#dark!stiles x reader

[silentmacabre]

every season is stiles’ season

[sunni-yg]

𝙋𝙇𝘼𝙔𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏꩜.ᐟ

[stilinskibaby]

PAIRING : dark!stiles x reader

CONTENT : mention of violence, yandere!stiles

stiles who turns evil, tired of watching people die and scott letting them off too easily.

stiles who starts becoming a little too possesive and protective. he wont let you too far outta his sight.

stiles who's paranoia becomes too much and he's killing people who even strike him as off

stiles who wipes blood off his face as if it's nothing, and he's almost sweeter when he comes home, peacefully cuddling knowing you're just a little bit safer.

[carriondell]

void stiles composing haikus for his beloved, fitting so much vile gross repulsive nauseating visceral horror and passion in only 5-7-5 syllables that when he's done orating the newest poem he's so proud of, dedicated to you alone, you can just about mutter, "oh, that is... lovely..." because how else are you supposed to answer a chaosmongering fox's confession that he dreams of moulding candles from the suet of your kidneys???

[saintsir4n]

Hey girly quick question in chapter one day of peace for the Klaus story did Adrienne and him has sex or were they only making out I’m confused ? Also I was wondering why did you discontinue your Stiles Stilinski story , it was so good and I just know if you wrote more it would’ve been scrumptious?

— A DARK TWISTED FANTASY: Klaus and Adrienne didn’t sleep together, they were just messing around and making out.

— DIVINITY OF HELL: I didn’t have the motivation to continue the stiles story. I did plan most of it, if not all but I just stopped caring. I have thought about continuing especially with the rest of the seasons but I’m currently focused on completing stories I like.

[aloneatpeace]

Info she THE SCARLET PHOENIX

OUTFIT OF SCARLET PHOENIX

Chapters

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14

15 / 16 / 17 / 18 / 19 / 20 / 21 / 22 / 23

[miasmal-sweetness]

Needle in to a bug (part 2)

I recall being told years ago that many surgeons have an unusually perceptive sense of touch, able to feel and palpate things that others struggle with or can’t feel at all. I think that could describe Derek.

Also, I know why it’s usually not mentioned wtf a kidnapped darling does when they need to pee, but I personally prefer it. Being able to just use the bathroom and clean ourselves up plays a big part in feeling human and dignified for so many of us. Whether they’d treat it like nothing at all, enjoy your humiliation, or degrade you for just having human needs, I think it would all stress me out way more than getting slapped around a lil bit every now and then.

Summary: 4.7k. You finally get the chance to move around and learn more about Derek, but he’s studying you, too.

Alt summary: Your hot surgeon is really hands-on and gives you the worst sponge bath you’ll ever have.

Pairing: yandere!Derek Stiles x reader x (in the future) yandere!Victor Niguel

Warnings: author’s medical trauma is showing, general medfet, kidnapping/captivity, bondage, urine (but like not in a sexy way, it’s just there), reader refers to having a period, noncon, violence, use of pet names (princess, honey), general yandere and obsessive behaviors

part 1 part 2 part 3

MDNI – NSFW – 18+ only – take care of yourself

Needle in to a bug (part 2)

You’re still sleeping. You breathe quietly as your eyelids flutter. You’re dreaming, and Derek hopes it’s of him. Whether it’s of him holding your hand, fucking your brains out, or slicing you open, it doesn’t matter—he just wants it to be of him. Derek glances at your throat. The blade has left red circles on your chin and chest, but it doesn’t look like you tried to scream at all, and that brings a smile to his face.

He hopes this means that you’ll adjust quickly, but he’s not against the idea of you putting up a fight, either. You could squirm and swing at him, and he’d smack you in the face and shove you on to the floor and—he’s getting carried away. Derek clears his throat and adjusts his glasses; heat is flowing from his neck up to his face. And down to his pants.

You’re here. You could help him fix that. And it’s tempting—but you’re still healing, and he also hasn’t had the decency to feed you yet. Derek pinches his thigh in an effort to calm his raging libido, before kneeling down beside you and smoothing some of your hair out of your face. He always thought you were cute, even when you two first met, but you look adorable when you’re sleeping.

He should have just taken you back then. He gave you a pass and didn’t kill you because you were so sweet, and then you were smart enough to not come back for a while. He thought he wouldn’t be so soft this time, that he’d rip you apart and be done with you, but then you had to go and look so adorable while he was cutting you apart.

“Rise and shine, sweetheart,” Derek coos, running his finger down your cheek. You eyes flutter open, showing only your white sclera for a moment, before your eyeballs roll to the correct place and slowly focus on him. “How are you feeling?”

He knows you can’t speak without getting hurt, and he knows you’ve likely forgotten in your current state. “I—” You wince and whimper when the blade digs in to your flesh, and you snap your mouth shut to try to end the pain.

“Oh, sorry, I forgot,” Derek says in a tone that is far too chipper. He undoes the leather collar around your neck, returning your ability to speak. “Better?”

As if you fear the ghost of it will manage to hurt you, you hesitate, slowly opening your mouth to test it before actually speaking. “My—my back hurts. My lower back.” Your sacrum is both numb and aching, likely from the pressure of being against the hard tub for so many hours. The pool of your own urine underneath it only added to the damage.

Derek doesn’t want you to get a pressure ulcer. Those are nasty and annoying to heal. Even so, you haven’t been here that long. “If you behave,” he begins, touching his finger to the irritated red spot on your chest. “I can let you move around a little bit.”

You immediately nod. Ugh, that hurts. The back of your head feels like the skin is ready to slough off.

“No running. You stay by me the whole time unless I give you permission not to, okay? No screaming,” he lists, tapping the spot on your chest with each new rule. “No silly ideas.”

“Okay,” you quickly agree, eyes wide at the thought of actually getting to move. Maybe you can’t escape with him right next to you, but you can at least get your bearings and start mapping the place—and take some pressure off your sacrum and head.

