#pls ignore how I can’t draw faces

[ghostdoctor]

Uraraka my wife

[each-uisge-enthusiast]

sometimes when i’m drunk i draw hot people

[littlemiss-yeehaw]

You're Gonna Be Quiet

Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Summary: It's just an undercover mission, anyone could be married for one night - even you two.

Warnings: profanity, flirting, yucky old men, suggestive content (?), possessive Bucky <3

MINORS PLS DNI

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: y'all.... im not an author. im an artist, not an author, so PLS go into this with that knowledge. but I have been convinced, no, coerced into posting this little funsy by @ellemj

she threatened to withhold vacation pictures from me as if I didn't draw her bucky barnes dick earlier today and I'll be damned

anyways,, please enjoy and manage your expectations :,)

“Okay, rumor has it the target, Mr. Beaumont, has a thing for married women,” Sam says casually as he holds a ring between his thumb and forefinger, “so for this mission, you get to be Mrs. Barnes.”

He tosses the ring in your direction and you catch it with a sour expression. You slip the rock on your finger and admire it, your scowl slipping just a moment as you watch how it catches the sun. That is until you see Bucky with an equally foul look on his face. Suddenly, your frown reappears.

“Sam, I feel like there is certainly someone better suited for this than me,” you grumble as you put your hand down and look back up at him, “I mean, aren’t these undercover missions more of a Natasha thing?”

Sam rolls his eyes before turning to face you, a hand on his hip. You were in for a scolding. “Natasha has her own mission. So today, you get to be Mrs. Hart. And you,” he turns to Bucky with a smug expression, “will be Mr. Hart. Any questions? No? Good, you two lovebirds go get your outfits on.”

You turn quickly, but not quick enough to miss the death stare Bucky shoots Sam. This one seems even more lethal than his typical one.

~~~

The ride to the gala is silent. Bucky is always silent, but this silence seems more… suffocating. You fiddle with the ring on your finger before glancing over at him. “Are you planning to even look at me before we get there? I mean, we’re supposed to be a marri-”

“You’re supposed to be a woman in an unhappy marriage who's looking to fuck a billionaire,” he says bluntly, not even turning towards you, “I’m just making sure that you look plenty unhappy.”

He would never admit out loud that the real reason he won’t spare you a second glance is because the first glimpse of you dolled up sent almost all the blood in his rational mind straight to his cock. He needs to preserve what little sense he has left.

~~~

You get out of the car with a huff. Just as Bucky intended, you look unhappy and thoroughly irritated. You pull the hem of your little black dress down in an attempt to recover some of your dignity, but all Bucky notices is how the little tug causes your breasts to be even more apparent. Yep, there went the rest of the blood.  

He sighs and grabs your hand before plastering a fake smile onto his lips. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

You sigh and forget anymore yanking on your dress, looking up at him with a grim expression. “Let's,” you mutter under your breath before letting him lead you into the gala. 

As expected, the event is extravagant and no doubt costly. You feel out of place, and you can’t help the way you move a little further into your ‘husband’s side. You let a breath of air past your lips as you look around the room for your target. Nowhere to be seen, you nearly move further into the room before Bucky squeezes your hand gently and nods to his left. You’re quick to ignore the flutter of butterflies that his touch sends shooting through you and casually look where he’s pointed. Surely enough, at the bar, sits a piggish man nursing a flute of champagne. Your eyes find Buckys and you shoot him a look before you drop his hand and make your way over.

You take a seat a few bar stools down from the man, making sure to fail at getting the bartender's attention. “Sir? Sir, could I-” You drop your hand with a sigh, feigning a disheartened expression.

“Sir, this lady would like a drink,” like a mouse in a trap, Mr. Beaumont waves him down for you and orders you a drink, “you look like you’d drink something fruity, a little thing like you. Maybe a sex on the beach?”

You wish you’d missed the way his lips pulled up in a foul grin and the way his eyebrow raised ever so slightly, and you really wish you hadn’t seen his greedy eyes rake over your body. Nonetheless, a soft laugh and a bat of your lashes grace him instead of the scowl that wants to pull at your lips.

“I’ve never had one before,” you say with a saccharine smile, “maybe we could share.”

You notice how his eyes nearly bug out of his head and then slowly trail to your hand. He slides his fingers, not dissimilar to link sausages, down to your left hand where he trails a thumb over your ring. “Are you sure your husband wouldn’t mind,” he asks with that same vile grin, moving his hand to rest on your knee.

“Not particularly, but I’m sure I don’t care,” you whisper teasingly, leaning forward and showing off your tits that practically beg to fall from your dress. ‘Hook, line, and sinker’ you think as the man runs a heavy hand up the side of your leg and his eyes trail down your neck to your cleavage.

Trembling anger washes over Bucky as he watches the man practically feel you up in the middle of the bar. The beads of perspiration running down the target's neck and the way he keeps nervously licking his lips give Bucky all the indication he needs to know this man thinks you’re his. Then Bucky turns to look at you. You. You’re just letting the man have his way, no, you’re encouraging it. Yes, it’s the mission. And, no, Bucky has no reason to feel such vile hatred for the target in any sense other than the professional one. But for some reason, he finds himself wanting to dismember any part of the man that graces your body where he hasn’t yet.

Yet?

Yet.

~~~

“Who’s this, darling?”

You bristle as you feel a breath of air pass your ear before the deep timbre of Bucky's voice even registers in your mind. You whip around to look at him, an expression of anger and bewilderment replacing the flirtatious grin you were just donning. You look back to the target, trying to mask your surprise.

“Honey,” you manage to say through gritted teeth, “I didn’t even see you come over.”

You pull your hands from the target's grasp, nearly cringing at the moist feeling left behind on your skin. You feel Bucky’s firm hold replace Mr. Beaumont’s slimy touch, and your body reacts all too positively. You lean back hardly at all, but it’s enough to feel his chest rigid against you. Was he standing too close or were you too eager? There was no way to be sure, but one thing you could be sure of was the fact that neither of you shied from the contact.

“Hmm,” he hummed lowly, a disapproving air oozing from the short sound, “when you never brought our drinks over, I got curious as to where you’d disappeared to.”

His eyes shift from the side of your face to the man across from you, who grows increasingly uneasy at the sight of your tall and broad ‘husband’. Bucky leans down close, so close that his lips brush against the curve of your ear and you hope he can’t hear your blood rushing in your head.

“I’ll ask again, who is this?”

You’re not sure if it's what he says, or the way he says it, but his words send a wave of arousal through your body. Suddenly, the too-tiny dress feels too hot and you’ve nearly forgotten his question. That is until he quirks an eyebrow and tilts his head expectantly. You clear your throat and look back to a flustered target, presumably intimidated by your colleague.

“This,” you reply before turning back to the sweaty man, “is Mr. Beaumont. He owns a software company and..”

You turn to the target, a ditsy smile on your lips as you try to recover your role, “what else did you do? I forget.”

He laughs nervously, shifting on his bar stool to make himself appear taller. Still pitiful in comparison to the man currently staring daggers at him over your shoulder. “I develop software and coding for various companies and organizations to use where they deem fit.”

Another low hum sounds from Bucky’s throat as he lifts his head from your ear, he meets Mr. Beaumont's eyes and sighs.

“Very impressive, Mr. B,” he says condescendingly. You frown, peeking over at him. What is he doing? This was not a part of the plan, “so you must be a smart man?”

The man in question smiles smugly and nods. “I’d think so, yes.”

“Well then, pray tell, why have you been feeling up my wife,” he asks coolly, Bucky’s turn to look smug. You, on the other hand, whip around to stare at him with an irate expression. He looks down at you with a matching frown, hardly able to mask his irritation, “Don’t worry, dear, I’ll handle you later.”

You’d like to think you were subtle in your shock, in the way his words leave you flustered. You had no idea Bucky could smell the wave of arousal that flooded your panties, or that he could hear the beat of your heart like a snare drum. Neither of you even noticed the target’s pitiful stuttering, too caught up in the most sexually charged staring contest ever.

~~~

“What the fuck, Barnes,” you hiss quietly, walking ahead of him to the car with steam practically flooding out of your ears, “I mean, what the actual fuck!”

You don’t wait for him to catch up before you get into the passenger seat, slamming the door shut behind you. You didn’t care for appearances, your mission having been sabotaged by your own partner. What appearances did you have left to keep up?

He gets into the driver's seat a few moments later, pulling his gloves off with a sigh before running his flesh hand over his face.

“Are you done?”

“No,” you snap, turning to face him, “I’m not. You have the audacity to call me reckless, but you go and pull a stunt like that? I had it under control.” Your cheeks are red with irritation and your hair is a mess from you running your fingers through it, but he’s too caught up with thinking what else would have you looking so flushed.

“If you’d just shut up and listen-” he starts, but you’re quick to cut him off.

“I was getting the intel,” you’re practically ranting now, “and you just had to swoop in. And for what? To be all macho? To fluster me?”

The scowl on his lips that once matched yours turns into a scoff, and you narrow your eyes at him. Why are you looking at his lips? And why can’t you pull your gaze away from them? “What? What now,” you ask with a huff.

“You really need to learn when to stop talking,” he mutters, looking at you out of the corner of his eye as he tries to wipe the smug smile from his face, “y’know that?”

You’re startled by his words, the flush on your cheeks no longer caused by his irritating actions but by his shocking words. Your eyes travel over him shamelessly, ready to jeopardize everything just to get rid of the tension that has lingered and grown exponentially over the course of the evening.

“Then why don’t you shut me up,” you ask softly, your tone opposite to the defiant one you’d held only moments ago. Judging by the minuscule way his eyes widen and the way his lips part around a sharp inhale, you’d be safe to guess he’d beat you to the idea.

You aren’t sure who moved forward first, or even if you’d moved at all. All you can be sure of is the feeling of Bucky Barnes kissing you like he’d never have the privilege again. 

Your lips move feverishly against his own, the car filled with quiet pants and sloppy smacking. His hands tangle in your hair and he tugs you away from him, his expression turning stern when you whine petulantly. “Did you know you were a fucking brat tonight,” he asks lowly, his stare hard. You swallow thickly, pressing your thighs together to relieve the ache between them.

“I was not,” you rebut, your brows furrowing and your lips turning down in a pout. He didn’t like that.

“You were,” he chides coolly, releasing his grip on your hair and sighing, “especially after we walked back to the car. You never even let me explain why I stopped you.”

You would like to focus on his words, but you’re too worried about the way his metal fingers nimbly undo the buckle of his belt. Silence sweeps over the car, the only sound being your shaky breath and the clank of metal on metal.

“So here’s what we’re gonna do,” he continues, “I’m gonna talk, and you’re gonna listen. Quietly.” You’re salivating as he tugs the zipper of his dress pants down, allowing the tent in his boxers some much-needed reprieve. “You know why you’re gonna be quiet?”

“Why,” you ask in a breathless whisper, only just now meeting his eyes again. 

“Because your mouth is gonna be full."

[moonstruckme]

Hiiiii!!!

I was wondering if you could write a poly!marauders with a reader who gets insecure about her dislikes (degrading, bjs, and rough stuff) during sex and feels guilty after sex bc she feels gross.

Thank youuuuu:3 pls ignore if your uncomfy

Hi, thanks for requesting! I feel like this came out a bit awkward but I tried and I hope you like it :)

cw: smut mdni, discussion (but not portrayal) of blowjobs and degradation, shame around sex

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.5k words

You’re becoming genuinely worried that Remus and Sirius are going to break the bed. 

Both of them are cursing like sailors, Sirius’ voice climbing higher as Remus rocks both him and you with his thrusting. The bed lurches back and forth, your body jiggling with the movement, and James laughs, dipping down to kiss at the spot beneath your ear. 

“Doing alright, angel?” 

You swallow. “Yeah. Bit worried about the bed. You?” 

He picks his head up to give you a smile, seraphim with a flirtatious edge. “Also worried about the bed, but it’ll go out in style. Personally, I’m doing fantastic.”

You return his grin, and James presses his lips to yours. Lingering, mushy kisses that feel like they’re drawing something out of you as he pumps into you slowly. His hand stokes up and down your side the way he knows you like, grounding you while you arch up into him, affection and pleasure melding in your core until your walls are gripping him with something akin to desperation. The feeling grows steadily, James’ voice becoming hoarse as he spews sweet words and encouragements that get swallowed up by your eager mouth until you both break apart into a thousand shining pieces. 

James’ forehead lands on yours, both of you panting softly into the inch of space between you. His large palm continues to soothe over the now sweat-slick skin of your waist. You realize, distantly, that the sound and movement from the other side of the bed has ceased. Sirius and Remus must have finished before you (by some miracle, the bed seems intact), you’re not sure how long ago. It’s not unusual. You always take longer. 

Sweat and cum cool in your crevices, and a familiar remorse takes root somewhere in your chest, spreading towards your gut. You shut your eyes. You want to clean this up like it never happened. 

“Hey sweetheart, how are we feeling?” James reads your change in mood instantly. His question is painfully gentle as he picks his head up, giving you the bit of space he knows you need. 

“Okay,” you say. 

“Want to have a shower?” Sirius leans over to give your knee a squeeze. His tone carries the dulled worry of routine. “Might make you feel better.” 

You nod. Remus helps you up while James peels his condom off, throwing it in the waste bin. You can’t all fit comfortably in the shower, but you squeeze in anyway, your boyfriends terribly kind as you all clean off, checking in with you periodically. Your smile comes a bit easier, the easy affection between you softening your contrition like it always does. They relax as you do. Soon you feel clean and new, all wrapped up in steam and the love you wonder if you’ll ever be good enough to deserve. 

It’s not until after you’ve toweled off and are sitting on the bed in your pajamas, watching Sirius do his skincare routine, that a different kind of guilt begins to eat at you. 

“Sorry I always make this so difficult,” you blurt.

Sirius looks over at you from the bathroom, foaming cleanser half rinsed off his face. Beside him, James pauses with floss held up in front of him. 

“Uh, what’s difficult?” James asks you. 

“Just, everytime we have sex,” you look down at your hands, hearing the soft shuffle of pages as Remus sets down his book beside you, “you guys do so much to accommodate me.” 

“That’s typically how sex works.” Sirius rolls his eyes, tossing you a smile to mitigate it. 

You return his smile wryly. “You know what I mean,” you say softly. 

“No, come on.” Remus scoots closer until his shoulder is touching yours. “What do you mean, love?” 

You shrug, self-conscious. “Like, how you have to take care of me after because I get weird. And during, I never give blowjobs even though you guys have no problem doing anything for me, and you can’t go as rough with me as you like to. I’m sure it’s frustrating.” 

“Not really, no.” Remus says, and you startle at his matter-of-fact tone. “Anything else?” 

You hesitate. “Well, I hear the stuff you and Siri say to each other. You never say any of that to me, and you know I won’t say it to you.” 

“Yes, James doesn’t like degradation either.” Remus leans back against the headboard, looking thoughtful. “Is that all?” 

“I…” You’d been expecting a bigger reaction, not this almost bored response. “I guess that’s all I can think of right now, yeah.” 

“Well, let us know if you think of any more, because all of that’s just preference, dove.” Remus gives you a kind look, almost pitying. “None of it makes you difficult.” 

You sigh, leaning back beside him. Remus’ hand comes up to stroke your hair. “I just mean that I want you all to be able to do whatever you want to,” you say. “I don’t mean to be so…finicky.” 

