Where Stiles Lives Out His Dream.... || Headcanon

Where Stiles Lives Out His Dream.... || Headcanon

Pairing : Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Warnings : just cuteness, maybe like one swear word?

Notes : had this idea for a while, NWH definitely boosted it though!

it started in kindergarten

a five-year-old stiles wearing the same spiderman shirt every day for the first week

surprisingly, claudia wasn't bothered washing it each night

especially when he got it covered in paint and food and.. god knows what actually caused the stain on the left hand sleeve..

one would think that he had that darn action figure superglued to his hand

he refused to let it go, just like that shirt

his obsession never faltered, though

only growing more the older he got

and when he finally watched the movies.. his life changed

stiles was nine-years-old when his dad let him watch the first two tobey maguire movies

he was enthralled by watching spiderman swing around on his webs and fight the bad guys

his large honey eyes were glued to the screen and widened in wonder

and when peter parker finally got the girl, he felt a warmth settle in his chest

a strange warmth that he couldn't describe, not until he was old enough to properly understand

noah stilinski was looking over case files when he felt his son tug at his shirt

stiles only grinned, "dad can i have a mj?"

and noah only shook his head

he smiled back though, admiration etched over his worry lines

"not yet, son"

"dad... is mom your mj?"

and noah only laughed, eyes flickering to a sickly looking woman grinning at her boys' interaction

"she definitely is"

it was freshman year and stiles had turned fifteen-years-old

he wore a large grin to complement his red t-shirt and dark flannel

a large black spider symbol gracing his chest

by now his ADD has grown and he wasn't very good at focusing

it wasn't until he walked straight into another body that he snapped back into reality

abandoning his conversation with his best friend scott to help the poor girl that fell

this is when you first laid eyes on the adorable doofus you'd quite quickly call friend

you grasped his hand tightly as he pulled you up

the boy even dropped back to the floor to pick up your belongings

you thanked him and offered a smile

but you saw his shirt and bit your bottom lip

stiles very much noticed

"i like your shirt" you said before your eyes glanced up from his chest

all that stiles did was laugh nervously

he was shaky and you could tell he was highly-strung

what you couldn't tell though is that he was actually breathless

you were beautiful

kind of like lydia martin beautiful

but your cute attitude and kindness is what set you apart

and when you said you liked his shirt it meant you liked spiderman

that made you automatically perfect to stiles

eighteen-years-old and stiles was now in his jeep, driving to yours

you had been dating since you were sixteen

he asked you at your birthday party if you'd like to go on a date

this was after he handed you a giant present half the size of roscoe

you said yes immediately, and that warmth returned from when he was younger

the warmth that he got when he saw peter in love with mj

it made him think that one day, you'd officially be his mj and the thought made him smile so fucking wide

presently, you were receiving a text to meet your boyfriend outside

you were expecting him, but usually, he'd make his way inside your home

with a key that he acquired from a source he wouldn't tell you about

you walked outside and it was dark

the jeep was in your driveway but stiles was nowhere to be found

you made a move to walk down the steps of your front porch

but a yell scared you into jumping back

a scream escaping through your lips

stiles appeared in front of you, his body hanging upside down from the roof

he had a large grin between his cheeks and his eyes glistened with mischief

he crooned, a little chuckle sounding his words

"hey baby"

reaching out to hit his chest was a bad idea when he slightly maneuvered

your fingers grasped his shirt to hold him still before he could fall

and then

....trust your luck....

the ten o'clock sprinkler system was activated and you both began to get soaked

you glared at stiles

he laughed

and soon you were laughing too

your fingers remained holding his now crumpled, and soaked, spiderman t-shirt from freshman year

you hummed, "you know what this looks like, right?"

and stiles shook his head, but

his eyes were stuck to your wet matted hair and glowing skin from the water beads

