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jostystyles · 5 months ago

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this mad love makes you come running | jh

a/n: me posting a fic? who'd have thought! this is my entry for the eras tour fic challenge hosted by @comphy-and-cozy and @wyattjohnston ! i was assigned i wish you would (taylor's version). ive never written for jack before and i felt as if this song fits him perfectly and this was born. thanks to c and demi for hosting <3

word count: 2.1k

2:07 AM

The bolded white lettering of the clock on Jack’s dashboard shone at him as he glanced at it, the clicking of his turn signal drowning out the low volume of Stick Season that played through his speakers. As he rounded the corner, his chest tightened with a sense of a feeling he couldn't quite figure out. Coming into view was the street he grew up on, where he played street hockey with his brothers, the pond that would freeze over in the winters that they’d skate on for hours until their cheeks were numb. But before he arrived at his family home, he passed a house that brought back a feeling he knew. Guilt. As the memories started reeling through his mind, his foot let up on the gas slightly as his headlights crossed the yard. Illuminated was the front door his fist had knocked on too many times to remember. His knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel so hard, releasing pressure as he let a soft sigh fall from his lips. Jack’s heart told him to turn into the driveway, but he thought to himself, no. It’s in the past. That was his problem. The past. Something he can’t change, but he yearned to fix. Swallowing the guilt, he continued on to pass a few houses before pulling into the driveway of his parents home. He shook Luke awake lightly before exiting the car. Grabbing the bag out of his backseat, he let himself look towards the window down the street he used to throw snowballs at, seeing a dim light glow through the curtains. He threw his bag over his shoulder and crept quietly into the house, the darkness guiding him to the bedroom he once occupied when he lived there. Baggage discarded to the ground and stripped to just his sweats, he climbed under the cold covers and unlocked his phone, opening his contacts. His thumb hovered over the one he wanted, and pressed it quickly before staring at the blinking blue cursor trying to think of what he wanted to say. He hadn’t reached out since that night, when he was hung up on and he threw his phone across the room with salty tears streaming down his face silently. I can’t. She hates me. He thought to himself, before locking his phone and tossing it onto the bedside table, rolling over and waiting for sleep to overtake him and free his mind of the memories running through it.

2:07 AM

(Y/N) glanced at the clock that sat on the desk next to her, wondering who the hell is driving down her street with those stupid LED lights this late, and why the hell they were going so slow. Shadows appeared on the wall across from her window, and she knew exactly who it was as hs he thought back to a conversation she had with her neighbor yesterday. It was Jack. The thought of him pulled at her heartstrings, just like it did when Ellen mentioned he’d be home for a few days, the Devil’s schedule giving them a few days to take maintenance and drive home. (Y/N) tried to play off the way her body was shaking was due to the bitter Michigan cold that came with the holiday season, and not the fact that just the mention of Jack’s name sent a chill through her bones. Did his mom even know? Did she know that for the past 6 months her middle son and his best friend hadn’t spoken because they had crossed the line that was once rising and crooked but fell straight down? Did she know that (Y/N) still loved him after he broke her heart? She probably didn't. So she put on a smile and said she looked forward to seeing him at the Christmas party. Blinking back to reality, (Y/N) sighed and picked up her phone. The email was still pulled up that contained her lease agreement to the apartment she just signed in Brooklyn. If things went the way she wanted, she’d have told him the second she signed it because in reality, she missed him too much to be mad anymore. She wanted badly to remember what they were fighting for, and why it turned into Jack telling her he didn't want to see her anymore and they needed to go back to being friends. She hung up the phone too quickly to give him a chance to explain. The reality of it was that neither of them knew if they could even call each other that. Friends. (Y/N) didn't realize how fast her heart was pounding until one of her cats jumped into her lap with an inquisitive purr. Giving her a pet, she sighed and opened the contact she hadn’t touched since that day 6 months ago. Just ask him. Swallowing her nerves, she pressed the call button and put the phone to ear. It rang a few times before going to voicemail. “Yo, its Jack. Leave me a message and I’ll get back to you” Hearing his voice, she inhaled before letting herself talk.

Jack couldn't sleep. He was tired, but his body wanted otherwise. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he grabbed his phone and almost choked on the breath he didn't know he was holding when he saw a notification he never thought he'd see again.

(Y/N) <3 voicemail 10 min. ago

Hands shaking, he clicked on it and the voice he had been longing to hear started speaking. “Hey, Jack. It’s uh, (Y/N). I saw your mom yesterday when I got to my parents. She told me you and Luke were coming home for a few days. I’ll uh, be here too until a little after Christmas. Um, I know this is like, probably not anything you were expecting but uh, if you wanna talk I’d really like that. Just let me know.”

He couldn't bring himself to do anything but stare at the screen for a few seconds, before opening his texts and typing out a message. Hey, got ur voicemail. Meet at the pond in 10? If ur still awake. The bubble appeared that she was typing almost instantly. see you there. His heart almost exploded out of his chest as he scrambled out of bed, grabbing his Devil’s hoodie and tossing on his beanie. He crept quietly down the stairs, trying to not fall because his joints felt like jello. Coat and boots on, he let the door click shut behind him as he walked through his backyard. A million thoughts were going through his brain as he walked the path to the park in the neighborhood where the pond was. Don't mess this up. He reprimanded himself. The snow crunching under his boots, he stopped in his tracks as he approached the pond. (Y/N) stood by the streetlamp, the soft yellow glow illuminating her features. Jack’s heart leapt and his body felt warm. She was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. Her hands were shoved in the pockets of her puffer coat, the earmuffs he bought her in New York covering her ears. He smiled softly. Was it a good sign she didn't throw away something he gave her? Forcing himself to move, he walked towards her.

“You look freezing.” A voice pulled (Y/N) from her thoughts, as she’d been staring at the giant analog pole clock that read 2:43 AM. Jack always knew how to push her buttons, especially with his stupid little chirps. “I’m sweating right now actually. Very warm.” She chirped back.

“Hi.” he said, big blue eyes looking up at her. He was nervous, she could tell. His shoulders were hunched over and he has a look about him that resembled a dog with it’s tail between it’s legs.

“Hey. “ She replied, giving him a soft smile as if to say, This isn’t a fight. You're ok.

“I'm really glad you called. Sorry I didn't answer right away. I’m sorry.” He said, shifting his weight back and forth. (Y/N) had a feeling that the second apology didn't have to do with the message she left.

“Its okay, Jack.”

He looked at her, seeing the (Y/E/C) of her eyes for the first time in what felt like forever. It took everything he had to keep his feet planted where they were and not to jump into her arms and start sobbing. Instead, he swallowed the tears he knew were bound to fall and nodded at her, a sign she took to start talking.

“I wish I never hung up the phone like I did that day. I should've let you explain yourself. I deserved an explanation. You told me you didn't want me anymore, and I just shut down. We were doing so good, J. I mean we had finally figured out whatever the fuck had been going on between us for years and then all of a sudden you acted like none of it was true. Can’t you imagine how fucked up that is? How shitty I felt? I was so in love with you, and we were fighting over something stupid, and then you just fucking break my heart our of nowhere.”

Jack shook his head so fast it might as well have fallen off his shoulders. “No, no. I never said I didn't want you. I’ll always want you.”

“Then why did you forget about me? Why didn't you call me back and tell me?” She retorted, stepping towards him.

“I’ll never forget you as long as I live. I wish I could go back and do it all over again. I never would've said all those things.” Jack replied, his frozen hands reaching out to wipe the tears falling from her eyes.

“Then why did you say them, J?”

The nickname only she ever called him made his heart soar. “Because I was trying to push you away. When we were just friends, I knew I could never lose you. And then when we started seeing each other over the summer, I knew it was going to kill me if it ever ended. I love you so much that it terrifies me, and so I figured that if I shut you out before it got too serious it would hurt less. Especially because you still live here, and I’m in Jersey. I’d be too selfish to always wish you were with me. I’m a fucking idiot. You did deserve an explanation, and I was too caught up in my own self loathing to give you one. I figured having you hate me was better than letting you love me and then one day realizing you don’t.” By now, they were both crying, Jack’s hands still caressing (Y/N)’s face and her gloved hands resting on his hips.

“You’re so fucking dumb, Rowdy. I could never hate you. You're the love of my life. I was so afraid you found someone else and didn't want me. I should have reached out.”

“No. No. There's never been anyone else. I could never love anyone else. Not while I love you.”

Silence fell between them for a moment. “You still left.” (Y/N) spoke.

“I know. You see me in a way no one else does. And you love me for who I am, like the real Jack Hughes. Not the Jack Hughes everyone else sees. That’s, I think, a part of why I did it. I was terrified of you leaving me. So I left first. And I’m sorry. I want you. I wish you would know that.”

“I do Jack. I wish you would've told me that from the start. You deserve love, no matter how scared it makes you. Stop thinking about if it doesn't work out, and think about if it does.”

He pressed his forehead to hers, lips brushing ever so slightly. “I love you, I’m sorry.”

“I know, baby. I love you too.” She kissed him. It was full of force, like it would be the last.

Jack sighed into it, thinking back to the summer when he kissed her for the first time. It was a warm summer night by the lake. Now, it was a snowy frozen night but the warmth of her lips would be a feeling he’d never grow tired of.

6 hours later, when Luke woke up and walked past Jack’s room to see them embraced and fast asleep, he smiled to himself, glad he suggested they return home for a few days.

tagging: @wineauntie @2manytabsopen @lam-ila @fallinallincurls @laurenairay @ilyasorokinn @senditcolton @cellythefloshie

#my writing #in my jack era no one say anything!!!!#jack hughes #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes fic #new jersey devils #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #hockey imagine

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bambiesfics · 2 years ago

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⊹ 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞’𝐬 𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐒𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐫𝐭 ⊹

warning: water-sports, extreme overstimulation, graphic depictions of lesbian smut, r!receiving finger bang, sarcastic Ellie, fluff + loving at the end.

vague description: reader has a full bladder and is trapped in Ellie William’s hatchback.

author’s note: re-upload of my fic from last blog, also don’t read this in public. It gets intense.

“Pinup paradise diner…home to… ‘The World’s Bustiest Milkshake Jars?’”

You read, with your face nosed deep into the crease of the monotoned map. You deflated back into your seat, irritated at the amount of eye-strain required to make out such small font. And let the roadmap blanket the top of your thighs.

“Is that where we’re going next?”

Ellie's eyes were intently focused on the red Honda Civic in front of her, the one she’d almost rolled her windows down to spit at, less than a minute ago. Her stacked bracelets clinked as she cracked the knuckles of each one of her boney fingers.

“Is that what it says on the map?”

You flipped back to the legend, squinting at the list of diners, drive-ins, and street trucks. The corner of her plump smile quirked, hearing you mutter,

“Jesus, how do you read this thing?”

Your squint jumped between Ellie and the page, “uhhhh…yes?—yes!”

“Then that’s where we’re going next.” She crudely cracked her pinky last. The last finger with chips of black nail polish speckled on it and a snug silver braided ring that hugged it. She settled into her seat, merging onto the left lane.

“Pinup Paradise? Really? Seems like an odd choice for a drink after going to Whopping Wrap.”

You flipped the map neatly back onto your lap as your girlfriend flicked the blinker up.

“Milkshakes after chicken wraps Ellie? Really?”

“Hey—Tommy said they have the best milkshakes this side of the state. That type of man, the fucking lumberjack he is, does not fuck around when it comes to satiating that gnarly sweet tooth.”

She muttered “He probably has cavities bigger and darker than the cracks in the Grand Canyon.”

And your tiny giggle teased a smile out of Ellie, as she half-heartedly blocked the swats you struck at her with the rolled up map.

Your girlfriend got such a fucked up kick out of busting Tommy’s balls, and he knew it too.

She flicked the signal light up higher once more and cruised right into the strip mall lane that led the car through to the drive-thru, the diner growing closer each second.

In a smooth slow crawl you and your girlfriend rolled towards ‘Pinup Paradise Diner.’

A canary yellow, vintage diner, littered with paintings of 50’s pinup models that decorated all of the glass windows.

A drive-thru swinging sign read ‘The World’s Bustiest Milkshake!’ above the order window.

You were incredibly humored, noting all the double entendres and puns that weaved through the slogans graffitied across the menu board and windows.

A young crew member poked her head out of the order window, smiling tightly before asking for both of your orders. She watched on while Ellie fished for her peeling leather wallet in the back pocket, and poked her head out of the side of the hatchback window.

“Hey, can I grab a blueberry crust milkshake? And she’ll have….” Ellie trailed off, shooting you back a look with her eyebrow raised.

“…What’ll you have?”

“I’ll have a vanilla bean milkshake please. Also could I get a bottled water, if you have that?”

“Okay, so right now we only have the 1 liter sized bottled water.. would that be alright?”

“Ah, I’m sure that’s no problem, I’ll take it. Thank youuu.” you sang, and the girl mirrored your gentle smiled. You settled back into your seat and she closed the window.

“Why’d you get water?”

Ellie observed, hastily touching up her upper and bottom lashes with mascara, in the dash mirror, before she had to put her foot on the gas.

Vain. You teased in your head.

….But so pretty.

The mascara made her already long lashes, even longer. Her dark brown eyeliner was smudged, yet the grittiness was still so attractive on her. “You should wear brown eyeliner more Els. It really brings out the green in your eyes.”

She side-eyed you suspiciously.

“Thanks?…”

And you rolled your eyes. Your girlfriend loved to pretend she was allergic to compliments unless they were talking about her earth-shattering service top abilities.

Ellie grabbed both your milkshakes. And used her teeth to rip the paper cover off her straw while passing you your drink.

She put her foot on the gas and peeled out.

“You still didn’t answer the question.”

“What question?”

“The question of what possessed you to buy an entire liter of water?”

“Because like, you know the sweet aftertaste left in your mouth after you eat something really sweet? I don’t know, but it makes my mouth feel dry.”

“Ah.” she responded.

“…that’s actually real as fuck.”

“Right?” You settled deeper into your seat. Hugging the milkshake to your chest while you stalked a few instagram stories, relaxing into the rhythmic roll of your girlfriend's beat up hatchback.

Townhouses and parked SUV’s started running on either side of the car as Ellie drove on, deeper into suburbia. You pushed yourself up to gaze out the window.

“Where are we going?”

Ellie turned right into a smaller street.

“To find a place to park. I’m tired of driving.”

“Hmm, sorry baby” you hummed as you rubbed her thigh. Your eyes lit up. “Then can I drive your ca—”

“—no. When will you stop asking?”

“When you finally let me drive it? Let me behind the wheel please.”

She scoffed, eyeing you up and down. “So I can end up with my knees touching the back of my skull? Yeah no.”

“You’re not funny Ellie.”

“And you’re the only passenger princess I’ve seen whining to do her girlfriend's job. Be a lady, damn.”

You broke down laughing, clutching your chest while Ellie bit her lip down to put a lid on her own laughter.

You shimmied close to her, your breasts squishing her upper arm.

“Then can I have some of your blueberry shake?”

She circled the straw around your mouth and made you chase it.

“uh ah-uh-hah—Ellie.” You whined.

Ellie barked a laugh at how adorable you looked, and then slotted the straw onto your puckered mouth.

“Mmm…”

“You like?”

