean’s glistening fingers hover just inches from his lips. The familiar scent of your arousal hits him instantly, making his mouth water.
It's like you were so close, all he’d have to do is stick his tongue out and he’d be able to taste. But, that’s against the rules. Dean’s just being mean and you love it. Like a good boy, Beau leans back, away from temptation, letting out a breath of pure frustration.
Dean’s careful not to block Beau’s view of your body as he comes to stand back next to the table that you’re on. Beau actually whimpers as Dean uses two fingers to spread you a little further.
The blonde flicks on the vibrator, and slowly trails it down the back of your thighs. His movements are tortuously slow as he moves it up the lips of your pussy, both he and Beau watching in fascination as your hole clenches around nothing in anticipation.
Dean turns off the vibrator just as he reaches your clit, resting the buzz less toy gently on you. Without the vibrations, it provides you with no stimulation, so you roll your hips up, trying to force some friction.
A small chuckle escapes Dean’s lips at your attempts.
“You’re supposed to be teasing him, not me, asshole,” you growl breathily.
“I can do both,” Dean says smoothly.
You hate how unaffected he sounds as he keeps the toy off, denying you the friction you so desperately need.
“Look at him,” Dean commands softly, nodding in the direction of Beau on the armchair.
You shift your gaze, blinking through the haze. Across the room, Beau’s hands are tightly gripping the armchair, his knuckles turning white and the muscles in his arm tensing as he watches the two of you.
Breathing low and ragged, his eyes come to meet yours. The need in his gaze is overwhelming. He looks entirely undone by the situation, cock straining against his trousers when nobody has even touched him.
“Turn it on,” Beau grinds out, his chest heaving as he glares at the toy resting against you. “Stop messing with her.”
You let out a soft groan, your nails digging into your legs as you pull them closer to your chest. “Listen to him, Dean. Please.”
“Well,” Dean says as he pours some lube on the toy, “since you asked so nicely. Sure.”
Spreading your lips once again, he turns the toy back on and presses it right against your clit. Your back arches off of the table as pleasure shoots through you. Dean knows just the right pressure to apply, circling the toy around your clit to give you the perfect stimulation.
“Oh, f-fuck,” you moan noisily. “Fuck, there, juuust like that.”
Beau feels drunk on your moans. His eyes close as he listens to you, imagining it’s him bringing these sounds of of you.
You whine as the vibrator is taken off of you. “You said you wanted to watch me fuck her, so you have to watch, Beau. You stop watching, I stop fucking.”
Dean’s eyes blaze as you make eye contact with him, your eyes are pleading with him, begging him to continue.
“You look so good like this, I can’t wait to fuck you.” The words catch in Dean’s throat, the sight of you turning him feral. He takes his length in his hand, his dick throbbing in his fist as he worked along his length. His balls tightening as he watches you.
“Hurry up and make me cum so you can fuck me, then,” you manage out.
“Don’t look away from Beau, okay? I want him to see your face as I make you cum.”
Dean brings the toy back to life, going to the second setting and pressing it against you. Pleasure coils in your belly.
“I’m so close, I’m- I’m gonna.” The tightly wound coil in your belly snaps, shooting pleasure throughout your body as you cum with Dean’s name on your lips. He keeps the toy pressed against you as you grind your way through it.
“Ah~” you and Beau moan in unison. Dean helps you to hold up your twitching thighs so Beau can watch the after effects of your orgasm. The lube and your arousal are running down your pussy, leaving a mess on the table. Beau’s shaking in his chair, mouth salivating.
Dean picks you up easily and positions you on the bed so that Beau can see the length of your body. He immediately comes between your legs, lifting both straight up. He leans forward, shifting his weight on you until his chest presses against the back of your thighs.
You hook your knees over his shoulders, drawing your legs further into your chest. He lines himself up and slides in, forcing himself to go slowly as you adjust to him inch by inch.
“I’ve been thinking about this pussy all day.”
Dean pulls back until just the tip was left in. His eyes search yours and you give him a subtle nod as he thrusts into you. At this angle, you feel impossibly tight around him, gloving around him.
“Mmmm, you fuck me so well,” You whisper seductively in Dean’s ear and his hips snap into you harder at the compliment.
This angle also gives Beau a perfect view, his breath hitches as he watches Dean slide in and out of you. He’s hitting that spot within you that has you seeing stars.
Sweat rolls down Dean’s neck and clings to his hair. He looks into your eyes, his usually playful glint replaced with something so sinful. He’s taking such good care of you. Emotion washes over you in this position, the trust you have for him with your body leaving you feeling too vulnerable, too open. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in to kiss you as he continues fucking into you.
His hands come to cup your cheeks as he deepens the kiss, you know he’s close, he’s whimpering into your mouth and his thrusts can’t keep a consistent pace.
“Fuck me, harder,” you moan into his mouth, your voice quivering.
Dean adjusts his body to get more leverage to fuck into you. “Beau, are you watching?” He calls, his eyes not leaving yours.
Beau gives a straggled moan in response; his balls are aching and he desperately needs to come, but he’s watching.
Dean thrusts into you harder, two, three times before he’s cumming. He can’t help but call your name as he releases warm cum into you. You don’t take your eyes off of him, watching him become a blubbering mess under the force of his orgasm. He collapses on top of you and stays until his dick stops throbbing within you.
All the wetness surrounding your pussy forces a squelching noise as he slides out of you, it’s a lewd sound but heat pools in your belly.
Dean walks over to Beau and unties him. Beau’s immediately up, running to line himself up to your leaking entrance.
Dean collapses in the chair that Beau had occupied, thoroughly spent and content with his life with the two of you.
☄︎ Warnings: NSFW, threesome, not proofread, everybody smoochin, reader is a lil mean,
☄︎ Pairing: F!Reader x Dean Di Laurentis, F!Reader x John Logan, Dean x Reader x Logan
☄︎ Rating: 18+, MDNI
☄︎ Words: 6427
☄︎ AN: i got SO carried away here. written for this ask, hashtag bring back challengers summer!! i was raised by katherine pierce so her vibe is here too. i love mean (to men) women <3
also sorry for the pic idk how to use photoshop lol
i cannot stress enough that i haven't proofread this and i don't have the energy to so good luck!
🎵 Listening to 🎵
Candy - Doja Cat
Hockey away games were your favourite.
On campus, you lived in a bubble that you could not escape, not that you wanted to. Your whole life was planned out; finishing university and then go on to become the top tennis player in the country, after that the world. You had the talent and skills to do both now, but completing university with a top degree had to be your focus. You didn’t want your only skill in life to be hitting a ball with a racquet.
Your professors were demanding, your coursework unrelenting, and your coach would have you pushing your body to limits that you didn’t even know existed. You didn’t have the time, nor the emotional bandwidth, for distractions.
And that worked just fine for you. Distractions offered nothing for you. Without the crushing weight of the obligations that you had imposed on yourself, you couldn’t breathe. The demand for perfection outweighing any other want you could have.
Off campus, was a different story entirely, you allowed yourself the momentary distraction. While you knew that tennis was your fated love, you couldn’t ignore the draw to hockey. The Briar U hockey team were always more aggressive when they played away, as if they had something to prove. That’s probably what drew you to hockey. The raw athleticism and passion exuding from every player was dizzying. The boos from the opposition’s home crowd only spurred them on. You had to press your legs together at every match.
When you were 50 miles away from the university, you weren’t the you that demanded perfection from yourself, there’s something so thrilling about forgetting yourself. Instead, you sought it in others.
You really loved away games; you’d always returned to campus refreshed. With a glow that only could come from the feeling of being reckless. You excused yourself to do things you knew you shouldn’t, with people you shouldn’t. Usually, that meant you were sneaking in a hockey player from the opposing team into your room, but recently, something within you had snapped, you wanted to play closer to home. After all, what happened at an away game, stayed between the four walls of whatever hotel it happened in.
You stood in the brightly lit hallway of the hotel the team was staying at. The hotel’s they stayed at were always immaculate, only the best for the stars of Briar U. The players were always allocated their own rooms unless they specified otherwise, but you knew that both Dean Di Laurentis and John Logan were in this one together. And they were waiting for you.
You’ve known of them both for a while now, having spent semesters watching them compete for the highest grades, glory on the ice, and, eventually, for your attention. The first time you had really seen them was at one of your matches. When you played, there was always a large crowd, all on the edge of their seats. You knew how to put on a show and you knew how to win, and people loved to see all the new ways in which you’d dominate the court.
You’re not sure how, or why, you were able to pick them out of all the people there. Perhaps it was the way they looked at you, one and the same expression on two different faces.
That day, they were both sat leaning forward in the crowded bleachers, elbows on their knees. The blonde, Dean you later found out, watched your every movement without blinking, his mouth slightly parted. The dark haired one, Logan, had an intensely focused expression, his jaw clenched. They didn’t track the movement of the ball like the other spectators; they had just watched you.
That’s when you had started to really pay attention to them during their hockey games. You’d alternate between jerseys, sometimes wearing 22 and sometimes 66, it all depended on who you, in your expert opinion, played the best or who performed the best in class. Any attention you gave one fuelled the other, they were smarter in class because of it. They were more aggressive on the ice because of you. As much as it pleased you to see, really, you were doing them a favour.
Outside of hockey matches and the occasional shared lecture, they barely saw you. You ignored every invite sent for one of their infamous house parties; cheap alcohol, drunk people, and loud crowds that weren’t cheering for you had never been your scene. Being so elusive meant that every minute mattered when it came to earning your attention, and you never gave them enough time to ever feel satisfied, always chasing the next hit of you.
So, you waited for 10 minutes before you knocked on their door. You had already arrived 15 minutes later than you said you would. The wait was torturous for you too. Anticipation had pooled deep in your belly. You weren’t dumb, you know that they had invited you over in the hopes that you’d finally choose one of them. But you weren’t going to choose. The rivalry meant too much to you. They may not be ready to admit it, but it meant the same to them.
While you wouldn’t choose tonight, you would give them some encouragement. There was only so long you could puppet them without having touched either of them. Besides, they had earnt a piece of the thing that you knew they were craving. You.
The last few games you went to, they were at peak performance. You were pleased.
Enough time had passed, so you raised your hand to knock firmly on the door. You smiled as you immediately heard the muffled sound of blankets being kicked off, followed by a heavy thud and a “watch it, dickhead.” Two seconds later, the deadbolt clicked and the door swung open.
Dean Di Laurentis stood in front of you, chest puffed forward as if he hadn’t just run to the door. He was wearing nothing but grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips. His damp hair was pushed back, and a slow, familiar smirk played on his lips as his eyes tracked down your body and back up to your face. You were wearing gym shorts and a tank top, simple, but it was tight and showed off your curves.
Dean didn’t stand back to let you in. Instead, he lent one thick forearm against the doorframe and tilted his head down to you. “Look who finally decided to show up,” Dean jabbed, you could tell he was annoyed at you for making him wait. You revelled in thinking about how easily he’d lose his anger once you smiled at him.
“I’m so sorry I kept you waiting,” you pouted a little and looked up at him.
The heat in Dean’s eyes immediately died, as it always did when it came to you. He didn’t move though; he stared at you as you watched him with a seductive playfulness.
“Are you going to let me in or are you planning on standing there looking pretty all night?” You asked smoothly, crossing your arms over your chest.
A voice from inside the room interrupted the staring competition. “Just let her in, Dean.”
Dean rolled his eyes and stepped aside. You dragged your hand against his bare chest as you slipped past him and entered the room. Logan was sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed; his legs crossed at the ankles. He also wore nothing up top, but he had a pair of shorts on instead of sweatpants.
The room was as brightly lit as the hallway. It was also small, dominated by the double bed in the middle of it. The TV was on but muted, a hockey match with teams you did not recognise was playing. On the floor in front of Logan, a laptop was open and there was an iPad with some diagram of an ice hockey rink with a load of circles, arrows, and crosses on it. You had no idea what it meant but you did know it had to do with game tactics.
Even right after a game, they were still thinking about hockey, analysing how to get better. You liked how consumed they were with hockey. How desperately they wanted to be better. Logan was good because he worked at it, Dean was good because he had a natural talent.
“If you boys are too busy for me, I can leave,” you teased, even as you walked further into the room.
“Never,” Dean said as he shut the door and locked it. At the same time, Logan hurriedly shut his laptop with a ‘click’, putting that and the iPad on the desk in the corner.
Logan turned to lean against the desk, his arms crossed as he took you in. “Dean was just explaining his terrible third-period positioning.”
“My positioning was fine,” Dean snapped, though there was no heat in his voice and a competitive spark in his eye. He moved to stand next to you and you both faced Logan. “You’re just mad that you didn’t get the assist.”
“I don’t need the assist when I’m the one scoring,” Logan shot back smoothly. While Dean was watching Logan, Logan was watching you. He wanted to see your reaction to the things he was saying to Dean.
You let out a soft, amused, hum. Your head turned upwards to look at Dean, his form towering over you. Then your head turned back to Logan.
The contrast between them was an intoxicating combination. Dean had effortless charm and a devastatingly cocky smile. He was loud and he commanded the room by drawing attention. Logan was quieter, almost like he was always calculating his next move. He also commanded a room but through his eyes, they were always dark and intense.
That was their default, but they weren’t always like that. Sometimes, Logan would smile, laugh even. It’d feel like when the clouds parted to reveal the sun.
Especially when jealous, Dean’s jaw would click, his playful smirk hardening into something sharper, something hungrier.
They were two sides of the same coin, two halves that made the whole. That’s also why you would never choose.
“Is that right, Logan? Because from where I was standing, Dean had to pick up your slack in the second period.” Logan’s dark eyes narrowed at you.
Dean let out a sharp laugh, he threw his hands up and looked to the sky. “Finally, someone with eyes. I’ve been telling him that since we left the ice.”
“She’s fucking baiting you, man. She just likes watching us like this.”
You felt Dean’s gaze fall on you, but you were watching Logan with a satisfied smirk. Fair point. “Oh, come on, Logan,” you purred. “Don’t be a sore loser.”
This is the longest you’ve ever been in the same room with both of them; you’d never seen them like this. You usually planted the seed and then left. This time, you planned to be here to reap the rewards of it.
It felt like there wasn’t enough oxygen in the room, their chests were heaving as they made subtle jabs toward one another. All three of you had the same twinkle in your eye.
You turned, kicked off your shoes, and sat at the foot of the bed. “Come here,” you said, patting the bed on either side next to you.
At your command, the arguing immediately ceased. Both Logan and Dean ran to take their place on either side of you. They both turned their body to face you.
You instinctively bit your bottom lip as your head swivelled between them both. Their eyes watched you hungrily, both of their hearts racing as they waited, entirely at your mercy, for your next move.
Who to choose first, you wondered. You felt Logan’s hand begin to snake around your waist so you turned your head to face him, leaning in slightly. His eyes fluttered closed as you leant further in. Just before you fully reached his lips, you pulled back and turned to Dean. Logan was impatient, so Dean gets to have you first.
Your hand tangled in the damp hair at the nape of Dean’s neck as you pulled him in. He tasted like mint, and you wondered if he knew he’d be kissing you tonight. The kiss was full of Dean’s usual confidence; his tongue slid past your teeth with a practised ease. You sighed into Dean’s mouth, and his eyes locked onto Logan’s across the bed, marking his place. Logan watched with ragged breaths as you melted in.
Dean was smiling against your lips a little too confidently so you pulled back, you weren’t only his tonight. Satisfaction flared within you when you looked down to where his sweatpants were tented.
With a smile, you turned to Logan. Your bottom lip was wet and flushed. Logan didn’t move slowly towards you this time; he leant in and claimed your mouth. His kiss was possessive, his need to be better than another pouring out into you. It was the complete opposite to Dean’s smooth and relaxed kiss.
Dean leant back in, his lips traced a slow path down your neck, pressing kisses as he went along. The kiss with Logan began to get sloppy, spit pooling at the corners of your mouths.
Logan’s hand came to cup your breast whilst Dean’s hand came stroke your thigh. You had them right where you wanted them, but they too, had you.
You pulled away from the kiss with a laugh. “Easy boys,” you cooed. They both pulled away from you but their hands remained where they were. As you leant back against the mattress, Logan’s hand dropped to rest on the thigh Dean wasn’t holding.
You propped yourself up on your forearms. They both look down at you. A slow, wicked, smile spread across your face. “I want to see just how well you play together.” Your voice like a velvety command.
