skyesdaisys

[skyesdaisys]

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ Nate Archibald fluff headcanons ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

warnings: established relationship, fluff !

a/n: switching characters yet again, Nate is sooo golden retriever

Boyfriend!Nate Archibald who goes to you for comfort. He walks into your room and throws himself on the bed, immediately wrapping his arms around your waist. You don't have to ask what's wrong, he'll tell you eventually. He just needs some alone time with you (in silence) first.

Boyfriend!Nate Archibald who buys you insane amounts of gifts. He doesn't understand why you say you can't accept the Bvlgari watches and Tiffany's earrings, even though you've explained to him thousands of times that those are expensive.

Boyfriend!Nate Archibald who loves physical touch. He loves when you play with his hair, loves wrapping his arms around you, loves spending hours in bed as long as your bodies are in close proximity. He's definitely the type to whine jokingly when you move away because it's too hot during the summer.

Boyfriend!Nate Archibald who takes you out to dinner with his friends at least once a month. He loves showing you off, not only to them, but to the journalists standing in front of the restaurant. He loves holding your hand or your waist as you walk in under the pretense that "you need help walking in those heels".

Boyfriend!Nate Archibald who makes time for you no matter what he has going on. He picks you up from the office to go to lunch, tells the receptionist to open the door for you anytime, and even visits you while you're working.

Boyfriend!Nate Archibald who never lets you do anything by yourself. Not in a controlling way, just in a "I know you can, but let me." way. He puts on your heels, zips up your dresses and takes off your coat for you. He even carries you down the street if he suspects your feet are hurting (he complains jokingly for the whole duration of the walk, but when you ask him to put you down he wraps his arms around you even tighter).

Boyfriend!Nate Archibald who will makes sure you're never cold. He even brings an extra sweater sometimes, when you refuse to bring a jacket. He smiles as he wraps it around your shoulders, and kisses the top of your head before saying "I told you so."

Boyfriend!Nate Archibald who sends you thousands of texts every time you're away from him. He makes sure you're okay, that you're having fun (not too much though, since he's not there), that you know how much he loves you, and that you love him back. You threatened to block him once, so he threatened to buy you a million new cell phones to text you on.

Boyfriend!Nate Archibald who learns to cook for you. He wrote down your favorite restaurants and foods when you first started dating, and for a while hired private chefs to try and recreate the dishes. However, he later decided it would be more romantic if he cooked for you himself, so he started to learn. The start was quite rocky, but you now prefer him over any Manhattan chef.

Boyfriend!Nate Archibald who loves taking you on vacations and city breaks. As mentioned previously, he loves alone time with you, and since money isn't an issue he will take any chance he gets to steal you away for a few days (or weeks).

[skyesdaisys]

Yearning

Nate Archibald x reader

MASTERLIST

Nate Archibald had always felt trapped. The plans, the pressure, the obligations. Things were laid out and they were final. That he hated, but then you were always there with goals and notepads, curled hair with headbands and the vanilla perfume that made him presume you ate pancakes all until he was thirteen and saw you spray it at your locker, and he loved you.. never felt trapped anywhere near you.

Now you were seventeen and still his same old sweet best friend who ran in completely different circles and poked your tongue out across the room during Sunday brunch.

You were not so simply, confused. Distracting yourself with your studies, shopping and volunteering. Yet the feeling always hovered like a grey cloud. Starting to rain when you realised you were smiling at his texts and staring at the trinkets on your bedside table that he gave you as presents from all around the world. He was thoughtful and kind, a lot of his girlfriends must have thought that too, because he had a lot of those.

You had known him since you were tots, and maybe you always had these feelings but they were never this…. Desperate previously.

You kissed.. a few times. Stupid giggly kisses that meant everything and were dismissed like nothing.

The first one when you were 14 and your friends had all been kissed behind fences and in childhood bedrooms. You couldn’t tell if it was Nate’s first time too but his laugh afterwards was a mix of relief and nervousness. It was on the top of the ballroom stairs of Blair’s big fifteenth birthday party. Wearing a pretty baby blue dress and all you could remember him wearing was your lip gloss afterwards. Pinky promising this doesn’t change anything before holding hands back downstairs. A kiss with uncertain sucking and squinted close eyes.

The second was later when you were 16. Dropping you home after a ball where he was your prideful date, kissing you slowly on the porch of your townhouse while he held both of your hands. A small sigh leaving your lips as your heels dropped back onto the pavement. A seal of his lips as he stared down at you, another kiss would mess things up.

Countless new years kisses except for the years he had a thing. Although kisses weren’t the only signs of intimacy. Nate would help you study which made you see him in a googly eye perspective, he’d walk you to class and hold your excess books, compliment your friends and maintain a close relationship with your parents. And you loved him all the ways, smiling widely from the stage while performing instrumental choir during assembly and only ever him, baking him treats during the weekend and always bringing a box full for him and his parents on Monday morning, sleeping in his bed at least twice a week and trying to beat him on Saturday morning runs around Central Park.

- fee xxx

[skyesdaisys]

𝑻𝑹𝑨𝑪𝑲 𝑺𝑰𝑿 💿 — 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍

nate archibald x fem!reader | fluff | (insecure!reader, pining!nate, cringe cliches at the end but idc!!!!)

masterlist.

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

Nate Archibald likes routine. He likes to know what he’s doing at what time and with whom. He’s also not a fan of change, it stresses him out to no end; which is why every morning he gets a coffee at the same spot. Ever since he was 16 he’s been going to the Brew & Bloom. It was on his way to school, and it’s now on his way to work.

There was never anything special about it, it was just like any other coffee shop that you’d find on the corner of the street, but it was his routine. It was a random Tuesday, he didn’t have to be at work until later on so he decided to stop by at nine o’clock. Nate stepped in, the little bell above the door jingled. He took a seat, shrugging off his jacket.

“What can I get you?” He looked up at the unfamiliar voice, and there you stood. You had on a little black skirt and a tight white shirt with knee-high boots on — his mouth was watering.

“Uh, just a coffee. Black,” he responded, giving you a charming smile.

You didn’t return the smile, just turned around and walked away from him. He watched the way your hips swayed, your co-workers didn’t even spare you a glance as you joined them behind the counter to prepare his coffee.

He hadn’t ever seen you before. He’d remember if he had. You were the most beautiful girl he’d ever laid eyes on, you were also the most interesting. The girls Nate knew always had something to them, Serena with her daddy issues and Blair with her insecurities, but they were easy to read. You were the opposite.

“Coffee. Black.” There was a mocking tone to your voice, he looked up. A smirk played on your lips as you placed the coffee in front of him. “Four dollar thirty.”

“It’s normally three,” he replied, raising a brow at you.

“Well, I’m broke,” you shrugged. He couldn’t help the surprised laugh, were you really admitting to over charging? He pulled out a twenty and passed it over.

“Can’t have that, can we?” He murmured, grinning at you. On any other girl that would work, he’d just paid you sixteen dollars seventy pence extra and he was giving you the smile.

“Charming,” you muttered, pocketing the cash before turning on your heel to leave.

“Wait!” Nate exclaimed. You turned your head to face him, brow raised. “Can I get your number?”

You smiled at him, his heart race picked up, his palms grew sweaty, he thought he’d won. “No.”

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

Nate never had trouble picking up girls, he was a heartthrob to most. After breaking up with Blair a few years ago, he’d dated plenty, the ladies liked him and he liked being able to get anyone he wanted. You were different, maybe that was why he couldn’t stop thinking about you. Everyday, he came into the coffee shop, ordered his coffee and asked you for your number. Everyday you said no.

“Just find another woman, Nathaniel. There’s no point in dwelling,” Chuck lectured as the pair of them walked down the snowy streets.

He laughed, shaking his head at his best friend’s attitude. “You don’t understand, you haven’t met her.”

“Of course I have. You think I wouldn’t go and visit the girl that’s got your panties in a twist?” Chuck responded, making Nate look at him in shock. “Relax. I didn’t do anything. I just asked her what she thought of you.”

“Oh my god,” Nate groaned, covering his face with his hands. “We’re not in fifth grade, Chuck.”

“Don’t you want to know what she said?” Chuck asked, a smirk on his face.

A moment of silence went by. “What did she say?”

“That’s what I thought. She’s a hard nut to crack, but in the end I go it out of her. She thinks you’re pretentious and snobby and you’re just trying to ask her out because you want the unattainable,” Chuck stated.

Nate blinked in surprise, he hadn’t been expecting that. “She— but that’s not true!”

“Is it me you should be telling that to?”

It took twenty minutes for Nate to be walking into the Brew and Bloom, eyes landing on you as you wiped down the tables. You were closed, but you hadn’t locked the door yet. “You think I’m asking you out because you’re unattainable?”

“Yes.” You didn’t even flinch, working on cleaning up to get home rather than paying attention to him.

“That’s not true, or fair. You don’t even know me,” Nate argued. He felt genuinely hurt, no one had ever thought of him in such a way and the fact it was you hurt more.

“You don’t know me either,” you pointed out. “Yet you come in here everyday and ask me for my number. After ten minutes with me, you’d be running for the hills.”

“Why don’t you let me decide that?” Nate suggested, leaning against the door with his arms crossed.

“What?” You sighed, finally looking over at him.

“Let me take you out, please. Let me decide if I want to run for the hills,” Nate pleaded, taking a step towards you.

“I don’t have much free time,” you muttered.

“What’re you doing now?” He asked, tilting his head at you.

“I have to go pick my little brother up and then make him dinner, I won’t be free ‘till my mom gets back from work,” you explained, holding your head up high as if to say; ‘judge me, I dare you’.

“C’mon, then,” he beamed, holding his arm out for you.

“What?” You actually laughed, and that just made his smile grow further. He carried on moving towards you, stopping only a few inches away.

“You say ten minutes spending time with you? Why don’t you up the stakes? Let me see your life,” he shrugged, smiling.

You shocked even yourself as you spoke. “Okay.”

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

He didn’t run for the hills, not even close. After your first hangout, Nate started following you around like a puppy dog. That wasn’t a shock to him, or Chuck — who had spent the last couple months hearing about you constantly — what was a shock was that you were doing the exact same.

You weren’t as open with it, you didn’t send him good morning and good night texts, you didn’t show up at his work with lunch and you definitely weren’t buying him gifts like he was for you. But you showed fondness in your own way, you let him meet your mom, you let yourself relax around him, you found yourself thinking about him at all times.

“So, got any plans for tomorrow?” If someone had told you a couple months ago you’d be spending Christmas Eve with Nate Archibald, sat drinking hot chocolate by the river freezing your ass off, you would have laughed in their face. But that was exactly what you were doing.

“Never do much at Christmas,” you shrugged, taking a sip from your drink.

“Neither,” he murmured. You looked up at him and a chuckle left his lips. “You’ve got a bit of cream ‘round your lips.”

“Oh, shit,” you grumbled, wiping your top lip with your thumb. “Gone?”

“Not quite,” he smirked. “C’mere.” He licked his thumb and held your face, wiping away the cream and chocolate that had gotten itself around your mouth. You just stared at him, your entire body freezing up. “Got it.”

“Uh, thanks,” you murmured. His hand didn’t move from the side of your face, eyes looking into yours.

“You’re an angel,” he whispered. Your heart beat quickly in your chest, a self deprecating laugh leaving your mouth.

“Shut up.” You rolled your eyes, looking to the side to avoid the intense eye contact.

“You are,” he argued. “Can I kiss you, please?”

“You want to kiss me?” You asked uncertainly. Deep down you knew he did, why else would he be all over you all the time? But that little voice in your head kept telling you you were wrong, there’s no way that Nate Archibald could like a girl like you.

“More than anythin’,” he whispered. He leant in and his lips brushed yours, a sharp exhale came from you. “Relax. I’ve got you.”

He kissed you like he meant it, you’d never been kissed like that before. Every other kiss, hookup, even boyfriend that you’d had didn’t feel like this. It had always felt fake, forced, but with Nate it wasn’t like that. You melted into his arms and he smiled against your lips, arms wrapping around your waist to pull you closer.

“Believe me?” He asked softly.

“Not sure,” you croaked out, eyes closed.

“That’s okay. You will, I can wait.”

[skyesdaisys]

hello!! I noticed u had ur requests open! would u mind writing about hcs where simon kalivoda would be the readers boyfriend? a tad little detail, I feel like simon would be super duper affectionate with his partner (holding pinkies a lot, talking to them during his work shift, flirty in public, etc) so if u mentioned that Id love it!! thank u c: <3

okay, so... I am terribly sorry that this took so long to make. writers block kinda sucks and i'm trying to start writing again, so here you go. sorry if it sucks. it's been a while since I've seen fear street (to at least its entirety)

simon is DEFINITELY affectionate, I agree. like he's just a cute and giant cuddly teddy bear whose incredibly touch starved. so yeah, I definitely agree with the holding pinkies plus I live the idea of him surprising you by hugging you from behind and kissing your cheek

when visiting him at the grocery store. makeout sessions are bound to happen during his breaks (some of the time, they escalate into quickies)

since he is basically the jokester of the group, he does pull you in on some fun and harmless pranks which you say yes to (because who could say no to him)

him being flirty is just an Expectation. like he was already flirty with you before you started dating. so when you finally do, it gets twice as bad (but in a good way)

double dates with sam and deena are Mandatory for him (this obviously prior to the sameena breakup)

kate playfully teases about how you guys are together

^and deena will be disgusted post-sam breakup. oh deena, my poor sad and angry band lesbian </3

he IS the little spoon when you guys cuddle, idc what anyone says

sometimes you guys share each other's clothes. + if yall are fem, it still applies because simon says fuck toxic masculinity

^same applies with you putting nail polish on him as well because I do distinctly remember him wearing nail polish in the first movie

you guys jokingly tease josh about his crush on kate together

and also bash cops (particularly nick) together as well

basically, you guys are attached to the hip almost 24/7

and maybe you guys were destined to be together (and die together) if your 1666 counterpart was with isaac 👀

[skyesdaisys]

Boyfriend headcanons ❥ Nate Archibald x Reader

warning: MDTI 18+ smut is implied, not proofread

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Boyfriend!Nate he often guides you with his hand on the small part of your back or just holds your hand, which ever he is feeling like.

Boyfriend!Nate loves to spoil you rotten, always buying stuff you mention to him like books, clothes, makeup, food, jewelry, etc.

Boyfriend!Nate loves it whenever you play with his hair, it relaxes him after a long day. Even more when he is eating you out, he’s a groaning mess when you thug on his hair. 

Boyfriend!Nate loves seeing you wear his shirts in the morning after a productive night, especially his dress shirts. It drives him crazy.

Boyfriend!Nate loves seeing you cook dinner, while embracing you from behind. it just makes him imagine how you would look whenever you two start a family. He definitely has a breeding kink.

Boyfriend!Nate that follows the sidewalk rule.

Boyfriend!Nate that carries your heels whenever your feet get sore from walking to your shared apartment after a date night.

Boyfriend!Nate loves to braid your hair, even though he sucks at it, practice makes perfect.

Boyfriend!Nate loves to hear you talk about your day. He just loves your voice in general. Especially your sweet heavenly moans.

Boyfriend!Nate loves kissing you in the rain. He would drag you outside in order to kiss you.

Boyfriend!Nate he loves watching romcoms with you. He might make snarky remarks but it’s all in good fun.

Boyfriend!Nate loves getting you flowers, he gets them every week.

Boyfriend!Nate loves sitting on a park bench while sharing a box of chocolate covered strawberries while enjoying each others company.

Boyfriend!Nate loves leaving you love notes in the bathroom mirror, to remind you everyday he loves you.

Boyfriend!Nate wraps his arm around your waist and whispers sweet nothing into your ear. About what he is doing to do to you later in bed.

Boyfriend!Nate loves it whenever you fix his tie for him after a make out session.

Boyfriend!Nate loves calling you pet names like love, sweetheart, my girl, my angel, doll and princess. Good girl

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

[skyesdaisys]

❝ 𝑫𝒊𝒅 𝑰𝒕 𝑯𝒖𝒓𝒕 .ᐣ ❞

── tate langdon x virgin!fem! reader

TAGS: sexual content, mdni・virgin!fem!reader・loss of virginity・ unprotected sex・ vāginal fingering・ english is not my first language・not proofread ・2.2k words

note: this is highly requested so here goes… please excuse the poor writing, thank you.