“Yeah it’s so yummy. I should’ve gotten that instead.”

Ellie attempted to take her milkshake back, but with some struggle as you leaned further and further into her seat, pressing your front body into her arms just to keep tasting it. You were practically finished your own drink, and were now drinking half of hers. And in that moment you recalled at all the previous times your girlfriend had gripped your ass and whispered how you were a greedy little princess in your ear. Ellie was an asshole through and through.

But she spoiled you, and she loved doing it.

You eased back, and Ellie stole her milkshake back. She circled her tongue around the tip of the straw before sucking it. Wrapping her pink lips around the sticky tip your rosy lip gloss had covered seconds prior.

You dropped your empty cup in the cup holder and went to chug most of your water. It provided an indescribable amount of relief from the saccharine blanket on your tastebuds. A cool feeling that settled in you, as Ellie pulled into a grassy park parking lot.

Willow trees lined up along the curb, their weeping pose provided shade to several lots, including the one above you.

Ellie killed off the engine. She tipped her head against the headrest in relief. She flexed her fingers, stretching out the kinks, feeling the breeze run past.

Her head lolled limply to face you. “Do I really look that good in brown eyeliner?”

“Yes you really do.”

Ellie’s cheek dimpled.

“I love when you tell me stuff like that.”

“Like what? That you look pretty?”

You murmured into her shoulder, looking up at her.

“Yeah, makes me feel…dunno, not like a greasy loser.”

“Please, as if I would ever let a greasy loser bag me.”

Ellie rolled her eyes. “Jesus, kill yourself.”

She maintained eye contact with you, green eyes jumping between your own. Reflecting the amber beauty of the sun in its sparkle. She gave you a soft smile, you gave Ellie one back. A truce to the constant teasing. And Ellie took it as an invitation to dip her head down, and pull your lips into a kiss. One she’d been yearning to do since she’d first reversed both of you out of your driveway.

Ellie chased the kiss into the back seat. She gripped the fat of your hips to inch you slowly off of the center console and towards the back. She followed, kicking her loose driver’s seat forward with the sole of her sneakers. The slide adjusting rail had seen better days, and had been owned by better people than the currently horny, blunt, ungraceful young lesbian who had an avid penchant for violence, that owned it that day.

Ellie teased her hand up from your hips to the base of your neck, to grab the back of your head as she worked her puffy lips against yours. She was hungry for your little mouth, and it was seen in the way her jaw flexed.

Ellie kissed you with a remarkably intense eroticism.

Her hands ran down over the fabric of your milkmaid top before ripping the holes away from the buttons to let your tits spill out right into her hands. Each nipple immediately kissed the waiting pads of her thumbs, as they moved to greedily massage the sensitive head. Grazing each of your puffy tender domes over and over. “Fuck, need to suck these heavy tits baby.”

Ellie��s lips made their way down your chest. She suckled some swollen red marks into the skin, before making her way lower. Coming eye to eye with your nipples.

“Can you please squeeze your boobies together?”

You took your palms and pushed them together. Ellie's whiny sigh sent heat pooling in your tummy. She leaned in, licking a greedy stripe across both nipples, tickling their head with the tip of her tongue, tonguing the flesh around both areolas. And suckling your nipples intermittently then popping off them. Leaving both of them so puffed out.

Your squeaks filled the expanse of her small car, and her aroused groans joined to match.

She shoved her fingers in the waistband of your tiny denim shorts and tugged at them. They budged, but barely, so you helped your girlfriend. You lifted your ass off the seat and slid your shorts and thong down your thighs, before Ellie slid them the rest of the way off your ankles and threw them in the front seat.

The soft breeze blew past your cunt. Exposing the warm skin to a cooler environment.

“S-should we be doing this in a park?” you squeeked.

Ellie kissed her answer on your lips “there’s” *smooch* “no one” *smooch* “here.” As she shoved her hand down to palm the fat of your vagina. Feeling your pussy fill up her fingers. Ellie curled a middle finger into your tight hole, it barely wanted to split apart to accommodate her finger. But she marveled at how hungrily it sucked her in. She pumped shallowly before adding in her ring finger.

Her chrome ring grazed the swelling mound inside your hole; your g-spot. And it pulled a pathetic mewl out of you. She curled her wrist up, ligament appearing. And pumped harder. Enjoying your shaking thighs in the air.

Your brain was melting into mush. And all you managed were barely coherent babbles.

“…feels ss-s'good” your eyes were rolled backwards.

“God bunny…” Ellie marveled, “your pretty pussy’s so greedy.”

Ellie’s teeth dug into her lip “How did I bag you?”

All you could muster were delirious squeak noises in response as you tugged on the base of her ponytail.

“Look-look down” Ellie’s fingers grasped your chin, pulling your eyes away from her flushed aroused face and towards your own shiny pussy. “L-look at how you’re swallowing my fingers.”

Ellie’s forehead knocked against yours.

“Hey…c-can you squeeze for me?”

You never disobeyed her instructions, not when you both were like this. Nodding limply, you clamped around Ellie’s fingers, a choked moan escaped you. And a deep, throaty groan escaped her. Feeling how tightly you suckled in her fingers, how badly you wanted her there, made a warm heat throb between Ellie’s legs and left her boxers sticking to her sloppy cunt. Ellie could almost cry that she couldn’t bully a cock inside you, just to feel that desperate clamp around her cock.

Her ring pushed into your plump inner walls over and over, and dragged a new delicious zing of pleasure through the ribbed inner walls. Puffy, swollen, and sloppy with slick.

Ellie had a newfound resistance in her thrusting, the clamping, warm grip of your puffed out walls were holding her fingers still. But she kept pumping, like a suction cup being stuck on and popped off.

You were assaulted with thrilling pleasure from your walls clamping, chasing the press of her jewelry. And from your girlfriends frenzied, desperate thrusting. Ellie was just as hazy brained as you.

It was a costly mistake. All of the fluttering was stimulating your pelvic muscles. Which stimulated the other tiny hole snuggled in your pussy. The familiar pressure of a full bladder pressed behind the teeny hole of your urethra. Your squeaks came out strained. You scooted into different positions on the seat, trying to ebb away the pressure.

The shifting positions only made it worse as your tummy squished from movement, and as Ellie pumped upwards.

She jack hammered her fingertips against the puffy roof of your warm cunt. Her feverish ministrations put so much pressure on your bladder. You choked out a breathy plea.

Your hands skated up your girlfriend's torso, past her exposed waist and pebbled nipples that strained against her t-shirt, and finally towards her square shoulders in an attempt to push her back.

She needed off.

“I gotta…uhn… I gotta.” you whimpered.

“What was that?” Ellie sighed.

“I-ah!” The thrust felt so good.

You were whiny “th-think I needa pee.”

“I’m fucking you so good it’s got you confusing cumming for peeing? Y’so adorable it’s insane.” Ellie kissed your lips, picking up her pace.

She took the hand she’d used to squeeze and pinch your tits and brought it down to press on your lower tummy, as she thrust up.

Oh.

“Nnnnhnhn no! ph-please ewwie.. can’t—hold it.” You babbled the same desperate plea incoherently, but with a mouth nearly paralyzed from the incessant abuse of your hole Ellie was doing, you were left whiny and gulping, babbling tiny sentences at a time.

Sweat pricked at your skin, an orgasm was fucked into your vagina, and a full bladder pressed at your urethra. You didn’t know what to do as the mounting climax forced against your urethra left you with a desperate need for release, in the car.

Ellie’s lips kissed your jaw, snuggling against your head.

“You wanna let it out, big girl? Make a big mess f’me. We can clean it all up later, I promise.”

“nuh—ah Ellie no no…aghh! ”

Your urethra let out a thin light spurtle. Settling into the space between you two as more slick gushed out of your hole. You sobbed through your orgasm, from the joint pleasure of climax combined with relief from pressure pressing against your urethra. Ellie kept fingering you through each tiny pump of liquid that squirted from your urethra and through each contraction of its sloppy wet vagina, as slick spilled out of you and ran past your bare ass, onto her leather seats. With each aggressive thrust of Ellie’s fingers—fuck in—pull out—came out spurt after spurt, from each hole. She slowed down once you fell back into the seat softly; boneless and glass-eyed. Like an abused rag doll.

You both caught your breaths, Ellie from the aggressive thump and heat in her pussy. And you from your ‘accident’.

Ellie watched as the looming embarrassment creeped every so slowly onto your face, as the orgasm slowly ebbed away. She placed shaky kisses on top of your head. Cupping the back of it in support.

Sure, maybe her car wasn’t the best time to explore that kink. Seeing as the bottom half of her shirt and her belt was wet.

But she wasn’t going to let her girlfriend curl in on herself in shame, just because of her body’s natural reaction. Especially one that Ellie practically fucked out of you.

If not for the small space of the car she might’ve pulled you into her lap, to kiss away the upset creases between your brows. But she could do nothing more than hover above your trembling body, and caress your squished tummy with her free hand, until the shaking eased.

She was breathless. “You did so good, baby.”

You shoved your face into the crook of Ellie’s neck. The sweet cologne on the collar of her shirt calmed you down, with its medley of gourmands, lavender and florals.

Your girlfriend had a way of grounding you. Everything about Ellie had the ability to. From her cold, icy fingers, to her soft, pine scented hair. To her woodsy cologne, always left on the collar of her shirts, ready to tranquilize your unrest.

“nuh-uh I—.”

“—So good. My good girl, doing exactly what I tell you too, c’mere.”

Ellie unplugged her fingers out from your hole and suckled the last bit of slick cream off, then swiped it on her shirt. She licked her lips. Using her now clean hand to cup the side of your jaw and draw you into a heated kiss that left both of you trembling.

You shifted positions in the seat from discomfort.

“You still need to pee s’more?”

“No.”

“Babe…”

“Maybe.”

Ellie reached over and opened your door, then hopped out from her side. Jogging over to shield your body.

You crouched in behind her, her and the car towered over you from both sides.

You pouted up at her, and she glowered down at you. Her arms crossed firmly as she looked away briefly to scan around the area. Before parking her gaze back down at you as the remaining stream from your bladder emptied itself.

“No more vanilla bean milkshakes.” you winced at the feeling of the breeze tickling your swollen labia.

“Of course. Yeah, that was the real culprit. Not the mega-giant 1 liter water bottle.”

You frowned.

Ellie’s arms dropped from their cross, and her black fingernails pinched the fat of your cheek and pulled teasingly.

She reassured you.

“Yeah sure, we’ll blame it on the vanilla bean milkshake.”

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girliism · 4 months ago

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YOU’RE THE ONLY FRIEND I NEED.

before patrick there was you. the first person art ever considered a best friend. meeting in the first grade, you being the only kid in your class who cared enough to befriend the new kid.

“what’s your name?” younger you sat next to him.

art surveyed you. with your wild untamed hair, five different band-aids coving your body, and mix match crocs. “art.”

“cool.” you gave him a wide grin.

you practically glued yourself to art. where he was you were.

he hated it in the beginning. he thought you were weird and he didn’t wanna brand himself as “the guy with the girl best friend.” but he couldn’t escape you.

it was an odd duo the two of you made but somehow it worked. no matter what it was you guys trusted each other blindly. so when you showed up to his house in the middle of the night begging him to grab his bike and meet you at the corner he couldn’t not do just that.

“where are we going?” art said, out of breath from running from his house to the stop sign with his bike where you were waiting for him. “i can’t be out so late, you know i have church in the morning.”

you rolled your eyes. “can you not be such a loser for like one second little mouse. we won’t even be gone long.”

art blushed at the mention of that nickname. “i’m not a mouse.” he murmured.

the two of you rode through the dark empty streets, the wind was blowing in your faces and your legs burning from how fast you were going.

art slowed down parking in front of the entrance to a hiking trail. “what, uh- what are we doing here?” you turned to look behind you. “follow me and find out.” you had that all too familiar mischievous smile on your face.

you guys walked the trail with your bikes in hand. you led art off the official walkway and into a more secluded place. before art could say anything he was met with the sight a huge lake, the light from the moon reflecting off of it and lighting up the wooded area.

“i found this like two days ago. been dying to show you.” you told him, stripping your clothes to reveal the one piece you had on before jumping in water.

art watched you swim. your body going under for a period of time then resurfacing. you let out giggles every now and then, kicking your feet and twisting yourself around in the water. “get in little mouse.” you splashed water on him snapping him out the trance you put him in.

“wish you would’ve told me we were going swimming.” art pulled off his pajamas leaving him in only boxers. he wade into the water, shivering slightly at the cold temperature. “was supposed to be a surprise.” you spoke softly.

you and art played around in the water for what felt like hours before settling down to float on your backs, your feet floating by his head and vice versa. your guys hands griped each other’s forearms so neither of you drifted away.

everything around you two felt still. like you guys were the only two people in the world. “i’m so glad we’re starting middle school together.” you thought out loud breaking the peaceful silence. “yeah… me too.” art said distantly. he hadn’t told you yet.

after a while of floating there you eventually got tired of the pruning feeling on your hands and feet so the the two of you got out.

art nervously eyed you putting your clothes back on. he had to tell you now before you heard it from his mother and felt even more betrayed.

“hey, i have to tell you something.” art chewed on the inside of his mouth. “you know that tennis academy i told you about.” you nodded looking up at him from typing your shoes. “well, my mom sighed me up and they accepted me so i’ll be starting school there next year not here with you.”

you didn’t react right away. you gave yourself a second to take in what he said. “your leaving me?” art shook his head. “no, i mean not really. we’ll have summer and winter break. plus weekly calls home. we can chat online as well.” you let out a loud annoyed groan. “what about the days in between that. the days where i’ll be here alone.” art gaped at you not knowing what to say.

“i-i’m sorry.” he squeaked.

one thing you hated about art was that he had a tendency to apologize for things that he didn’t need to. deep down you knew you had no right to be mad at him, but you were hurt and that hurt translated into anger.

“whatever.”

the bike ride back to art’s house was silent and cold, you shivered as the air hit your still wet bodies.

you guys parked in front of the dondalson house and art shifted on his feet debating whether to speak or not. “so…. i’ll call you tomorrow?” you grunted out a response before riding off.

even though you were upset with art you still spent the rest of the almost ending summer with him. trying to use all the rest of the time you had left with him.

it was the last week of summer and you were helping art pack his stuff into the. “sorry your parents won’t let you fly florida with us.” art threw one of his bags into the trunk. you shrugged. “it’s fine, it’ll give me time to missed you.” you picked at a lose thread on you shorts awkwardly before pulling out a brown wooden box. “i made this for you, you know since i may never see you again.” you said. art rolled his eyes at your dramatics but took the box from your hands.

it was one of those boxes you’d find at an antique store that’s been around for years.

art unlocked the little latch and looked inside. it was filled with memorabilia from through out your guys friendship. “you do know i’m not dying right?” art joked. “mmm, you never know.” art shook his head before throwing his arms around you pulling you in for a hug. “thanks.” you tightened your arms around his body, and buried your face in his neck. “no problem, little mouse.”

“alright you two, time to go” art’s moms voice pulled you guys apart. “you all ready artie?” art gave you one last longing look before turning to his mother. “yeah.”

