#wallows x reader

The soft click of the lock echoes down the empty dorm hallway as Clay pulls the door open with a lopsided grin, the kind that makes his dimples pop and his blue eyes crinkle at the corners. He’s wearing that faded Alien Killer Robot hoodie you love the one that smells like his cedarwood cologne and the faint trace of the library books he’s always buried in and his hair is a little messy from the wind outside.

“Hey, beautiful,” he murmurs, voice low and warm, stepping aside with an exaggerated bow. “Your palace awaits.”

You roll your eyes but can’t fight the smile as you slip past him, your shoulder brushing his chest. The room smells like pizza boxes, vanilla candle, and that unmistakable skunky hint of the good stuff. His roommate’s out for the weekend some frat formal so it’s just the two of you, eight months of stolen kisses and late-night study sessions finally boiling over into a full night of nothing but us.

Clay shuts the door with a soft *thud*, flicking the lock like it’s a reflex now. He turns, leaning back against the wood, watching you drop your backpack by his desk. “Got the goods?” you ask, arching a brow.

He smirks, pushing off the door and crossing the room in three easy strides. From the top drawer of his dresser, he pulls out a mason jar the mason jar packed tight with frosty nugs that glisten under the fairy lights strung above his bed. Next comes the bong: swirled glass, tall and proud, already half-filled with ice-cold water. He sets it on the desk like it’s fine china.

“Only the best for my girl,” he says, voice teasing but his hands steady as he grinds a fat bud between his fingers. The scent hits you immediately piney, sweet, lethal. You plop down on his unmade bed, kicking off your shoes, and he joins you cross-legged, bong between you like a ritual.

He packs the bowl with practiced ease, flicking the lighter until the cherry glows red. Takes the first hit smooth, deep, holds it then exhales a thick cloud that curls toward the ceiling. His eyes are already a little glassy when he passes it to you.

“Your turn, baby,” he says, voice husky from the smoke. “Let’s get fucked up.”

You take the bong, lips wrapping around the mouthpiece where his just were, and pull. The water bubbles, the hit burns sweet down your throat, and when you exhale, you lean forward, blowing the smoke slow and deliberate into his parted lips.

Shotgun-style.

Clay groans, low and wrecked, his hand already sliding to the back of your neck. “Fuck, you’re trouble.”

You grin, high already buzzing behind your eyes. “You have no idea”

The second hit rolls through you like warm honey, thick and slow. You pass the bong back to Clay, watching the way his throat bobs when he inhales, the cherry flaring orange against his lips. He coughs once just a little, then laughs at himself, head tipping back against the wall. The fairy lights catch in his hair, turning the messy curls gold.

You’re both cross-legged on his bed now, knees touching, the bong abandoned on the nightstand because who needs it when the high’s already here? The room tilts gently, like you’re on a boat, and everything feels soft around the edges.

Clay turns to you, eyes bloodshot and glassy, pupils blown wide. He reaches out, slow as hell, and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers linger on your cheek.

“Fuck,” he whispers, voice raspy from the smoke. “You’re so goddamn beautiful right now.”

You snort, because duh, you’re high and your eyes are probably red as cherries, but the way he’s looking at you like you hung the moon makes your chest tight.

“Shut up,” you mumble, but you’re grinning, leaning into his palm. “You’re just stoned.”

“No, no, listen.” He scoots closer, knees knocking yours. “Your eyes… they’re all shiny and red and—” He giggles, actually giggles, then slaps a hand over his mouth like he’s shocked at himself. “Holy shit, did I just giggle?”

You lose it. Full-on cackling, falling sideways into his pillows. He follows, flopping down beside you, both of you staring up at the ceiling like it’s the Sistine Chapel.

“I love when you laugh,” he says, turning his head to watch you. “Sounds like… like that one song. The one with the bells. You know the one.”

You don’t. But you nod anyway, because everything he says feels like poetry right now.

He rolls onto his side, propping his head on his hand. His hoodie’s ridden up a little, showing a strip of skin above his sweatpants. You poke it. He squeaks.

“Ticklish,” you declare, like you’ve made a scientific discovery.

“Am not,” he lies, then grabs your wrist when you go for it again. Pulls you closer until your foreheads touch. His breath smells like weed and spearmint gum.

“I’m serious, though,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your cheek. “You’re the prettiest when you’re high. All soft and glowy. Like… like a fucking angel.”

You roll your eyes so hard you see stars. “You’re such a sap.”

“Only for you,” he says, and then because he’s Clay and he’s high he presses a sloppy, giggly kiss to your nose. Then your cheek. Then your lips, missing the first time and landing on your chin instead.

You both crack up again, tangled in the sheets, red-eyed and breathless and so stupidly in love it hurts.

“Eight months,” he says suddenly, tracing your jaw with his finger. “Eight months of this. You. Me. Us.”

You swallow, the high making everything feel huge. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His voice drops, soft and reverent. “Best eight months of my life.”

And then he kisses you for real this time, slow and deep, tasting like smoke and him, and you think maybe you’ll never come down.

The giggles have melted into something slower, heavier, the kind of high where every touch feels like electricity and every breath syncs up. You’re both sprawled sideways across Clay’s bed now, fairy lights flickering like fireflies above, the room spinning just enough to make the ceiling look like a kaleidoscope. His hoodie’s half-zipped, your shirt’s ridden up, and there’s a lazy tangle of limbs your leg hooked over his hip, his fingers tracing mindless circles on the bare skin of your lower back.

You’re floating, eyes half-lidded, lips tingling from the last shotgun kiss. The weed’s got you both loose, stupid, honest. Clay’s staring at you like you’re a goddamn miracle, thumb brushing your bottom lip.

“Fuck,” you whisper, voice thick, “bet sucking your dick while I’m this high would feel like a fucking edible.”

He chokes on air, eyes going comically wide, then bursts into that dorky laugh head thrown back, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Jesus Christ, babe.”

You grin, wicked and slow, propping yourself up on one elbow. Your hair falls over his chest as you lean in, lips ghosting his ear. “I’m serious I love giving head when I’m stoned. Everything’s… heightened. The taste, the stretch, the way you’d throb against my tongue—”

Clay groans, loud and wrecked, hand flying to cover his face. “You’re trying to kill me.”

“Nah,” you murmur, nipping his earlobe. “Just wanna make you feel good.” You pull back just enough to see his flushed cheeks, the way his chest rises fast under that hoodie. “Love it. Love the weight of a cock in my mouth, the way it pulses when you’re close. And when I’m high? Fuck, it’s like… euphoric. Like I’m high off you.”

He’s staring now, lips parted, pupils blown so wide his eyes are nearly black. You shift, straddling his thighs slow, hands sliding up his chest.

“And getting eaten out while I’m baked?” You bite your lip, voice dropping to a filthy purr. “God. The way your tongue would feel, all warm and wet and sloppy I’d come so fucking hard I’d see stars.”

Clay’s hands grip your hips like he’s anchoring himself to earth. His voice cracks when he speaks, raw and shaky. “I’ve… never done that.”

You blink. “Wait. Never?”

He shakes his head, cheeks flaming redder than the cherry earlier. “Never had a girl… y’know. Go down on me.” He swallows hard, eyes flicking away. “And I’ve never… eaten anyone out. Like. At all.”

The confession hangs between you, heavy and intimate, the high stripping away every filter. You cup his face, thumbs stroking his cheekbones, forcing him to meet your gaze.

“Hey,” you whisper, soft but filthy. “That’s okay. That’s hot, actually.” You lean down, kissing him slow tongue sliding against his, tasting smoke and want. “Means I get to be your first.”

He whimpers into your mouth, hips twitching up involuntarily. You grin against his lips, grinding down just enough to feel him *hard* beneath you.

“Wanna teach you,” you breathe, fingers tangling in his curls. “Wanna feel your mouth on me, all sloppy and eager. Wanna wrap my lips around you and swallow every drop while you’re still buzzing.”

Clay’s head falls back against the pillow, a broken “fuck” slipping out as his hands slide under your shirt, palms hot against your skin.

“Promise?” he rasps, voice wrecked.

You nod, slow and deliberate, already sinking lower. “Cross my heart, baby. Gonna ruin you for anyone else.”

And when you kiss him again, it’s not gentle it’s hungry, a promise of every dirty, passionate thing to come.

“Off,” you murmur against his mouth, tugging at the drawstring. He lifts his hips obediently, helping you shimmy the sweats down his thighs. The boxers come next slow, teasing, your fingers brushing the V of his hips until the fabric catches on his knees.

And then… there it is. Soft. Not even a little hard. Just… there. Nestled against his thigh, all pink and cute and completely limp.

You blink. Then you *burst* out laughing.

Clay freezes, eyes wide, face going tomato-red. “What—babe—”

“Oh my God,” you wheeze, collapsing forward onto his chest, your forehead pressed to his collarbone as giggles rack your body. “It’s so tiny and cute—I’ve never seen it soft!”

He groans, covering his face with both hands. “You’re the worst.”

“No, no, no—” You’re crying now, tears of laughter, trying to catch your breath. “It’s like… like a little sleepy snail! I’ve only ever seen it in nudes or on FaceTime or when I jerk you off and it’s always angry and veiny and demanding—”

“Stop naming it,” he whines, but he’s laughing too, shoulders shaking under you.

You sit up, wiping your eyes, still giggling as you gently wrap your fingers around him soft, warm, velvety. He twitches immediately, like he’s waking up.