“No need to be so nervous, I’ll take care of you. Promise.” Tate gave you that cocky, boyish smirk before nuzzling his nose against yours. He was kissing you again before you could think of a sassy comeback, rolling you to lay on your back. You succumbed to the warm, throbbing sensation in your lower gut that had ignited the second his hands tugged at the hem of your skirt. Long, agile fingers traced the planes of your abdomen and delicate hipbones as you were exposed, the garment discarded to the floor. You tilted your head back against the pillow when he moved his attention to your collarbone, a soft gasp escaping your lips as he started kissing and sucking at your pulse point.

His palm was warm when it made contact with the underside of your breast, gently squeezing. You jumped a little at the sudden contact and Tate withdrew his hand as if he was scalded, eyes darting up to look at your face.

“…You okay?”

You nodded, biting down on your lower lip, feeling your face heat up. Your chest felt tight, excitement and nervousness swirling together.

“Yeah, ‘m okay,”

“You sure?”

His gaze softened as he reached up to gently press his thumb against your lip, pulling it free from your teeth.

“Don’t do that,” he murmured, his voice low but gentle, his eyes never leaving yours.

“You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

You swallowed hard, your nerves still bubbling up, but there was something about the way he was looking at you—like he wasn’t in any rush, like he wanted to make sure you were comfortable before anything else.

“I just wasn’t expecting it,” you admitted, fingers fidgeting slightly in your lap.

He gave you a soft, understanding nod, his thumb still lightly brushing your bottom lip.

“Alright, tell me if I do something that… doesn’t feel right, m’kay? We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

The sincerity in his voice made your heart swell. It wasn’t that you didn’t want this—you did. But the nervous energy still buzzed beneath your skin, and he was perceptive enough to notice it without you having to say anything. His hand found yours, lacing your fingers together.

“Okay.”

Your eyelids fluttered closed as Tate’s lips returned to the hollow of your clavicle, his breath warm and soft against your skin. You could feel his soft blonde curls brushing against your cheek, the sensation comforting and electric at the same time. Each tentative kiss he placed there sent a ripple of desire through your loins like molten honey, the nerves from before slowly melting into something warmer, softer.

His hand returned to cup your breast, but this time the touch was lighter, his fingers barely ghosting over your skin as if silently asking for permission. You swallowed as Tate gently rolled your stiff nipples between his thumb and forefinger, giving enough stimulation without hurting you. Pleasant warmth tingled down your spine, and a soft sigh escaped you.

This felt nice.

Tate pulled back just enough to look at you, his lips curving into a soft smile when he saw that you were more at ease.

“Does it feel good?” he murmured earnestly, the words barely filling the space between you. You nodded, cheeks still flushed but for a different reason now. There was no denying it now, your panties were embarrassingly damp.

“Good,”

His lips pressed against the underside of your jaw, when his tongue traced a slow, deliberate path along your jugular, your pulse fluttered wildly beneath his touch. Tate carried on with his administrations for a while, massaging your breast with his palm and occasionally running his thumb across your nipple. The sensations that he evoked was almost overwhelming, and without thinking, your hand reached out, grabbing a fistful of the bedsheets to steady yourself. Warm breath ghosting over the skin of your other breast, he moved closer to his destination, leaving goosebumps and hickeys in their wake.

You gasped when his lips brushed against your nipple, hot tongue circling the areola and causing your abdominal muscles to tighten. Warmth spread through your body like a wildfire, and you found yourself arching your back and grinding against his palm for more friction. His hand slid down to curl around your waist, gently tugging at the waistband of your panties. You lifted your hips slightly, allowing him to remove the last article of clothing.

With a shuddering intake of breath, you fought the urge to cover up your body. This isn’t just anyone. This was Tate, and he loved you as much as you loved him. You trusted him, and he had promised to take good care of you.

You raised a hand to the nape of his neck, fingers threading through his soft, golden curls as his chin rested on your shoulder. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against yours, grounding you in the moment.

“Can I– can I touch you?”

Tate pulled back slightly, just enough for his eyes to meet yours, those dark brown eyes shining with earnest concern. Brows furrowed as he searched your face, trying to read you.

“Yes,”

A soft whimper escaped your lips, your fingers tightening in his hair as he traced his fingers along the inside of your thigh before tugging at your knees, having you plant the bottom of your feet on the mattress, on either side of his hips. By the time his fingertips explored the junction of your thighs, liquid desire was dripping down from the centre of your chest, pooling in your abdomen and spreading down to your loins.

“Fuck… you’re so wet,”

He muttered lowly when he spread open your folds with your fingers. Instinctively, you clenched your thighs around his waist as he gathered your slickness, circling around your aching core before slowly pushing a finger into you. A strangled gasp escaped you when he curled his finger, the sensitive bundle of nerves set alight by his touch. Panting and whimpering, you clawed at his shoulder when you felt Tate insert another finger, the pad of his thumb stroking you in a soothing rhythm as he steadily pumped his fingers in and out of you.

It wasn’t long before you felt your entire body tense up, the pressure he had been coaxing from you having finally reached its crest. The tight coil in your lower belly snapped — segueing into white hot bursts of pleasure that was blinding in its own intensity. Walls still fluttering around his fingers, you trembled with the force of your orgasm, a kittenish mewl bubbling deep from your throat.

And suddenly Tate was gone. Your eyes snapped open blearily to protest, but the whimper died down when you saw your boyfriend hunched over in concentration, fingers working frantically; the noticeable bulge of his arousal straining through the denim as he yanked down his jeans and boxers, his erection springing free and touching his belly. He grasped his cock in his hand, giving it a few harsh pumps. The entire time his gaze was locked on you, revelling in the way you stared at him. You have never seen a real penis before.

He returned to his position onto the mattress and between your legs. Upon feeling his hardness pressing against your hip, your body tensed in anticipation and your breathing quickened almost instantly as Tate guided his cock towards your entrance.

How was that even supposed to fit?

“Are you ready? I mean it’s okay if–”

His gaze flickered down to your warm, weeping hole, waiting and ready just for him. He groaned, pressing his forehead against yours and closing his eyes, trying to stop himself from shoving himself inside you right then and there.

“Y-yess. Oh please, yes.”

Smiling at your eager answer, he shifted a bit, angling himself as he pushed the tip into you, and you winced at the sudden intrusion. There was no excruciating pain like you’d imagined — just a burning sensation from stretching unconditioned muscles. Sensing your reaction, Tate paused, breathing heavily.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Taking a deep breath, you wrapped your legs around his waist and relaxed your muscles, allowing your body to sink back onto the sheets. Tate resumed his movements, carefully sliding deeper inside you. Each delicious, agonising inch stretched you in a way that could only be described as glorious, you could feel every ridge and vein that mapped the surface of his length rub against your walls. Taking your fingers through his hair, you felt him shudder, his cock throbbing and hardening inside you which caused the embers of warmth in your gut to reignite.

“Oh my… mghm please, T-Tate..”

You whimpered into his ear, who prompted a low moan from him. An arm wrapped securely around your waist as his hips withdrew before pressing back inside; you spread your legs wider for him and he groaned. The pace he’d established was slow, but steady. Heat washed over you in waves every time he moved, trailing hot kisses along your neck. Every slow pass of his tongue against your skin made your chest tighten with a mixture of nerves and excitement — he moved with a perfect balance of sweetness and intent, never too much, but just enough to leave you breathless and aching for more.

You mewled softly as his hips jerked a bit harder, the movement sending a ripple of sensation through your body. Tate leaned down, capturing your lips in his. His hand cradled your jaw, thumb brushing gently along your cheek as he guided you into the kiss. The other hand found yours, fingers lacing together in a firm but gentle hold, anchoring you. Arching your back, you tilted your hips to meet his thrusts and was immediately rewarded when he brushed against a specific spot inside you that made you cry into his mouth. Tearing away, you panted out his name, your sweaty foreheads pressed against each other.

“P-please,” you begged, the ability to string together a coherent sentence lost.

“…Please Tate,”

“Yeah?” He nuzzled the tip of his nose against yours. “What do you need baby?”

“Need you to… to…”

He withdrew the arm that was holding your waist and shifted his weight on his elbows before sliding the hand between you, pressing the pad of his thumb gently against your clit.

“Like this?”

A stretched whine escaped from your lips into the space between you, and you dug the heels of your feet into his backside, anchoring him to bury himself deeper into you, helping him breach that magical spot once more. Fingernails scrabbling frantically across his shoulders, down to his chest.

Tate grunted, face scrunching up in pleasure and restraint. His hips stuttered, his thrusts growing increasingly sloppier but the rhythm of his thumb remained steadfast — you felt him twitch within the confines of your plushy walls, and with a muffled whimper against your shoulder, he spilled into you, warmth spreading through your womb like a wildfire. Your thighs quivered and your eyes screwed shut, fingers digging crescent indents into his skin as white-hot pleasure consumed over you once again, your cunt convulsing around him.

After you’ve came down from your high, which was a sticky, sweaty but satisfying mess, you untangled your legs from his waist to rest on the mattress, fingers tangling into his hair. Tate raised his head to press a kiss to your forehead.

“You alright?”

Basking in the afterglow of your orgasm, you simply hummed in affirmation, nosing at his cheek with a tired smile. He pulled out carefully before collapsing beside to, reaching over to lazily tug you into his arms. You snuggled against his chest, the sore ache between your legs only registering when you moved.

Tate’s breath was warm against your shoulder as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his voice a soft murmur, laced with concern.

“Did it hurt?” his tone hesitant, almost fragile. “I’ve heard that the first time usually does.”

You could feel his heartbeat, fast and anxious, the tenderness in his voice making your own chest tighten. His fingers brushed softly along your arm, as though he was trying to soothe you without knowing whether you needed it. You gently exhaled, your hand still resting at the nape of his neck, fingers playing with the curls that had fallen there.

“No,” you whispered, your voice steady but soft. “It didn’t hurt. It was just… intense, but not in a bad way. Not the hurting kind.”

Tate lifted his head, brown eyes meeting yours, relief visibly softening the furrow of his brow. He searched your face, still wanting to make sure, still holding onto a hint of concern. His thumb grazed your cheek, and his gaze softened even more, his lips parting slightly as he seemed to drink in your every word.

“You sure? I didn’t want to—”

You shook your head gently, cutting him off with a reassuring smile.

“I’m sure, Tate. It was perfect… you were perfect.”

He exhaled deeply, as if he’d been holding his breath, and his whole body seemed to relax. He pressed his forehead to yours, his fingers lacing with yours once again, holding on as if to remind you that he was still there, still gentle, still yours.

“Okay,” he whispered, the word barely more than a breath. His thumb caressed your cheek once more before his lips found yours again, softer this time.

@slut4evanpeters @vizjpmdose @liminarystars @sensationalstardust @oceanblvd111 @makeyouminemp3 @urmomsg1rlfreind @angelthebrat @juliamaximoff @jazz-berry @dangeroustaintedflawed @evanpeterswifeyyy @vfromvandalista @bimbodollys @lirarere @colinzabelswife @missjadesfics @evanpetersmybf @alittlesil @lacucarachapisser @taintandviolent @dearlizzies @babygorewhore @marchsfreakshow @marchbirdie @xrag-dollx @xkaisxjazzxsingerx @violet1737 @90sbr1descake @am3ricanh0rrorwh0re @nahoyasboyfriend @sukirosiac @ggenyxxo @evanpetersbf @necrobab3 @evanpeterspeter @violet-harmon2011 @cxlt-lamb

 fear-is-truth 2024 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[skyesdaisys]

chances

(frat!kyle spencer x fem!reader)

content: fluff, angst (if you squint?), mentioned sexual harassment (by frat members)

a/n: not proofread, short drabble inspired by this post, wrote it really fast so sorry if it's not the best (it's my first time writing for kyle too so)! also, the last line is sick I'm aware but I'M SORRY I HAD TO

when your boyfriend kyle told you that he was joining the fraternity kappa lambda gamma you seriously thought he was joking. kyle was caring, hard-working, kind. yeah, he liked to joke around, but he was nothing like those greek alphabet degenerates you associated frats with. you told him this earnestly. it wasn't just a passing judgment, it was a genuine concern for him. trapped in a house with all those guys? kyle could handle himself well growing up in the 9th ward, but these frat guys were different to the types of people he was used to dealing with. you didn't want to see him to get hurt, or worse... start becoming like them.

when you expressed your feelings to him, kyle (of course politely) brushed your concerns off.

"give em' a chance..." he told you, caressing your head in his lap. "they're not all as bad as ya think. and even some of em' that are a bit.. y'know.. they're good people at heart, i can tell. they just hafta be put in the right direction."

"and is that why you're gonna try and become president?"

"yep! kappa lambda gamma has the potential to be one of the best chapters tulane has ever seen. that, and it gets ya some pretty awesome connections"

he was right.. a lot of past frat members had become pretty successful and kyle could use that to his advantage.

"okay fair... just, be safe okay? stick to what you know- who you are"

"oh i f'sure will" he flashed a knowing smile, leaning in to plant a tender kiss on your lips. your hands found their way into his golden curls, drawing him closer for a deeper connection.

as if on cue, the moment kyle pulled away, his phone began to ring. he glanced at the screen, and an apologetic smile appeared on his lips as he answered the call, shifting slightly as if bracing for what was coming.

"whoa, whoa, whoa, ma, slow down. what's going on? i’m at a—" he hesitated, casting a quick glance your way, "—at a friend’s, i told ya already... yeah, i’ll be home soon... what? right now?" there was a brief pause before he sighed. "okay, ma. love you too."

as kyle lowered the phone, you let out a soft sigh, already knowing what was coming. "gotta go, huh?"

"yeah, i’m sorry, baby..." he took your hand gently, lifting it to his lips in one smooth motion, the warmth of his breath tickling your skin before his lips brushed your knuckles. his fingers slid between yours, intertwining, and then he leaned in close, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. "i’ll see you on campus, okay?"

you nodded, trying to mask the disappointment tugging at your chest. "mhm… see you," you murmured, sitting up and watching him leave.

--

"oh my god" your jaw dropped as kyle stepped out of the bathroom. you had gone to surprise him after move-in day, wanting to see how he was adjusting to the frat life. and oh boy did he adjust. he had the blue embroidered polo with the collar obnoxiously flipped up, a white long sleeve underneath it, rolled up to the elbows, even-

"your hair!" gasped. kyle's once luscious curls you loved to run your hands through had now become flat and side-swept. you silently cursed yourself for ever teaching him how to use a flat iron so he could help you do your hair.

"well y'know you could say hi-" he chuckled, enjoying your reaction to his new look. "like it?"

to be honest, you didn't hate it, as much as you wanted to. kyle had a way of making anything look good. it was more what it represented that made your stomach churn.

"you certainly look the part" you said, forcing a half-smile. "all you need now is a backwards cap and a blood alcohol content of .12%"

he laughed, walking over and nudging your arm. "c'mon babe. open mind, remember?"

you sighed. "right... open mind" you glanced over him again, noticing how the fabric of his clothes hugged his frame in a way that accentuated his muscles. "okay.. you do look really hot i'm just wor-"

"gonna stop ya right there." he gently placed a hand on your arm, giving you a warm smile. "thank you. i'm happy ya came."

"i'm... happy i'm here- well, with you anyway" you couldn’t help but let the corners of your mouth lift. kyle just had that effect on you.

"..seriously though," you started again, looking into his eyes with a hint of concern.

kyle’s expression softened as he took your hand. "i promise it's stoppin' here, alright? all this… it's just surface level. you still have me." he gestured vaguely to his clothes and hair. "this is still the same me."

you held his gaze, trying to believe him, though a small part of you still worried that he may fall in too deep.

"please baby, give em' a chance..."

"what kind of chance?" you looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. "because i was violated like three different ways just walking up to your room." the words came out half-joking, but there was an edge to your tone that kyle didn’t miss.

he straightened up, eyes narrowing, and his brow furrowed with a fierce protectiveness. "what happened?"

"i'm kidding... kinda. nothing crazy just a few wandering eyes" you waved it off, though the memory of being looked up and down like that made your skin crawl for a second.

"i'll talk to em' about it. if they say or do anything else, tell me. i'll cut their fuckin' balls off" his voice was serious, and though he didn't mean it literally, you knew he would go to war for the people he cared about.

"as long as i get to watch," you giggled, leaning into him a little more.