Derek smiles at your agreeableness and reaches down to pull you upright. It hurts; if anything, you expected relief, but you were only met with more pain. Your muscles are already sore and stiff from being contorted behind and underneath you for so long, unable to stretch, flex, or extend. Your hips click loudly. Your knees pop. You can feel cold urine running down your skin and it makes you want to throw up a little, but there’s nothing in there for you to expel.

“I should get you cleaned up first,” Derek muses. He’s unfazed by what a fucking mess you are. He’s a doctor, a literal goddamn surgeon, of course he isn’t bothered by the sight of your red skin and dried blood and urine all over you. The mats at the back of your head. The indents and edema left by the rope he bound you with. The fluid that oozes from the flesh he tore in to. This is the reality of the human body, a reality he is very familiar with, and one that he can now make a personal show of through your trembling little form.

You’re stupid for expecting hot water. You’re dowsed with ice cold water from the shower head and you suppose you should just be grateful that it isn’t a tub full of it, but you’re not. Urine, blood, and sweat run off of you and flow down the drain. He’s careful to avoid wetting your sutures; those need to be cleaned differently, he says, but you already know that, right?

Derek runs a rough, soapy washcloth up and down your arms. You’re shivering like he’s dunked you in an ice bath, but you haven’t complained, at least. His gaze trails down your spine, to the blooming red over your tailbone, and he presses his fingers against the center of it. As he expected, your skin doesn’t blanch from the pressure, but you do wince.

“That hurt?” Derek asks automatically.

“Y-yes.”

Of course it fucking hurts, it’s a pressure injury, but it made his cock twitch to hear you say it. Derek isn’t gentle when he scrubs your back or washes your hair with his soap and shampoo that just dry you out because he isn’t the kind of guy that has figured out how to take care of all that yet. Even he can tell that you’re in need of something gentler by how tight your skin feels now, but you’re still pretty soft, so it’s not that big a deal.

He drags the washcloth down to your inner thighs. You jump and wriggle, your limbs instinctively trying to lash out at him, but you make no progress. The ropes around your wrists and ankles might be wet, but they’re still tied tight around your limbs.

“You’d rather get an infection?” Derek mocks, pressing the harsh cloth in to the soft skin of your thighs. “Do you think that would make me stop?”

“No,” you whimper, averting your gaze. “I-I can do it myself.”

“No,” he mumbles, his eyes fixated on the soap running down your mound, “I don’t think you can.”

He was already harsh when he washed your back, and he was even worse when he started scrubbing your inner thighs and folds. Fuck. The soap burned and this washcloth was made of sandpaper.

“Stop,” you hiss, squeezing your thighs together. “That hurts!”

Derek mutters something you can’t hear past the water rushing out of the shower head. He doesn’t even look at your face; he just forces your thighs apart enough for him to wedge his hand in between them again. And then you see that his cheeks are flushed, and his lips are parted as he takes in deeper and deeper breaths.

“Stop,” you plead again. It’s no longer just the washcloth against you; you can feel his fingers exploring, teasing, prodding. You should have known, you think. You should have known that the man who cut you apart and kidnapped you and tied you up would be a fucking pervert, that he wouldn’t leave you with any kind of dignity intact. You feel your hope of escape draining from your soul when you look in to his eyes. He won’t look at your face. He looks exactly like the kind of man who could cut a person open, take out their heart, and feel nothing about whether they lived or died.

The kind of man who would never let someone go if they had even the slightest chance of fucking up the life he crafted for himself.

“I told you to stop!” you screech, throwing yourself against the wall of the tub in an effort to escape his touch.

“No screaming,” Derek reminds you. His eyes lock with yours for only a second, long enough to remind you of the rules he laid out for you. He shoves his index finger in to you without any warning and thrums. You’re squirming and writhing and whining, your face red from salty tears stinging your skin. You feel hot and soft around his finger, even with how cold the water still is. “You’re tight. I wouldn’t be able to pull out if I tried.”

You don’t hide your disgust at his words; not like it matters when he just keeps staring at the finger he pushes in and out of you. It’s invasive and gross, and there’s nothing you can do about it except cry and growl and sniffle. He’s done after just a few more moments; he clears his throat and does a little shake of his shoulders, like he forgot himself. He looks at your face now and smiles, smiles like the kind doctor you met years ago that you would have never expected to be a probable murderer and rapist.

“All clean,” he says with a grin. “Let’s get you dried off.”

The towel he uses is as rough and miserable as the washcloth. His bathroom might be fancy, but he’s still a young and clueless single man who doesn’t know the first thing about maintaining a home. He tousles your hair dry, inevitably filling it with more knots, and doesn’t bother to brush it.

“Remember the rules,” Derek said, grabbing the ropes around your wrists. “You said you’d be good.”

“I will be,” you assure, leaning away from him.

Derek leans closer, of course, and tightens his grip on your bindings. The soaking wet rope scrapes away a layer of your skin. “I mean it,” he warns, “Don’t test my patience, princess. I use most of it for work.”

You feel his breath on you. You want to spit in his face—he’s certainly close enough—but you also don’t want to die yet, so you simply nod and bat your lashes at him. He looks at you for another moment, but finally undoes the ropes around you. You immediately shift in place and bring your hands in to your lap to stretch.

“Don’t get too excited,” Derek says, rising to his feet. He looks between your hands and your hair, and ultimately decides to pull you up by your hair instead. Punishment for your scream earlier, he thinks as he watches you wobble in your attempt to stand. “I can’t let you keep your hands and your eyes.”

Your eyes widen, and you hide your hands behind your back. He was going to amputate them? “I—n-no, I—”

“Not like that,” he laughs, his eyes crinkling as he watches your plight. He looks so genuinely happy in this moment; he’d be pretty cute if he weren’t joyful over your suffering. “Come on, princess. Follow me.”

Like you have a choice. Your feet feel heavy and borderline useless from pins and needles as you stagger after him. You get only a glimpse at the bedroom connected to his bathroom before he throws a blindfold over your eyes. No use in fighting it—you’re too weak on a good day and still shaking from the shower.