"you're like spiderman and i'm like... mj"

he realised the scene you were referring to

the warmth returned

this time it was stronger

it had a forceful pull that gravitated his lips to yours

and finally, it ignited his body with fire coursing through his veins

your lips were joined and your hands moved from his chest to his cheeks

holding him

caressing him

stiles moaned softly as his right hand snaked around to your back

pushing you closer to his saturated frame

your bodies stuck to one another but you didn't care

not when your tongue slipped past his desperate lips

his needy teenage hormones got the best of him , though

he wanted to merge your bodies even closer until all he could feel was the slick wet skin under your shirt

and one move of desire later nearly led stiles to fall once again

you pulled back to hold him steady

lips swollen

his face now turning red

only, it was from the blood rushing rather than just a bashful flush of rosy cheeks

stiles didn't care though, despite your worrying and cursing under your breath

he smiled, teeth gleaming, eyes sparkling

he felt everything all at once when he kissed you

the kind of emotions and sensations that meant that his love for you preceded everything else

and he knew

he... just knew

"you're my mj"

Can I have 💦☁️🤮 with Dylan. Obsessed with the idea of fake dating and your writing is amazing

send me EMOJI PROMPTS for a ’blurb time’ blurb -

[ 💦 ] : sleeping together for the first time.

[ ☁️ ] : enemies to lovers.

[ 🤮 ] : fake dating.

FAKE NEWS [part 2 is here]

From the outside, your union with Dylan represented all contributing factors of a loving devoted relationship; public displays of affection paired with the joyous smiles of infatuation, longing gazes that covered from head to toe, and warm tender touches that danced wherever they could reach. A closed door spoke differently, however, when your backs were turned to the public eye and the close proximity you once shared instantly reverting to hateful strangers sleeping on different sides of the house. What nobody knew was that everything that seemed perfect about you and Dylan was utterly and completely fake.

It was meant to be good publicity for your further developing images in the Hollywood spotlight; your joint publicist deciding that it was best for your blossoming careers, and to raise more exposure for the new film you shared together. Overall, the idea was writhing with stupidity. To make all matters worse, you couldn't even remember why you and Dylan didn't get along; but it drove a knife through the centre of your phony relationship and only presented tense situations and hateful glares among yourselves. It would get to the point where you could go hours dodging each other around the house, words unspoken and eyes focused on whatever was preoccupying your hands at that moment. It was difficult to juggle your emotions, but neither of you made the move to fix whatever was broken between you both.

This is what led to Dylan perched on the edge of your shared couch, his eyes crinkling in confusion and frustration as they skimmed over ridiculous tabloid articles concerning the two of you. The brutal features from wannabe journalists and tryhard paparazzi were getting worse as each day dragged on, prompting the man to drag his large hard down his face, groaning loudly as he stood from his position and trudged his way toward your bedroom. His deep whisky hues remained oddly fascinated by the spreading lies coursing the internet - so much, that he ignored all common courtesy as he immediately opened your closed door with his eyes still glaring down at his phone. "You won't believe the bullshit that they're saying about us-" He started, brows knotted deeply and teeth gritted before he looked up to you. It was sudden when he froze, Dylan's words swallowed roughly by what he saw.

"Dylan, what the fuck are you doing? Get out!" You squealed, your body only clad in your hugging pair of underwear and bra before you rummaged for something to wrap around your exposed frame. His jaw still hung, all skills pertaining to how to speak now gone and replaced by small choked noises. With rolled eyes, you carefully walked toward him, your hand reaching out to grasp at his phone and tug it away from his suspended movements. "This better be good, otherwise I'm going to fucking kill you." You hissed, absentmindedly tugging the sheet around you tighter. You reluctantly scrolled through the variety of gossip featurettes; they varied from 'secret proposals' to 'Dylan at his last straw', even one detailing how you were both planning on getting matching tattoos, which was very much news to you. What stood out the most, however, got you seething almost instantly. You gasped loudly, "I'm WHAT? I am in no fucking way pregant. What the actual fucking fuck is this? Where do they get this from?!"

The shrieking tone of your exasperated voice broke Dylan from his daze, the mental image of your body still burnt in his mind but temporarily pushed aside. He shuffled to the side, head peering over your shoulder as he too read the article in disgust. "We can't do this shit anymore, seriously. It's screwing with our heads and our lives, and I'm so goddamn over it." Dylan's voice was deep, representing a low growl when his hands tugged harshly at the roots of his hair. You felt like puppets, dolls, playthings where you couldn't even direct the story of your own life. It was exhausting. "The sooner I can get out of this stupid house and away from whatever this-" He gestured between you both, his fingers lengthy as they pointed back and forth, "-is, the better."