"...any chance you’ll stop using that flat iron, though?" you asked, giving his new hairstyle a gentle tease, still missing the curls that used to frame his face.

"when i'm dead." he chuckled with a cocky grin.

"we’ll see about that."

--

tags (ask to be added or removed anytime!): @fear-is-truth @juliamaximoff @jazz-berry @violetsghosts @heartz4peter

[skyesdaisys]

Eager Little Puppy

Isaac Lahey x Gender Neutral Reader

Summary:

You offer to help Isaac relax. He agrees, thinking that you have something entirely different in mind. But when he finds out what you have planned, he really can't bring himself to mind.

(Or - you fuck Isaac's brains out to help him relax.)

Isaac Lahey x GN!Reader. Friends with Benefits. Smut/PWP.

Word Count: 2,700

Teen Wolf Masterlist | AO3 Link

Full list of warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: this is primarily a smut fic; the reader character is completely gender neutral - there is no mention of the reader's genitals and no description of what kind of genitals the reader has, and the only pronouns used to refer to the reader are you/yours; use of Y/N; most of the fic focuses on Isaac and acts the reader performs on him; there is dom/sub dynamics - the reader is more dominant and Isaac is more submissive; there is a slight passing mention of Isaac's abusive past (and how it makes him stressed out, so he is eager to use sex and submission as a way to relax and ease his mind); marking kink (the reader giving Isaac love bites and hickies); anal fingering - Isaac receiving (mention of Isaac being an anal virgin before this); oral - Isaac receiving; praise kink (reader praises Isaac and he loves it) - the reader calls Isaac 'good boy', 'pretty', and 'puppy'; lots of dirty talk; use of a dildo on Isaac (anally); passing mention of blood (the reader licks Isaac so hard that he bleeds and then licks it); Reader swallows Isaac's cum - I think that's it?

A/N: Just another random fic I wrote while on hiatus because I can't get enough of my baby Isaac, and I feel like he would love being called by the nickname Puppy (and that is now forever what I refer to him as in my head). He just looks like such a puppy lmao. He has big puppy dog eyes, he's constantly looking to others (like Scott, Erica, and Derek) for guidance and validation, he's eager to follow even though he's strong and could be a leader. He is an eager little puppy lapdog and I love him so fucking much. I just wanna pet his hair like a sweet little puppy and praise him and also fuck his brains out. Hence, this fic. Anyway, if you're a fellow Isaac lover, I hope you enjoy this fic!!

...

When you had suggested ‘relaxing’, Isaac thought you meant taking a bubble bath, some candles, aromatherapy.

Perhaps reading a book curled up in bed with some gentle music playing in the background. You seemed like the type of person to enjoy those things. He had no clue what relaxation even was - it’s not like he had a lot of time to relax, going straight from his father’s house of horrors to Pack life with Derek, nearly being killed every other week. 

Of course, that was exactly why you had suggested this. 

You and Isaac had been friends for a while, flirting back and forth for even longer, and fooling around for only a few short weeks. He knew that you cared about him a lot, and he was grateful that you actually thought about these things. That you actually considered the toll that stress took on him. 

He just had no clue what he was getting himself into when he agreed to a ‘relaxing’ evening with you. 

He certainly hadn’t been expecting this. 

Being laid out on your bed, completely naked while you were still mostly clothed, the lights delightfully soothing and dim, the covers so soft against his skin while you took him on the ride of his life. His body was covered in your spit and teeth marks, sharp suction spots where you had latched on and made him moan. Unfortunately the marks were already healing, making you regretful and even more determined to make him remember you by the distinction of your touch alone. 

Still, you dug your teeth in, providing the perfect little bite of pain to go with the pleasure, especially now as your fingers well-lubed fucked up inside of him - making your impression in his previously untouched hole for the first time. You pushed your fingers deep inside of him, fucking him with precise, certain movements while your mouth worked on his cock. 

He felt like his mind was slowly melting between his ears, every single known thought escaping him - but he had a distinct feeling that’s exactly what you had wanted. Because now he couldn’t worry, he couldn’t stress, he couldn’t even spend a single moment thinking about anything that had been plaguing his mind for the past few months. He couldn’t even be insecure about the whorish moans he was letting out or the way he was angling his hips toward you, silently begging for more. 

This was entirely relaxing. 

You moaned around his dick, encouraging him - causing him to let out another loud moan. 

It made you smile internally, feeling that in the way his body gave in to you, the way his needy hole flexed around your fingers, opening up to you but clenching slightly - telling you how badly he wanted more, needed more, even without words. 

You pulled off his cock with a wet pop, causing him to let out a shuddering moan of disappointment as the now spit-slick sensitive organ was exposed to the cool air. His dick fell against his stomach, smearing precum against the smooth, porcelain skin there while you eased another finger into his greedy hole. Now, fucking three of your fingers in and out of him, something that made Isaac part his thighs and wiggle his hips down into your touch, of course - desperate for more, even unconsciously. 

“That’s it - such a good boy for me.” You purred, grinning down at him. 

He was so pretty like this. 

His face dropped back against the fluffiness of your pillow, his eyes fluttering closed and his mouth gaped open as he let out the prettiest soft sounds. His lips were swollen and spit-glossed from where you had kissed him, something that made him breathless and wrecked. His nipples were puffy and swollen from where you had bitten and worked them, making him so frenzied and frantic, his stomach heaving with little breaths, desperate to get air into his lungs as you continually punched it out of him by fucking your fingers up into him. 

His long, thick cock gently bobbed against his stomach, leading down to a nest of blond hair that covered his heavy balls, smeared wet with the lube that you were fucking him with. 

Somehow - even in such a sinful state, he looked so damn angelic. 

He was severely enjoying the thickness and the rhythm of your three fingers, you could only imagine how much he would like what you had for him next. 

“Such a pretty thing, aren’t you?” You couldn’t contain the praise, not when he was this good, not when you felt the affection swelling up inside of you. He let out a loud, rattling moan at this, and you knew that you had struck gold. “Such a pretty boy. You like it when I remind you how fucking good you are, huh?” 

“Please,” Isaac choked out, his throat clearly dry and strangled from all the moaning he had been doing. “Please - more.” 

You locked eyes with him, and saw nothing but glassy, empty headed pleasure swimming there. And while his needy body flexed tightly around your fingers, you knew exactly what he was begging for - like a fish on dry land gulping desperately, you knew exactly what he was struggling for. 

More of your praise. Something he likely didn’t even know he had wanted before this, now lighting his body on fire. Now something he was desperate for more of - something he would likely need to survive from now on. 

“You want more, pretty boy?” 

You teased him, gently skimming your thumb along the underside of his cock, tracing a thick vein that made his muscles jolt. He nodded his head frantically, breathing thickly again, his eyes falling shut as his head fell back once again, eagerly waiting for you to comply. 

“Yeah? You’re gonna get everything you want. Cause you’re such a pretty boy - you deserve it all. Such a good boy, such an eager little puppy-” 

The nickname was something you had teased him with before. When you had found out that Derek had turned him, you insisted that if Derek and Scott were well-trained, full-blown wolves, then Erica, Boyd, and Isaac were just ‘puppies’. Newbies. It was something meant to taunt him, belittle him. But you had always seen the spark in his eyes when you said it. 

And now, feeling the way his hole clenched around your touch, feeling his hips fuck down against you, seeing the little pulse that shifted his cock as a bit of precum leaked out - you had known that you were right. 

Isaac was just an eager puppy waiting to be fucked. 

“Please, please!” He gasped out, whipping his eyes open and looking down the length of his body at you. “Hnng, I need it!” 

He wasn’t even entirely sure what he was begging for - it was pure static between his ears, a senseless TV signal that only became slightly clear when your voice cut through the snow. 

“Hey, shhh, it’s okay, puppy.” You said, smoothing your free hand across his stomach, purposefully avoiding any contact with his cock. “I’ve got you.” 

He reached out and grabbed your wrist, and your chest swelled with just how sweet he was - how loving and affectionate, even when he was clearly desperate to be fucked. 

“Such a sweet boy,” You continued to praise him, petting that hand across his torso, reaching to gently flick his nipple, exhausting more moans from him as you did this. “Such a sweet little puppy, aren’t you? Just an eager little thing desperate to be fucked, huh?” 

Isaac’s moan in response turned into a little howl of disappointment as you pulled your fingers out of him completely. You were almost hurt by the way his lip quivered and his brows furrowed - you would have been more upset if you didn’t know that you had something better in store for him. 

“Y/N-” He began to argue, his voice absolutely sour, but you cut him off. 

“I’ve got you.” You told him firmly, leaning in and kissing across his chest, ending this by laying a kiss on his mouth, causing your clothed body to roughly brush against his cock for a moment - which made him whine. “I’m gonna take good care of you, puppy.” 

He let out another guttural moan at these words, and watched with wide, curious eyes as you reached to your nightstand. His eyes widened when your hand came back with a cock - a six inch, bright blue, veined dildo. He felt a slight twist of anxious intimidation in his stomach at the thought of taking the object inside of him, but it was quickly washed out by pure need when his hole clenched around nothing and he realized how terribly empty he felt now that your fingers were gone. 

“Do you trust me?” You asked, reaching for the lube that you had dropped on the bed beside him earlier, slicking up the cock with more than a healthy amount. 

“Yes.” Isaac told you honestly. 

“Good.” You grinned at him. “Cause this is gonna be so good for you, baby.” 

You then put it between his thighs, using one hand to tease the tip of the lubed up dildo along his slightly gaped hole while you reached your other hand, still very wet with lube, to his cock. You took a good grip on him and began slowly jerking him off while you eased the first few inches of the cock into him. 

Isaac let out a loud moan, tossing his head back, his thighs tensing as he was already overwhelmed with pleasure. It was just a hint of what was to come, but it was so good to be stretched open around something so thick, something that filled him up so well. 

It was just a slight burn in his muscles as his body ached to accommodate something thicker and wider than your fingers - but there was a feeling, something deep in his stomach that was aching and curious for more. His cock was slowly warming up with pleasure as you touched him, turning his brain into even more of a soup as he gripped at the sheets beneath him and prayed that this feeling would never have to stop. 

“More!” He cried out, angling his hips further into your touch. 

“Such a greedy puppy, aren’t you?” You cooed, your voice edging on mocking as you sped up the pace of your hand on his cock, easing more of the dildo into him, indulging in the beautiful sounds he let out. “Just can’t have your pretty hole filled fast enough, can you?” 

Isaac let out a moan in agreement, and you pushed forward until the last of the cock was finally inside of him, leaving him furled around the base and gripping it tightly, echoing out a pretty gasp as he was fully filled. 

The six inch dildo wasn’t huge, but it was the biggest (and only) cock he had ever taken inside of him, so it made him feel absolutely full. It made him feel like he was being split open in the best way possible. It made his mind melt right down to liquid butter, made his cock pulse with pleasure in your hand. Isaac felt a sense of bitter cruelty when you closed your grip around the base, making his dick throb harder and ache. 

“Good?” You asked, clearly meaning to check on his well being.  

Isaac wanted to voice a complaint about you not making him cum fast enough, but he knew that wasn’t what you were asking about. 

“S-so good.” He choked out, trying to angle his hips back and fuck himself on the cock. 

“Good.” You replied, a wicked grin forming across your lips. “Now you’re gonna get exactly what you need. You’re gonna get your dumb little puppy brains fucked out,” 

Isaac didn’t even have a moment to question these words before you were pulling the dildo out of him slightly and fucking it back into him as hard as you could muster. This started a brutal, rough pace of hammering the toy between his thighs, not even giving him a moment to feel empty before he was full again - something that would have been painful if not for his incredible healing abilities and the pain tolerance that came with it. No, this wasn’t painful - this was just bliss. 

Pure, mindless bliss at your hands, having his hole fucked at such an intense pace - something he always needed but never knew to ask for. 

And then, your mouth was on his cock again. 

He let out a purely inhuman sound, a deep growl that dissolved into a whine like the puppy you accused him of being when you took him down to the base all in one go, smothering his cock in the impossible sauna wet heat of your mouth in seconds. 

You only relented your pace of fucking the fake cock into him for a moment to concentrate on not gagging on his impressive seven inch thickness, giving a few hard gulps around the tip of his cock as it settled in the back of your throat. Something that drove him absolutely insane between the pressure of your throat on his dick, smothering him in wet heat, and the feeling of the fake cock fucking into his asshole, filling him up so good, wetness smearing between his thighs, making him feel so perfectly raw as you continually fucked him. 

You pulled off his cock and replaced your mouth with your hand, kissing along his hip, digging your teeth in and leaving another harsh bite that would heal too soon for his liking. Isaac had a passing thought about getting a tattoo of your teeth marks on his skin, but it was drowned out by you licking up the bit of blood that sprouted there before you began talking again, your voice a bit more rough than before from having his cock nestled so tightly in your throat. 

“You like getting fucked and filled, puppy?” 

You purred against his skin, your voice full of spit, so perfectly syrupy. Isaac didn’t have a moment to even contemplate answering, not with the barrage of sensations overwhelming him, quickly drawing him closer to his orgasm. 

“You like having your pretty cock sucked while your needy little hole is filled up? Hmm? Are you gonna cum like this? Are you gonna cum from being fucked like the needy little puppy that you are?” 

One of these days, that nickname was going to kill him. 

“Please, Y/N, please!” He chanted out, his breath barely making it back into his lungs every time the force of you fucking the dildo into him forced a sharp moan out from between his lips. “Please, ‘m gonna cum, please lemme cum, please-!” 

Him asking for permission to cum was the thing that truly drove you insane. 

“Cum for me, puppy.” You told him, reaching to sweep the tip of his cock back into your mouth, eager to taste him. 

You continued to fuck him hard through it, creating a beautifully sloppy sound in the room as the thick plastic toy destroyed him, fucking into his needy hole utterly relentlessly. It was only a moment later that he came, his shaking thighs stiffening and his back arching off the bed. 

You were barely able to hold him down as he shoved more of his cock into your mouth, shooting thick spurts of cum across your tongue and down your throat, so perfectly driven mad by all the sensations you had delivered to him. You sucked him through it, not stopping until you were satisfied that you had every single last drop of his release. 

When it was over, you popped off his cock, and he was still panting, desperate to catch his breath when you eased the dildo out of him - causing a gentle moan from him - now slightly disappointed at the feeling of being empty and wondering if he would ever be the same again without that fullness inside of him. You put it aside to be taken care of later and crawled up Isaac’s body, draping yourself over him to capture his mouth - causing an odd delight to him as he tasted himself on your tongue. 

“Well,” Isaac sighed against your lips. “That is one hell of a way to relax.” 

You couldn’t help but to laugh at this.

...

A/N: Please keep in mind, this is a oneshot, and there will not be a follow up or a 'Part 2'. So if you are going to comment, please comment about the body of the material that has been written.

I would love to write more about Isaac in the future, and I do have another smut fic for him in my drafts, so if you're an Isaac lover, definitely follow me and look out for that. And go to my Teen Wolf masterlist for more non-smutty stuff about him that is currently there. But for now, this is a singular, closed off story and there will not be a follow up to it. I hope you have enjoyed it if you have read this far, and thank you so much for reading!

[skyesdaisys]

dream a little, dream of me

── tate langdon x f!reader.

⟢ warnings— nsfw. mdni 18+ ⨟ dry hūmping ⋅ (sort of) somnō ⋅ cursing ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

The bedsheets rustle gently as tate shifts behind you, his body warm and heavy against yours. his arm is loosely wrapped around your waist, leg draped over yours, keeping you close in that clingy way only he can manage. you’re wearing your usual sleepwear—booty shorts and an oversized tee that hung off your shoulder—perfect for a warm night in L.A.

a content sigh escapes your lips as you settle deeper into the pillows—you feel safe like this, wrapped up in him. you move slightly, shifting your legs against his, feeling the smooth, cool skin of his leg as it tangles with yours. as you lay there, fast asleep, the feeling of something hard rubbing between your thighs awakens you. your eyes flutter open groggily, and the unmistakable hardness of tate’s erection is pressing into the curve of your thigh. his hips are rocking back and forth, humping against the thin barrier of fabric between you.

mortified and embarrassed, you bite your lip, torn between moving his leg to relieve the pressure and simply allowing the feeling to linger. after a moment’s deliberation, you decide to do nothing. sighing, you try your hardest to ignore how sloppy his grinding against you is becoming, how you can feel the warmth of his quickened breathing against your neck, and fuck, with his hips jerking forward of their own volition, it’s damn near impossible for you to hold still. there’s a stirring between your legs, warmth spreading through your loins that’s impossible to ignore.

he’s mumbling now, incoherent babble directed to the lucky subject of his dream, and you feel a pang of jealousy until,

“…mhmm–more, please,”

then you hear him say your name.

that’s it. you wiggle back, enough to fully press your ass against his rock-hard cock, and tate whimpers in his sleep. he reaches out and subconsciously grabs a handful of your right breast, squeezing it lightly. your bodies are now flush with each other, and his clothed length slots perfectly into the gap between your thighs, just below your aching pussy. you moan, squeezing your thighs together.