Both of sets of eyes flashed to one another before Logan’s flashed back to you. Dean, ever the life of the party, began leaning in towards Logan. Logan continued watching you until you raised your eyebrows and jerked your head in Dean’s direction.
“Not sure you could handle me?” Dean murmured, voice dropping to a rough whisper.
With that, Logan leant into him. The kiss started entirely too masculine, rough and competitive. The energy and hunger that had been building for months between them finally having an outlet. Even as the kiss began to soften, neither man’s grip on your thighs lessened.
You watched them, a spark of triumph flaring in your chest. The sound of their breathing grew heaving and ragged. A low, involuntary groan was dragged from the back of Logan’s throat, muffled by Dean’s mouth. That caused your thighs to squeeze together. ‘Time to leave,’ you thought to yourself. You weren’t sure you would be able to stop this going further if you didn’t.
“Okay,” you said. That pulled them out of their trance. They sat back, a line of spit connecting them. You took the opportunity to slip out from between them. “I’m going to bed now.”
Both looked up at you with dazed expressions.
“I’m sure you can take care of each other,” you mused as you looked at their dicks, straining against the restraint that their clothes provided.
“Can’t we at least get your number?” Logan begged in the neediest way you’d ever heard.
A sigh escaped your lips. This was a bad idea, this was supposed to stay here and not follow you back to campus, but how could you say no when both sets of eyes pleaded with you like this. “Whoever plays the best over the next five games, can have my number.”
That night in your hotel room, you had to make yourself cum three times just to come down from the image of their joy when you’d given them that sliver of hope.
⋆꙳⛸❅*‧⛸‧*❆₊⛸⋆❆⋆꙳⛸❅*‧⛸‧*❆₊⛸⋆❆⋆꙳⛸❅*‧⛸‧*❆₊⛸⋆❆*❅‧⛸
Once back on campus, it wasn’t as easy for you to slip back into your usual routine as you’d wanted. Involuntarily, your mind would drift back to them, the moments in the hotel room.
Your actions in the room had the outcome you’d planned, they were even better on the ice. But you hadn’t planned for it to affect you in the way that it had. The need hit you at a strength you’ve never felt before.
You noticed the way their posture straightened when you’d look over to them in passing. They’d both look in your direction when they did anything noteworthy in their games, as if they expected you to be keeping note. You were.
The last of the five games ended with a huge home-game win against Harvard. The arena emptied out, fans, coaches, and the opposition team had all left, but you had stayed. You were sat, waiting for your boys, on a bench not too far outside the double doors.
The rest of the Briar U boys had left 10 minutes ago, they all piled onto a bus, likely to head back to the hockey house for the after party.
It had been a while since you last dressed like this, it was too cold a night for you to be wearing the cute sun dress that you were; it stopped half-way down to your knees. Heat flooded your body; you couldn’t feel the cold. It was weeks since you last wore one of the player’s jersey’s, you didn’t want to show favouritism or potentially bias the results. You were always so fair.
You turned at the sound of the door slamming open. They walked over to you, determined expressions on their faces. You didn’t rise from the bench as they came to a halt in front of you. They dropped their big duffle bags and crossed their hands behind their backs as they waited for you to tell them their fate.
You let your eyes roam over their bodies. The match was physical; it was some good fucking hockey. Dean had a faint, forming, bruised cut on his jawline, he was smirking down at you. Full of confidence. Hot.
Logan’s face was unmarked, his expression guarded and serious. Also, hot.
“Well?” Dean asked when the silence stretched on for too long. “Don’t keep us waiting, sweetheart.”
It was the first time he had used that nickname with you. You tilted your head up and crossed one knee over the over, deliberately letting your already too short dress rise further up your legs. “You both played wonderfully, I’m very happy.” It was high praise coming from you, both of their chests puffed. “Dean, your assists were flawless, truly. And the way you put your body on the line to block those shots. Mwah, chefs kiss.”
“But,” you countered, sliding your gaze up to Logan. “Logan scored the game-winning goal and he hit the Harvard captain so hard, I could hear it from where I was sitting. That is passion.”
Logan let out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding as Dean let out a self-pitting laugh. “That’s brutal,” he muttered. “Alright, don’t fuck this up, Logan.
Dean leant down to give you a kiss, you let him. He gave you one last look, before picking up his bag and heading to his car. You watched Logan as the sound of Dean driving away faded into the distance.
“Are you going to give me your number, then?” Logan’s voice was low and gravelly.
You rose from the bench and stepped so close to him that you had to look up through your eyelashes. “My number? Is that all you want? Are you telling me I froze my ass off in this short ass dress for nothing?” You tilted your head. “I think I might have even forgotten to put on underwear.”
You hadn’t.
“Fuck,” Logan breathed, “you’re driving me out of my fucking mind. I did that for you, you know. I played for you.”
“I know,” you purred, a manipulative smirk on your lips. “And you deserve to be rewarded for that.”
A voice in your head reminded you that Dean had also played for you. You wouldn’t forget that. Tonight though, Logan had won you fair and square.
“My car’s parked over there.” Logan pointed to the car in the car corner. He and Dean had opted to drive separately to the rest of the team, knowing one of them would likely be leaving with you.
“I’m fixing it up,” he told you sheepishly as you approached his beat-up car. “It’s a work in progress.” You didn’t really care what his car looked like; you just needed him inside of you.
10 minutes later, you were on Logan’s lap in the back of the car. The two seats at the front of the car were as far forward as they could go. He was leant as bar back as he could, one leg bent on the driver’s side of the car and the other on the passenger’s side. It was cramped, you couldn’t sit up fully and had to lean forward into him. The windows were already fogged up, the heat radiating from your bodies contrasting with the cold night outside. You could barely see the details of his face. This was better, you supposed. You really weren’t supposed to allowing this distraction on campus.
You didn’t need to think about that now, though. Your panties were already discarded, dress hiked up, and his pants were around his ankles. You ground down into him, your naked, slick folds leaving a trail of arousal on his rapidly hardening cock. His hands were holding your hips, not controlling, just resting there.
“That’s it,” he encouraged as your grinding picked up speed.
Logan pressed his lips to yours, heavy and desperate. He bit your lip, not hard enough to draw blood, but with enough force to pull a gasp from you. He used that opportunity to slide his tongue into you, claiming you as he did that night in the hotel.
“Tell me what you want, tell me you need me,” Logan pleaded.
You ground down harder into him in response, eyes rolling back as you found the perfect angle for your clit to get enough friction. You let out little whines as you started rolling your hips. It felt good but it was just not enough.
“More,” you rasped into his neck.
One hand left your hip to grab hold of his throbbing dick, the other gripped harder on your hip, urging your body up. You raised your hips slightly so he could line himself up. He dragged the tip along your folds, his pre-cum mixing with your arousal. He circled your clit with his dick and your thighs shook around him.
“Stop teasing, I need you to fuck me now,” you moaned.
Logan obliged, you felt the head of his dick glide across your entrance before slowly entering you. As Logan continued to guide you down onto him, his serious, guarded, look had shifted into something entirely more desperate. Your nails dug into him as you fully sat on him.
You look at him through hooded eyes. You feel every vein on his dick as it stands inside of you. It curved in just the right way to be nudging at that sweet spot inside of you.
One hand gripped the seat behind Logan’s head while the other rested against the fogged window as you bounced on his lap. Both hands came back to your waist, giving him the leverage to slap up into you. The car rocks as he fucks you with force. There are no pleasantries, just pure, unadulterated, purpose.
Logan was a grunter, you found. He’d grunt at each flick up of his hips, he grunted as you bit down into his shoulder. The way you wrapped around him so perfectly had his orgasm rising quicker than he anticipated.
“Perfect, you’re so perfect.”
One of his hands left your waist to find your clit. He pressed down, circling you with the same frantic pace as your bounces.
You clenched tightly around him as your orgasm hit you. His pace increased, the sound of your moans as you orgasm having breathed life into him. Logan didn’t last much longer; he came with a grunt. He wrapped his arms around you as he shot warm ropey cum up into you.
Your hips slowly continued to roll as you came down, you could feel him twitching inside of you as you continued milking him.
He kept hold of you even after he had gone soft. You didn’t protest, remaining in his arms, his cock still nestled in you. Gravity had pulled on his cum, it ran down over his shaft, onto his balls, then the seat of the car.
“Tell me this wasn’t just because I won the bet,” he stuttered into the darkness.
You don’t give him the easy reassurance he was looking for. Instead, you slid off of him and used your discarded panties to wipe his release from where it had flowed out of you. Ignoring the way he looked at you, you wished him a good night as you opened the passenger door and walked home.
⋆꙳⛸❅*‧⛸‧*❆₊⛸⋆❆⋆꙳⛸❅*‧⛸‧*❆₊⛸⋆❆⋆꙳⛸❅*‧⛸‧*❆₊⛸⋆❆*❅‧⛸
You had met, and fucked, Logan many times in the three weeks after you had left him in the back of his car. The release it provided you was like a drug; you couldn’t stop yourself from coming back for more.
You especially needed it because Dean was avoiding you. The only times you saw him in the last three weeks were when you went to his games. He never took his helmet off, so you couldn’t even really see him. He stopped coming to your matches and any lectures that you once shared. The more he avoided, the more you went on the hunt for him. He was a master at evasion.
You had even forced yourself to go to a party on campus that you heard he *might* be at. You did find him, but he had his head buried between this leggy blonde’s legs. The sex with Logan was rough that night, you couldn’t stop talking about Dean. About how his form on the ice had significantly dropped.
But this was on you. One of your boys was drowning, and it was your fault. Logan, while still performing, also didn’t have the passion he once showed on the ice. The last night of the five-game bet just proved to you that they both needed you to be at their best. They needed to be able to compete for you. More importantly, they needed to have an excuse to compete against each other.
You broke another one of your rules for yourself as you climbed up the fire escape that you knew led to Dean’s room. Logan had so innocently given you a tour, not knowing you were using it as an excuse to plan your way in.
Inside the dimly lit room, Dean was laying on his bed, one arm bent behind his head as he scrolled through his phone. You tapped your knuckles against the glass window, not too loud as to draw the attention of others. His head snapped towards your direction, he wasn’t expecting anyone especially you.
His eyes narrowed at you for what felt like an eternity before he came to slide the window open. You climbed over the desk that was against the wall. His eyes were still full of suspicion, even as he helped you over the desk to standing.
It had been weeks since you last spoke to him. Your heart was fighting its way through your ribs as if it wanted to pop out.
For the first time in a while, you didn’t know what to say. He had every right to be looking at you in the way that he was. You had basically abandoned him. You gave him a slight smile, he didn’t return it, but he did soften.
“Why are you here?” The harsh tone that came out of Dean’s mouth did not match the way his eyes were soft as they roamed over you. Logan had won, and he was doing his best to respect that. But here you were, seeking him out.
“I missed you, is that an acceptable reason?” You pouted. It was pure honesty.
“What game are you playing?” Dean’s eyes scanned yours as he crossed his arms over his chest. He couldn’t tell if you were just a tease or if you were really here for him.
“Why? Do you want to play with me?” you challenged softly. He watched as your tongue darted out to lick your lower lip. You wanted him.
Dean let out a dark, breathless chuckle. He looked down at your lips before looking back into your eyes. He stepped closer to you and you slipped away, going to sit on the edge of his bed.
He turned to follow you, coming to kneel between your open legs. “I want to play,” he said.
Sex with Logan was fast, messy, and hot. But Dean liked to take his time, a master in the art of seduction. He leant back on his knees as he peeled his shirt off. He pressed a kiss to your bare knee and then your inner thigh. “Arms up,” he whispered.
You immediately obliged and he pulled your top over your head. His hand came to cup your breast; he rolled a nipple in between two fingers whilst his other hand kneaded your breast.
You let out a sharp exhale and Dean smirked. He was going to take his time learning everything you liked. He rose up on his knees to take a nipple into his warm, wet, mouth, your hands came to his hair, urging him on. You hadn’t been touched this sensually before, and it was driving you wild.
“I want to taste you; can I do that?” Dean asked, warm breath fanning your erect nipple.
“Mhm.” You mumbled, overcome with need.
“Vocal, I need you to be vocal.” Dean’s voice came through clear against your dazed thoughts.
“Yes, yes, fuck me with your mouth.”
You whined as Dean moved from between your legs to lie back onto the bed.
“Come take a ride,” he said, gesturing to his face.
You peeled off your shorts and climbed onto him eagerly. You moved up his body until your thighs were caging his face in. His nose brushed against your clit as you lowered down. You leant forward, holding on to the headboard as he used his hands to spread your folds apart.
Flattening his tongue, he licked a long, wet stripe up you. It was agonisingly slow, and you ground down in frustration.
He rubbed his nose against you, “you smell so good.”
“Dean,” you whimpered. You never whimpered. “Please.”
He continued licking around your folds, coming close to your clit then going back down. “How can someone so mean taste so sweet, it’s not fair,” he growled between licks.
There was no shame in you as you grinded down into his face, chasing that high that he wanted to prolong for you. Sensing your urgency, Dean shifted you slightly so he could get easier access to your clit. He licked, sucked, and flicked as you wantonly moaned, not bothering to try and stay quiet.
His hands were on your ass, helping you to drive your hips as he mercilessly went at your clit. You came just as easily for him as you had the first time you slept with Logan. Like your body was always on the precipice of orgasm just waiting for them to release it.
Dean held you as you rode his face through your orgasm. He continued lapping up your arousal.
Once your body stopped twitching. He grabbed your hips and guided you down his body. He kept pushing your hips down until you brushed against his hard dick. Dean looked up at you through hooded eyes.
“I take it you missed me,” you smiled down at him. A genuine one.
You eased yourself down on his dick and rode him as if your life depended on it. And, in some ways, it did.
⋆꙳⛸❅*‧⛸‧*❆₊⛸⋆❆⋆꙳⛸❅*‧⛸‧*❆₊⛸⋆❆⋆꙳⛸❅*‧⛸‧*❆₊⛸⋆❆*❅‧⛸
The next few months continued on in a beautifully orchestrated chaotic mess, only becoming messier when your injury caused you to be unable to play a sport competitively for months. There was so much built within you, and no outlet. There was nothing you could do but channel that though them.
They knew that you were with both of them, using both of them, whispering sweet nothings to both of them. It did wonders for their performance on the ice. It left scouts breathless and opponents bruised, and they were doing it all for you.
The sex got even better, both of them desperately trying to fuck the memory of the other out of you. It was a game you loved to play with them and they willingly participated.
Some nights you’d slip from one room to the other, still smelling like the other man sometimes even wearing their clothes. During the away games they could hear you through the hotel walls, your muffled moans being so close to torture. You’d turn up to Logan’s room with dark, blooming hickeys on your chest. Dean avoided your neck, where anybody could see it. He only needed Logan to know.
You’d walk into Dean’s room wearing the necklace he knew belonged to Logan. It would dangle in his face as you rode him.
They wouldn’t confront you about it until after the last away game of the season. Both of their doors were left unlocked; they never locked it now as they waited to see which room you’d enter after each game.
You found them both waiting for you in Logan’s room. Dean was sitting on the edge of the mattress. Logan was sitting back against the headboards. Despite the win, the air in the room felt heavy. Both had the same expression on their face.
“So, we’re gathered here today to…?” Both you and Dean smiled, Logan didn’t, not in the mood for a joke.
“You have to choose,” Logan said. “Once and for all. Him or me.”
You looked over at Dean, his head was tilted up in arrogance, then turned your head to look at Logan.
“No,” you said simply. There was no way you’d let this rivalry stop. You needed it to breathe.
Dean smiled, as if he expected that answer. Logan didn’t protest either.
“Am I not taking good enough care of you both?” You voice was dipping with sweet manipulation. You pulled your top over your head letting it drop to the floor.
You weren’t stupid; you knew the real reason they were both in this room together. You knew why they had waited until the season ended to broach this topic. What if you had agreed to choose? Then they’d have no excuse to go against each other the way they did. To look at each other the way they did.
They could hide behind the rivalry they had for you, using your body as the only bridge between them.
“You don’t want me to choose,” you murmured, “because if I pick one, this game ends.” You pulled off the rest of your clothes, stood completely naked in front of them.
The room was consumed with heat in light of the silent truth being brought to light.
“You’re a menace,” Logan rasped.
Dean reached out to grab you and pull you onto the bed. He wasted no time in spreading your legs and settling in between them.
Logan didn’t move an inch from the headboard, but his chest heaved as he watched the way Dean’s mouth moved around where you were most sensitive. Dean was on his knees at the edge of the mattress, his head buried between your thighs.