“Look at you,” you coo, voice syrupy and dazed, thumb brushing the tip. “All sleepy and shy. Never seen you like this before.”

Clay peeks through his fingers, cheeks flushed, lips parted. “You’re high as fuck.”

“We’re high as fuck,” you correct, leaning down to press a kiss to his hipbone. Another to the base of his cock soft, sweet, reverent. “And I’m obsessed. It’s so cute. Like a little button.”

He snorts, then moans softly as you give a gentle squeeze. Blood rushes south almost instantly he’s half-hard now, thickening in your hand, but still lazy, like it’s taking its time.

“Tickles,” he mumbles, hips shifting.

You grin, wicked and fond, and start stroking slow teasing. Up and down, thumb circling the head, watching it swell and stretch and wake up under your touch. Every twitch makes you giggle again.

“See?” you whisper, voice slurred with smoke and affection. “Told you it’d be like an edible. Look at it growing.”

Clay’s head falls back, a breathless laugh escaping as his hand finds your hair. “You’re gonna kill me with kindness.”

“Or with my mouth,” you promise, and then because you’re both too high to care you lean down and press a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the tip.

He jerks, a broken sound catching in his throat.

Game on.

You settle between his thighs like you were born there, knees sinking into the mattress, the fairy lights haloing your hair. Clay’s propped up on his elbows now, hoodie rucked up to his chest, sweatpants tangled around one ankle. His cock is fully awake thick, flushed, a bead of precome already pearling at the slit.

You wrap your fingers around the base, slow and reverent, feeling the heat, the pulse, the weight of him for the first time without a screen or a rushed handjob in the dark.

“Eyes on me, Jensen,” you murmur, voice low and syrupy, high still buzzing behind your eyelids. You tilt your head, letting your hair spill over one shoulder, and lock your gaze with his.

Clay’s breath hitches. His pupils are blown wide, lips parted, chest rising fast. “Fuck,” he whispers, like a prayer.

You start slow torturously slow. Lean in, tongue flat, and drag it from the base all the way up the underside, tracing the thick vein that runs along the bottom. He shudders, a full-body twitch, hips jerking like he’s trying not to thrust. You hum, pleased, and swirl your tongue around the head once, twice wet, messy circles that make him glisten. The taste of him hits you like a drug: salt and skin and Clay, clean but musky, the way only he smells after a long day.

You pull back just enough to let a thick string of spit connect your bottom lip to his tip. You play with it push it with your tongue, let it drip down his shaft, then chase it with your mouth. Open wide, take him in slow, lips stretching around the crown, cheeks hollowing as you sink down an inch. Two. Three.

His hand flies to your hair not pushing, just holding, fingers trembling. “Jesus—”

You gag the first time he hits the back of your throat loud*, wet, obscene. Your eyes water instantly, but you don’t break eye contact. You pull off with a gasp, spit shining on your chin, then dive back in deeper this time, throat relaxing, taking him until your nose brushes the faint trail of hair below his navel. Another gag, softer, but you swallow around him, the constriction making him whine.

“Fuck, baby—your throat—”

You hum around him, the vibration making his thighs tense. Pull back slow, tongue pressed flat against the underside, then pop off with a filthy sound. You kiss the tip soft, sweet then lick a stripe up the side, swirling around the frenulum until he’s leaking steadily. You gather the precome on your tongue, show it to him glistening before swallowing with a moan.

“Love how you taste,” you rasp, voice wrecked. “Love how you fill my mouth.”

You take him again deeper, faster this time, bobbing slow but sloppy. Spit drips down your chin, onto his balls, and you cup them, rolling them gently, thumb pressing just behind. Every time you gag, you push through it, throat fluttering around him, eyes locked on his even as tears streak your cheeks. You pull off to breathe, then kiss every inch shaft, head, the sensitive spot just under the crown leaving wet, open-mouthed marks.

You spit on him messy, deliberate watch it slide down, then lick it back up in one long, filthy stripe. Your hand strokes what your mouth can’t reach, twisting at the head, thumb smearing the slick. You take him to the root again, nose buried, throat spasming, and hold count to five before pulling off with a gasp, strings of spit connecting you like a lifeline.

Clay’s a mess. Head thrown back, neck corded, hips stuttering. “I’m—fuck—gonna—”

You pull off just enough to speak, lips brushing the tip. “Not yet,” you whisper, then dive back in suction tight, tongue swirling, hand pumping in time. You gag again hard but you love it, the burn, the stretch, the way he’s falling apart under your mouth.

You don’t stop. You can’t. You’re high on him, on the power, on the way his eyes never leave yours pleading, wrecked, yours.

Clay’s entire body is a live wire, every muscle locked and trembling under your palms. His thighs clamp around your shoulders like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go. His fingers are knotted so deep in your hair that the pull stings in the best way, grounding you both. His cock is throbbing against your tongue hot, heavy, the veins pulsing in frantic rhythm with his racing heart.

“Baby—please—I’m—” His voice cracks, raw and desperate, hips jerking in tiny, aborted thrusts he’s fighting to control.

You take him deeper one last, filthy glide until your lips seal around the base, nose buried in the soft curls at his pelvis, throat fluttering around the intrusion. You gag loud, wet, glorious the sound vibrating through his shaft, and that’s what breaks him.

Clay shatters.

His spine bows off the mattress like he’s been electrocuted, a guttural “FUCK—” ripping from his chest in a voice you’ve never heard primal, animal, ruined.

His cock swells impossibly thicker against your tongue, then erupts the first jet hitting the back of your throat so hard you choke, but you swallow reflexively, greedy, throat working around him in rhythmic pulses.

Another spurt hotter, thicker floods your mouth, coating your tongue, sliding down your esophagus in heavy waves. You pull back just an inch to breathe, but he’s still coming endless ropes of cum painting the roof of your mouth, dripping over your bottom lip, leaking from the corners even as you gulp it down. You moan around him, the vibration making his thighs quake, and you keep sucking gentle now, coaxing every last drop with soft, wet pulls.

His orgasm is violent. Full-body convulsions, hips stuttering in sharp, helpless thrusts, abs clenched so tight you can see every ridge under his hoodie.

His breath comes in broken sobs “oh god, oh fuck, baby—” tears pricking at the corners of his eyes from the intensity. His cock jerks with every aftershock, twitching against your tongue like it’s got a mind of its own, and you milk him through it, tongue pressed flat, lips sealed, swallowing every pulse until he’s whimpering, oversensitive and shaking.

When the last spurt finally fades weak, trembling you pull off slow, lips dragging up his shaft, tongue swirling the head to catch the final bead of cum. You sit back on your heels, chest heaving, spit and semen shining on your chin, dripping onto your collarbone in thick, pearly strands. Your jaw aches, throat raw, but you’re buzzing high on him, on the power, on the way he’s wrecked.

Clay’s a catastrophe. Hoodie shoved up to his ribs, abs still fluttering with aftershocks, cock softening against his stomach in a glistening mess of spit and cum. His face is flushed crimson, curls plastered to his forehead with sweat, eyes glassy and unfocused, lips swollen from biting them. He’s still twitching everywhere thighs jumping, fingers spasming in the sheets.

You open your mouth. Show him. Your tongue is drenched a thick, creamy pool of his cum coating every inch, pooling in the center, dripping toward the back of your throat in slow, viscous strands. You tilt your head back slightly, letting him see it glisten under the fairy lights, then close your lips and swallow with a slow, deliberate gulp that makes your throat bob. You open again empty, clean, just a sheen of saliva and the faint taste of him and stick your tongue out like a trophy.

“Every. Fucking. Drop,” you rasp, voice hoarse, destroyed, hungry. A string of spit-cum mix still connects your bottom lip to your chin; you swipe it with your thumb, suck it clean, and moan.

Clay whines a high, broken sound that cracks in the middle and his hand flies to your wrist, yanking you up with surprising strength.

You straddle his chest, thighs slick with your own arousal, and he sees it: the way your pupils are blown wide, lips swollen and red, the soaked patch darkening your panties where they press against his skin. Your clit is throbbing so hard you can feel it pulsing, and when you grind down once just once you both groan.

“Jesus Christ” he breathes, voice shattered, hands sliding up your thighs to grip your ass. “You’re fuck—you’re dripping. I can feel you.”

You smirk, wicked and wrecked, leaning down until your lips brush his ear. “Your turn to taste me, Jensen. Gonna sit on your face and drown you in it.”

His cock twitches against his stomach, already trying to rally, and you laugh low, filthy, promising.

You lean down, forehead to forehead, breath mingling. “Okay, baby,” you whisper, voice raspy from the throat-fuck you just gave him. “Gonna teach you how to eat pussy like a god.”

He swallows hard, nodding so fast his curls bounce. “Tell me. Everything.”

You sit up, peeling your shirt off slow, letting it drop to the floor. Your bra follows, nipples hard and begging, but you leave the panties, soaked and clinging, for now. You cup his face, thumb brushing his bottom lip.

“First rule,” you say, voice low and filthy. “Slow. You don’t dive in like it’s a race. You tease. Start with kisses, everywhere but my clit. Inner thighs, the crease where my leg meets my hip, the lips, outside the panties at first. Make me ache for your tongue.”

Clay’s hands slide up your thighs, reverent. “Like… this?” He presses a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the damp cotton over your mound, breath hot through the fabric.

You moan, hips rolling. “Fuck, yes. Exactly. Now, when you pull them off, slow. Watch how wet I am for you. Spread me open with your thumbs, look at every fold, every inch. Tell me how pretty I am.”