“w-wha-? oh shiiiit. ‘m so sorry,”

tate mumbles, half awake. obviously not sorry enough, for he starts sliding in and out of the small space, accidentally parting your labia and brushing up against your clit with each slow thrust. your wetness combined with his generous amount of precum creates the perfect lubrication, the obscene squelching noise breaking the silence of the night.

“ohmygod, f-fuck,” you whimper, “please keep doing that.”

“i don’t-” tate cuts himself off with a groan, wrapping squeezing your breast and letting his hips buck forward on their on accord,

“-don’t think i have a choice, oh, fuck… ’m close,” tate whines, more of a needy plea than an actual warning. he’s in a frenzy now, hips rutting like a dog in heat, prompting you to mewl when he unintentionally finds a specific spot that you’ve been aching. encouraged by your gasps and cries with the newfound angle, he begins aiming for it with purpose, hitting it with each thrust. you feel a warm wetness spread across your thighs, the sensation of it sticky against your skin. tate’s breathing slowed, a contented sigh. he kisses the nape of your neck, hands moving to your waist and lacing his fingers between yours.

“thank you.” he slurs, still drowsy but satisfied. you hum in response, raising your interlocked hands to your lips and pressing a kiss on his knuckles.

“you’re welcome, tate.”

taglist—

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 fear-is-truth 2024 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[skyesdaisys]

sunny posting yet another masterpiece ladies and gents, girls, and gays. firstly, stiles is such a perv (affectionate), and I live him. but my brain being my brain I always point other moments that make me chuckle and grasp my attention

That was the only way to describe his current state of being. Completely, utterly hopeless. / Basically - his feelings for you were slowly ruining his life. -> stiles being mecore. I, too, am utterly hopeless with my crushes and they basically ruin my life

But on nights like this, it was just so hard. -> my mind just immediately went dirty just assuming this was a double meaning based on the fic lmao

In the back of that notebook, there were about three pages of his name and yours in hearts, and a few times he had practiced writing his signature as ‘Mr Stiles L/N’. (He was a feminist, and he liked the idea of starting a new tradition.) There was even a drawing he had made designing your theoretical wedding cake, including a cake topper where he was Superman and you were riding on his back while he was flying. -> feminist king stiles stilinski, ladies!!! also the superman cake topper ajajxhxhch. he is truly a need (affectionate)

“Good boy.” You responded, praising him for agreeing to your terms. Obviously, it was another joke. -> a joke to us but not to him! his mind is turning to utter mush in the moment

“Wait - you actually pick out your clothes in advance?” He asked, thinking that this was entirely adorable, and explained why you were always so well dressed. / (And it explained why you were always so punctual in the mornings while Stiles was usually a mess - running around his house still half-asleep, shoving his head into a shirt that he had sniffed to see if it was clean, shoving things frantically into his bag in order to get out the door five minutes late.) -> it's giving adhd/autism solidarity vibes and I'm LOVING it and I support it

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Stiles remarked to the animal, stopping for a moment to pet him. “I’m pathetic. But you can’t rat me out, okay? I know she thinks highly of your opinion and I need you to put in a good word for me. Got it?” -> I just love this tidbit here, its literally so him it's insane. I love him

Stiles spent the next hour in the bathroom, absolutely panicking over how to get them clean. Luckily, he wasn’t a total idiot and he looked up the washing instructions online - and after hand-washing them in warm water with a ‘gentle’ detergent (handsoap was the best that he could do), they came out perfectly clean. -> I mean, at least he tried putting in the effort, and I respect that, actually

very intrigued for part 2 and ik it's gonna be great because you wrote it <3

BRAINWASHED

Virgin!Stiles Stilinski x Fem!Reader

Everything’s clean - except for my thoughts. (Thinking about me getting you off.)

Can’t stop thinking you got me B R A I N W A S H E D .

Summary:

Stiles likes you. He really, really, really likes you. It's bordering on obsession, but he likes to believe that he has it under control.

So when you accidentally leave a pair of your panties in his presence, ripe for the taking, and they're in his backpack faster than he can blink - he realizes that he might not have it as under control as he would like to think. But he can't find it to be too much of a problem when he has those panties wrapped around his cock.

Virgin!Stiles Stilinski x Best Friend!Fem!Reader. Pining!Stiles/One Sided Fantasies. Panty Stealing. Smut/PWP.

Word Count: 8,000

Teen Wolf Masterlist | AO3 Link

Full list of warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: the reader uses she/her pronouns and is described as having a vagina; Stiles and the reader have been best friends since childhood and they are in high school now (they are both the same age) (for argument's sake, they are both 18, but the horny parts were motivated by the hotness of a 20-something actor so idc what age you interpret the characters as); the reader's looks are mostly undescribed and left neutral in terms of race, hair texture/colour, height, etc. however the reader is implied to be fat/plus sized; mentions of the reader wearing dresses and tights (things that the other characters on the show would typically wear); mentions of the reader having a cat - I did not give the cat a name so you can imagine it's the same as your cat's name/what you would want your cat to be called if you had one; use of Y/N and L/N (as in Last Name); brief mention that the reader would like wearing bikinis; the reader calls Stiles 'good boy' in non-sexual contexts and it turns him on; mentions of Stiles looking up the reader's skirt when she doesn't know it; some slight dubious consent because Stiles steals the reader's underwear without her consent and uses them in a sexual act (his masturbation); masturbation (Stiles touching himself); this is a one-sided/pining fic - all the sexual acts take place inside Stiles's mind as sexual fantasies while he masturbates; the reader character is described in these sexual acts as they play out in his mind, so that's why she is included heavily in the warnings; Stiles is submissive (even in his own fantasies) and he fantasies about the reader being dominant toward him; Stiles becoming aroused by the idea of the reader not shaving her pussy; technically there is edging - because Stiles edges himself to make his fantasies last longer; panty sniffing (though the panties Stiles took are freshly launder and not used ones); scent kink/sweat kink - Stiles likes the way you smell, including your sweat; kinks and sexual acts mentioned only in Stiles's fantasies (taking place only in his mind in this fic): car sex (in the back of the Jeep (typical, I know)), fingering (reader receiving), degradation kink (Stiles receiving - he likes the idea of the reader insulting him and being mean to him); pussy eating (Stiles fantasizes in depth about this); Reader makes a joke about spanking Stiles and Stiles has a small fantasy about being spanked by her; I think that's finally it.

A/N: Title for the fic comes from the song Brainwashed by Waterparks. Warning - Stiles might be a bit OOC in this because I wrote it before I started re-watching Teen Wolf again (and before I started watching Season 1 for the first time, because previously I had only seen 3B and beyond). In this, I have said that he's flunking classes and he's not really great with studying, while in the show, he's really smart and bookish and really well studied - but it could just be chalked up to the fact that he has a huge crush on the Reader that is distracting him from studying. So, interpret it how you want. I hope that you enjoy it, and please read through to my end notes to find out about a potential sequel to the fic!!

...

Stiles was hopeless. 

That was the only way to describe his current state of being. Completely, utterly hopeless. 

He was a complete and total loser, hopelessly in love with his best friend. And he was getting more stupidly caught up in that crush every single day. And of course, he didn’t even have the courage to admit his feelings for you so that it could be awkwardly out in the open. So that the two of you could get the rejection part over with, at least. 

Basically - his feelings for you were slowly ruining his life. 

Stiles had been in love with you for as long as he could remember. Well, maybe not that long. 

See, you, him, and Scott had all been friends since the beginning of kindergarten, and naturally, Stiles always liked you as a person. He always thought of you as a good friend, even if he gravitated toward Scott more.  

But he distinctly remembered the first moment when he had started to develop a crush on you. It was a very special memory to him - the day when you shifted in his eyes from annoying, slightly nagging friend to a beautiful, fierce woman. 

It was the day when the three of you were out on Halloween night during the third grade - and that was around the time people started whispering about crushes in school, when people would have playground girlfriends and boyfriends that they broke up with every other week. That night, a group of eighth grade bullies began chasing the three of you, trying to take your candy. 

Without hesitation, you picked up the largest rock in sight and threw it at one of them, causing a large cut across his forehead - and you loudly told them to ‘fuck off’ (the first time Stiles had ever heard such a word when it wasn’t coming from his dad). They had run away, somehow terrified of a girl a foot shorter than them. 

That night, you had become his hero. 

And since then, you had been the only object of his affections. 

Of course, over the years, Stiles had plenty of opportunities to tell you about his feelings for you. He just… always felt too cowardly to do so. 

In seventh grade, he had come very close to asking you out to the winter dance - only to have Scott beat him to the punch. When he pulled Scott aside to ask him about it, Scott confessed to him that he also had a crush on you. This resulted in their first ever fistfight. The first ever true rift in their otherwise close, brotherly friendship. 

The boys didn’t speak to each other for days. Which, naturally, annoyed the hell out of you. Especially because, of course, neither of them told you why they were fighting, not wanting you to know that you were the source of the rift in their friendship. And to you, this only made the fight seem more stupid and immature. 

So finally, when you demanded it, they called a truce. They agreed that they didn’t want to lose their friendship or lose you. They didn’t want to make you choose between them when it wouldn’t make any of you happy. 

So Stiles proposed that the three of you should go to the dance as friends, which you loved, and they both got you a corsage, one for each wrist - and the three of you still laughed at the pictures of you holding each of their arms. 

Eventually, Scott grew out of his crush on you and moved onto other girls, and he loved that he got to keep you as a close best friend, someone he could go to for dating advice if needed. Scott kept trying to convince Stiles to simply ‘man up’ and tell you about his feelings, but Stiles kept that same sentiment they had concluded upon years ago. Telling you about his feelings would only ruin the friendship. Not just between you, but between the entire group - it would fuck up the pack. 

Though it felt like the more he tried to ignore his feelings for you, the more they festered like a tumor. While Scott was able to mature past his crush on you, Stiles only grew more intense, and more insane when it came to his ‘crush’ on you. 

Over the years, his crush on you had grown from something sweet and childish into something much more. When puberty truly took over and lust was added into the mix, he now had to deal with the fact that you had grown into a gorgeous woman. He could barely control his arousal when looking at you, hearing your voice, smelling you, talking to you, thinking about you - even simply being in your presence made something in his mind melt. And it was growing much worse with each passing day. There wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t wake up with a raging boner fueled by sexual dreams of you. 

And naturally, he would say that not telling you about his feelings for you was ultimately the best thing for him. He would steadfastly refuse to admit that him being distracted by all these fantasies of you was slowly eroding your friendship from the inside out. Slowly, bit by bit, his worst fears were coming true - your friendship was being ruined by his crush anyway. 

But he tried to ignore that. Even if you were the most gorgeous, perfect being ever put on the planet, he tried his hardest to simply enjoy the platonic version of you. He tried to act like he wasn’t stupidly, head over heels in love with you. 

He tried not to act like it. 

But on nights like this, it was just so hard. 

Tonight, the two of you were studying for an upcoming English mid-term that would be worth a decent portion of your final grade. 

Logically, Stiles knew that he should have locked himself in his room and forced himself to study independently. Or he should have taken up Scott on his offer to study with him and Allison. 

But no, he just had to ask you for your ‘help’. 

And you pitied him and said yes, because he was doing poorly in the class. The only reason for that being because it was one of the classes that he shared with you, and he spent all of his damn time staring at you across the room during it. He had tried to tell himself that he really would study tonight, that he would really take advantage of your intelligence here and now to get his shit together in order to up his grade. 

But no. That was just one of many daily lies that he told himself. Since the moment he had set foot in your bedroom that afternoon (and it was dark out now, well into the evening) - he hadn’t been able to focus on anything but you. 

Sure, sometimes that worked to his benefit. Hearing you recite Shakespeare, the words coming off your sweet lips - it did force him to focus on the material at hand for at least a short period of time. But it wasn’t like he was actually retaining any of it. He was just thinking about how gorgeous your voice sounded and how amazing you would be in an adaptation of Romeo and Juliet. One where he played Romeo, of course - and he would get to use someone else’s well-crafted words to romance you, finally getting to kiss you for the first time. 

Again - he was hopeless. 

Currently, Stiles was laying diagonally on your bed, sitting among a mess of books - the English textbooks, the assigned novels, the published copies of the play, along with binders of your notes and other notebooks, stray papers. He couldn’t pay attention to the notes he was supposed to be writing, not for a moment, not if his life depended on it. Not when you looked this stunningly beautiful while busy writing your own notes. 

With the soft lighting from your bedside lamp brushing across your skin, making that skin look even softer, you were a goddess-like vision sitting on the bed across from him. You were wearing the simple dress that you had worn to school earlier that day, your modest tights since shed off in the name of ‘comfort’ (and so that your cat wouldn’t rip holes in them while crawling across your lap, you had remarked to Stiles). When you had stood at your hamper and peeled them off your legs, Stiles had a hard time not letting the drool spill out across his chin. 

Your thighs were gorgeous. Thick, wide, spread out like a buffet for his eyes to feast on every single time you sat down. From his angle, laying down the way he was, he was up close and personal with the dimpling cellulite and stretchmarks you had there. The hem of your dress had ridden up when you had adjusted your position to get comfortable, and he felt absolutely spoiled by how much more of your thighs were revealed to him. 

A few times throughout the evening, he had to physically clench his fingers, tight, to remind himself not to reach out and touch. To remind himself that he wasn’t allowed to touch. The last thing he wanted to do was to creep you out by randomly reaching out and touching your thigh. But he wanted so badly to touch. 

How many times had he imagined what those thighs would look like bouncing and jiggling while you rode his cock? How many times had he imagined those thighs clamped around his head while he licked your pussy? (Far too many times for the good of his own sanity.) 

Not to mention the concentration spread across your face - you were so fucking hot when you showed off your intelligence. Hell everything about you was hot - your sweetness, your laughter, your sarcasm, even your bitchy side. But your bookish side had to be one of Stiles’s favorites. 

The way you would nibble your own lip when thinking, the way your brows furrowed slightly in thought. Everything about you - from the bra strap sticking out of the neckline of your dress to the chipped edge of your nail polish where you had chewed on it - you were a fucking vision. And Stiles couldn’t take his eyes off you, no matter how hard he tried. 

It was a wonder that you didn’t notice Stiles staring at you - not as often as he did it. 

Stiles felt strangely caught when you put down your pen and looked up from your notebook, then. He quickly scrambled to grab his own pencil and start writing something, to look busy. But of course, he just looked like more of an idiot when the eraser end began scraping across the page in nonsense patterns. 

“Stiles,” You scolded him with a sigh, a way he was used to hearing his name come off your lips. “Have you gotten anything done? I told you to copy down at least half my notes-” 

Of course. You pegged his blank page as simple laziness, rather than his brain slowly melting out through his ears due to his inability to think about anything but you (especially when he was in the same room as you). At least he hadn’t been caught staring at you in that creepy way yet. 

You snatched up his notebook to check his work, and his heart dropped - if you looked too carefully, then he would be caught. In the back of that notebook, there were about three pages of his name and yours in hearts, and a few times he had practiced writing his signature as ‘Mr Stiles L/N’. (He was a feminist, and he liked the idea of starting a new tradition.) There was even a drawing he had made designing your theoretical wedding cake, including a cake topper where he was Superman and you were riding on his back while he was flying. 

“Y/N, uh-” 

He quickly snatched the notebook back, causing a glare from you while he sighed in defeat. 

“Fine.” He shrugged, knowing that he had to admit to a smaller crime in order to cover up the larger one. It was something that he did with his father all too often. “I didn’t get anything done. I was slacking off. You caught me.” 

