Hi Can I Do A Dylan O Brien Where The Reader Is Sick So He Looks After Her ?? X

Hi can I do a Dylan o brien where the reader is sick so he looks after her ?? X

Not so Healthy || Dylan O'Brien x Reader

Words: 612

Warnings: swearing and cute dyl

[GIF]

"Don't come near me." You warned, hand outstretched as your body shuffled back against the plush cushioning of the couch. You could barely see through the swollen puffiness under your eyes and the glaze of sickness causing everything in your sight to appear hazy; but you could see HIM, approaching you slowly. You huffed as you realized that you couldn't move back any further, your body stuck for an escape. A sudden thump of your headache behind your sinuses provoked your head to fall back and a loud groan push through your cracked lips. "I don't want you to get sick, Dylan, it fucking sucks."

You could hear him chuckle before his knees hit the hardwood floor beside the couch, his lengthy fingers splayed over your bicep as it rubbed reassuringly up and down your arm. Dylan dropped his chin to your stomach and peered up at you through his dark lashes, the honey swirls of his eyes instantly warming your insides as you peered down to him. He cooed softly, "Let me nurse you back to health, baby. I wanna help". His lips pushed into a soft pout, the fingers dancing along your arm now dragging over your neck and tracing your jawline. He knew that the delicate touches he gave you always managed to soothe whatever pain you were in, physically or emotionally - and you appreciated every second of it.

His cooing got louder as he crawled further up your body, his lips ghosting the curve between your neck and shoulder. You sighed in content at how such simple and dainty actions can minimize your pain, even in the slightest. Your sweet moment was ruined when a sudden sneeze shot through you, flying over Dylan's head before your hand flew up to cover any more from escaping. You groaned loudly before pushing his head down and away from yours, "No... no kisses, no cuddles. I'll be damned if you end up like this. You need to go sit over there..." You spoke sternly, your trembling finger pointing to the lone armchair across the room.

In response, he scoffed. Dylan pushed himself up with hands perched on either side of your body, an eyebrow cocked in a challenging manner. "And what if I don't want to? What if I want to kiss you? What if I don't care about getting sick, huh?" He bit his lip at your disapproving expression as he tried to hold in a chuckle at your added stubborness. "You need painkillers and water. I'll get you some soup, anything... but there's no way that I'm gonna let you suffer through this by yourself. Just let me help you. I'll even put on a sexy nurse costume, ya know, if that seals the deal..."

It was your turn to giggle like a little schoolgirl, head shaking and smile finally wide upon your lips. The image of your boyfriend dressed in a sexually provocative Halloween costume now burnt in the back of your mind and you silently thanked him for it with a squeeze of your hand over his. "We both know that that'd totally make me feel better. God, you'd look so hot..."

"Okay, calm down. Can't have you getting all aroused when you can barely stay awake right now." He quipped, squeezing your hand back. Dylan stood quickly and leant in to press a chaste kiss to your overly warm forehead, provoking a small frown when he pulled back again. "You definitely need meds. Then we'll cuddle and watch and movie and eat soup, alright? Maybe gazpacho." He gently pushed your hair back and grinned at your gracious expression.

"Thank you for being the best nurse."

could you write something please with a reader being the mother of dylan’s son and like their son of 3/4 years ends up being really protective of his mom and jealous and like whenever dylan calls the reader baby or love their son also calls his moms like that. or when dylan starts to kiss the reader their son just broke their kiss saying no papa it’s my mommy and dylan tells him that’s he was there before him

Dylan O'Brien x Reader

The sound of a children's show played in the background as Dylan worked on his computer. His son's eyes, near duplicates of his own, watched as the characters sang and danced across the screen. He cherished the quiet moments like this with his family the most. He could hear you moving around in the back of the house doing something, the small tapping of Tony's nails against the hardwood floor as he followed you everywhere.

Dylan was always amazed at how quickly his life had changed over the last few years. His career was snowballing with jobs and roles coming in more than ever before. But his personal life was growing since he'd met you. He'd fallen in love, married, and how you both shared a son with the want to have more children.

The sound of footsteps caused his head to pop up and away from his computer, a small smile tugging on his lips as he watched you walk into the living room. No matter what, you always made his heart race and left him breathless.

"How's working coming along? Any good scripts?" You asked, walking around to sit on the couch beside him.

"A few, I'm marking the ones I like and sending them to my manager." Dylan set his laptop to the side before moving to face you more.