"Oh, so you're just that desperate to get away from me?" You scoffed, your fractured relationship causing immediate misconception of his choice of wording. Your head fell into a soft shake as you pulled yourself away from Dylan, arms hugging yourself out of makeshift comfort. Dylan's fingers pinched the bridge of his nose before his eyes squeezed shut, the inklings of a stress headache dancing behind his eyes. That's not what he meant, but you were just as stubborn as he was, which is what made him know that you most certainly wouldn't listen to reasoning. A defeated sigh dropped from his lips as his other hand reached out for your arm, fingers gently wrapping around the bend of your elbow. Dylan ignored your quiet protests before pulling you back to him, your body twisting until you were both standing chest to chest.

"I hate the idea of us fake dating, that's what I want to get away from." The usual amber warmth of his eyes grew dark in time with the increase of his heart rate, the fast pattern ricocheting against you. It was a very rare occasion for you to see Dylan with this level of seriousness that prompted you to fall silent, your own gaze widening as you looked up to the taller man. He clenched his jaw and bit at his bottom lip, gnawing at it from the inside before allowing both of his hands to sit over the structure of your shoulders. Dylan ducked down until he was at your eye level and sighed deeply, "I don't hate you either. Not as much as we're both making it out to be. You can be a pain in my ass, don't get me wrong, and you piss me off to no wit's end, but I don't hate you. Honestly, there's no one else that I'd rather go through all this shit with." Lips quirked upward when a small chuckle was released, his head once more falling into a soft shake. You wanted to return the sentiment but the way his eyes shamelessly flickered between your lips and eyes made you think otherwise.

"Well..." You started, your tongue poking out briefly to wet your lips, feet pushing you up onto the ends of your toes until you matched his height. A breathless whisper is what came next, the grip on your sheet becoming lost as you instead entangled your arms around Dylan's neck, "Promise not to hate me for this, then." You didn't leave any time for contemplation before your lips moulded against his, drawing the man into you until his large hands dragged down the side of your body, leaving a fiery trail in their wake. They settled on your hips and you could feel the flexing of his fingers against your bare skin, making you shiver from growing anticipation. He kissed you back feverishly as he tilted his head and brushed the point of his nose against your cheek. You were desperate for air; inhaling every last offering of his breath after he prodded open your lips further with his tongue. You felt weightless - whether it was from your upcoming lack of oxygen or just the feeling he gave you, you weren't too sure, but it felt amazing regardless.

You only pulled back out of desperation when your forehead dropped to his, ragged panting between you both managing to breathe the silence of the room. It took you a moment to realise that your fingers were now threaded through his hair, the nails lightly scratching at Dylan's scalp and prompting gentle moans to sound into your ears. You could feel him stumbling, but unaware that the tightness of his jeans had increased, blood rushing to where it needed to be when he took another quick glance at your lack of clothing. He groaned internally. Dylan cleared his throat as he nuzzled his nose against yours, dragging the upturned tip once again over your cheek and settling under your ear, "I think we have a problem because I'm very turned on right now and I don't really want to stop kissing you. Or touching you."

You gasped lightly, the thought of his hands and lips travelling over every exposed inch of skin only making you shudder. Whatever form of 'hatred' that surrounded you both for so long was easily forgotten, possibly from the long-awaited admittance of emotions that had remained hidden for far too long. You rocked your head up and down, your swollen lips placing a small kiss along his predominant jawline, "Then touch me, and kiss me. And don't stop until I am screaming out your goddamn name."

Dylan's fingers danced along your shoulder blades and walked down the line of your spine until they reached the restriction of your bra. He kissed your shoulder once, and then another until he managed to unclasp the metal hooks. Before continuing, the man tilted his head back and caught your reciprocated drunk daze, the softness etched across your facial features leaving him utterly mesmerised. "You'll be screaming out more than that when I'm done with you, sweetheart."