“Stiles!” You scolded him again, reaching out to gently smack his shoulder. “If you keep this shit up, you’re never gonna graduate!” 

Sadly, you were probably right. His crush on you was absolutely going to ruin him. 

“Well, you could just let me copy off you,” He replied, giving you a wide grin that let you know he was mostly kidding. 

You rolled your eyes in reply, and soon your gaze caught sight of the clock on your nightstand. 

“Well, it seems like you have wasted enough of my time for tonight.” You scoffed sarcastically. 

Stiles knew that you had intended this to be a joke - but he couldn’t help the twinge of pain the words caused in his gut. The idea that he was truly just a waste of time in your life. He pressed his lips tightly together to suppress a frown and didn’t say anything more, and then you continued. 

“It’s almost your curfew anyway.” You pointed out, gesturing toward the clock. You were right. Stiles hadn’t even noticed how late it was getting - too busy enjoying his time with you. “We’ll pack it up for the night - but you should meet me at the library tomorrow morning, early, so we can go over everything again before the exam.” 

Of course, you were still invested in the idea of him getting a good grade, even if that seemed unlikely to happen. 

“You’re gonna make me get up early?” He whined, hating the idea of missing out on even ten extra minutes of sleep. 

“Yes.” You stressed. “I want you there at seven o’clock. Sharp.” 

Your ultra serious voice ordering him around was undeniably a turn-on for him. No matter what sexual fantasies Stiles cooked up about you in his mind, he could never picture himself having full control over you. In fact, most of the time, he found himself covered in cum at the idea of you having complete control over him. And it was likely because this was how most of your friendship went - you told him what to do, and he did it. And that was a huge part of why he fell for you in the first place. 

When he didn’t verbally confirm the time, too caught up in his infatuation yet again, you let out a gentle growl of frustration. 

“Stiles!” You called out his name. “You have to be there at seven. So you can’t get out of bed at seven - you have to set your alarm for like six-thirty, got it? Don’t make me come over there and get your ass out of bed like last time.” 

This thought caused Stiles’s stomach to clench. 

The last time you had come to his house to wake him up for school (because he had agreed to help you with some bakesale project and you were pissed off that he wasn’t there early to help you set up tables and whatnot) - you had charged into his house in a fury. You had your own key, of course, and his dad wasn’t there to busy you with conversation or pleasantries. 

And you charged right up the stairs and nearly caught him with a hand around his cock, jerking off to a picture of you in a bikini from the summer before. And he had rushed to shove the picture in his nightstand and cocoon himself in the comforter to hide his body just as you made it to the top of the stairs, shouting at him for being late. Luckily, he had gotten away with the lie that he had slept in, rather than revealing the truth that he had been distracted because he had woken up with morning wood after having a heated dream about you. 

When Stiles didn’t respond yet again, you grabbed a smaller decorative pillow from behind you and lightly hit him with it for emphasis, causing him to burst into laughter. 

“Promise me you’ll be on time!” You said, smacking him with the pillow again. 

“Yes, yes! I promise!” He finally agreed, his face becoming pink from laughter. 

You dropped the pillow then, and leaned down, causing his eyes to inadvertently go straight to your cleavage while you gave him a gentle, friendly kiss on the forehead. 

“Good boy.” You responded, praising him for agreeing to your terms. Obviously, it was another joke. 

But these praising words combined with your lips even slightly brushing against his skin, along with your tits dangling so close to his face, had his cock swelling to hardness nearly instantly. He grabbed the pillow then, trying to look subtle as he put it over his crotch, desperately trying to hide the very obvious bulge that had popped up at the front of his jeans within seconds. 

He was lucky when you shifted your attention away from him, now busy with cleaning off the bed, gathering your textbooks in a pile and moving to put them on your desk in the corner. You being distracted gave him a few moments to try and mentally will his dick down, which worked slightly. Only slightly. 

“You could help me, you know.” You mocked him lightly - distracting him from his thoughts of baseball, trying to will the blood out of his cock. 

He looked up and saw you standing there with his backpack, putting away his textbooks and notebooks now. He had been so dumbly distracted by his own dick that he hadn’t noticed you taking the kind initiative to clean up his things for him too. 

“Right, sorry.” He jumped into action and did so, taking things from your hands and shoving them into his bag with haste. 

“You don’t have to rush out, I just need the bed cleared off so I can pick out my clothes for tomorrow.” You told him. 

“Wait - you actually pick out your clothes in advance?” He asked, thinking that this was entirely adorable, and explained why you were always so well dressed. 

(And it explained why you were always so punctual in the mornings while Stiles was usually a mess - running around his house still half-asleep, shoving his head into a shirt that he had sniffed to see if it was clean, shoving things frantically into his bag in order to get out the door five minutes late.) 

“Well you know not all of us are okay with just throwing on last week’s mustard stained tee shirt,” You said, playfully pointing to a mustard stain that he had on his shirt from lunch. 

He rolled his eyes in return, trying to ignore the slight twist of embarrassment that wanted to swell up inside of him at the comment. 

There had been a point where he used to make a very pointed effort to impress you. Back when his crush on you had first gotten serious - likely around the beginning of high school. He used to get up early every single morning, spending a lot of time being intensely picky about the clothes he wore. He drowned himself in cologne (until you had complained about it), he wore certain colors just because you mentioned liking them. But none of it seemed to garner any more of your attention than usual. 

And so, he resigned himself to be the loser best friend who would always just float at the corners of your life, drowning in his secret affection for you until some better, hotter guy came along and swept you off your feet one day. 

He was just glad that day hadn’t come yet. 

Stiles was hesitant to leave - he wasn’t done being around you for the day yet, too emotionally attached. But he guessed that he would need to get some decent sleep before waking up at the asscrack of dawn in order to see more of you the next morning. (Even if it would include the horrors of studying at the library.) 

“So - I’ll see you tomorrow morning?” He posed, ready to take his leave as he swung his backpack over his shoulder. 

“Ooh, wait one second.” You said, eagerness twinging through your voice. 

His heart pounded hard in his chest for a moment, wondering if this could be the moment he had been waiting so long for - would you stop him there, grab him by the shoulders and kiss him hard, and then tell him that you had been feeling the exact same way as he had for all these years? 

“Which one?” You asked, spinning around from your closet to face him, holding up two dresses on hangers. 

Oh. You were asking for his opinion about what you should wear to school the next day. 

“The blue one.” Stiles said, motioning towards it. “That shade of blue looks beautiful on you - it compliments your skin tone well, and it makes you shine. But ya know, you look gorgeous in everything. You could wear a paper bag to school and everyone would still be jealous of how amazing you look.” 

He rambled on for a moment too long, and realized that his genuine fondness for you - something straying too far into romantic territory - was slipping out. 

“But - uh, yeah. I’ll see you later.” He quickly added on, now eager to leave before you could make any further comments. 

Then he dashed out of your room and down the stairs, getting out the front door so fast that he practically left a poof of cartoon dust behind him. 

He got into the Jeep and tossed his bag into the passenger’s seat - which, he hadn’t realized was not even zipped up. (A habit you often scolded him for - going around with his bag unzipped.) Papers and books spilled across the seat and underneath it, and he let out a loud growl of frustration. 

“Idiot!” He screamed, scolding himself as he leaned down, trying to clean everything up. “Idiot, idiot, idiot!” 

Partially, he was feeling so idiotic because he had just been so vulnerable with you and you probably thought he was weird for it. Actually, that was mostly why. 

As he was picking up his things, he realized that - yup, he was missing his English textbook. He had forgotten it in your room. He heaved out a sigh and collapsed back against his seat. He could leave without it - but then he would get an earful from you in the morning about how he was ‘forgetful’ and ‘irresponsible’. Ugh. 

He got out of the Jeep again and shuffled his way back into your house - your mom was working late, so there was nobody there to question him running out of the house at top speed and then appearing back so soon. All he got was a curious chirp and a head tilt from your cat, who was sitting on the top of the stairs. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Stiles remarked to the animal, stopping for a moment to pet him. “I’m pathetic. But you can’t rat me out, okay? I know she thinks highly of your opinion and I need you to put in a good word for me. Got it?” 

The cat purred and pushed his face into Stiles’s hand, so he assumed that was a positive affirmation that he would root for Stiles - or at the very least, keep his secret. 

Stiles linger for a moment to scratch the cat’s furry cheek, and then he stepped over the cat and made his way back toward your room. He passed the closed bathroom door and heard the shower running, and he almost cheered. If you were in the shower, then you wouldn’t notice him slipping back in to grab his book, so you couldn’t scold him for being a forgetful idiot. 

He went into your room, and the second he made it through the mouth of your open bedroom, his eyes locked onto your bed like a hot target. Your clothes for the following day were spread out so neatly, and right there, on top of the blue dress he had suggested - there was a pair of lacy purple panties that were something right out of one of his fantasies. 

Stiles had thought about your underwear before - many times. Too many times to count. 

He had even caught small, passing glimpses of your underwear before - when you had worn dresses without tights and bent over in front of him. But he had only seen enough of it to determine the color, not to know if it was lacy or silk or cotton. And even that was enough to send him into a tailspin that had him rushing to the bathroom to relieve his aching cock. 

In the back of his mind - or truly, the forefront of his mind whenever he jerked off to thoughts of you - he always wondered what kind of underwear you wore. What kind of decorative wrapping your pretty pussy would come in if he ever got the other-worldly privilege of getting his hands up your skirt. 

Would they be simple, practical cotton underwear? Would they be cute? Would they be sinfully sexy? Would they be those underwear with the days of the week written across the front? 

But seeing this now - seeing the tangible evidence in front of him that you actually planned to wear purple lacy lingerie to school - it was something that had all sense draining from his mind as blood rushed to his cock once again. He barely had time to think about it - and he didn’t think about it. Because then, they were in his hands, in his pocket, and he was back in the Jeep, hiding his stolen goods in his bag and hastily zipping it up so he could slam his foot on the gas and race home. 

He didn’t even have a chance to think about the fact that he left without the textbook that he had gone back into your room looking for. He didn’t have the attention span to notice that said textbook was in a stack along with your own - almost as if purposefully kept there like an excuse to lure him back into your room, rather than clumsily forgotten by him. 

… 

When Stiles got into his room, he slammed his bedroom door shut behind him, now entirely frantic, and thankful that his father was working a late shift again. He sat down on the edge of his bed, his hands shaking with anticipation as he unzipped his bag and pulled out the thing he had so hastily snagged. 

His mind was warring with so many sensations. Guilt for taking the panties, paranoia that he would get caught, shame that he even had the urge to take them in the first place - but all of that was easily toppled over and forgotten in the name of lust. Overwhelming lust and arousal that he felt for you. Greed and joy at knowing that he had something so private of yours in his hands now - something so secret that he shouldn’t have. A perfect little piece of you. 

His little secret piece of you. 

He still couldn’t believe that this was the kind of underwear you wore on a daily basis. 

Just imagining that this was what you wore to school - thinking about the fact that this was what you were wearing under your clothes during your everyday interactions with him: it drove him wild. 

He easily pictured this pretty lace sticking to your cunt when you were wet, the lavender colored material getting slick and slightly darker, soaked through and visibly sticky when you spread your legs for him to see. He wondered if your pussy would be shaved or not - but you didn’t have a boyfriend, so currently, you didn’t have anybody to shave for. 

He remembered a conversation from a few weeks ago where Scott had wondered if he should shave his pubes for Allison and you had remarked that ‘putting a razor near your junk’ was ‘ill-advised and stupid’ - so you probably didn’t even like shaving your pussy on principle. 

This immediately put a picture in his mind of your pussy being covered in soft hair that matched the shade on your head - maybe a bit darker. It would clump together with your juices and become soaked when you got wet. The little hairs would probably stick out cutely from the sides of the bikini cut underwear, peeking at him. 

Your pussy would be the prettiest thing he had ever seen, he knew that for certain. 

Stiles imagined getting you in the backseat of the Jeep one night after a game. 

He would still be covered in sweat from his efforts, worn out from trying his best. Sure, he wasn’t the best player, but you wanted to ‘reward’ him for his efforts on the winning side, even if he hadn’t directly contributed to the win. 

So as soon as the game was over, before he even had time to change out of his pads or shower, you hauled him to the parking lot and shoved him into the car. His gear was only half-off, ditched hastily by your feet, and you were in his lap - a perfect prize after all the hard work he had done, sitting astride his already sore thigh muscles while you kissed him - hard. Your mouth greedily sucked the oxygen out of his lungs while you shoved your tongue past his lips, painting his tongue with your sweet spit - and fuck, it felt like he was made for this. 

He got sucked so deep into the fantasy - it felt so damn real. 

He imagined having his hands splayed out against your beautiful, plump ass, gripping you tightly, noting wanting you to separate from him for even a section. While you held on tightly to his face, sealing him into the kiss until his lips were sore. And you would only pull back to look into his eyes with glossy desperation and utter out: 

“Please, Stiles. I need you. I need you to touch my pussy.” 

And what else could he do but obey? 

So he would lift up your skirt - a particularly short skirt that you had worn with nothing else but a pair of knee-high socks. Something that you knew he loved to see you cheer for him on the sidelines while wearing. Even though it was a chilly night, you couldn’t feel too cold when you saw him glancing at you every single chance he got. Of course, those distracted stares had gotten him screamed at by Coach more than once. But he loved the way your skirt would flutter up in the nighttime breeze, teasing him. The way the fucking beautiful thick fat of your thighs would jiggle whenever you would jump around in order to cheer him on. 

He was a man of simple, divine tastes. 

So - he would lift up that perfect skirt to find those purple lacy panties underneath; to find the perfection of your wet cunt waiting for him, growing slicker by the second, more needy for him. You were humping yourself against his athletic cup, which his hard cock was practically dying inside of, bursting to get out of the hard shell of plastic to touch you. But he ignored his own needs for a few minutes longer in favor of yours. Reaching forward, sliding his fingers along the wet spot at the front of your panties, absolutely indulging in the beautiful gasp you let out when his touch grazed across your swollen clit through the fabric. 

“Stiles, please.” 

He could almost hear it - it was so fucking clear inside his mind. The way your voice would be so pitched with desperation, so perfectly needy curled around his name. He wanted so badly to hear it in real life. 

And he would push those panties to the side, pushing his fingers inside of your hot, wet cunt-

Back in the real world, Stiles’s cock gave a needy pulse, leaking into his boxers. 

He heaved out a sigh, his cock practically vibrating with blood. He had driven home the whole time trying to ignore that boner, but he simply couldn’t do that anymore. He just had to give in. 

He hesitantly put your panties aside - already feeling a strange sense of attachment to them - and reached to his nightstand, grabbing the bottle of lube that he had in the drawer. Shamefully, it was already half empty, mostly due to the fantasies that he had about you. He undid his pants and had them around his ankles in record time, and whipped off his shirt for good measure, knowing that he was quite a ‘splasher’ and not wanting to get cum on it to pair with that ugly mustard stain. 

He lubed up his cock more than a healthy amount, knowing that it would contribute to the fantasy of you being so wet around him. It was a distant fantasy that he would never actually get to achieve, but hell - a man can dream. Then he began to slowly pump his cock in hand, wanting to milk it and truly enjoy it, and he let his mind get back to work. 

He thought back to your place. A place he was comfortable, spent a lot of time at hanging out with you. 

He imagined that early that night when he had forgotten his book, rather than you being in the shower, he went back to your room and found that you had been getting ready for bed. You were rubbing sweet-smelling lotion on your arms, pulling back the covers, wearing nothing but a pair of cute little socks, a tiny camisole - where he could very visibly see that you weren’t wearing a bra, with the natural teardrop shape of your breasts bared to the eye, your nipples poking through the fabric - and those purple lace panties. 

When he would appear in the doorway, you would gawk at him and ask: 

“Stiles? What are you doing? Did you… forget something?” 

But you would be positioned half leaning over the bed, taking back the covers so it would be comfortable for you to sleep - and your ass would be unintentionally on full display. Your sweet pussy lips peeking at him from behind, the roundness of your ass so fucking inviting, daring him to leave bite marks across the beautifully fat flesh. 

And after a few moments of him staring so brazenly, saying nothing, simply drinking in the gorgeous sight of your body bent over, wearing so little clothing, wearing those perfect little lace panties-

(Stiles sped up his hand on his cock, the lube sounding downright sloppy in the silence of the room.) 