“don’t forget to message me when your settled in.” you yelled to art who was hanging out the window waving at you. “don’t forget to answer!” he yelled back.

art watched you through the back window. your figure getting smaller and smaller. he didn’t turn around in his seat until they turned the corner and even then he looked back every once in a while.

you stood there for like twenty whole minutes hoping that mr and mrs.dondalson would realize they couldn’t bare sending art so far away and turn back around, but they never did. so you went home.

#girliism #challengers #art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson fluff

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shuenkio · 10 months ago

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𝖶𝖾𝗍 𝖥𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖣𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆 | 𝖯𝗌𝗁. 💭

Paring: Sunghoon x male!reader

Genre: Suggestive, established relationship [no smut but-]

Cw: mentioned of dick, slightly dirty talk, mentioned of cum.

Summary: He didn't know he had a small dream that led him to this.

Non proof read|wc: 1.0k

Eng is not my 1st lang.

𝔸||ℕ: I wrote this in my sleep again y'all, mistake could appear so, sorry in advance ^^

Having Sunghoon as your boyfriend is one of the best gifts you've ever had. Even though he was a bit of a cold person who couldn't express their feelings, you know that he's into you. (Obviously, you fall hard, but he falls harder.)

After years of sinking into each other, Sunghoon decided to ask you to move in and live with him as boyfriends from those days. Which makes the bond between you and him grow even closer than anything. Sunghoon was so comfortable with you, to the point you would see him in boxers and a t-shirt on every single time you came back from college.

Though at first he was a little embarrassed being this wild to show you, you said whatever made him comfortable, you didn't care if you came home one day and saw him walking around the apartment naked. Sunghoon was happy and glad that you'd accepted his true behavior, and soon you started to see a lot of his different sides.

One night, while dozing off into Dreamland after the cuddle session, in the middle of the night, With your leg wrapped around his hip, like a koala. Suddenly, you feel a wet sensation beneath your leg, which makes you shift a bit in your sleep. However, as a light sleeper, being soaked or wet drives you nuts because it's so uncomfortable to lay with.

You open your eyes slowly, lingering on your vision, trying to find out if you're having a wet dream or if some source of water might spill. You feel nothing.

Confused, you pull up your short waistband to see your own dick, if it's leaking from a dream, yet you see nothing aside from drying.

Suspicious got the best of you. You move your leg away from your boyfriend's hip as you look at his underwear up and down, feeling something fishy under there.

You look at him, and your lips grow thin into a straight line as you keep telling yourself that there's no way Sunghoon is having a wet dream. Curiosity kills the cat; you didn't hesitate to pull your boyfriend's underwear down to his thighs level.

As expected, there's indeed a white liquid spilling and dripping from Sunghoon's cock. You take a deep sign, somehow in disbelief that a grown man like your boyfriend still had a wet dream. You shake your head slightly and find him both cute and funny before you pull his underwear back in. I didn't want him to be alone in an uncomfortable situation like this.

You wanted to wake him up from his dreamland, but remember that Sunghoon was a deep sleeper who wouldn't wake up to someone shaking him or calling for him in such a state in the middle of the night. Still feeling sleepy, you curse under your heart as you risk yourself to clean your boyfriend up by yourself without bothering him.

You grab the tissue near the bedside, and you again strip off his underwear and throw it into the laundry box before starting to wipe all the sticky, warm white orgasms away from his cock and around his lower abdomen.

The sensation of your hand around Sunghoon's cock made him grunt in his sleep a bit as he shifted his head to the other side. You froze in your spot and didn't realize you stopped breathing for a sec as you continued to wipe him clean. Luckily, it's all done.

Now you can go back to sleep at ease without worrying about your boyfriend or your sleep experience. You lay your head down on the pillow beside Sunghoon, slowly drifting again as something comes across your mind that makes you open your eyes again.

Sunghoon didn't have any boxers on! He is completely exposed besides his side split shirt. The room is completely dark, and all the laundry is still in the living room.

You couldn't process anything as you shrugged off as if nothing happened, he'd be fine. Just cover him with a blanket and work smarter, not harder. Finally, you take one last relief sign of breath, able to close your eyes tight without overthinking about any shit again.

Sun rays shine through the open curtains on the outside balcony. Morning has already risen. You are the first one to wake up early with your boyfriend, as usual. To prepare breakfast and do the housework. Meanwhile, Sunghoon is still in a deep sleep; his eyes were pumping like a panda from the lack of sleep he had.

As his alarm went off, ringing loudly to disturb his beauty sleep at 9 a.m. Sunghoon intends for his arm to close the alarm clock before sitting up, with his hair all messy.

He yawned huffy, trying to regain his consciousness and gather the strength to start his day today, but fortunately it's a holiday; he'd be at home, chilling with his boyfriend. As he's tucking the blanket to the side, he's about to leave the bed with his feet on the floor.

His eyes went wide, fully awakened by the sight of his naked form. The funny part is that he had his morning wood, with his own cock staring at him, cutely twitching. Sunghoon is on the edge of panic, but soon realizes there's nothing else but you who would, if you secretly ride him in his sleep.

Nevertheless, to make sure it's true or not, he stood up and walked out of the bedroom and went to the kitchen to look for you while his cock was cocking. Still wiggling around, breathing the breezy chill air.

"M/n? Bub, can I ask why I'm naked?" Sunghoon asks in a soft yet deep, raspy, sleepy voice at you; both hands are placed on his own hip, waiting for you to answer. You knew he'd be spring-free, so you turned around, unfazed, before opening your mouth.

"If I told you you had a wet dream last night, would you believe?" You speak in a playful manner while crossing your hands together on your chest.

"Me? I had a wet dream last night. Meh, you're a lie."

"Why would I lie when I'm the one who cleans you up? You're naked, love! Lol, now your cock is staring at me. Oh my."

"Um, uhh... really? If that is so, then sorry if I bother you, bub."

"Oh, Lord, stop saying sorry; you're fine. I'm fine; nobody was harmed; I'm just finding it funny that you've had a wet dream... At the age of 21," you respond in an unbelievable yet gentle way, as you inform him in the best way possible while your boyfriend answers you with different answers, as he just got it from the last night event from your talking earlier.

"Wahaha, oh, that's right, that's why I dreamt about having you on my hip."

"I beg your pardon... ?"

"Yeah, m/n, I dreamt that I fucked you last night, ke..."

🗣️ please mind my English! ><

🗣️Reblog and like is much appreciated ♥

🗣️ crd to rightful owner dividers&pics

🗣️ Thanks you y'all for supporting this thirsty male user who's a m! reader writer, this means a lot to me tysm bruhh~~ 🫶🫵

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rhealedlinear · 1 month ago

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10 Stunning Ways to Use LED Strip Lights to Transform Your Home Décor

Introduction

Are you looking for an easy and stylish way to enhance your home décor? LED strip lights are a fantastic solution! These energy-efficient, flexible, and vibrant lighting options can elevate your space, adding both functionality and ambiance. Whether you want to highlight architectural features, create a cozy atmosphere, or add a modern touch, Best LED strip lights for home? can do it all. In this beginner’s guide, we will explore 10 stunning ways to use LED strip lights to transform your home.

1. Illuminate Your Ceiling for a Modern Touch

Create an Elegant Ambient Glow

One of the most popular ways to use LED strip lights is by installing them along the perimeter of your ceiling. This technique, known as cove lighting, creates a soft, indirect glow that enhances the overall ambiance of a room. It works particularly well in living rooms, bedrooms, and home theaters.

Installation Tips:

Choose warm white LED strips for a cozy feel or cool white for a modern look.

Install them behind crown molding or along recessed areas for a seamless effect.

Use a dimmable option to adjust brightness according to your mood.

2. Enhance Your TV or Gaming Setup

Reduce Eye Strain and Add a Cool Effect

Backlighting your TV or gaming station with LED strip lights not only looks stylish but also reduces eye strain by balancing the contrast between the screen and the surrounding area. This technique, called bias lighting, makes long viewing sessions more comfortable.

How to Set It Up:

Use RGB LED strips that allow you to switch between colors for different moods.

Place the strips behind the TV, monitor, or desk for a futuristic effect.

Sync them with music or gameplay for an immersive experience.

3. Upgrade Your Kitchen with Under-Cabinet Lighting

Brighten Your Cooking Space

The kitchen is one of the most practical places to install LED strip lights. Placing them under cabinets or countertops enhances visibility while adding a modern touch. This type of lighting is ideal for meal preparation and creating a warm, inviting kitchen environment.

Best LED Strip Lights for Home Kitchens?

Choose waterproof LED strips to withstand moisture and heat.

Opt for bright, high-lumen lights for maximum visibility.

Use motion sensor LED strips for hands-free operation.

4. Create a Dreamy Bedroom Ambiance

Add a Relaxing Glow to Your Space

Your bedroom should be a relaxing retreat, and LED strip lights can help create a soothing atmosphere. Soft lighting around your bed’s headboard, under the bed frame, or along the walls adds warmth and elegance.

Tips for a Cozy Setup:

Use warm white or soft pastel colors to create a calming effect.

Install remote-controlled LED strips for convenience.

Place LED strips inside wardrobes or dressers for functional lighting.

5. Add a Luxurious Glow to Your Bathroom

Turn Your Bathroom into a Spa

A well-lit bathroom enhances both function and aesthetics. Waterproof LED strip lights installed around mirrors, under vanities, or along the shower area add a spa-like ambiance.

How to Get the Best Results?

Use LED strips with an IP65 waterproof rating for safety.

Choose warm white lighting for a natural glow.

Install them behind the mirror for a sleek, floating effect.

6. Highlight Your Staircase for Safety & Style

Make Your Staircase Stand Out

LED strip lights are a great way to enhance staircases while improving nighttime safety. Whether you have a modern home or a classic interior, illuminated staircases add a touch of elegance.

Installation Tips:

Install LED strips along the step edges or under the handrails.

Use motion sensor LED strips for automatic lighting.

Choose soft white or warm yellow for a welcoming look.

7. Transform Your Home Office with Smart Lighting

Boost Productivity with Adjustable Lighting

Working from home requires a well-lit space to enhance focus and reduce eye strain. Smart LED strip lights allow you to customize brightness and color, creating an ideal work environment.

Best Practices:

Use cool white light to increase concentration.

Install LED strips behind the desk or along shelves for soft illumination.

Opt for app-controlled LED strips to adjust brightness throughout the day.

8. Decorate Your Shelves and Bookshelves

Showcase Your Favorite Items

LED strip lights can turn ordinary shelves into stylish display pieces. Whether you want to highlight books, collectibles, or decorative pieces, adding lighting enhances visibility and aesthetics.

Easy Setup Guide:

Stick LED strips along the edges of shelves for a subtle glow.

Choose RGB LED strips to change colors based on themes.

Use battery-operated LED strips for flexibility.

9. Create a Cozy Outdoor Ambiance

Perfect for Patios, Balconies & Gardens

Outdoor LED strip lights make patios and gardens more inviting. Whether hosting a party or relaxing outdoors, waterproof LED strips provide the perfect glow.

Key Considerations:

Choose IP67 waterproof-rated LED strips for durability.

Opt for solar-powered or rechargeable LED strips for eco-friendliness.

Use warm white or soft yellow tones for a cozy atmosphere.

10. Accentuate Wall Art and Home Décor

Make Your Artwork Stand Out

Adding LED strip lights behind mirrors, paintings, or decorative panels creates depth and enhances visual appeal. This technique is ideal for modern and minimalistic homes.

How to Achieve This Look?

Place LED strips behind mirrors for a floating effect.

Highlight paintings with adjustable LED strips for the best illumination.

Use color-changing LED strips for a dynamic look.

Conclusion

Using LED strip lights is an affordable and stylish way to enhance your home. From ceilings and staircases to kitchens and outdoor spaces, the possibilities are endless. If you're looking for the best LED strip lights for home, consider waterproof, smart-controlled, or RGB options for maximum customization. These small additions can make a huge impact on your home’s aesthetics and functionality.

Are you ready to transform your home with LED lighting? Share your favorite LED strip light ideas in the comments below!

#Best LED strip lights for home?

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nordusk · 9 months ago

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In our modern lives, we often overlook the impact that lighting can have on our eye health. At Nordusk LED, we believe in the importance of quality lighting for your home, and we provide solutions to help you avoid the pitfalls of poor lighting. Our range of products ensures you can Buy LED Lighting Online and Buy Best Quality LED Lights in India that not only illuminate your space but also protect your eye health.

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darkintothedawn · 26 days ago

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY || Stiles Stilinski 'Teen Wolf'

Pairing — Stiles Stilinski x Gender Neutral reader

Summary — It's Stiles' birthday and you decide to play a great indoor scavenger hunt along side his dad to celebrate it.

Memo— This is kinda bad and weird but wtv! My google docs keeps autocorrecting everything to the American spelling and that's a level of editing I do not have the motivation for.

Word Count — 7786

Masterlist | Stiles' Adventures

You never thought you’d be the type to conspire with a sheriff, but here you were—crouched behind the kitchen island of the Stilinski household with a roll of duct tape, two packs of command strips, and a small mountain of LED tea lights. Sheriff Noah Stilinski stood beside you, hands on his hips, eyes darting toward the window every few minutes like he was expecting someone to pull into the driveway mid-glitter-splosion.

"Are you sure he’s gonna be out long enough for this?" you whispered, taping a gold-edged clue card to the side of the fridge.

Noah raised a brow. "He’s with Scott. That means there's at least one detour to a comic book store and an intense debate about the best Star Wars trilogy. You’ve got time."

You smiled to yourself, heart warming at the image of Stiles animatedly ranting about plot inconsistencies while Scott pretended to follow. It was exactly why you loved him—unapologetically nerdy, wildly passionate, and so easy to adore in every way.

You looked around at the mess of craft supplies, fairy lights, and the now half-completed “adventure route” you’d mapped out through the Stilinski home. The plan was simple: a scavenger hunt made just for Stiles, based on memories you’d shared and inside jokes no one else would get. Each clue would lead him to a different room, each with a small gift, a photo, or a note from you—something that whispered, “I see you. I know you. I love you.”

"Okay," you said, laying out the next few clue cards in a careful line across the dining table. "Station two is the couch. That’s where we fell asleep watching The Princess Bride after pretending we didn’t like rom-coms."

Noah chuckled, leaning over to stick a photo strip of the two of you—taken at a rickety fairground photo booth—next to the couch’s armrest. "He told me he only stayed awake through that movie because you were resting your head on his shoulder."

You grinned. "He’s full of it. He quoted like half the movie."

The Sheriff smiled at that, shaking his head fondly. “You know,” he said softly, “he hasn’t shut up about you since the day you met. Even when I’m trying to watch the game.”

That made your chest ache in the best way. You paused a moment, absorbing that, then quickly ducked your head before emotion ruined your timeline.

“Okay, okay, back to work before I get all sappy and start crying into the fairy lights.”

With a snort, Noah grabbed a handful of battery-powered candles and helped you line the hallway. You arranged them like breadcrumbs leading down toward the final “treasure” room—Stiles' bedroom, which you’d temporarily claimed and transformed. You’d swapped out his usual Star Wars bedding for crisp new sheets in navy blue, added a cozy pile of pillows to the bed, and lit more soft lights around the room to make it feel like a sanctuary.