Oh oh now I get it!! Well can I request the prompt “adjust”?

send me a PROMPT for a 'yearn for you' blurb -

[ ADJUST ] : sender adjusts an item of clothing or jewelry that the receiver is wearing, resulting in them being very close together. (w/ DYLAN)

You couldn't help the small laugh that fell from your lips as you watched Dylan scrunch his nose in annoyance from across the room. Although he looked immensely handsome when decked out in a full suit and tie, he still found it constricting and proper. What he would give to swap out his sleek black wingtips for his pink worn Adidas and his deep grey suit jacket for his oversized hooded jumper. He attended red carpet events because he was always proud of the films he partook in and he wanted desperately to show his support for the cast and crew involved - that didn't mean that he always agreed with the dress code, however.

As per usual, you were his date to the latest film premiere, which gave you the opportunity to dress up. Your temporary stylist finished pinning back your now curled hair, bouncy strands falling down to frame your face. You found yourself very fortunate to experience these moments of luxury, which is why you always expressed your gratitude to those involved. You faced the main sitting area of your hotel room, a wide grin present between your cheeks, eyes trained on Dylan as he shrugged on his jacket. His tie hung casually around his neck as he turned to face you, the sound of your clicking heels easily alerting him to your presence.

He released an evident sigh of contentedness, eyes not shy as they trailed down the flowing red dress you wore, the same colour as the intricate detailing on his tie. You could see the pride lighting up within his gaze, causing a rose blush to gather at your cheeks. Dylan always filled out his suits nicely; his jacket hugging his shoulders in just the right way, and of course, the fit of his pants perfect as they showed off a little shape. A chuckle left him as he bit his lip, "You look amazing."

"Says you." You chortled, scoffing at his compliment as if he didn't know just how much he looked like a gift from heaven. With long strides, you made your way across the room, your hips encased by large hands as soon as you were within his reach. Instinctively, he pulled you close to him, gazing over your facial features through his lashes, with a lazy smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. You could see the copious amounts of love seeping from him, and honestly, you could have died happy right there and then.

Your fingers danced along his jawline, his stubble scratching at them lightly before they trailed down his neck and landing on his tie. The silky material was a smooth contrast to the small hairs that graced his chin. The lopsided knot is what caught your attention next; it was obvious that Dylan elected to tie it himself, but luckily, you were there to help perfect it a little more. You worked carefully as you tugged and pushed, hands moving in all directions until you were happy with the adjustments you made.

"I love it when you take control like that." He mused, his still evident smirk attempting to get a rise out of you. The hands on your hips tightened into a brief squeeze before they trailed up your back, one hand's knuckles eventually dragging over your cheek and down your neck. "I meant it when I said you look amazing, by the way. You always do. I'm a very lucky guy..."

"And don't you forget it, O'Brien."

congrats on 500!!! you so deserve it, i love your writing! 🤍 could i have “i’ve been flirting with you for the last six months, thanks for noticing.” with dylan pleaseeeee?

SEND ME A PROMPT FOR MY 500 SLEEPOVER!

**thank you thank you!!! such a sweetheart <3

“I’VE BEEN FLIRTING WITH YOU FOR THE LAST SIX MONTHS, THANKS FOR NOTICING.”

You watched as Dylan's head tossed back, the neck of his bottle funneling chilled beer into his mouth as he shot a lazy wink in your direction. The lively laughter mixed with tunes from indie rock bands created a quintessential atmosphere in the dive bar, only enhanced by the warm tones of the coloured downlights that accentuated the golden specks in Dylan's caramel eyes. You were both here for your friends' engagement; the party already a few drinks in before you decided to slip away to the bar. Your drunken state allowed you to feel the vulnerability easier to the point where it drove you to inevitable loneliness. It was hard when you were surrounded, quite literally, by love - an abundance of couples adorning the space in front of you with intimate dances, longing embraces, and tender kissing. It reminded you of how utterly alone you really were.

Dylan found your retreat for a stronger drink amusing when he slipped into the seat next to you, a smile that was so warm and familiar playing upon his lips. Your reasoning, however, caught his attention the most before his confession was released so nonchalantly, his calmness bringing a shocked expression to your facial features. You thought he was joking as your teeth sunk into your bottom lip, tugging lightly to conceal the grin that began to creep between your cheeks. A soft giggle filled the air before your head shook, eyes flickering from the fiddling hands in your lap to his composed and complacent expression.