“And… there.” He’s slid something over your hands. Mittens, by the feel of it; the kind of soft restraint you sometimes saw applied to patients who kept grabbing at tubes and lines. They’re soft and useless and utterly harmless. The most you could do is bat at him like a kitten would at a toy. “You can stretch and move your legs, but stay by me, honey.”

You grimace at the pet name—a pet name you probably would have enjoyed before all this shit—and nod. He guides your covered hand to his arm and has you hang on as he leads you further in to his apartment. Your plan of learning the environment has failed. Your head is too foggy from pain and drugs to keep track of how many steps you take or the turns you take. You’ll have to try again another time, if there is one.

Your foot catches on something soft—a rug, you realize—and Derek is nice enough to catch you before you can bust your face open on his living room floor.

“Careful,” he warns, placing your other hand on his arm.

“I can’t see anything,” you grumble. You’re pouting like a kid who was scolded, and it just gets worse when you realize that and hate yourself for it.

Derek pulls you towards his couch and lets you fall against the stiff cushions. It feels like a couch that was bought for looks over function and that badly needed to be broken in. There was no wear on the fabric, something you could feel even without putting your hands down, since this man did not have the decency to give you your clothes.

Maybe your period would strike and you’d bleed right on his fucking couch. You bet it’s a white couch. Judging by his bathroom, his apartment is probably a soulless, monochromatic bachelor pad that costs an absurd amount to rent; a place that looks more like a picture in a magazine to advertise one of the three pieces of furniture in it than a place anyone actually lives in.

“You can relax,” Derek tells you, seeing how rigid you are. Back straight and tense, legs squeezed together; you’re even tightening your core. You look pretty cute—it’s not like he’s immune to what it’s doing for your tits and waistline—but also pretty uncomfortable. “I’m not going to do anything to you right now, princess. You sit here and I’ll get you something to drink.”

The thought of your captor continuing to hang out next to you on his couch that felt like it was stuffed with books wasn’t appealing, but somehow the thought of being entirely alone here was worse. You tried grabbing on to his arm, but the mittens don’t allow you to actually grip anything. Still, he feels it and chuckles at your attempt.

“Cute,” Derek purrs, “I’ll be right back, honey.”

Honey. Princess. You feel his weight leave the couch as the saccharin sweetness of his voice leaves an aftertaste in your mouth that makes you grimace. You run your mitten-covered hands over your thighs in some attempt to soothe yourself and then pat the cushion you sit on. Stiff. You can hear the roughness of the fabric. You can hear his footsteps, too; he’s awfully loud for a criminal.

You hear liquid splashing, the sound of a fridge door opening and closing. What was he going to bring you to drink? Your mouth was so dry. IV fluids did not feel the same as oral hydration. A cold glass of water would be heaven in liquid form—but what were the odds he’d actually give you that?

He’d cut you open. Peeled your flesh back and toyed with your sinew. Probably took a fucking souvenir, unless you in your entirety were that souvenir. Assaulted you while he bathed you, bound you so you couldn’t scream without a serious injury, and left you without the dignity of being able to use the toilet. This little excursion, his offer of a drink, were both more likely to end in more pain than anything that could restore some of your humanity and comfort.

Your anxiety grows in your chest as he approaches. You feel the air pressure change around you; he’s to your… right. Leaning over you, exuding warmth. Cool glass touches your lips.

“Here,” Derek says, pressing a glass to your mouth. “Drink up.”

It’s fizzy; you feel bubbles popping and misting your face. It smells sweet. Your thirst outweighs your fear, and you take a hesitant sip that quickly turns into a desperate guzzle when you recognize it as lemon-lime soda.

“Slowly—you’ll upset your stomach, princess,” Derek laughs. You can already feel your stomach expanding from its shriveled state and starting to ache. He pulls the glass away from you; you follow it, but lose it immediately. “You can have more in a little bit. If you do well with this, then we can see about moving to full liquids. Okay?”

He tilts your head up, holding you by your chin. He can’t look you in the eyes like this, but he can still see your quivering lip. “Okay,” you breathe.

“I’m going to get a few things to clean your incision. In the meantime, you should stretch,” he says, pulling his hand away. “And make sure to take deep breaths regularly. I don’t want you getting pneumonia or a blood clot.”

“Okay,” you say again, in a strained voice. He’s leaving you here? Alone? Your hands might be soft and close to useless right now, but even you can bat off this blindfold with enough effort.

“I’ll be right around the corner, cutie,” Derek warns, his finger tapping the shallow wound on your chest. “No silly ideas.”

That makes much more sense. He leaves you on the couch to bitterly stretch out your tight calves. You can hear him rustling around somewhere nearby; any attempt to leave will end in tears.

He speaks to you like you’re a patient. Not only like you’re a real patient in a real hospital, but like you don’t know this shit anyway—like you don’t work at the same stupid hospital he does, the hospital that doesn’t pay you enough to afford real medical care, so you end up going to coworkers that are kind enough to treat you even though you can’t pay and they fucking kidnap you. Greatest goddamn hospital in Angeles Bay—in the nation, even—and they won’t pay their non-physician staff members a wage that would afford them something so basic. Caduceus was evil enough just for that without Derek slicing and dicing in their empty units.

You thought he was nice, once. When he worked at Hope Hospital and he saw you needed help, he pulled you aside after you refused treatment and offered to help you at no cost. It wasn’t an emergency, so you just had to come back later; he’d take you to the little office he worked out of for this and treat you. And he did. Your desperation paid off, and you left with the hope that you could be like him and never lose that kind of compassion when you started your career.

You wanted to be like him, as disgusting as it is to admit that now. You ran to him for help again. Let him put his hands on you once—a murderer’s hands—and then asked for more.

You slouch forward and let your mittens touch the hard floor beneath you. You’re stretching, technically. The fold is hurting your belly, but it distracts you from your thoughts, at least.

“Feeling any better?” Derek asks as he approaches you again. You look like you’re broken in already, and it’s better that you can’t see the overjoyed grin on his face at the thought of that.

“A little,” you mumble honestly. Your muscles feel ten times better, although your back is still a tad sore.

“Good, good,” Derek chirps, guiding you back on to the couch. “I’m going to clean your incision so it doesn’t get infected. All you need to do is lie down, honey.”