Dean’s large hands came under your butt, his calloused pals lifting your hips higher off of the sheets to give him better access. At this new angle, he slid his tongue flat and deep into your pussy. You threw your head back, making eye contact with Logan.
“Logan, join me,” Dean called out, his voice rough and breathless between the hot, wet, kisses he pressed to your pussy. “Come taste her.” He didn’t look up, his tongue already sweeping back across your entrance.
Logan finally slid down the mattress and knelt on the bed next to you. Dean focused on tongue fucking you, adding a finger and curling it in you, as Logan focused on your clit.
“Ah~ Fu-Fcuk. My boys, yes.” You were babbling incoherently.
The two of them worked in a frantic synchronisation. Occasionally, Dean would flick his tongue against your clit, his tongue brushing against Logan’s.
Your hands gripped onto the sheets as they worked you. The sound of them both moaning back into you had you grinding your hips. The feeling of them both finally here overwhelmed you in the best way. Fire pooled low in your belly as the pleasure began to rise until it began to overfill. Your body tensed as you came harder than you ever had, your vision fading to black.
“That’s it, cum for us, good girl,” Dean mumbled against you. Dean gently lowered your hips back down to the mattress.
As they came up from between your legs, Dean and Logan locked eyes. Dean’s chin glistened with your arousal. They stood up from the bed eyes on the way each other’s pants tented.
This time, Logan was the first to lean in. He licked Dean’s chin before running his tongue along the blonde’s lower lip. They kissed, both tasting of you and their tongues swirled around each other’s mouths.
You crawled to the floor, sitting on your knees in between them. As you pulled down their boxers, both cocks sprung free. You began working them, licking the leaking slit of one whilst your thumb ran over the slit over the other, then you switched.
They were moaning into each other’s mouths as you worked them with all you had. Dean’s dick was thick, the tip bright pink. Logan’s was a deeper, angrier red. The colours looked so pretty together as you rubbed the tip of their dicks together. They rolled their hips into your hands.
They came like that, grinding against each other in your hands.
☄︎ Warnings: NSFW, not proofread, threesome, oral (m to f & m to m), multiple orgasms
☄︎ Pairing: Dean Di Laurentis x fem!Reader x Beau Maxwell
☄︎ Rating: 18+, MDNI
☄︎ Words: 1169
☄︎ AN: I was aiming to write a continuation of the one before, but this is literally just dirty, messy, smut. This so so self-indulgent, I’m so sorry.
Lifting you by the waist, Dean positions you over Beau, who’s lying flat on the mattress. You’re already aching, your pussy quivering as you’re suspended over Beau. You can hear him breathing heavily under you, eager to have a taste, and it’s driving you insane.
“Wait-” you call shakily, you’re not fully seated yet but Beau’s already lifting his head, trying to lick at you. “Ahh, Beau.”
“I want you to smother him,” Dean whispers into your ear as he lowers you down fully over Beau. “He can take it.”
“I can, I can take it,” Beau tells you; his breath is hot against your core and you shiver. Strong hands come to spread you open as Beau sucks on your clit. He’s relentless, sucking and flicking his tongue where you’re most sensitive.
Hinging forward, you press your chest against Beau’s stomach, ass rising to the air as your forearms press into the mattress to hold yourself up. As Beau’s tongue continues to move over you, you reach out, lazily dragging your hand along his length and teasing the tip.
From behind, Dean has the perfect view of you spread open, dripping and ready for him. Your hole clenches as you feel Dean’s finger slide alongside Beau’s tongue. You won’t last long like this.
“Dean, please,” you beg, “I won’t last much longer, fuck me. Please,” your voice quivers, and it sends jolts of electricity down their spines.
“So, so, needy,” Dean teases. He grabs hold of your waist and slowly drags his dick along your folds. “Are you ready for me?”
You whine in response. It’s a redundant question, he knows. Your folds are glistening, drenched in your excitement.
Over Beau’s head, he lines himself up and slowly sinks himself into your wet, hot, pussy. His eyes flutter shut as you squeeze around him. “So tight, so perfect,” he whimpers.
The praise has you pushing your hips back into him. He fills you up completely, thick and veiny. The dual attention leaves you dizzy, Dean slowly rocking into you as Beau’s tongue circles your clit again. Your thighs quivering around Beau’s face.
Tears prick your eyes in frustration as Beau’s mouth leaves yours. You were so close, “why,” you whine. Beau tilts his head up, tongue coming to where Dean disappears inside of you. As Dean plunges into you, Beau licks along the vein of his dick.
Dean pulls back slowly, letting the tip catch on you.
“Look at our greedy girl clenching around nothing.” You never should have let them know just how much you like it when they’re mean and teasing.
“I know you want to see your boyfriend taste you on my cock,” Dean speaks to you sweetly, a stark contrast to the lewd things coming from his mouth.
“I do,” you whine. You want to turn, but Dean keeps one hand pressed against your lower back. Beau’s got his arms locked around your waist too.
You can hear the sound of slurping, as Beau tastes you on his ‘best friend’.
Desperate for some friction, to be touched, you grind down on Beau’s chin.
“Ow, are we not paying you enough attention?”
“Please,” you sob. They’ve been edging you for almost half an hour now, bringing you close then leaving you dry. You need to cum.
“Ok, I’ve got you.”
Dean slides back into you as Beau takes your clit in his mouth again. Both moving with renewed vigour and a determination to make you cum.
“I could stay like this forever, buried deep inside you. I never want to leave.”
“Mhm,” Beau agrees around your clit.
Nails digging into Beau’s thighs, your mouth falls open as you wantonly moan.
You can tell Dean’s close as his thrusts get sloppy. He practically folds over you as he buries himself into you.
“F-Fuck, I’m… Fuckkkk.” Dean holds you in place as he squirts ropey cum into you. You feel the coil tightening in your belly, the pleasure rising up your body at the feeling of being so full and so surrounded.
“Yes, yes, I’m gonna-” your words cut off as your orgasm crashes over you. You collapse forward, falling onto Beau as you clench around Dean’s softening erection. He winces, he’s too sensitive but he doesn’t want to come out of you yet.
“That’s it, cum for us,” Dean coos, your body twitching as you come down.
Beau keeps his mouth on you throughout, not sucking, just on you gently. You hiss as Dean slides out, somehow feeling over and under stimulated at the same time. His cum leaks out of you, dripping onto Beau’s face.
You’re given no more time to rest as Dean lifts you by the waist again. You’re not small, but you’re flung around like you’re weightless. The joys of being with athletes, you muse to yourself as you’re flipped over.
There’s a lewd squelch as you’re lowered down onto Beau’s still stiff erection. A mixture of your wetness and Dean’s leftover cum making it an easy slide down him.
You’re spent but you want to do this for Beau. You lean forward, hands resting on his chest as you grind down into him. You rock your hips a few times, Beau’s dick circling around your walls.
Beau looks up at you, dark pupils blown as he takes you in.
“You’re so beautiful,” his voice is strained.
Pulling you down so you’re chest to chest, Beau plants his feet on the mattress and fucks up into you. Each thrust sends Dean’s load deeper into you.
Despite your fatigue, when he hits that sweet spot inside you, you feel the coil start to tighten again.
Dean’s fingers slide in between you two. He knows just the right amount of pressure to apply, just the right way to circle you, and just the things to whisper to you, to get you to cum again. You cry out against Beau’s shoulder.
Your pussy is swollen and sensitive but Beau’s so close.
“Please… I can’t,” your voice is hoarse, your body is tingling.
“You can,” Dean calls. “You can take it.” He strokes your cheek, it’s soft and intimate. If you really couldn’t take it, you knew the word to say to get all activity to stop. They know you know it, you confirmed it before you started this, so Beau continues pounding into you through your whines.
“I’m almost there,” Beau grunts.
Beau spills inside of you, his cum mixing with Dean’s inside of you. You feel him twitch inside of you as he continues shooting ropey cum into you. You’re sticky, hole overflowing with cum, but content.
As aways, Dean’s ready with a warm washcloth to clean you up.
Beau rolls out of the bed to open the window. He spots your book, the one that inspired today’s activities and smiles fondly.
“This book of yours is incredible,” Beau says, flipping through the pages.
“Yeah, big fan,” Dean smirks, “What’s next?”
“Well, there is this one…” you start, “how open minded are we all?”
☄︎ Warnings: NSFW, oral (m!receiving), not proofread,
☄︎ Pairing: fem!Reader x Dean Di Laurentis
☄︎ Rating: 18+, MDNI
☄︎ Words: 1299
☄︎ AN: sigh, when will i be free of my smutty obsession with dean? not any time soon clearly, so you're welcome. enjoy!
You’re sat down in the kitchen, a long forgotten open textbook, laptop, and notepad lie in front of you on the table. You hadn’t meant to get distracted; you were diligently taking notes in the beginning. Now, you’re chewing on the end of your pencil, eyes half-lidded and mouth-watering.
Dean Di Laurentis is standing in front of a whiteboard, passionately explaining the topic of your most recent lecture. He had fully committed to the bit, wearing a white shirt that stretched over his muscles every time he moved and a pair of fake glasses.
You nodded your head and added a ‘hmm’ every so often, but you hadn’t caught a single word he was saying, your mind too preoccupied with how badly you want to devour him.
Your lecturer was awful; he could barely understand the content himself let alone deliver it to your class. You left every lecture more confused and with more questions than you had gone in with. The stress of worrying about how you’d pass this course had bubbled over a few weeks ago, resulting in you giving Dean an attitude that he didn’t deserve. You still regret your behaviour but he never held it against you. He just told you not to worry, that he would make sure you got the help you needed.
You weren’t sure what he meant until you saw him up late one night, almost missing practice the next day as he was teaching himself what you needed to know. Each day he’d learn a bit, then pass on his newly-acquired knowledge to you.
Dean was a quick study; you knew that came from years of hard-work and wealthy parents that actually prioritised education over nepotism. It still never failed to amaze you how smart he was though.
“Pay attention to my class.” Dean’s fingers snap inches from your face, pulling you from your thoughts.
“Sorry,” you mumble, a blush creeping across your face. You really were trying to focus. It’s not your fault that you feel this way. He is incredibly smart, handsome, and he’s good to you. What other man would spend time learning on behalf of someone else?
The last part of his ‘class’ goes by quickly, despite how distracted you were throughout it; you still think you have enough notes to help you understand things a bit better. I should thank him, you think to yourself.
“Professor,” you call. Dean looks up at you, one eyebrow raised. “I think I’m going to have to drop your class, even with your instruction, I’m still failing.”
Dean knows that’s not true; you aced the practice test you were assigned last week. He stands tall, chest puffed as he takes on the stoic professor persona.
He says your name in a way that makes your stomach backflip. “That’s disappointing. You showed real promise in my class.”
“Well, I suppose if there was a way I could earn some extra credit, I wouldn’t have to drop the class.” You undo the top button of your cardigan as you stalk over to him, a not so innocent smile curving your lips.
Dean watches your approach over the rim of his fake glasses. “Did you have anything in mind?”
You stop inches away from him and place your finger under the waistband of his trousers. Looking up at him through your lashes, you run your finger across the skin under the waistband. “I have a few ideas.”
Dean smirks down at you but doesn’t move, leaving the ball in your court. You stand on your tip-toes to press a soft kiss to his jaw. He’s wearing that cologne that makes you want to bury your face in his neck, so you do.
“You smell so good, professor.” At your words, Dean tilts his head slightly, moaning as you lick and nibble at the soft flesh there.
“I’m very passionate about your class,” you say as you trace his dick through his trousers. “I really want to show you just how passionate I am, can I do that?”
Dean’s blonde hair flails around as he aggressively nods his head.
“Thank you,” you purr.
Dean makes a strangled noise as you grab hold of him through his trousers. You can feel him hardening under your touch.
“My mouth is literally watering at the thought of having you hot and heavy on my tongue. I just know your dick’s big.”
Dean blushes under your praise. You love how expressive he is, the simplest things you do having him turn into a desperate mess.
Your hand slips under the waistband of his trousers again, this time, you grab hold of him. He’s warm and throbbing against your palm.
You stand on your tip-toes to kiss him again. He kisses you back with such force that you stumble back. His hand comes to the back of your head as his arm wraps around your waist. He’s desperate, all composure lost as a low groan is moaned into your mouth.
His erection is straining his pants, begging to be freed. You unfasten his trousers and pull them, along with his boxers, down. His dick springs free, almost hitting you as you continue pulling his clothes off of his legs. He steps free of them.
The sight of the pretty pink leaking tip has you licking your lips, and his dick twitches in response to you. “Mhmm,” you murmur.
You pull Dean over to the couch. He gets comfortable as you settle on your knees between his legs. You waste no time in wrapping your hand around the base of his dick and he can’t help but arch into your hand.
You lap your tongue over the slit of his dick, humming contently as you taste his salty precum. He swallows hard and rests his head against the back of the couch. “F-F-fuck...”
You lick your way up his dick, following a particularly prominent vein. His eyes close as press kisses to his pink tip.
“Your cock is so beautiful,” you say.
“You’re so beautiful,” he replies, making you snort in laughter. He tries to articulate his thoughts as you press another kiss to the tip. Dean whimpers as you take him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and sucking on there.
“Fuck, so…fucking…good.” He’s trying not to thrust up into you; he wants to let you do all the work but it’s not in his nature.
You place one hand on his abdomen before taking him deeper into your mouth. You feel his abs contract under your hand, his body trembling as you bob your head along his length. You let his dick hit the back of your throat on each descent down.
Dean looks down to watch the way your swollen lips roll over him. A mixture of spit and precum collects on the corners of your mouth and runs down your chin. He begs for you to increase your pace, your mouth sloppily moving over him.
“I’m gonna… I’m not… not long.”
He sounds so undone that you moan around his length.
Dean cums with your name on his lips. The thick white spurts of cum run down your throat and you swallow every last drop. His body jerks as you continue gently sucking on him.
You don’t take your lips off of him until there’s nothing more to milk and his dick softens in your mouth.
You sit back on your heels and look up at him. His chest is heaving and he’s running his hand through his hair.
“Have I earnt my extra credit?” You ask, trying your best to make it sound like an innocent, earnest question.
“Not yet,” he breathes, still trying to catch his breath, “I have a few things to show you.”
☄︎ Warnings: NSFW, Threesome, alcohol & drinking, everybody smoochin, oral (m! & f! receiving), not proofread
☄︎ Pairing: Dean Di Laurentis x fem!Reader x Beau Maxwell
☄︎ Rating: 18+, MDNI
☄︎ Words: 2639
☄︎ AN: Ask and you shall recieve (mostly). Written for this ask x
"This is my song!" You shout as the familiar dun-dun-dun-dun of Act Up starts blasting through the stereo speakers.
As if on auto pilot, you lean forward and look back over your shoulder, not caring who your eyes land on as you anchor your hands firmly onto your knees.
Locking into the beat, you drive your hips back in time with each drop of the heavy bass, sending a sharp ripple through your body as your ass moves in sync.
Beau’s standing to the side watching you dance as he waits for his invitation. He knows you’ll give it; you just need to dance to a few songs on your own first.
He watches you through countless songs, body moving appropriately to whatever the beat required. The song changes into a slower song and you gesture him over with a curl of your index finger.
Your boyfriend comes to stand behind you, hands on your waist as you gyrate to the music. Beau doesn’t need to guide you, if there’s one thing you know, it’s how to feel the beat of the music through your body. You push your ass back and roll your waist, “Fuck,” he groans into your ear.
Your arms raise to the air and your hands find his dark hair. He pulls you impossibly closer, nuzzling into your neck as one slow song blends into the other. Taylor really did have the best assists.
Another pair of hands find your waist and you look up to see Dean smiling down at you.
“Hey gorgeous,” you purr as you wrap your arms around his neck.
The three of you find a comfortable rhythm. Hips swaying and twisting to the music. You feel warm, the mixture of the alcohol in your veins taking effect and the bodies moving around you acting as a furnace.
“Should we take this party upstairs?” Beau’s breath tickles your neck.
You look up at him. He has that look in his eyes, the one that completely contradicts his sweet, dimpled, smile.
“Great idea,” you smile, slipping out from between them. You grab hold of Beau’s hand and pull him behind you, swerving through the crowd with ease and running up the stairs. You’re well aware that your too-short skirt is putting on a show for anyone that happened to look up as you were going up the stairs.