At the foot of the bed, you placed the last envelope: a handwritten note with the words, “For your eyes only.” Inside it, a love letter. Honest, messy, a little goofy—just like the two of you.

And on his desk sat your final gift. Not expensive, not flashy, but meaningful—a scrapbook filled with memories, polaroids, receipts from midnight milkshake runs, ticket stubs from your first horror movie date, and even a page dedicated to the time you both got drenched during a summer thunderstorm and ended up dancing in the street.

You looked at it all, then turned to Noah.

"I think… I think he’s gonna love it."

The sheriff gave you a long look—kind, warm, the kind that saw everything without having to say much. "He’s gonna lose his damn mind."

You smiled through the lump in your throat.

As you tucked the final clue under a cushion on the living room couch and set the playlist to something soft and low, you felt a flutter in your chest—not from nerves, but from knowing that, for once, it was just going to be you and him. No pack emergencies, no monsters or magical curses—just Stiles and the kind of love that glows warm like fairy lights, steady like candlelight, and comfortable like home.

And really, wasn’t that the best kind of magic?

You barely had time to blink before your phone buzzed with a message from Scott: "Headed back now. He won’t shut up about his birthday theory. I think he suspects aliens."

Classic Stiles.

Your eyes widened as you spun toward Noah. “That’s the cue. Time to evacuate, Sheriff.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender, smirking. “Alright, alright, I know when I’m no longer needed.” He grabbed his jacket from the back of the dining chair, casting one last glance around the transformed space. “You really pulled it off. He’s gonna love it. And if he doesn’t cry, I’m demanding a DNA test.”

You laughed as you walked him to the door. “If he doesn’t cry, I will. So someone’s shedding a tear tonight.”

With a final wink, he stepped outside and you quickly shut the door behind him. Heart thudding, you reached into your hoodie pocket and pulled out the final touch—a folded note in your own messy handwriting, sealed with a little doodle of a cartoon bat (because, of course, Stiles once swore your first date was interrupted by a vampire, and the joke just never died).

You taped it right to the center of the front door. "Welcome Home, Birthday Boy. The Game is Afoot. -Your Soon to Be Betrothed" Below that, a tiny arrow pointing down toward the doormat where you’d placed Clue #1.

You took one last sweep of the house, heart rattling against your ribs like a caged thing. Everything was in place—the photos, the tiny trail of lights, the ambient music playing low on the Bluetooth speaker. His favorite hoodie of yours draped casually on the back of the couch, just in case he missed it (which he wouldn’t). Even the snack tray in the kitchen with his beloved sour gummy worms and blue Gatorade was right there waiting.

And then—go time.

You bolted for his bedroom, nerves sparking like static under your skin. In the closet, you’d already cleared out a little corner—just enough room to crouch down behind his jackets and slide the door mostly shut, letting just a sliver of light in from the room beyond.

As you ducked into your hiding spot, pulse in your throat, you stifled a giggle. This was ridiculous. And perfect.

You could already picture the expression on his face—the way his brows would knit together at the first clue, that focused little squint he got when he was in “mystery mode.” You imagined the amused eye-roll when he realized it was you orchestrating the hunt, not some cryptic supernatural threat. He’d roll his eyes. He’d mutter something sarcastic.

And then he’d smile. That soft, crooked smile—the one he only ever gave you, like he couldn’t believe he got to have you.

You hugged your knees to your chest, the closet suddenly feeling impossibly warm. Your palms were sweating. Your stomach fluttered so hard it felt like you’d swallowed a flock of birds.

But it wasn’t fear. Not even close.

It was the anticipation of seeing him—just him. Your favorite person, your ridiculous, rambling, brilliant mess of a boyfriend, walking through the door completely unaware of what you’d put together.

And for once, there were no monsters waiting. Just love. Just home.

Just you.

You held your breath as you heard the distant sound of tires crunching gravel in the driveway. A car door slam. Footsteps.

He was here.

And the game had begun.

Stiles was mid-rant when he stepped out of the Jeep, his phone still in hand as he dramatically pointed it toward Scott, who was already halfway down the sidewalk.

“I’m just saying,” he said, voice carrying, “if there were a secret government facility under the Beacon Hills library, they wouldn’t make it obvious. That’s literally the point of secret government facilities. You hide them under places no one wants to go. Like—like DMV buildings. Or vegan juice bars.”

Scott didn’t even respond. He just threw him a knowing look over his shoulder and gave a casual, two-fingered salute before disappearing around the corner.

“Traitor,” Stiles muttered, shoving his phone into his pocket as he turned toward the house.

And paused.

There was something taped to the front door.

Something that did not look like an official document, a threat, or a “you left your socks on the stairs again and I almost died” message from his dad.

It was a note.

With your handwriting.

And right at the bottom corner, a doodle of a bat wearing sunglasses.

He stared at it for a full five seconds before reaching up and peeling it off, eyes scanning the words.

"Welcome Home, Birthday Boy. The Game is Afoot. —Your Soon to Be Betrothed"

He blinked.

Read it again.

“…Betrothed?” he echoed, voice cracking just a little as the word left his mouth like it had weight, like it had history, like it was something he wasn’t supposed to think about unless he was proposing on a windswept balcony with a bouquet of ring pops.

His ears went red.

He felt it happening and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

He stood there like an idiot, note still in hand, staring at it with a weird, fluttery smile tugging at the corner of his mouth and absolutely no idea what to do with his face.

You were ridiculous. Absolutely deranged. Probably legally dangerous. He was also 100% going to marry you one day.

“Betrothed,” he muttered again, this time with the kind of breathy half-laugh that only happened when his brain was glitching out. “That’s not even legal at sixteen. That’s—that’s a medieval term. What are we, eloping in a fantasy novel?”

He glanced down at the doormat, where a small envelope sat perfectly aligned in the center.

“Oh god,” he whispered, picking it up. “It’s a scavenger hunt.”

His heart did a little cartwheel.

He should’ve known. Of course you wouldn’t just say happy birthday like a normal person. No. You’d weaponize his love of puzzles and drama and create an entire game just to lead him around the house like some kind of lovesick Holmesian idiot.

He folded the note carefully, as if it were priceless, tucking it into the back pocket of his jeans before opening the envelope.

Inside was Clue #1, written in the same familiar, slightly chaotic scrawl:

"Where we spend Sunday mornings and pretend the world doesn’t exist. Your first present is waiting."

He grinned so hard his face hurt.

The couch.

Definitely the couch.

As he stepped into the house, quietly closing the door behind him, he couldn’t help the way his fingers brushed the edge of the note again—like he needed to make sure it was still there.

“Betrothed,” he muttered one last time, shaking his head as he made his way toward the living room, blushing to his ears. “God, I’m so screwed.”

The second Stiles stepped inside, the door clicking softly shut behind him, he was hit with something that made his chest tighten—not fear, not even surprise, but this weird, achy, full kind of warmth that felt like it expanded in his lungs and pushed all the air out.

The house was quiet.

But not empty.

Somewhere deeper inside, from a speaker you’d clearly stashed out of sight, a soft instrumental track floated through the air—something mellow, dreamy. It wasn’t one of those cheesy love songs, nothing dramatic or with sweeping lyrics. It was gentle. Almost like a lullaby. Familiar, too. Something you’d played on repeat during late-night study sessions when the world outside got too loud and Stiles needed something to ground him.

He didn’t realize he’d stopped moving until he blinked and noticed his fingers flexing against the envelope in his hand.

The living room came into view, golden from the lazy trail of LED tea lights that lined the floor and curled around furniture legs like little constellations. And there—draped over the back of the couch like it had always lived there—was your hoodie. His favorite one. The oversized black one with the sleeves stretched out from where you tugged on them when you were nervous. The one that smelled like your shampoo and faintly of candy because you always forgot what was in your pockets.

He didn’t even hesitate.

Within seconds, he was sliding it on like muscle memory. It swallowed him whole in the best way. The weight of it was soft and familiar, and the scent—God, it was you. Warm and real and here, even if you weren’t technically in the room.

He tugged the hood up over his buzzed hair, exhaling through a dazed grin, arms crossed loosely over his chest like he could hold the moment still just by squeezing hard enough.

“…Okay,” he mumbled, dragging himself back to reality, “focus, Stilinski. You’re not actually gonna melt into a pile of hoodie-scented goo. You’ve got a clue to find. A game to solve. A… future spouse to locate.”

His ears flushed again.

He turned toward the couch cushions, heart still hammering a little too fast, and immediately spotted what had to be the next piece.

There, nestled between the throw pillows, sat two polaroids and another envelope—this one decorated with yet another doodle, this time of a little ghost holding a heart. You’d drawn little motion lines around it like it was zooming.

He picked up the photos first, holding them up to the light.

The first one was you, caught mid-sneeze—eyes half-lidded, mouth open in some in-between curse-word-turned-sneeze expression. Stiles snorted so hard he almost dropped it.

The second one?

Him. Kissing your cheek.

You were trying to look annoyed, like you hadn’t just combusted from the contact—but your face had gone this perfect, brilliant shade of pink and your nose was scrunched up in that way that made his stomach do a completely unprovoked somersault.

He let out a breath through his nose, all fondness and fuzz.

“I cannot believe you kept the sneeze one,” he said to no one, because no one was around, but it didn’t matter. His voice still felt full of you.

Then he reached for the envelope.

It was wedged just slightly between the two photos, as if guarded. As if the memories themselves were protecting the next step.

He turned it over in his hands, thumbs brushing the tiny ghost.

Inside, he already knew—another piece of the trail. Another little puzzle, written in your voice.

And God, he’d never been more excited to chase something in his life.

The envelope crinkled just slightly as Stiles slid a careful finger beneath the flap, trying not to tear the ghost drawing. He’d never admit it out loud, but he was pretty sure he was going to keep all of these clues forever. Probably in a shoebox. Or maybe under his bed. Or framed. Shut up, it didn’t matter.

Inside, the second clue was written in the same pen—black gel, slightly smudged in places like you'd gone too fast, or maybe your hand had been shaking. Or sweating. Cute.

He unfolded the note and read aloud in a low murmur, the kind he only used when it was just him and no one was listening:

“For the next treasure, go where the contraband lives. Where the ‘we’re just getting water’ lie always gives. Behind the Wheat Thins and dad’s ‘secret’ stash, Lurks the next memory, plus a little sugar dash. (And yes, I drew you as a chocolate wizard. You’re welcome.)”

Stiles stared at it for a second. Then laughed.

“Chocolate wizard,” he repeated, shaking his head like it was the most ridiculous, most you phrase he’d ever heard. Which—honestly—was saying something.

He moved quickly now, feet padding down the hall with the kind of focused energy he usually reserved for crime scenes or trivia contests. The kitchen greeted him with the same quiet warmth as the rest of the house, dim lights casting soft shadows against the countertops. The playlist from the speaker was still going, shifting now into some kind of twinkly piano cover of a Bowie song, and it made everything feel extra surreal—like he’d stepped into a memory that hadn’t happened yet.

He didn’t hesitate as he approached the tall cabinet to the left of the fridge—the one that looked like it held nothing but innocent boxes of cereal and maybe a bottle of olive oil, but was actually Noah Stilinski’s poorly hidden snack vault. He and you had been raiding it since the day you started hanging out after school. “Just grabbing a glass of water,” was code for “stealing half a sleeve of Oreos and sprinting back upstairs like raccoons.”

Stiles opened the cabinet door and immediately reached behind the box of Wheat Thins.

And there it was.

Tucked neatly between a bag of trail mix and a box of Pop-Tarts was another envelope, this one a soft orange, like a sticky note. Drawn on the front in Sharpie was a truly spectacular stick-figure version of Stiles wearing a wizard hat made of chocolate. It even had tiny sparkles around it and a speech bubble that read, “I summon snacks!”

Beneath it, carefully placed and absolutely irresistible, was a small bar of chocolate—his favorite brand, the kind with chili and sea salt he pretended was “too spicy” for Scott but hoarded like gold. He grinned and pocketed it instantly.

And there, sitting beside the envelope, were two more polaroids.

He picked them up, instantly recognizing you in the first one—and wheezed.

“Oh my god.”

It was bad. Not just “oops I blinked” bad, but full mid-sentence, mouth open, eyes half-closed, hair doing that thing where it looked like it was trying to escape your skull. He had no idea when he took it, but judging by the chaos in the background, it was probably during one of your joint snack heists.

“You’re gonna kill me for keeping this,” he whispered fondly, tucking it behind the chocolate wizard clue like he was shielding you from your own humiliation.

Then he looked at the second photo.

And his breath caught just a little.

It was him—caught in profile, lips curved in the kind of rare, relaxed smile that didn’t show up unless he was laughing. His hand was resting just behind your head, clearly mid-ridiculous story, and you—you—were looking up at him, eyes wide, cheeks redder than a sunburn, expression stuck between admiration and utter disbelief that this was your life now.

It looked like a movie still. It looked like the moment someone realizes they’re hopelessly, helplessly in love.

Stiles ran a hand over his buzzed head, hoodie sleeves falling over his fingers. His heart did that stupid thing where it clenched and melted at the same time, like it didn’t know whether to combust or dissolve.

He stared at the photos for a long moment, then at the envelope.

And that’s when he realized it.

The pattern.

One embarrassing photo of you. One shockingly flattering photo of him. A clue. A treat. All nestled in places that meant something—not to everyone, but to you and him. Where you spent time. Hid from the world. Made dumb jokes and even dumber memories.

This wasn’t just a scavenger hunt.

It was a love letter. One with candy and chaos and polaroids instead of punctuation.

He swallowed, still smiling like an idiot as he slid the orange envelope open, more excited than ever for what came next.

Stiles slipped the clue out of the orange envelope, carefully so he didn’t smudge the ink. You’d written it a little more compact this time, like you were trying to contain something that wanted to spill over—like the words had energy in them. Like you had energy in you when you wrote it.

He read it once silently, and then again out loud, his voice quieter now, tinged with something softer. Something warmer.

“You’ve earned a pit stop—something sweet, something blue. Check the tray, take a sip (yes, it’s all just for you). But don’t linger too long—there’s one more place to be. Where your hoodie ends up… when you’re sharing it with me.”

He stood frozen for a beat, blinking at the page.

His lips twitched upward, and his ears flushed in slow motion.

“…Oh,” he said.

Then: “Oh.”

He looked toward the counter like it had suddenly become sacred. And in a way—it kind of had. You’d set it up like a miniature shrine: his favorite snacks laid out on a tray in ridiculous precision (you knew he liked the green gummy worms more than the orange ones), and beside it, an ice-cold bottle of blue Gatorade, the condensation making it look like it had been waiting for him all day.

He approached it like it might vanish if he blinked too hard.

For a second, he just stared—like he couldn’t believe it was real. Like he wasn’t already wearing your hoodie and halfway through a romantic quest you’d handcrafted like the world’s most affectionate cryptid.

Then he reached out, lifted the bottle of Gatorade, and took a slow sip.

And groaned.

“You remembered the exact temperature I like this at. You’re a witch.”

He popped a sour gummy worm into his mouth and grinned around it, high on sugar and something a lot more dangerous—something warm and giddy and intimate that made his knees a little weak.

As he leaned forward to grab another candy, something caught his eye—a flicker of color sticking out just barely from beneath the tray. Like it was peeking.