You stay put, bringing your hands close to your chest and your arms over your abdomen.

Derek’s eyes narrow in the slightest, but he remains smiling to keep his voice sweet. “You can have more to drink after this, princess—if you’re good,” he bribes.

That’s enough to get you to behave again. You lie down on the couch, and it feels only a little more comfortable than the tub. You twitch each time a package rustles as he readies his equipment. A bottle opens—antiseptic. Paper rustling—a box of gauze. Plastic peeling—a transparent dressing.

You hiss and bristle when icy antiseptic runs over the inflamed incision on your belly. One of his gloved hands grips your thigh, as though he’s trying to steady you.

“Breathe and relax,” Derek orders, running a new piece of wet gauze over the wound. “You’ll be fine.”

The kind thing to do before dressing a wound is provide pain medication. You are not in a position where you are afforded any kindness, so you bite your cheek and accept the pain of antiseptic sinking in to your flesh. It dries quickly, at least, and he’s soon applying antibiotic gel and a transparent dressing.

“There. It shouldn’t need to be changed for a while, if it heals normally,” Derek says, peeling off his soiled gloves. “I think I promised you a drink, right?”

Your brain digs up a memory at that word—promise. “You promised something else, too,” you say in a weak voice. Your incision still burns, and the dressing feels itchy and sweaty.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. You said—before you left, you said you’d tell me why,” you remind him, sitting up from the couch.

Derek sighs and adjusts himself so that he’s sitting down on the floor in front of you. “I did say that,” he mutters, furrowing his brow. His smile returns to his face and voice, and he rests his hand on your knee. You’re still cold to the touch; probably from low blood sugar, he thinks, so he gives you another sip of soda. “You want to know why I took you as my patient?”

You grit your teeth. “Why you kidnapped me and tortured me,” you whisper.

“Well, I’ll admit that my ways are unorthodox,” Derek says, tapping his fingers against your thigh. “And maybe the medical board wouldn’t be thrilled with me—they’re pretty clear that they don’t want us pursuing our patients.”

What the fuck is he talking about? You widen your eyes behind your blindfold and think that he’s somehow crazier than you thought—again. “Pursuing? Do you… Do you think this is romantic?”

Derek laughs. “Are you asking me, Derek, or are you asking Dr. Stiles, the man who cured GUILT?” He grins at the sight of you swallowing.

“You,” you quickly say, “I’m asking you. I want a real answer—please.”

“So polite,” he praises, just as you expected. “I think it is. You’re the one person I’ve changed my mind about killing, after all.”

That’s not romantic, you think and nearly say aloud. You don’t want to know how he’d respond. Instead, you ask, “Why did you try? Why did you change your mind?”

“You were an easy target,” Derek admitted, letting his fingers freely wander up and down your thigh. “You know, I mostly get older patients. They’re used to this. They’re calloused, inside and out. But not you; you’re still young and soft. Softer than normal. I’ve operated on hundreds of people, but you felt… different. Like an actual human, not just another body on my table.”

He leans his face against your thigh; his cheek feels hot, so hot you think he’s actually blushing as he murmurs this delusion against your skin. His fingers brush against the crease where your thigh meets your pelvis; it tickles, but you’re too focused on his words to react. He’s murmuring it like a confession of a crush, rather than a confession of how much he wants to see you suffer.

“It felt incredible to touch you like that,” Derek breathes. He presses his lips against your thigh, gripping your legs in place when he feels you lean away. “You don’t need to be shy with me, honey. I know you need me, too.” He drags his lips over your skin, his fingers trying to pry your thighs apart.

“Stop,” you whimper. You raise your hands to push his head away, but he grabs them by their straps and pulls them to the side. “I don’t want this! Just let me go and I—”

“Won’t tell anyone, you swear,” Derek finishes. The warmth in his face is gone, as is his smile. “I’ve heard this before, princess. You aren’t clever. Now, I’m going to give you another chance because I know you’re scared. Try to be good this time.”

Refuse again and he’d tie you back up. And probably worse. You can’t stop shaking as he kisses up and down your thigh, like he’s your lover and not your captor. You want to throw up every ounce of your drink, but the most you can do is pathetically try to pull your hands away from him.

“Be good,” he says against your flesh, “I won’t need to hurt anyone else if I can just feel you, princess. Think of all those people you’ll save.”

If you weren’t so panicked and weren’t blinded, maybe you’d see the tension in his shoulders and the way his eyes widened. Maybe you’d see his lower lip tremble and the desperation he held back in his kisses. Maybe you’d realize it’s been a long time since he was last given someone’s vulnerability, instead of taking it by force. But you can’t see him, and he’d never admit just how much he wants to hear you moan.

“I don’t want you,” you spit, twisting your hands out of his grip. “Get away from me!” You tear at the blindfold, managing to push it above one eye, when you hear him laugh and feel his hand leave your thigh.

“Well, that’s too bad, princess.”

You’re grabbed by your hair and dragged kicking and screaming across the floor of his living room. He’s taking you back to the bathroom, back to that stupid fucking tub. You gnash your teeth at his hand when he reaches for your face, but it only earns you a slap across the face. Fuck, that stings.

“You’re stuck with me whether you like it or not,” Derek growls, tightly gripping your chin in his hand. You squint your half-revealed eyes up at him; your cheek is bright red and starting to swell from his strike. “If you want to keep acting like a bratty little girl, be my guest, but don’t expect to get anywhere. I don’t reward noncompliance.”

You wriggle and thrash and bite and yell and it gets you absolutely fucking nowhere because he flips you on your belly and ties you up before you can so much as blink. The Healing Touch. The power that made him a surgeon above all other surgeons—the power that probably made it possible for him to get away with murder all these years.

“We could have had fun,” Derek laments, dropping your rigid body back in the tub. “And I would have been nice at the end and given you your pain medicine, but it seems like you’re refusing my treatment… So I guess we’ll try again tomorrow.” He’s all smiles as he speaks, and you’d give your life savings to smack that stupid grin off his face.