You would stand up to your full height, come to him in the doorway, put your face so close to his and say: 

“If you’re gonna spend so much time staring at me like a gaping idiot, then you should do something about it.” 

Stiles had to stop the swift movements of his hand and clutch his grip tightly around the base of his cock, making his entire dick throb hard as he edged off his own orgasm. 

He still wasn’t sure why the idea of you calling him an ‘idiot’ in such a brazen tone made him want to cum so hard - but he didn’t have time to unpack all that now. 

He grabbed up the panties again with his non-lubed hand. Something in the back of his mind thought that it would be a crime for him to get them dirty. Another part argued that he would absolutely love to get them covered in his cum, not clean them, and then return them to you. That it would be fucking thrilling to have you wear them in that dirtied state. 

Though he knew that would never fucking happen. 

If he returned the panties to you covered in his cum, then you would slap him, call him a pervert, and likely have Scott beat the shit out of him with his newly harnessed werewolf strength. Stiles pushed this thought to the back of his mind, though. 

Out of curiosity, he lifted the fabric to his nose and took a whiff. They smelled like fresh laundry - a nice lemony detergent. Of course they weren’t ones you had previously worn - they were a pair you had been planning on wearing tomorrow. 

He distantly wondered if that meant you would not be wearing underwear tomorrow, because he had taken your intended pair. And that could have led his mind down a whole different filthy track, but instead - he began to wonder what a pair of your dirty underwear might smell like. 

You should take a pair of used ones. A voice in his mind told him. Snatch them right out of the hamper. Come on, you’re over at her place all the time. She won’t even notice them gone. 

Terrible idea. Terrible rabbit hole. 

But what would they smell like? 

He wasn’t deluded enough to think that pussy smelled like roses. He had never been close enough to one - a real pussy - before to actually know. Yes, he was a virgin. He could have said that he was waiting, ‘saving it’ for you - but every other girl, including you, was smart enough to look past him. There were plenty of other guys who were better looking and more charming than him, and probably better in bed than him, that girls had chosen instead of him. 

He wondered if your pussy smelled like that perfect bit of sweat that you gathered at the end of a long day. Sometimes when he went to hug you before the two of you parted ways, he would catch a whiff of the tiniest undertone of musk, a good amount of sweat paired with the berry scented body spray you had put on that morning, and orange tic-tacs you had popped after lunch. It was a delectable combination. 

He imagined that your cunt would smell like that bit of sweat, combined with the blueberry body wash you used - the one he knew about and loved because of the time you had insisted he use your shower while stinking up a study session because he had skipped the showers after lacrosse practice when he was late to be with you. 

He imagined getting hints of that blueberry body wash smell coming off your thighs when his head was buried between them. What would your cunt taste like? That was a mystery he wanted to solve live. 

He could always imagine the other aspects so well. 

He could imagine the feeling of the heat under his tongue, the perfect feeling of your wetness mixing with his spit. He imagined getting to bounce your swollen clit against his tongue and while feeling your moans and cries of his name vibrate through your body as he pleasured you so well - the feeling of your pubes brushing against his cheeks as his entire face became soaked with your wetness. 

But the taste - that was something he could never conjure up in his mind, no matter how hard he tried. 

He knew that eating your pussy would be perfect. Not just because he would be giving you pleasure, serving you. But he so often dreamed of having his head smothered by your thighs, having you grab his head and shove him tighter into your cunt, you purposeful and demanding. You having that beautiful control over him while he drowned in your wetness. 

He knew that he would likely cum in his pants from eating you out if he ever got the privilege of doing so, and even if you laughed at him - stupidly, he would find that hot too. 

Stiles picked up the pace again, pumping his cock in hand evenly and firmly - even reaching down with the other hand to cradle his balls, gently rolling the flesh in his hand as he got lost in another fantasy of you. 

He imagined the two of you in his bed - textbooks forgotten and pushed off onto the floor, your dress hiked up around your hips, and again, those fucking purple lace panties. He was on top of you, hovering on his knees so that his hard cock wouldn’t brush against you (even through his jeans) while the two of you sloppily made-out. 

It wasn’t long before you pulled away from his kiss-swollen lips. 

“Stiles,” You purred into his ear, kissing along his neck. “You know, you’re so pathetic.” 

These words had his cock jumping, spurting out precum - in his fantasy, it made his underwear messy as you undid his fly. 

In the real world, it made his hand messy as he continued to rhythmically jerk his cock. 

“I’m not gonna let you fuck me.” You told him, contrasting these words with your intentions as you put your hands inside his waistband and shoved his pants and underwear down over his hips - down to his knees until his hard, throbbing cock was exposed. “Not until you prove yourself.” 

Before Stiles could ask the question, the beautiful, fantastic you that he had made up inside his mind gave him the perfect answer. 

“Get yourself off by rubbing your pathetic dick against my panties. And then - I might let you fuck me.” 

In the real world, Stiles let out a throttled moan - a choked sound that surely would have had his father knocking on the door to ask if he was okay if he was at home. And then he rushed to grab the panties again, and without even thinking, he used his sticky lubed up hand to position the fabric around his dick. It was a coarse roughness compared to the slick smoothness he had previously been feeling, but it did wonders to complete his fantasy as he delved back to the you inside of his mind. 

He started rubbing the slightly lube-sticky rough fabric up and down his dick at a very slow pace as he imagined it: 

Being perched between your thighs, with the fabric of the panties stuck to your wet cunt, his cock hard and leaking as he tucked himself right up against you and began to rub his dick against you in order to get off. Just like you wanted, just like you had ordered him to do. 

“Please.” Stiles chanted, the words leaking out of his lips, chanted into his empty bedroom as he pleaded to the imaginary you that would always have a hold over him - just as tight of a hold as the real you had. “Please, please - oh fuck.” 

He moved the fabric over his cock faster as he moved his hips faster in the fantasy, imagining how hot your pussy would feel against him, imagining your nails digging into his hips as you looked up at him with mocking and adoration in your eyes. He imagined you forcing his hips faster, trapping him in place with your knees bracketed around his thighs, showing him absolutely no mercy. 

“Please, please, please.” He chanted, knowing with a distant part of his mind that he must have sounded utterly delirious. “Please, Y/N, lemme cum-” 

“Cum for me, Stiles.” 

Confirmed by that fantasy version of you and truly unable to hold it any longer, Stiles arched up off the bed, cumming all over his own fist. Just as he had predicted, it was an utter, uncontrollable mess. He shot cum all over his stomach, and absolutely soaked the fabric of the panties - making a horrible mess of them. Which, the lube had definitely already done. He laid there for a single moment catching his breath before it truly hit him. 

Fuck. He had fucked up. 

You would definitely notice the underwear missing after a while and he certainly couldn’t return them to you in this condition. 

… 

Stiles spent the next hour in the bathroom, absolutely panicking over how to get them clean. Luckily, he wasn’t a total idiot and he looked up the washing instructions online - and after hand-washing them in warm water with a ‘gentle’ detergent (handsoap was the best that he could do), they came out perfectly clean. 

The only problem? 

Hang to dry. 

He set his alarm for early, earlier than you suggested, and prayed that he wouldn’t sleep through it. In fact, he set three more alarms just to make sure. He couldn’t have you or his father barging into his room to wake him up when he had a pair of your stolen panties pinned to his corkboard in order to properly dry them so that he could sneak them back to you in good condition. 

… 

The next day, he departed for school by 6:45 with the stolen goods hidden away in his bag, ready to sneak them back into your room later that afternoon. He made it to the library ten whole minutes before seven, and you seemed shocked that he was not only on time - but early. 

“Wow.” You said, having just gotten there yourself, spreading out your items at a table - including a tray with some coffees. “You know, Stiles, I am impressed.” 

“You don’t have to act so - so shocked.” He replied, partially interrupted by a yawn. 

You leaned over to get a pen from your bag, and Stiles’s eyes immediately went to your ass, unconsciously trying to spot panty lines through your dress and tights - wondering if you were even wearing underwear because he had stolen the ones you had intended for today. 

Focus, Stiles. Focus. 

“Well, if you weren’t here by seven sharp like I told you, I was gonna pour this in the garbage.” You told him, taking his coffee out of the paper tray and sliding it toward him. 

“You don’t have to be so mean.” He chuckled, airy and light - very secretly annoyed with the way your ‘mean’ streak affected him sometimes. Why did he have to be turned on by you scolding him and punishing him? Why? 

“Hey, if I’m not mean then you never get anything done.” You told him truthfully. “And you know how it works by now. Good boys get rewards and bad boys get spanked.” You told him, letting out a bright laugh - indicating that it was clearly meant to be a joke. 

But instantly, it shook his mind with imagery of you bending him over the table, ripping his pants down and spanking him until he came untouched and cried for mercy, forcing him to agree that he would behave and listen to you. He became downright dizzy at the thought. 

You meant it as a joke - he had to sharply remind himself. But the way you so casually called him a ‘good boy’, said that he was deserving of a ‘reward’ - it sent chills down his spine and already had his cock waking up. Too early. Bad rabbit hole. 

If he was any sort of brave, he would have pushed it more and asked you what kind of ‘reward’ you had in mind. But he wasn’t, and he was too tired to analyze the potential consequences. 

“Oh!” You said, as though suddenly remembering something. You moved to grab your bag again and Stiles closed his eyes to forcefully keep himself from staring at your ass. “You left this at my place last night.” You told him, sliding his English textbook across the table toward him. 

He was too busy trying to calm his own lust that he missed the smirk on your face - the mischief lingering in your eyes, the intention in your tone. He was too caught up, drowning in his own affections for you that he never would have pieced together that you had taken in and hidden it on purpose as a ploy to get him to come back. That you had put out some other bait for him to find. 

“Thanks.” He said quietly. “So - what do we need to go over before the test?”

“Everything.” 

Stiles groaned.

...

A/N: Yes, there is a sequel for this fic in my drafts. It is something that I worked on during my hiatus. It's 10k long, and it's pretty much done.

If you would like to see the sequel edited and posted in a timely manner, I would like to see at least 30 reblogs and 25 comments on this fic - in the form of replies or anon asks.

102 people liked the preview for this fic and I know a lot of people are interested in it, so I am only asking for a 1/4 of the people who liked the preview to interact this fic before I release the sequel. But please, keep comments to the content of this fic rather than just asking for the next part to be released.

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Happy reading, and I hope you enjoyed the fic!!

[skyesdaisys]

since I usually see fics and headcanons of a clingy!reader, I want to see the evans with a reader who is not physically affectionate unless they make the first move (but it's a rare occurrence)

𝜗ϱ ┆ DEALING WITH A S/O WHO ISN’T PHYSICALLY AFFECTIONATE .ᐟ

── THE EVANs ‧ h e a d c a n o n s ೃ࿐

ft. tate ‧ kit ‧ kyle ‧ james ‧ kai ‧ peter

⟣ TAGS ‧ SFW | gn! reader | fluff. not proofread

a/n: why is this is so relatable smh..

⟢ 𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐃𝐎𝐍.

at first, Tate would be confused by your lack of physical affection. he needs to reassure himself of the connection. your reluctance to reciprocate would leave him wondering if he’s done something wrong or if you don’t feel as strongly about him as he does about you.

Tate would make an effort to respect your boundaries. always desperate for your affection but would hold back, not wanting to push you away. however, this would be difficult for him. his hands would hover close to yours, itching to reach out but restraining himself because he knows it’s not what you want.

he would overanalyse every move you make, trying to understand your behavior. If you initiated a rare touch, he’d replay the moment in his mind over and over, searching for clues about what made you comfortable enough to do so.

though he’d try to hide it from you, he’d feel rejected when you don’t respond to his advances, it often leads to bouts of sulking or silent brooding.

your lack of physical affection would feed into his insecurities. he’d constantly worry that you don’t care about him as much as he cares about you. he needs verbal reassurance from you, asking questions like, “you still love me, right?” or “are we okay?” even if nothing is really wrong.

Tate would become hyper-aware of your moods and body language. he’d learn to read the tiny signs that you might be open to affection, like the way you lean closer or the softening of your expression. he’d wait patiently for these cues, hoping for those rare moments when you initiate contact.

⟢ 𝐊𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐄𝐑.

Kit would be incredibly respectful of your boundaries from the start. he’s naturally empathetic and would immediately pick up on the fact that you’re not very physically affectionate unless you make the first move. rather than pushing you, he’d give you all the space you need, never pressuring you to be more physically intimate than you’re comfortable with.

he wouldn’t take your lack of physical affection personally and would appreciate the moments when you do initiate contact, knowing that it’s special to you. he’d cherish those moments without expecting them to happen frequently.

while Kit wouldn’t initiate much physical contact, he would express his affection in small ways. including gentle touches like brushing a stray hair from your face, offering you his jacket when it’s cold, or sitting close enough that you can feel his presence without feeling crowded.

since you’re not very physically affectionate, Kit would make up for it with verbal affection. he’d constantly remind you how much you mean to him through kind words and affirmations. whether it’s telling you how much he loves you or complimenting you on something specific, Kit would make sure that you feel loved and valued.

⟢ pre death .ᐟ 𝐊𝐘𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑.

Kyle would always be mindful of your personal space. if you’re not in the mood for physical affection, he would never force it. instead, he’d find other ways to be close to you, like sharing meaningful conversations or spending quality time together. he would never make you feel guilty for not being physically affectionate, and he’d never let it affect how he treats you.

on the rare occasions when you do initiate physical contact, his heart would swell with love and appreciation. he’d treat those moments as something truly special, holding onto them and letting them fuel his affection for you even more. he would never take your touch for granted, knowing how significant it is for you to make that move.

Kyle would deeply respect you and your preferences. he’d never see your lack of physical affection as a flaw or something that needs to be “fixed”. instead, he’d view it as just another aspect of who you are, and he’d love you all the more for it.

Kyle is really adaptable, and he’d be willing to adjust his own expectations and needs to fit yours. if physical affection isn’t your thing, he would focus on other ways to connect with you.

⟢ 𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇.

James would be intrigued by your lack of physical affection. he’s an observant man, and he’d see this as a psychological puzzle to solve, fascinated by what makes you tick and why you have these boundaries.

at first, he’d see your restraint as a kind of challenge, but once he understands that this is simply part of who you are, James would respect your boundaries — “how thrilling it is to have a lady who keeps a man at bay.”

James would not be overtly aggressive in pursuing physical affection. he’d adapt to your preferences with gentlemanly grace. he’d never pressure you to be physically affectionate, preferring to let things unfold naturally.

he would spoil you in other ways, showering you with lavish gifts, luxurious experiences, and his undivided attention. he’s the type to dote on you with grand gestures, buying you rare jewelry, filling your room with flowers, and arranging elegant dinners.

⟢ cult leader .ᐟ 𝐊𝐀𝐈 𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍.

would lash out verbally, accusing you of not loving him or being distant. his outbursts would be super intense, driven by his insecurity and need for control. however, he’d quickly backtrack if he feels it’s pushing you away, using his charm and apologies to regain your favor.

deep down, Kai would harbour resentment towards you for not fulfilling his need for physical closeness (in other words he’s a petty ass bitch). he wouldn’t show it openly, but it would manifest in subtle ways—like giving you the cold shoulder or making passive-aggressive comments.

your rare moments of initiating physical affection would become an obsession for him. he’d analyse what made you initiate contact, trying to replicate the circumstances to make it happen again.

if he feels that you’re too distant or unaffectionate, he would provoke jealousy to force a reaction from you. he would openly flirt with others or make you think he’s losing interest, just to see if it triggers any possessive or affectionate behavior on your part.

he’s a great manipulator. Kai would make you feel insecure or lonely, only to offer himself as the solution, knowing you’ll reach out to him.

⟢ 𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐗𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐅𝐅.

the speedster moves super fast, and his instinct is to zoom over and hug or touch you. but once he realises you’re not into physical affection unless you initiate it, he’d try to restrain his impulses (heavy emphasis on “try”)

Peter would definitely tease you about being physically reserved, but it’s light-hearted and never mean-spirited. “wow, i didn’t think i was that repellent,”

since you don’t often initiate affection, when you do, it’s like a special occasion for Peter. he’d make a big deal out of it, “whoa, someone’s feeling generous today!”