Dean doesn’t need to be invited to know that he’s supposed to follow you both up the stairs. The unspoken agreement between you all having been in play for months now. He stops at the makeshift bar at the bottom of the stairs, his blonde hair catching in the strobe lights, as he grabs the tequila, salt, and limes.
Once you get into Dean’s room, you pull your shirt over your head and lie back on the bed. You know the drill by now, but the familiar routine does nothing to quell the spike of anticipation in your chest.
Dean comes bumbling in seconds later, a careful smile playing on his face when he sees you’re ready for him. He quickly pours two shots, placing one small shot glass in each hand for you to hold. You focus your attention on balancing them as Beau leans over you, his dark eyes locked onto yours as he carefully shakes two thin lines of salt across your stomach, stopping just under the lace of your bra.
Dean puts the bottle of tequila on the nightstand and places a lime wedge firmly between your breasts before shooting you a wink.
“Open up,” Beau coos, placing his lime firmly in your mouth.
Your stomach knots, they’re both towering over you and looking at you with a ravenous desire. It’s intoxicating.
They slowly come to a kneel on the bed either side of you.
“Ready?” Dean asks, as they put their hands behind their back.
You nod your head, careful not to move to much and spill the shots balancing on your palms. In unison, they lean forward to pick up their respective shot with their mouth. It’s a competition now with them quickly downing the shot and spitting out the glass.
Dean gets to your stomach first, using the tip of his tongue to lick the salt. Beau’s tongue is flat and flush against your stomach. He licks a fat stripe up and past your chest. You feel his warm breath against your skin and it leaves a trail of goosebumps.
Dean gently bites one of your breasts before taking the lime that’s there as Beau’s lips meets yours to suck the juice from the lime. The blonde presses his face further into your breasts, thrusting his tongue between them.
“You look so fucking pretty like this,” Dean calls, lifting his face from where it was buried between your breasts. “Doesn’t she look so fucking pretty, Beau.”
“You really do look so pretty.” Your boyfriend accompanies his words with a kiss to the tip of your nose.
You smile around the half-eaten lime that’s still in your mouth. You and Beau had been dating a little while before Dean came into the mix. You couldn’t understand why he was so hesitant to introduce you to his best friend. That is, until you saw them together. You saw the bond that he was afraid you’d see and run from. He worried you’d feel jealous and make him choose. But you didn’t feel jealous; you saw it for the opportunity it was.
The night you finally suggested bringing Dean into your shared bed, Beau had pinned you down and fucked you so fiercely that even days later, just the memory alone was enough to leave you completely breathless and aching all over again.
You shiver as the cold tequila is poured directly into your bellybutton. Two fresh lines of salt are sprinkled across your stomach, and the old limes are replaced. Taking their places on either side of you again, the men exchange a quick smile before leaning forward. Their tongues dive into your navel, brushing against one another as they lap up the liquid pooled there.
They make quick work of sucking up the liquid that had overspilled before tracing the salt lines up your ribs, each using their tongues in different ways. You love the way your body reacts to them.
This time, it’s Dean that moves up to your face. Instead of just taking the lime, he plucks it from your teeth and replaces it with his own mouth. He runs his tongue along your bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth until you dart your tongue out to meet his. He catches your tongue between his lips and sucks on it. He tastes of sharp tequila and a deep, intoxicating familiarity that should be reserved for your boyfriend.
Blonde hair falls across your face as he deepens the kiss, you had told him that you liked it when he kept it longer, he hasn’t cut it since.
Heat pools in your belly as Beau gently pulls down the cup of your bra away from your breast. His warm mouth settles over your tight nipple, swirling his tongue around the sensitive skin before sucking on it. His hand is heavy on you, groping your other breast and running a calloused thumb over the sensitive nub. You moan in Dean’s mouth as Beau’s fingers pinch the nipple.
The sensation of having four hands roaming your body and two mouths on yours sends your heart racing. Your short nails scratch Beau’s scalp, urging him on. Your other hand makes its way between your legs where you’re aching to be touched. You run your hands through your slick folds and a satisfied hum escapes your lips.
Your boyfriend releases your nipple and stands up, yanking his shirt over his head and pulling off his jeans. He watches as Dean leaves a trail of kisses down your body, the blonde repositioning himself to settle between your legs.
Dean pulls off your underwear and uses his hands to spread your knees apart. Although you’re completely comfortable with them, you feel a blush creep up your neck. You’re fully exposed as they eye you hungrily, Dean between your legs and Beau at the foot of the bed, fully naked now and gently palming himself.
Dean looks back at his best friend for approval, they were yours and each other’s, but you were Beau’s unless he told Dean otherwise. Beau gives him a curt nod.
You cry out, back arching, as Dean takes your throbbing clit into his mouth. The warmth of his mouth around you has your hips rolling. Dean moves your legs onto his shoulders and leans back to spit directly onto your pussy. He watches the spit roll down before diving back between your legs again, flicking his tongue around your folds in his journey towards your clit.
“How does it feel?” Beau asks, voice husky, “tell him how it feels.”
“Feels… fucking… incredible.” Your thoughts are incoherent; all your brain power is focused on the overwhelming pleasure. You look at Beau through hooded eyes to find him looking at you. His dick is growing in his hand as he watches Dean pleasure you. His lips are parted and you can hear his ragged breaths. You can also hear the sound of your wetness between your legs, Dean’s slurping and dragging a finger between your soaking lips.
You’re too turned on, the need to combust rising quickly within you.
Beau’s still only gently palming himself, not wanting to get too caught up. He doesn’t want to come now; he wants to be buried deep in you when that happens.
Your hips jerk up as Dean slides a finger, then two, into you. He curves them inside of you as he flicks his tongue back and forth against your clit.
The combination of the blonde between your legs and your boyfriend’s hungry gaze has you quickly spiralling to an orgasm. You shudder then cry out as your orgasm crashes over you.
“That’s it, you like that huh?” your eyes roll to the back of your head.
Both men whine at the sound of your moans, it’s their favourite song.
Dean gently pulls your leg from his shoulders; you’re still twitching as you come down from your high. A satisfied smile spread across his face, you’re a mess.
“You taste so sweet,” Dean says, as he sits back on his knees, you can see a bulge in his jeans. “I could eat you for every meal.”
“Let him know how I taste,” you encourage jerking your head towards Beau. You prop yourself up on your elbows to get a better view of the men at the foot of the bed.
Dean pulls off his shirt before climbing off of bed and pulling Beau into a hard kiss.
A jolt of electricity shoots down your body and settles in your stomach as you watch them. The sight never fails to make your breath hitch. The kiss is intense, their teeth are clashing and they’re moaning into each other’s mouths. There’s no jealousy in you, no concern that you’ll be pushed to the side. You unlocked this side of them and you get to reap the rewards of that.
Dean grabs the back of your boyfriend’s neck, deepening the kiss. You swallow hard, your hand coming between your legs again. You’re already slick, aching for the weight of them to pin you down.
Beau pulls back to unbutton Dean’s jeans, pushing the denim and boxers down Dean’s thighs in one motion. Dean kicks them off the rest of the way.
Both of their chests are heaving, grasping for air as they turn their gazes to you. You’ve taken off your bra and skirt, legs spread open and you’re frantically circling your clit.
“Look at her,” Beau murmurs, his voice thick with desire.
“Lie back, baby,” you breathe, “wanna ride you.”
Beau sits on the edge of the bed and lies back. He looks at you and slaps his thighs. “Come take a seat.”
Dean stands between Beau’s open legs and grabs hold of his erection. He helps guide you over Beau’s hips and down onto his hard, leaking, dick.
“Can you feel how wet I am for you?” You whine, taking him in inch by inch. The way you stretch around his thick dick feels so good, you take a minute to feel it before bracing your hands against his chest and beginning to bounce in a steady rhythm.
Beau’s hands slide along your thighs; your breasts are bouncing with each thrust.
“Dean, look at how my pretty girl takes me in,” Beau grunts. You make a show of riding him; lewd moans escape your lips as you alternate between bouncing and rolling your hips.
Dean’s still between Beau’s legs, taking care of himself with his hand. That won’t do. “Dean, come here. Wanna taste you.”
Your mouth waters, you love sucking off Beau but Dean’s dick is heavier and it falls on your tongue in just the right way.
You turn your head to the side as Dean comes to stand beside you, squatting down a little so you can take him in your mouth. Your tongue swirls around the tip before you take him all in. His neatly trimmed pubic hair tickles your nose as you bottom out.
Your bounces falter as you focus on the throbbing dick in your mouth. Dean looks down at your lips, swollen and stretched around him. “Nngh… your tongue… ah.” Dean’s babbling incoherently.
His hands come into your hair, pulling you towards him as he bucks his hips into you. “S-shit, fuck,” he whimpers and Beau’s hips snap up into you.
Every moan and whimper that your mouth gets out of Dean earns a snap of Beau’s hips up into you.
“That’s my girl, taking both her boys in.”
Your nails dig into Beau’s chest as Dean’s breathy moans grow louder and faster. He’s close. Your hand comes up to play with his balls and that’s all he can take. He pulls out of your mouth as he cums, wanting to coat you both with it. Warm cum trails down your chin as Dean spills the rest of his climax onto Beau’s chest.
His dick continues twitching in his palm as he comes to a seat next to you. He lazily circles your clit as Beau chases his own release, hips snapping into you in a dizzying pace. Your second orgasm hits you more forcefully than the first. Your eyes squeeze closed until you see stars. You cum with a scream of both of their names.
Engulfed in your wet, clenching, heat, Beau cries out.
“I’m gonna fill you up,” he rasps.
You don’t think you can move, too exhausted and sensitive as Beau continues fucking up into you with pace. You’re willing yourself to move your hips, you want to take good care of him.
“Fuck.” Beau holds you in place as climaxes into you. You feel him throbbing inside of you and you clench, milking him for all he can give you.
You choke back a sob as you lean forward, completely spent.
Dean’s there immediately, wrapping an arm around you and raising you off of Beau’s softening dick. He lays you down and cleans you off with a washcloth. He wipes you gently, aware of how thoroughly fucked you are, and your heart tightens. He puts you under the covers before cleaning Beau up.
Once cleaned, Beau moves to press up behind you.
“Dean, cmhere,” your words slur as sleep threatens to take you over.
Dean climbs into bed beside you and you immediately snuggle into his chest.
“Happy Birthday, boys, I love you,” you say. Two pairs of arms tighten around you and you fall asleep with a smile on your face.
AN: i had 50 cent's just a lil bit on repeat with this one
☄︎ Warnings: NSFW, oral (f! recieving), smut, alcohol, not proofread
☄︎ Pairing: fem!Reader x Dean di Laurentis
☄︎ Rating: 18+, MDNI
☄︎ Words: 2864
☄︎ AN: I love this man. I need this man. That is all. Finished this one whilst I was very sleepy so very sorry for any mistakes. Please let me know if you like it! x
cr: hlfaheart for the header 𖹭
Dean doesn't live his life with regrets. Decisions of the past were taken for a reason, so stand by them.
Past Dean is an idiot, he's decided. Past Dean is the reason he's stood in the corner of a party, rather than at the centre, hand tightening around the long turned warm can of beer.
Past Dean is the reason he's stood watching you at the bar, so brazenly lean towards the man in front of you. Your mouth brushes the man's ear as you whisper something to him.
Past Dean is the reason his stomach tightens as you throw your head back in laughter at whatever the man, who's not him, responded to you. He couldn't possibly be that funny.
Past Dean should have never agreed when you'd implied that this was just sex, a fling, something he didn't need to remain exclusive for. To be fair, he was balls deep in you at the time. You were clenched around him in that way that made his mind go numb. If he'd had the ability to think, he would have told you absolutely not, flipped you over, and fucked you so right you would have given up the ridiculous notion that this could be anything but an emotional, exclusive thing.
But he hadn't and now he's living with a regret. He's living with a hammering in his chest and pit in his stomach every time he sees you even breathe near someone that could be your type. He's never been the jealous type, but here he stands, unable to tear his eyes away from watching you allow a man, that's not him, to leave lingering touches.
He doesn't blame the man for being so caught up in you. You were a flame. You danced like nobody was watching (even though you knew everybody was watching you).
He doesn't even blame you. You can't help but be magnetic.
He blames himself.
He blames the time he wasted. Yeah, sure, in the beginning it was just a fling. By now, it was hard to think of the life you had built together as just a fling. The hours spend on late night drives around the campus, the endless texting, the way you calmed his nerves before a big game, the sweaty sex, the way you had taken the impromptu run in with his family in the Hamptons house in stride... you were meant to be in his life.
Dean's vision of you is blurred as a hand waves across his face.
"Dude, stop starting, it's getting creepy."
Dean knows Beau's just being polite. He's been staring long enough that it's way past creepy, has he even blinked?
Dean takes the shot that Beau hands out to him, downing it immediately. The alcohol burns in the best way, giving his stomach a feeling other than hollowness. Beau hands him one more shot. "Down that then go get your girl!"
Dean looks at him in shock. He thought you guys had been discrete.
"I have eyes and I'm not an idiot. I've been trapped in a car with you both. Don't insult my emotional intelligence here," Beau says, his eyes soft as he sees the torment his best friend is going through.
Dean's face begins to heat. "Then I'm sure you've seen how one-sided this is. She's not my girl," he snaps, instantly feeling bad. Beau doesn't deserve his attitude. Great, another regret.
Beau moves to stand in front of Dean, blocking his line of sight to you. "Look here," Beau commands, pointing to his eyes with his index and middle finger in a V shape.
"She. like. you." Beau speaks as if he's talking to a child who doesn't understand complex speech.
"She likes me so much she's spent all night flirting with some random."
"She. make. you. jealous."
Dean ponders that for a minute. It would make sense; he had caught your eyes flicking over to him occasionally. He had noticed that you'd flirt harder with the man once you knew he was still watching.
Dean chuckles to himself. Clearly you knew just how wrapped around your finger he was and was taking full advantage of it.
"I love you," Dean says, grabbing hold of Beau's face and kissing him on the forehead, "Genuis."
Dean dances his way over to you, arms raised and body swaying to the music.
He approaches and a self-satisfied smile plays on your lips. You eye him like a fisherman that's caught the catch of the day. You knew he'd come over eventually, and you probably thought he'd be burning with rage. Dean is not too old to be playing games; he'll play one with you.
"Dean," you purr, "this is Chase." Dean sees the way you place your hand on Chase's knee.
"Dean, great party my man." Chase extends a hand towards Dean. He takes it all too happily.
"It's good to have you here, man, thanks for coming." Dean tries hard to contain his amusement as the smile falls from your face.
Dean scoots in between you both and leans back on his elbows against the bar.
"So how long has cute thing been going on," Dean continues, index finger pointing between the two of you.
"Almost two-" Chase begins.
"We're going to dance now," you cut Chase off, jumping out of your seat.
"Wait," Dean calls, grabbing your wrist to stop you walking off. "Don't go."
Dean watches as your eyes flicker nervously to Chase. He doesn't want to hurt the guy, but he's also not just going to let you walk away with him.
"I've learnt my lesson." Dean studies the way his words cause a shift in your face. You pull your hand out of his grasp.
"That explains some things," Chase says, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "Respectfully, I'm going to bow out here. I don't do messy."
"Chase, I'm so sorry," you say, voice quiet. You're looking at the ground, guilt evident in your face.
"It's all good, I hope it all works out for you both. I'm going to go enjoy the free booze," Chase keeps his voice light and Dean finds some respect for the man he's been cursing in his head.
"You're an arsehole, you know that, right?" Your jaw clenches.
"Let's talk about why I'm an arsehole."
You jerk your head in the direction of the stairs. Dean takes your hand and this time you don't pull away. He leads you up the stairs and into his room.
⋆꙳⛸❅*‧⛸‧*❆₊⛸⋆❆⋆꙳⛸❅*‧⛸‧*❆₊⛸⋆❆⋆꙳⛸❅*‧⛸‧*❆₊⛸⋆❆
You whirl around the second you close the door; arms crossed tightly over your chest. "You humiliated Chase down there. He was a nice guy and he didn't deserve that."
"I'm sure he'd be grateful that I saved him from being a pawn in your game." Dean's words send white-heat down your body but you take a few breaths before responding. You know you've both had alcohol and you don't want to say something in the heat of the moment.
"I wasn't using him, Dean." Your voice is levelled, "We've been on a few dates."
"Oh." Dean drops his gaze to the floor, deliberately avoiding your eyes.