“Fuck you,” you gnarl, glaring up at him.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Derek straps the bladed collar around your throat and takes the blindfold off from around your face. You grit your teeth as you glare up at him; he can see every bit of fire and poison in your eyes, every unspoken curse you want to spit at him, and every ounce of fear that keeps you from opening your mouth with a blade at your throat and his presence threatening your life. “There. Maybe we’ll try again tomorrow. See you in the morning, honey.”

And he leaves you. You’re back in your porcelain prison, counting ceiling tiles again and trying to block out the pain going through your body. You should have kept your mouth shut and gone along with it; all you did was delay the inevitable.

[kaylin-lmfao]

rules

characters i write for right now: jerome valeska, tate langdon, any jenna ortega character (including herself), void stiles, dean winchester, sam winchester, wanda maximoff (my beloved), rafe cameron, jj maybank, tom hanniger (my bloody valentine 3D), jo harvelle, any madeline cline character (including herself), suzie toller (wild things), padme amidala, ANAKIN SKYWALKER/HAYDEN CHRISTENSEN, mattheo riddle (maybe marcus lopez after i get around to actually watching deadly class), any marauders era character, sidney prescott, sam carpenter, jensen ackles, and last but very not least ANY AND EVERY SINGLE ELIZABETH OLSEN (MOMMY) CHARACTER! thank you for your time. feel free to request other characters. if its not on this list, request anyway and i will either look them up or something or watch the show/movie they're in.

what i will write: yandere, dark content, non con, dub con, smut, nsfw, kidnapping, smut, pretty much anything

what i won't write: bodily fluid kinks (some piss is fine but nothing extreme), pedophilia/underage on either part, male reader, g!p reader (i will write g!p character), incest (stepcest is ok), sub character

i only write sub!reader and dom!character. gender neutral!reader and fem!reader are ok. i will only write AFAB reader. no male!reader

if i see any bullying, transphobia, racism, homophobia, or anything of that sort on my blog, the people participating will be blocked. no tolerance, no second chances.

requests are: open

reblogs and feedback is much appreciated. just, be kind. i'm sensitive. follows are also much appreciated. i love requests and little blurbs you guys want me to see! request any thoughts in your pretty little heads. feel free to message me with any concerns or if you just wanna talk, go ahead! now, enjoy your time here on my blog. love you, my little lovelies!

[darkdaries]

"Celestine"

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

boo! surprise bitches! i'm doing kinktober this year! finally doing it! bet you didn't see that one coming, did you hehe 🕸

there is a good mix of both short and long stories coming your way throughout this (and i will also still occasionally post other fics this month that aren't related to this). also, a handful of these fics are darker in nature, thought it was fitting for halloween, so remember to read the warnings, if there's something that's not for you then please, as always, be kind to yourself and don't read the story.

masterlist | join my taglist

day one | sore

stepbro!sirius black x cheerleader!reader + dubcon massage

day two | don't smile

steve rogers + throat fucking + size kink

day three | stuffed

devil!eddie munson & angel!steve harrington + tentecles + double penetration in one hole

day four | a little fashion show

best friend!stiles stilinski + lingerie

day five | stay still

peter parker + bondage

day six | hold up, let me record this

jj maybank + tittyfucking + sextape

day seven | the palace guards

guards!poly!marauders x princess!reader + secrets relationship

day eight | it’s practically like we’re down there with them

mob boss!bucky barnes + exhibitionism

day nine | keep that pretty mouth shut

tommy shelby + keep quiet quickie

day ten | I couldn’t find it in me to wake you

poe dameron + somno thigh fucking

day eleven | I just want you a little longer all to myself

matt murdock + secret office sex

day twelve | nothing more than a toy

rafe cameron + using you like a toy to masturbate with

day thirteen | I still got a few rounds left in me

boxer!steve rogers + bathtub sex

day fourteen | open your fucking mouth

dark!wild west cowboy!joel miller + gun kink

day fifteen | tiny

miguel o'hara x fairy!reader + extreme size difference

day sixteen | the wall between us

cult member!steve harrington + fem glory hole + breeding

day seventeen | be a rebel, be bad, stay here and cuddle with me

spencer reid + aftercare

day eighteen | pleasant pile of pillows

brother's best friend!james potter + pillow humping

day nineteen | ring ring

sam winchester x reader x bf!dean winchester + phone sex + cheating

day twenty | window

perv!neighbour!billy russo + voyeurism

day twenty-one | say yes

fiancé!bruce wayne + possessiveness

day twenty-two | i can think of something better than that

bucky barnes + anal

day twenty-three | double check

dark!professor!ben solo + power imbalance + manipulation

day twenty-four | maroon

vampire!remus lupin + biting + blood kink

day twenty-five | i want you

pirate captain!miguel o'hara + sex as payment

day twenty-six | teamwork

pro football team!avengers (bf!steve rogers, bucky barnes, pietro maximoff, clint barton, sam wilson, tony stark, thor odinson) + gangbang

day twenty-seven | my little flower

din djarin + fantasy au + cockwarming

day twenty-eight | hysteria

doctor!aleksander morozova x hysteria patient!reader + historical au + fuck machine

day twenty-nine | can't fight the moonlight

werewolf!bucky barnes x gf!reader + predator/prey + monsterfucking

day thirty | magical mimic

eddie munson x witch!reader + magical mutual masturbation

day thirty-one | you can’t put it in

stepbro!peter parker + halloween pussyjob

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[ateotd-izzy]

rainstorms | stiles stilinski x fem!reader

summary: it’s the middle of the night and you wake up due to the heavy rainstorm outside, and after you get up, your boyfriend can’t really sleep on his own.

warnings: none, just sleepy stiles

☾

you were woken up in the early hours of the morning by the sound of rain pattering against the window.

a few moments of lying awake made you shiver (that was because stiles was hogging the blanket) and realize how thirsty you were.

so, with a sigh, you slipped out from under the little amount of blanket you had (thanks, stiles) and let your legs drop over the side of his bed.

one leg of your grey sweatpants had hiked up your leg so it was rolled up to your shin and you fixed that before standing up.

the floor was cold against your bare feet as you slowly and quietly exited stiles' bedroom, careful not to disturb your sleeping boyfriend and his adorable snores.

you made it through the dark house and to the kitchen, where you got yourself a glass of water.

it was still raining heavily outside and you smiled at the sound as you headed back to stiles' room with your cup.

you opened the bedroom door and your eyes drifted over to the bed immediately. stiles was lying on his stomach, eyes closed, mouth open and one arm draped across the bed where you were lying before.

you smiled to yourself. he was so adorable.

you watched as more rain drops hit his window and it started thundering. you saw a flash of lightning and immediately walked over to the window and staring out at the dark night outside.

it was calming. watching as the rain stormed outside as you sipped your water at 3 in the morning.

you were so distracted that you didn't even hear the creak of the bed as stiles got up and walked up behind you.