He groans, already doing it in his head. “You’re gonna be glistening.”

“Exactly.” You grind down once, just to feel him shudder. “Then, lick. Flat tongue, long strokes from my entrance to my clit. Don’t suck yet. Just taste. Get me sloppy. Use your spit, mix it with my wetness. Make it messy.”

Clay’s eyes flutter. “Messy. Got it.”

“When I start squirming,” you continue, voice dropping, “focus. Circle my clit, slow at first, then faster. Light pressure. Flick it. Suck it, gentle, then harder. Slide a finger in, crook it up, find that spot, fuck, right there, rub it in time with your tongue.”

He’s breathing hard now, hands gripping your ass. “And if I, if I wanna make you come?”

You smirk, wicked. “Two fingers. Fast. Tongue on my clit, relentless. Don’t stop when I get loud. Don’t stop when I shake. Push me over. And when I come, keep going, soft, until I push you away.”

Clay’s voice cracks. “I, fuck, I wanna do it right now.”

You lean down, kiss him slow, tasting yourself on his lips already.

“One thing,” he murmurs against your mouth, shy but firm. “Can you… lie back instead of sitting on my face? I wanna see you. Wanna spread you open and learn. Don’t wanna miss a thing.”

Your heart flips. You nod, sliding off him, lying back against his pillows. Legs already spreading, panties clinging, you crook a finger.

“Come here, Jensen. Class is in session.”

You’re flat on your back now, head sunk into Clay’s pillow that smells like his shampoo and weed and him. The fairy lights paint gold across your skin, your chest rising fast, nipples tight from the cool air and the anticipation. Your thighs fall open like an invitation, panties drenched, the wet patch dark and obscene against the pale cotton.

Clay kneels between your legs, hoodie finally gone, bare chest flushed and glistening with a faint sheen of sweat. His eyes are huge, reverent, like he’s staring at something holy. He scoots closer, hands sliding up your calves, over your knees, until his palms settle on the soft insides of your thighs.

“Fuck,” he breathes, voice shaky. “You’re shaking already.”

You are. Tiny tremors, thighs quivering under his touch. “Your fault,” you rasp, voice wrecked. “Now kiss me.”

He starts slow, just like you told him.

First kiss: the crease where your thigh meets your hip, soft and open-mouthed, lips dragging slow. His breath is hot, stuttering against your skin. Second kiss: higher, closer to the edge of your panties, tongue peeking out to taste the salt of your skin. He nuzzles, nose brushing the damp fabric, and you whine, hips lifting off the bed.

“Clay—”

“Shh,” he murmurs, lips vibrating against your thigh. “Told you. Teasing”

He kisses the other side now symmetrical, deliberate. Inner thigh, soft bites, gentle sucks that leave faint pink marks. His hands spread you wider, thumbs stroking the sensitive skin, and then finally he presses his mouth to the soaked cotton right over your pussy.

You gasp, back arching.

He doesn’t lick yet. Just kisses. Soft, closed-mouth presses over your clit, then lower, along your lips, the fabric clinging to every fold. His breath soaks through, warm and humid, and you can feel your pulse throbbing against his lips.

“So wet,” he whispers, awed, lips moving against you. “Can taste you through it.”

You fist the sheets, thighs trembling harder. “Off,” you beg, voice cracking. “Take them off.”

He hooks his fingers in the waistband, slow, so slow, peeling the panties down your hips, over your thighs, letting the cool air hit your slick skin. The fabric sticks, then peels away with a wet sound, and he groans when he sees you glistening, swollen, dripping.

But he doesn’t dive in.

He kisses the bare skin where the panties were. The tops of your thighs, the sensitive crease, the outer lips everywhere but where you need him. His stubble scrapes, soft and rough, and you’re whimpering now, hips rolling, trying to chase his mouth.

“Clay—please—”

He looks up, eyes dark, lips shiny with you already. “Told you. Slow.”

Then he kisses your clit soft, barely there through the air, a ghost of contact that makes you sob.

He’s learning. And you’re ruined.

Clay’s face is buried between your thighs like he’s starving and you’re the last meal on earth. No fingers just his mouth, his tongue, his everything. The weed’s got you both floating, giggly, feral. Every lick is sloppy, every breath a moan, every sound obscene.

He starts hungry. Tongue flat, dragging from your asshole to your clit in one long, wet stripe no finesse, just need. Spit and slick pour down his chin, dripping onto the sheets in thick, filthy strands. He laps at you like a dog loud, messy, tongue flapping side to side, catching every fold, every drop. His nose bumps your clit when he dips lower, snuffling, snorting your wetness like he’s high off your scent.

You scream half-laugh, half-moan hips bucking up into his face. “Clay—fuck—slow down—”

He giggles into your pussy, the vibration making you shriek. “Can’t—taste so good—” Another lick, sloppier, tongue curling inside you, fucking your hole with wet, clumsy thrusts. He pulls back to breathe, spit stringing from his lips to your clit, then dives back in suction tight, cheeks hollowing, sucking your clit like a straw.

“Jesus—” You fist his hair, yanking, and he whines, high-pitched and wrecked. His tongue flattens, shaking his head side to side, slapping your clit with wet smacks. Spit flies, splattering your thighs, your stomach, his cheeks. He’s drowning in you chin glistening, stubble soaked, eyes crossed and glassy from the high.

You giggle can’t help it when he snorts again, nose buried, tongue flicking wild. “You’re—fuck—you’re snuffling me—”

“Mmmph,” he mumbles, mouth full, then sucks your clit hard. Your laugh turns into a sob, thighs clamping around his ears. He growls actually growls and shakes his face, tongue slurping, lips smacking, spit bubbling at the corners of his mouth.

“Circle—circle it—” you gasp, grinding up. He tries tongue swirling, clumsy, too fast, then too slow but fuck, the pressure’s perfect. He finds a rhythm: lick, suck, flick, slurp. His whole face is buried, nose grinding your clit when he tongue-fucks your hole, sloppy, wet, noisy.

You’re close. Thighs shaking, hips bucking, breath hitching in sharp, giggly sobs. “Don’t stop—fuck—gonna come—”

He doubles down. Tongue relentless, slapping, sucking, lapping. Spit everywhere dripping down your ass, pooling under your hips, soaking the sheets. He moans like he’s the one coming, high and desperate, and when you gush a hot, wet flood against his tongue he drinks it, slurping, gulping, giggling when it overflows his mouth.

Your orgasm rips through you: walls clenching around nothing, clit pulsing against his tongue, a scream that’s half-laugh, half-sob. You ride his face hard, wild hips grinding, thighs crushing his head. He keeps going: tongue soft now, lapping gently, slurping the mess, giggling when you twitch oversensitive.

When you finally push his forehead, he pulls back gasping, face destroyed: lips swollen, chin dripping, eyes crossed and dazed. Spit and slick string from his mouth to your pussy, and he licks his lips slow, grinning like an idiot.

“Taste like… candy,” he slurs, voice wrecked, then giggles again when you yank him up for a filthy, cum-soaked kiss.

You’re both shaking, high, ruined. And you haven’t even fucked yet.

You’re both sprawled sideways across the bed now, limbs tangled, sheets soaked, the air thick with sex and weed. Clay’s face is still glistening your slick shining on his chin, his lips swollen and red, curls plastered to his forehead. You’re panting, thighs trembling, pussy throbbing from the orgasm that just wrecked you. His cock is hard again, flushed and leaking against his stomach, twitching every time you shift.

He’s staring at you like you’re a goddess, eyes glassy, high as fuck, a dopey grin splitting his face.

“Fuck,” he rasps, voice hoarse from moaning into your pussy. “I could do that forever.”

You laugh breathless, wrecked and roll onto your side, propping your head on your hand. “You’re a natural, Jensen. A sloppy, giggly, perfect natural.”

He blushew, then bites his lip, eyes flicking down to your mouth, then lower. His cock jerks when you lick your lips still tasting him, still tasting you.

“Hey,” he murmurs, scooting closer, hand sliding up your thigh. “What if… what if we…” He swallows, cheeks flaming. “What if we 69?”

You freeze, then grin, wicked and slow. “You wanna suck my clit while I choke on your dick?”

He groans, head falling back, hips twitching. “Fuck, when you say it like that—”

You sit up, already moving, straddling his chest backwards. “Yes. Let’s ruin each other.”

He whines high, desperate and grabs your hips, yanking you back until your pussy hovers over his face. You lean down, ass in the air, mouth watering at the sight of his cock thick, veiny, dripping.

“Together,” you breathe, then lick the tip, slow and filthy.

Clay bucks, then dives in tongue slurping your clit, messy, hungry. You moan around his cock, taking him deep, and the room fills with wet, sloppy sounds sucking, lapping, gagging, giggling.

You’re both lost. High, filthy, perfect.

You’re backwards on him now, knees on either side of his head, ass in the air, pussy dripping onto his chin. Clay’s hands grip your hips like he’s afraid you’ll float away, thumbs digging into the soft flesh of your ass. His cock throbs in front of your face thick, veiny, leaking and you’re drooling for it. The fairy lights flicker, the room spins, the high sings in your veins.

“Ready?” you murmur, voice slurred with lust and weed.

He giggles* high, dorky and slaps your ass lightly. “Fuck yes.”

You dive at the same time.

Your mouth wraps around his cock hot, salty, perfect lips stretching, tongue swirling the head, sucking hard. Clay bucks, a choked “shit—” muffled as he buries his face in your pussy. His tongue laps sloppy, wild from your clit to your hole and back, slurping like he’s dying of thirst. Spit drips, mixes, drowns you both.