His reaction only spikes your annoyance.
"You don't get to play boyfriend when it suits you." You don't mean to be that harsh, but the words hit their mark. It wasn’t fair that he felt intitled to you but he didn’t want to commit to you.
Dean recoils as if he’s been slapped. When his eyes flash back up to yours, you see no anger in them, just something raw and desperate.
"Play boyfriend?" Dean steps forward, closing the distance between you. "Is that really how you see me?"
You cross your arms even tighter and shift on your feet, suddenly feeling entirely too exposed under his intense gaze. You can feel a faint thumping vibrating through you, unsure if that's the bass from the music downstairs or your heart trying to escape.
You press flat against the door as Dean closes the final inches between you. His warmth radiates off of him. The scent of cologne mixed with alcohol is entirely too familiar. He always smells divine and it's messing with your head.
"I don't want to play your boyfriend. I want to be your boyfriend and it's killing me to watch you pretend otherwise."
Your heart is thumping so loud you're not sure you're hearing correctly. The anger that you felt is gone, replaced by a sudden, dizzying wave of vulnerability.
Dean sinks to his knees in front of you, grabbing your hips and resting his forehead against your cushy stomach. His hold is firm and desperately tight.
"Please,” he mutters into your shirt, “nobody else. Only me."
He tilts his head up to look at you, his eyes looking nearly black in the dim bedroom light.
"Dean," you breathe, voice trembling. You instinctively run your hands through his hair. "I... I don't..."
Dean's jaw tightens. He pulls back as the grip on your waist loosens. "Right. Okay. I get it-"
You can see the look of defeat on his face and your heart tightens, "No, that's not what I meant."
Dean freezes, his eyes searching yours, desperate and intense. His vulnerability shakes you; it makes you want to tell him everything.
"I only went out with him because I was terrified,” you confess, “Dean, you don't do commitment, and I didn't want you to think that I was trying to trap you into it. I forced myself to date someone else because I knew that if I kept letting myself fall for you, I'd end up completely broken when you inevitably walked away."
A ragged and heavy breath escapes Dean's lips. The confirmation that you are just as deeply invested as him lights a pleasant fire in his chest.
His obsession with you is bordering unhealthy and you think there's a chance that he'd walk away from you? Beau was right.
"We are so stupid," Dean laughs.
"Come here," you whisper, tugging on Dean's hair to get him to stand.
Dean stands, his mouth crashing onto yours. The kiss isn't gentle. It's a bruising, desperate, expression of months of suppressed feelings, the jealousy from downstairs, and a desire to make you forget anyone else ever existed.
He hooks his hands under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as he walks you back toward the bed. You tumble onto the sheets together, the air leaving your lungs as his heavy frame falls on yours. You open your legs to accommodate him between you.
Dean doesn't give you time to breathe. He continues kissing you with a frantic rhythm, demanding every single drop of your attention.
Dean leans back and runs his thumb over your lower lip. "You're beautiful."
He leans in again, hovering over your parted lips. You feel his soft, warm, breath against you. Your heart's beating so fast you feel dizzy, swept up in the moment.
He cups your cheeks and kisses you again. You have to remind yourself how to breathe.
Your nails rake through his hair as he moves his kisses to your neck.
"Oh, fuck," you say, your head falling back as Dean begins sucking on the skin there.
You hook your leg around his waist, feeling like you're in heat with the way you're rutting and rolling your hips up against his growing erection.
Dean says your name in warning, his breath tickling your neck. Your name always sounds so sensual when he says it, you feel your panties getting damper.
You whine when Dean takes his lips from your neck. "Patience, baby."
He pulls your leg from around his waist so he can slide down the bed. You lift your hips to hike up your dress. He scoots down further until he's hovering over your clothed pussy.
"You're so wet for me, baby." He gets harder looking at the soaked fabric of your panties, signalling your obvious arousal.
"Just for you," you mewl.
Dean spreads your legs further as he nuzzles his face between your legs. His nose feels wet as he presses it against the patch on your panties.
"Fuck, you smell so good." He presses his face deeper into your heat, breathing you in so deeply it sounds like a growl.
"Please," you beg, you can't stop your hips from rolling again. You don't know exactly what you're begging for. You just need more.
Dean gets to his knees and hooks his fingers around the waistband of your panties, eager to take them off to get better access to you. You're all too eager to help, raising your hips to aid him. He pulls them off and shoves them into his pocket.
"For later," he tells you, a wicked smile on his face.
Dean lies back down between your legs. He blows directly on your pussy, watching as you clench around nothing. He has no plans to tease you, this time, he just wants to take care of you.
Dean leans in, the heat of his breath against you making you whimper.
"I know, baby, I know. It's okay," he soothes.
Dean parts your lips with his index and middle finger. He licks a fat stripe then immediately turns his attention to where you're most sensitive.
Your eyes are half-lidded, he's flicking and swishing his tongue on your clit, you can't imagine you'll last long. He removes his mouth, immediately replacing it with his thumb. He alternates the pressure, pressing harder then softer as he circles your clit.
"Wanna kiss you," you say, tugging him up by his hair.
Dean obliges, keeping one hand working between your legs as he slides back up your body so he can kiss you. You taste yourself on his mouth.
"You can cum for me, baby."
The orgasm rips through you effortlessly, you keep eye contact with Dean as your body jerks with the effects of your release running through you.
Dean holds and praises throughout, whispering sweet nothings about how perfect you look cumming for him. He waits until your body's stopped moving to pull away. He pulls his shirt off first, the sight of his defined abs making your mouth water. His trousers and pants come off in quick succession, he's hard and leaking.
You eye him hungrily, breath hitching as he climbs back between your legs and hikes your dress up a little further.
"Going to fuck you nice and slow because I can see how badly you need it."
Your hands grip the sheets as Dean taps his erection on your clit, still a little sensitive. He wipes the head of his dick around your arousal before slowly pushing in.
He sinks into you inch by inch, purposely taking his time to drive you crazy. You can feel every vein on his dick; it's a perfect fit inside you.
You moan in tandem as he slowly starts to thrust. As he watches your eyes roll back, he thrusts harder doing everything he can to hear more of your breathy moans.
The headboard slams against the wall in time with the beat coming from the bass downstairs. Your toes curl as you watch where he slides in and out of you, disappearing as you take him all in.
"Fuck, you feel so good," he says in between breaths.
You wrap your legs around his waist as he leans forward onto you, large arms caging you in. This angle has him hitting your sweet spot, your walls clenching tightly around him. He growls your name as he picks up the pace, unable to stop himself from frantically thrusting into you.
One hand comes to caress your face again before he grabs your chin, forcing you to look up at him. "Whose girl are you?"
"Dean's girl," you cry out, fingers tangling in the sheets. "I'm Dean's girl."
"That's right, baby."
Sweat begins to glisten on his skin and you open your mouth, begging for a droplet of his salty sweat.
You thrust up to meet him, using your legs around him as leverage to pull him deeper into you. You can tell he's close, his voice breaks as he babbles incoherently and his thrusts become erratic.
His hand sneaks between your legs again and the pressure builds easily. Your moans are breathy as you get closer to your climax. A coil in your stomach tightens then snaps, waves of pleasure travelling through your body. You wantonly scream as your vision goes white.
Dean thrusts through your orgasm, seconds away from his own. You feel him pulse, your walls sensitive, before he cries out your name as he cums. You're filled with warmth as he releases inside of you, dick twitching as he unloads fully.
He doesn’t pull out immediately. He continues slowly thrusting inside you, body jerking and convulsing as you purposely clench around him again.
Dean collapses against you, panting heavily. You lean up, licking his neck to taste the sweat there.
"That was incredible," you praise. He loves it when you praise him.
"No more dates with other men," he begs, voice raw and exhausted against your ear.
"No more," you agree, pressing a kiss to Dean's forehead.
☄︎ 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.
Summary: your older brother Santi has always been against you dating his hot best friend, Frankie Morales, so when the cockblocker leaves town for a week, you work out a daring plan to seduce the man of your wet dreams.
Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, fluff, not specified age gap, brother’s best friend Frankie, soft dom vibes Frankie, horny reader, seductress reader, use of a sex toy, f!masturbation, fingering, nipple play, fem!oral duh! it’s Frankie, soooo many orgasms, unprotected piv, Frankie has a huge cock, creampie, praise kink, pussy pronouns, swearing, mention of a gun use, mention of a belly bulge.
Word count: 6,5k
A/n: I’m so excited to finally share this story with you all! I’ve been working on it for a while and fell in love with the characters, especially with reader (she’s a menace lol) I hope the fic will make you horny and maybe you’ll get a few giggles out of it idk Wet kisses to @milla-frenchy for beta-ing and being mine♥️ The title was inspired by the lyrics of ‘I touch myself’ by Divinyls. Dividers by @cursed-carmine 💞
Frankie Morales Masterlist || MASTERLIST
You'd been into Frankie Morales for a few months now but just like Romeo and Juliet you two couldn't be together. All because of your cockblocking brother Santi who stood in your way into Frankie's pants. Pants with a very prominent bulge at that!
Every time you checked out his hot best friend at a party or a casual get-together, Santi hissed into your ear, "Don't even think about it!" Every time you noticed Frankie's brown eyes linger on you, your brother would pull the man of your wet dreams aside and read him a lecture. Probably something about you being too young for him, or Frankie's lifestyle being too chaotic to share with his precious sister, yadda, yadda, yadda.
Of course, you still loved your brother and his concerns were reasonable. Santi wanted only the best for you, and dating a military guy, who was away most of the year, doing some risky shit, wasn't the life he envisioned for you. Still it was hard to suppress anger, burning in your chest. Who gave him the right to say who you could or couldn't date?
Being fed up with Santi's control, you finally decided to act and get Frankie to dick you down behind your brother's back.
A perfect opportunity arose when Santi left for a week-long work trip. Frankie and him were roommates so as soon as your brother’s plane took off you appeared on their apartment’s doorstep with your bags. Batting your lashes at the man, you lied that your building had a rat infestation and Santi offered you his room to stay in during the extermination. Frankie furrowed his eyebrows. He wasn’t an idiot and probably greatly doubted that his friend let his younger sister live with him but luckily for you there was no way to check it — Santi was in some remote country in the middle of nowhere, impossible to contact. You applied all your acting skills to sound convincing and your pleading eyes softened the man’s already tender heart.
“Thank you, Frankie,” you purred, stepping through the door, biting your lip and hiding a triumphant smile.
And just like that the game was on. Frankie and you began living together and you were doing everything in your power to seduce him. You made sure to wear as little clothing as possible, parading around the house with your ass and tits almost out but to your dismay Frankie avoided you like a plague. As soon as you would settle next to him on the sofa, ready to watch whatever he had on at that time, he fled to his room under some lame excuse.
You even tried to cook for him and he seemed grateful when you did, but always stayed respectful, praising you, while you needed him to disrespectfully bend you over the kitchen counter and fuck your brains out.
Nothing seemed to work. The week was almost over and you were getting desperate until an idea popped into your mind. The plan was quite ballsy but you saw no other option to get that cock. It was a matter of ‘go big or go home’. Literally.
One evening when Frankie was in the apartment you ran yourself a nice bubble bath in the shared bathroom, undressed, hoping it was the last time you wore clothes that night, and got in. You took a deep breath of the sweet strawberry scent and laid back comfortably in the hot tub. Show time!
“Frankieeee!” You shouted, calling your new roommate. “Frankieee!!”
A few seconds later you heard his velvet voice from behind the door.
“Yes?”
“Frankie, I need your help,” you whined loudly so he could hear. “I’m taking a bath and I already got in but .. ugh.. I forgot something in my room.”
“What? Towels?” Frankie’s voice was getting quieter — he was probably on his way to your bedroom.
“No-no-no! It’s … Can you get me my vibe, please.”
There was ringing silence behind the door until Frankie cleared his throat and asked,
“Your what?”
“My vibe! Vibrator, Frankie.… Can you bring it to me? The bedside table. Top drawer.”
His nervous chuckle followed your words.
“Sweetheart…,” he started saying but you interrupted him,
“Oh, c’mon! We’re both adults. Don’t be such a prude!”
That did it. His ego was probably hurt by your name calling and you heard a sigh.
“‘K. Second.”
Your lips spread into a grin. Everything was going according to plan.
A few moments later you heard footsteps.
“Here”, Frankie said and his hand appeared in the door gap. You giggled, seeing him carefully holding your toy only with his finger tips.
“Frankie, I’m in the tub,” you reminded him with a slight annoyance in your voice. “Can you give it to me, please?”
He seemed hesitant so you added,
“There’re lots of bubbles. You won’t see a thing.”
“Ok,” he said after another sigh and then raised his voice to announce, “I’m coming in!”
Oh poor, clueless Frankie! Thinking that you don’t want him to see you naked meanwhile that was the main thing you’d been after for months.
He walked in with his eyes squeezed shut, his head turned away from you, his cheeks rosy with embarrassment, and you smiled at how unbearably cute he was.
But adoration wasn’t the only thing you were feeling. Frankie was wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and a dark t-shirt and your hungry eyes immediately slid over his big strong body. Even submerged in water you got wetter, checking him out.
“Hey, don't be silly!” you giggled. “You can look, I’m all covered.”
The man slightly opened his eyes, holding his arm stretched so you’d take the vibe from him, yet you didn’t rush to do it. You waited until he was standing by the tub. His gaze quickly slid over the foamy water surface and his chest expanded. You hoped that a twitch of his brow was a sign of disappointment. He couldn’t take a peek and it was on purpose — you didn’t want to seem desperate though you definitely were.
“See? Nothing scandalous,” you said, giving him a sweet smile, and only then took the vibe from his big hand.
“Santi’d kill me if he saw us right now,” Frankie mumbled with a nervous smile, watching you grab the toy at the base and start ‘mindlessly’ gliding the other hand up and down the shaft. Of course, you knew what you were doing.
“Santi wouldn’t do shit,” you said confidently, playing with the sex toy in your hands. “And he’s not the boss of me. I’m a big girl.”
Frankie hummed, his eyes glued to your wet hand that was slowly jerking off the toy. When you swiped your thumb over the silicone tip, the man swallowed hard, and you had to drop your head to hide a happy smile.
To your joy Frankie wasn’t in a rush to leave the room. Instead he crossed his arms in front of his broad chest, and gliding his thumb over the lower lip, mused,
“Never seen this model before.”
Your surprise was so big that you almost dropped the vibe into the water. Having collected yourself quickly, you asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible,
“Really?” At that point your heart was pounding, your pussy was aching, your core was burning with desire. Being naked with the man you’d wanted for so long, you were a horny mess. Still you took a deep breath and said, looking up at him, “It’s a popular model. They call it ‘the rabbit’.”
“Rabbit?” Frankie chuckled, his cheeks growing red. You nodded. “Yeah, because of the ears I guess.” You immediately seized the opportunity to paint him a vivid picture.
“This part…,” you glided the tip of your finger up the shaft, “— goes inside me. And this one —,” you pinched a thinner, smaller part with little ‘ears’ - “—stimulates my clit.”
You glanced at Frankie as you finished talking, hoping to see the effect of your words. And hell yeah you did! The man was listening to you with his eyes half-lidded, rubbing his scruffy cheek with a big palm, while his chest was rising and falling rapidly. He was shifting on his bare feet, getting progressively hard, judging by the tent in his sweats.
When Frankie caught you looking at his crotch he cleared his throat and quickly grabbed a towel off the rack to hide his hard-on.
“I’m not getting out yet, Frankie,” you smiled. He was so cute when he was embarrassed.
“Oh, ok… yeah… just… this one’s not fresh,” he mumbled, nodding down at the towel in his arms. “I’ll get you a new one.”
You were afraid he’d leave under that shitty excuse, but Frankie surprised you again and stayed by the tub.
“And... won’t it malfunction? In the water I mean,” he said, his brows furrowed in concentration, as if he was talking about a car or something but his pupils were blown out, his forehead was sweaty and not from the heat of the bath.
“Oh no, it’s water-resistant. I use it all the time when I take a bath.”
You wanted— no, needed him to have those images flooding his mind, so you continued, still running your fingers over the toy.
“It helps me unwind after a long day. Being single, I have to find a way….” You sighed and glanced up at Frankie. It seemed like he wasn’t breathing, mesmerized by your words and movements, but you had no mercy for the man so you went for the kill.
“It’s a little thick for me though,” you complained, your lips in a pout. “I always need prep.”