“You’re not finicky,” Sirius laughs, coming out of the bathroom. He crawls right over you on the bed, stretching out like a cat and laying down with his head on your lap. “Everyone has preferences. It’d only be weird if you didn’t.” 

“But what about your preferences?” You’re nearly bickering now, frustrated with them for intentionally missing your point. 

“Have you ever thought about the idea that maybe we don’t all like it rough all of the time?” He raises an eyebrow up at you, teasing. James finishes in the bathroom and comes to lean against the doorway, watching the three of you. “If I wanted my hair pulled every time, gorgeous, I don’t think I’d have any hair left.” 

His joking coaxes a smile from you, but it’s tinged with bemusement. Really, you hadn’t thought about it that way. You’d just assumed that anytime they have sex with you, it’s a small sacrifice on their part. They drew the short stick that day. Like he can read your thoughts, Sirius grins. 

“Anyway, know what I like most?” 

“What?” 

“You’re going to hate it,” he warns. 

You almost want to laugh, but you narrow your stare on him. “Go on.” 

“Knowing that we’re making you feel good.” 

A derisive snort leaves you before he’s even finished the sentence. You roll your eyes. “You’re right, that’s awful.” 

“It’s the truth, though.” James holds his hand up beside him. “Scout’s honor.” 

“Were you ever in boy scouts?” Remus asks quietly, almost to himself. Sirius shakes his head in your lap, but shrugs like that’s not really relevant. 

“Honestly, sweetheart, you make it sound like being with you is some kind of chore,” James says, ignoring them both. “Do you think you’re the only one who can say if you don’t like something?” You blink in surprise, but he goes on. “If we weren’t having a good time, we would tell you. Promise.” 

“Scout’s honor,” Remus mimics from beside you. “You’re not the only one who likes to be treated gently, dove. The rest of us might go back-and-forth sometimes, but we all have things we don’t like, alright? It’s no burden to do what’s going to be nice for you, and like Sirius said, making it nice for you is part of the fun.” 

“A big part,” Sirius agrees. 

“Okay,” you say, softening a bit. “Okay, but what about after? None of the rest of you need to be coddled.” 

“How do you figure?” James asks interestedly. “Sirius is the biggest pillow princess I ever saw. He needs to be carried out of bed after, or have you never noticed?” 

“Oi, you try being thrown around like you two do to me and see how you feel after!” Sirius glowers. “Dollface, you get it, right?” 

You laugh, because you don’t, that’s the point, but Remus speaks again before you can tell him so. “Sweetheart, we all have our things we need afterward. And yeah, I think we all hope that someday you don’t feel so bad about yourself right after, but we’re happy to take care of you anyway.” 

You scrutinize him, looking for a lie in his placid features. “Really? You don’t mind?” 

“Yeah, really, idiot.” Sirius pinches meanly at your stomach. “You’re our baby, of course we don’t mind. Stop asking silly questions.” 

“Let her ask what she wants, twat,” James says, starting towards the bed, and Remus gives Sirius’ thigh a reprimanding flick with his middle finger. It doesn’t look very hard, but Sirius squawks in protest and glares at him anyway. “Nobody minds taking care of you, angel,” James goes on, scooching into bed beside you. “That’s what we do, right? You’ve never complained about taking care of us.” 

“I guess,” you give in, laying your head on his shoulder. 

James rests his cheek atop your hair in return. You can feel the movement of his jaw as he speaks. “We’re all allowed to like what we like,” he vows, then lowers his voice conspiratorily. “But you and I are on the right side of things, sweetheart. The things those two say to each other are depraved.”

[luveline]

hey! sorry if you’ve done this already, please ignore. pls could i request hotch with reader who’s recovering from a (major) surgery? thank you 🫶

“Is it hideous?” 

“Yes,” Hotch says, though he doesn’t look at the bandage nor the wound. “You’ll be marred forever, likely.” His hand cups your cheek, and his thumb draws teeny lines across the apple of it. “Unsightly.” 

You laugh into yourself and let your eyes close under the pleasure of his small touch. The hospital room is quiet, private even, though that’s soon to change. You’ve been informed of another visitor who will need to share your room in an hour. Visiting hours will be over shortly afterwards. 

“Are they sure I can’t come home?” you ask. 

“They need to do so much,” he says unhappily. 

“I don’t want to be alone when it gets worse again.” 

Hotch speaks softly. “It might not get worse again. But if the pain is too much, I’ll stay. They won’t be able to force me out.” 

“You’ll abuse your power.”

“Only for you,” he says sincerely. His kiss says as much, so gentle and slow to your chapped lips. It’s as chaste as they come but you’d needed it. Your shoulders relax as he sits up again. “I know you feel off kilter, you’re going to, because this isn’t a small thing to recover from, but I’m not going anywhere you can’t reach me if you need me.” He tucks your blanket back over your chest, but he’s sitting on it, and it doesn’t have much give. “Will this be enough? I’ll bring the nurses a fleece tonight after I’ve gone to give to you. This isn’t going to be warm enough.” 

“I feel too hot.” 

He feels along your forehead softly. “You feel perfectly normal. Don’t worry.” 

Your chance of infection is high. Surgical infection especially. You won’t know you’re sick until your vitals tank, and then it gets dangerous. 

Hotch frowns at you. He, as always, how tiresome, looks handsome. His hair has grown unkempt to his standards but perfect to yours, dark strands falling down over his forehead. His eyes are darker, shadowed by the lack of light, shades down and the privacy curtain still drawn. You can’t tell his pupil from the iris, not where his gaze is pointed. 

“Don’t forget,” he says. “Drinks in the drawer so you can reach them. Your chapstick is in with your glasses. There are face wipes if you start to feel the need for them–”

“I won’t forget.”

His hand smooths down to your neck. “The chocolate is in the top drawer too.” His fingertips draw lazy circles into your neck, brushing against the rumpled neck of your pyjama top with every revolution. “Your phone is charged, and there’s a charging bank–”

“In the top drawer,” you finish for him. “Thank you, Aaron, I promise I know.” 

He folds when you call him by his first name. His frown falls away, his eyes softer and lighter as he lifts his head to the frail shaft of light coming in through the curtain. He’d take your breath away if you weren’t feeling as shockingly frail as you are. 

“You’re doing so well.” He clasps your shoulder. “A few more days and you’ll be home. We’ll both be feeling better, and Jack will fall to pieces in sympathy and keep you company in bed all day.” 

“What about you?” 

“Me too, obviously,” he says quietly. “Move over, honey. I’ll start now.” 

You shuffle over one centimetre at a time and he doesn’t rush you. Eventually, there’s room for the two of you to squeeze in shoulder to shoulder, where he takes your arm into a careful hold and hugs it to his chest, his lips to your cheek. 

“You okay?” he asks. “Out of ten.” 

“Five. And a half.” He kisses your eyebrow. “Seven,” you correct. 

He kisses you again, but you’re feeling shitty from the surgery and seven is as high as you can go.

[selfishdoll]

THANK YOU, THANK YOU !

men that just love saying thank you whenever eating you out ⁺ 𓂋 

୨୧   ׁ ͏͏ ͏͏ ͏͏ ׅ ͏͏ ͏͏ ͏͏   ⊹⠀⠀the art is by baileyillustration on instagram & expect more fics to be based off his drawings 🤭🤭. also if this is ooc for some characters idc i label every single character i set my eyes on as a munch 🤷🏾‍♀️.

you never knew a man could be so, so obsessed with eating you out. but your boyfriend was; always asking, always trying to persuade you whenever you got nervous or resistant simply in fear of silly stuff. stuff that didn’t matter to him. he simply enjoyed being between your legs for far too long, lips wrapped around your clit— fingers spreading you wide, even dipping in your hole every once in a while just to feel you clench around his thick digits.

that wasn’t the only thing though, it was the fact he was so very thankful whenever you said yes or simply opened your legs.

his face is covered in a simper, hands falling to your thighs and leaning down.

“thank you pretty..“ is what he’s whispering on bated breath, fanning across your already wet cunt. you couldn’t help it really, becoming aroused the moment he even brought up the idea.

he’s such a messy eater too; making you a mess between your thighs whilst gripping the withering limbs to assure you didn’t slip away. he refused to let you go, not until he got his fill of you.

your whines are ignored now, fingers gripping his hair as your hot body shook with each lap of his thick tongue. tears are dripping down your chubby cheeks, legs locking around his head and practically begging to be released from this pleasurable torture. all while your boyfriend is grinning right into your pussy, spreading your folds open with the flat of his wet muscle to lick your swollen bud even more raw. the air was dissipating, your thighs were tight, and he could hardly hear; but he didn’t give a damn. at all, you tasted way too good to let you go now.

if you somehow pull him from between your legs, he’s trying to chase after you— only easing when you tug at his hair.

“pl—please baby, i can’t—..”

your pleas fall on deaf ears, the man staring up at you; eyes lidded with, hair a mess, with your arousal and his saliva slathered onto the lower portion of his face.

his large hands are massaging your sore legs, leaning to press kisses on the inside of them.

“just one more, my love..just— fuck, can’t get enough of you..”

he says all the right things, all the time. given how easily your legs are opening again, the tight grip on his hair releasing.

and again, your lover is grinning, squeezing your legs in his large palms.

“thank you sweetheart, thank you.”

NANAMI KENTO, Kamo Choso, Jean Kirstein, Takuma Ino, JOHNNY CAGE, Fushiguro Toji, & YOUR FAVS !

[burntb4bydoll]

It's my first time requesting something on here, I am CRAVING for any Tokio Hotel member with a kind/sweet/obedient reader, I usually can't find stories/headcanons with them where the reader is a sweet and obedient girl, feel free to ignore this request if you want to.

Bae this is so me fr (for the most part😇)

Tokio Hotel with a sweet and obedient gf (slightly NSFW)

Bill Kaulitz

•hes completely infatuated with you. you could do anything you wanted to him and he would let you.

•he thinks that you are an absolute angel. He loves how sweet you are, it makes him so proud to be your bf

•would NEVER let people take advantage of you or your kindness. You don’t like disappointing people by saying ‘no’ but he has absolutely no problem doing it for you

• “sweetheart, you can’t do everything people ask you to. You are too sweet for your own good sometimes I swear.”

•he means that in a endearing way dw! He wouldn’t change a single thing about you

•he tries to test your obedience tbh. He’ll tell you to do something small then slowly start telling you to do more, but you never disobey him. And he makes sure to praise you very well for it

• “oh my, what a good girl. You listen so well, angel. Im so proud of you.”

•definitely is more of a soft dom with you, he can’t imagine being mean to his sweet girl🤭

Tom Kaulitz

•oh boy…

•you two are opposites. He’ll try to get you to do and say bad/mean things just to see if youll actually do it

•your hesitant because you dont wanna be mean, but you obey him and he immediately cant help but smirk to himself

•Bill always scolds him for it tho, you can’t escape mama Bill.

“Tom, Leave her alone! Y/n don’t listen to him, hes an idiot.” 😭

•he thinks its so cute watching you interact with his family. You’re just so sweet and they all love you so much. Hes so happy that they love you just as much as he does

•HIS MOM LOVES YOU. SHE TAKES SO MANY PICTURES OF YOU AND TOM AND SHOWS THEM TO EVERYONE. SHE CALLS YOU HER DAUGHTER TOO😭💗

•not to be a whore….but CORRUPTION KINK?? HELLO???

•LOVES pet names. He calls you princess, sweetheart, my love🤭🤭

Georg Listing

•LORD he is obsessed with you omfg

•you are absolutely everything to him. You’re his precious girl who could never EVER do anything wrong in his eyes

•literally refers to you as his ‘lovely girlfriend’ to people 😭

•his heart almost explodes whenever you do anything for him. Whether that be cooking him food, drawing/coloring a picture for him, or just giving him a small compliment, he’ll always be so so appreciative of it

•HES SO SOFT WITH YOU. He kisses youholds your face so gently while stroking your cheeks with his thumbs:(((

• “You’re such a sweetheart, you know that? I love you so much, my sweet girl.”

Gustav Schäfer

•hes also such a sweetheart, but he likes to pretend like hes all mean and unapproachable😭

•like babe, you are probably the cutest person here you’re not fooling anyone.

•you two are known for being the super lovey couple. He loves to show you off and you’re just happy to be there😇

•although you’re both sweet, you’re the only obedient one in the relationship. He such a brat and LOVES to push peoples buttons just to see how far he can go before someone actually gets mad😭

•BLUSHES SO SO HARD WHEN YOU COMPLIMENT HIM

•you guys are the embodiment of a praise kink. Neither of you can go 5 minutes without being and all nice and lovey dovey to each other

•dare i say….pleasure Dom Gustav…. GUYS IK I SAY IT ALL THE TIME BUT PLS YOU KNOW ITS TRUE

• “such a good girl for me, arent you?”

“Aww, you’re so cute, my baby.” Yes. HIS baby.😇

[messylustt]

ok heres my req!! don't worry sbt how long it takes darling writing is a hobby not a job <33

but i was think if an Ethan fic where maybe its sort of a 'who did this to you' vibe where the reader gets hurt. maybe he goes a lil apeshit who knows 🤷🏼‍♀️ and smut (because ethan smut is delicious and ur writing is scrumptious)

💓💓

pls I need this in my life and thank you, my love ur so sweet <3

✫ ;: .. I’D KILL FOR YOU

ethan landry + fem!reader

18+ smut fingering; mention of abuse :( ; mention of injuries (cigarette burn marks, bruised eye); praise (it’s my thing)

“What?” Ethan’s voice is lower than you’ve ever heard it before.

“But I’m fine.” You console with a small smile. But Ethan’s still moving closer, his gaze locked on your face.

Then his hand is reaching out and lightly brushing the bruise that sits just under your eye. You try not to flinch, but it seems even the softest of touches makes your body twitch.

Ethan’s jaw is clenched, his own mind practically turning red—figuratively—though at this point Ethan’s starting to want to see the colour in a more solid form. Maybe dripping out of your stepdad’s stomach.

You back away from him, shaking your head. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“No you’re fucking not.” Ethan growls, pulling you back to him, making you hiss in pain. Ethan quickly looks down to where his hand is holding your waist. And as he pulls your shirt up—ignoring your protests—he sees littered burn marks across your skin. Raw and cinched with black.

You slightly push him off you. “Ethan, it barely hurts.”

Ethan meets your gaze with disbelief. “How long?” He pulls you back to him, slightly pushing you against a table, as he draws your shirt back up, keeping you still by the pressure of his legs against your own.

“Ethan—“

“How. Long?” He meets your gaze, leaving no room for argument.

You narrow your eyes briefly, before looking away, clenching your jaw. “A few months.” You whisper.

Okay, now Ethan sees red. “A few months?” He reiterates, his teeth almost now visible at how much he snarled the words out. “And you didn’t think to tell anyone? You didn’t think to tell me?”

“What could I say?” You shift your gaze back to him, slightly shifting under his body weight. “That my stepdad beats me when he’s stressed?”

“Yes! Exactly that.” Ethan is breathing hard, as he has the urge to touch your face again.

“No.” You slightly hiss. “Because if I say something, my mum will find out. She can’t find out.”

“Why the hell not? The guys a living piece of shit.” Ethan lowly states, part—no, most of him wanting to get rid of the ‘living’ part. Your stepdad can remain a dead piece of shit for all he cares.

“Because she’s…she’s finally happy.” Your voice has grown quieter.