You giggle around his dick vibration making him whine then gag when he thrusts up, hitting the back of your throat. You pull off with a pop, spit stringing from your lips to his tip, and laugh, breathless.

“Easy, tiger—”

He giggles into your folds, tongue flicking your clit so fast it’s slap-slap-slap. “Can’t help it—taste like candy—”

You moan, then swallow him again deeper, wetter, throat fluttering. Your hand pumps what your mouth can’t take, twisting at the base, thumb smearing precome. Clay growls actually growls and sucks your clit hard, lips sealed, tongue swirling inside the suction.

“Fuck—Clay—” You grind back, ass bouncing on his face, pussy smothering him. He moans muffled, desperate slurping* louder, nose grinding your clit when his tongue fucks inside you.

You giggle again high, stupid when he snorts, trying to breathe. “You okay down there?”

“Mmmph—love it—” He slaps your ass again, then spreads you wider, tongue lapping your asshole filthy, unexpected making you shriek and laugh and moan all at once.

“Dirty boy—”

You retaliate deepthroat him, nose to his pelvis, gagging loud and wet. He bucks wild, hips fucking your mouth, and you hum, swallow, milk him with your throat. Spit pours down his balls, and you cup them, rolling, squeezing.

Clay’s losing it. His tongue attacks your clit slap, flick, suck, swirl no rhythm, just chaos. Spit bubbles at the corners of his mouth, drips down his neck. You’re both soaked: sweat, spit, slick, cum.

You giggle when he hiccups actually hiccups from laughing into your pussy. “Stoned hiccups—”

“Shut up—” He sucks your clit harder, and you scream around his cock, gagging again.

You’re close. He’s close. The high makes everything huge, intense, hilarious.

“Come with me—” you gasp, pulling off to stroke him fast, tongue flicking the slit.

He whines, slurping your clit relentless, tongue shaking side to side. “Fuck—gonna—”

You dive back down suction tight, throat open and he erupts. Hot, thick ropes flood your mouth, pulse after pulse, and you swallow greedy, messy some leaking down your chin.

At the same second, you shatter. Pussy clenching, clit pulsing against his tongue, a gush of slick drowning his face. You scream around his cock muffled, wrecked hips grinding, riding his mouth through every wave.

You both keep going: sucking, lapping, giggling through the aftershocks, oversensitive and ruined. When you finally collapse sideways, tangled, soaked you’re laughing so hard you’re crying, his cum on your lips, your slick on his cheeks.

“Best high ever,” he gasps, pulling you into a sloppy, cum-soaked kiss.

you wake up with white light filtering through the blinds, frost building on the outer side of the window, snow falling in huge flakes as the snow storm that started last night still raged on. 

as you reached for your phone you saw that various people had already texted to say they wouldn’t be able to make it to dylan’s birthday meal this evening, the final nail in the coffin being an email from the fancy restaurant expressing their apologies at having to cancel your reservation due to the severe weather alert. 

you sighed, wondering what you could now do to celebrate dylan’s 29th birthday with your main plan having been scuppered. as you reeled through ideas in your mind (all of which were not possible due to the 3ft of snow blanketing the city), dylan started to stir beside you, brown hair messy from sleep, eyes blinking blearily as he reached out for you, pulling you back under the covers and nuzzling his face into your shoulder blades. 

after a few moments he breathes you in once more before flipping over and sitting up, reaching for his phone. you know what he’ll see before he does. it doesn’t make the sadness you hear in his voice sting any less.

“everyone’s cancelling…even cole and brae. fucking snow.”, dylan scoffs, tossing his phone onto the covers with a huff. your heart breaks slightly, knowing he’d been excited to finally catch up with his closest friends after the christmas period. 

you slid closer to him, pulling him into you. despite the chill in the air curtesy of the snowstorm, he’s shirtless and your fingers absentmindedly trail the hair that leads down towards his pyjama bottoms.

“hey”, you whisper, a small smile playing on your lips as your fingers swirled small circles around his naval. “it’s not all bad…we’re snowed in with nowhere to be, i can think of a way to make your birthday memorable still”, a smile full of sin playing across your lips, your hands trailing down slowly, slowly, waiting for his permission.

dylan turns to you, smile overtaking his lips, “oh? like what?” he asks, feigning innocence whilst his guitar-calloused fingers grasp your hip and pulls you against him. instantly you can feel the growing heat between his legs pressing firmly into your thigh, his trousers posing no barrier in letting you feel how he feels. 

rather than replying with words, you lean in and press your lips to his, catching him in a deep kiss, tongue hungry to taste him. dylan moans low into your mouth, sending a pulse straight to your core. 

before you can fully react dylan has flipped you onto your back, bracketing himself above you with his arms either side of your head, leaning into your space as the kiss deepens further. 

dylan breaks the kiss only to trail his lips hungrily down your neck, briefly sucking your collar bone causing your body to arch off the bed, desperate to feel his touch forever. 

“mmmm….best gift ever” dylan mutters, breath fanning hot against your neck before continuing “better than some fancy meal”, punctuated by a sharp nip to the skin just below your collar bone, causing you to hiss in pleasure. 

your hands reach up, roaming his back hungrily, mapping out the ridges and bumps of the vast muscles that make up your boyfriend’s body. dylan groans deep in his throat, fingers grappling at your tshirt pushing it up until your breasts meet the frigid air, nipples immediately hardening. 

before you can even think, dylan’s mouth closes in on your left nipple, sucking hard as his tongue flicked the peak. you arched involuntarily beneath him, his name tumbling repeatedly off your tongue as heat continued to pool between your thighs, “dylan please-“, you whine pushing your chest out, chasing his mouth.

he grins up at you before switching to the other breast affording it the same attention as the other before his hand slowly trails down your body until he reaches the waist band of your pyjamas. 

dylan pauses awaiting your approval. though words fail you, you lift your hips and allow him to slide your pyjamas down, a small breathe escaping him when he realises you have no underwear on. 

his mouth returns to your nipple as his hand delicately reaches your folds. a small laugh of disbelief leaves his throat as he spreads your folds between his fingers gathering the wetness there. 

“fuck…you’re so wet baby…this all for me?” he asks, lifting his lips back to yours and capturing you in a deep kiss. you can’t reply, simply groan into his mouth before attempting to push into his hand chasing his touch. 

dylan chuckles and pulls back, removing his fingers. “uh uh baby, it’s my birthday remember? i call the shots and i want to drag this out as long as possible…we’ve nowhere to be”. 

you let a frustrated whine leave your throat, pathetically trying to chase his hand with your lower body. dylan couldn’t resist and brought his hand back to yours throbbing heat, thumb circling your clit before dipping 2 of his digits inside your core before curling them with expert precision, a sharp pleasure shooting through you as you thrust up into his hand. 

he keeps pumping his fingers, constantly hitting that spot inside you that makes your toes curl. “that’s my girl, so wet for just my fingers” he grunts, lips finding yours to clash in a messy kiss full of teeth, saliva and whispered names. 

you buck involuntarily against his hand, the pressure inside your core building until it reaches a crescendo, orgasm bursting through you as white hot pleasure courses through you as you shout dylan’s name.  

dylan pulls away momentarily to pull down his own pyjama bottoms, revealing his thick cock, throbbing and hard, pre-cum already glistening at the tip. 

he positions himself between your legs, running his head along your pussy gathering the wetness there before slowly pushing in.

you gasp at the contact, lifting your legs to wrap around his waist, pulling him in infinitely closer. he bottoms out with a grunt, holding you there for a moment relishing in the way your pussy clenches around him.

after a moment dylan started thrusting into you with a steady rhythm, hips snapping against yours with a wet slap. thw only sound besides your shared moans was the bed beneath you was creaking loudly, headboard steadily slamming into the dry wall sure to leave a dent, not that either of you cared. 

your nails grasp his back, trailing down harshly with red marks, urging dylan on with your scratches and babbled moans. 

“harder please-“ you gasp, body arching into his touch impossibly further. he obliges, of course he does. all dylan wants is to make you feel good.

the pace at which he pounds into you forces the air out your lungs and sends jolts of pleasure like lightning cracks through your body. 

his overgrown fringe falls into his eyes as he watches you with absolute devotion falling apart below him. 

“fuck- this is my favourite birthday ever” he gasps, hunger enveloping his expression as he snakes one of his hands down, a stinging slap reverberating off the walls as he slaps your clit, an inhumane noise shrieking from your mouth as your hips lifted further off the bed. 

dylan grinned down at you, hand returning to your core as his thumb found your clit, rubbing short sharp circles in time with his thrusts.

you couldn’t help it, the second orgasm built up in an instant and washed over you without warning, the dual assault of his fingers on your clit and his cock pounding into you sent you flying over the edge, leaning forward to bite into his shoulder sure to leave a mark, his name leaving your throat in a broken scream. 

your walls fluttered erratically around his throbbing dick as he milked your orgasm, never slowing the assault on your clit as you rode out your orgasm.

after a few more thrust he buries himself even deeper, groaning your name as he spilled himself inside you, hot cum filling up your pussy, thrusts gradually slowing as he road out the orgasm. 

after a final slow thrust dylan drops his forehead to yours, deep breathe matching yours, the snow storm outside still raging , not that either of you would notice. 

dylan slowly removed himself from you and collapsed beside you, pulling you into his embrace, inhaling deeply in contentment. “round one of my birthday is done, what’s next love?” he asks, half teasingly. 

you let out a small laugh before shuffling back into his embrace, limbs entangling beneath your heavy breathes. “mmmm, breakfast is next, you can’t be left hungry on your big day” you tease, turning round to catch his lips in a kiss. dylan continues to deepen the kiss, hinting at a round two before you pull away, smile spreading on your lips. 