Frankie let out a half hum-half moan and then coughed to cover up the noise he’d made. Meanwhile you kept going,
“See, I can’t put it in all at once, I usually let it buzz against my clit first, to slowly open me up.”
You could hear Frankie panting as he was listening to you. His hand darted to his crotch under the towel and he adjusted himself.
You knew that it was it, the moment for the final strike. You searched for Frankie’s eyes and then purred, as seductively as you could,
“Frankie…. Wanna watch me use it?”
The man opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water, and then chuckled nervously, probably thinking you were joking.
“I’m serious,” you stated, your eyes glued to his.
Frankie’s smile disappeared and he clutched the towel closer to his crotch.
“Santi..,” he started.
“…Isn’t here,” you finished his sentence with a wink and then lowered your voice to a whisper. “And I’m very good at keeping secrets.”
Frankie nervously bit his lower lip and shook his head.
“No— shit, I —,” he was inching back towards the exit and fear squeezed your heart — what if he leaves right now? What if your plan fails? What if he isn’t interested in you at all and you’ve been living in a delulu land, thinking that he likes you.
When Frankie came up to the door, you were ready to cry from embarrassment. ‘I’ll pack my shit and go home,’ you thought.
Frankie’s hand was on the handle for a few long as hell seconds. Then he slowly turned around and faced you.
His expression set your body on fire — his eyes were dark, they lacked the usual warmth, instead you saw fiery lust and need in his blown out pupils.
He leaned back against the door and breathed out, “Show me.”
Frankie’s order turned you on so much, you almost came on the spot. He looked incredibly hot at that moment — arms crossed, muscles bulging, sweatpants showcasing a fat boner, his cock’s outline visible even in the steamy bathroom. You needed all that meat inside you! The stakes were really high (and huge) so you decided to give Frankie a good show.
With a ‘shy’ smile you turned the rabbit on and soft buzzing filled the room. Frankie took a sharp breath when you submerged it in the water.
“Gonna start slow,” you announced, resting your head on the rim of the tub. Then you closed your eyes and pressed the working vibe to your clit.
“Ahhhh… feels so good,” you breathed out, telling the absolute truth. The toy was sending waves of pleasure through your body, already aroused to the maximum, and your crush watching you made it a million times hotter. Your eyes fluttered open and you looked at Frankie.
He was standing by the door, his expression concentrated, and despite his relaxed posture he seemed to be as tense as a guitar string.
Not breaking eye contact you let out a soft moan and Frankie visibly shuddered.
“Fuck…,” he murmured. “You playing with your …?”
“My clit, yeah,” you whimpered. “Shall I put it inside? What do you think?”
Frankie’s lips parted and he ran his hand through his damp curls.
“Shit, yeah… put it in.”
“Ohhh,” you suddenly whined with exaggeration, drawing your brows together and pouting your lips. “It’s gonna hurt.. my tight pussy ain’t ready yet.”
Frankie pushed himself off the door, his eyes widened, and walked closer to you, his hands raised.
“No, fuck, sweetie, I... please, don’t hurt yourself,” he said in panic.
You were staring at him for a few seconds, making him sweat, until your pout disappeared.
“I’m fucking with you, Frankie,” you giggled and his jaw dropped. Then he smiled and cursed under his breath, the tension leaving his body with a deep sigh of relief.
“You're pure evil,” he chuckled and rubbed his flashed face with both hands.
Your heart fluttered from how adorable he was, but your pussy was still empty so you got to work. You spread your thighs wider under the water and nudged the tip of the toy at your entrance.
“I’m putting it in, Frankie.”
He gave you a curt nod, his eyes intent.
You rested the back of your head on the bathtub rim, then slowly began pushing the shaft inside you, your eyes closed, lips parted. You let Frankie read your expression and imagine what was happening under the water.
“I’m so full already and it’s just half inside me,” you murmured, not opening your eyes. Frankie was breathing loudly, just like you and, your imagination drew you a delicious picture that it was his cock sliding inside you.
“Ahhhh, Frankie,” you whimpered, feeling yourself on the brink of ecstasy from the vision.
“I’m here, baby.” You heard him much closer and opened your eyes. Frankie was standing an arm length from you now, watching you as he was palming his huge bulge. The sight shot a lightning through your body and your pussy began pulsing around the toy.
“Are you..?” Frankie asked and you nodded, squeezing your eyes shut, and arching your back.
The movement made your tits jump out of the water and Frankie groaned.
“Sweetheart, I can see..”
“S’ok…want you to look,” trembling with ecstasy you begged him.
The pleasure waves were rolling over you for what felt like eternity and the foamy water was splashing on the floor while your body was shaking in the tub.
After one orgasm with Frankie by your side you were a mess. Your hair was wet, your breaths ragged and fast, your limbs shaking. But you had to concentrate. You needed to hit a homerun and come on Frankie’s cock.
He seemed wrecked, too, and you were afraid that he’d bust right into his sweatpants. You had to act fast. ‘That load must end up in my pussy,’ you thought. ‘Or in my mouth at least.’
You carefully pulled the toy out and whined glancing up at Frankie.
“It was good but it doesn’t compare to the real thing.” Frankie nodded absentmindedly, probably still shell shocked from the sight of his best friend’s sister coming in front of him.
“Frankie, baby, want to give me “the real thing”? You said loudly, waking him up. Frankie blinked a few times, took a deep breath and then sat on the edge of the tub. You could smell his cologne, that’s how close he was. He looked deep into your eyes and rasped,
“Come for me one more time. Then I’ll fuck you.”
Oh. Dear. God.
Frankie’s voice, usually soft and gentle, was now gruff and coated with lust. His tone and the order made you shiver even in the hot tub.
Suddenly you felt small, just a girl being under the command of this bigger stronger man. His sudden dominance shot electricity straight to your pussy.
You didn’t make him wait. Completely speechless you switched the toy on and brought it underwater and to your needy cunt.
“Frankie,” you whispered, putting your free hand over his, and feeling what you needed, the man got on one knee next to you right on the wet floor.
“M’here, sweetie,” he assured you, watching your face while you were inserting the vibe inside your core. “That’s it.. jus’ like that, babygirl. Make yourself feel good for me.”
His eyes —two black pits of desire — were sliding over your face, twisting with pleasure, your wet neck and glistening chest, now out of the water and fully exposed. Besides, the foam wasn’t as thick as before, it was floating here and there in patches, so Frankie could surely see your naked body, your hand holding the vibe between your legs, your folds spread open.
“You’re so hot,” he breathed out, almost choking on the words.
You could say the same about him. Your heart eyes were set on Frankie, the man you’d been craving for so long. His handsome face was inches from yours and you wanted to count every freckle, lick a stripe along his scruffy jawline, taste the wetness on his plush lips.
“Kiss me,” you muttered, your voice shaky with need. A little smile appeared on his lips before he pressed them to yours. The kiss was soft and slow at first but moments later animalistic hunger overtook you both and it grew desperate and intense. Your free hand wrapped around the back of his neck, holding him close, his tongue plunged into your mouth and tangled with yours. He was drinking your whimpers, leaving his own moans on your lips. You were plunged into an ocean of ecstasy with him kissing you, with your pussy being stimulated by the vibe.
Yet you needed more. You needed Frankie.
“Baby,” you whined, parting from his lips. “I don’t want the toy. I want you.”
Frankie looked into your pleading eyes and nodded.
“Pull it out.”
You did what he said and let the rabbit fall on the floor with a thud.
“How many fingers do you want, princess?”
The pet name made you purr. You were so turned on you could probably take his whole fist but it seemed too extreme for the first time so you replied,
“Two’s fine.”
Frankie nodded. He placed his big palm on your knee, then slowly slid it down your wet inner thigh and into the water. When his fingers reached your heat, you gasped softly and bucked your hips. Watching your face intently, Frankie cupped your pussy and gave it a light squeeze, making you moan.
“Oh yeahhhh..,” you whined as he was gently massaging your folds. Soon you started squirming with anticipation so Frankie leaned closer to your face and kissed you again. As you were sucking on his tongue, he pushed two of his fingers inside you. You took a sharp breath, swept away by the sensation of his thick digits plunging into your core, curling inside you and pushing on the soft spot. His thumb wasn’t resting either— he was rubbing your puffy clit slowly and steadily, bringing you closer to your orgasm with every stroke of his fingers.
When you started trembling on the brink of a second orgasm, Frankie parted from you to watch your ecstatic expression.
“You’re doing amazing, sweetheart. Opening up for me real good.”
He was scissoring your cunt with his two fingers, whispering into your ear,
“You think your little rabbit is a challenge to take? You haven’t seen my cock.”
Your jaw dropped and if your pussy could scream she would.
Then Frankie brought his free hand to your wet breast and his fingers closed on your pebbled nipple. He was twitching it with a perfect pressure, his eyes on your face, his other hand fingering your pussy under the water. A loud whine rang in the room as you started unraveling for a second time, while Frankie was making you see stars.
“Good girl,” he praised you and leaned down to suck your nipple into his hot mouth. He was swirling his tongue around your hardened bud, prolonging your orgasm, while your walls were clenching around his moving fingers.
When your body relaxed, Frankie kissed you again but as amazing as it was you couldn’t wait for what he’d promised.
“Frankie,” you whined. “Fuck me.”
He chuckled, rubbing the tip of his nose against yours and said the words you’d been dreaming of hearing — “Let’s get you to my room.”
You were grateful when Frankie stood up and offered you his hand because your legs were weak and shaky from all the climaxes.
When you slowly rose up, dripping water, Frankie froze.
“Wow,” he muttered, shamelessly ogling your dripping naked body.
“I hope it’s a good wow,” you said playfully.
“It is, princess. You’re beautiful.”
You could stand like that forever — being under Frankie’s gaze filled with admiration and lust made your heart sing and pussy purr but the ache in your core reminded you why you’d been doing all that. After you stepped out of the bath, Frankie dried you off with a towel, his hands running up and down your body carefully as if you were made of glass. Soon he was carrying you in his arms, bridal style, to his bedroom. Your arms were thrown around his neck and you were nuzzling it.
“You smell so good,” you whispered, darting your tongue out to get a taste of his skin. He chuckled and kissed your temple.
Frankie’s bedroom was typical for a bachelor- a little messy, with minimum of furniture and only practical things around. You had no time to appreciate the room decor though, your mind was set on one thing, your pussy was begging to be fucked.
Frankie strutted to the bed and as soon as he carefully lowered you on the covers you threw the towel off your body and sat on your knees stark naked. When you were with Frankie, a birthday suit was the only thing you wanted to wear.
“You’ll get cold,” Frankie muttered, looking concerned, but you shrugged his comment off. Your body was on fire because of him and putting on clothes was the last thing you wanted to do. So you pulled him onto the bed, straddled his lap and pressed your hungry pussy to his clothed hard-on.
“You’ll warm me,” you purred, pushing your tits against his torso. He whispered ‘naughty girl’ before his lips found yours. You were making out, your hips rolling, your heat grinding against his cockbulge, probably leaving stains all over his sweats.
Then your body betrayed you — you shivered in Frankie’s arms.
“Baby, you’re cold,” he said, parting from your eager lips.
“Ugh! sometimes I hate how sweet you are!” You grumbled and looked around. “Ah!” You jumped off his lap, hating it immediately, and grabbed a flannel shirt that was lying on a chair. You quickly threw it on and rushed to return to his lap.
“Happy now?” You asked him with a smile, your hands on Frankie’s shoulders. He swallowed hard as his eyes were travelling over your still barely covered body.
“You look so hot in my clothes.” The praise made you bite your lip and you purred,
“I bet you look hot without them.”
Frankie chuckled and pulled you close for another kiss. Meanwhile your hand slithered down to the hem of his shirt and you tugged it up and off him.
Your mouth began salivating right away — his chest was broad and strong, a little hairy just how you liked it, his soft belly with a happy trail made your brain short-circuit.
You glided your palms over his pecks down to his stomach, hooked your fingers under his sweats waistband and batted your lushes at him.
“Frankieeee, take them off,” you whined, tugging on his pants.
“Not so fast, babygirl,” he smiled, taking your hands in his.
You were ready to cry with frustration but he brought his lips to your ear and murmured.
“Lemme taste you first.”
Suddenly he let out a groan, flipped you on your back, and pinned you to the bed with his heavy body.
The whiplash made you gasp but you happily opened your legs and arms for his big frame.
He gave you a passionate kiss but soon his lips began traveling down your body.
Holy fuck! You thought, realizing where he was heading. You were buzzing with excitement when he opened his shirt on you to pepper open-mouth kisses all over your breasts. He sucked on your nipples, humming from pleasure, giving attention to both buds. You knew your pussy was going to be the best stop so when he climbed all the way down, your thighs were thrown apart, his meal already served.
“Damn,” he breathed out when his eyes landed on your blooming cunt. His jaw slackened, his gaze clouded, he was staring at your heat for a few moments.
You were barely breathing, waiting for what he was going to do next.
“Wanted to do it for so long,” Frankie murmured and looked up at you from between your legs.
You opened your mouth to ask “Really?” but only a moan escaped your mouth when his lips reached your pussy. He started leaving soft kisses over your folds, your inner thighs, slowly and sensually driving you crazy with lust. His beard and moustache were a bit tickly but you didn’t care. You knew you’d come the second he gave some love to your clit, but as if being aware Frankie of that avoided touching it.
“You wanted me?” You asked, trying to ground yourself to a conversation.
Frankie looked up at you and nodded.
“Since the day we’ve met.”
You couldn’t believe your ears. “What?”
“Yeah,” Frankie said quietly, his lips dancing all over your spread pussy. “Santi stopped me from asking you out.”
“Arghhhh, asshole,” you growled, your eyes rolling to the back of your head with pleasure, and Frankie chucked.
“Yeah. I feel a little bad though…he’s gonna be mad.” Frankie glanced up at you with a trace of worry in his dark eyes before his tongue licked a stripe from your hole to your clit.
“Fuck him,” you moaned.
Frankie smiled against your folds and then took a deep breath of your scent, his nose nudging your clit. He whimpered and the sound made you clench and gush right onto his bearded chin.
Frankie hungrily licked it off and began eating you out in earnest.
“Look at this little pussy…,” he mumbled to you or to himself in between kisses and licks. “Delicious. No one can keep me away from her now.”
You giggled but your cheer soon evaporated when Frankie pushed your thighs down with his strong hands, opened his mouth wide and fully covered your wet pussy with it. His tongue pushed between your folds and he started swirling it around your twitching clit, meanwhile sucking on your pussy like he wanted to eat it whole.
“Fuckkkkkkkkk,” you whined, losing your mind from the noises, the sensation and the sight between your legs. The hottest man you knew — Frankie Morales, was feasting on your leaking cunt, moaning and slurping, slurping and moaning.
“Frankieeee,” you screamed, clutching his soft curls in your clammy hands. The man groaned and said, still ears deep in your pussy,
“Just like that, baby, keep saying my name.”
“Frankie- Frankie- Frankie- Frankie,” you chanted, closing and opening your eyes, trembling from immense amounts of pleasure.
When Frankie began sucking on your clit, massaging it with his lips, your back arched off the bed and clasping the covers between your fingers you started coming hard, your thighs tense under his palms. While you were thrashing and sobbing beneath him, Frankie brought his mouth lower and began drinking your juices which were seeping generously out of your clenching hole. Every nudge of his nose against your clit made you jerk with another ecstatic shock.
You’d never had such a perfect oral before and your lashes were covered in tears when Frankie plopped on the bed next to you.
“You ok?” He asked you as you were lying motionless and brain dead from all the orgasms. When you didn’t respond he cupped your face and rubbed your cheek with his thumb.
“We don’t have to continue today, princess. I see how spent you are …”
“Nonononono,” you hastily chanted, your eyes opened widely, your head shaking left and right frantically. “I’m good! Let’s fuck!”
Scared to death that Frankie’s cock would slip out of your hands, you sat up, threw his shirt off your body and quickly straddled Frankie’s hips.
He hissed and pulled you closer onto his stomach.
“Sorry, m’painfully hard,” he explained and you grinned at the thought.
“Then let me deal with it, baby,” you purred and lifted up on your knees. You moved behind his huge bulge and carefully slid his sweats and boxers down. As soon as your eyes ran down his happy trail, your pussy started tingling and you were ready to scream with excitement when Frankie’s cock was finally revealed to you. It made an epic entrance - it popped out of its confines eagerly, hit his lower belly, precum drops flying everywhere, and began bobbing in front of your widened eyes. You’d never thought you’d fall in love with a cock but at that moment you definitely did.