"what're you doing up?" he mumbled, his arms finding their way around your waist and his chin resting on your shoulder, his face buried into your neck from behind.

"the rain woke me up." you answered, leaning your head against his ever-so slightly. "and i was thirsty."

"what time is it?"

"it's 3 am."

he pulled his head up to look at you. "you're a psychopath to be up at this time, i swear."

his voice was raspy and all a big mumble. he was clearly still half asleep.

"sure, buddy."

"crazy woman." he shook his head and closed his eyes, leaning against your shoulder again. "look at you, just watching the rain."

"it's nice, stiles."

"sleep is also nice." one of his hands moved from its place on your stomach and connected with yours. he tugged lightly. "please sleep."

"in a minute." you sipped your water again.

"it's so cold."

"then go back to bed."

"i'm not gonna go without you." he whispered, kissing the back of your neck. "i hate sleeping alone, you know that."

you took one last long sip of your water until it was all gone. you turned your body and walked back towards the bed with stiles, placing the cup on his nightstand.

stiles practically dropped onto his bed before rolling back into his place. he pulled the blankets over himself and patted the spot on the bed next to him for you.

you did lie down, except horizontally across the bed, rather than vertically. your head found its place, using stiles' chest as a pillow and he chuckled softly, his eyes fluttering shut.

"what are you doing?"

"sleeping."

"stop being a dork and lie down properly," he wrapped one arm across your chest. "dork."

"stiles, don't complain because you're a good pillow."

"yeah, but how am i supposed to cuddle you — or move for that matter — if i'm stuck like this?" he asked, his words still a jumble of nonsense.

"okay, fine, you win." you sighed playfully. you were already going to move, you didn't like the feeling of your legs hanging over the side of the bed.

you adjusted your position so you were lying next to him properly. he gave you a dumb smile in return.

"i love you." he whispered, still smiling, just now with his eyes shut again.

"i know."

his eyes shot open quickly.

"you didn't—"

"good night, stiles."

"hey." he glared slightly. "you gotta say it back."

"why?"

"because i need validation. tell me you love me."

you chuckled softly, pulling the blanket over yourself and moving closer to stiles, placing a light kiss on his lips.

"i love you too, you big nerd."

"thank you." he closed his eyes and held you as close to him as humanly possible. "now i'll see you in about... seven hours when i decide to wake up."

"good night, stiles."

"wait, what if—"

"good night, stiles."

"yep, good night." he peeked his eyes open. "going back to sleep now."

you chuckled and shook your head, lying down and closing your own eyes.

"what if i can't go back to sleep?" he asked after about a minute of silence and you groaned. "okay, well you woke me up."

"and you're the one who dragged me back to bed to sleep, stiles, not talk."

"touché."

a/n: just a little one shot from my wattpad that i felt like putting on here

[silentmacabre]

i’ll keep you warm

[babyflorencee]

My flannel

Stiles Stilinski x fem!Reader

I awoke to an involuntary shiver coursing through my body. Instinctively, I stretched my arm out in search of my boyfriend, Stiles, but he wasn't there. Emitting a disheartened groan, I shifted my focus towards Stiles' side of the bed, only to discover the window agape, permitting the morning sun to cascade within, its brilliance so intense it could potentially blind those who dared to gaze in its direction. Flipping on my back, I rubbed away the remnants of sleep from my eyes before lifting the sheets away from my nearly exposed form. The moment that the fabric was off my body, the wintry breeze made its presence known, caressing my bare arms and legs. I got out of bed, stumbling over towards the window, almost falling down multiple times, but eventually managing to close and lock it.

I looked around the room, seeing my clothes scattered about. Sighing, I made my way to the open closet, rummaging through Stiles' collection of flannels and jackets until I found the one I wanted to wear. I pulled a multi-colored flannel out of his closet, putting it over my shoulders, and buttoning up all the buttons before descending out of his room, making my way down the stairs and into his kitchen.

Immediately upon entering the room, I saw Stiles sitting at the island table, scrolling through his phone. Sneaking up behind him, I wrapped my arms loosely around his neck, before placing multiple kisses from his jaw to his cheek "Morning," he mumbled, leaning back into my arms.

"Hey Sti," I murmured into his neck.

After a few minutes of staying in that position, I reluctantly pulled away, only to perch myself upon his lap moments later. Settling into a crisscrossed posture, I leaned back into his chest. "Am I just a chair to you?" He teased, a laugh accompanying his joke.

"Yes, and my own personal footrest," I retorted, offering a bratty smile before quickly turning away.

"Ouch, I feel so used." He faux- pouted, before dramatically placing a hand over his heart as if it was wounded.

Glancing back at him, I noticed his gaze fixed upon me. However, he wasn't looking at my face; he was looking at what I was wearing. He bit his lip before speaking up. "Is this mine?" He lightly pinched a portion of the fabric, tugging it lightly.

"No, it's mine," I asserted, looking down at my hands.

With an eyebrow raised and a smirk plastered on his face, only made my protectiveness over the flannel intensify. "My shirt," I declared, arms crossed defensively as I turned my head aside, a pout evident on my face, as I hoped Stiles wouldn't make me return his flannel.

Stiles lifted his cup of coffee to his lips, all while looking me dead in the eyes. "What does that say?" He asked, pointing to his name that was written on the the tag.

