the white ones
maybe a specific pair of panties will get her bf to stop fucking playing Helldivers 2
Authors Note: I got inspired from a post elsewhere online…and you are not going to believe this. A random person on Tiktok bought me(me, me. not Dove. The person behind Dove.) Helldivers 2. So…now I have it. I have been wanting it for awhile. And, I am being totally serious. He just got it for me. Out of nowhere.
Anyways. I hope you enjoy!
The text thread started the way most things between us do — me sending something into the void at eleven-thirty at night to try and see if it could pull him away from his silly little game.
okay so. proposition…
👀
if I go to bed in my white panties — the soft ones, cotton, u have permission to wake me up however you want
however I want is a lottttt of options
I mean specifically one
…
you’re serious
completely
and you’ll be asleep
that’s kind of the whole point, yea
A longer pause than usual. I watched the typing indicator appear and disappear twice.
okay
okay?? that’s all youre gonna say
I know which ones they are
…okay then
🎮
I locked my phone and stared at the ceiling for a while after that honestly. Fucking...Men.
Four days later, I walked into the office where Eli was gaming with his crew — Helldivers, judging by the audio carnage bleeding through his headset — and set a water bottle on the desk without a word. He was mid-mission. Jaw set, posture locked in, leaned forward in that way that signals he was a little low on respawns.
I turned to leave. Took my damn time doing it too.
The oversized sleep shirt I’d pulled on hit mid-thigh. The white ones sat just below the hem, soft and bright in the monitor glow, and I made sure my hips had something to say before I cleared the doorway.
The click of his keyboard stopped for exactly two seconds.
I went to bed without a word, without even a look.
No work tomorrow. Nowhere to be.
The room is thick and dark when I start to come up.
Not awake — not even close. Just that half-surfaced place where your body registers weight and warmth but your brain hasn’t committed to anything yet. I’m on my stomach. The duvet is somewhere near my feet.
The mattress dips.
Eli settles beside me first, not over me — his weight along my left side, one hand resting flat at the small of my back, over the shirt. Still. Waiting to see if I’ll move.
I don’t. I press my face further into the pillow.
His fingers find the hem of the shirt. He walks it up slowly, no urgency in it, just an unhurried climb — folding the fabric up over my lower back until it sits bunched at my waist, a loose ring of grey cotton. Cool air hits my thighs. He leaves the shirt exactly where it is.
Then both his thumbs hook into the waistband of the white ones.
He takes his time here too. Peels them down over my hips with both hands moving together, even — not pulling, more like unwrapping if anything, following the curve of my ass and hips until the cotton clears the widest point and drops down my thighs. He keeps going. Slides them to my knees, then lifts my left ankle in one hand, careful, and works the fabric free. Then the right. He sets them somewhere beside me on the sheet.
“Still good?” His voice is low, lips near my ear, close enough that I feel the warmth of the words through the haze of sleep.
I roll my hips back.
“Hey,” he says. Soft. Just — hey.
“Hey.” Mine comes out sandpaper and sleep-wrecked.
His palm runs up the back of my bare thigh ever so slowly.
He starts at the base of my spine. Mouth first, hands pressed into the backs of my thighs — not gripping, just present, keeping me in place while he works his way down. The shirt is still gathered at my waist and he leaves it like that, that ring of cotton like a dividing line. Everything below it: his.
“You actually wore them,” he says.
“Told you I would.”
“I wasn’t sure.” A pause. His lips move lower. “Glad you did.”
Then he stops talking.
There’s nothing like this half-asleep feeling, when your body hasn’t had time to brace, when every nerve ending is still slow to respond from hours of sleep and lands each sensation about thirty percent louder than it should. The dark presses in. His mouth works like he has nowhere to be, like this is the only item on any agenda and not talking shit to his teammates on the game, and I grab the pillow with both hands and hold on. For. Dear. Life.
“Eli—”
“Mm.” Not stopping.
My hips move on their own. That primal way that can’t be taught. He makes a low sound against me and it goes straight through and I bury my face in the pillow and stop trying to stay quiet.
When it comes it rolls in long and slow and total my thighs shaking against his shoulders, fingers twisting in the sheets, wordless moans that leave my mouth. He stays with me through all of it, only easing back when I reach behind me and find his hair and pull gently once, the signal he knows to release my clit before it gets painful.
One last press of his lips to the inside of my thigh. And a soft bite that makes me yelp in pleasure.
He smooths the sleep shirt back down over me — one long stroke of his palm, top to bottom — and climbs up beside me. His arm settles across my back. The room goes quiet.
“Go back to sleep,” he says.
I’m already dropping. Through the wall, faint and tinny, the Helldivers menu music loops on his abandoned monitor.
“Your squad is going to be annoyed,” I say into the pillow.
“They’ll be fine.”
I smile without opening my eyes. Somewhere in the sheets, the white ones sit in a small soft heap, having done exactly what I fucking wore them to do.
Authors Note: Thanks for reading…Going to go play more Helldivers 2 now. Fuck…