Peter would try to make you laugh as much as possible, seeing your laughter as its own kind of affection.

since full-on hugs or physical closeness aren’t frequent, Peter would be a lil sneaky — brushing his fingers against yours when handing you something or casually bumping shoulders with you when you’re walking side by side.

 fear-is-truth 2024 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[skyesdaisys]

HIDE N’ SEEK

NSFW MINORS DNI 18+ wc: 1.3k . . .ᐟᅟ TAGS: sexual content・ cnc ・ fem!reader ・gīmp sūit!tate ・ some runnin’ around・ degradation・swearing ・ dumbification・rough sēx・ asphyxiation・english is not my first language so bear with me・not proofread

a/n: oh hey hello i am actually alive. busy with school but here’s a lil thing i wrote in 15 minutes.

Your feet slapped against the polished wood floors as you sprinted down the hallway, heart pounding in your chest. You could hear him behind you, each creak of the floorboards marking his steady approach. The sound of his breathing—calm, controlled—only spiked your fear. You knew this was just a game, a stupid, fucking asinine game you had agreed to, but that knowledge did nothing to quell the rising panic inside you. You rounded a corner, spotting the door to your father’s study, and bolted inside, slamming it shut behind you.

The room was dark and quiet, the scent of leather and books surrounding you as you darted behind the large couch. You crouched down, back pressed against the cool leather, trying to calm your ragged breathing. Every muscle in your body was tense, ears straining to catch any sound from the hallway. The door creaked open, and you clamped a hand over your mouth to stifle a whimper. His steady footsteps grew louder as he entered the room.

A single squeak of the latex. You bit down on your lip, trying to stay as still as possible, but you knew Tate was close.

You dared to peek around the edge of the couch, and there he was, standing in the middle of the room. The black latex suit clung to his body, highlighting every sinew of muscle. His face was partially shadowed, but the glint in his eyes was unmistakable—he was hunting you.

A sob threatened to rip through your throat, but you held it back. This was just a game, you reminded yourself again.

“Tate…” you pleaded, but the word barely made it past your lips before you heard him move towards your hiding place. You scrambled backward, trying to put more distance between you, but there was nowhere left to run. Before you could react, Tate lunged forward, grabbing you by the wrist and pulling you up from behind the couch. You yelped as he spun you around, pinning you against the wall with a soft thud. The cool latex of his gimp suit pressed against your body as he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear.

“Gotcha,” his mouth crashed against yours in a rough, hungry kiss. Hands grabbing greedily at the plump flesh of your ass as he devoured you. His lips moved against yours with a fierce passion, his teeth nipping at your lower lip before soothing the bite with his tongue. You whimpered against his lips, your hands instinctively reaching up to tangle in his hair, tugging gently. He responded with a low groan, shoving his tongue down your throat.

The fear and adrenaline that had been coursing through your veins moments before was now replaced by the familiar pulsating need between your legs. You gasped when he finally pulled back, just enough to let you catch your breath, his forehead resting against yours. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with lust as he stared back.

•••

Drool spilled from the corner of your mouth as incoherent babbles tumbled past your lips. Your poor, abused pussy was leaking, sore and swollen from how hard he was fucking you. Unfazed by your discomfort, Tate continued to dominate, his sweat-slick body gliding against yours.

“Ughhh, so good. Feel me deep in you?” His voice was strained as he bottomed out, his tip bullying against your g-spot. Fingers pressing gently on the bulge on your lower belly, applying pressure to the skin stretched by his girth. You let out a mewl, body being jerked back and forth with each of his mean thrusts.

“Mghmm! Too much, Tate– too much!” Your pussy was contradicting your words, it kept squeezing him tighter and leaking messily all over his cock. Tate’s eyes narrowed at your muffled protest, but he slowed down his movements, sliding out of you for a moment before smacking your ass harshly. Smirking at the way the flesh rippled, a handprint blooming across the supple skin.

“What was that for?!” you squealed indignantly.

“Thought little sluts like you prefer it rough?” he purred, breath hot against your ear. He lined himself back up, before pushing his cock back into you gracefully with a lewd squelch. This time, Tate went slower, relishing the glorious feeling of your tightness gripping him. One hand coming to rest on your ass, soothing the red welt he’s inflicted earlier with his palm.

“Fuck, you love this, don’t you?”

The sentence was punctuated with a deep roll of his hips, and your boyfriend snickered meanly at the way you whined when his tip nudged against your cervix. His other reached around, gripping your throat, applying pressure, you could feel your vision blurring.

“Love being fucked like a whore,”

Body trembling, you found yourself nodding, hips bucking back against him. His hand trailed from your backside up to the nape of your neck, forcing your head to the side so he can shove you down into the couch, ass up in the air so he can fuck you deeper. His thrusts grew harder, more aggressive, and you could feel the couch creaking under the force. You clawed at the armrest, desperate for something to hold on to. Your nails dug into the soft leather, leaving crescent marks.

“Nghmmm— p-please, no more.. I can’t-”

fat tears trickled down your cheeks and yet your hips were instinctively bucking up to swallow his cock even further, your greedy pussy sucking him deeper and deeper. What a glutton for punishment you were, but the burning pain became something just as good, even better actually, delicious, filthy pleasure.

“You’re such a dirty little liar,” he grunted, his grip on your throat not loosening. “You can fucking take it and you’re gonna. Fucking. Take it.”

His eyes are dark as he slammed hard into your pussy, his girth stretching you out to the extent that you could feel every ridge of the veins that scattered along his length dragging against your tight walls.

“T-Tate… ohmygodohmygod—”

“Love when you squeal my name, let the whole goddamn house know who owns this tight little cunt, hm?”

Your father’s study was filled with the lewd sounds of flesh slapping against flesh, the squeaking of latex, his laboured breathing and your wanton moans. Your body trembled, the fine line between pleasure and agony blurring. The room began to spin, the world fading in and out as Tate’s relentless pace pushed you closer to the brink.

“Oh! Taaaaate– I’m gonna—haaaaah–”

Your body was a tight, slick vice around his cock, and Tate could feel his own climax rapidly approaching. He grit his teeth, his hand on your throat tightening,

“Oh, you’re so close, aren’t you? Gonna cum all over my cock and ruin this couch,”

His grip on your throat loosened, just enough for you to gulp some air. The world dissolved into a kaleidoscope of colors, your body arching back to meet his, the pleasure overwhelming. You cried out, the sound muffled by the couch cushion, as you shattered into a million pieces. He moaned, his grip around your neck tightening once more, prolonging your climax.

“And then, I’ll leave this mess here, as a little ‘thank you’ to your dear father for letting you live in this house.”

Tate followed, his hot seed filling you to the brim, the latex suit squeaking one last time as he collapsed on top of you, panting. The room was filled with the sounds of heavy breathing and the occasional creak of the couch. He slowly withdrew, his cock slipping out of you with a wet pop.

“Happy now?” he croaked, exhausted. His grip on your neck slackened, and started to massage the bruises he left. You turned your head to look at him, eyes glazed and your body still shaking. A content, fucked-out smile played on your lips as you mumbled, “Yes, Tate... thank you.”

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 fear-is-truth 2024 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[skyesdaisys]

THE NOBLE WAR.

── tate langdon x f!reader. | wc: 2k

⟢ TAGS— nsfw. mdni ⨟ drūg use ⋅swearing ⋅ guns ⋅ mention of school shootings ⋅ dom!tate ⋅ degradation ⋅ daddy k!nk (kind of) ⋅ rough sex ⋅ unprotected p in v

⟢NOTE— english is not my first language, sorry if there’s any mistakes

You sit on the edge of the bed, watching your boyfriend pace around the room. His dark eyes are wild, flitting around like they can’t find a place to land. Every muscle in his body is wound tight like a spring, fists clenched as he stalks back and forth, on edge.

His desk is a mess—papers scattered everywhere, a line of coke powdered on the dark wood. He stops mid-stride, hunches over the desk, and quickly snorts another line.

“I’m never gonna be good enough, y’know?” Tate spits out bitterly, wiping his nose and sniffing hard. His gaze flickering to you for just a second before darting away again.

“No matter what I do, it’s never fucking enough. She wants me to be her perfect son—well, news flash, I’m not. Boo-fuckin’-hoo.”

You remain silent. You hate it when he’s like this—coked up, pissed off, unpredictable. It’s like walking on a tightrope, and one wrong move could send you both plummeting. He moves back to the desk, snorting another line of coke without even hesitating. The sight of it makes your stomach churn, and before you can stop yourself, you blurt out,

“Tate, quit snorting that crap.”

His head snaps toward you, eyes narrowing dangerously. For a moment, you see the depth of his rage, burning bright and dangerous behind his eyes. There’s no sadness there, no self-loathing—just pure, unfiltered hatred.

“Oh, so now you’re my therapist?” he sneers.“You think you know what’s best for me?”

“Fuck it, I’m never gonna be what she wants. And I’m done trying.” His eyes land on something under the bed. You follow his gaze and feel your blood run cold when you see the shotgun sticking out from underneath. You’ve known about the gun for a while, but it’s never felt as real, as threatening, as it does in this exact moment.

“What if I just… ruined everything for her?” he mutters, more to himself than to you. His fingers drum on the desk, his eyes still fixed on the firearm. Tate steps closer to the bed, closer to you, and you instinctively shrink back, though you hate yourself for it. He smirks at your reaction, a bitter, twisted smile.

“Like how?” you ask, your voice trembling. “What are you thinking?”

“Think about it,” Tate continues, his tone almost conversational now. “Just walk into school and…” he raises his hand to his temple, mimicking pulling the trigger.

“Bam. Peace. Everyone’s off to a better place.”

He can’t be serious—he wouldn’t actually do something like that. He’s just pissed off at his bitch mother, high as a kite, saying whatever comes to mind. But the way he’s looking at the gun, the way he’s talking… it makes you doubt, just for a second.

“Tate, don’t talk like that. It’s not funny.”

He reaches out and brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, and you can’t help but flinch.

“Are you scared of me, baby?”

His touch is gentle, but it feels like a threat. Your heart hammers in your chest, and you force yourself to shake your head, though you know he can see the fear in your eyes. He smirks again, as if he enjoys seeing you like this, cornered and helpless.

“You should be,” he whispers.

“You never know what I might do.”

And he’s right.

Being with Tate has severely fucked you up. That nervous twist in the pit of your stomach used to be a warning, a flare of fear meant to keep you safe, but somewhere along the way, you started confusing it with butterflies. A dark thrill creeps into your veins when he’s like this—his anger seething just beneath the surface. Arousal seeps through your panties— you’re pathetically wet, aching for his cock. He knows.

The hand on your cheek slowly creeps down and closes around your throat, pressing you flat against the mattress. A garbled moan escapes you when Tate squeezes gently, experimentally, constricting your airway.

“You’re gonna be a good girl for me?”

It’s wrong. You know it’s wrong. Tate is broken, shattered in ways you can’t fix, but you let him take it all out on you anyway. There’s a twisted satisfaction in it, to be the one he turns to when everything else falls apart. You like him best when he’s like this—when he’s raw and hurting, when he’s desperate enough to hurt you just to feel something real.

And you let him, because somewhere along the line, you’ve convinced yourself that this is what love feels like. That the bruises he leaves on your skin are proof that you mean something to him. That the pain is just another way of being close to him, connected.

Your eyes lock onto his, to see that his pupils are dilated with lust. You nod, eyes prickling with hot tears as you clench in anticipation.

“Yes Daddy,”

Smirking, Tate’s grip on your throat slackens briefly as his other hand fumbles to unzip his jeans, freeing his straining boner. You whimper as he latches his mouth to the column of your throat, planting sloppy, wet kisses. He sucks at the soft skin, gently nipping at your pulse points and dragging more mewls from your lips.

Bunching up your skirt, he yanks down your panties before tossing it aside. Your body trembles at the first few inches—it usually takes longer, but you are so embarrassingly soaked and ready, he can just keep pushing. But still, the fact doesn’t stop the broken moan tumbling from your lips at way his thick girth forcing itself inside you, every ridge and vein rubbing against your slippery walls and leaving a deliciously painful stretch in their wake.

You inhale a large gulp of air that ends with an erotic squeak when he finally bottoms out, spearing you so deep and good that you swear you can feel him in your gut.

“Fuuuuuck— so tight and warm f’ me,”

he grits out, and with a twinge of satisfaction, you can feel his cock throb inside you when you squeeze around him.

The world tilts on its axis; shattering and regrouping itself as you are overcome by the sensation of his cock filling you to the brim. Air rushes in your lungs through your gritted teeth as Tate pulls back slowly, brows furrowed in deep concentration. Without warning, he slams forward, burying himself right to the hilt.

“Pretty little cocksleeve just waiting to get fucked, yeah?

Under other circumstances, you would’ve slapped that crass language out of his mouth. Instead, your pussy clenches tightly around him, greedily sucking him deeper into your warm, plushy walls.

“Oh, now don’t tell me you enjoyed it,”

Tate jeers, dark brown eyes drinking in the sordid expression of ecstasy all over your face—glassy tear-stained eyes, plump lips slightly parted in a silent “o”, brows scrunched up. A sharp smack lands on your clit and you squeal.

“Answer me, slut.”

“Ahhh—Y-yes!”

Saliva dribbles down your chin when you feel the tip of his cock nudge against your cervix.

“T-Tate— please” you hiccup, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist.

“Please, m-more…”

“Please, m-more,” Tate mimics in a singsong lilt, his tongue tracing tantalisingly along the shell of your ear.

“Please what?” He nips on your earlobe.

“Please Daddy,”

You amend weakly. He hums in satisfaction, hand tightening around your throat once more, the other travels to your chest. Slipping under the loose neckline of your sweater and yanking down harshly, spilling your tits into his hand accompanied by the loud rip of fabric stretching. Fingers twisting your nipples as he palms at the soft flesh.

“Such a submissive little whore when you’re being fucked—how fucking pathetic. You sure you can handle?”

He fucks you slowly, agonisingly, infuriatingly slow. Dragging his cock out before lazily pumping back into you, all in his own good time. Tate leans down to wrap his lips around your nipple, tongue swirling around the hardened nub before biting into it.

“Hghmm— yes I can,”

You mewl shamelessly, toes curling. He pulls out with a lewd squelch; grabbing you roughly by the shoulders before flipping you over on the mattress. His fingers tangle in your hair, forming a makeshift ponytail as he tugs, forcing your spine into a perfect arch—ass up, weeping cunt clenching around nothing.

“I seriously hope you’re speaking from your brain, not your pussy.”

He slides back your warmth, draping his body over you. The new angle encourages you to buck your hips back against him, the globes of your ass smacking on his pelvis and the schlick shlick schilck sounds of your cunt swallowing his cock harmonising into an obscene melody.

“Haaaah yes—oh God yes,”

“…I wish you could see yourself now, little miss goody two-shoes begging to be fucked like a dirty slut,”

You bite down on your lip in an attempt to stifle your moans, which clearly irks him. He reaches forward and pries open your lips with his thumb before shoving his forefinger and middle finger into your mouth. Better to hear you gag around his fingers than nothing at all.

He then begins to move in a vigorous pace, hammering into your abused cunt with forceful yet measured strokes, heavy balls smacking against the sensitive bundle of nerves which lights up your whole body with pleasure.

“Mghmmm–”

You feel his hand resting on your lower abdomen, pressing your inner muscles down onto himself further. The familiar coil at the base of your spine starts to tighten.

“What’s that?” He removes his fingers from your mouth with a wet pop.

“What do you want?”

You try to form words, but his continuous assault on your cunt leaves you unable to voice anything more than broken moans.

“T-Tate… I mean–”

A pornstar-worthy moan erupts from your throat when Tate pinches your clit meanly, rolling the swollen nub between his fingers.

“Daddy I wanna cum!”

“Attagirl.”

The blunt head of his cock nudges against your cervix, and you start to lose any remaining semblance of control. Fingers gripping the sheets, you buck your hips back to meet his thrusts. Tate groans, and you feel the telltale twitch of his cock inside you. It’s obvious that neither of you are going to last for much longer. The bed is creaking under you, and you’re not surprised if the entire house knows what debauchery is going on in your room.

Body going limp, you collapse onto the mattress, a high pitched squeal leaving your lips as you shatter completely and utterly. With a guttural groan, Tate sinks his teeth into the junction of your neck and shoulder. Hips stuttering to a halt as he spills himself into you, spurts of milky white come painting your walls.