“Happy?” Ethan still looks in disbelief. “You can’t be serious. She’s happy with him?”

“Yes! She’s finally happy and I really don’t want to see that go.”

Ethan’s hand has moved to grip your shirt a fraction tighter. “How can she be happy with someone who beats—“

“He doesn’t beat her. He doesn’t…he’s never layed a hand on her. He wouldn’t.” You say, gnawing at the inside of your cheek.

“So, just you then?” Ethan asks, eyes still narrowed and practically gleaming with a want to kill. Though you can’t catch this in your worried state. “And you’re fine with that?”

“I’m sure it won’t continue—“

“I don’t give a fuck if you think it’ll continue or not. It’s happened.” He brings your shirt back up, revealing your burn marks. “Cigarettes burnt into your skin.” He grabs the back of your neck, redirecting your head to look at him. “His fist into your…” he tries to take a breath, because he’s slowly loosing it. “Into your face.”

He meets your gaze, tilting your head up, his fingers slightly sinking into your hair. Because he didn’t want to let go. He wouldn’t let go. No. For one, you were certainly not going back home. And two, Ethan needed to keep you close as some form of confirmation that your stepdad wasn’t going to lay a finger on you again. Ethan’s already made a promise to break every single one.

“Ethan, let me go…please.” You say, because he’s still your friend, and you know that he’s just concerned.

But Ethan just shakes his head. “You’re not going back home.”

“I have to—“

“No, y/n.” Ethan pointedly says. “You’re not going back home.” You can feel his heaving chest against your own—Ethan having brought you even closer, careful to avoid the wounds on your side.

“I appreciate your concern and everything…but you were never meant to know. It would have fizzled out and—“

“Stop making up excuses for your situation.” Ethan cuts in, his breath now over your face, making your own hitch a fraction. “Stop acting as though this is fine, just because you want your mum to be happy.”

You hold your breath as Ethan’s hand gently brushes your uninjured cheek. “What about your happiness?”

You gulp, shaking you head—the reason not really clear to you. Ethan just grabs your chin, leaning even closer, so that his breath now tickled your lips, making your entire body heat up. “Listen to me.” His gaze is darting.

“You are not going back home. You are not ever seeing him again.” You go to cut in but Ethan quickly continues. “And I don’t care if he’s good to your mum, because he’s not good to you. No one can treat you like that.”

Now he’s extremely close, making your heart thump, and pound in your ears, each of his words now hitting your open mouth, your lips wet with your own spit. Something Ethan instantly takes note of, as his eyes glance down, a second desire forming. Not just the one for blood, but now for you.

“And y/n, if I see another injury on you…” Ethan’s lips are almost touching yours. “I’ll kill him.” And Ethan meant every ounce of those words. Whether or not you did come back with more injuries Ethan was determined to kill him anyway. But you wouldn’t be ‘coming back’. Because you’d be staying here. With him.

Your eyes keep darting down to his lips, and just as your breathing stutters, Ethan can’t help but lean even closer. Now his lips are just barely brushing yours. Without much thought you lean forward, pressing your lips completely against his.

It’s as if a fire ignites in Ethan’s veins, as his hand at your neck tightens. And once you slightly lean back from your delicate kiss, Ethan’s mouth is swiftly reaching for yours. You slightly gasp at the intense switch.

Your kiss was hesitate and gentle, his now is determined, lust filled, and permanent. He wasn’t going anywhere. Your head knocks slightly back as Ethan laps at your tongue, exploring your mouth, as your head moves with his.

Then he’s lifting you onto the table, making sure your legs spread around him, as he doesn’t give you air, finding your lips a little more addicting than initially expected. “Eth—“

But your words are drowned out by Ethan’s mouth. Then he finally moves down your cheek, and jaw and neck. You’re entirely flushed, as Ethan pulls you even closer to him by your thighs. You can feel him entirely, as his hips slightly move a fraction, earning a small sound to spill from your lips, making Ethan grin against your skin.

“Mm…fuck, y/n…you taste good.” Ethan mutters out, almost unheard by how he just isn’t backing away from your skin. “So fucking good…”

Your head lolls back as your eyes have the urge to roll as Ethan leaves a lot more pleasurable bruises on your skin. “Only I can give you bruises…” he says, licking your neck. “No one else can, no one else can touch you.” He’d muttering anything and everything on his mind.

And then his hand is unzipping your pants, sinking past your panties as he finds your arousal. Your hips slightly jolt. “Shh, don’t move. I don’t want you to do anything. Just lay back for me…” Ethan is moving on top of you as he begins to draw circles over your throbbing clit. Your mouth is open in a pant, as Ethan coos at your expression.

“I knew you’d look good like this—fuck.” He continues to rub your pussy, as pleasure courses through you. “That feel good?” He breathes, and you partially nod, kinda out of it. “Good…, cause that’s all I want you to feel.” He’s now placing kisses by your jaw, as two of his fingers graze your dripping hole.

“Oh god, Ethan…” you whisper out, as you bite your lip. Ethan breathlessly chuckles as he begins to thrust his fingers in and out of you. “You’re gonna stay…right?” Ethan watches you closely as he finger fucks you.

Your nods are quick and mismatched making Ethan’s smile grow along with something else straining in his pants. “Yeah…you’ll stay right here…with me, you’ll be alright, you’ll be safe.” He breathes almost to himself, as he leans down to kiss you, finding your tongue quickly, as his thrusts quicken, feeling you clench around them.

“Are you gonna cum?” He speaks to your lips. “Yeah?…mm, that’s it…cum all over my fingers, I want to taste more of you.” He keeps kissing your swollen lips, as his thrusts pick up to a pace almost ungodly.

“Oh—Ethan—god.” You manage as your hands grip at his shirt, your body twitching with pleasure. And as your orgasm rides through you, your lips finding Ethan’s eagerly, his other hand has begun to soothe just by your burn marks.

“You’re so pretty.” He breathes, finally pulling his fingers out of you, as your eyes shut, savouring the feeling. “Let me help you feel even better…” Ethan kisses your cheek, as you open your eyes. You can hear the click of his belt as you feel your core heat up again.

[darkbluekies]

hi hi how have you been if it's no trouble and if you are taking requests can I request your ocs with an artist reader that gives them a painted picture of themselves, If it's too difficult pls ignore this. Thanks and have a great day/night♡

(sorry if my grammar is bad)

A/N: I'm so sorry, there might have been some translation error in my brain that said that yn gave the yanderes a picture of themselves, not of yn! I'm still not 100% sure what you mean, but I wrote this. I hope you'll like it even if it's the wrong interpretation :(♡

Warnings: a bit suggestive parts in Edmund's and Silas’s

Silas:

You’re quietly coming into his office with something behind your back. Silas looks curious, asking you what you want since you never come down to his office. Youquickly give the paper over to him and attempts to run, but he lets his men lock the doors before you have the time to reach them.

“Now, now, don’t run. Let’s see what you’ve given me … wow, baby, this is magnificent. You drew me? Why haven’t you told me that you have such a talent, little thing? Now, don’t get all shy now. I really like it. I’ll keep it right here on my desk. Come here now so I can give you a kiss.”

Dr Kry:

He can tell that you’ve been drawing something for over an hour by now, but you haven’t let him see it. Everytime he comes close you pull the paper away. He’s growing curious, he can’t deny that. By lunchtime, you give him your artwork. He scans it with a small smile on his face.

“You made this of me? How sweet of you. I will cherish this dearly, I promise. Do you like to draw? Do you want me to buy you some supplies?”

King Edmund:

He has hundreds of portraits from all ages. Every year there's a new portrait of him (and you) hung in the throne room. But when you give him a messy sketch of him that you made while waiting for him to finish a meeting, he's mesmerized. You've caught something that the other painters haven't. There's something real about your sketch. Something human that has gotten erased in the official portraits.

"This is so beautiful, my jewel. You have a wonderful talent. I want you to paint my next portrait. And I'll do whatever pose you want, wearing whatever you want."

Jerry:

She likes to make some sketches too. But nothing professional. Just some doodles when she's bored. She has let you borrowed her sketchbook while she's gone in a warehouse to retrieve stuff you want nothing to do with. You draw her from memory and when she returns you hand the book back. She catches a glimpse of the small cartoonish sketch you've made of her.

"Is this supposed to be me? Why did you make my face so round? I have a jawline, you know. I'm just teasing, I know it's an art style. It's stupidly cute somehow. I'll make one of you later and then we'll keep them in our phonecases, got it?"

Hedwig:

You're not paying attention in class again. It's okay, though! Hedwig will give you her notes. You're leaning against the wall, doodling. You start to draw your girlfriend, picturing her side profile magnificently.

"Y/N, we'll work in pairs now- … oh, is that me? Wow, you're amazing! You have to show me more later, I didn't know you had such good talent! Can I keep it? Thank you, I'll hang it in my locker and get reminded of you every time I open it!"

[heartbreakgrill]

stiles stilinski: breakable heaven; pt 10, "i scream, for whatever it's worth, 'i love you.' ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?"

a/n: pls ignore the fact that i’ve been writing miss morel instead of miss blake 😭 also enjoy my sappy writing. thank you all for every ounce of love and support on this series. i’ve had so much fun writing for you and interacting with everyone. i may have smth else in the works, but no promises. for now, enjoy x

tagging: @scarletrosesposts

stiles reluctantly shifted y/n's body into isaac's arms, took the opportunity to swipe the tears out from beneath his eyes. then, he focused back to y/n. he took the sleeve of his sweatshirt, cleaned the blood off of her face, as he came up with a plan, "okay. i-i can get past the cops. i'll distract them down front, while you guys slip out the back. my jeep is parked in the emergency lot. but, i don't know how you'll cross the entire parking lot with them all out there."

danny watched stiles’ gentle hands. he was terrified, but he tried not to show it. he spoke, strong and clear, "i can go out first, bring it around to the ambulance bay. isaac and allison can wait there.”

the aforementioned hunter before adding on her own idea, "that's good. then we can swing around and grab you, stiles."

"okay, okay," stiles ran his hands through his hair, anxiously. a million thoughts raced through his mind, "and what do we do if-if the alpha pack comes for us? they still think we're protecting jennifer. and we-we're useless again-"

"stiles," allison touched his wrist, gently, drawing his eyes back to her own. she’d never admit it, but she was worried, too. without scott, they were not only outnumbered, but weak. like danny, she put forth a strong front, "she's gonna be okay. we're gonna be okay. i doubt they stuck around here, considering the police. i think we’ll make it through.”

"okay," stiles breathed out, "let's go." his arms dropped to his sides. he watched y/n’s head wobble as isaac turned away.

he, allison, and danny were going to take the stairs, stiles the elevator. so, this is where they would split up. though, before isaac could turn all the way, to follow allison and danny towards the doorway, stiles called out, “wait, isaac-!”

he looked back towards stiles, brows raised, "yeah?" he held y/n so carefully, like she was a pillow. stiles felt useless, again. useless because he wasn’t that strong. useless because, without scott, like miss blake had said- he had nothing.

stiles pushed down the feeling and stepped forward, "i just want to say goodbye. to her. i know she can’t hear me, but-“

“it’s okay,” isaac nodded once, reassuring the boy.

stiles slowly drug his eyes down to y/n's sunken face. she was beginning to look more and more sick, more corpse-like, as every moment passed. every so often, since isaac took her from stiles’ arm, y/n’s entire body would wrack from the chills that were causing sweat to sit on her brow. then, she'd cough violently, chest constricting with the effort, and blood would gush out of her lips. each time, isaac would spindle the pain out of her legs, around her back, his own face grimacing in response. he didn’t even hesitate to help her. stiles was grateful for this.

when he drew her pain out from her blood, isaac could feel the life slowly dissipating from her body. he had told stiles, just before he came up with the plan, that she, in fact, dying. but, she had a while to go. it was happening, slowly but surely. inching through her body at a snail’s pace. cruelly.

none of that information reassured stiles. it only made it worse, knowing that she was in so much, drug-out pain.

he lay a shaking hand to her cheek, thumb brushing across her skin. it was moist with that feverish-sweat. her lips were pale white, the color only dulled more by the black line circling the center of them. finally, a redness was visible beneath her eyelids, in her veins. she really was dying. she looked it.

stiles dragged his lips between his teeth, stilling them because they were wobbling. then, his eyes fluttered shut as he leaned forth, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “i love you…”

–

“i love you, y/n…”

y/n woke with a jolting start, heart beat thumping in her neck like a choking reminder. her breath came out, raggedly. she managed to grab the fading words that echoed in her ears, whispered down her spine, like someone had just prickled their lips to her lobe, before they could leave her. y/n quickly looked to her left, then the right, before shifting onto her knees to examine the space behind her back.

there was nobody there.

in fact, there was nothing there.

the room- if you could call it a room- was bright white, lit by loud bulbs y/n could not find. the space stretched out before her, never-ending, miles and miles wide and long. she squinted her eyes, searching for its end. she expected the horizon to curve, eventually, for her view to diminish because of the curvature of the earth.

but it didn’t.

no, the room just kept on unfolding. the nothingness expanded.

there was a low buzzing sound, like flies, or florescent lighting, but the source of it was nowhere to be seen. she figured it must be from the bulbs, but the more she looked above her to try to find them, the more her head hurt. it was a blinding view.

she took a shuddering breath, head lolling forward. she was terrified of this subliminal space. terrified of what could be waiting on either end, what would find her. what she would find.

terrified of the fact that, as far as she knew, right now, she was utterly alone.

y/n went to stand, carefully bracing her shaking palms onto the matte white floor. she expected to groan in pain as she stood, but her legs lifted with ease. y/n ran her eyes over her body as she was shocked by the strengthened version of herself that she had recovered to. it was almost like she wasn’t really herself- like she was a dream-like avatar of her real self. maybe she’d blacked out so hard that, now, she was dreaming.

though, it did not feel like a dream.

she was in the same clothing as her real self- hospital gown, jeans, grippy socks, and stiles’ hoodie. though, her clothes were soaking wet, like she had dipped in the pool, again. there was no water on the floor, nor any source of it as far as she could see. then, y/n’s eyes reached her hands, and she noticed the black liquid coating her skin. it looked like she had been coughing into her hand. she gasped at the sight.

y/n brought a wobbling hand to her lips, feeling fresh blood evident in her mouth. she began coughing, erratically. she crouched over, hand braced on her knees, as the coughs wracked her chest. her hands became wet with the black blood, and some of it splattered across the white floor.

“wha-“ her coughing ceased, and a shocked look dilated y/n’s pupils. “what’s happening? what-“

she turned every which way, searching for an exit sign, searching for a doorway, a window, another person. she was becoming panicked. the pain was starting to soak back into her body.

“hello?” she called out, voice echoing off of walls that didn’t even exist. she spun in circles, calling out to the void, “hello? is anybody there? please-“ she coughed up more blood, “i need help! help me, please!”

she shuddered as a wind flew past her body. “hello?! please, help me! stiles! stiles?! please!”

just then, as she spoke his name, that voice came again, whipping as the wind carried it down her spine. “i love you, baby. i’ll see you soon, okay? i love you.”

y/n continued spinning in circles as she tried to find that voice. it went away, again, and the low buzzing of the back room was all she had left. it was worse, the loneliness, because she was able to recognize that voice now- it was him. she was sure of it. y/n cried out, “stiles!”

he was gone. there, at her fingertips, at the precipice of her consciousness, but gone, again. taken. swept away with the ever-fading wind.