"Fine, it's yours," I said, sighing in defeat.

"I like how it looks on you," he pressed a light kiss to my temple, quietly laughing at the way my eyes lit up.

"Does that mean I can keep it?" I asked, offering the widest smile I could muster.

"Absolutely not. But you can wear it whenever you want." He said, his hands settling on my thighs, as he rubbed his hands up and down.

"I'll take it!" I said, grabbing his coffee and drinking out of it before making a face of disgust.

"Ew, what did you put in this?" I questioned, frowning as he laughed at me.

"I didn't put anything in it love, it's just coffee," he explained, pointing to the dark liquid in the cup.

"Well, you're weird for liking this; it's gross." I said, pouting even more as his laughter persisted.

[stilinskibaby]

⠀⠀⠀⠀❁﹒⠀⠀🎤﹒⠀ ♡⠀﹒MASTERLIST

𓊆 DYL + CHARAS 𓊇

๑ handsy post void stiles ( smut blurb )

๑ dark stiles au ( hc )

๑ early season stiles ( hc )

๑ stiles + sleeping ( angsty fluff blurb )

๑ sex with stiles ( ficlet smut )

๑ brother's best friend ( fic, stiles x mccall!reader, angst, smut and fluff )

๑ nsfw alphabet

ⵌ MOODBOARDS

๑ dating stiles

๑ dating fratboy!stiles

๑ dylan obrien, the man that you are.

𓊆 TEEN WOLF GEN 𓊇

๑ random teen wolf headcanons

𓊆 THEO RAEKEN 𓊇

๑ theo + fucking

ⵌ MOODBOARDS

๑ dating theo raeken

[xob1tchs]

kinktober ‘23 — 🎃

a/n; im nervous for kinktober but also excited bc if i do it…then you guys will be well fed and I won’t need to write during break and stuff 🤗 also it’s fun to write little works and oneshots based around a kink or scenario instead of having to write a whole story with like…plot 💀 anyways!!! happy spooky season 👻‼️ taglist is now closed…but if you still want to keep up with my kinktober celebration, check back on this masterlist!! all fics will be linked as they are posted 😋 u can also find all fics by searching the tag “— kinktober ‘23 🎃” on my page.

warnings; smut, angst, strong sexual themes, violent sexual scenarios, dark romance themes, all x fem!reader.

characters; ethan landry, jake sully, stiles stilinski, rafe cameron, tobias eaton/four, bruce wayne, finnick o’dair.

d-1 ; ethan landry x breeding kink (drabble)

d-2 ; stiles stilinski x somnophilia (oneshot)

d-3 ; bruce wayne x pain kink (drabble)

d-4 ; rafe cameron x size kink (oneshot)

d-5 ; jake sully x mirror sex (drabble)

d-6 ; finnick o’dair x pussy drunk (drabble)

d-7 ; four x dumbification (oneshot)

d-8 ; rafe cameron x exhibitionism (oneshot)

d-9 ; stiles stilinski x over stimulation (drabble)

d-10 ; jake sully x cunnilingus (drabble)

d-11 ; bruce wayne x age gap (drabble)

d-12 ; stiles stilinski x reverse age gap (drabble)

d-13 ; ethan landry x step sis (oneshot)

d-14 ; four x wax play (drabble)

d-15 ; finnick o’dair x submisson (drabble)

break from 16th through 20th 🎃

d-21 ; ethan landry x creampie (oneshot)

d-22 ; stiles stilinski x expeditionism (drabble)

d-23 ; jake sully x sensation play (drabble)

d-24 ; four x bondage (drabble)

d-25 ; bruce wayne x phone sex (drabble)

d-26 ; rafe cameron x sex tape (oneshot)

d-27 ; finnick o’dair x dub con (drabble)

d-28 ; four x breath play (drabble)

d-29 ; stiles stilinski x dacryphilia (oneshot)

d-30 ; bruce wayne x fear play (drabble)

d-31 ; mystery fic!?

[redroses07]

Just Friends // Stiles Stilinski

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski x Fem!Reader

WC:1.7k

Summary: Stiles is struggling after being controlled by the Nogitsune, and he turns to you for help. But little does he know, it will turn your friendship into so much more. Takes place after season 3. (Allison isn't dead!!!)

Warnings: Swearing, angsty as fuck, sad Stiles, kissing, implied smut if you squint?, PTSD.

A/N: HI GUYS!!! I really like this fic and ofc I hope y'all will too! This is my first time writing about Stiles and I think I did pretty well! As always, enjoy!! And comments and reblogs are appreciated. P.S. lmk if y'all want me to do a part 2 where they tell their friends (Scott's reaction hee hee) - Claire ♡

After Stiles was released from the control of the Nogitsune, things seemed to go back to normal. Well, at least that’s what one would think from the outside.

The series of events had taken a severe toll on Stiles’s mental health, and even though he did a good job of hiding it, you were the one person who seemed to know what he needed.

It all started about a week after everything happened, it was the middle of the night and you were jolted awake by the sound of your phone buzzing by your head.

You were about to hit decline but then you saw it was Stiles and feelings of worry began to stir within you.

You quickly answered, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes as you forced yourself awake.

"Stiles, is everything okay?"

"Yeah...well not really. I hate to ask, but do you think you could drive over to my house. I just really don't want to be alone right now." Stiles's voice was groggy, and laced with exhaustion. The fact alone that he was asking you this made you immediately agree.

You hopped out of bed, not bothering to change out of your pajamas, slipped on your slippers, and you were on your way.

Your house wasn't far from Stiles's, about a five minute drive with no traffic.

You lived directly in the middle of him and Scott, being only a short distance from each. The close proximity was the main reason the three of you had stayed so close throughout your school years.

"Friends", that's all you and Stiles had ever been. Although, neither of you could deny the chemistry between the two of you, risking your friendship never seemed worth it.

It was on this night that all that would begin to change.

When you arrived at Stiles's house, he had left the door unlocked for you so you wouldn't have to fumble around with the spare key in the dark.