His arm stretched over the back of the couch the two of you sat on. Your son continued to play in front of the tv, his attention drawn away from the show still playing on the television. Dylan moved to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck, kissing along the side of your neck, before kissing your lips softly. You giggle slightly against his lips - a noise that caught your son's attention.

"No...no...no..." a small child-like voice sounded, small feet rushing toward you.

Soon small hands grabbed at both your legs, making you pull away and look down at your son.

"Mommy...no, mine...my mommy." He whined and whimpered, reaching his hands out to you in a reaching motion.

Dylan couldn't help but roll his eyes and laugh as you reached down to grab your son. Since turning three, your little man has been in a new phase. A phase where he get's jealous any time Dylan shows you any sort of affection in front of him. He has a small little tantrum and always tries to pull Dylan away from you. All of you think of it as funny - except your son.

"My mommy," He pouts, his lower lip stuck out as he glared at his father. "No kisses."

"I can't kiss mommy?" Dylan asked. "Why not? Daddy loves kissing mommy."

"No! Mine!" Your son reaches over and wraps his arms around your neck and hugs you tightly. "Mine."

"Ok, baby, ok..." You rubbed his back softly. "Daddy is sorry."

"Can't even kiss my own wife." Dylan shakes his head and laughs again.

"I'm sure when the next one comes, she's gonna be a daddy's girl." You smiled, one of your hands reaching down to rub your slightly growing belly.

Idk if these are still open but if they are ‘I need to make love to you tonight’ with Dylan please :)

Warnings: mentions of sexual language/activity, swearing, drunkeness

Notes: using [THIS] for brief inspiration!

"I NEED TO MAKE LOVE TO YOU TONIGHT."

His words, although harnessing every ounce of sweetness that this simple world could offer, was slurred loudly through his wandering lips as they targetted the side of your neck. The reverberations of his drunken moans created a story of salaciousness that pressed to your skin, igniting a shiver of excitement that ran up your spine. He had a knack for setting your senses on high alert, the reaction your body had to just his touch alone was enough to send you into a longing daze of euphoric phenomena. What made matters more interesting was that Dylan knew exactly what he was doing; every word he spoke, pressure point he sucked, caress he dragged over your tingling skin. It was his way of expressing what he wanted, yearned for, and that he wasn't going to back down, not in the utmost slightest.

"No, you need to take your aspirin." Your retort managed to squeak past your faintly parted lips, arm jarring as it reached out to push back his heaving chest. The muscles that flexed below your prodding fingertips shook with soft laughter, Dylan finding hilarity in your attempt to pretend that you didn't need this as much as he did. He was too disoriented to remain upright before Dylan's body slipped back from your own, his head bouncing softly off the pillow as he settled down. Never once did his hooded eyes leave the slightly amused expression that contorted your features; lips pursed to perfectly complement the soft head shake you subconsciously offered. Your tongue clicked behind your teeth, gaze shying away from the deep reverence that featured within his golden hues. Even when inebriated, the man still looked at you as if you put all the stars in the sky.

"Dylan, I'm not joking."

The attempt at a serious tone slightly wavered before you watched his smile grow, one possessing great love and devotion as he settled back into the softness of the pillow. "You're going to wake up with a killer hangover, and I won't have you fucking whinging to me again about how bad the room is spinning-" Quickly, your voice began to die in your throat. Words dissipated at the feeling of breathlessness as if you'd momentarily forgotten how to exhale. Not that it was difficult to determine why, with simplicity in its finest form acting as the reason for your broken focus; his bottom lip tugged between teeth as Dylan felt his heart swell with adoration at your nurturing nature.

"Mmm, don' need that when I 'ave you with me, baby.." His voice was raspy, a deepened tone that encouraged a rosy blush to devour the complexion of your cheeks. The man could play you like a fiddle.

Dylan chuckled, his chest jumping before he dropped his hands flat against the mattress. It was slow as he pushed himself back to an upright position, your thoughts swarming with hopefulness that his mind had changed about taking the pain killers and calling it a night - alas, as you turned back from the pill bottle on the nightstand, you could feel the upturn of Dylan's nose graze against your cheekbone. Warm breath fanned down your neck as you were met with the scent of cheap beer and whisky, an odd combination that you were finding captivating the more he pressed into you. Dylan's fingers splayed over your waist as the other caressed down your cheek, loose strands of hair soon taking up vacancy behind your ear. His touch was soft as it trailed over patches of exposed skin; a story told through the tenderness he possessed so proudly, his growing smirk ghosting over your lips when he felt the spike of goosebumps he provoked.