“stiles, where are you?” she sobbed, “please!”

the energy was sinking from her body, and she struggled to keep herself on her feet. y/n slowly crumpled to her knees, more blood continuing to spew from her lips, and tears spilling from her eyes.

everything was fading.

“please, stiles!”

–

“what’s wrong with her?” stiles demanded, cracking his knuckles against either palm as he paced the floor of the animal clinic.

his eyes shot back and forth from y/n to deaton. his chest felt so tight, and he thought, at any moment, he might start having a panic attack. things were seemingly becoming worse, by the minute. deaton had been examining the girl for nearly half an hour. he kept pulling herbs out of cabinets, shutting them away, listening to her heartbeat.

like he was now- deaton pulled his stethoscope from his ears and hung it around his neck. he glanced to isaac, allison, danny, warily, before looking to stiles. he let out a hopeless, so stiles snapped his head in deaton’s direction.

“what? what’s wrong wi-with her? is- is she gonna be okay?” stiles voice cracked. deaton’s frown seemed to deepen. stiles shook his head, quickly, “no, cmon- no. please- wha…please tell me what’s wrong with her. please tell me you can fix it. please.”

stiles was barely able to speak through that pleading word, his chin falling to his chest as a sob wracked his body. allison clenched her jaw and had to look away. she took a shuddering breath, pressed a hand to her cheek. it was so hard to watch.

deaton braced his palms on the steel table, hands on either side of y/n’s head as he looked down at her. “she’s…jennifer placed some sort of poisonous spell on her. that’s the best way i can understand it. it’s like her body is rejecting itself. and, so, she’s…she’s dying, stiles-“

“i know that!” stiles yelled, “we all fucking know that! so, just do something to save her!”

he swept a hand across the counter adjacent to his left hip, knocking all of the tools to the ground. a yell, deep and vicious, erupted from stiles’ throat, as the supplies clattered to the floor. the scream resounded throughout the room. allison and danny flinched. she kept her gaze pointed from the boy, too pained to look his way. danny shut his eyes, pressed his lips together. he was still trying to be strong, though hearing this news was starting to affect his demeanor. he wanted to scream, just like stiles. but, he held it all in.

meanwhile, isaac was watching stiles carefully in case he needed to step in. he crossed his arms over his chest. he, too, felt terrible for the boy, but he wore his heart in his ribcage, tucked away, private.

stiles put his back to them, head in his hands, shoulders heaving up and down while he sobbed. allison wanted to step forward, to comfort the boy. but, then, deaton was speaking again.

deaton, also a stoic mourner, cleared his throat, then said, “stiles.”

“what?” he whispered, tone laced with venom. he slowly turned around to face the vet. his eyes were now rimmed with a red, bloodshot look. stiles no longer tried to hide the tears racing down his face. it only made danny feel worse.

deaton spoke slowly, gently, a hand set out towards stiles as a treaty-like offer, “i-i don’t want to give you any false hope. but, i think there may be something we can try to do.”

“what is it?” stiles stepped forward, hands falling onto the table. he kept in mind deaton’s words and tried not to let the faith bubble in his chest. but he couldn’t really control his emotions right now. he was all over the place. one of his fists lifted, moving through the air as if he were rushing deaton’s idea. “what is it? what can we do?”

deaton tilted his head in slight disappointment because he knew stiles was clinging onto an idea that could end in flames, “you must understand, stiles…i don’t have the anecdote for this poison. everything i have will only hasten her death, which is why jennifer did this. she knew we wouldn’t be able to stop it. she knew y/n’s state would only slow us down, weaken our numbers.”

“i know,” stiles’ shoulders barely lifted in acknowledgement. this is exactly what he wanted to avoid, exactly why he had never told her about all of this. “i…figured. y/n was clear bait. an easy target. it’s- what can we do?”

“scott can give her the bite,” deaton hurried the words out within a breath. he was scared of their impact. “i’m not sure if she’s strong enough to turn, but…but it might just counteract her death. the bite and the poison could cancel each other out. but…there are chances it won’t work, stiles. if i’m wrong, she may still die. or…she may actually turn.”

“or she could turn into something worse,” allison whispered. stiles found her eyes, much to allison’s dismay, and she nearly shuddered from the look in his. his pupils were dark, threatening. allison looked away quickly.

danny had been caught up on everything by allison and isaac on their way down to the ambulance bay. he was able to finish a lot of their sentences because he had been suspecting something like what they were telling him. after all, jackson was his best friend. he knew something was off. and he’d done his own research.

the validation that he had been right about monsters hiding in the dark didn’t feel good, though.

danny wondered what she could turn in to. contrary to jackson, she was a good person. were there any monsters that were good in their disposition? any without claws and fangs and a deadly bite? he didn’t really want to find out.

stiles punched the table, ever so lightly, drawing danny from his own thoughts. “i want it done,” stiles demanded.

deaton braced a hand between them again, “stiles-“

“why is this even a question? i mean- we always go out of our way to save people we don’t even know!” he shouted as he took a step towards deaton. “and, now, suddenly it’s an issue. please, just…we have to save her!” his voice cracked again.

the doctor, though threatened by stiles angry demeanor, still didn’t falter. he simply lifted his chin in response, “okay. then, it’s really just up to scott, now. if he is willing to do it, then it can be done. i must ask, though, would she be okay with this?” he gestured to y/n.

danny took the moment to interject, for the first time in a long time, “sorry to interrupt, but, i-uh, she’d probably say yes. if the chances are she could die either way, she’d want us to at least try.” 

stiles nodded to danny, gratefully. the latter boy pushed himself back into the wall, sinking into himself.

“okay. then, we must wait for scott.”

everyone tucked in, preparing to wait as deaton said. isaac slid up onto the counter, legs dangling over the side. allison sat criss-cross on the floor as she worked on ensuring her bow was in one piece. stiles was stoic at y/n’s side, head tilted down to gaze at her. danny watched him for a moment, watched how he entwined his fingers with hers, pushed the hair back from her forehead, and cleaned some of the blood off of her chin.

danny pushed off of the wall and came to stand across from stiles. he followed the boy’s eyes down at y/n, a deep frown creasing his cheeks. he set a hand on her wrist and put the other against her palm. danny took a shuddering breath, pushing aside the anxiety and mourning crawling up his chest. he wanted to comfort stiles. so he tried to.

“i don’t know how she manages to look so pretty, even when dying,” danny shortly chuckled, hoping the joke wouldn’t be too harsh for stiles.

stiles jumped, just slightly, at the sound of danny’s voice. it took a second, but the joke finally clicked in his head. stiles appreciated the humor. “hm? oh, yeah…i- she’s so fucking beautiful. i don’t get it. and then she’ll say that she’s not, and i’m just, like…i wanna hit her, ya know?”

stiles looked up to danny. the older boy searched stiles’ eyes for a moment, and he didn’t have to force the smile that came onto his face.

“you love her so much,” danny simply said, a breathy laugh shortly off his tongue.

stiles didn’t know what to say. his head nodded in a hesitated manner, and he peeled his eyes off of danny.

y/n let out a heavy breath, her chest deflating from the effort. stiles brushed more hair behind her ear.

“i do…i…” his tongue darted out as he licked his lips, “i love her.”

danny reached out and wrapped a hand around stiles’ shoulder. he squeezed. stiles shot him a half-hearted smile.

they didn’t need to say anything else. after all, that was everything.

twenty more minutes passed. stiles tried not to stare at the clock, but he found his eyes flirting towards the teasing hands, moving ever so slowly.

isaac talked quietly to allison, who cleaned her bow about three times. her hands were shaking. danny stepped out, at one point, to call y/n’s parents, who were still struggling to find a flight home to see her.

he lied and told them she would be just fine.

finally, scott arrived, relieving some of the tension in the room. he came rushing in, breathless, rambling on about what he had learned. there was drying blood on his hands, on his shirt, but no one even questioned it. at this point, it was normal.

everyone listened intently,silently hoping that whatever information he had received would help them save y/n.

but, instead, it was about the other issue stiles was trying not to remember, “we have to find the nemeton! if we find that, we’ll find out parents! she has them trapped in the cellar beneath it. here-“

scott didn’t notice y/n, still sprawled out, lifeless, on the table in the center of the room. he smelled something weird, but his mind was racing with the excitement that they’d be able to save their guardians.

stiles glanced back down at y/n, hoping scott would cut himself off. he couldn’t find the strength to do so. allison and isaac even exchanged a wary glance as scott produced a map out of his jacket pocket. from what everyone else could see, it pictured highlighted telluric currents. as it flattened between his hands, scott stepped forward in orderto set it on the table. that’s when he noticed y/n.

scott slowly lowered the map and flicked his eyes to stiles. “wha- what’s happening?” scott asked. he glanced around to everyone else, “what’s wrong with her?”

“she’s dying,” stiles murmured.

“i know, but, i thou-“ scott hurriedly shifted his words to deaton, who shook his head, sadly. “i thought you’d bring her here, and she’d be okay. deaton- i thought you would be able to save her.”

“scott,” deaton gently interrupted, “there’s nothing i can do. whatever jennifer did to her, it’s unbreakable. none of my herbs would work. they’d just- speed it up. the only thing we can try is-“

“i’ll give her the bite,” scott glanced between stiles and deaton, a determined look in his eye.

stiles blinked rapidly as relief flooded him, “scott, you don’t have to do-“

“i have to,” scott raised a hand, “i want to. besides, this isn’t about me. it’s never been about me. it’s always been about protecting and saving innocent people, like y/n. if the bite would save her, then i have to do it. i can’t let her die.”

deaton leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms. he was proud of scott for adopting such a morally right approach to the thing that could have changed him for the worse. but, deaton still had worries, concerns, “you know what this will entail, don’t you? you know the consequences of giving the bite?”

scott didn’t hesitate to nod, “i’ll do it.”

stiles’ spine straightened with an eager energy that pulsed through his blood. he nervously watched as scott turned his gaze down to y/n. scott’s brows furrowed slightly as he took in her deadly appearance. he set his hands, gently, on her arm. immediately, her pain shot up and through his veins. scott winced, and flinched his hands away. stiles squeezed her hand in response. that was never a good sign.

“she’s in a lot of pain,” scott breathed out.

stiles really wanted to say something rude, something sarcastic, something to press scott to go a little faster. but, he bit his tongue. it wasn’t the time, even if the humor would lighten his anxiety.

but, scott’s movements were painstakingly slow. he set his hands back on her wrist, paused as he took some more of her pain. it didn’t seem to want to let up. then, he lifted her arm in the air, inner wrist tilted towards his mouth. scott dipped his head back, a small groan coming from the back of his throat as his fangs protruded from his mouth. his eyes flashed yellow.

just as scott leveled his chin, opened his mouth to sink his fangs into y/n’s arm, lydia burst into the room. she always had impeccable timing with these things. “stop! wait, stop!”

everyone flinched, heads twisting around to look at the girl. she was breathing heavily, hair and dress soaked from the rain. she looked like she had been crying, voice hoarse from a scream that had been out of earshot. she’d had a premonition. lydia walked further into the light, “i know how to get her back.”

–

y/n lay there for what felt like forever. she stared up at the sky, the ceiling, whatever it was. it loomed overtop of her, a menacingly blank space. it seemed brighter up there, like there were lights somewhere above. if there were lights, that meant that had to be some sort of something in there with her. she wanted to get up and start running, try to find that something in this vast, dismal space, but she didn’t have the energy. she was dying- she knew it.

so she just lay there.

she could feel the life being drug out of her as each and every moment passed. yet, the only thing she could think of was him- stiles.

as her mind wandered, bringing comfort through the daydreams that played in her head, she thought about only him. she missed stiles so much. she knew it couldn’t have been that long, but she still missed him. she missed him before all of this- before she knew about the supernatural.

besides, no dying person wanted to go out alone. he was the one she’d pick to be next to as her final breaths were drawn out of her chest.

she wanted to go back to a week ago, in his bed. before she looked at his phone and everything was ruined. she yearned to feel his fingers ghosting her forearm, tracing the veins there like a pattern, slow and loving. the more she thought about his touch, about his chest beneath her cheek, his arms around her shoulders, she almost swore she could feel his calloused palm wrap around her wrist. it tickled, almost.

y/n shot open her eyes, brought her hand to her eyes, but realized there was no one there. she dropped her hand back down to her stomach. she tilted her chin to take a deep breath of his hoodie, which was acting as a makeshift pillow beneath her head. it didn’t help much. her neck ached slightly. but the smell- the smell of his room, his hair, his deodorant. it helped just a bit.

it brought out more vivid memories behind her eyelids. laying in his jeep, her music low on the radio, fog on the windows, rain beating down like a protective coating around the vehicle. just the two of them, always just the two of them, and an undeniable, desirable secret dangling between their chests.

y/n turned onto her side, curled her legs up to her stomach. she wanted to go back to sleep, so that time would maybe pass- if there even was time in this place. she noticed that she hadn’t coughed in a while. but whenever it would happen, the fit was disastrous. the perfectly white floor surrounding her was stained with clumpy, black splatters. her entire neck was coated in the liquid. and the skin of her fingers was unrecognizable. she squeezed her eyes shut in the hopes that she could go to sleep, avoid another coughing fit, dream about him…

dream about his lips pressed against her forehead. she would pretend like it hadn’t happened, again, if that was the cost. she would take that over this- yearning for him quietly, secretly. the feeling that she would die if he never looked at her, the feeling that she would die because she couldn’t have him the way she wanted. she would take unrequited nothingness of the reality of actual death.

y/n felt the tears welling up in her eyes again. she tilted her chin towards her chest, withering in on her curled up self. whatever this place was- the after life, a punishment, limbo- she just wanted it to end already. at this point, if she was dying, then she wanted to just die already!

y/n’s shoulder wracked with another sob. the wind whipped past her curled body, carrying on it a voice. she ignored it, knowing it wasn’t really there.

but, then, it rang out, again, this time, independent of the wind.

and, this time, it wasn’t so distance.

“y/n?!”

she slowly lifted her head, eyes scarcely searching the white space for where the voice might be coming from. then, as it continued yelling for her, she lifted her upper body from the ground, and twisted her spine to look behind her.

yet, there was no one there.

a moment passed and the yelling stopped. because of that seconds pause, y/n went to lay back down.

but, then, she heard her name again. this time, it was just an inch closer. this time, it sounded clearer, like somebody she knew, “y/n, y/n!”

she listened for a moment, and heard footsteps echoing off the ground, padding quickly across the space.

then, two other sets of footsteps, two other voices. calling her name. they weren’t just voices in her head, distant memories in her mind- they were here. in this place. with her. at her fingertips.

y/n stood, carefully, body aching and yelling at her to stay down. gravity pushed against her. but, she got up. she turned in a short circle, searching for those voices.

and, finally, she found them. she found him.

hundreds of feet away from her, seemingly stuck behind some invisible wall separating the space, they stood, calling out her name. he pounded a fist against the invisible barrier, veins in his neck protruding as he screamed her name again. scott and allison were at his shoulders, her name falling from their lips, too.