“hold your horses minnette, how do you expect to fuck me into next week without replenishing your strength?” you giggle, leaning forward to brush his fringe out his eyes.

“i guess you’re right”, dylan sighs, rolling onto his back. you sit up, throwing the covers off yourself before heading to the en-suite shower. dylan tries to follow but you catch his hands on your hips and turn yourself around to stare into his eyes. 

“nuh uh, i know what you’re gonna try in there, i meant it when i said you need to replenish yourself” you smirk before leaving a peck on his lips. you turn and rush into the bathroom, locking it swiftly behind you to stop him following though you know if he begged enough you’d let him in anyway. 

after your shower you head to the kitchen whipping up a batch of pancake mixture in record time as dylan stands lazily against the kitchen table, arms crossed looking hotter than sin. 

unlike you, dylan had decided to skip showering knowing he would need one later anyway and in turn, neglected to put back on his pyjama pants. 

as you add the last remnants of pancake batter to the pan you feel dylan sidle up behind you, still naked, half hard cock brushing against you as you try vehemently to focus on the pancakes before you. 

his hands grip your hips firmly but not hard enough to hurt, grinding his hips ever so slightly into you as if you could ignore the pressing of his ever hardening cock. 

“you look so good cooking baby, out here in only my old tshirt, barely covering your ass” he says, nuzzling into your neck.

you try to stay focused on the pancake not wanting it to burn as dylan’s hand trails its way down your front until it lands between your legs again. 

you hadn’t bothered to add shorts earlier, figuring just your panties would be fine as you’d assumed you’d be getting dressed soon after breakfast. you should have known dylan had other ideas.

his hand pulled the edge of your panties to the side gently, fingers slowly reaching to your core, daring you to decline his advances. despite your pussy being sensitive from his earlier endeavours his touch reignites that feeling inside you, burning into a sharp burst between your legs. 

before things get too out of hand you have the foresight to turn the stove off before spinning a full 180°c to face him, dropping to your knees so his flushed cock is right in front of you. 

you take him into your mouth without hesitation, swallowing when the tip reaches the back of your throat, your moan vibrating his shaft causing the hottest sound to leave his lips as his head fell back. 

you hollowed your cheeks as dylan reached down to thread his fingers through your hair, tightening the grip to gently guide you back and forth as you bobbed your head, taking him fully on every thrust. 

you pulled your mouth back and swirled your tongue across the slit gathering the pre cum whilst your hand comes up to firmly grip the base of his cock, squeezing every now and then to increase the pressure. 

it doesn’t take long until dylan is a mess, repeating your name and ‘oh god’ religiously as you expertly swirl your tongue and hand in tandem, chasing his orgasm. his thighs tense, cock throbbing, “gonna cum” he gasps hoarsely, gripping your hair tighter. 

instead of pulling away you double down, hollowing your cheeks further and sucking like your life depended on it. you let him thrust into your mouth, controlling your heads movements until he cums with a violent cry, his release spurting down your throat in thick rivulets.

you swallow greedily and lick your lips, swallowing obscenely before letting your tongue loll out your mouth to show you’ve swallowed all that he had to give.

afterwards you really did insist on breakfast and laid out a spread of pancakes, fruit, bacon, eggs and all the trimmings before dylan and instructed him to eat. 

it doesn’t take long for him to gulp down a pile of pancakes and handful of fruit, stealing heated glances at you every few seconds throughout. you couldn’t help but feel your pussy throb every time he glanced at you, knowing his birthday wasn’t done yet. 

after breakfast you simply cuddled on the couch as the snow continued to fall. there was no rush for round 3 as you both knew this blizzard meant you were stuck inside for at least the next 48 hours. 

by lunchtime you’re still in the living room, dylan’s head now resting on your lap. neither of you were paying attention to the film playing on the tv anymore.

as always happened, it didn’t stay innocent. you lightly traced your hands thrkugh his hair before lightly running your hand down his body and lingering at the area where his chest hair stopped and his happy trail began. you teasingly run your finger in circles along the waistband of the joggers you’d tossed at him after breakfast. 

after a few moments he caught your hand in his, vice like grip stopping you from contributing before flipping your bodies until you found yourself straddling his hips as he laid on the couch. 

you grinded against him gently, feeling his cock harden with every movement of your hips against his. he quickly yanks up your shirt, exposing the lacy bra you’d thrown on after your shower. 

dylan unceremoniously yanked the lacy fabric down and latched immediately onto your nipple, teeth grazing deliciously against the sensitive nub on your chest, sucking biting and moaning at the noises you made. 

you pull against his joggers impatiently and help him guide the fabric down to free his throbbing cock before pulling your own underwear to the side deciding there was no time to take them off properly. 

you lifted yourself up hastily and guided dylan’s cock to your slick entrance, relishing in the feeling of his thick cock teasing your folds. 

once positioned you sank slowly down, taking him inch by gorgeous inch until he was fully inside you, your pussy walls clenching around him.

you ride him slowly, hands bracing his shoulders to steady yourself as you lifted up and dropped down relishing in the soft groans that rhythmically left his throat as his head fell back against the couch. 

the rhymth you’d set had dylan gripping your hips so hard you were sure you would bruise which only spurred you on. dylan shifted and a new angle penetrated you, a sharp gasp leaving your mouth as he repeatedly thrust into you before dropping his hand to your clit, fingers expertly leading you to the edge.  

“fuck baby so good baby, my good girl taking me so well” dylan gasped, hand pulling back to slap your clit, the sting sending a jolt through you, your release building.

you couldn’t do anything beside babbling nonsense along the lines of “dylan- please” on repeat.

“that’s it baby, you gonna cum on my cock?” he teases, thumb roughly circling your clit, he knows what he’s doing, knows you’re gonna fall apart on his cock.

“such a good girl for me” he coaxes, thrusts intensifying as he pounds into you from below, “my perfect girl gonna cum on my cock for me yeah?” he continues. 

you break, you don’t stand a chance against him calling you his girl, your orgasm rips through you with such force you’re worried you’ll hurt dylan. a scream of his name leaves your lips as you convulse above him, a slick gush leaving you as you continue to ride him through your orgasm, tears streaming down your cheeks before collapsing against his chest. 

a few seconds later dylan is following you over the edge, frantically thrusting up into you before cumming in hot spurts within you, whispering filthy nothings into your collar bone.  

soon after he pulls out slowly, rubbing your back as you lay upon him, whispering into your ear how good you did for him and how much he loved you. 

you awoke a couple of hours later, your body strewn across dylan’s on the couch as he swirled small patterns into your thigh, sleepily smiling down at you before pressing a sweet kiss to your head. 

the rest of the afternoon passes in a blur or love and bliss. the next time you fuck dylan takes you from behind, bent over the arm of the sofa, spitting his saliva onto your pussy as lube before slowly teasing his finger up, up, up, his finger teasing the entrance of your ass gently, waiting for you to push him away. 

instead, you lean back, pushing your ass up into his hand, begging for more. dylan chuckles behind you before spitting a glob of makeshift lube over your asshole, teasing it with his finger, easing the tip in gently, gently, whilst slowly pounding into your pussy. 

by the time dylan’s full finger is in your ass you’re a writhing mess beneath him, begging him to let you cum. he can’t deny you and he coaxes you into your umpteenth orgasm of the day with soft words, his cock in your pussy and finger in your ass. 

the orgasm blasts through you with such force the sofa moves half a metre from your convulsing, a wet gush leaving you as the euphoria hit. 

dylan followed close behind, sent over the edge by the view below him, watching his cock fit perfectly into your pussy whilst his finger played with your ass hole, both holes clenching deliciously around him. he came with a grunt of your name and his eyes rolling backwards into his head. 

dylan guides you gently to the bathroom and joins you under the warm spray of shower water, gently massaging your muscles until you were once again putty in his hands.

when you were both clean and dried he guided you to bed, the clock reading 4:04pm, the sky outside already dark, an ashen gray taking over the sky as more snow continued to fall. 

he lets you nap for a while, using the time to reply to the flood of birthday wishes hes received across the day. it’s hard to believe he was so downtrodden this morning when he looked back and thought about the incredibly sexy day he’d had. 

the power seemed to flicker but didn’t go out, the bedside lamp only dimming slightly. nevertheless dylan made sure to plug both your phones in to charge, just in case the power fully dipped. 

by 5:30pm he was bored and found himself in the kitchen preparing a simple meal of pasta with tomato sauce before enticing you out of bed with the promise of wine by candlelight (courtesy of the snow storm cutting out the main grid power supply).

despite the change in routine, the charged atmosphere remained. you weren’t done with dylan and he wasn’t done with you. having hastily finished your dinner, dylan carried you bride style to the bedroom and dropped you onto the bed before lighting the swathe of candles you had dotted about the room for ‘ambience’ as well as to make up for the missing mains lights. 

despite having only just eaten dinner, dylan looks at you laid on the bed as if you were a feast, dropping down to start eating you out, his tongue dancing expertly within your folds, diving in to make you see stars before pulling back and paying all his attention on your clit, never staying in one area long enough to let your orgasm properly build. 