“Wow,” you commented, your lips parted in awe. Frankie smirked and grabbed the jumping dick by the base.
“Is it a good wow?” He repeated your earlier question and you giggled.
“Absolutely,” you nodded, still staring at the cock you’d been after. It was long and thick, bigger than anything you’d ever taken.
“I’ve been told it was too big a few times…I don’t know if you’ll enjoy… “ Frankie was looking up at you with concern in his eyes, chewing on his inner cheek.
Your jaw dropped. With every other man in the world you’d think it was a humble-brag. But not with Frankie. You were sure that his worry was genuine and real, that he cared about your pleasure and comfort more than about his own needs.
“Hey,” you gave Frankie a warm smile and wrapped your palm around his hand that was holding his cock. “You’re perfect. I’ll take as much as I can today but … a size queen title would suit me I think.”
Frankie laughed and you saw tension leaving his body.
“Yeah, please, stop if it hurts.”
Not scared at all, you scooted forward and pressed your mound to his thick shaft. His tip was at your navel and you both were gawking at how deep he’d be inside you. You swallowed hard but couldn’t wait to sink on all that meat.
Yet the desire to tease him overtook you. Frankie let out the neediest noise when you began grinding your pussy against his shaft, leaving your slick all over the soft skin there, his cock veins bulging underneath, glistening with your wetness. You played with him like this for some time, reveling in the sounds he was making, edging him and yourself.
“Princess, please…”, it was his turn to beg and when you heard his hoarse voice full of need and lust, you folded immediately.
Your hips flew up and you hovered over his waiting cock before your hole met his tip.
“Fuckkkkk,” you breathed out, taking his crown slowly but steadily, your hand splayed on his torso. He dipped his head into the pillow, his mouth opened, as you kept sinking on him inch by inch, your walls stretching around his girth.
“Is it all in?” You asked with your voice shaky, feeling unbelievably full.
Frankie choked on another moan, his stomach tense, hands gripping your hips tighter. You were driving him crazy with your pussy and you loved it.
“Ok, ok,” he gruffed and licked his thumb before bringing it to your clit. “Lemme help, my size queen.”
He began rubbing your slicked up bud with a perfect pace, not flicking it like a light switch like some of your exes had done, but drawing tight circles over it.
“So good…,” you whimpered, your pussy loosening up for his huge cock. Frankie’s caress really helped and soon you felt a cushion of his balls under your ass.
You both breathed out with satisfaction but soon Frankie pulled his brows together.
“I won’t last, baby. You’re so damn tight.”
“It’s ok, it’s ok,” you assured him and rolled your hips, drawing a moan out of the man. “Come inside me.. I’m on a pill.”
“Dios…” Frankie muttered, with his jaw slacked, his eyes hazy and dark. You were riding him and he placed his big hands on your bouncing tits. He was kneading them, twitching your nipples, groaning loudly.
You weren’t silent either, your moans were mixing with his, and the lewd music of your shared pleasure filled the room.
Frankie’s lustful gaze was hungrily sliding over your naked body, his puppy eyes gone, now you saw an animal in them, hungry and passionate.
“This is what you wanted, huh? My cock deep inside you? Right here…,” he placed his palm on your lower belly, probably feeling his huge cock under your sweaty skin.
You nodded eagerly, turned up to the maximum with the way he was talking to you.
“Yeah…played your little games, naughty little girl…lured me to the bathroom so I’d give it to you good…”
“You are… you feel so good, Frankie,” you chanted, dancing on his cock, moving sensually, giving him something to remember.
The adoration in his eyes added to your ecstasy, his thumb was still working your clit, and soon you began exploding in front of his clouded eyes, eagerly sliding up and down his long shaft, riding out the climax that was making you shake and moan. You’d probably collapse if not for Frankie’s big hands around your waist, holding you up.
“S’my—girllll,” Frankie praised you and immediately started squirting his cum against your fluttering walls, filling you like an eclair with his creamy load.
Your pussy milked him till the last drop, till his balls were empty, and happy with your work, you fell on Frankie’s chest.
He wrapped his muscular arms around you and held you close, while both of you were catching your breath.
You’d fall asleep like that, with him inside you, but Frankie turned onto his side, taking you with him. Then he covered both of your bodies with a blanket and pulled you closer.
You felt him nuzzling your hair and breathe in your scent. It made you smile.
Despite being content and well fucked, you couldn’t help but ask,
“Frankie… it’s not gonna be our last time, right?” You were looking at him with Bambi eyes, scared to hear the answer. After experiencing all that, you knew in your heart that you wouldn’t want to call Frankie just your brother’s best friend again.
“I told you…,” Frankie muttered, resting his forehead against yours. “No one can keep me away from you now. You’re mine.”
Mine!
You doubted that you’d ever smiled as widely as at that moment. His words filled your chest with so much joy you squeaked and threw your arms around his broad shoulders.
You finally had him, finally felt his heart beating against yours, finally had access to his huge cock, finally saw unconcealed admiration in his beautiful kind eyes.
Suddenly fear panged your heart. With all the scheming and thirsting over the man, you forgot to ask yourself. What’s next?
You parted from Frankie abruptly, your eyes widened.
“You know that Santi has a gun, yeah?”
Frankie chuckled.
“He has a few, actually.”
You whined and began chewing on your thumb nail nervously. You knew Santi wouldn’t do anything to you but to his friend? What if he’d want to fight him? What if they’d hurt each other. The consequences of your horny actions suddenly began to feel very real and upcoming.
Seeing your worried expression, Frankie cupped your cheek and leaned closer to your face, searching for your eyes.
“It’s gonna be fine, princess. I’ll fight for you if I had to.”
You mewled in terror and he added hastily, “not like that! Not physically. I’ll talk to Santi. I’ll make him accept it… accept us.”
You slowly nodded, feeling a little better. Then a thought popped into your naughty head so you clang to his body and whispered,
“But… can’t we sneak around for some time?”
“See each other in secret?”
You nodded, your mind drawing you pictures of forbidden hook-ups, fucking in the bathroom at parties, Frankie’s palm over your mouth, keeping your moans from being heard.
“It’ll be so hot…,” you mumbled with your eyes clouded by lust.
“It will be,” Frankie groaned, grabbing your asscheek with his hand and pushing his already hard cock against you. “But until Santi’s back…” he pinned you to the bed, settled between your legs, and whispered, brushing your lips with his, “I’m gonna use every second I have to make you scream as loudly as you can.”
Frankie swallowed your needy “yes, please” and pierced your wet pussy with his big cock.
Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic! I'd love to know what you think💞
MDNIwarnings: smut, public sex, little medical talk about a strained adductor, dirty talk, bestfriend!reader 34+35's dean… ~1,050+
"Dean, I told you not to go full out during practice. You need to rest that hip.” You huff, gently massaging the nearly naked Dean sprawled on the examination table. He had an adductor strain that the med staff, you most importantly, had to properly check on to make sure he didn’t worsen the strain with his practice drills. “Pace yourself, or say goodbye to the Briar U Hawks.” You add, making sure he understands the importance.
“Aye, I know, doc,” he says with a small groan at the pleasure-pain mix from your warm, skilled hands. The towel covering his cock shifts as he moves his hips, and you gently fix it with a small laugh at the lame nickname he had for you as you kept your professional composure.
“Stop squirming, you big baby,” you tease, your voice bright even as heat creeps up your neck. Your fingers glide along the tight muscles of his inner thigh, working the strained adductor with careful, firm strokes. “I swear, you hockey boys are all the same..think you’re invincible while your body says otherwise.”
Dean’s sweet, lust-filled eyes flick up to yours, a cocky smirk tugging at his lips despite the wincing. His golden-blond hair is damp from practice, and his chiseled torso was still glistening with a light sheen of sweat. “Mmm, but I’ve got the best hands on staff taking care of me. How’s a guy supposed to behave when those hands are sliding up his thigh?”
You arch a brow, fighting a grin as you press your thumbs into a particularly tight knot. He hisses, then lets out a low groan that goes straight between your legs. “Flirting with your medical staff? Bold move, Di Laurentis. Especially when I could ask the coach to bench you for two weeks.”
He chuckles, “Worth it...besides, we both know you like taking care of me.” His gaze drops pointedly to where your hands are working very close to the edge of the towel, taking his lip between his teeth. “And I like when you do, especially when you do it in that cute little nurse outfit...” He says still thinking of your costume from the most recent Maxwell–Di Laurentis Birthday Bash, where you were a sexy nurse and your best friend, Grace, went as a sexy patient.
You roll your eyes, but your smile gives you away. “You’re impossible..aand stop moving that towel around or I’m going to—”
The towel slips again as Dean deliberately shifts his hips. This time, it falls open completely, revealing his hardening cock. It was already curving up toward his abs, jumping at the cold of the room. You pause, fingers stilling on his thigh. A soft, amused laugh escapes you. “Really? Right now?”
Dean gives you that signature shameless grin, dimples popping. “Can you blame me? You’ve been rubbing me down for ten minutes in those tight little shorts. My dick has a mind of its own when it comes to you, sweetheart.”
You bite your lip, trying and failing to keep your professional mask in place. The dirty side of you wins out. “Well, as your medical professional, I guess I should probably check for swelling…ya know to make sure everything’s functioning properly.”
Dean’s eyes squinting and filling with lust, “Oh fu—yes examine me, doc.”
You don’t waste anytime. Your hand slides higher, wrapping around his thick length with a slow, (gently) nail raking stroke. Dean groans, head falling back against the padded table, hips twitching up into your grip.
“Shit, your hand feels good,” he rasps. “Been thinking about this since I left your dorm last week. That so-called ‘one time thing’ is turning into a problem.”
You lean over him, your free hand still massaging his inner thigh while the other pumps him with firm, deliberate strokes. “Maybe you’re just addicted to my bedside manner,” you quip, voice flirty, a big contrast to your professional side. “Or maybe you just like being told what to do by someone smarter than you.”
He laughs breathlessly, then reaches up and tugs you down into a passionate kiss. His tongue slides against yours, while one of his big hands palms your ass with a small squeeze. “Smart mouth,” he growls against your lips. “Get up here...I want to taste you while you’re playing doctor.”
You don’t need to be told twice. You climb onto the table, carefully straddling his sweaty eager face while facing his cock. Dean yanks your uniform shorts and panties down in one quick motion, and the second his mouth latches onto your pussy, you moan way too loud. “Fuck, De—”
His tongue rolls relentlessly, licking broad stripes through your folds before flicking rapidly over your clit. He groans into you, the vibration making your now sweaty thighs tremble. “So fucking sweet...missed this pretty pussy.”
You lean forward, taking him into your mouth in return. The angle was absolutely perfect, you bob your head, sucking and stroking while he eats you up. Smacking and wet noises filling the room. Dean’s hips buck gently, careful of his injured side, but his mouth never stops working you over.
When your legs start shaking and your moans grow higher, but he doubles down, sucking your clit hard until you come with a loud gasping cry, grinding against his face. Praying that all the others are still in the workout room across the facility.
Dean doesn’t let you recover. He flips you gently onto your back, mindful of his hip, and settles between your thighs. His eyes wild with lust as he rubs his cock through your slick folds, getting a slight feel.
“Need to be inside you,” he says roughly. “Tell me you want it too, baby.”
You cup his face, pulling him down for a messy kiss. “I want you, Dean. Now! Fuck me like you mean it, but don’t you dare hurt that hip, or I’ll kill you.” Even in a moment of passion you can't help but make sure he heals properly.
He laughs at your warning, but continues to push in slowly, stretching you open with a deep groan. “So tight, huh… always so fucking perfect for me.” He starts a steady, rolling with a nonverbal rhythm, mindful of his injury but still incredibly intense. His mouth finds your neck, sucking marks as he thrusts.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice thick of lust. “Taking my cock so well in the training room like a naughty little medic...what would everyone say if they knew? Hm? What would Tucker and John Logan say about their favorite medic getting fucked by their best friend, huh?”
You wrap your legs around him, locking him in as your nails dig into his muscular back. “They’d say I’m the luckiest girl on campus. Now shut up and make me come again, hotshot.”
Dean grins wickedly and picks up the pace, one hand slipping between you to circle your clit. Your moans mix with his filthy praise until you shatter around him, again, clenching so hard he follows right after, burying himself even deeper and groaning your name into your neck as he fills you up.
Afterward, Dean collapses carefully beside you on the wide table, pulling you against his chest. His big hand strokes soothingly up and down your back, the cocky energy some how melting into gentle affection.
“You okay, sweetheart?” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Didn’t hurt my hip too bad… but I might need regular treatment from you for the next few weeks.”
You laugh softly, nuzzling up against his warm skin. “Regular treatment, huh? I think that can be arranged. But only if you actually rest when I tell you to, you stubborn hockey boy.”
Dean chuckles, dimples flashing as he tilts your chin up for a lazy, sweet kiss. “Deal. As long as my favorite doc keeps wearing these little shorts while she ‘treats’ me.”
You swat his chest playfully, but your smile is bright and full of promise. “Hm..that could be arranged."
Send OFF CAMPUS REQUESTS!! I will be writing for the boys when I get home 🫶🏻✨p.s. spice 🌶️ is allowed
And I really would love if you did a Dean DiLaurentis nsfw
Ask and you'll receive! And keep the requests coming!
Warnings: 18+. best friend's sister, p + v,
You were thankful for the empty house as you clutched at Dean’s sheets, feeling him grip your hips while pounding into you from behind. The squeaking of the bed was louder than ever, making you wonder how it was still holding up.
‘’I don’t know how I went so long without that ass,’’ Dean praised, smacking it.
Sweat clung from his sweaty chest, giving you his best performance to date — in his opinion. Guess it’s true that what’s forbidden tasted better.
The room smelled like sex and his stupidly expensive sandalwood cologne.
Every thrust shook the bedframe and you were pretty sure Tucker was going to murder Dean later for risking structural damage. But right now? Neither of you cared.
Dean leaned over your back, lips grazing your shoulder as he growled in that low, rough voice — the one only ever used for you, the one that made your stomach flip. ‘’You feel so good, babydoll. You love getting dicked down by me, uh?’’
He bit down on your earlobe — gentle but claiming — and then his hand slid around to grip your chin, turning you slightly so he could kiss you. Messy. Hungry.
You were arching into him, your breathy little moan going straight to his spine.
Dean had had plenty of girls before this moment.
But none who looked at him like they saw straight through the act. None who wore his jersey just to piss him off. None whose brother would actually kill him if he found out what was happening behind closed doors right now.
That thought should’ve scared him more than it did — but all it did was make Dean move harder into you, almost making you lose your balance and fall off the bed.
This little thing between you and Dean had been going on since Halloween. You hadn’t been able to resist him in that unbuttoned aviator suit. There had been a few drunk kisses before that night, but you had never been to his room — other than to drag his sleeping ass to Beau’s car one Saturday morning.
‘’Harder, fuck me harder,’’ you begged, your eyes getting blurry as you got close. He slammed himself further into you, hitting places that made your back arch. ‘’Yes! Right there!’’ you cried out, clenching around him and reaching your high.
Although you were finished, Dean didn’t stop, following a few thrusts later as he let out a deep, raspy sigh, the feeling of him releasing inside of you making you shudder.
Your whole body gave out as he pulled out, feeling completely exhausted. Dean collapsed onto his back beside you, one arm flung over his eyes as he tried to remember how to breathe normally. Sex was never boring with him.
You turned his head slightly toward him, his messy blond hair splayed across the pillow and his toned chest glowing with a sheen of post-sex sweat. God, that man was beautiful. Your eyes lowered to his neck, finding a red mark from your lips. The corner of yours curled at the sight. This was your mark on him. If you sit close enough, you should be able to see it from the stands at the game tomorrow. Unfortunately, this won’t be enough to ward off the puck bunnies…
Around you, the bed looked like a warzone, sheets tangled beyond recognition and pillows missing. How did you manage to do that?
A slow grin crept onto Dean’s face — the kind of stupidly satisfied smile only Dean wore after doing something incredibly reckless and wildly hot at once. ‘’Turned out to be a good thing practice got moved,’’ he said, laughing.
You joined in the laughter, only to be interrupted by Dean’s phone going off. He picked it up from the nightstand, answering without checking the ID.
The second Beau’s voice crackled through the speaker, Dean glanced at you, then cleared his throat before speaking. ‘’Hey,’’ he said casually, propping himself up on one elbow.