He slid the tray to the side, revealing another envelope—this one pale pink, with tiny hearts doodled along the bottom, but all lopsided and rushed like you’d done them last-minute.

He picked it up like it was precious. Like it mattered.

Because it did.

The note inside was short. Just two lines. And this time, the writing was different—still you, still messy, but slower. Intentional. Weighted.

“You’ve followed my trail—every sweet, silly part. Now go to your room… and bring your heart.”

There was a tiny arrow pointing downward, and beneath it, one last line, smaller and scribbled faster, like you’d hesitated before writing it at all:

“(And maybe your mouth, too.)”

Stiles blinked.

And then flushed so red it reached the tips of his ears.

He slapped the note lightly against his chest. “You menace.”

But he couldn’t stop smiling. It wouldn’t leave. Not even if he tried. His fingers curled around the note, carefully folding it as his heart raced ahead of him—way ahead.

He looked down the hallway, toward the stairs, toward his room.

And then he was moving.

Stiles’ socked feet barely made a sound as he climbed the stairs, the soft music from downstairs fading behind him like a curtain closing. Every step sent a little tremor through his chest, something giddy and humming, like the notes of a secret song playing just under his skin. The hoodie sleeves covered his hands completely now, and he clutched the last clue tight like it might fly away if he loosened his grip.

At the top of the stairs, he hesitated, his fingers brushing the edge of the hallway wall like he was steadying himself. The house was still quiet. Not the kind of silence that meant no one was home, but the kind that meant someone was waiting. Holding their breath. Listening.

He turned the corner.

His bedroom door was slightly ajar.

The light was different—softer. Warmer. Golden.

And the second he stepped over the threshold, everything in him stopped.

His room—his chaotic, poster-covered, slightly disastrous room—wasn’t gone, but it was… changed.

Transformed.

The harsh Star Wars bedding he’d probably had since middle school was gone, swapped out for clean, navy-blue sheets that looked like something out of a catalog, smooth and cool and deliberately chosen. His bed—usually a battlefield of mismatched pillows and tangled blankets—was now neat but cozy, layered with extra cushions, a folded knit throw at the end. The string lights above his headboard had been replaced—or maybe just added to—with warm, ambient fairy lights tucked along the walls, giving the entire room a hazy glow, like dusk bottled in glass.

The air smelled faintly like the candle you always lit at your house. Vanilla and cedar and something a little citrusy, like hope.

It didn’t look like a teenager’s room anymore.

It looked like a space made for him. Like you’d gone out of your way to carve a sanctuary out of his chaos. A soft place to land. A secret nest only you and he knew about.

And at the foot of the bed, resting against one of the navy pillows like the center of a constellation, was the final envelope.

This one was thick. Handwritten in bold, unmistakable scrawl. On the front, in looping, nervous letters:

“For your eyes only.”

His throat tightened. He stared at it for a moment, caught between wonder and disbelief, fingers twitching at his sides like they didn’t trust themselves to touch it yet.

Then, slowly, he crossed the room, each step quieter than the last.

He sank onto the edge of the bed, hoodie pooling around his arms, and reached for the envelope like it was sacred.

It was unsealed.

His name was written once, in smaller letters inside the flap. Just Stiles. No nicknames. No jokes. Like you couldn’t make yourself be funny when you wrote it. Like it mattered too much.

He opened it.

Inside, the letter was folded in half. The paper wasn’t lined—just blank, like you hadn’t needed structure to say what you needed to say. His fingers trembled a little as he opened it.

And there it was.

Your handwriting. Real. Tangled. Imperfect.

A love letter.

He could see it before he read a word: little scratch-outs where you’d second-guessed a sentence, arrows pointing to phrases you wanted to add. A tiny doodle in the margin of the two of you—stick-figure versions holding hands, one in a hoodie, the other with a ridiculous crown labeled birthday boy. The kind of letter that wasn’t polished, but was honest. Messy. A little goofy.

Just like the two of you.

He hadn’t even started reading yet, and he was already overwhelmed.

He sat there in the golden light, hoodie sleeves bunched in his lap, a room reshaped by love around him, a letter written by the person who knew him best in his hands.

And for once in his life—

He didn’t have a single word.

Just the kind of smile that doesn’t fade.

Stiles took a breath and finally let his eyes fall to the first line of the letter.

Dear Stiles (aka the light of my life, the smartest idiot I’ve ever met, the reason my standards are ruined forever, and my now-certified birthday boy),

Hi.

I know you’re probably blushing already, and honestly? Good. You deserve to. You deserve to feel like the center of the universe today. Actually, every day, but especially today.

Because here’s the thing: you are so stupidly, wildly, unfairly wonderful.

Like, do you even get how good you are? You’re brilliant (like scary smart��do you remember that time you solved that entire AP Chem problem before class even started and then helped me figure out how to balance basic equations without making me feel like a total moron??), and you’re hilarious (even when your jokes make me groan, I’m laughing inside, don’t lie), and you’ve got this face—this face, Stiles—that has no business being as perfect as it is.

Especially with the buzz cut.

Let’s talk about that for a second. The buzz cut? Criminal. Like, I was not prepared to find out I have a thing for soft hair and sharp jawlines and the back of your neck. You’ve created a monster. I literally cannot concentrate when you tilt your head. You’ve turned me into a flustered cartoon character. Congrats.

But here’s what gets me the most: you care.

You care so hard. About your dad, about Scott, about your friends, about me. You put everything you have into being there for people, even when you’re exhausted or scared or hiding behind one of your thousand sarcastic defense mechanisms. You show up. You’ve always shown up.

Like that day in fourth grade when I tripped over my own shoelace and biffed it in front of the whole playground. Remember that? I was crying, my knee was bleeding, and I’d just dropped my favorite pencil case with the sparkly stars on it. And you—tiny, bony, big-eyed Stiles—ran over like the floor was lava and immediately offered me your sleeve to wipe my face. Your sleeve, Stiles. You didn’t even flinch.

And you helped me up and made some ridiculous joke about gravity having a crush on me and I laughed—through the tears and snot and dirt, I laughed. And we’ve been friends ever since.

If you hadn’t been you in that exact moment, I don’t know where I’d be. Because everything that’s ever made my life better somehow leads back to you.

Which is why I am so damn glad I said yes when you asked me out. Four years later, still you, still me, still a little awkward and a lot in love.

And yeah. I am in love with you.

Head over heels. Hopelessly. Helplessly. Absolutely wrecked by how much I love you.

You make me feel safe and seen and like maybe the world isn’t as terrible as it looks on the news. You make me laugh when I want to cry, and you let me cry when I need to—and you never make me feel bad for either. You just… get me.

And you love me back. Somehow. Which is the biggest miracle of all.

So happy birthday, my soon-to-be-betrothed (yes, I said it again, fight me).

You’re my favorite person I’ve ever met. And the best part is—you’re mine.

Love, always and obnoxiously, Me.

P.S. You should probably go look at your desk now.

Like. Now now.

Stiles stared at the letter for a long, suspended moment after he finished reading.

His heart was hammering. His ears were hot. His eyes were suspiciously damp—but he didn’t move to wipe them. Didn’t blink them away. He just let it happen, let it be, because if there was ever a moment to feel everything all at once, it was this one.

You loved him.

And not in a vague, Hallmark card kind of way. You loved him in full paragraphs. In fourth-grade memories and buzz cut compliments and chaotic margins. You’d wrapped every inch of your heart into that letter, and now it was in his hands, sitting in his lap, warm as if it had just been pulled from your chest.

And somehow—somehow—you’d done more.

He blinked and looked up, your last sentence echoing in his brain like it was shouted down a hallway. P.S. You should probably go look at your desk now.

He turned slowly, standing on legs that were just a little wobbly with awe, and crossed the room toward the desk he barely used except to stack unopened textbooks and doodle when he was supposed to be doing homework.

But tonight?

It looked entirely different.

No clutter. No old gum wrappers or tangled earbuds or loose paperclips. Just one thing.

Centered. Waiting.

A scrapbook.

The cover was simple—matte black with his name on it in silver sharpie, hand-lettered in your slightly crooked handwriting. Around it were tiny white stars, all uneven and scattered, like a little galaxy made just for him. Like you’d tried to fit the whole universe on a spiral-bound cover.

He reached for it with the kind of reverence usually reserved for holy relics.

The first page creaked open with that satisfying, deliberate sound only thick paper can make—and then he was gone.

There was a photo of the two of you, age eleven, leaning awkwardly against each other, both sunburnt from the county fair, you wearing one of his flannels because you’d spilled cherry slushie on your shirt and Stiles had offered his like a tiny gentleman in cargo shorts.

There was a wrinkled receipt taped beside it—from Eddie’s All-Nite Diner—with a scribble under the $7.50 milkshake charge: “First sugar crash together. Worth it.”

Another page: a movie ticket from the worst horror movie of all time (and your first date), where you’d both screamed at the same exact jump scare and then laughed so hard the old couple two rows behind you told you to leave.

Polaroids were everywhere—messy, out of order, completely perfect. Some were blurry from movement, some captured you mid-blink or him mid-sneeze. But there were just as many soft ones, quiet ones. You tangled in a hoodie that definitely wasn't yours. Stiles grinning with chocolate ice cream on his nose. A close-up of your hands intertwined, his thumb running over your knuckle like a habit he couldn’t quit.

Then came the page he didn’t expect.

The thunderstorm.

You’d captioned it only with: “Stiles + [Your Name] vs. the storm: we lost, and it was the best night ever.”

The photo showed both of you soaked to the bone, standing in the middle of a glowing street, rain caught mid-fall like starlight. He had his hands cupped around your cheeks. You were laughing, mouth open wide, like you couldn’t contain the joy, like nothing had ever felt more right. And behind you, the world was blurred and glowing, caught in the storm with you.

He closed the scrapbook slowly, holding it against his chest like it was a heartbeat.

This wasn’t just a gift. This was everything.

A history. A promise. A celebration. A quiet, hand-built monument to your love, crafted out of scraps and snapshots and scribbles.

It didn’t matter that it wasn’t expensive. It didn’t matter that it didn’t come with a receipt or a barcode.

It mattered because it was you. All the best parts of you. And all the parts of him you’d chosen to treasure.

Stiles took a breath, eyes stinging again, and turned toward the door.

“Okay,” he whispered to himself, smiling so hard it ached. “You win. Best birthday of all time.”

And then he went to find you.

He turned around with purpose—full of momentum and love and maybe a little bit of sparkling tears still clinging to his lashes. He was ready to go find you, to sprint downstairs or search the house or call your name like a man on a mission.

But he didn’t have to.

Because you were already there.

Standing just a few feet away, leaning awkwardly just in front of the doorway with your hands in the sleeves of his sweatshirt—way too long for you, the hem brushing your thighs. Your legs were bare except for a pair of his sweatpants, rolled at the ankles so you didn’t trip. The sleeves of his hoodie covered your hands entirely, and the drawstrings were pulled unevenly. You looked cozy and rumpled and completely perfect.

His eyes flicked to the closet—open. Your graphic tee (the one with the cartoon cat and the phrase “You’ve got to be kitten me”) was crumpled in a pile on the floor like it had been discarded in a moment of boredom or impatience. Of course. You’d gotten restless waiting for him.

“Hi,” you said softly, and your voice held this shy warmth like maybe you were afraid it would all be too much. “I got bored. And also… your clothes are stupid comfortable, so.”

Stiles made a noise. It wasn’t even a word—just a sound, somewhere between a breath and a choke.

Then he moved.

There was no hesitation, no moment of panic or awkwardness or hesitation like there sometimes was with him. He just stepped forward and grabbed you—arms wrapping tight around your waist, face burying into the crook of your neck like it was the only place he could breathe.

And he cried.

Not a loud, ugly cry. Not sobs.

Just quiet, open, real crying. His shoulders shook a little. His breath hitched against your skin. His hands fisted in the fabric of his own sweatshirt where it hung on your back. He didn’t try to hold it back, didn’t apologize, didn’t ruin it with a joke. He just let it happen.

You held him right back, just as tightly, letting him melt into you like a boy who’d been carrying too much for too long and was only now allowed to fall apart a little.

“I love you,” he whispered into your shoulder, the words muffled and thick. “I love you so much, it hurts, okay? You—god, you did all this. You made this whole day magical and stupidly perfect and—you. You made it you. I don’t even know what I did to deserve you, but—holy shit—I love you.”

You didn’t say anything right away. Just held him, one hand moving up to thread through the tiny bristles of his buzzcut, the other anchoring at the small of his back.

He made a soft sound at the touch, like it grounded him. Like your fingers in his hair were all it took to keep him here, in this moment, in you.

When you did speak, it was barely above a whisper.

“I’ve loved you since you offered me your sleeve.”

He let out this shaky laugh that cracked right down the middle and turned into a hiccup of another tear.

Then you both stood there for a long time—no more clues, no more envelopes, no more presents or plans.

Just two kids in love, wrapped in each other, in a room that smelled like candle wax and hope, hearts thudding in sync under cotton and thread and years of shared history.

Eventually, Stiles pulled back just enough to see your face, his hands still cupping your sides like you might float away if he let go.

“You’re never getting this sweatshirt back,” you murmured, smiling up at him.

“Deal,” he said, and leaned in to kiss you like it was the only gift he needed.

His lips were warm and familiar and just a little bit chapped—like he hadn’t remembered to use the lip balm you kept trying to sneak into his backpack. But none of that mattered. Not the dry lips or the tear-smudged cheeks or the fact that his hoodie sleeves were still swallowing your hands.

Because the kiss?

It was everything.

Soft and slow at first—like he was afraid of shattering the moment. His hands stayed gentle, fingers curled against the small of your back and your side, barely gripping, just holding. Like you were fragile, or maybe like he was. And then you tilted your head just a little, pressed closer, and something cracked open.

He sighed into your mouth like it was relief.

Like kissing you was the answer to a question he hadn’t known he was asking all day.

The kiss stayed sweet, but it deepened in that sort of clumsy, impossibly you two way—where his nose bumped yours and he smiled into it, where you laughed quietly against his lips because his hand had accidentally brushed your hip and made you twitch.

You broke the kiss for a breath, barely, and he chased you with a quiet sound—like he was already missing it.

You nuzzled close, your nose brushing the side of his, and whispered, lips brushing his skin as you spoke, “Just so you know… if you ever get rid of this buzz cut, I’m going to cry.”

He blinked, breath catching as he pulled back the tiniest bit to look at you. “What?”

“I’ll cry,” you repeated solemnly, then kissed the corner of his mouth. “Real tears. Ugly ones. And then I’ll have to go find someone else’s sleeve to sob into. Because this?” You reached up and ran your fingers along the soft velvet of his buzzed hair. “This is criminally hot. I mean, seriously. You have no idea what this does to me.”

Stiles flushed immediately—face going from warm to cherry red in an instant. “Wha—okay, no. No, see, this is not fair. You can’t just say stuff like that when I’m—when I’ve just been emotionally demolished by your love scrapbook and—and your face in my hoodie.”

You grinned.

He rubbed a hand down his own face, flustered and glowing and utterly undone. “You—you love the buzz cut?”