“stiles?” y/n cried out, voice cracking, weak, quiet. she took a deep breath, willed herself not to cough, “stiles!”

he finally could tell that she had seen them, and he started yelling louder. somehow, someway, he took a step forward, the wall no longer there. stiles seemed to lose his footing as it glitched in and out of existence, and he looked to his feet in confusion. then, when he realized she was just an inch closer, he took another step, then another, and, then, he was running.

y/n realized that she had to run, too. because, even though he was running as fast as possible, he still seemed worlds away. she had to get to them. she had to close the distance. she had to go. she grabbed stiles’ hoodie, braced her lungs with a deep breath, and took off. he was moving closer, inch by painful inch, until-

y/n ran into his chest, ricocheting off and nearly falling back onto her ass. stiles quickly reacted and grabbed his shoulders, steadying her. he crouched to meet her eye, searching her face as if he couldn’t believe it really was her.

as their eyes met, the world shifted, just one last time, finally clicking back onto it’s axis.

y/n’s shaking hands came slowly up to his cheeks as a sob escaped her. “stiles?” she whispered.

he nodded, just once, before squeezing her into his chest. “it’s me- i’m here. i’m here, baby.”

she wrapped her arms around his neck, holding tightly, so he could never leave her again.

he would never leave her again.

–

like a line of dominos, everything began falling into place, quickly, righteously.

y/n clung to stiles’ side as they found the nemeton, tucked away in some corner of the woods, which appeared out of nowhere. it took them through his memory, but part of her own recollections, too. some distant evocation of a day spent with danny, practicing his time for cross country. she could hear his voice, but she couldn’t see him. eventually, she and stiles stumbled onto the large tree root, evident as the fall air whipping past them.

everything felt distant, still, unreal. though she could feel stiles there, beside her, she knew that this wasn’t reality. she couldn’t wait until this was all over, when they’d wake up in the animal clinic. when she could really touch him, his actual skin, there, right there for her to take and never let go.

after they found the nemeton, everything surrounding them glitched out to a pitch black dream. they fell into something similar to sleeping. y/n heard her name, whispered through the dark, like a question. she slowly came to, fingers twitching upon her stomach, eyelids fluttering open. the bright lights of the animal clinic shone down on her, and it took more than a moment for her eyes to adjust.

when they did, she saw dr. deaton, standing over her, holding a gentle hand to her cheek. he helped her sit up, slowly but surely, with his touch on her upper back. she swung her legs over the side of the table, groaning at the residing pain still lingering. it was fading, fast, but it still clung to her. as the feeling was coming back into her body, so was her memory, her awareness. she darted her eyes around the animal clinic, searching for stiles, when deaton said:

“here,” the vet held out a purple-ish liquid, contained in a shot glass. “drink this.”

y/n took it, hesitantly, from him, and drank it in small, awful sips. “what was that?” she made a crude face at the foul taste.

“herbs. to help you regain your remaining strength back,” he encouraged the idea with a small nod.

y/n thanked him, before accepting another glass. this time, luckily, it was just water. she glanced around the empty room, again, “where is everyone? where- where’s stiles?” she yearned for him.

“stopping jennifer. stiles and lydia went out to find the nemeton. to find his dad. everything will be over shortly,” deaton patted her shoulder.

“what am i supposed to do, in the meantime? i mean…i don’t know where i fit?” she was new to this dynamic. she felt she should be out there helping. she was, after all, considered a part of the pack now. didn’t that come with responsibilities? though, she had just almost died. surely there was time allocated to humans for rest and relaxation in this type of world?

“well,” deaton he crossed his arms over his chest, “what do you want to do?”

“go home,” y/n admitted with a short laugh.

“i’ll drive you.”

y/n twisted around at the sound of that familiar voice. danny stepped out of the shadowed corner of the room. he had been giving her and deaton space as she was brought back to life. but, he couldn’t wait any longer. his best friend almost died. and now, he could finally take her home, to safety, to quiet, to peace.

deaton nodded, once, before stepping out of the room. his role in this chapter was completed.

meanwhile, y/n jumped off of the table, hurriedly tossing her arms around danny. he squeezed her in the tightest hug they had ever exchanged. their reunion was sweet, sentimental, full of tears from either friend.

and, then, danny drove her home, as promised.

he helped her out of her blood-stained clothing, and into the hot shower. he waited, less than patiently, on her bed while she washed away all of the black staining her skin. when she was finally changed into pajamas, tucked up underneath her bed covers, her eyes were heavy again.

she was exhausted.

danny was going to stay the night, until her parents got home, the next day. so, he hugged her one last, lingering time before retreating to the guest room, hesitantly.

y/n wanted to fall asleep, and wake up in tomorrow, when, hopefully, things will have washed away, sorted themselves out. but, she also knew that, eventually, this would happen again. based on the stories she’d heard, they always did. so, as her mind raced with the worries of that version of tomorrow, she felt her body wake up a bit more.

she just wanted stiles.

this day could not end any better than if stiles would just come back to her.

she climbed out of bed, paced down to the kitchen, and nursed a glass of water as her phone rang. y/n waited, impatiently, as the line beeped.

“hey,” stiles’ voice finally shone through.

y/n wanted to scream with joy, but she simply said, “hi.”

stiles breathed out a heavy sigh, “are you okay?”

“in one piece, somehow,” she managed a small chuckle. “what about you? is your dad alright?”

“he’s sleeping now.”

she was grateful to hear that. “and you, stiles?” he had just been through the hardest few days of his life.

stiles, elbow against the windowsill of his jeep, hand lazily rested on the steering wheel, blinked away exhausted tears. “fine…i guess. as fine as i can be.”

“stiles,” y/n nearly interrupted with a grin on her lips, “please, come over.”

he peered out his window, where her house sat, peacefully, on it’s precipice. the moon hung low behind it, enticing him to step inside. but, after all this, he knew what he must do. for her, her safety, her livelihood.

“i can’t,” his voice almost cracked.

y/n’s face fell, heart sinking into her stomach, “what? why? why not? is there- i thought everything was worked out. i thought that you guys solved everything?”

“we did,” he tapped his fingers against the wheel anxiously, “we did…this time. but- there’ll be other problems. there’ll be other druids trying to take your head off and alpha packs trying to kill all of us. it’ll never stop, y/n. i can’t, with sound mind and heart, drag you into this, knowing what i know. seeing what i’ve seen. i can’t- i have to just…end this.”

in the silence that followed stiles’ confession, y/n picked at the kitchen countertop. she didn’t cry- she didn’t even feel the need to. because she knew this wasn’t the end. she knew it would never end. it was- whatever they had- unbreakable. it was heaven. it was everything.

and she loved him. she’d never stop loving him.

“are you here?” she finally spoke.

the painful silence had only spurred more tears on stiles’. he pressed a hand to his lips, as if rubbing them would force the cries away. but, when she asked him that, his body took a pause. “wh-what?”

“you’re outside, aren’t you?” y/n pushed up off of her seat. she began marching to the front door, stopping only to put on shoes, unwilling to hear his answer. she knew he was.

sure enough, his jeep sat on her road, idling. she shook her head, that grin still sat upon her face. as she began the long walk down her driveway, she spoke, “i realize now how often you’d sit out here, watching my house, making sure i was safe. my brain always said it wasn’t you, but that freshman down the street, who drives that black jeep. it’s too dark out to see that robin egg blue on roscoe. but, no, it’s been you along. you’ve always been here, protecting me.”

“y/n, please, i-“

she hung on him. she was at the jeep door, now. stiles met her eyes, glanced away as he tried to stay strong. he was ending this. he had to. he didn’t want her pretty eyes and soft face to break him down and give in.

but, she knocked on his window.

stiles huffed, turning off the jeep, and stepping out. “y/n, please, you need to-“

“i have spent the last three months pushing you away. i have spent three months convincing myself that you weren’t everything to me. convincing myself that we were only friends, that even though you make me laugh like nobody has ever made me laugh, you didn’t mean the world to me. i have spent so, so long ignoring all the signs, ignoring all of these feelings that i have for you- and yesterday? i almost died. i realized just how precious what we have is. and, if there’s going to be other alpha packs, other crazy english teachers with some weird grudge against all my creative writing assignments, then i’m not going to waste the time that we have letting you go, again. not again, stiles. i have you- i’ve had you, i’ve had you right between my fingers this entire time. and i’ve just been letting you run like water. but, i’m not doing that again. i’m not letting that happen.”

stiles shook his head, removed her gaze from his. he couldn’t bear it. he couldn’t bear this. he just wanted to kiss her, but he couldn’t. get back in your jeep and drive away, stiles.

“okay- i just-you know that being with me means having a target on your back. and, you may be okay with that, but i am not. y/n, we can move on from this, okay? i can- i can let you go if it means you will be safe. and you’ll easily get over me. i know you think- i know you have these feelings, but, i also know you never wanted to get attached in the first place. i know you probably really even aren’t. i promise-“ he bullshitted himself.

“i love you, stiles. and i know that’s the worst thing you wanted to hear right now because it changes everything,” she stepped closer, demanding his eye contact. stiles pressed his back into the jeep, trying to shrink away. “and, i know that you love me. you didn’t have to tell me. i’ve felt it- i’ve felt it from you on more than one occasion. and it’s, it’s not the kind of love that you just let go, or get over. it’s- yeah, it’s dangerous and it’s terrifying to hear and it has the worst timing and it changes everything in the world. but, i love you, stiles.”

he lifted his chin, slammed his fist into his palm, weighing over everything in his mind. he didn’t need to- he knew what he felt, but then he knew what was right. and, not even deep down, he knew what to do. what he wanted to do. but, it was the choosing to do so that terrified him. that made him anxious, that made him feel like that pathetic, weak human everyone thought he was. he wouldn’t be able to protect her like he wanted. he wouldn’t be able to stop an attack on her, like yesterday had proven. he wouldn’t be able to ensure she’d get to go to college, that she’d even make it to graduation. if they did this, if he let her do this with him, she’d be in immense danger every second of the day.

but, he knew if he didn’t do this- he wouldn’t be able to breathe. he’d suffocate without her. she made him feel stronger, she made him feel better. she made him feel human in the best way, in the way that was never weak, nor pathetic- in the way that only humans can feel and love.

so, he made that hard choice, and he chose that hard thing.

and he kissed her.

[whoisneo404]

PLS DO A PT 2 TO YOUR FTM READER AND NICK FIC PLS AS A TRANS GUY I LOVED IT SM

Eye roll part 2.

Summary: just continuing from where I left it.

Tw: nsfw, degradation, spanking.

‘’But not yes, honey. You have been bad, so you’ll have to wait.’’ He smirks, I love when he is confident, it looks so hot on him. ‘’On the floor, now.’’ As he sits on the edge of the bed I move as fast as I can, kneeling in front of him. He tilts his head. ‘’What are you waiting for? Suck.’’ I feel the blush rushing into my cheeks, reaching out I untie and slide down his sweatpants and boxers. He grabs a fistful of my hair and guides me closer to him, I kiss the tip and then put most of it into my mouth, at first its slow, until I get used to it, he starts using the hand on the back of my head to go deeper and faster. He’s moaning and grunting, it sends shivers down my throat, my eyes are watering, I feel myself getting more needy and wet.

After 2 or 3 minutes he stops. Lifts my face with a hand on my jaw. ‘’Good job, slut.’’ He pats my head and wipes a few tears that feel down, I can only pant as I try to catch my breath. ‘’Across my lap, come on.’’ He taps his thigh twice, and I obey, sticking my ass up a bit. ‘’Count to 10, don’t mess up or I’ll have to restart. Be a good dumb toy and you’ll get your reward.’’ I nod eagerly, and then.

Slap.

‘’Shit. One.’’

‘’That’s it.’’ Another slap.

‘’Two.’’ And another.

‘’Three.’’ Until we got up to ten. I think my ass is red, it hurts a lot. Nicks cold hands are caressing it.

‘’See, it wasn’t that bad, you are just a whiny boy. On all fours, now.’’ I move trying to ignore the burning sensation, I get on my hand and knees, lowering my chest and face into the bed, hugging the pillow below me.

‘’Since you took your punishment well, you’ll get to cum, only when I say so, you got that?’’ I nod, then I feel a soft spank on my ass. ‘’Words, or are you to dumb to speak?’’

‘’N-no. I mean yes, I understand. Please do it.’’ He laughs and kisses the red marks on my bottom.

‘’Good fucking slut.’’ I feel two of his fingers gliding my entrance and clit, teasing me even more. Until he puts both of them inside suddenly, I let out a breathy moan and bury my face into the pillow. ‘’Don’t be shy, this is was you wanted.’’ His two fingers are pumping inside of me at a fast pace, I whine and moan into the pillow, my legs shaking and my hips rolling.

‘’Please, please, want you, need you.’’

He pulls his fingers out and slaps my pussy gently. I look back at him, the same hand he used for me is now on his cock, pumping it and lining it up with my hole. With the other hand he grabs me by my hair and buries my face into the pillow, slamming how cock with full force inside me, the pillow muffles my loud moan.

‘’Shit, the fuck. How are you always so tight?’’ he groans, now both hands on my waist, rocking his hips slowly for a while, then his pace starts to speed up, I bite down on the pillow, his moans and groans making me go crazy. Slap, another spank. ‘’Get you mouth out of the fucking pillow, I wanna hear you, want everyone to hear you.’’ I can’t lift my head, I’m so drunk on him I don’t register what he’s asking me to do, until he grabs me by the hair and pulls me up, thrusting even deeper and faster, now the room is filled with my loud moans and whines.

‘’That’s it, let everyone hear what a slut you are, just for me. My slut.’’

‘’Fuck, please, please, I need to… I’m gonna…’’ he stops, I let out a loud whine, falling face first into the pillow, he manhandles me so I’m on my back now. He puts my legs over his shoulder and starts thrusting at full speed again, knocking the breath out of me, one hand on my waist, the other drawing circles on my clit. My mind is fuzzy and I can hold it in any longer.

‘’Now. Cum.’’ His voice is so low, sounding almost like a growl. My back arches and I let myself go, I hear his thrust getting sloppy, his legs are shaking, his moans more uncontrollable. He pulls out releasing all over me. ‘’Shit, oh god…’’ we catch out breath, he leans down kissing my forehead gently. ‘’Good job baby, you did so good. I gonna clean us up. Wait here.’’

----------

‘’God, I love Ru Paul’s drag race!!’’ Nick says as he squeals like a fanboy. I can’t believe he just rearranged my insides and he’s rambling about Ru Paul. I love him so much.

I TRIED MY BEST. i hope you all like it.

take care, be kind.

[mybiasisexo]

41 and baekhyun pls and thank you!! 💙

Cute 👓

Genre: fluff Pairing: Baekhyun x f.Reader Length: 1.2k Warnings: Sexual Implications

a/n: ngl this is just me writing down a fantasy. it is what it is lol

DRABBLE GAME | MASTERLIST

It’s the end of a long day, and you’re ready to relax and spend some quality time with your boyfriend, Baekhyun. He’s already sitting on the couch when you enter the living room. Watching whatever show he put on for you to mindlessly watch. The first thing you notice as you approach is his hair. He finished his nighttime routine before you, so it’s still damp from his early shower. He didn’t bother messing with it, so it is now drying at odd angles. His body is fitted with a silky blue pajama set, and on his face is a pair of chunky glasses.

He looks like a child, and you have to physically hold your lips together to stop the cooing threatening to come out from his presence.

He spots you and smiles. He always smiles like that when you join his side, no matter where you are, and it makes your heart melt. “Hey, Baby.”

His voice is gentle, comforting. The tone deeper because of it. It drives you crazy, and he’s probably aware of that, but his intentions aren’t to arouse.

That being said, he draws his arms back, a wordless invitation you’re too eager to oblige.