after 15 minutes of alternating torture you can’t take it anymore and grab hold of dylan’s brown locks, holding his head in place to let him know he daren’t let his lips leave your clit. 

he obliges happily and starts sucking rhythmically, teasing your clit with his tongue before enveloping it in his lips and sucking harshly, all the while his hand has sneaked between your folds as his fingers curl expertly inside you.

the orgasm hits shortly after, your whole body arching off the bed as a scream erupts from your throat, pussy convulsing against dylan’s mouth as he continues to suck and relish the fresh gush of liquid that encompasses his tongue, slurping like it’s the only thing sustaining him.

before you’ve fully come down from the orgasm dylan has already flipped you, knees bent as your ass sticks into the air before he thrusts into you in one go, expelling any breathe you had out of you in one thrust. 

after a few erratic thrusts he regains control of himself and starts to pump into you slowly and rhythmically, savouring the feel of your oversensitive pussy clenching and unclenching around him as you pant his name mixed with garbled pleas into the mattress below you. 

your orgasm builds silently this time, you’re so overstimulated your body can’t react outwardly, only feel as he plunges into you hard, thrusts growing more erratic as he nears his own finish. feeling dylan halt and spurt within you is all you need to send you toppling over the edge once again, your orgasm sending waves of pleasure throughout your body as you see stars. 

you fall forward limply, absolutely boneless and in love as dylan slowly pulls out and admires his cum spilling out of your pussy. 

dylan leaves the bed, much to your dismay before returning shortly with a damp washcloth to clean you up. once done he settles into bed and pulls you into the crook of his arm, pressing kisses to your hair and shoulders.

“happy birthday baby” you murmur, inhaling his intoxicating scent, never wanting this moment to end.

“best. birthday. ever.” he whispers in response  after a few moments, pulling you somehow closer and wrapping his arms fully around you as though trying to morph you into one being.  

WES HICKS AS YOUR BOYFRIEND . . . is the exact definition of puppy love seen in teenagers.

he’s liked you for as long as he can remember and there isn’t a single unpleasant memory of you in his mind. he was always scared to make a move but that doesn’t mean the feelings weren’t there.

his body seemed to naturally tilt in your direction when you were in a room together, and his attention would dart entirely to you when you spoke up. he listened closely to everything you said, encouraging your stories, asking questions and overall being an avid listener.

he was your biggest supporter and number one fan. he always felt so tingly and had a light feeling in his heart when you would smile at him or even grace your knuckles against his skin.

that being said, the day he asked you out and you actually said yes, he was stunned. fully embracing for your rejection and the humiliation that comes afterwards, he thought for a moment he must be dreaming.

wes is the sweetest boy you’ve ever met and a natural gentleman. holding doors open for you, helping you carry your bags when shopping, braiding a section of your hair for you and planting kisses to the back of your hand.

he’s also extremely supportive and a well educated man. thanks to growing up in a household with just his mother he’s more in touch with his sensitive side and knows a great deal about the female body.

very well spoken. wes is great at expressing how he is feeling with his words, his struggle is when it comes to actually saying them. he gets nervous about speaking up about how he feels sometimes but when he does he’s very clear about it all.

hicks is more of a stay in and enjoy each others company kind of guy, he loves having alone time with you, but he’ll have fun anywhere so long as you’re next to him.

you guys have tons of random cute dates that are more like married couple activities. going grocery shopping, getting a car fixed together, going to the gym, heading to the pharmacist, etc. wes is just always there and you guys do solo activities as a duo.

of course that doesn’t mean you guys won’t go out on the normal cute coupley dates. wes loves to go to carnivals, fairs and the arcade and you often find yourself making frequent visits to similar settings.

there’s no honeymoon phase with wes because he acts exactly the same throughout the relationship as he treats you at the start. he opens doors for you, walks you to class, always pays the bill, surprises you with small gifts, and pretty much makes you his top priority.

he’s liked girls before and has been in talking stages but he’s never been in a serious relationship like the one you’re in now so he puts his absolute all into it. he loves spoiling you so much by doing things like making you a gift basket or doing your homework for you after you fall asleep, from things ranging to gifts to acts of service.

you can see the way he feels about you just by the look in his eyes. he always has a permanent toothless smile painted on his face when you’re around and his eyes glisten and practically sparkle when they look at you. you can very easily see the love in his eyes, especially when you start talking.

he can be pretty shy when it comes to pda but he won’t mind small things like holding hands or a quick peck to the lips. he doesn’t like to be too touchy when out in the open and prefers to keep the physical part of your relationship for behind closed doors when it’s just the two of you.

wes holds you to such a high pedestal. you are literally never incorrect in his mind. if someone tries to say otherwise he is fast to jump in and defend your name like you were actually about to get canceled online for something serious, even if it was just because you solved a math question wrong and someone corrected you. he would rediscover math in a way that would make you right.

i dont see him as using social media very much, he probably has your initial and a <3 next to it in his Instagram bio at the least though.

your protector. you will never find someone who genuinely cares about your mental and physical being so much. he is always looking after you, whether you’re having a bad day with thoughts or if your life is actively in danger, he’s the one to count on.

he is constantly asking if you’re okay. if he notices your vibe is just a little bit off he will text you a short paragraph later on asking what’s up even if nothing is wrong.

honestly very sensitive when it comes to you. you matter the most to him out of everyone and so he clings off every sentence you say. like if you compliment his appearance one day and then don’t the next, the next day all he’ll think about is how he probably looked ugly. or if you jokingly make fun of one of his shirts for being plain you will find that he never wears that shirt again. he just wants to impress you.

you have so much power over him because of how much effort he’s putting into the relationship. he genuinely sees his whole future with you and has pictured the wedding and everything.

everything reminds him of you. you will get texts throughout the day of pictures he took of something random or links to things with a ‘this made me think about you’ text.

he loves sending you pictures of the sky. i can imagine him snapping a photo almost every other day and sending it to you, talking about how pretty the sunrise or sunset looked that day.

he’s not a very jealous boyfriend but he is insecure. he doesn’t get upset over you or mad at the person he’s jealous about but rather becomes very critical of himself. thinking about how he’s not good enough for you, how you and whoever would look so much better together, that he’s too boring for you, wtv.

having your go-to artists together. you and wes definitely have picked at least 1-5 musicians and bands that you listen to everytime your together. or certain songs that makes you think of each other. does anyone else get the vibe he’d listen to tv girl?

you both have a ritualistic habit of texting goodnight and good morning. the good morning texts are usually never an issue, but there have been times he sleep deprives himself at night waiting on your response to his goodnight while you’re already sound asleep and just forgot to respond. he usually passes out early anyway though, i dont imagine wes to be the type to stay up super late normally. he probably has a normal sleeping schedule, like anywhere from 9 to 11 pm.

having your own shows and movies you watch together are a must. wes is a huge fan of all of the classic blockbusters, like star wars, the godfather, sappy shit like titanic or notebook, wizard of oz, et, groundhog day, etc.

studying together! both library dates and going over to each others houses. the thing with wes is that if you say you’re studying, you’re studying. he is actually a good student and tries very hard with schoolwork, taking it seriously. this is not to say that you being there won’t distract him on occasion, because it definitely will, and you definitely have the power to pull his mind away, but he will ultimately actually try to do work. and don’t expect anything besides maybe a 3 minute make out sesh before he’s working again.

every special occasion is spent together. all holidays you’re invited into his home with open arms, and if you’re not able to go over to his hes negotiating any way for him to be able to attend whatever you were doing. whether it’s for halloween or fourth of july, he wants to spend the day with you.

texting all the time. literally all the time; on top of hanging out all the time. you guys are always talking, and he loves to text you and be informed about gossip or anything going on in your day. he will grasp for any details he can get.

he is SO ATTENTIVE when you are upset, on your cycle, angry, having an episode, etc. like seriously, it’s like he always knows what to say or ask to make you feel better. and hes always more than prepared to make a quick trip to a nearby store for some snacks or a cheap card game or something to take your mind off things.

going over to each others houses even if the other wasn’t home yet. his mom even offered to just make you a spare key and has gotten used to you entering her house before her own son does to go lay in his bed till he got home. hes comfortable letting you just wait in his room for him, and you get the chance to be nosy and snoop if you want while also enjoying the coziness of your boyfriends room; so win win!!!!!

oh matching pajamas FOR SURE! hes definitely a sucker for having a shared fuzzy pjs set, especially when you get to wear them out or to college. and when you guys are matching you bet hes gonna want to hold your hand the entire day, just so that anyone who saw you guys in case they didn’t get the memo before that you were together would now…..

definitely much more talkative when it’s just the two of you. when you guys are out with other friends hes more reserved and will just stick to your side, only really talking to you and even then will be less vocal as you guys are out. but the moment it’s just the two of you he is so much more expressive and open.

hes got a photo album of you that he loves to look at; on top of having you as his homescreen, and probably a few polaroids up of the two of you on his bedroom walls.

NSFW !!