He stays inside you for a while longer, cock twitching as he thrusts lazily inside you, grinding his release as deep as it can go. Your eyelids flutter shut as he threads his fingers gently through your hair, the familiar touch soothing you in a way that nothing else can. He presses a tender kiss to your temple, his lips warm and soft against your skin.

“You okay?”

His voice is gentle, filled with a softness that’s distinctly him—the Tate you fell in love with. Right now, he’s your Tate again, the quiet, sweet boy who stole your heart.

You hum in response, leaning into his touch.

He sighs, nuzzling his nose in your hair.

“I was just joking with you earlier. About… y’know. Sorry, I was just so pissed—”

“It’s okay,” you cut him off gently, “I know.”

You do know. You’ve seen the way anger twists inside him, the way it sometimes spills over in ways he can’t control.

You also know that he’s not joking—not really. There’s a part of him that meant every word he said, a part that’s always teetering on the edge, waiting for an excuse to fall over. And you’re terrified that one day, he’ll take that final step.

But for now, you’re still here. And so is he.

And that’s enough.

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 fear-is-truth 2024 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[skyesdaisys]

if anyone understands having a tricky relationship with their father, it’s nate archibald. ౨ৎ

somethin small i wrote abt nate bc a few people asked. cw: daddy kink, daddy issues, smut

that distant stare of yours, that pout as you stare out over the city from his apartment window. he knows it all too well. approaches you softly with a slight sympathetic pout of his own, running a hand over your head and bringing your cheek to his chest so he can kiss the top of your head. he couldn’t give you a better father, but he could give you that guidance and love you crave so much. he could do better.

so he gives you everything — you want that dress costing an arm and a leg? it’s already hanging in your side of the closet at his apartment. you too sleepy as you sit at the kitchen table in the morning after a long night with him? he’s forking up a perfect biteful of pancake and bringing it to your lips with a grin, happy to do so. he never gets mad when you snap at him, something deeper clearly triggering such a sudden reaction— only frowning and shaking his head, closing in on you to thumb at your cheek. “whats with the attitude? somethings on your mind. talk to me.” he coo’s empathetically.

it’s not just you that noticed— blair’s smug but somewhat gleeful smile as she totters alongside nate on the street, nudging him with a sharp elbow through her maison margiela coat. “well, you know how thrilled i am for you to finally be tugging along a girl of taste. even if i have to watch you treat her like you snatched her from the cradle yourself.”

he huffs out a laugh, shooting her a confused glance, walking alongside her with his hands in his pockets. “what are you talking about? she’s like one year younger than me. nearly two.”

“age isn’t nothing but a number, nate— i’m talking about the coddling, tell me — does she call you daddy in just the bedroom or do you extend that to all hours of the day?”

“jesus— need i remind you of boundaries blair, what i do with my girlfriend is none of your business… but— no, she doesn’t call me that.”

but it stayed bouncing around his brain like a ping pong ball. started noticing all the little things, how much more you’d cling to him after an argument with your father. selfishly, he almost started wishing you’d fight more— just so he could dote on you like that. the whole ‘daddy’ thing wouldn’t be so weird right? the thought of it had him reaching down to readjust in his tight suit pants, clearing his throat. uncomfortable? yes. but sexy, crazily so.

maybe he could milk it out of you. enforce a little more guidance until you’re putty in his hand. it wouldn’t be hard, he saw the way you’d blink at him all doe eyed when he’d tell you not to stay up too late, both thumbs stroking your cheeks. he’d speak slower, calmer, stand closer, make him the only thing you can see, think about even. he was gentle, loving, held eye contact super well — too well, made your face get hot and wanna look away. made you wanna shrink, go all mushy in your brain. “hey, look at me when i talk to you sweetheart. i don’t bite, you know.” he smiles, and there’s no threat present but god you’d never disobey him. never your nate.

it finally slips out when he’s got your thighs pinned open, strong arms wrapped around them whilst he sucks on your clit. he was always good at that, making you cum. nate knew just how to destress you after a long stressful day, far too stressful for his sweet girl. he laps you up, pressing thick fingers deep inside gummy walls, dribbling over your slit.

“nnnnnn—” you can’t even get his name out, clutching a pink throw pillow.

“i know, baby.” he hums.

“daddy!” you cry, and he doesn’t even bat an eyelid as if he was expecting it. if you’d been more with it, you would have seen him bite back a proud chuckle, shoulders relaxing just a little. he keeps at it, stroking the inside of your sensitive thighs.

“thats right. tell daddy how it feels.”

[skyesdaisys]

𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐭 | 𝐊𝐢𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐫

paring: pre asylum!kit walker x fem!reader

cw: nsfw, smut with little plot, unprotected p in v, kinda vanilla

word count: 874

“So what about this dress?” You ask your husband, strutting out of the bathroom over to where he was sitting on the bed. Kit let out a low whistle, his eyes taking in your whole figure, absorbing every last detail.

“That’s a real nice look you got goin’ on,” Kit smirked suggestively. You rolled your eyes, striking him softly and playfully in the bicep with your handbag.

“Calm down, baby,” He chuckled, taking your forearms in his large, calloused hands. His thumbs stroked the skin of your forearm, trailing up and down the smooth, freshly-lotioned skin. “Need’a keep me intact ‘till we get to where we gotta go,”

“Which is?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. Kit lets out a soft chuckle, looking down as he shakes his head softly.

“To dinner, sweetheart…We can have desert when we get back,” He bit his lower lip, his eyes darting from your face, to your breasts. God, he was trying so hard to be a gentleman for you. You plop yourself down right on his thighs, your legs swinging on either side of his, which are pressed together.

“Or you could have it before dinner…Just this once..” You whisper seductively, your hands going cup each side of his face. Kit let out a soft hum, sucking in air through his teeth.

“Well, I suppose we could let that slide…Just once, right?” Kit chuckled. He grabbed your shoulders, flipping you over. You let out a small squeal, your back colliding with the fluffy duvet that sat over your shared bed.

Kit pressed his lips to your neck, feeling your pulse point beat under his lips. He left behind small wet marks on your neck, his hands trailing up from the small of your back. His large fingers gripped the seemingly small zipper of your dress.

“F-Fuck— can’t- get it-“ Kit laughed in a low tone, fumbling with the zipper. Kit grabbed each of your shoulder straps, pushing them down your arms as his body rested over you, his knees on either side of your hips. Your fingers were in his hair, messing with his brown locks.

You giggle as he pulls you dress down your body, kicking your legs a little. Kit grinned down at you, biting his lower lip. He thought you were the most gorgeous woman on earth. How he loved you.. He pulls off his shirt, your eyes immediately scanning his toned figure. He planted kisses down your neck, tugging his tighty-whities down his large thighs, kicking them off by his ankles. Kit ran his hands down your body, his thick palms grazing your skin. Kit unclipped your bra, never pulling his lips from your skin.

You bury your face in his hair as he continued kissing your neck, his tongue occasionally poking out to prod gently against your pulse point. He slipped his meaty fingers under the waistband of your panties before pulling them down to discard them with the rest of the currently unwanted clothes.

Kit licked two of his fingers, dragging them down to your clitoris. His rough finger pads yanked and pushed your throbbing clit in circular motions, your whimpers and moans being music to his ears.

“Yeah? It’s that good?” Kit spoke in a slightly gravelly tone, chuckling breathlessly down at you as he watched your eyes flutter, your chest heaving roughly as your legs kicked slightly upwards. Kit pulled his hand away, pressing a small, open mouthed kiss to your cheek.

Kit lined his hard cock between your slits, the tip angry and flushed as pre-cum shot softly between your folds, sending pre-orgasm shivers down your spine.

“Ready? one- two- three— nngh-..” Kit groaned, counting down before he pushed into your folds, stretching your cervix. You let out a weak moan, sighing. Kit brought his lips down to your collarbones, sucking on the bone beneath the skin. You swore you heard him letting out please whines.

Kit’s thrusts became increasingly faster and more frantic as he got closer. He wanted to make sure you hit you orgasms at the same time. You felt him nibbling the helix of your ear, his thrusts getting shaky as your flesh collided with each new push. You felt his cock pounding inside of you, his dick long enough so the tip just barely grazed your g-spot.

“Nngh…baby, i’m close..” Kit groaned, his half lidded eyes darting around your face.

“M-Me too—“ You mewl, feeling your orgasm approaching. Kit’s pace slowed, pounding into your throbbing, slightly swollen pussy harder and harder until you both finally felt the hot wash of an orgasm crashing over your bodies.

Kit threw his head back, letting out a loud groan. You squeaked, your fingers digging into his back as you felt his seed dominating your womb, filling you until you were practically leaking.

He laid down over you, panting as he nuzzled his face into your warm neck, sweat covering his face. “I- I don’t think ‘m hungry anymore..”

taglist: @fear-is-truth , @dangeroustaintedflawed , @newwavesylviaplath @coentinim @lacucarachapisser @evansonlylove @dearlizzies @oceanblvd111 @foreverviolets @emmasshitblog @jazz-berry @xrag-dollx @taintandviolent @colinzabelswife @marchsfreakshow @evanpeterspeter @whosbloom

[skyesdaisys]

drunk before the show [Jimmy Darling]

Drunk!Jimmy x contortionist!reader

summary: jimmy gets drunk before tonight’s show, however instead of rehearsing his performance he decides to drunk-fuck the contortionist whom he knows to have stage fright

content warning: alcohol consumption, mention of death, smut with plot, sex behind a trailer, titty sucking, fingering (f!receiving)

A/N: Big thanks to the person who gave me the idea for this, i appreciate it <3

masterlist

NSFW BELOW THE CUT. MDNI. CONSUMPTION IS DONE AT OWN FAULT

for the first time in however long, people finally came to the freakshow once again. Elsa had you spend all day rehearsing your contortion act whilst she made sure everyone knew what they were doing; it had to be perfect for today after all. however all day jimmy hadn’t been there which only meant one thing: he were getting drunk again

jimmy’s alcoholism had peaked after the unfortunate murder death of his mother, using the bitter liquid as his only form of comfort aside from you. he turned to you a lot, he trusted you to see his vulnerable side therefore you’d often comfort him whenever it was needed. However today was different: there was no jimmy. he was drunk, but where was he drunk?

you hated rehearsals and shows without jimmy, despite knowing your routine you always got stage fright and he would be the one to give you a small confidence boost, so without jimmy here now it was hard for you to accept your routine as ‘perfect’

——————————————————————————

10 minutes before the show started he finally stumbled over to you, drunk as a skunk with a bottle clutched in one of his clawed hands, as usual covered by his leather mits. “Y/N… Y/N,” he calls out when he sees you on your way to the big top, almost falling face first into mud when he tried to make his way over to you. his voice was hoarse and heavily slurred due to the alcohol. “c’mere baby” he said, his floridian accent overridden by the stretch and effects of the strong liqueur he had spent all day drinking to avoid his pain

“jimmy wha-” you begin, however you was promptly cut off when he took you by the waist and slung you over his shoulder. he carried you away to the back of the carnival, putting you down behind a trailer and pressing you against the side of it. the smell of alcohol filled your senses and caused you to scrunch your nose in disgust, however jimmy seemed to take no notice of this and lightly pinned you to the wall.

he downed the last of his alcohol before tossing the bottle off to the side, and beginning to fumble with your blouse buttons, his usual smoothness washed away by the pungent liquid. “jus’ a quick one, yeh?” he murmured to you, beginning to kiss and suck the sweet spot on your neck whilst he attempted to free you of your clothes.

despite the suddenness of the situation, you couldn’t help but go with it, so you decided to help him out by undoing your blouse, letting your bra hit the floor, and expose your breasts to his eager eyes. the cold nighttime air instantly hit your exposed flesh, causing your nipples to pebble before jimmy’s eyes which only furthered his desire

without wasting any time he latched onto your nipple. he began kissing and sucking it whilst also giving it small kitten licks which caused your body to writhe in pleasure beneath him, the cold trailer causing your back to arch up into him and further pressing your nipple into his warm and eager mouth. Using his hand to cup your other breast, he gently squeezed and pinched your nipple between his conjoined fingers, eliciting gentle moans and whines from your slightly parted lips. “like that baby?” he slurs whilst looking up at you with his usual cheeky smirk, holding your nipple between his lips.

he reached his free hand up your skirt, feeling your wetness through your panties and gently beginning to rub your slit with his large fingers. “this all for me?” he drawls in the same drunken slur, pushing your panties to the side and sliding his fingers into your slicked and waiting entrance. he completely filled you with his fingers and slowly began to pump them in and out of your tight cunt, feeling your slick coat his fingers with every thrust

every thrust has you seeing stars, a feeling of pure euphoria taking over your mind every time he hit the spongy tissue inside of you. it hadn’t taken long before your orgasm crashed over your entire body, causing you to tremble and cry out in pleasure. you could barely stand, so jimmy wrapped his free arm around your waist

“that good for ya toots?” he said with a smug grin, helping you stand up and pulling your skirt back down to cover yourself. “thought you’d need some… stress relief, before the show” he drawls, playfully patting your ass before motioning over to the big top. “now let’s go… shows starting”

——————————————————————————-

A/N: this was the best fanfic i had ever written. i had tried a new writing style, new ideas, and then tumblr crashed and i lost it all so i gave up. hopefully this is still good enough that some people like it. might write a part 2 if people like it <3

[skyesdaisys]

𝐈 𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐁𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 | 𝐊𝐢𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐫

paring: asylum!kit walker x fem!reader

cw: angst-y, fluffy? mentions of torture, mentions of electroshock therapy, basic briarcliff stuff, i didn’t really know what to tag this tbh

word count: 965

Six months and fourteen days. That’s how long you’ve been in Briarcliff. Despite all the electroshock, you still remembered, carving it into a wall behind your bed with a spoon.

There he was. Kit fucking Walker. The hottest man in this goddamn hellhole. The one person in there that actually had a sane head on their shoulders, apart from you, of course. Unbeknownst to you, Kit thought you were the prettiest girl he’d seen in this place, even with the black spots on his vision.

“God, I hope she’s okay…” Kit would think to himself as he watched Sister Jude’s goonies rip you away to one fucked-up ‘treatment’ or another. And every time, just like clockwork, Kit would cup your face, telling you to look at him, making sure you’re okay. Well, as okay you could be after hours of switching between scalding hot and below-freezing cold tubs of water.

“They didn’t hurt ‘cha too bad, did they…?” Kit asked hesitantly, taking a drag of the cigarette he held in his mouth as he moved a chess piece on the board. You leaned into your forearms that were resting on the table as you gazed at him with distant, dilated eyes. God, he was dreamy. The way he looked at you..those caring, concerned, dark brown irises drilling right into your heart.

You shook your head. “N-Nothing too extreme,” You mumbled, knocking one of his chess pieces. “Hydrotherapy,”

Kit let out a soft tsk, taking another drag from his cig before offering it to you. You shake your head, watching him put it back between his lips. You traced the shape of his lips, the cupids bow, even the small gash on the right corner of his upper lip.

“So’re you a chainsmoker or something?” You chuckle. Kit lets out a half-assed scoff, a small smirk playing at his lips.

His eyes scanned your beautiful, beautiful face. You were like a good bottle of alcohol to him, and he was completely inebriated by you. The way your lips moved with each syllable you spoke, how your tongue danced in your mouth, how your eyes darted whenever you were nervous. How he wanted to make your eyes roll back, see you bite your swollen, kiss-starved lips as you stared up at him, begging him to fuck you just by giving him a single look.

Kit wanted to take you out of here. He wants to take you far, far away from this hell. Somewhere safe..back to his home. A place where he could hold you, hug you, kiss you..A place where he could be alone with you. Where he could love you like he couldn’t here, give you a life you deserved, with him. And you wanted the same. You’d beg to whatever entity there was above, wishing, praying that you’d be able to run away with Kit.

You smiled tiredly at Kit, his earthy irises taking in that tired, plastered smile. Kit nudged your foot under the table, his voice lowering to a whisper. “I’m gonna get ’cha outta here, i promise. I-I’ll take ya’ someplace safe. ’Ya won’t suffer anymore, i won’t let anythin’ hurt you…”

You nod, kicking his foot back with a soft ‘i hope you’re not lying to me’ smile. Kit had promised that at least once a day, reminding you that he wouldn’t abandon you the moment he had a way out of this place. He was taking you with him, one way or another, no doubt about it.

If only he knew how much you wanted him. And if only you knew he shared those feelings too. If only you know what went on in his mind..

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