You were breathing him in as if he were your lifeline, the feeling of your noses as they nuzzled so incredibly soft and close to one another enhancing the bittersweet incapability to find dependency away from his presence. He was a drug and you were intoxicated by the desperation he pulled from you; the neediness you developed for his protective hold around your frame and how his kisses encapsulated complete bliss and ecstasy. You were constantly drawn to the kindness that always reached his eyes and how he would, without a second thought, give up the world if it meant having you happy and safe by his side.

He wasn't going to kiss you - not like this, not when he could barely hold his head up without it falling against your forehead, or to the crook of your neck where he often took solitude. The man gulped harshly, his adam's apple bobbing when his nose traced an invisible line across your cheek. The desire to ravish you right there and then grew stronger, despite the inner conflict he faced about taking advantage when he was in such a drunken demeanor. He needed you close and he needed you more, but he couldn't.

Your hands had somehow found a home grasping at his shoulders before you slowly pulled them down to Dylan's chest, the erratic thumping of his heart dancing against your palm. You gingerly licked your lips, finally drawing in a deep breath as your mind lowered to an unalcoholic sobriety of its own. "Dyl, just drink your water and take the damn medicine, please. Don't make me mom you."

His chest jumbled with another small laugh, "Mom me, huh? All bossy-like? Mmm, that's hot, babe.. not a threat.."

Swiftly, your head fell back, eyes closing as they face the ceiling. You released a groan from the base of your throat, frustration taking ownership of the tone. He was impossible. "Why are you like this?" You said in exasperation, hands rubbing over his t-shirt before journeying to the man's wrists. Your fingers curled around them, a slight squeeze shown as a subconscious act of affection. Your head shook from a developing idea, the utilization of bribery being the last tactic you wanted to exercise but the childish man sitting across your bed didn't leave you much choice, regardless of just how much you loved him.

"Take the fucking medicine and I'll give you a blowjob."

Brown eyes immediately grew wide as if he was embedded with an alarm clock, an indicator of some sort that caught the man's attention when the uncharacteristic sentence fell from your lips. He had to blink twice, three times, to process whether he heard you correctly. He could determine your sincerity by the expecting quirk of your eyebrow and how your arms were now crossed over your chest, waves of solemnity pulling at every inch of your face and body. He was in disbelief that you were fucking serious.

"...Quick, babe, you have five seconds to make your choice." You continued after his verbal lack of communication. Your fingers were already beginning to dip past the waistband of his jeans, the muscles of his abdomen flexing against the delicate swirl of your gentle touch. "Five... four... three..."

"Yes - fuck, Y/N/N.. I'll do it, please.."

Kitchen Nightmares || Mitch Rapp x Reader

Prompt: i spent three hours cooking food for you, and you're polite enough to pretend you like it but i'm a horrible chef and i can tell by your face that you're lying (SCRENWRITER)

Words: 437

Warnings: swearing

Notes: very very short, but i wanted to write me some soft mitch

Mitch was good at keeping a straight face, he had to be; an agent couldn't afford to break their facade in the line of work he pours himself into. He was required to put up a mask and fake his way through situations, pretend to be something he's not, pretend to feel things that he wouldn't usually feel in that moment. You had never been with him on the field, but you knew that the way his eyebrow was slightly twitching, his lips quivering in the tiniest corner of his mouth, even the missing gleam in his chocolate eyes... he was lying.

"I'm not going to force you to eat it, Mitch." You mentioned, contemplating the pain on his face as he tried to chew and swallow the meal you placed before him nearly ten minutes ago. It was both amusing and tiring to watch him continue to play this game. You groaned loudly, hoping to catch his attention, "We can order take out. I'll let you choose what we have, I don't care. Just stop trying to please me."

"No, babe, you made this. I'm going to enjoy it." He spoke through a full mouth, words muffled completely to the point where you hardly caught any of the syllables. He winced as he swallowed the strange texture, flavors he had never tasted before sliding down the back of his throat. Mitch felt as if he had to be grateful - he was gone for three weeks on a mission in the Middle East, he hardly slept let alone hardly ate. He wasn't stupid and knew that you only wanted the best for him as you welcomed him home with a cooked meal. He also was very aware that you couldn't cook, at all. "It-it's fucking amazing... so good, babe, so... fucking good."