DUDE!!!! AFTERCARE GALORE!!!! THIS MAN HAS BEEN RAISED RIGHT AND PROPER!!!!

he is so attentive to your needs and what you want, and the whole experience he spends tending to you and making sure you feel comfortable.

puts a pillow under ur back ❤️.

loves to let you be a pillow princess. hes a soft dom for sure, though wouldn’t mind letting you take charge from time to time if that’s what you wanted. but he loves taking care of you and doing all of the work so he gets to see your every reaction

i see him as probably sort of whiney in bed. he’ll try to bury his head in a pillow or your neck while hes fucking you to stifle his noises

loves giving. like ofc he’ll happily receive, but he genuinely enjoys giving more than he does receiving. he loves giving you head and servicing you, knowing hes the one who’s making your body feel so good just drives him fucking wild

he could do it for the entire day if he could. just lapping you up for hours and hours while you beg for him to give you a break.

always prepared, always uses protection (unless you ask!), and always has the necessary materials nearby.

big cuddler after as well. he just wants to hold you and go the fuck to sleep once you guys are both taken care of

started 8.07.23. finished 11.10.24.

( scream masterlist )

©️ nolovelingers 2024

It hadn’t always been like this.

There was a time where you didn’t care. A time where you wore whatever clothes you wanted. A time where you didn’t think twice about the way you looked.

It was a recent thing that had started. Well, you were sure it was recent. Along with some stress from work and a few usual life things that everyone went throgh every once in a while.

And stress happened. You knew that. It happened to everyone. But you always came out the other side stronger, and less stressed.

On top of that, you always had the support of your best friend and boyfriend, Dylan, every time you needed some extra help.

The past few times did seem to be different.

Each time you’d had a slight feeling of that exhaustion or stress recently, you’d started to feel... more negative about yourself. This hadn’t happened for a long time.

It hadn’t seemed like a big deal at first. You would get ice cream from the freezer, comforting yourself by eating it and watching a movie with Dylan right by your side.

Sometimes he'd suggest on taking you out on a date to cheer you up, keep you distracted. But he had noticed the longer amount of time it had seemed to take you to get ready for said dates as of recent.

There had been times where you even turned down dates because you either couldn’t figure out what to wear, or got frustrated at yourself and the way you looked in certain clothes. which didn’t process in your mind at the time. Nor did Dylan think it was strange, and he most definately didn't mind.

As some time went by with being like this, you started wearing less and less tight or revealing clothes. You didn't like the way your dresses were looking on you anymore, the same with skirts or crop tops.

When you’d go on dates with Dylan you started wearing different clothes. Items that didn’t hug your body as tightly, jackets to wrap around yourself to not show any of your figure.

You became conscious. Every time you dressed up for a date you noticed it in the mirror. The way you were starting to look different, to feel different.

Although, it didn’t register in your mind for a while.

It was only now. As you stood in the bathroom, getting ready for another date, that you really stared at yourself in the mirror.

You were sure you'd gained weight.

Although, you couldn't have, your routine hadn't changed, you weren't doing anyhting any differently.

It was when there was a knock on the bathroom door that you snapped out of your thoughts.

“Just getting changed!” You called through the door.

“Okay!” Dylan replied back. “We’ve gotta leave in thirty.”

“I’ll be quick!”

You heard Dylan’s soft footsteps as he walked away from the bathroom. As you took a breath, you stepped back from the mirror, instead looking at the dress you’d brought in there with you.

It was meant to be for a date Dylan wanted to take you on. He’d been busy recently, so he wanted to make it up to you with a nice dinner.

You held the dress up, knowing the tight fitting of it. You sighed. How could you do this? How could you wear this dress without feeling conscious.

You couldn’t do it.

Without another thought, you rushed out of the bathroom and to your bedroom, shoving the dress back into your wardrobe.

You scrambled through different items, pulling out a pair of your favourite loose jeans as well as one of Dylan’s hoodies that you always seemed to steal from his dresser that you could wear over your plain white shirt.

While rushing to change, you hadn’t heard Dylan making his way up to the room, nor did you see him in the doorway while you tried to get comfortable in his hoodie.

“Baby?” He said softly, getting your attention.

You immediately turned to him, seeing the worried look on his face. You had no idea what to tell him.

“I thought you were wearing that dress,” he asked. “To match the colour of my suit.”

“The zipper broke,” you quickly made up an excuse. “None of my other dresses go right.”

Dylan looked slightly upset, but not for the reason you thought.

“I know you loved that dress, I’ll see if I can fix it soon,” he walked over to you, taking your hands in his. “How about you wear my suit jacket, instead of the hoodie.”

You hesitated for a moment, but slowly agreed. It would look smarter than a hoodie but still big enough to cover you up.

Not long after that, you were leaving for the restaurant your date would be at. You felt conscious with what you were wearing for the first few minutes, until you relaxed, knowing this was just one of your usual dates with Dylan.

The restaurant Dylan brought you to was your favourite. He knew you loved the burger here, so he thought it was perfect.

When it came time to order, he went first ordering the pasta as he often got here, smiling over to you after. But you didn’t order what he’d expected.

“You wanted the salad?” Dylan asked, just curious.

You looked at him nervously, “uh, yea,” you fiddled with your hands in your lap. “Just not feeling very hungry.”

By the look on your face, Dylan knew something was up. He didn’t want to ask here, while you were in public on a nice date. But he knew it was something.

He was going to bring it up once you were both home, but he never did. Both of you being too tired after your date along with a short evening stroll.

After your date, a few days passed. Dylan forgot what he said about fixing your dress after you’d changed. Luckily, seeing as it wasn’t at all broken.

You spent the next few weeks dressing in looser clothes, Dylan’s shirts and hoodies. Anything to cover up where you weren’t comfortable with seeing.

It was a new day, new week, new time to again, look in the mirror and dislike the way your body looked. It wasn’t getting any better.

As time went on, Dylan started picking up on the things you were doing. The taking longer at the mirror, changing outfits, wearing baggier clothing. It was becoming almost obvious.

Dylan didn’t ask any questions. But he knew something was wrong. He knew you.

You loved your pretty outfits. You loved going on dates where you could wear those beautiful dresses of yours. Something was wrong.

It was a few days later when Dylan finally asked you what was going on. He hadn’t been planning to, but after he came home from work to find you, yet again, looking at yourself in the bedroom mirror, he knew he had to.

He left in the morning, made you some breakfast which he told you would be in the fridge to eat when you got out of bed.

Before coming home, he texted to let you know he was picking up lunch from your favourite fast food place for you both to eat.

At first he found it weird that you hadn’t replied to his message. And it was even weirder when he walked through the front door to hear no movement.

He slipped his shoes and jacket off, walking to the kitchen where he placed your food down.

Nothing had moved. He checked the fridge, the breakfast he made you still sitting on the top shelf. It didn’t seem like you’d even been down here.

“Babe?” He called out, getting no response.

He made his way upstairs, the bedroom door closed as he left it earlier in the day.

Dylan opened the door gently, pushing it open to see you were sitting on the edge of the bed, a blank expression on your face as you stared into the mirror. The curtains still closed, only letting slight sunlight in.

He slowly made his way over to the bed, cautiously sitting down right beside you.

He placed his arms around your waist, pulling you into his embrace. You hummed quietly, placing your hands over his around your stomach.

“Hey,” Dylan finally whispered, pressing a few delicate kisses to your cheek. “You okay? Thought you’d be downstairs by now.”

“Tired,” is all you managed to mumble out.

“It’s almost three, baby,” he glanced to the clock on the wall as he told you.

You glanced back to see. He was right. It really was almost 3 PM. You weren’t sure how long you’d been sitting there.

“Well, seeing as you missed breakfast, I’m sure you must be hungry for some food by now,” Dylan said cheerfully. “I picked up food on the way home.”

It was quiet for a moment before you shuffled in Dylan’s arms, “not hungry,” your voice came out muffled against his sweater.

“You’re not hungry?” Dylan sighed, brushing your hair back from your face. “Baby, are you okay?”

As he asked that, you sat up properly, still in his grip, looking at him with tired eyes. He moved back slightly, rubbing his hand up and down your arm softly.

“You’ve said that a few times recently,” you could hear the worry in his voice. “And you haven’t been acting like yourself either.”

“I haven’t been acting any different,” you argued.

“You ate a salad on our date, you never eat salads,” he started. “You always wanna wear a dress to our dates, now you never do that.”

He watched your expression dropping, “you skipped the breakfast I made you today and you always love when I make you breakfast,” he tried to smile. “What’s going on, baby? You’ve gotta talk to me.”

You looked at him, feeling tears welling up in your eyes. You turned to face away from Dylan, feeling as the tears started to fall.

Dylan almost didn’t know what to say. Of course, he’d handled your stress or some bad mental health in the past, but as far as he was aware, you’d been fine for a while now.

You’d gotten into a routine of talking to him if you were upset or feeling drained. And you hadn’t brought it up to him, so he had no idea what was happening.

“You know you can talk to me,” he moved around the bed, seeing you were crying immediately. “Oh, baby, hey… it’s okay, it’s okay.”

He sat back down, pulling you towards him gently, letting you rest your head against his chest. He wiped your tears away with one hand, while he ran his other hand through your hair, knowing it would help to comfort you.

Once you’d mostly calmed yourself down, Dylan tried to ask again, “what’s going on, angel?” he continued to run his fingers back through your hair softly. “Are you stressed again? Or is it something else?”

“Something else,” you mumbled your reply.

“Something else? Okay, that’s okay,” Dylan repeated. “Feeling sad? Or upset? Maybe lonely? I know I’ve been busy a lot recently.”

You shook your head, reaching up to wipe your tears away that seemed to start falling again.

This time, you moved to slowly sit yourself up. You stayed close to Dylan, holding his hand in your lap as you leaned your head on his shoulder.

“You know,” Dylan spoke quietly. “I knew something was going on, just didn’t know what it was.”

“Has it been that obvious?” You asked, sure you had hidden it better.