‘’Dude! Where are you?’’ your brother’s voice asked through the speaker, making you tense. ‘’I went to the rink to catch you before heading to Malone’s, but Logan said practice had been moved up and you left one hour ago.’’
Dean winced internally. ‘’Yeah. Coach had a call to make, and the ice was free so.’’
‘’Right. Well, I’m picking up my sister at her dorm and then going to Malone’s. You coming?’’
Shit. You completely forgot that you agreed to join the boys tonight. Hannah and Grace were going to be there and you hadn’t seen them in a long time.
What were you going to wear? You wanted to look sexy, but too sexy would get you called out by your brother. And how were you going to make it to your dorm before Beau got there? It was mission impossible.
While you were zoning out, Dean stroked a hand along your naked thigh, making you slap his hand away as it got close to your cunt. Absolutely not!
“When do I ever miss a night at Malone’s?”
They hung up and you smacked Dean’s chest, hard. ‘’What the hell is wrong with you?’’ You stood up and began hurriedly looking for your clothes. ‘’Answering my brother’s call while I’m right there. Naked. Are you fucking insane? Do you have a death wish because—’’
‘’He didn’t see shit through the phone, calm babydoll.’’
You found your panties in the tornado of clothes and slipped them on, but the rest was still missing.
“You’re missing the point!’’ you said, spotting your shirt and jeans near the desk, right by Dean’s gym bag. ‘’If he finds out we’re seeing each other behind his back…”
“He won’t,” Dean assured, sitting up in his bed and watching you move around the room.
Jumping in your jeans, you pushed that worry to the back of your mind and searched for an excuse knowing Beau will get to your dorm before you. Even if you were a fast runner — which you were not —, there was no way you would get there before him.
‘’And where the fuck is my phone?’’ you grumbled in a panic, not seeing it anywhere.
To help retrieve it, Dean called you from his…and the loud sound of Britney’s voice filled the room.
“WOMANIZER, WOMAN-WOMANIZER—”
Dean froze.
You froze.
‘’Really? Womanizer?!’’
Your face burned as you bent at the foot of the bed where your phone was blaring loudly and turned it off. ‘’Now is not the time, Dean.’’
You set this song as his ringtone a long time ago. A long long time ago. You were sitting with Jules, watching Dean making out with Kendall on the kitchen counter shamelessly. They had seen him kissing another girl earlier that night and, as a joke, said this song was written about him. As the night went on, you got drunker and ended up setting Womanizer as his ringtone. And you just never changed it.
‘’What song should I give you? It’s only fair you get one too, right?’’ he said, raising an eyebrow. ‘’How about…Ah!’’ A grin broke on his face.
‘’Baby, I can make that pussy rain, often. Often, often, girl, I do this often. Make that pussy poppin', do it how I want it. Often, often, girl, I do this often—’’
══════════════════
Off Campus taglist: @f1rewhiskey @formula1-motogpfan @schinug @skyesthebomb
⤿ DEAN HEYWARD-DI LAURENTIS was the boy no one could get enough of. The thing was, you just didn't get it... until you did.
!! wc: 2.8k. fluff. fem!reader. enemies to lovers ish. flirting. innuendo. dean being dean. dean fell first and hard. reader lowkey nonchalant w it. COME TO ME MY FELLOW OFF CAMPUS LOVERS. i will die for this series and briar u and the kids series. taglist open. off campus masterlist coming soon. ENJOY.
By the time you realized Dean Heyward-Di Laurentis was flirting with you, it was already too late to do anything about it.
Not because he was subtle, because he absolutely was not, but because Dean flirted with everyone in a way that made him difficult to read at first. He smiled too easily, leaned too close during conversations, carried this effortless warmth around with him that made people naturally gravitate toward him without even realizing they were doing it. Most girls at Briar noticed him immediately, and most of them reacted exactly the same way whenever he walked into a room.
You hadn’t.
That alone seemed to fascinate him more than it should have.
The first time you met him had been at a party during your sophomore year, one of those overcrowded hockey house parties where the music was too loud and the floors were sticky from spilled alcohol, where bodies moved shoulder to shoulder through dim lighting while somebody shouted along terribly to music in the kitchen.
You’d been standing near the back porch trying to escape the heat inside when Dean stepped out beside you holding two beers.
At the time, you only knew of him as one of Briar’s hockey players, though that was nearly impossible not to know considering how often everyone at this damn school talked about that team.
“You look miserable,” he’d said casually, offering you one of the beers.
You glanced at it before looking back at him. “You offer drinks to unhappy strangers at all of your parties?”
“Only the pretty ones.”
You had laughed then despite yourself, mostly because he’d said it so naturally that it didn’t even sound rehearsed.
“That line probably works on a lot of people.”
“It works better when they don’t immediately insult me after.”
“You survived.”
“Barely.”
There was something unfairly likable about him up close. Maybe it was the confidence that was accented by dimples, or maybe it was the fact that unlike some of the other hockey players, Dean actually listened when people spoke to him. Conversations with him felt easy in a dangerous sort of way, the kind that slipped by too quickly without you noticing.
You ended up talking with him for nearly an hour that night.
Then somehow he started appearing everywhere afterward.
Sometimes it was accidental. Other times it very obviously was not.
You’d find him outside one of your lecture halls leaning against the wall waiting for Garrett or Logan only for him to fall into step beside you afterward, like it was the most natural thing in the world. He’d steal the seat next to yours in class despite it being a lecture hall with plenty of open seats.
He'd distract you while you studied, complain dramatically whenever you refused to help him with assignments he definitely could have done himself if he tried hard enough.
And slowly, without either of you acknowledging it outright, he became part of your life.
It happened in pieces so small you barely noticed them.
Dean texting you first whenever something funny happened.
Dean showing up at your apartment with coffee because you mentioned once that you hated mornings.
Dean touching the small of your back absentmindedly when he moved around you in crowded rooms.
Your friends noticing the shift long before you did.
“He likes you,” your roommate had told you one night while you got ready for bed.
You rolled your eyes immediately. “Dean likes everyone.”
“No,” she drawled carefully, “I think he really likes you.”
At the time, you brushed it off.. mostly because the idea felt ridiculous.
Dean Heyward-Di Laurentis was charming in a way that belonged to everyone around him. He laughed with everybody, flirted with everybody, made people feel wanted so effortlessly that it was hard to imagine any of it meaning something deeper.
And maybe that was the problem.
Because you never realized how serious it had become for him.
Not until much later.
Not until the night everything finally cracked open between you.
It happened in late November after one of Briar’s home games, when the campus had already started settling into winter, and the air outside the arena carried that sharp cold that made your lungs ache when you breathed too deeply.
You waited near the parking lot while students poured out around you in loud groups, bundled in jackets and scarves while snow flurries drifted lazily through the streetlights overhead.
You had almost decided to leave by the time Dean finally emerged from the arena.
The parking lot outside Briar’s hockey rink had thinned considerably over the last fifteen minutes, the loud clusters of students slowly disappearing into the snowy dark while the cold deepened around you in sharp, biting waves.
The game had ended almost half an hour ago, but postgame celebrations always dragged on longer after a win, especially when the team played the way they had tonight. They were fast and aggressive and good enough to keep the crowd screaming well into the third period.
You stood near the edge of the sidewalk with your hands shoved deep into your coat pockets, shifting your weight occasionally to keep warm while snowflakes drifted steadily from the sky overhead. They gathered in the sleeves of your coat and melted against your skin, dampening pieces of hair near your face while your breath curled visibly in the freezing air.
Your phone screen lit briefly in your hand.
11:42 PM.
You should probably go home at this point. Plus, why stick around anyway? The only people who stuck around this long were family, significant others, and girls who were hoping to get lucky with a player. You were none of the above.
That thought had crossed your mind at least four times already, especially considering Dean had no idea you were even waiting for him out here in the first place. You could still leave now before he came outside and preserve at least some of your dignity, because standing alone in a freezing parking lot after nearly midnight waiting for a boy who smiled at you a little too nicely was not behavior you were particularly proud of.
Still, your feet stayed planted where they were.
Which was embarrassing to unpack if you thought about it too hard.
The arena doors finally swung open again a few seconds later, releasing another burst of noise and warmth into the cold night air as several players filtered out alongside a few students lingering near the entrance. You looked up automatically, more out of instinct than intention.
Then you saw him.
Dean Heyward-Di Laurentis, himself, walked out laughing at something one of his teammates said, hockey bag slung over one shoulder while exhaustion visibly weighed through the line of his posture. His damp hair curled slightly from sweat beneath the harsh overhead lights, and even from a distance, you could see the fatigue sitting heavily across his face after the game.
Then his eyes landed on you.
And his entire expression changed.
It was subtle enough that most people probably would not have noticed it unless they were looking carefully, but you did.
The exhaustion softened first.
Then his shoulders loosened slightly beneath the weight of his bag, tension easing from him in real time as warmth spread slowly across his features. The tiredness didn't disappear entirely, but something gentler replaced it now, something so immediate and instinctive that it sent an annoying little flip through your stomach before you could stop it.
“There you are,” Dean said once he reached you, his voice roughened slightly from yelling over the game and the freezing night air.
Something about the familiarity of it settled strangely in your chest.
Not the words themselves, but the way he said them, easy and certain, like he had expected to find you waiting for him outside the arena all along. Like your presence beside the rink after every home game had become something reliable to him, something normal.
You tried not to think too hard about why that affected you as much as it did.
Instead, you shoved your hands deeper into your coat pockets and forced yourself to sound casual when you said, “You played decent tonight, Di Laurentis.”
Dean immediately looked offended.
“Decent?” he repeated, adjusting the strap of his hockey bag higher onto his shoulder while he stared at you in disbelief. “That’s what I get after scoring twice? And defending my goalie after he got knocked? And pointing to you after I scored? And cheering G up in the locker room?”
You shrugged, though his grin was already making it annoyingly difficult to hold onto your composure for very long. “You want me to lie and say you were amazing?”
“Yes, actually, that would be nice.”
The laugh that slipped out of you came easier than you intended, soft and visible in the cold air between you.
For a second, Dean just looked at you.
Not in the careless, charming way he usually looked at people, but openly because your amusement was something worth paying attention to. Snow caught lightly in his light hair and along the shoulders of his jacket, while the harsh lights from the parking lot reflected faintly across his face. Despite the exhaustion still lingering around him after the game, there was some playful warmth creeping back into his eyes.
The look on his face made your chest tighten in a way you were trying very hard not to examine too closely.
Without really discussing it, the two of you started walking toward Malone's together.
The arena noise slowly faded behind you with every step, swallowed by the quiet stillness settling over Briar this late at night. Snow crunched softly beneath your boots as you moved side by side down the sidewalk, your shoulders brushing occasionally whenever one of you drifted too close. The roads nearby had mostly emptied by now, leaving only the occasional headlights cutting through the dark or the distant sound of voices carrying across campus.
The snow had started sticking properly sometime during the third period.
Now it dusted across the ground in thin white layers and gathered along Dean’s hair in uneven flakes, catching briefly in his lashes whenever he glanced over at you. The cold had turned the tip of his nose pink, though somehow it only made him look more unfairly attractive.
“You waiting long?” he asked after a moment.
“Not really.”
“Bullshit. That's a total lie.”
You glanced sideways at him despite yourself. “Fine, maybe a little.”
His mouth twitched immediately, like he was trying not to smile too hard at that answer.
Then something in his expression shifted. The teasing faded first.Then the easy confidence.
What replaced it was quieter somehow, more focused, and the sudden intensity of his attention made your stomach tighten unexpectedly.
“You came to every game this month,” he said.
The observation landed softly between you, but your pulse reacted instantly anyway.
You forced yourself to shrug. “I support Briar athletics, I love that my tuition money goes towards the team throwing free shirts into the stands and paying for your overpriced locker room. I figured I should get my money's worth.”
“Bullshit, again.”
You looked away too quickly, trying to hide the smile already pulling at your mouth, but Dean noticed anyway. Of course he did.
“That smile means I’m right.”
“You’re so annoying after wins.”
“I’m annoying all the time.”
“That’s... Actually, yeah, that's true.”
His laugh came low and warm beside you before he nudged his shoulder lightly against yours.
The contact lasted barely a second.
Still, warmth spread slowly through your chest anyway, familiar now in the worst possible way.
Because that had become the real problem with Dean lately.
Not the flirting.
Not the confidence.
Not even the fact that nearly every girl at Briar looked at him like he personally hung the moon.
The problem was that he made everything feel like more than it was. Truthfully, that could have been because, in your heart, you didn't want to believe you'd fall for an athlete's charm so easily. But based on what everyone around you said, you weren't delusional in thinking that it was more than it seemed.
Every glance lingered slightly too long. Every touch carried enough softness behind it to leave you thinking about it afterward. Even his attention felt different from other people’s somehow, steady and deliberate in a way that slowly worked its way beneath your skin before you even realized it was happening.
Being around Dean felt dangerously similar to standing too close to a fire in the middle of winter.
Comforting at first.
Then overwhelming before you noticed yourself getting burned.
And lately, whatever existed between the two of you had started drifting dangerously close to becoming something real.
Neither of you talked about it.
Maybe because acknowledging it aloud would ruin the fragile balance you’d fallen into together.
Or maybe because both of you were too afraid the other person didn’t feel it too.
“You know,” Dean said eventually, quieter now, his gaze fixed ahead on the snowy sidewalk instead of on you, “Tuck thinks I’m in love with you.”
Your entire body nearly short-circuited.
You missed a step slightly before catching yourself again, your head swiveling in a double-take. “Sorry.. what?”
Dean let out a huff of a laugh under his breath, though this time there was tension underneath it that hadn’t been there before.
“That reaction’s making this just a little harder for me.”
You stopped walking for half a second before hurrying to catch up beside him again. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
The simplicity of the answer made your stomach twist sharply.
Snow continued drifting lazily around the two of you while silence settled heavily between your footsteps. Your pulse suddenly felt uneven beneath your ribs, loud enough that you were half convinced Dean could hear it if he stood any closer.
For several long seconds, neither of you spoke.
Then finally, carefully, you looked over at him. “And what did you say?”
Den exhaled slowly through his nose.
The faint smile that touched his mouth this time looked different from his usual ones somehow, smaller and quieter, almost disbelieving.
“I told Tuck he was an idiot.”
“That sounds more believable.”
“Yeah,” he murmured softly. “Except I think he might’ve been right.”
Everything inside you seemed to still at once.
Not dramatically.
Not like movies where music swelled and the entire world stopped turning.
Just enough that suddenly every detail around you became painfully sharp all at once.
The sound of snow beneath your boots. The cold wind brushing against your face. The uneven rhythm of your breathing. The way Dean was looking at you now.
And maybe the strangest part of all was realizing he looked nervous.
Dean Heyward-Di Laurentis, who could walk into any room and immediately own it without trying, who flirted effortlessly and smiled without hesitation, looked genuinely nervous standing beside you on a dark, snowy sidewalk.
Like you had the ability to hurt him.
“You don’t have to say anything,” he added quickly after the silence stretched too long, his voice quieter now, rough around the edges in a way you had never heard from him before. “Seriously, I just…” He broke off briefly, glancing away before laughing once under his breath. “I got tired of pretending this feels casual to me when it doesn’t. And trust me, it's just as crazy for me to say that as it is for you to hear that.”
Your chest tightened painfully at the honesty in that.
Because suddenly the last few months rearranged themselves inside your head into something entirely different.
Dean waiting outside your classes even when his own were across campus.
Dean memorizing your coffee order after hearing it once.
Dean always finding you first in crowded rooms.
Dean texting you every night before playing an away game.
None of it had been accidental.
None of it had ever been casual.
And maybe the worst part was realizing yours hadn’t been either.
“You fall hard, huh?” you asked quietly.
A surprised laugh escaped him then, softer than before, carrying something almost embarrassed underneath it.
“You got no idea.” He drawled, his hands pushing his hair back in more of a 'I-Don't-Know-What-To-Do-With-My-Hands' way than anything else.
The honesty of it hit you harder than anything else had tonight.
Because Dean wasn’t teasing now. Wasn’t flirting. Wasn’t charming his way through another conversation with that easy confidence everyone associated with him.
He meant it.
And standing there beside him while snow gathered slowly across the shoulders of his jacket and melted into your hair, you realized with sudden, terrifying clarity that somewhere along the way, without meaning to, you had fallen hard too.
romaincrisis
gamechangershow
origamiaround
yousharknotpass
ellievsbear