He wasn't fooling you. He never could. "This is what we're gonna do, tough guy. That shit right there, that I can absolutely tell you hate, by the way... is going in the trash. And then we are ordering Vietnamese food. You're gonna cuddle the crap out of me and then we're going to have long hours full of sex until we fall asleep naked in each other's arms. Got it?"

Your sudden dominance was provoking a twitch in his lower region, a gulp forming in his throat as your arms were paced upon your hips. He had never been so attracted to you. Mitch let out a shaky breath, accompanied by that famous wide grin that had been missing from your life for nearly a month. With licked lips, he groaned, "Fuck yes."

Who Put That There? || Dylan O'Brien x Reader

Summary : Two friends experience the holiday magic of surprise mistletoe.

Words : 1.7k

Warnings : fluff, drinking, couple of swears

Notes : Merry Christmas! Happy Holidays! gif credit [uknown / x]

Your eyes widened in childhood wonder at the array of Holiday decorations gracing every possible surface of Sarah's apartment. Green and red hues were most present, especially seen in the dancing lights bouncing off her living room walls; a perfect complement to the oversized tree in the corner and numerous eclectic statues of Snowmen and reindeer littered through the lively space. She always went all out when it came to this time of year, and you were glad, seeming that it was definitely one of your cherished happy places.

You lent casually against the staircase of your friend's living space, an arm tucked under your other as you nursed a half-drunk glass of spiked eggnog. The strong taste of bourbon slunk down your throat, the warmth from such an intense alcoholic beverage created a spike of fire in the pit of your stomach. Not only was decorations one of Sarah's strong suits, but she also spent a lot of time and energy providing her friends with constant refills of her favourite holiday drink. The atmosphere was one of a kind - the loop of popular christmas jingles and songs playing lowly in the background, only overtaken by the joyous chatter and laughter of the people you call your second family. If you could stay in this moment forever, then everything would simply be perfect.

The creeping smile on your lips faltered only slightly as your shoulder was nudged, eyes flickering to your side to see a lightly buzzed Dylan and his famous caramel eyes that you adored so incredibly much. Teeth sunk deep into your bottom lip, a subconscious action to accompany the small crinkles besides your eyes and alcohol-induced rose blush pinching at your cheeks. He immediately reciprocated your happiness before releasing a soft chuckle, his glass raising lightly in the air toward you before he took another long sip. Dylan sighed in complete contentedness, "This is my third glass, you know. Any more and I'll be hanging from the ceiling."

You chortled, a hand pressing lightly to your chest from the sudden burst of hilarity. A full display of your teeth showcased the elation you felt, catching the attention of your friend as he gazed between the squinting of your eyes and plushness of your faintly swollen lips. "That would be a sight to see, but something tells me that Sah really wants to get us drunk, you know? I didn't even reach the bottom of my glass before she was topping it up. She's being really fucking sneaky." Small indications of laughter rode along the end of your words as you spoke. You swirled the remaining liquid in your glass as you looked to Dylan, your eyebrow raising as a silent request for him to wait and watch.

I would be less than a minute later before Sarah stood before you both, the never-ending jug of eggnog in her hands managing to pour enough beige liquid to officially create your third glass. You nodded in thanks, Sarah snickering under her breath as she moved across to Dylan to copy her hostess duties. She made sure to enunciate that you two enjoyed your drinks before she left and Dylan's eyebrows shot upward, total shock etched over his features. "Holy shit, how the hell did you do that?" He wondered aloud, shamelessly taking another sip from his glass. He took his bottom lip captive as you so innocently shrugged your shoulders, and for a moment, he grew breathless at how angelic you looked among the flashing lights of your friend's Christmas tree.

You couldn't pinpoint whether it was the hard bourbon coursing through your veins, or perhaps they were; just twinkling a little brighter tonight, but Dylan's burnt-honey swirled eyes drew you in closer than you were before, the ability to smell the strong stench of your drinks now very much apparent as it wafted toward your dazed expression. It felt like magic when small specks of white glitter fell between your faces, a true Christmas miracle when the addition of a familiar green plant dangled above your heads - one that certainly had not been there earlier. You gulped softly, unknowing that you were holding your breath until it pushed through your lips with a small shake. Pieces of the puzzle were merging together in your mind until you shook your head at the realization of what was happening around you. "It's mistletoe. She got us wasted, so we would kiss under the mistletoe."