“I just thought you were feeling a little stressed again, but I’m starting to think that’s… not why you’re upset.”

You took a long deep breath, facing towards him, still with his hand in yours. This was going to be a hard conversation, but you knew you would’ve had to tell him at some point.

“Remember, a little bit ago,” you started explaining. “When I started wearing baggy clothes to our dates, or covering things with your hoodies and jackets?”

“Yea,” Dylan nodded. “You seemed more comfortable.”

“Okay, well,” this was it. “I’ve um, I’ve been doing that, because I don’t like how I look in my usual dresses… I dont like how I look in general.”

And it was at that moment, everything seemed to make sense. The eating less, the not wearing tight or revealing clothes, looking at yourself in the mirror more.

“That’s why I’ve been wearing these clothes, why I keep stealing your hoodies,” you point to the small pile next to the desk. “That way it doesn’t notice as much.”

Dylan let go of your hand, cupping your cheek in his hand softly, looking into your eyes.

“Do you know that.. to me, you just always look beautiful,” Dylan caressed his thumb across your cheek. “No matter if it’s my hoodies, or a baggy shirt, or one of your dresses. You’re always beautiful.”

“but my stomach looks weird, it notices in my clothes,” You looked away from him. “And my thighs look too big in my jeans.”

Dylan suddenly stood up from the bed, holding his hand out for you to take. You furrowed your eyebrows, unsure of what he was doing.

“Just come here, I wanna show you something.”

You reluctantly stood up, he took your hand, pulling you over to the full size mirror that was next to the door.

He stood you in front of it as he stood behind you. First placing his hands on your shoulders, and then up and down your arms in a soothing manner.

“You’re gorgeous,” he whispered.

You looked to him in the mirror, folding your arms over your stomach. Clearly uncomfortable.

“Here, look,” Dylan pulled your arms away, placing his hands on your waist instead. “My favourite thing to do, is hold you like this.”

He moved, slowly moving his hands across the front of your stomach until he was hugging you back against him.

“You’ve always been beautiful to me,” he smiled sweetly. “You were beautiful the day we first met, and you’re beautiful right this very second.”

“You’re just saying that,” you shook your head, knowing he was just trying to cheer you up.

“No I’m not,” he quickly replied.

Dylan placed his hands on your shoulders, turning you around to face towards him.

He leaned towards you, placing a kiss on the tip of your nose, “you’re beautiful right here,” and then he placed a kiss on your shoulder. “Here too.”

He leaned down even more, next, lifting your hand, kissing your arm down to your hand. “Should I keep going?”

By now, you were blushing. Dylan kissing the back of your hand one more time before he pulled you towards him to kiss you on the lips.

“We’re gonna work through this together, okay?” He tucked your hair behind your ears. “And it’s okay if you feel uncomfortable in some of your clothes right now, I’m gonna help you. Whatever you feel, I’ll be here right by your side through it all.”

“What if i feel guilty.”

“Guilty for what, baby?”

“For hiding this from you,” you elaborated. “For delaying our dates or not wanting to go at all, especially if it’s a fancier place where I should wear a dress.”

Dylan took a long breath, pulling you to sit back down on the bed to talk some more.

“Like I said, we’re gonna work through this, I’ll be here to help no matter what,” he kissed the top of your head. “Even if that means you wanna go on less dates at restaurants, and have more at home dates, we can totally do that.”

You nodded at the suggestion. The room falling quiet again for a moment while you both thought about this situation.

Dylan tried to think of something else to try and help, “we can get you wearing the clothes you feel unsure in, just for me to see, and we’ll work on this, okay?” He says. “We could even just go out to get some air, no need to be around other people.”

You cuddled yourself closer to Dylan, wrapping your arms around him as you relaxed into his embrace. He always knew what to say and do to make you feel a little better.

“I just—“ you cut yourself off, shaking your head.

“What, baby?” Dylan urged you to talk. “Tell me how you feel.”

“I see our friends, and they’re all so pretty,” you smile at first. “And whenever I look at myself, I just feel ugly.”

Dylan hated hearing you say that about yourself. Especially as you’d never said anything like this before. He’d always known you as the confident girl who loved getting pictures together. This was very different.

“Maybe it isn’t helping right now when I say it,” he paused, tracing his thumb across the back of your hand. “But you really are beautiful, I wish you could see what I see.”

You sat up slightly, looking at Dylan next to you. Taking a long breath, you squeezed his hand gently.

“What… do you see?”

He smiled as you looked at you, eyes darting around different parts of your face, down to your body as he figured out how to explain it.

“I see, the way your eyes light up when you’re happy, how the sunlight makes them look a different shade,” he started, he lifted his hand to your face, tracing across your light freckles. “I love your freckles too, they’re more noticeable in the summer but they’re pretty.”

He sees a small smile threatening to appear on your lips. You liked what he was saying, were happy he felt that way about you.

“I really love that when you smile, you have a small dimple on the left side of your cheek, but not the right side,” he moves his thumb to where it normally shows up. “And I especially love when you wear that sundress of yours, you always look gorgeous.”

You smiled as he said that, leaning into his touch as he did. Maybe you hadn’t thought hearing any of this would make you feel better, but it was, just a little. And even a little bit is good.

“I know you might not believe it right now,” he pulled you towards him gently. “But all of you is beautiful, and I mean that.”

“I love you,” you mumbled as you wrapped your arms around him.

Dylan stroked your cheek softly, tilting your head up to look at him, “I love you too, my pretty girl.”

He watched as you blushed slightly, leaning down to kiss you for a moment. You relaxed into him, feeling as he smiled into it.

You moved back after, still looking at him, “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner,” you felt the need to apologise. “I know we always tell each other everything and—“

“Baby, it’s okay, you don’t need to apologise,” Dylan quickly shook his head. “I get it, things like this are hard to talk about, you don’t ever have to say sorry for that.”

“Okay… but I swear I’ll try to talk about it more,” you promised.

Dylan nodded, knowing you wanted to do this, mostly for him. He wouldn’t mind if you still found it hard to talk about, all he cared about was being here for you whether it was a good day or a bad day.

“How would you feel about eating that lunch I picked up?” He tried his luck in asking. “We can count it as our first little at home date.”

“Okay,” you quietly agreed. “Did you get—“

“Tenders?” He interrupted, you nodded. “Yea I did.”

“With the—“

“Ranch dressing that you love?” He did it again.

“Yes, the ranch,” you laughed.

Dylan was happy hearing you laugh again. It had felt like way too long since he’d heard a genuine sign of happiness from you.

“Come on then,” Dylan stood up, pulling you with him. “Let’s go eat, then maybe we can take a walk, it’s nice out today.”

You agreed, knowing some fresh air might do you some good. You followed behind Dylan, heading down to the kitchen to eat the food he’d picked up.

You ate some of your food. Feeling happier now that you’d told Dylan what was going on. All he wanted was for you to be okay.

And hopefully, with Dylan’s help, he can make you realise that there’s nothing wrong with the way you look, and that you would always be beautiful no matter what.

As he subtly watched you, he smiled to himself, being grateful that he could be here for you through all of this. He’d never want to be anywhere else.

Asking you opinion on lyrics when he's having trouble, unless its a song about you then he wouldn't want to play it for you until it was perfect

Late night drives with laughter, deep conversations, him showing you unreleased Wallows songs, and/or comfortable silence

Both of you singing at the top of your lungs to each other during ur favorite songs

Always searching for you in the crowd at his shows

When he does find you, he sends you a smile and a wink

If you were backstage, every time he would turn your way he would make sure to make eye contact

You would be the first one he would go up to after a show and wrapping his arms around you

"You're so sweaty!" You'd say laughing as he brought you into a tight hug, "Did you enjoy the show?"

Finding photos of you saved on his phone that were posted from fans

Most of the photos being of you admiring him during his shows.

If you were sick, upset, or anything was wrong he'd do anything and everything in his power to make sure you feel better

Would not leave your side until you were yourself again

If you were having a bad day or just needed to vent, you knew you could rely on Dylan to be someone you could lean on

Holding your face in his hands as he wipes your tears with his thumbs while you cry then pulling you into his chest and hugging you tight

Ordering food and putting on your favorite movies

Driving you out to the beach and walking on the shore hand in hand

Having small sweet dates not only to help you feel better but just having them in general

He's happy to do anything with you because it meant you got to spend time together, especially having such a busy schedule

He would always make sure to give you advice that was not only level headed but calmed you down, the perfect mix between realistic and optimistic

Forcing you to stay in bed when you're sick, making you soup, making sure you were taking the right amount of medicine.

His favorite moments with you are laying in bed together, in each others arms, and talking softly

Late night talks range from loopy silly chats/banter to sweet conversations

Mornings with him were always sweet

Being woken up to breakfast in bed when he would wake up before you

If you woke up at the same time you'd lay in each others arms under the covers, not saying anything just enjoying the moment with birds chirping outside the window

He'd never fail to tell you how beautiful you are in every moment

It wouldn't matter what you were wearing, what your hair looked like, wearing makeup or being bare faced, whether you were laughing, smiling, crying, confused, angry, excited, there was never a moment where he thought you weren't beautiful

You two would never have any serious intense fights

Most of them would be over trying to decide what to eat, what cartoon from your childhood was the best, or what the best album from your favorite artists is

Even when you would have a fight that was a bit more serious, he would make sure to never go to bed without telling you he loves you and giving you a kiss

You could already be asleep and he would still whisper an "I love you" and giving you a soft kiss on your forehead or cheek