You crawl into his lap, sitting sideways so that your back leans against the armrest and your legs drape over his thighs. He closes his arms around you, one going around your back, the other resting on one of your exposed knees.

He presses a chaste kiss to your cheek before giving his attention back to the show playing. You find his profile more entertaining. He can definitely feel your wandering stare, but ignores it, getting back into the show.

Your gaze is hard to ignore completely though, and the skin on his face tints pink under your stare.

You lift a hand to the back of his head, untangling his light-colored locks, fixing the mess he has going on back there. When he’s presentable again, you start combing your fingernails over his scalp. The action has him purring like a cat, his head leaning more into your touch.

You can’t help but smile at him, continuing the movement for a bit longer. You pull your hand away eventually and he groans in disappointment.

“Those glasses make you look so cute,” you finally say, your voice lilting like you’re talking to a baby. The compliment makes him drop his head to try to hide the pleased smile on his little lips.

“You think so?” he asks softly.

You hum in agreeance. “You should wear them more often.”

He lifts his head back up to look at you, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “Maybe I will.”

“So that I can gush about how cute my boyfriend is?” You question.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, turning back to the television, playing off the affect your words have on him. You can tell he can’t get back into the show, that you’ve completely distracted him, by the way he’s blinking. His cheeks and neck bloom a lovely red, and you think you’re going to explode with how endearing he is.

You can’t help but poke his cheek. “I think it’s adorable how easily you blush.”

“Yah,” he whines, pulling away from your touch.

You chuckle and lean in more. “What’s wrong?” You feign concern.

He cuts his eyes to you. “Stop calling me cute.”

You gasp dramatically. “But how can I not? With your cute little glasses? And your cute little pout?”

“I’m not pouting,” he denies, bottom lip gutting further out. “But if I was, it wouldn’t be cute.”

“Oh?” You reposition yourself, sliding your legs over his so that you’re straddling him. He falls back onto the couch, hands instantly going to your hips, squeezing them gently.

You cup his face, holding it so that he can’t avoid your gaze.

“That’s too bad,” you purr. “Because you’re my cute baby. My pretty boy.”

A grunt leaves those red lips of his and you feel him twitch underneath you. “Why did I kind of like that?” He mutters to himself.

A sly grin grows on your face that he notices with slight fear in those shiny eyes of his.

“I know you did,” you whisper. Slowly, you close the distance between you both, brushing your nose and lips against his. “I felt you.”

He gulps. Rarely do you take a dominate role in your relationship. Actually, this is the first time. Baekhyun’s a bit overwhelmed by the role reversal. His eyebrows are raised in surprise, his breathing becoming more ragged with anticipation.

You tease him a bit more, rubbing his lips with your own, the tip of your tongue curling over the sweet flesh. You finally kiss him when you feel his body shaking with need. It’s sultry and slightly vulgar. All teeth and tongue, languidly twirling together. There is no rush, no pressure for anything more even though you both know that’s where this is leading to, especially with him growing more turned on with every swipe of your wet muscle.

He pulls away suddenly, holding you back as he falls into the couch again. His features have grown mischievous as he takes in the way your pupils have blown out.

“You should reward me,” he says with his now husky voice. “For being so cute.”

“A reward?” You repeat and he nods. You play along, tilting your head curiously. “And how exactly should I do that?”

“I can think of a few things,” he pushes, pulling your hips forward to grind against the hard bulge in his pajama bottoms.

The action draws a moan from him, and you bite your lip. “I do need to hear more of those pretty moans leave your mouth.”

“Yeah?” He lets out in a breath. You’ve started trailing kisses down his jaw, his neck, his chest. Unbuttoning his shirt to continue your journey south, consuming every inch revealed to you. You slide down to your knees, and lean up at him between his legs. He takes you in hungrily, loving this view more than you’ll ever know. Little does he know, you do too. You lean against his knee as you lose yourself in the art he is. That pouty mouth of his has fallen open as he struggles to breath, his exposed chest slightly heaving, those glasses that are the reason you’re here in the first place askew on his nose.

Your man is cute, indeed.

“What?” He asks, grinning self-consciously as you continue to stare at him.

You shake your head, both as an answer for him as well as clearing your head. “I love you is all.”

A new layer of blush coats his face, but he doesn’t avert his gaze like had been doing before. Instead, he bends down so that your faces are level, and lifts up your chin with his finger. “I love you too.”

He gives you a quick kiss and leans against the couch again, expectantly. There is nothing ‘cute’ about him any longer, even with the crooked glasses. No. Now he only exudes manliness. His shoulders suddenly broader, the features of his blushless face sharper with lust, the silent demand in his glittery eyes causing saliva to flood your mouth. You fight the urge to swallow, knowing you’ll be making good use of it.

Not wasting any more time, you go for the band of his pajamas.

His quiet groans fill the room as his head falls against the couch, his back arching as you give him the reward he deserves.

And, god, is it cute.

[staybabblingbaby]

Soulmate Garden AU Ch.4 (Lewisia) a2d2

[Caution: These are not full fics, or even full parts of fics for some, these are part of my writing progress archive!]

Concept: Growing up, you knew Soulmates weren't all that they cracked up to be. So when, on your 18th birthday, your skin is painted with a garden of flower buds, you resolve to hide it from everyone. Who had ever heard of someone with 8 soulmates, anyway?

Or; Reader has 8 soulmates and no issue avoiding all of them. It's up to SKZ to show her that while every soulbond might not be made of fairy tales, theirs certainly could be.

Word Count: 1,558

TO THE UNAWARE: THIS IS A PROGRESS UPDATE OF A CHAPTER NOT REMOTELY CLOSE TO DONE! PLEASE DON'T EXPECT A FULL OR POLISHED PRODUCT HERE

Notes: I told y'all that I was being lazy. We gotta play catch up now :c This is... roughly 1/3 of Ch.4? maybe more? I'm hoping to have them have a decent conversation but that's beyond me sometimes ^^;;

Dividers by @saradika

Warnings: She/Her Reader, Flashback (yelling), pls lmk if this needs smthn more specific

Leave me comments or questions or anything! Love hearing from folks <3

Masterlist <3 | Main Part (Unfinished </3)

The next morning marks a return to routine.

You roll out of bed half awake, sleep-mused and ready for murder. Your mood isn’t improved by the way you’d gone to bed - still in your work clothes with day-after mascara gluing your eyelids together.

A quick stop by the restroom to strip and scrub your face is a necessity, or you’re liable to just crawl back into bed and exist there. You brush your teeth while you’re there, doing your best to ignore grey streaks down your cheeks where your eyeliner hadn’t been as water-proof as advertised.

You don’t even know why you’d cried. After all, it’s not like you were the one rejected by your soulmate for no reason.

You do your best to shake off the maudlin feeling of the morning and lumber your way into the kitchen. You spy your twenty on the counter where you’d left it. You press your lips together to stop the bottom one from trembling and open the fridge. There’s a plate of eggs, fruit, and toast inside.

Taylor, freak of nature that he is, has been up for hours already, you know. He’d probably been up and out the door before the run had even thought about rising. Weirdo.

your roommate is well aware of how non-functional you can be in the morning, so it’s not unusual of him to leave you leftovers when he makes breakfast. The little note on top isn’t new either, usually a reminder, grocery list, or a little encouragement for your day. The whole thing makes you smile, usually.

Today that little note makes your eyes prick with a new wave of tears.

‘Give yourself a chance. Bet’s still on <3’

You very deliberately do NOT cry, though it’s a near thing. You’d done enough crying last night. But if you sniffle a bit into your eggs, well. That’s for you to know, isn’t it?

It’s a Tuesday, so after breakfast you drag yourself back to your room to throw on your largest, rattiest, t-shirt and a pair of leggings to head to the gym.

You can’t help your eyes from catching on the newly-bloomed marks on your skin when you strip away your sleepwear, and you realize that you hadn’t had the opportunity to study your mark in days. Things have been... hectic, to say the least.

In the name of returning to your baseline, you figure you can’t ignore this part of your routine either.

You amble over to your closet, swinging open the door to reveal the full-length mirror hanging on the other side. You don’t bother with your usual rounds of self-depreciation or daily affirmations. Instead, you find your eyes glued to droopy purple petals and blankets of white stars across your abdomen.

The names of the flowers come to mind with ease as you trace gentle fingers over echoes of delicate petals. ‘Bellflowers’ You recite to yourself, drawing your finger up thin stalks and back down dipped heads. ‘Edelweiss’ you muse, lightly tapping each fuzzy white star.

The knowledge comes easily to you, not from any cosmic force, but because of course it does. Your sister hadn’t been wrong when she’d said that asking a person’s favorite flower had been basically an obsession of yours.

The habit had started well before you’d gotten your mark. Before you’d even properly known what soulmates were, really.

Gardening with your mother had started as a way for her to drag you out of the house to get some sun while keeping an easy eye on you. Before your sister was born you’d spent many a joyous afternoon learning to work the soil beside your mother.

After the advent of your favorite gremlin, you’d spent those afternoons tending to the family garden alone. You remember being grateful to the newborn back then. Those solitary afternoons were some of the most peaceful in your memory.

At some point the ‘family garden’ had become more ‘your garden’. Your mother wouldn’t even bother to plan it out with you by your sister’s toddler years. She’d drive you to the store, hand you a bit of cash, and leave it all in your tiny hands.

You’d spend hours researching the best ways to nurture your plants. How to have them thriving more brightly, more beautifully, for longer. If you weren’t in the garden you were in the library by your house, nose buried in a gardening book.

You vividly remember the day it all went wrong.

It hadn’t even been that dramatic, as you recall. At least, not in terms of your parent’s usual fights. It was heartbreak- despair- that marked the day, instead of fear.

You’d been digging up weeds, clawing up deep roots with your gloved hands and a trowel, when your father had come storming outside. You don’t even remember what he’d said. Something about you always taking your mother’s side because of your shared hobby, you think.

Never mind that the woman hadn’t put so much as a toenail to the dirt since your sister had been born.

He hadn’t let up for quite a while, if memory serves. Stood there yelling at you in your safe space for close to an hour. Maybe two, but your child-brain couldn’t be trusted with the time. It might have just been minutes, now that you think about it.

Nonetheless he’d yelled and yelled and yelled. He hadn’t trampled on or broken anything, hadn’t even made sense. And yet, when he’d finally left, everything was different.

The blooms you’d worked so hard to nurture were no longer beautiful, and the soil you’d once called home was no longer safe.

You hadn’t tended another garden after that season. You’d seen your plants to winter, and you’d let go. You’d turn away from the sun and soil and leaned into your books and silly questions to fill the hole left behind.

You’re sure you left claw marks in the dirt.

Something like a gentle humming fills your soul, and you notice how tightly you're clutching the garden around your waist. You gingerly pry your hands away and study the crescent moons you’ve left behind, soft skin indented where petals should have ripped.

You wonder if you’ll leave claw-marks in this garden too.

You tear your eyes away from the mirror, ignoring the gentle tingling up your side where your fingers had dug in. You quickly toss on a camisole, forgoing your usual privacy wraps, and your t-shirt over that.

There was nothing for emptying your mind quite like running yourself into the ground at the gym. With full awareness that you’re going to regret your gym session later, you flee your apartment.

Maybe jogging all the way to gym wasn’t such a great idea. It’d sounded fantastic at the time, a head start on your cardio and a way to remove yourself from your negative headspace before you tried to toss around weights you barely knew how to use.

It had sort of worked, but now you hadn’t even entered the building and you were already a sweaty, panting, mess.

After guzzling down half of your water bottle you enter the building, resignation in your heart. Cardio wasn’t even your focus today.

The automatic doors slide open with their usual swish, and you’re greeting by the familiar stale smell all gyms seem to share, no matter how clean. It’s comforting, even if you do wish you could go home already.

There’s a guy already at the receptionist’s desk when you approach, talking in slow and measured English. His back is broad and built, huge biceps on display in a tight fitting black t-shirt. You kinda wanna squish them.

You try to shake yourself from your admiration, reminding yourself that there were very many well-muscled men in this place and that you’d always endeavored to keep a polite line-of-sight, even when they don’t. It hadn’t even been a hard ask, until now.

You really can’t help the way your eyes trace up and down his form. It should be impossible, you think, to somehow bulk up in only the right places, but by Jove his man has done it. This time you physically shake your head to snap yourself out of it.

You’d be polite if it killed you. Even if neither the stranger or the scrawny receptionist had noticed your wandering gaze.

Especially then.

While you were.... distracted... the man’s conversation with the receptionist seemed to be going a whole lot of nowhere. From what you can gather he’s looking for a short-term membership, and the receptionist is trying to tell him they don’t do that.

You know this to be true, even the trial period was an entire month. You’d specifically chosen this gym for that reason. If you hadn’t been able to stick it out for a month, you know you’d have never used the place enough to justify a membership.

Your sympathies to this stranger, it seems he really just needs a little less than a week. You know there are some no-commitment type places not too far though, so you wonder why he’s stuck on this place.

Their back and forth goes a while longer, but it’s evident that the beautifully-built stranger can’t really argue his case properly.

Eventually he steps to the side to make a call, and you’re able to approach the counter.

[breannasfluff]

Dropped Feathers

The first time Legend meets Wild, the kid nearly takes his head off.

The Chain comes through a portal near a particularly ugly stable and it’s the easiest place to start.

The group draws glances, but Legend wanders around the edge of the building, drinking in the new landscape. It’s here he bumps into a stranger, whose sword is out as he spins and points at Legend’s throat.

“What the hell!” He jumps back, wings puffing up in an unconscious threat display. Is it a bandit? Someone who means harm?

The stranger tilts his head but then puts his sword away. “You startled me.”

“I startled you? I’m not the one waving swords in people’s faces!”

The kid winces, but the wary, calculating look in his eyes doesn’t fade.

By the time they wrangle out that the stranger is Wild, a new hero to join them, Legend’s planted him firmly in the same category as Warriors: a loner.

Wild’s addition changes little of the group’s makeup. Wind and Sky, the two seabirds, stick together on the ground and glide happily alone. Twilight follows Time around like a lost dog, always eager to follow orders. Warriors prefers his alone time.

Four chatters enough to be multiple companions on his own, although Time and Twilight are the only two who indulge him on a regular basis. Legend likes Four’s company; if only it just came with a little more silence.

Despite his prickly attitude, Legend is a fairly social bird. Because of the attitude, it’s a rare indulgence.

Hyrule likes pairs and is perfectly happy to latch into Legend and stay there. Legend, for his part, delights in someone he hasn’t driven away.

Wild goes Warriors route of sticking to himself, but unlike the captain he doesn’t look happy about it. It’s closer to the feeling Legend has when he wants to join in with the others but holds back.

Twilight and Time make an effort to include the newest hero, so he’s not without chances to bond. He just…doesn’t take them.

When they preen in the evenings, even Warriors allows Time to help him with the feathers he can’t reach. Wild turns down help from all of them, including the captain’s offer.

Unable to reach all his feathers, the slightly dingy blue dull further. He can fly just fine but Legend catches Time throwing concerned looks in his direction.

“Aren’t magpies supposed to be social?” Legend stands, hands on his hips, blocking Wild’s path of slinking away to his own corner to eat again.

“Not up for company,” comes the mumble. His wings hunch into his back, making him look even smaller.

Legend isn’t falling for it. “C’mon, even Warriors eats with us and he loves his own company a little too much.”

“I heard that!”

The veteran ignores Warriors jibe.