You nodded, emphatic. “I adore it. You look like… like a freshly sharpened pencil I want to make out with forever.”

He made a strangled noise. “That is the weirdest and most affirming compliment I’ve ever received.”

You kissed him again. Quick. Sweet. “Good.”

He rested his forehead against yours then, eyes fluttering shut, still smiling like he couldn’t stop if he tried. “I almost didn’t do it, you know. Buzz it. I thought you might hate it. Or think I looked like an egg.”

You pulled back just enough to cup his cheeks, your expression full of earnest affection.

“You could look like a literal potato and I’d still be in love with you. But lucky for both of us, you look like a movie star with a jawline sharp enough to commit crimes.”

Stiles made another one of those soft, broken little laughs and melted right into your hands.

“I love you,” he murmured. “So much it makes my chest feel too small.”

“Good,” you whispered back. “Then we match.”

And you kissed him again, slow this time, lingering. The kind of kiss that said thank you, and I see you, and I want to keep choosing you—over and over again.

And in the soft, golden light of his newly transformed room, wrapped in each other and ridiculous compliments and hoodie sleeves too long for your hands, everything felt safe. Everything felt like forever.

Eventually, the kiss slowed, softened, like an exhale that had been waiting all day to happen.

Your foreheads bumped again, and your lips brushed once more, but this time it was gentler—less urgency, more intimacy. Stiles sighed through his nose, still tangled in the warmth of your arms, your words, your everything.

You smiled, not pulling too far away, just enough to shift onto your knees on the bed and gesture behind you with a small, secretive glint in your eyes. “Okay. One more gift.”

Stiles groaned, but it was soft and fond, dragging his hands down his face dramatically. “How? How are there more? You already wrecked me. I'm emotionally obliterated. Do you want me to die?”

“Not yet.” You grinned. “But you might implode. So scoot.”

He shuffled obediently, and you reached back toward the stack of pillows at the head of his bed, digging beneath the fluff until your fingers curled around something you’d stashed carefully earlier in the day.

A small black box.

You hesitated for just a second, then pulled it free and turned, sitting cross-legged in front of him.

“I was gonna… give you this in a different context,” you admitted, voice dipping a little. There was heat beneath your words—an unspoken layer of maybe later tonight, if we felt brave enough, but you didn’t say it aloud. You didn’t have to. The flush in his cheeks said he understood exactly what you meant.

His eyes flicked to the box, then back to your face, breath catching.

You opened it slowly.

Inside was a crown.

Not gaudy. Not regal. Not a king’s crown or anything covered in jewels.

No—this was so him.

Crafted of matte black metal, the usual sharp spikes had been swapped for curved little bats—elegant and geeky all at once. They looked like they were mid-flight, like they’d taken off from some gothic comic book panel. And across the front and right behind it on the inner band, etched in delicate silver script, were two lines:

I love you. I know.

Stiles made a sound. A choked-off laugh, caught in his throat like it didn’t know whether to come out as awe or disbelief.

“I—what—” He reached forward but didn’t touch it, like he was afraid his hands were too human for something this perfect.

You lifted it from the box carefully, the way you might lift a relic from a museum or a holy object, and leaned toward him.

He went still.

And when you settled it on his head—when you placed it there gently, precisely, reverently—his breath stuttered right out of him.

“There,” you whispered, brushing his cheek. “Perfect.”

He blinked at you, visibly overwhelmed, voice caught somewhere in the galaxy between bashful and undone. “You made me a bat crown.”

“I did.”

“With a Star Wars quote.”

“Uh huh.”

“And I love you.”

“You better,” you said, grinning, but your voice cracked slightly. Because you weren’t done. Not quite.

You took his hand.

Held it between both of yours like it was precious. Like it had always been meant for you.

“Stiles,” you said, and then, more deliberately, more sacred, “Mieczysław.”

His breath hitched.

“That’s my engagement promise to you,” you said quietly, steady despite your heart racing. “Because let’s be honest. We’re gonna get married someday. It’s not even a question anymore. It’s just a when. And this? This is your crown. Because you already rule my whole world.”

Stiles’ eyes welled instantly, but he didn’t look away. Didn’t laugh it off. Didn’t try to change the subject like he usually might. He just stared at you like you were the only real thing that had ever existed.

You smiled softly, eyes flicking up to the little bats still trembling slightly with the movement of his breathing.

And that was it.

The moment hung between you like starlight—quiet, steady, eternal.

Just two disaster nerds in love, one in a hoodie and the other in a bat crown, already promising forever in the language of Star Wars and memories and late-night snacks.

And maybe it wasn’t the grandest birthday anyone had ever thrown, but it didn’t have to be.

Because this?

This was yours.

Forever.

“Happy birthday, Stilinski.”

#stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski x reader #gender neutral reader #stiles stilinski fluff #stiles stilinski x reader fluff #stiles stilinski fanfiction #stiles x reader #x reader #stiles stilinksi imagine #stiles stilinksi fanfiction #stiles stilinski imagine #dylan o’brien #x gender neutral reader #happy birthday

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restwellsoon · 2 months ago

Text

Double Dog Dare Ya

Pairing: Caleb x F!Reader

Summary: Wound up and worn thin from work, the only way you’ve been able to find relief is through some acts of self-love the moment you get home… which wouldn’t be an issue if it wasn’t for the fact that your nightly rituals were keeping Caleb up at night.

“You can’t be embarrassed about a hunk of–”–his eyes shot back to the forgotten toy beside you–”excuse me, a large hunk of silicone.” That hand that kept you balanced swatted his shoulder as heat swallowed you whole. “There’s gotta be another reason for it. What? Were you thinkin’ of me or something?”

Warnings: sex toys, mutual masturbation, childhood friends-to-lovers, smut, Reader is MC! and we all know that MC matches Caleb’s freak!!!, dom/sub undertones

Minors and ageless blogs DNI! You will be blocked!

Turning the doorknob, your body ached as you crossed the threshold home, exhausted from a stretch of long days being on your feet, only to return to the office to spend hours typing up reports and providing additional information for Tara and her team. Even though Captain Jenna swore this torturous overtime would end soon, you were doubtful–even your Hunter’s Watch was pushed to its limits, overheating and rebooting a couple of times a day. Under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t have minded, however, your original plan was to spend your time off with Caleb since this mission was in Skyhaven. All of this unexpected overtime meant that your free time was wasted on sleep.

‘It wasn’t like our schedules aligned anyway,’ you tried to tell yourself as you quietly slid your boots off, dropping them off in their usual spot before tiptoeing across the shadowed living room to reach your bedroom. Caleb’s house was proof of it–if you weren’t here for your mission, there’d hardly be any signs of life since the Colonel was often away for work. The moonlight hid cobwebs in the corners of the room.

Shooting a glance towards his bedroom, you couldn’t help but miss your best friend, lingering at your doorway. Texts and calls weren’t enough. You needed him beside you.

Resigned, you entered your room, closing the door with a soft shut. Flicking the light switch, you scanned the area as a renewed sense of energy filled you as your eyes adjusted to the light. Despite your protests, Caleb redecorated it entirely, choosing a style that reminded you of your childhood bedroom but more elevated.

There was a bounce in your step as you danced through your nightly routine, stripping off your uniform in a trail that led to the bathroom. After brushing your teeth and washing your face, you crawled under the covers in nothing more than your underwear.

Though you wanted to start right away, work still served as a mental block, and you replayed today’s events over, trying to fit it within the grand scheme of this mission. A voice in the back of your head told you to stop working so hard, that this was your time to relax.

Tara was the first to notice, replying back to the first report you sent her as ‘too detailed.’

“What’s wrong with too much detail, Tar’?” You gritted out, annoyed with the critique, her feedback warranting a call for immediate answers.

Unaffected by your aggression, she giggled, spinning a pen around her fingers before looking around to make sure none of her co-workers were eavesdropping. “I thought the whole point of going to Skyhaven was to meet up with your boy toy?”

“My best friend,” you corrected.

She hummed, “Is that what he thinks?”

“I don’t have time for this,” you snapped, multi-tasking and looking for the next location you had to hit, “so get to the point.”

“Look, if you start off at this pace from the get-go, this is what the big bosses are gonna expect. I’m just worried that you’re pushing yourself too hard, too fast. It’s not like this is an easy mission where you’re exterminating Wanderers… There’s a high likelihood of you burning out and mission failure.”

Your voice softened at her concern. “Sorry. You know how I get it–”–“Right, you’re Miss Perfection herself! That’s why you’re on the Alpha Team after all,” she interjected–“so I shouldn’t have taken it so personally. I know. I know you’re just worried, so thanks Tara. I’ll do my best to… not work so hard.”

Despite her concern, you did anything but. It’d gotten to the point that even Xavier noticed it a few times, commenting that your form was off during a brief extermination mission in-between this one. Sylus’ teasing remarks made you unintentionally self-conscious while Rafayel did his best to keep you from working as a hunter by working for him. You didn’t even want to imagine the kind of scolding Zayne would give you if he knew your sleeping and eating habits. You were surprised that in those rare moments when your schedules would cross, that Caleb even let you leave for work.

His touch lingered on your wrist, asking why you were up so early. It wasn’t so strange for him to leave before the sun rose, but for you? He was certain that the Association didn’t require Hunters to work such odd and long hours for undercover missions–this had to be of your own volition.

“Classified,” you tried to joke while stifling a yawn. It was an excuse to pull away from him–otherwise you wouldn’t leave the house.

His mouth twitched, fighting to say something more before dropping to a hum, sliding on the sleek leather of his gloves. He knew better than to press the matter. You’d deny, deny, deny until you were ready. His cap laid pristine on the counter.

Your breath caught in your throat, startling you from your mind’s wanderings.

When he put that uniform on, he was another person.

When he took it off, he was Caleb again.

But when the uniform was on, he looked so…

Your mind gave up on finding the perfect word as you closed your eyes, thinking of the stiff lines of his silhouette. It quickly devolved into flickering through different memories of Caleb in various states of dress. Despite living together for so long, you surprisingly never walked in on the other naked. Simpler needs prevented you from dwelling on the reason behind your disappointment about that.

Squeezing your thighs together, you knew you were wet, and blindly you reached inside the night stand’s drawer to grab your toy.

You were probably wet enough to take it easily, but still you brought it to your lips. The faceless lovers you thought of and disjointed lust you normally felt weren’t there.

Taking the dildo in your mouth, you sucked slowly before taking in a few more inches. Your tongue swirled around the head before focusing on its length, using the veins as a guideline. Once satisfied, you dragged it from your mouth, down your chest and let it sit, heavy, over your center.

How would he want you? Fully bare to contrast to his uniform? You would follow whatever commands the colonel gave you. Or would he push your panties aside, rushing in eagerly as if this was what he always wanted? It could have been the Caleb of the past or the one in the present; it didn’t matter as long as it was him.

You moved your panties aside, giving yourself a tentative push before slowly sinking in. Forgetting yourself, you let out a sigh.

–

Whatever excitement Caleb had for your business trip melted into worry as he realized the time he spent with you was less than expected. The short periods where you could videochat weren’t enough, and even then, he could see the dark circles under your eyes. Your location often showed you bouncing around various establishments across Skyhaven and occasionally doing a turnaround trip from here and the Association’s HQ back in Linkon.

Well your location hasn’t changed at all today, you texted back once.

yeah, because there aren’t any signal towers or wifi in the deepspace tunnel, dummy :p

Your only response was the middle finger emoji, earning you an annoying ‘well maybe if you weren’t working so much, we could try.’ You didn’t have time to ask if he was joking.

The timing would have been perfect if you actually let yourself rest. Missions with the Fleet were limited to patrolling the Deepspace Tunnel’s borders instead of exploration, meaning Caleb was actually home for once. He almost wished that the higher-ups would schedule some recon instead of patrol–at least he’d have more tasks to distract himself with. Whether it was in his office, at a meeting, or at home, Caleb was on edge until he got that ‘I’m home :)’ text and knew that you were safe.

Sleep deprivation and meeting the rigorous demands of his job weren’t new to him. Managing such unpleasant things were a foundational part of his education at the Aerospace Academy after all. When he came home at night, sleep was never an issue.

What kept him up at night was curiosity.

The hours you returned home would vary, but the routine was always the same: set your boots down, tiptoe across the house until you reached your bedroom, then…

He grew half-hard at the thought of what would happen next.

It was cute actually. Even though you tried to be as quiet as you could be, there was no denying the telltale sound of your pussy getting fucked by something. There wasn’t any humming that would indicate a vibe. Based on your noises, he doubted you were using your fingers either. A dildo then was the only logical assumption.

Curiosity threatened to beat down his iron-clad will as he fought every urge to sneak into your room to see what it looked like. Was it pink? How’d it look? Where did you even get it?

Giving his cock a squeeze, he showed himself some mercy and gave into its wants. Not bothering to do more work than necessary, he pulled his cock through the fly of his boxers, and it weeped pre-cum in thanks.

You had to have bought it when he died, he decided.

You two shared your locations with each other the moment you got phones, and he knew you weren’t dumb enough to stop sharing it for a moment, otherwise he’d know. That kind of confrontation was something your younger self wouldn’t want. You had enough blackmail on each other to the point that Gran would have locked you both up for weeks if she knew what you two got into as rebellious teens.

Even though he hated that his death left you crying and hurt, the thought of you being struck with grief, missing him, wanting him, needing him to the point of finding something to replace that void turned him on immensely.

His strokes were clumsy and desperate–a pathetic attempt to live out the fantasy of you wanting him as hopelessly as he wanted you.

–

“You lookin’ for a midnight snack or what?” A voice asked from behind, holding you in place before you could jump. The fridge light highlighted Caleb’s features. “Remember? I texted you about the leftovers, but if you really want something else, I know a place that does delivery until 2.”

“I’m just thirsty,” you told him before grabbing a bottle of water.

“Me too,” he explained himself. “Lately I’ve been parched at night.”

You ducked under him so he could grab one too, leaning on the kitchen island backwards to look at him. Your eyes took a moment to adjust to the dim lighting he flipped on.

Caleb was never one to fuss about what he wore to bed, and tonight was no different. He wore a muscle tee and a pair of sweats that hung far too low on his hips. The band of his boxers were showing. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he killed off the bottle of water, using his Evol to open the trash lid and toss it in. The little red gem from the necklace you gave him winked as he approached you.

Taking another sip of water, you gulped, thinking that your earlier thoughts would have left you the moment you came. Instead, they lingered, making you hyper aware of Caleb in a way that felt inappropriate and wrong. You’ve had thoughts like these before, but this time, they weren’t so easy to push away. You shouldn’t look at your best friend that way.

The bottle’s clang was metallic as you set it down on the counter. “Has the Fleet been overworking you?”

Guilt replaced shame as you realized that you hadn’t been attentive to him despite everything he was doing for you.

“Nah,” his eyes swept over you. He used a hand to corral you towards the living room and couches. “I’ve just been extra thirsty lately. Hey, don’t look at me with those eyes, pipsqueak. I’m fine. An energy drink? I don’t drink those, and neither should you…”

You bit your tongue so that you wouldn’t say that he sounds like Zayne. You didn’t want to think about anyone else besides Caleb.

“Well, it seems like you’re energized now,” you told him, glancing at the clock.