You didn't think it possible but Dylan's face grew brighter, his blushed cheeks now extending to the tip of his nose and chin. You could see the gears turn behind the widening of his eyes and the way his mouth fell ajar and stammered with his lack of wording, "Wh-who... who put that there?"His focus flicked between the hanging plant and the oddly calm expression you wore, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips the more he thought about kissing you - wondering how you'd taste, how you'd feel against him. Maybe it was the perfect example of a Christmas miracle and if the opportunity so willingly presented itself, then it just had to be taken. Dylan bit the inside of his cheek, now looking at you through the thickness of his eyelashes, "Then maybe we should, you know, kiss then." He placed the now empty glass on the bench beside him, his hands wringing in front of his torso, "Don't want bad luck, right?"

You managed a tamed giggle, nodding in accordance with his reasoning. You only just remembered the soft holiday tunes playing as an ideal backdrop, a kick of confidence for you to also place your glass behind you and take a step into Dylan's personal space. He didn't move away but rather leaned forward until your chests were nearly flushed to one another. The moment was quintessential for a moment of Christmas romance, internally praising Sarah and the existence of Mistletoe. "Definitely don't want bad luck." You hummed, nose nudging against his own before Dylan's breath hitched evidently in his throat.

You couldn't help but smile up at the man before cupping his cheeks gently, allowing your thumbs to rub under his eyes. By now, your own eyes were closed, lashes tickling Dylan's cheekbones, making his need for you obvious by the way he would brush his lips so shamelessly against yours - a friendly tease, a desire for more, pulling back only the slightest when you would lean in to chase him. It was a game that he didn't mind losing if it meant that he could finally just kiss you. He suddenly swore under his breath, a raspy and quiet 'fuck it' vibrating off the red-painted plumpness of your lips before he pressed forward. You moaned instantly at his dominance, hands still holding his face and involuntarily squeezing when he pushed harder against you. Dylan's hands gripped your waist as fingers flexed over the material of your dress, the sides gathering up your thighs as he tightened his grasp.

Your body slumped, melting at the taste of sweet eggnog and the warmth of bourbon still decorating the rim of his lips. You need more, you needed him ao much closer than just in your arms. You licked at the taste of Holidays on his bottom lip and he moaned in the base of his throat, lips parting for you to deepen your union. You were sure that you were going to turn blue, unable to breathe but not wanting to pull away until the last possible second. You could tell that Dyan felt the same as his hands harshly dragged up your sides and over your back, pulling you into him, regardless that physically you were already as close as you could get.

It was a relief and a loss as you had to pull back, heavy breathing from both of you now filling the small gap between your close proximity. You licked your lips, tongue running over their swollen complexion. A smile found its way between your cheeks at the thought that Dylan's would be just as plump, his face flushed entirely, your red lipstick smudged over his mouth so carelessly. It was exciting to think that the beating of your heart was just as rapid in his own chest - to think that this moment was flawless in each and every way. Dylan's breaths turned shaky as he laughed, dropping his forehead against yours, "Fuck." That was all he could muster as his blunt nails scraped down your back and caused welcomed shivers up your spine. He inhaled deeply, his upturned nose brushing against yours and along your cheek with utmost fragility, "I'm gonna have to get myself one of those things. Especially if it means I get to kiss you like that each and every time."

You hummed along to the song emitting from Sarah's speakers, gently swaying from side to side until Dylan's hips were moving in unison with your own. It made you happy, beaming toward the man, allowing yourself to get lost in the moment. Your lips placed a tender peck just under his ear, the sound of Dylan moaning in complacency sounding so beautifully among the atmosphere surrounding you. "You don't need mistletoe to kiss me, Dyl. You just need to look at me with those big ol' honey eyes and I'm there. Promise."

It was quintessential in the way the acoustic music set the scene, coloured lights highlighting the strong cut of Dylan's jawline and the golden speckles in his eyes - even the simple intimacy you both adopted so quickly, already comfortable caught up within one another, the thought of leaving each other's hold becoming the last thing you'd want to do. It was perfect. Utterly, completely, absolutely perfect. Even when Sarah appeared by your sides, her presence was lost as you and Dylan continued to sway in your own bubble. She cleared her throat, a whine escaping from Dylan in reply as your head turned from his to face your overly happy friend. She looked beyond prideful, the smirk on her lips growing by the second.

Sarah sighed, "Like I always say, this eggnog is fucking magical."

" 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."