Wild just shakes his head and edges around him. “Another time.” Then he ducks past and scrambles up into a tree, bowl still balanced in one hand.

“Let him go,” Time calls. He doesn’t look happy about it.

Wild continues to avoid the group, avoid preening, and thrashes through the air like an ungainly chick. Sometimes he’ll slide in behind someone and his flight stabilizes. Then, almost like his attention slipped, he ducks up or down and resumes the constant flapping.

They fight monsters and switch eras. The faint hope on Wild’s face dies as they enter another unfamiliar realm. His wings are getting rattier every day. Time tries both gentle and commanding, but Wild climbs a tree faster than Time can follow. A cloud of dirty feathers falls in his wake.

Time stands and glares are the pine for a long time.

Hyrule, gentle, attentive Hyrule, is taking an interest in the newest hero. Legend can’t help the slight jealousy as attention shifts away from him. Hyrule is a pair bird and Legend is the other half of that pair. While he might like some more social interaction, he won’t give up his closest friend.

Mostly, Hyrule watches Wild and Legend watches Hyrule. Soon, Legend is watching the champion, too, just to see what’s so fascinating.

It’s how he notices what Hyrule already saw; Wild attempting to preen and plucking ruined feathers. The shake of his fingers gets worse each time.

The feathers, poorly cared for, are coming out too fast for a molt. It’ll start affecting his flying soon.

Time stages an intervention when it becomes clear Wild isn’t going to give in on his own. He sits the champion down and explains how they understand worries about trust and safety. There’s no shame in accepting a little help from time to time.

Wild’s glare only grows with each word. “Don’t touch my wings.” Then he stalks off.

The intervention is a failure. Time grits his teeth and snaps for Twilight to come spar with him. The fury of the mock fight takes even the hawk off guard.

Read the rest here!

[lottiecrabie]

Could u write smth for George pls<3

Could u write a George smut with size kink? I wanna climb that man so bad it’s not even funny

could you do a smutty george piece where he can’t wait till you get home so after the gif he fucks you in the alleyway next to the stage door :)

this was written in a franctic at 2am lol. finally some george smut<3

After a show leaving you hot and needy, George can't wait to fuck you. Literally cannot wait.

warnings: 18+, unprotected sex, size kink

1649 words

George has long, insatiable fingers. He flexes them around his drumsticks, extensions of himself he’s stopped thinking of. He dips his head to the beat. Something catches the light; you can’t see from your spot backstage, but you know it’s a series of rings decorating his hands. Your thighs clench. 

God, he’s fucking gorgeous. 

Sculpted, hard and sharp, cut to fit in the palms of your dirty hands. You watch him play, ignoring the twisting heat inside of you. The music is some ambient noise you barely register. You only hear the drilling drum, beating to the throbbing need between your legs. 

George catches your eyes, an indulgent second mid-song. You smile at him, coy, full of siren warning. A smirk breaks his face. Promises, promises. 

The concert goes well. George searches for you afterwards, picking you up in his arms, sweat sticking to your black dress. His limbs swallow you whole; strong things, hard and flexed around your waist, enough to choke you if he desired. You lick your lips as he drops you back to your booted feet. 

He towers over you. You have to tilt your chin just to stare at him, getting on your tippy toes to plant a kiss on his lips. 

At least, you would if he didn’t dodge your lips, smacking your cheek instead. 

“Don’t tease,” you try to warn, but it comes out more like a plea. 

“No?” He pouts at you. You fall back on your heels, scowling at his games. Instead of finding pity on you, he laughs, loud and open-throated. “How’d you like the show?” He asks warmly. 

“Hated it,” you answer bitterly. 

George grabs a handful of your ass, tapping it softly in warning. “Don’t brat.” 

“Don’t kiss, don’t brat, what can I do?” 

“Definitely not mouth me off,” George chuckles, but there’s some underlying threat. 

Of course, it doesn’t exactly have the desired effect: some twisting want spreads through your limbs. You clench your thighs, parting your lips in open desire. 

“You’re incorrigible,” he whispers, and he has to bend down near your ear. You shiver at the words; rough, gravelly tone in your hair. Indulgently, he grazes a kiss under your jaw. You can’t hold back a moan. 

You throw an arm over his neck, racking a hand through his short, blond hair, like that would be enough to keep him there. Like you could control him. 

“George, please,” you whimper, feeling yourself grow wetter by the second. He blows on your ear just to watch it reverb inside of you, scrunching your face to stop some embarrassing moan. 

George chuckles, stepping away from you. You groan, dissatisfied, looking up at him. “I hate you.” 

“No, you don’t.” 

“No, no. It’s official. I really hate you.” 

He rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “You’re so dramatic.” 

You gasp. “I am in pain.” Devil may care attitude, trying to prove your point, you take one of his large hands, drawing it under your dress to the pool of sopping need waiting for him. His breath hitches, and you stop yourself from smirking. “I need you,” you whine, just to bring it home. 

George isn’t the only one with games. 

“Fuck, love.” Languidly, he runs two callused fingers over your folds, playing with your growing pool of wetness. You bite your lips, throwing your head back, shaking from the resonating fire it creates inside of you. 

You’ll melt down on his hands. You just hope he can catch the wax of you. 

“You’re beautiful,” he breathes, already sounding affected. Good, you think, perhaps selfishly. See how it feels.

Coming back to the ball of your feet, you draw his head down with your tightening hold on his hair. You lick the sweat of his jaw; salty and sweet, just like him. “George. Fuck me.” 

He groans, shoulders shuddering. “Fuck it.” 

He always acts like you’re so needy and he’s so controlled. Yet, you always get him there with some breathy words. 

Grabbing your wrist, George drags you through the venue, trying to find some unlocked closet to throw you in and have his sinful way with you. You try to follow with his long legs, practically skipping behind him, glowing before the sex even happens. 

Of course, life would be cruel and send only closed doors your way. George sighs in frustration. “Let’s just fucking go home.” 

He takes the exit, frantically looking around for a cab. The street is empty, and there’s an alley tucked behind you. You sneak a hand over his shoulder, sticking against his toned back. “I’ll start without you.” You warn, more to tease on the time it’s taking than any real threat. 

He knows this, still grunting, “No, you won’t.” 

You hum, letting go of him just to hint a hand under your dress. George flips to you, grabbing your second wrist. His fingers surround them, rings pressing in your skin. You smile innocently.

“You can’t fucking stop yourself,” he says, low. 

Taunting, you quip, “I was just gonna scratch an itch.” 

Moving your two wrists into one hand, he slams you against the bricked wall of the alley. He uses his free hand to pick you up by the thigh, throwing you over hips up. You circle his waist with your legs, trapping him inside of them. 

Just the feel of his cock under his jeans, long and hard and practically begging for you, is enough to have you moaning. 

“Is this what you wanted?” 

It’s probably some taunt, but you answer truthfully, “Yes.” 

You want to touch him. His cutting jaw, his short hair, his muscled shoulders. You want the feel of him under your greedy palms, but he still holds your hands firmly against the bricks.

Bending down, he licks a filthy trail of spit on your breasts, biting on the skin. You can’t stop a cry, throwing your head against the wall. “George.” 

“I’ll destroy you.” And he would. Long and tall and strong, capable of breaking your ribs. You’d welcome it, head spinning at the memory of his long fingers spreading across the bones. 

“Lot of talking and not a lot of doing.” 

He huffs at your cheekiness, pressing your wrists tighter. It’ll leave some red marks you’ll have to hide behind long sleeves in fucking May. You’ll tug at them all day tomorrow, pulling them back when you’re by yourself just to stare at the blotches in the form of his rings. 

Finally, George has to let you go, using all his effort to work at his belt buckle. You shimmy the dress up your hips, moaning when you’re finally free to rock against his hardness. 

Hands out of jail, you grab his neck. “Kiss me.” Not a plea, a demand. 

He scoffs, pulling his black jeans down. “Like you’ve earned it.” You’re about to pout, but he finally frees his wonderful cock, and you’re more busy gazing than anything else. 

God, he’s magnificent. Long and thick, with a vein running on the underside, curving just enough to hit a wonderful spot inside of you. You practically salivate at the sight of him. 

Of course, he knows this, smirking softly as he pets your hair. “I won’t be gentle.” 

“I wouldn’t want you to be.” 

George enters you with one powerful thrust. He doesn’t bother building up to anything, just fucks into you with some brutal, feverish pace. You can’t do anything but hold onto his shoulder and mewl, purring in his ear as he lights burning pleasure in the deepest parts of you. 

“Shit, George.” 

He sloppily kisses your cheek, moving down to bite on your earlobe. Bliss pours of you. You scrunch your eyes, throbbing around him. 

“I love you like this.” 

You snort. “You’re such a man.” 

“You fit perfectly around me,” George continues, undeterred by your mocking. “Don’t you? I’m splitting you up. Like you open up just for my cock.” 

“Your fingers too,” you moan, rocking your hips to rub your clit against him. He takes the hint, dropping one hand to circle your needy bundle of nerves. There, too, he doesn’t bother with niceties, swiping furiously until you’re drooling. 

His hips snap against yours faster, carelessly chasing some high. Thank God the street is quiet, echoing the sound of your spineless whimpers. 

“Kiss me,” you say, because you hate coming without his mouth on yours. George smirks, knowing this, knowing you’d ask eventually. “Come on. Kiss me, please.” 

“Why should I?” 

“Because—“ You sigh in frustration. Uncontrollable pleasure builds inside of you, pressing on your belly. He thrusts with abandon, some hard pace hitting the most wonderful places. You’re close. You’re definitely close. 

Most importantly, you’re desperate. “Because I need you to. Because I can’t come without you kissing me. I was made for this. I was made for you. Please, please, George. Kiss me. Let me come.” 

He laughs, bending down to press a heated kiss on your lips. You part them instinctively, moaning in his mouth as he licks your tongue. 

You love him. You love him. 

With a final stroke, you fall apart on his cock, screaming as waves of pure euphoria hit you in a dizzying tsunami. Relief washes over you, uncoiling the tense muscles. Your head drops on his shoulder, smiling happily as he continues to snap into you. 

“My pretty girl.” You nod faintly. 

George is quick to follow behind you, thrusts growing erratic as he finally finds this stupid high he has been missioned on. He groans in your hair, spilling inside of you, shuddering. You kiss his jaw softly, smiling. 

When you finally trust your legs again, he puts you back down on the ground, tucking the underwear over your cunt to trap his leaking cum, carefully lowering the skirt of your dress again. 

He smiles cheekily, kissing you. “How’s your itch?” 

You hum, playful. “It’ll be better after another one.”

[nightttdreamers]

Night Shift | Craig x Kenny

AAA chapter two is heeeere its mostly silly fun before we actually start the fake dating part hehe pls enjoy (and check it out on ao3 for better formatting pls)

AO3 Link | 4k words | Chapter 2/?

Craig and Kenny strike a deal.

Craig has never been a morning person, but recently, it feels like every force in the world is trying to keep him in bed.

There’s the brief, near blissful moment when he’s just woken up. He can barely hear his alarm, the sleep not quite shaken off yet, unaware of what the day brings. Then, inevitably, his first thought washes over him; Tweek dumped you.

Just knowing that this is going to weigh on him all day is exhausting to think about. He doesn’t waste time wondering what he did wrong or how to best avoid the other anymore. The exhaustion comes from knowing that Tweek’s absence is just something he has to deal with now, every damn day.

Before, the habit of trying to beat his boyfriend to the first ‘good morning’ text motivated him to get up. But lately, he always spends a few minutes letting his alarm ring out, trying to delay his day for as long as possible. But, then his phone begins to buzz to life, and he knows he can’t ignore the real world any more.

On this particular morning, the urge to pull the covers over his head is particularly strong. Not only did he work late last night, but the fact that he looked like an idiot in front of Kenny is also hanging over his head. Craig groans, recalling their bizarre interaction.

“You wanna be my boyfriend?” He had asked.

Kenny looked bewildered, a mixture of surprise and concern on his face. But, before Craig could even go back on his question, Kenny replied, “Like, for money?”

Unable to bear the look on the other’s face, Craig turned away, pulling out a pack of Kenny’s usual cigarettes. “No, that would be stupid,” he stammered out. “I’m being stupid, fuck. Here, I can-” He took the magazine that Kenny had been holding and scanned it along with the Camels. Finally, he looked back up at the blonde. “Anything else?”

Kenny’s brows knit together as he looked at Craig. His lips were pursed together, shifting around his face like he was trying to talk without opening his mouth. “No,” he said after some pause, drawing out the word. “That’s it.” Kenny slid a few bills across the counter, not looking away from Craig as he took his items.

Craig thought that if tried to speak again, he would say something even worse than what he already had, so he simply nodded.

Kenny headed towards the door, shooting Craig an awkward glance back just before he left. “Take care of yourself, man.”

Craig rolled over onto his stomach, pressing his face deep into the pillow in an effort to stop his brain from playing the memory over and over again. When that didn’t work, he turned his head to the side, grabbing his phone from the nightstand and finally turning off his alarm.

He squints as the screen lights up, serving as the only light source in his room. There are two notifications from Clyde, one sent around 2AM linking a YouTube video called “BAD DAY Better Watch This 😂 1 Hour Best Funny & Fails” and another sent 20 minutes ago, asking “Tolkien had to make up a test please pLEASE can u drive me today PLEASE?????”

Craig gives the message a thumbs down and ignores the typing bubble that immediately appears (he’ll end up driving Clyde, of course, he just wants to fuck with him first). His next notification is a Snapchat message from “kmck69,” a username he doesn’t recognize until he opens the message.

kmck69: were u being serious b4

kmck69: it is a rlly stupid idea 

kmck69: but also im down if ur down

Craig reads the messages, then reads them again just to make sure he’s not hallucinating. As an added measure, he checks the user’s last story and, sure enough, it’s a selfie of Kenny holding a beer, Cartman lurking in the background, with the caption “5 screenshots and i piss in cartmans drink.”

Once Kenny had left last night, Craig had spent the last hour of his shift overthinking every detail of their interaction. He didn’t even know where his bizarre idea had come from, it had just slipped from his mouth before it was fully-formed. Hearing that Tweek was out hanging around with some goth kid infuriated him beyond words or logic. The only coherent thought Craig could form about it was that something had to change. He didn’t want to keep rotting in his bed, head swimming with thoughts about his ex. He just wanted to do something.

Asking Kenny to pretend to be his boyfriend was just the first idea that came to mind.

He hadn’t expected the other to even justify him with a response beyond their uncomfortable conversation. But, apparently, Kenny was mulling it over until nearly 4 in the morning when he texted, which is far more thought than Craig put into it.

It’s a stupid idea. He knows it is, they both know it is. But, it’s something.

spacemancraig: Yeah I’m down

He stares at his screen for a moment, quickly feeling the prickle of anxiety in his chest. It’s useless to sit and wait for a response, so he puts his phone down and pulls himself out of bed. The second he actually rises from his mattress, his phone buzzes to life, and Craig almost drops the device in how quickly he grabs it.

(Clyde) Literally I’m already ready I won’t hold you up I’ll even buy you starbucks or whatever gay shit you like

(Clyde) PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

(Clyde) I’m sorry for calling you gay and starbucks gay bro PLEASE don’t make me walk

He sighs, typing out a quick response before he puts the phone down for real.