“Being around you has me feelin’ recharged and refreshed. I don’t wanna go back to bed just yet.”

“Wanna watch a movie then?”

He nodded, grabbing the remote.

When you were kids and had all the energy in the world, there was nothing better than staying up late and watching movies together. Grandma would scold you two for falling asleep in the living room, saying that you’d catch a cold. Both of you would claim different parts of the living room then.

Now you cuddled up to Caleb, using a small pillow to serve as the only barrier between you and his lap while he turned the TV on and flipped to a random channel.

“You better not fall asleep on me,” he teased, kicking his legs up on the coffee table.

Stifling a yawn, you told him it was fine even if you did. “I have a few days off starting tomorrow,” you said, lazily digging your feet under a folded blanket. “Jenna texted me right when I got home and said that according to Linkon’s labor laws, I’m mandated to take a rest period, especially since this assignment seems like it’ll take longer than expected. If I fall asleep, we can pick up where we left off.”

“Yeah?” His hand brushed your shoulder as you turned your attention to the screen. It looked like he put on some rom-com that was popular when you were in college. He used his Evol to flick the blanket over you. “I’m off for a few days too.”

This time, it was his turn to yawn.

“Our vacation’s starting off strong, isn’t it?”

Silently you watched the movie, each of you letting out an occasional chuckle until the sound of rain and muffled love confession lulled you to sleep.

–

The clock read 2 AM as Caleb decided to finally take you back to your room. He thought you’d stir awake on your own a few times, burying your face into the cushion that separated you. It pressed and rubbed against him, forcing Caleb to do his best in subtly shifting himself, but there was only so much a man could take.

“Alright, pipsqueak, I’m takin’ you back. It’s late,” he murmured, smiling softly at the groan he received in return.

Using his Evol, he lifted you so he could pick you up bridal style. Your reaction was instinctive, arms wrapping loosely around his shoulders as you buried your face in his neck.

“You couldn’t have brought the blanket too?” You mumbled, each word brushing your lips against his skin. The faint scent of his body wash and cologne still lingered, and throughout the years, he still smelled the same–strong and comforting despite everything–and you buried your nose against him. It might be a while before you see each other again.

His hum resonated from his throat to your skin. “Ever the demanding princess.”

“Princess?” You scoffed, hold still tight as you bounced on his body with each step he took. You shimmied against him as a threat. Caleb sucked in a breath. He could feel your hot center through your shorts, rubbing against his abs. You took that little noise he made as annoyance. “Fine then. I can walk.”

“Absolutely not,” he said, softly kicking your door open. “We’re already here.”

With the flick of his hand, you floated from his arms to your bed, quickly getting covered by the comforter. You shivered at its coolness. The heat from Caleb’s body was better.

“Night, Cal.”

Caleb lingered for a moment, his eyes looking everywhere except you. Finally, he said your name softly. “‘Night, pipsqueak. Try not to spend too long dreamin’ of me. I’m right here too.”

“Yeah, I know. Thanks for always bein’ here.”

His hand flexed as he fought with himself to say something more. Whatever it was, must not have been that important. He gave you a tight smile. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

–

Your need for rest finally caught up to you as you immediately fell asleep once Caleb left, hardly noticing the gentle shut of the door as he crept out. Your sleep was heavy and full, the kind of disorienting slumber that had you questioning the time of day and if you even slept at all.

Staring into the darkness of the ceiling, you realized that Caleb must have drawn the blackout curtains before leaving. You didn’t feel like seeing the blinding sky that Skyhaven offered just yet.

A knock on the door startled you. “Hey pipsqueak,” Caleb rapped on the door, “brunch is ready.”

“Brunch?” You called out, patting the nightstand for your phone.

There was a pause, then a soft laugh. “Yeah, brunch. It’s nearly noon.”

He was right. Your phone said it was five til twelve. Groaning, you grabbed the remote to open the blinds, the mechanical system rolling back the blackout curtains while the lighter gauzier set remained drawn, doing its best to blur out some of the brightness.

“‘Kay. I’ll be out in a minute,” you told him, sliding off your sleep shorts. You left them at the foot of the bed, telling yourself that you’d get them later when you did laundry.

You made your way to your bathroom, scrolling through your phone and reading all of your missed texts and emails. Somehow Tara and Jenna appeared on either shoulder, reminding you about the dangers of burnout and work-mandated rest periods. You saved your email as a draft, setting your phone on the edge of the sink facedown as you brushed your teeth.

There was another knock at your door, and you answered a muffled ‘Yeah?’ through a mouth full of toothpaste froth and spit.

“Can’t hear you,” Caleb yelled, “so I’m comin’ in.”

The door opened with a squeak.

“Hey, I’m doing my laundry right now, so do you want me to do yours…”

His speech trailed, prompting you to step back into the room, following his line of sight.

Yelling out a garbled ‘Fuck!’, you spit the remainder of your toothpaste in the sink, tossing the brush in it too.

Despite your frantic cursing and movement, Caleb remained unswayed, eyes focused on the object that laid in the center of your messy bed. Mentally, you cursed Tara for her stupid suggestion about stress relief (“Well, if you’re boytoy isn’t gonna help with work stress, why not get a real toy?”) but you knew that deep down, the only person you could blame is yourself and your laziness.

“Well, what do we have here?” His fingers beckoned the toy over in all of its realistic silicone glory.

Mustering up all of your strength and pushing past your embarrassment, you tackled Caleb onto the bed, breaking his concentration. The dildo fell beside him.

You hadn’t fought like this since you were young, and it was obvious that Caleb would be the clear winner in this battle. Still, you did your best to wrestle with him, tumbling around in the sheets until you were a breathless mess. At least you were able to pin him beneath you.

While you were exerting all of your energy, Caleb was careful to control both of your movements, making sure you didn’t roll too far on one side of the bed and fall. He always liked giving you this false sense of control. There was something in that smug expression that he loved, from the way your eyes glittered to that haughty look you’d give him. The reward was worth it too. His wrists were pinned over his head as you settled all of your weight on him with straddled hips.

Your chest heaved, making the oversized DAA tee you borrowed billow with your breath. Despite its looseness, he could make out the soft curve of your tits. It took all of his control to hold back a groan–you were braless. Pantsless too, he realized when his eyes finally trailed down.

The glint in Caleb’s eyes was wicked, and his grin was much worse.

“Didn’t think you’d get that worked up about it,” he teased. It pissed you off that there wasn’t a hitch in his voice, no ragged breath. There was only amusement as he searched your face.

Refusing to give him whatever it was that he wanted, you looked away.

“There’s nothing wrong with touching yourself.” His left hand broke away from your grip to run his fingertips against your thigh. His voice was honey-sweet, his touch reassuring. “I’m just wonderin’ why you didn’t ask me for help.”

Your eyes flashed back to his, incredulous at his amethyst sincerity. “Caleb, there’s just some things that I can’t ask of you.”

“Why not?”

“Because we’re–” The grip on his right wrist slackened.

He didn’t want to hear it, cutting you off. “You know I’d do anything for you because I…”

His hand settled on your hip, hotter than a brand–as if to mark you as his and his alone. If it were to leave such a mark, you wouldn’t have been opposed to it.

“You know I do too, but it’s not about that. I…” You trailed off, unsure if this was where you wanted to finally cross the line or deepen its boundary. “I mean, if I offered to… with you. Wouldn’t you…?”

“I guess I’m just surprised, is all.”

Now both hands were on either hip, keeping you in place. You kept your balance by lightly holding onto his shoulder.

You reeled back in fear that one look into your eyes would tell Caleb the truth. Scoffing, you hoped this act would be enough to feign your offense while you tried to think of how you could get the upper hand. But it was always difficult to surprise Caleb. Unless…

Unless you treated it like a dare. Like how you always did. The stupid acts of courage you’d challenge each other to, to see who’d fold first and confess their feelings. In the past, it’d always end the same way. Both of you were cowards.

You bit your lip. If you took this dare, what would become of you?

“What if I was? Is that so wrong?”

Caleb choked as you stared down at him, fire in your eyes. You crossed your arms over your chest as you sat on his lap, ass perfectly smothering his hard cock. It was a look that pinned him in place–hypergravity as its finest.

He saw the toy last night when he was tucking you into bed, and his only intention was to tease you. Your reaction was too over-the-top, too dramatic. Maybe it was wishful thinking, maybe it was delusion. But a part of him hoped that the reason for it was him.

“Really?”

You didn’t expect the truth to have so much power over him. His voice was doubtful, afraid that you’d set him up for some cruel prank. But like a dumb puppy, his eyes said it all–Caleb desperately wanted this to be real, his hope for your attention, your love, your desire apparent. You wanted to give him everything.

Pressing your body down to his, you weren’t sure if it was his heart or yours that was beating so fast. Your breath was fire against already flushed skin.

“Really.”

He swallowed hard. Even though he’d gotten used to the scent of you, the feel of you, everything was more erotic up close like this in heated want.

“And what…” His voice broke off, and you felt his fingers tremble against your skin. “What were you thinking of?”

This wasn’t the time for you to lose your bravado.

“Kissing you… Feeling all of the parts of you that I’ve known.” A hand trailed down to his, holding it as the sheets got caught in-between. “And feeling all of the places that I’ve yet to discover.” You ground your hips against Caleb’s, teasing his length with the movement.

Finally letting go of restraint, Caleb groaned. Your wetness left the fabric between you damp.

“We could do that now,” he begged, tugging on your hand. “You could have the real thing.” He pleaded with you with those puppy dog eyes.

You pulled back to look at him, a playful pout on your lips. “You’re not even gonna let me finish? You know, Caleb, sometimes you can be really mean.”

He was audibly panting now, hips pushing back against yours. “You wanna talk about mean?” He huffed.

“I thought it’d be easier to show you instead of telling you what I was thinking.” You leaned back, making a spot for yourself between his legs.

As you grabbed the toy beside him, he let out a pathetic and weak ‘oh.’ Seeing him come undone like this, seeing Caleb so weak and vulnerable gave you the courage you needed to keep on with this dare. You were the only one who should see him this way.

‘You’re really gonna do this, aren’t you?’ You thought. ‘You stupid, impulsive girl.’

“I’m happy that yours is bigger,” you winked.

Whatever blood Caleb had left rushed to his cock, leaving him dizzy as his bulge ached, begging him to do something about this.

Watching you suck on the toy, Caleb didn’t even want to think of where you learned to do those things with your tongue. He needed to focus on the fact that you wanted to do those things to him.

You were so wet that he could see the outline of your lips. He shifted while trying to hide his eagerness, so close to seeing the very thing that he’d been fantasizing about for years. You pulled your panties aside to give him a peek of that sweet center before you rubbed the toy’s head against your clit.

The fact that you were wearing his old DAA shirt made everything hotter. It served as a point that you were his like he was yours. He palmed himself through his sweats to keep himself sane.

There wasn’t any hesitation as you turned back to your fantasy from last night, sliding in half the length without issue. The sounds were lewd but your expressions were worse. When you reached the base, there was that embarrassing pap, pap, pap as you fucked yourself.

“You like it rough,” Caleb said, not so much a question as it was an observation, his eyes never leaving your pussy.

“I think…” You tried to focus, but god, it felt so good to have something inside you. “I think I’d like whatever you’d do.”

There was a moment of silence, and you dared to take a peek at Caleb. He had that look in his eyes again, the one where he looked like a dog that wanted to beg for a treat but felt guilty for wanting it in the first place. Feeling your stare, his eyes met yours, and you gave him a slight smile.

“Can I…?” He wiggled his fingers.

“Yeah.”

Using his Evol, Caleb fucked you with the toy, his pace frustrating and difficult to predict. One minute he was fucking you slow and shallow, only giving you half of the toy’s length. The next, he was pulling it out completely, only to give it to you in fast thrusts. You’d squeak when he'd hit a certain spot, making him tap it again and again.

Using your newly freed hands, they crept up your shirt to play with your tits, one hand groping while the other tugged at your nipple.

Caleb mumbled nonsense, more to himself than to you, about how pretty you looked with your legs spread like this. “And you’re thinking of me,” he groaned, getting a little rough with his Evol.

“The only way I’d look perfect is if I was sitting pretty with your cock inside me, Caleb.”

He had to focus on not nutting then and there, leaving you empty as he pulled out the toy.

“Are you sure…?”

No, the line was already crossed. You couldn’t go back. You didn’t want to go back to what you were before.

Crawling back to him, you laid your full weight on his heaving chest, pressing your hand against his heart. It thrummed against your touch, pounding wildly as if it belonged in your hand instead of his chest.

His fingers tilted your chin up and you looked at him once more. The baby fat on his cheeks had melted away years ago, changing his soft boyish looks with time. Sweat clung to his bangs, and roughly, he pushed them back, giving him a mature look that highlighted his jaw. How many years had he looked like that? It was as if you were looking at him for the first time, or maybe this was something you’d always known but kept hidden–Caleb was a man.

Your lips finally met his, pushed together by years of repression, pressing harder and harder against each other until one of you opened up, exchanging tongues and breath between you. Those hands of his that always hesitated, white-knuckled and fisted, finally surrendered, grabbing and kneading all that they could. You wanted to melt into their touch, but for now, you let them undress you.

Naked, you shared each other’s heat.

It wasn’t enough to show him that you were certain. You swooped in for another kiss, more innocent and adoring than the previous one. Your fingers lingered on his jaw, feeling his pulse just beneath it.

“I’ve always been sure when it comes to you,” you told him.

If there was one thing either of you knew of this world, it was that every decision that led you to the other was the right one. It was something that you both forgot with time as fear and consequence kept each other at bay.

Kissing him from his eyelids to his nose, you gave him a quick peck on the lips before sending your trail down. His hands held your hair as you finally reached your desire. As much as you wanted to give it all of your attention, you knew that Caleb was past his breaking point, but still you paused enough to admire it.

Spitting on his cock, you mixed it with his precum, using your palm to rub it from the head and down his shaft, your wrist twisting with the upward curve of his length.

Satisfied, you positioned yourself over him.

“You wanna be on top?” Caleb asked incredulously.

He didn’t know where to look–your face, your tits, or pretty little cunt that was hovering right above his cock.

“Yeah, and?”

It was hard for him to fight the urge to baby you as he watched you struggle to take him. The dildo prepped you enough to get him half-way in, but now you were stuck. Your pride refused to ask him for help.

“Take it slow,” he told you, though there wasn’t any patience in his voice.

You let out a satisfied noise as your hips dropped down further. “But I want you.”

Between your stubbornness and the hot feel of your center wrapped around him, Caleb did his best to focus, his patience paying off as you sat on his lap, hilted and full. You sat there, breathing slowly as your body accommodated his size. He could feel every breath and every squeeze.

“You good?”

“Yeah, too good.”

His hands crept to your hips. “Should I help you?”

“Caleb, you don’t have to use your Evol, I can–” you whined before he cut you off.

“Who said I was gonna use my Evol?

His hips rose up to shallowly fuck you, moving slowly so you’d get used to him. Unlike the toy, it was easy to follow his rhythm, and you relaxed enough to lay down and kiss him.

Your wildest fantasies couldn’t compare to what he was actually doing to you. His fingers tangled in your hair as you kissed his neck, vibrating against the low reverb of his moaning, sprinkled with the occasional ‘fuck, you’re too good to me’ and your name.