"You're kidding, right?" You queried in reply, glancing over the softness that stemmed from his eyes and the temperate smile that curled higher with each passing second.

Dylan chuckled before taking another sip of his drink, his tongue quickly darting out to catch any stray droplets from his lips. He placed the bottle down upon the bartop, next to the freshly poured concoction of spirits you ordered not too long ago. He was serious - he had no reason not to be, but the way your saddened composure changed so quickly to joyousness had him erupting with serotonin. It was his turn now to shake his head as he wondered how you couldn't see his advancements over the past few months. He was basically throwing himself at you. At first, the man considered you weren't interested before he realised that you were just simply oblivious. It made the sparkle in his eye for you shine brighter.

"I'm far from kidding." He started, dropping his elbow to the bench before sitting his cheek within the large palm of his hand. By now, Dylan was grinning widely, another spurt of laughter slipping past him in a drunken haze. He sighed, "I mean, fuck, you're gorgeous. And hilarious... some of the shit you say is just so fucking funny, truly. You're also kinda badass, and it's hot. You're hot. Why wouldn't I wanna flirt with you, seriously, I'd have to be stupid or something." His spare arm flailed in time with his wording, exaggerated gestures setting the scene as liquid courage sunk deeper into Dylan's system. You could tell by the glaze settling over his eyes that the hangover tomorrow would be a brutal one.

His tangent brought a deep rosh blush to your cheeks, a visual form of flattery as you looked away from the man in slight embarrassment. Evidently, you never knew of the characteristics that Dylan found so enticing, especially seeming that you never considered yourself even possessing such qualities. His intoxicated version of a silver tongue painted a picture of you that he found attractive, but you never saw it, maybe you weren't supposed to. Maybe... what Dylan saw in you was perfect for his eyes only.

A rare encouraged braveness prompted your eyes to glance back toward him, focusing primarily on the eyes that were the epitome of every doodled love heart ever drawn - they complemented the sincerity that graced his smiling lips, and together, you could see that Dylan O'Brien was very much being serious. He was looking back at you like you were the rainbow that graced his rainy day, additional to the newly light shoulders he carried after offloading just how he really felt about you. He was finding your reaction immensely endearing, and if he had slightly less self-control, he'd already have you curled against his chest as he held you within his arms.

"You never said anything, ya know, before now." The obvious was stated within a softened tone, your voice carrying until it was stopped by the glass pouring fruity flavours into your mouth. You felt looser, less constricted, as you continued to question the man, "Why is that?"

He was slowly becoming more liberated with the supplementary help of his near emptied beer bottle, the ideal usage of a filter for his words dissipating immediately as his comfort grew in your presence. Dylan bit his lip as he began to pick subconsciously at the label disintegrating from the moistened glass, his focus never leaving your face, "I thought you weren't interested at first, which was a major buzzkill, by the way. All that pining for nothing, but I couldn't stop it if I tried, and fuck, did I try." He sighed loudly, head nodding in the direction of your half-drunk beverage. He reached for it when your smile was provided as permission, humming in acceptance to signify that he liked what he was tasting. You didn't speak, noticing that he just needed an extra kick to continue his telltale explanation. He really was going to feel this in the morning now.

Dylan licked his lips, the glass returned to its rightful place at your side before he continued, "And then I saw the genuine smile you would shine my way when I spoke, and how you wouldn't shy away when I put my arm around your shoulders. Your eyes gleamed and you stood by my side, never leaving for anything. So, I began to think, maybe something really was there between us. A spark that needed igniting. But... I didn't want to force that on you, so I waited. Very patiently, might I add."

Your eyes rolled back, playfulness etching at the happy creases beside your eyes and growing grin that Dylan couldn't look away from. This newly profound information made your eyes metaphorically widen, opening to the signs that were missed, and the small compliments and tender touches that you had overlooked as plain friendly. The brief realisations were interrupted by Dylan's hand reaching for yours on the bench, his fingers sliding carefully over your skin and leaving curt fiery trails behind them. He was hesitant, but calmed almost instantly when you flipped your hand around for him to slide his fingers in between.