(Craig) Fine

—-----

Kenny stumbles into Chemistry three minutes after the bell, handing their teacher a crumbled-up excuse note before shuffling to his seat. It’s not uncommon for him to be late, and normally Craig would pay it no mind. However, normally he’s not anxiously waiting for a Snapchat from the other. 

Craig can’t take his eyes off him, his notes trailing off as he drowns out the voice of their teacher. He’s not sure whether Kenny’s changed his mind and is brushing him off, or genuinely just oblivious of the holes Craig is staring into the back of his head. The blonde just rummages through his bag and pulls out a few sheets of paper, not even sparing Craig a glance back. 

Somehow, in every class he finds himself staring at the back of a blonde’s head. He wonders if he might be the problem.

At first, Kenny just chews on his eraser and passes notes to Kyle sitting beside him. But, after a few minutes of this, he turns and locks eyes with Craig. Before Craig can even try to communicate something quietly across the row separating them, Kenny turns away again, and Craig wants to throw his textbook at the other’s head. Before he can, though, he feels his phone buzz to life in his pocket.

kmck69: we have 2 talk abt it obv

kmck69: do u have work 2nite

Craig rolls his eyes as he reads the messages, unsure as to why Kenny needs to use the least amount of characters possible when he texts.

spacemancraig: No

kmck69: cool well i do

kmck69: im at the bijou from 4 to 12

kmck69: if u want free popcorn tho u can come after 10

kmck69: thats when concession closes so its kinda old but tbh still good

spacemancraig: Yeah I think I’ll pass on the stale popcorn

spacemancraig: But I’ll come by

kmck69: ur loss

kmck69: word tho

kmck69: also cute username lmao

Craig’s face scrunches up as he reads the text, glancing up to look at Kenny. The blonde looks back at him, flashing a smile, and Craig just flips him off in response.

kmck69: ooh rawr ur so scary and mean

kmck69: can u leave me alone im trying 2 learn >:(

He wants to retort that Kenny was the one who started it, but typing that feels incredibly childish. Instead, Craig rolls his eyes and tucks his phone away, looking back up at the lesson.

—------

There are a lot of points today when Craig’s wondered when his life took a wrong turn. Losing sleep over a conversation with someone he has never really given a shit about, feeling like shit the entire morning waiting on a message from the aforementioned someone, and now, he’s at South Park’s lamest and only movie theater at 10PM on a Thursday. 

Maybe it wasn’t just a wrong turn, maybe it’s an eighteen-year downward spiral and he’s just getting closer to rock bottom.

The Bijou is, of course, dead. Craig only goes when they randomly decide to screen something from the Criterion Collection. He and his friends used to hang around the place more often, but then Tolkien got a home theater and every movie started being available to stream, and they didn’t have to secretly spike their slushies in the Black household. Now, the only people that frequent The Bijou are the elderly and his 15 year old sister, for some reason.

He decided to wait until 10PM to go. Not because Kenny made the stale popcorn sound appetizing, but he figured the later he went, the less likely he was to run into someone he knew. He parks his car a few blocks down the street and walks to the theater, hands tucked in the pocket of his hoodie. The marquee has been defaced, as per usual, and just reads “PENIS” followed by the scrambled extra letters from whatever movie title it once said. How original.

The ticket booth is empty, and when he steps inside, the theater is just as deserted as he expected it to be. Craig isn’t exactly sure of his next move as he lingers by the entrance, looking around. Just walking into the theater without a ticket to look for Kenny feels wrong, but so does just standing around awkwardly. Before he can choose, though, someone speaks behind him.

“I’m sorry, sir. We’re not selling any more tickets to our last screening- Oh, Craig?” Chirps a voice from the concession stand. Craig turns, coming face-to-face with Butters. The other boy smiles at him, far too brightly considering the two of them are not friends. The most they’ve interacted in all of high school is the rare occasion that Craig visits the Bijou, in which he affords Butters a small head nod as a greeting if they meet eyes. 

“Hey, Butters,” Craig says. “Is Kenny around?”

Almost comically, Butters cocks his head to the side. “Kenny? I didn’t know you two were friends!”

An abrupt silence comes between them, and Craig just waits for Butters to tell him where his coworker is. However, the blue-eyed boy just looks at him with a quizzical expression on his face, and Craig realizes he’s waiting for a confirmation.

“Uh, sure,” Craig mumbles after a moment. “Friends. Friendly, I guess. So, where is he?”

Butters beams at his answer, starting to wipe the countertop he’s standing behind down as he responds. “That’s so nice. He needs friends who won’t get him into trouble, you know? And he was just talking about you the other day.”

“He was?” Craig asks, but before Butters can elaborate, the two are interrupted.

“Craig!” Shouts Kenny from across the theater. Clad in a button-down, black skinny jeans, a red vest and matching bow-tie, he looks starkly different than he did this morning. The almost formal outfit doesn’t look quite right on him, and Craig realizes he’s never seen Kenny in something that wasn’t two sizes too large. When the blonde arrives at the concession stand, he’s grinning, looking at Craig so excitedly that the dark-haired boy has to turn his face away.

“It’s me, don’t cream your jeans,” Craig says, earning a little snicker from Butters. 

“I’ll sure as hell try,” Kenny replies, not sounding nearly as sarcastic as Craig. “I was starting to think you were bailing. It’s late, man.” As he speaks, he lifts himself onto the concession counter and sits, dangling his legs.

Butters frowns, putting his hands on his hips (Craig didn’t know that people did that in real life, but it suits Butters’ cartoonish mannerisms). “Aw, Kenny. I was just wiping that down.”

Kenny rolls his eyes, swinging his legs around to the other side of the counter and hopping off. “Happy?” He asks his coworker, who lets out a little puff of air in response and returns to his cleaning. Kenny shoots Craig a funny look, and Craig feels like he’s missing something. “As you can see, Butters and I take a lot of pride in this establishment.”

“That sounds awfully insincere, Kenny,” Butters grumbles, mostly to himself. “I do take pride in this establishment.”

It’s pretty weird to watch Kenny and Butters interact like this. They’re both oddballs in their social circles, especially Butters, and he can’t help but feel a bit out-of-place talking to them, especially outside of school. Craig absent-mindedly slides his phone from his pocket, checking the screen, just out of habit.

“Got somewhere to be?” Kenny asks, and when Craig looks up, the other is staring right at him, of course. He’s holding one of the soft drink cups, filled to the brim with popcorn.

Craig tucks his phone away. “You were serious about the stale popcorn?”

“It’s just gonna get thrown out,” Kenny says, popping a few kernels in his mouth. “Did you want some?”

Craig narrows his eyes in suspicion, responding with an unsure hum. One time, in the 5th grade, he saw Kenny pick up an earthworm from the sidewalk and swallow it whole. He did it, of course, for five bucks from Clyde, but Craig still doesn’t trust his taste.

Kenny rolls his eyes, opening up the machine to fill another cup. “Don’t be a princess. It’s still good. Right, Butters?” Kenny asks as he slides past his coworker, crossing to Craig’s side of the counter. 

“Oh, I don’t like to eat the popcorn much,” Butters replies, attending to the machine once Kenny’s done with it. “I gotta smell it all day, then clean the machine, scrape all the burnt pieces. I used to think movie theater popcorn was one of the yummiest smells, but now it doesn’t really get my tummy rumbling.”

Talking to Butters is weird, Craig thinks. He’s not sure if he’s ever heard anyone else use the phrase ‘tummy rumbling’ in his life. He glances at Kenny, who seems entirely unphased by the other’s weird expressions. 

“Yeah, okay,” Kenny says with a small shrug. He hands one of the popcorn cups to Craig, who takes it reluctantly. “I don’t know why I asked him.”

“Not that this isn’t thrilling,” Craig says, turning fully to Kenny. Butters is pretty engaged with his cleaning, but Craig doesn’t need him hearing any part of this conversation, so he speaks low. “Can we talk now?”

Kenny lets out an amused puff of air. “Butters, I’m gonna go do theater checks” he says, not taking his eyes away from Craig. “Craig’s coming with me.”

“You better not just be sneakin’ him into the movie for free, Kenny,” Butters grumbles, but his coworker is already walking away, waving a hand dismissively. Craig spares Butters an awkward glance before following behind Kenny.

“You do that often?” Craig asks.

“What? Sneak people in?” Kenny replies. He shoots a look back at Butters, making sure he isn’t listening before he continues. “Not all the time. I’m not really into losing this job.”

Right, Craig thinks, Kenny actually needs this job. The thought makes him a bit uncomfortable, that Kenny has to put in the hours at a shitty movie theater to pay for things he actually needs. Meanwhile, Craig works so he can get out of the house and have some spending money.

Kenny glances behind them, then slides a vape out of his pocket and hits it. He turns his head to the side, courteous enough not to blow smoke right at Craig, though not enough to pick a less obnoxious flavor.

“Sorry,” Kenny says, noticing how Craig wrinkles his nose at the scent. “Butters doesn’t like it either, probably because it’d get us in trouble.”

“So you don’t care enough about this job to not vape?” Craig asks.

This time, Kenny blows the cloud right in his face. “Be nice to me, Tucker. I let your sister sneak in here all the time.”

Craig pauses, taking a second to process what Kenny just said. “You what?”

Kenny stops too, poking his head into the closest screening room as he speaks. “Yeah, she comes by a lot. Here, this one’s empty,” he steps into the theater, holding the door open so Craig can follow. It’s a bit odd-looking inside. It’s not often he sees empty theaters with the lights on, especially not clean ones. Kenny takes a seat in a nearby row, throwing his legs over the chairs as he munches on his popcorn. “Don’t worry, no one’s gonna hear us. I cleaned this one an hour ago, and I’ve only had to kick out people who stayed after a movie like, three times, so we’re good.”

Craig takes a seat a few spots away from Kenny, giving the other room to sprawl out. “Why did they stay?”

“Sometimes they just fall asleep. One time there was a couple fucking, though. That was pretty sweet. In that row over there,” Kenny points behind him, a smirk on his face.

Craig blinks and wonders what ever happened to the Kenny he went to elementary school with, the one who rarely spoke except for the occasional dirty joke. Focus, Craig.

“Uh, so about last night,” Craig begins, straightening up a bit in his seat. Kenny mirrors him, showing that he’s listening. “I was just talking without thinking. It is a really fucking dumb idea.”

“But you showed up to talk about it,” Kenny notes.

Craig sighs. “Yeah, I did. Because I’m really fucking dumb. And I’m sick of the sympathy from my dumb friends. And you said you’d be down.” Kenny just looks at him, and Craig finds himself talking just to avoid the awkward silence. “If you’re not anymore though, that’s fine. There’s no pressure or anything.”

“I’m still down,” Kenny says with a small nod. “As long as I’m paid for my time. God, I sound like a hooker.”

“You’re not a hooker,” Craig adds a bit too quickly. “We don’t need to actually do anything, I don’t think.”

“So what do I have to do?”

Craig doesn’t answer for a moment. Apparently, this tells Kenny all he needs to know.

“Oh, so you really didn’t think this through, huh?” Kenny makes an odd clicking sound with his tongue, shaking his head. Craig thinks he’s trying to be funny, but it’s not helping how embarrassing the conversation feels. “Okay, Craig. If you want Tweak to take you back, what do you think would really get him all pissed off and hot and jealous?”

“Hang on-” Craig sits up a bit, raising a hand as Kenny speaks. “I’m not trying to get him back.”

“You’re not?”

Craig opened his mouth, but words couldn’t quite seem to come out. Was he trying to get Tweek back? There were plenty of couples in South Park that broke up only to come back together. In fact, he’d stop getting hopeful when Bebe and Clyde would split, as it was inevitable they’d be sucking face again within a week. But, he’d never thought about that possibility for him and Tweek. They didn’t break up because of a fight or mistake or something stupid. Honestly, Craig still couldn’t quite pin why they had broken up. All he knew is that Tweek didn’t want to be with him anymore. The thought of trying to get his ex to change his mind and take him back hadn’t even occurred to him, and right now, it just sounded pathetic.

“Jeez, I didn’t know that would be such a tough question,” Kenny muses, bringing Craig out of his thoughts. “It’s fine if you want him back, man. I don’t judge.”

“I don’t” Craig says, maybe a bit too assertively as it makes Kenny lean a bit further away from him. “He doesn’t want to be together, whatever. I’m not gonna try to trick him into getting back with me. I just want people to know I’m cool about it.”

Kenny makes a little high-pitched hum, his face scrunching up. He takes another hit of his vape, looking thoughtful as he does so (as thoughtful as someone hitting a neon green cylinder can). “Okay,” he says, blowing out smoke. “We’ll make everyone think we fucked.”

“What the fuck- Kenny,” Craig stammers out, shaking his head as he speaks. “How would we even, who would fall for that? What’s that even gonna do?”

Kenny leans forward again, resting his arms on the arm of the chair and once again being too close to Craig’s personal space. “No, Craig, listen. This is one of my better ideas. If you immediately start dating some dude, everyone’s gonna think it’s a rebound and people know I’m not really the dating type. It’ll be weird, someone’s gonna see through it because I’m not not gonna hook up with someone else. But- if people think we just fucked, they’ll be like, ‘Wow Craig moved on and he doesn’t give a fuck and he’s so cool,’ which is your goal, right?”

Craig stares at Kenny, wide eyed, and Kenny stares right back. It’s impossible to focus on what the blonde is saying with that eager look in his eyes, like some kind of dog waiting for a treat. However, when Craig actually does start to process the idea, he realizes Kenny’s making some good points. Kenny raises his brows, still waiting for a reply. Craig lets out a sigh, looking up at the theater ceiling. “Fuck. That’s- Yeah, that’s a good plan.”

“I know!” Kenny starts drumming his fingers along the side of the seat, and Craig can tell he’s beaming without even looking at him. “I want sixty-five.”

Now, Craig looks back down at Kenny, who is making a face like that wasn’t a ridiculous thing to say. “Bucks? You want sixty-five dollars?”

“Cash,” Kenny adds. The two just stare at each other for a moment because every time Craig looks at Kenny, apparently Kenny’s already looking at him. 

“I’ll give you forty,” Craig offers, hoping his tone sounds firm enough to stop any further negotiation.”

“Deal,” Kenny finally leans back in his seat and Craig feels like he can actually breathe again. If they’re gonna do this, he needs to talk with Kenny about personal space. And maybe that god awful vape flavor too. Shit, they’re actually doing it. 

Craig nods before his brain fully catches up, like he’s convincing himself this is real life. “Okay, yeah. Deal. Wow.”

Kenny glances over at him. “You good? You can’t back out now. We said deal.”

Craig is still nodding, rubbing his palms on his thighs. “We’re good. I just didn’t really think you’d say yes. I don’t, uh, have much of a plan.”

Kenny puts his hand on Craig’s shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, dude. ‘Cause I already have a plan.”

“My head’s not-” he starts, then lets out a breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What’s the plan?”

Kenny stands, looking back down at Craig with a grin. “If there’s one thing I know, it’s how to get people talking about my sex life. And lucky for you, I have just the party to get this rumor started.” Kenny rubs his hand on a chair, then sticks it out for Craig. “You trust me, dude?”

Looking up at the blonde, the sheer dumb confidence on his face, his stupid uniform bowtie, there’s no way Craig should feel at ease. But, he has forty bucks and his reputation on the line, and Kenny might just be the best shot he has at escaping his current hellhole situation. Craig stands, gripping Kenny’s hand.

“Fuck it,” he says. “I trust you, let’s do this.”