Used to his size, you bounced on his lap, Caleb’s eyes never leaving the part of you that was connected. “Look at you, taking all this cock.”

“I think you’ve ruined everyone else for me,” you admitted between sighs, each bounce inching you towards your orgasm. “All I want is you.”

He grunted, rolling into your hips deep. It wasn’t enough. He needed a different position. “Say it again,” he begged..

“All I want is you, Caleb.”

Looking at you with darkened eyes, he flipped you over to reposition himself on top of you, the bed squeaking from the force.

His breath was hot at your throat as he left open-mouth kisses across its column. In the sunlight, you could see the dark marks you left on his skin. A passing thought wondered if he’d be able to hide it with his uniform’s collar.

A feeling of intrusion punched you from your thoughts, forcing you to gasp. It pushed again. Then again. And again. Instinctively, your arms wrapped around Caleb, but it only made things worse. There was a fullness you couldn’t reach with the other position

“Too rough?” He asked, stopping but keeping himself sheathed between your legs. His jeweled eyes glittered in the sunlight, its rays highlighting his dark brown hair with gold. He looked like an angel, and you were certain you died, seeing stars and darkness with your growing release.

You shook your head, giving him a quick peck for reassurance. “Not rough enough,” you told him.

Getting the hint, he pushed one leg back and hauled it over his shoulder, giving you a testy drive. Your response was immediate–nails dug into his back, leaving half-moons he’d have to inspect in the mirror later.

“Fuck,” you groaned as he continued his work, going faster and deeper as you begged for more. At least there was familiarity in that; whatever you wanted, Caleb would give you. His balls slapped heavy against your cheeks, the lewd noise competing with the wetness of your cunt.

You were close–Caleb could feel it. Your pretty little pussy squeezed him harder with each stroke, afraid that he’d leave it empty. He could see it in your face too. Your lips trembled worse than your legs, voice shaking as you begged him not to stop, to keep hitting right there.

His breath grew ragged and his control was slipping, body trying to chase its own high before sending you off on yours. He took a sharp inhale. Even though you said he ruined everyone else for you, Caleb would make sure that there was no one else, that when you wanted to cum, you’d come to him first and use him.

Slotting his hand between your sweat-slicked bodies, he found your swollen clit, giving it a light pinch that had you whining. It was followed by a series of ‘oh, oh, oh’s and chanting his name as he rubbed circles on it and continued to fuck you.

Your release was immediate, walls tight despite the tension leaving the rest of your body. Your brows knit together, then relaxed twice before you buried your face in his chest, embarrassed from Caleb telling you that you’d looked so pretty cumming for him.

“Is it…” He groaned, “is it okay if I fuck you through it?”

“Please.” You could hardly catch your breath, feeling yourself going into another orgasm.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty. So good to me. I want you to cum again, honey. Just for me. Just for me.” He punctuated each sentence with a kiss, his strokes growing sloppy until he gave up all control.

All you remembered after was getting pulled into Caleb’s chest, his hand gently stroking your hair.

–

God, he was spent, his body taking a while to recover despite his fitness. You laid beside him, snoring softly, one arm lazily draped over his chest, your face buried in his side.

What would he say when you woke up? He didn’t want to make it a big deal but he knew that you both needed to talk after. He chewed on his lip, fighting with the part of himself that desperately wanted to cling to you and the part that was afraid of losing you. Should he take it back or act like it was nothing? Should he wait, as he often did, patiently going by your cues?

When he was certain you were in a deep sleep, he left, deciding on his answer.

–

You woke up to an empty bed, the sky darker compared to earlier. Where was Caleb? Your heart pounded as you patted the part of the bed where he should have been. It was cold. He must have left a while ago. Through the door, you heard the soft thrumming of the washer and dryer running.

It grew louder and clearer, making you look up.

Caleb stood at the foot of your bed with a basket of neatly folded laundry in his arms.

Seeing him calmed you though your heart still raced. Though he’s seen all of you, you still used the comforter to cover your chest.

“I thought you left me behind,” you admitted sullenly, unable to look at him.

Setting the basket down, he sat in the space where he should have been sleeping. He grabbed your chin so that you’d look at him.

“Do I have to remind you? I’m Caleb, and I’ll always be by your side.”

“And you’ll always love me?”

“Will you always love me?” He countered.

“Always.”

“Always,” he reaffirmed with a kiss.

The comforter that covered you slid down as you broke the kiss, but this time you left yourself exposed, less shy around Caleb compared to before.

“Cold?” He asked, looking at your tits.

Scandalized, you crossed your arms so he’d stop staring at your nipples. That little…!

He held his hands up in surrender. “What? I was just asking because I did our laundry.”

“You probably just used it as an excuse to go through my panties,” you huffed, still annoyed.

“What're you…?" A blush crept up his face to his ears as he stammered, trying to play off getting caught. "How did you…?”

You smiled coyly, pleased with his embarrassment. “C’mon Caleb. Lace g-strings aren’t comfortable at all. You seriously thought I wore them all the time?”

Torn between backpedalling and telling the truth, he ended up choosing the latter. “Well, yeah. I thought with you going off to college, and…”

“You’re such a dummy,” you laughed before pulling him into bed with you.

A/N: I just started playing LaDS a few weeks ago, and ever since Caleb was introduced as an NPC, I've wanted him. I'm freaking obsessed with him and his yearning and his flirty lil lines.

Below is a scene that got cut from the original. It seems like something he would say though lol.

–

“Is it ok that I…?” His eyes trailed downward towards your legs.

“Yeah,” you told him, “I’ve got the implant.”

Without missing a beat, he said, “Oh. Me too.”

Which earned him a slap on the shoulder. “That’s not funny, Caleb.”

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#caleb x reader #lads x reader #rest writes #caleb smut #lads smut

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littlest-w01f · 6 months ago

Text

Session

"Role play" with:

Zayne x Reader

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

Summary: Your appiontment with your doctor

Cw: Roleplaying, aphrodisiacs, FxM, Smut 18+ MDNI

With a warm smile, you entered the examination room, well, your husband's home office, your heart pounding slightly at the thought of seeing your doctor again. You were dressed casually today, a simple pair of jeans hugging your hips and a loose blouse revealing just enough cleavage to keep things interesting.

Dr Zayne, your trusted doctor, greeted you with his usual smile, his eyes scanning over your outfit appreciatively. He was dressed in his usual professional attire. "Good morning, y/n," He said, his voice soothing. "How are we feeling today?" He led you to the examination table, his hand gently guiding yours as if he wanted to reassure you about the procedure ahead.

As he spoke, his gaze drifted down to your cleavage for just a moment before quickly snapping back up to meet your eyes. They had an unmistakable glint of desire, but it was gone so fast you almost wondered if you had imagined it.

"Good morning, Dr Zayne," You smiled, letting him guide you, "I'm pretty good about today."

Zayne bit his lips slightly, this little play had been your idea and he was more than happy to let you explore more, despite the fact that he was a cardiac surgeon and not a generic "doctor" who felt up his patients, but seeing you in your tight jeans and that damn top that hid nothing, it was something he found appealing in this. How exposed and vulnerable he could have you in his private office had his heart racing, the aphrodisiac chocolate he had split with you before now pumping blood faster in his body.

"I think we should start with a thorough internal exam, just to ensure everything is... In working order," Dr Zayne said, his voice low and husky, only slightly awkward still but he masked it well. "Please strip from the waist down and get on the table"

Turning around, you bent over slightly as you slid them down your thighs, giving him an eyeful of your round ass barely contained by a lace thong, then came the little thong, after that, you climbed onto the cold metal table, opening your legs for him, heat burning in your entire body.

Dr Zayne took a moment to compose himself as he watched you disrobe, trying not to stare too obviously at your gorgeous curves. Once you were positioned on the table, he stepped between your parted thighs, his hands coming to rest on your knees.

"Just relax, y/n dear," He murmured, slowly sliding his hands upward along your inner thighs. His touch was electric against your bare skin, sending shivers through you. "This shouldn't hurt... Much."

As he spoke, his fingers continued their journey upwards, ghosting tantalizingly close to your sensitive folds before finally making contact. The sensation of his fingertips brushing against your heated flesh sent jolts of pleasure coursing through you.

His touch was feather-light, teasing and tormenting you as he traced circles around your clit. Your breath hitched in your throat, a soft moan escaping your lips as he continued to toy with you.

"Should... Should you even be doing that?" You gasped as he pressed his gloved finger against your clit.

Dr Zayne gave a soft chuckle, his voice a low rumble as he leaned closer, his hot breath fanning across your ear, making shivers go down your spine, the aphrodisiac making you crazy. "I think I know what's best for my patient," He whispered, his finger pressing harder against your clit.

He began to circle your sensitive nub in slow, deliberate strokes, each movement designed to draw out your pleasure. "You're quite responsive, aren't you?" He commented, watching your body squirm under his touch.

Your eyes caught the ring on his free hand, set perfectly on his ring finger, Dr Zayne noticed your gaze flickering to his wedding band and he sighed softly. "Ah yes, the ring…" He said quietly, his movements slowing for a moment. Stoking the flames of your arousal higher. "Forget that, y/n. Just focus on how good this feels," he coaxed, hand going lower, probing at your entrance.

"Does your wife know you use your job to touch paitents inappropriately?" You blushed at how bold his touches got, eyes straying from his wedding ring, the other half of it laid on your finger, silver hand, a cute diamond encrusted in it. Today was the first time you had removed it just to play pretend.

A wicked grin spread across Dr Zayne's face at your bold question. "My wife has no idea about this..." His finger slipped inside your slick heat without warning, voice cold. "And she never needs to know. This is our secret, y/n."

He pumped his finger slowly, savouring the way your walls clenched around him, drooling from arousal. "You are such a naughty girl, getting so wet for your married doctor," He hummed approvingly. "Tell me do you have a partner?" He lifted your chin up with his free hand to make you look up at him.

Your cheeks heated harder, "I... I have a husband." You stuck your bottom lip out a little, looking deep into his eyes, trying to provoke him with your words, "But he can never pleasure me properly."

A low growl rumbled in Dr Zayne's chest as he gazed into your pleading eyes, your innocent act only fueling his lust. He curled his finger inside you, rubbing that spot that made your toes curl, the one he knew too well.

"You poor thing," He tutted, leaning in close, his breath hot against your ear. "It seems like you've been missing out on so much pleasure. But don't worry, I'll make sure to give you exactly what you need." Leaning down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue explored your mouth, tasting every corner while his finger continued its relentless pace, stroking your inner walls.

Breaking the kiss, he pulled away just far enough to whisper against your lips. "Let me show you how a real man pleasures a woman," he breathed, his thumb circling your clit in tandem with his thrusting fingers. "Because lucky for you, I know exactly how to worship a beautiful woman like yourself."

His thumb rubbed firm circles around your clit as he curled his fingers inside you, hitting that special spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids. All the while, his other hand undoing his trousers to free his rock hard cock.

His admission only spurred you on, your mind swirling with thoughts of this forbidden liaison. You whimpered as he finger fucked you mercilessly, desperate for more. You screwed your eyes shut as you felt your orgasm approaching.

As he watched you climax, his eyes filled with lust and something akin to admiration. The sight of your cunt clenching around his fingers was too much for him to resist anymore. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a condom.

You almost broke character and smiled, you hadn't used protection with him in so long, even if you weren't really trying, so you simply took to foil packet and threw it in the corner of his private room

Seeing you throw the condom aside made Dr Zayne pause, he looked at you with a raised eyebrow, and pushed you back onto the table, spreading your legs wide apart, "If you didn't want to use protection you could've just said." The cool metal surface contrasted sharply with the scorching heat emanating from your core. Aligning his cock with your entrance. With a powerful thrust, he buried himself fully inside you, groaning at the sensation of your impossibly tight warmth enveloping him.

His hands gripped your hips tightly as he pushed into you, stretching you to accommodate his girth. His cock slid effortlessly inside you, filling you completely. "Such a naughty wife, cheating on her husband with her married doctor," He leaned down to nip at your earlobe.

You moaned and whimpered as he leaned in, nuzzling the side of your neck. "So fucking tight," he groaned, thrusting his hips hard against yours. "You feel amazing."

"Please... Please Za-" He pistoned his hips relentlessly, each powerful thrust driving his thick shaft deep into your soaked channel. His pelvis grinding deliciously against your clit as he rutted into you like a wild animal. The obscene sounds of wet flesh slapping against flesh echoed through the small examination room. Combined with your ragged moans and his grunts of exertion.

"God you're perfect," He panted as he gazed down at where you were joined together, transfixed by the erotic sight of your bodies entwined.

His cock throbbed and pulsed inside you as he approached the precipice of ecstasy. His grip on your hips tightened painfully, nails digging into you as he chased his release. His every word served to stoke the fire burning within you. You felt every inch of his throbbing cock fill you up, each thrust pushing deeper until you were completely full.

Dr Zayne grabbed your thigh and hoisted it high, changing the angle of your position on the table. His thrusts became more powerful, driving into you with an intensity that bordered on punishing, you knew your comments about your husband couldn't provide you pleasure hit home a little.

"Zaynie!" You cried out, breaking character as you wrapped yourself around your husband like a vice. Your cries of pleasure spurred him on, determined to wring another orgasm from you as he sought his own satisfaction.

He hooked your leg over his shoulder, opening you up further as he hammered into your spasming cunt. His free hand reached up to roughly palm your breast, tweaking your nipple between his fingers.

His pace became erratic as he neared his peak. "Fuck, y/n! Cum with me, love!" He groaned, pressing his face in your chest, hurrying to remove your blouse.

With one final brutal thrust, he slammed home as his orgasm crashed over him. Thick ropes of cum painted your insides, triggering your own climax. Your walls milked him greedily, pulsing around his twitching cock as he emptied himself deep inside you.

After several moments, Zayne slowly withdrew from your spent body, rolling off the table to carry you to the couch nearby, pulling you into his lap. He held you close, nuzzling your hair affectionately. "Where is it?"

You knew he was talking about your ring, so you motioned to your bag and Zayne reached over to your purse, keeping you still on your lap and dug around the front pocket to pick out your ring.

His fingers deftly slide the cool metal band onto your waiting finger. "There. Where it should be." He punctuated his words with another fierce kiss, claiming your mouth hungrily as he squeezed you tighter against himself.

You moaned softly in the kiss, as he flipped you on you back, "Now, what were you saying about your husband, huh?" Zayne kissed down your neck. With your body laid bare beneath him, he traced kisses along your collarbone before capturing your lips once again.

"You know I was only joking, right?" You asked, cupping his cheeks as you kissed back.

Zayne smirked, nibbling on your lips, "Mmm, I do. You scream in my bed all night, how could I not?" His smirk grew into a broad grin, his hands running down your curves with reverence as he sat up, admiring the sight of your flushed skin glowing under the room's dim lighting.

{LaDs Kinktober Taglist: @m00nchildwrites}

#kinktober #love and deepspace #love and deepspace fic #lads smut #lads x reader #zayne smut #lads zayne #lnds zayne #zayne x reader #zayne love and deepspace #l&ds zayne #zayne lads #love and deepspace zayne #zayne lnds #zayne l&ds #lads

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