You found Stiles laying on his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. He looked lost in thought, his eyes rimmed with dark circles. It hurt seeing him look so drastically different from the Stiles you knew, and you wanted to do whatever you could to help.

You laid down next to him, your body facing his.

"Hey..." Stiles began, still staring at the ceiling.

"Stiles, what's going on? You know you can trust me with anything right?"

"Yeah...It's just a lot to put into words." Stiles's voice cracked, which told you that he was fighting tears.

You sat up and stiles copied the movement. You were now both facing each other, sitting legs crossed on his bed. You pushed aside the unspoken vow between the two of you and placed his hands in yours. Stiles's breath hitched, and you could tell he was avoiding eye contact with you.

"Take all the time you need, I'll listen to every word." you said softly.

"I know everyone thinks I'm doing okay, but I can't even function. I can't sleep without having nightmares. I can't eat or do anything without remembering all the awful stuff he made me do. I didn't know who else to tell except you. Scott has his own set of issues, and you're the only person I trust like this."

Stiles began to ramble, and your heart broke as he did. How had you not noticed earlier? Yes, it had only been a week, but you knew Stiles better than anyone. You felt like an awful best friend.

"I'm so tired, I just want to feel normal again." He could no longer hold back the tears, the dam broke and Stiles became a sobbing mess.

You pulled him into your arms with no hesitation, which only made Stiles want to cry.

"No, no I'm going to get your clothes all wet." Stiles protested trying to pull away, but you wouldn't let him.

"A few tears never hurt anyone." You said.

At that Stiles let himself fall into you, his body going limp with exhaustion. You tried not to cry along with him, wiping your burning eyes to prevent the tears.

"It'll be okay." You whispered as Stiles's sobs turned into sniffles. He finally looked up, his cheeks wet from the tears that had escaped his puffy eyes.

You did the only thing you could think of and gave him two kisses, one peck on each cheek. Stiles lips turned up in a small smile, his cheeks still turning red despite his current state.

"I think the first thing we need to do is get you to bed." You smiled, pushing Stiles's messy hair back.

He looks at you and nods without moving from your arms. You lean back on his bed, pulling him with you. You positioned yourself to where Stiles was resting on top of your body, his head pressed to your chest. You kept your arms wrapped around him, squeezing his body in an attempt to comfort him.

As you were settling down you heard Stiles whisper your name softly.

"Yeah?"

"Promise you'll wake me up if I'm having a nightmare?"

"I promise." You replied as you reached down and laced your fingers with his.

Stiles gave you a half-hearted smile in response, his puffy eyes glazed over from fatigue.

"Thank you." Stiles murmured, fighting sleep.

"Shhh." Was your only response as you traced your fingers along his back.

"I love you." It was an incoherent whisper, so much that you couldn't be sure of his words. But something told you you had heard correctly.

By the time you went to reciprocate the statement, the room was filled with Stiles's muffled snores.

You sighed and proceeded to fall asleep yourself.

Stiles slept through the night for the first time in weeks.

After that the trajectory of your relationship began to shift.

From holding Stiles's hand to remind him that everything was okay when you were with your friends, to staying up all night listening to him talk.

You rarely got to sleep at home anymore, but you didn't mind. You weren't far if you needed something, and it helped Stiles get a good night's sleep. Yet he would still apologize every time. "I'm sorry to bother you again.", "I promise this is the last time.", when in reality you were definitely okay with an excuse to spend more time with him.

You had become his anchor to reality, and Stiles could feel things beginning to look up with every day that passed.

Your friends picked up on it too.

"So, are you and Stiles together, or..." Lydia and Allison asked when they managed to corner you at your locker one day. It was a question you didn't know how to answer. Eventually landing on, 'it's complicated.'

"What's going on with you and Stiles, I'm starting to feel like a third wheel when we're together." It was a joke, but there was certainly some truth behind it.

You laughed it off and changed the subject, but didn't forget the comment that night when you and Stiles laid in each other's arms drifting off to sleep.

Surprisingly, it wasn't you who finally brought it up, but Stiles.

It was a Friday night, and the two of you were at your house instead of his.

"Shit, I forgot clothes to change into." Stiles said as he fumbled through his backpack.

"It's all good, I have a spare pair of clothes in my drawer for you." You replied, pointing to the dresser.

Stiles smiled and laughed, holding eye contact with you for perhaps a moment too long.

"You take care of so much for me, sometimes I feel like you're my wife." It was a casual statement, but it put you at a loss for words.

You laughed awkwardly, failing to come up with a reply.

Stiles could very clearly read your emotions, he pushed the drawer shut and walked back over to sit next to you.

You tried to calm yourself, but your heart wouldn't stop beating at what felt like an unhealthy pace.

"You're my best friend..." Stiles began, taking your clammy hands in his.

"You've done so much for me in the past few weeks, just like a best friend should; but I can't help thinking that this feels like something more."

You felt as if the world stopped. You knew this conversation would come, but definitely not now. Your brain seemed to stop producing thoughts.

"Please tell me I'm not imagining all of this. I know this is a lot at once, but Y/N I love you." Stiles's voice shook from the overwhelming nerves.

"I love you too." You spoke for the first time in minutes, it felt amazing after you had heard it fall from his lips that first night you spent together.

Stiles's eyes gazed into yours, and suddenly the feeling of just your hands touching wasn't enough.

You reached over and grabbed Stiles face, finally closing the gap between the two of you.

You pulled Stiles down as you did, his body landing on top of you sinking into the kiss.

You tugged on his hair lightly, pulling him as close to you as humanly possible. Stiles fell deeper into the kiss, locking your hands together and pressing your body further into the soft mattress.

After a few minutes of pure bliss you broke apart. The air that filled your lungs was both a blessing and a curse. You needed to breathe, but the absence of his touch only made you want him more.

Stiles hovered over you, the sound of his heavy breathing was the only thing you could hear over your own beating heart.

"So I take it you're not just my best friend anymore?" Stiles giggled, pressing his forehead gently against yours.

"Nope."

You gave a sly smile before pulling Stiles down by his shirt and connecting your lips once more.