He took a deep breath, "Then I saw how sad you looked tonight. You thought nobody noticed, but I did. I always do. So I bit the bullet and decided that I was finally going to tell you how I feel, hoping that there's even the slightest possibility that you felt the same way in return."

"And what do you think?" You finally spoke, voice surprisingly steady as you gave his hand a soft squeeze as it remained encased around yours. "Do I feel the same way?"

Dylan blinked a few times as he assessed the situation, as well as he could due to the level of alcohol he'd ingested - you'd yet to run away, yet to object or reject his hand, your smile hasn't faltered and your eyes only harnessed more beauty than he'd ever seen before. Your focus was primarily stationed on him, watching carefully with the utmost forbearance.

Dylan exhaled in content, "I think you do. I really think you do."

" There's no way i can cover these marks " with Mitch?

SEND ME A PROMPT FOR MY 500 SLEEPOVER!

Warning: mentions of sexual activity, swearing galore

"THERE'S NO WAY I CAN COVER THESE MARKS."

You shamelessly bit down on your bottom lip, eyes trained on the sinewy form at the foot of your bed as his muscles flexed under even the smallest of movements. You could see through the minimal space of which he didn't cover the mirror, that his eyes were squinted in concentration and brows furrowed as he played inspector. A soft giggle fell from your lips as he was referring to the trail of purple splotches adorning his neck, littering over his collarbone and eventually down to his chest. They weren't hard to miss - the colour was vibrant and definitely semi-permanent for a while.

"You didn't seem to be complaining when you had your dick in me." A purr settled in your throat, Mitch peering behind him through the reflective surface just as you rolled slightly over the crisp white sheets. His whiskey hues followed the thin material only just barely covering your torso and thighs, knowing exactly what he'd find if it happened to slip from your naked body. The image made him moan before he swallowed hard, his head slightly shaking as he tried to rid the beautiful picture you'd paint him every time you both were intimate. He had to leave for work, he couldn't be late again - Irene threatening to have his head on a stick if he dared show up outside of their agreed-upon time.

You could see his struggle, prompting you to laugh quietly under your breath before pushing yourself up into a more seated position, hands quick to grasp the sheet and drag it up to cover your exposed front. "I could put some makeup on it? Works wonders for me." Which it often did - your body usually the one marked and decorated with Mitch's insignia. You believed that he enjoyed it more than you, which wouldn't be an understatement if he could only see the look of pride he sported when he admired his pleasureful work. That, and the symphony of moans that he conducted from you with just his mouth.

Mitch instantly scowled, his brows furrowing, "You're not touching me with that shit. It looks fantastic on you, let's leave it that way."

His answer prompted a pout to playfully sit on your lips, causing the man in front of you to roll his eyes. You knew how to get him going. "Don't look at me like that, not with those dumb puppy dog-eyes..." The man sighed, a brief head shake and disbelieving smirk gracing his facial features. He chuckled, knees already breaching the edge of your bed, "Look what you're making me do, baby, now I have to come over there and kiss that frown away, and you're the one that's getting blamed when Irene loses her fucking head."

Mitch moved quickly; his large hands already capturing your waist as he held you through the sheet, lips immediately encasing your own. You fell backward with a gentle thump as Mitch's body completely covered your smaller frame, your arms snaking around his neck to pull him closer to you. His tongue swept along your bottom lip, a dance of its own, until you eventually opened for him. It was as if he was trying to breathe in all that you were - an attempt to graciously accept the love that you so willingly provided him. The intoxication he felt when he was drawn in by your tender touch and sweet taste would always drive him to utter oblivion, a drunken daze that required no alcohol. He knew that the moment he crossed that bed to join your lips again, that it'd take him a hell of a lot to pull him back out.

It was you who pulled back first, needing a moment to catch your breath as your fingers tangled in the slightly long locks of your boyfriend. Mitch, however, didn't stop. He didn't want to. His mouth dragging along your jawline and down your neck, suctioning around particular pressure points that he knew made your legs shake. A throaty groan escaped you and the man couldn't help the smirk that pressed predominately against your skin. Your voice was strangled, a soft choke escaping with your words, "Is this your way of getting pay back? By making us hickey twins?" You sounded dubious, but the nod and muffled sound of agreement he breathed against your neck solidified your beliefs. "You're enjoying this way too much."

The euphoric feeling that vibed through your bedroom was halted when Mitch's phone began to buzz, the vibrations creating a loud and intrusive pattern against the nightstand. He groaned, shoulders slumping before throwing his arm out to the side to bring the device to his ear.

"I'm busy."

He grunted before tossing it to the side, screen now laying flat on the mattress. His hand returned to your body in order to pull the sheet down, his tongue not shy as it followed the material, trailing between your breasts... until the phone rang, again.

"Occupied."

He spoke sternly into the receiver once he picked it up again, the phone thrown across the bed for the second time this morning. You were finding amusement in the situation, wanting to file a small laugh but the second his teeth pulled at one of your exposed nipples, your body returned to its state of anticipation and lust. Your head lulled back as a hand threaded through his hair, softly tugging along with the moans gathering in your throat. The sensations you felt were mesmerizing, until you suddenly jumped, the generic ring tone calling through once more.

Mitch growled, reaching for the device now somehow behind him, "Wrong fucking number."

You stifled a chuckle, "Go. Stan's just gonna keep calling. He'll probably come kick the damn door down and drag you out by your ear if you hang up on him again."

The man deflated, not wanting to admit the accuracy of your statement, especially knowing how Stan likes to deal with things in the unconventional kind of way. He looked into your eyes, their brightness making him smile, "If I have to."

---------

"What the fuck is that?" The older man grumbled, eyes trained on Mitch as he slid into the passenger side of Stan's beaten-up truck. He started mostly at the litter of bruises rising above the neckline of Mitch's black t-shirt, before focusing back on a pair of mischievous amber eyes.

"They're hickeys, Stan. You actually need somebody interested in fucking you to be able to get some of your own." Mitch retorted, his usual level of attitude still managing to push at Stan's buttons, regardless of how used he is to it by now. Mitch smirked, "Y/N's a biter." He declared, voice smug and proud before showing off a wink.

Stan looked utterly disgusted, "Yeah, you don't fucking say."

gaze w/ dylan for the kiss me?

send me a PROMPT for a 'kiss me' blurb -

[ GAZE ] : right before the kissing begins, sender gazes at receiver’s lips, then back up at their eyes, waiting for them to make a move or give confirmation.

Small laughs were a constant interruption during your scene with Dylan, the chortles slipping from both your mouths every time you both got too close to one another. It didn't help in the slightest that the brunette man would purposely pull a childish face at you when your noses were close enough to touch - this time, in particular, was caused by the crossing of his eyes and tip of his tongue poking out at you. The director was playing along at first as he made small jokes himself about content for the gag reel, but fifteen minutes later and he was yelling CUT! like a broken record and rolling his eyes with a hidden smile ghosting his lips.

Dylan pushed out a lip-trill as a way to compose himself, his hands shaking out at his sides. You were only seconds behind following his lead until you were both sure that the zaniness was at a minimum. The director indicated that filming was resuming before your hands gently gripped Dylan's arms, the personality of your characters taking over once more as you stared up into his whisky-coloured eyes. Lines dripping with every possible essence of love fell so easily from your lips, almost immediately reciprocated from your partner's character. The scene was easily set and the mood grew swiftly between your flushed chests.

Your eyes focused on the plumpness of his lips - so simple, but so enticing. It was hard to remember that this was a scripted scene and not an invitation to jump on him for no apparent reason. The act of his tongue slipping out quickly to lick his lips broke your focus and caused you to drag your gaze back up to his. Your head tilted softly to the side as your eyes asked... dared... him to finish the job. In true Dylan fashion, the smallest of smiles tugged at the corners of his mouth and he leaned into you, pressing his lips to yours and scrunching his nose as he deepened it. The peck didn't last long as he pulled away, forehead against yours. It was time for you and your castmate to join once more in a union that was determined by the way his tongue dragged across the bottom lip of your red-painted smirk, and as if on cue, you allowed him access. He sunk entirely, his tongue dipping deep inside as if he needed a part of you to help him breathe.

It had to have just been acting, surely, but it was definitely perfect.