he's wearing leather

It’s been about a week of driving on the road, and Stiles gets to his place and drops his things off. The rest of his stuff will be delivered in about another week. 

Stiles stands in the stillness of his tiny apartment and closes his eyes, takes in the quiet, a quiet he hasn’t heard and felt in a long time, when his phone dings.

Stiles opens his eyes, sees it’s text from Scott asking if he made it by the time he said he would. Stiles answered he made it, and then shuts his phone down, and proceeds to lay down on all the blankets he brought with him - his bed won’t be there for a few more days, at least - and sleep.

It’s night when he wakes up, and the street lights are shining into his apartment where he lay in the almost bare living room. Stiles turns on his phone, and this time his heart skips a beat - and Stiles doesn’t quite know why - when he sees the text he’d been expecting from Derek:

Have you made it? Do you want to meet up? 

It was sent an hour ago. Stiles replies back, saying he did and he would, but since it’s night time, they could meet tomorrow?

But Derek replies back a few minutes later that he wouldn’t might meeting up that night. It’s only 7PM, and so Stiles agrees and they agree to meet at a coffee shop a few blocks from where Stiles lives - Derek has been living in D.C. for a few months now, and ever since Stiles told Derek where he would be living, Derek made a point to get to know the area around it. Stiles found that oddly sweet, but he would never tell Derek that. 

Stiles’ heart is beating wildly as he leaves, locking his door behind him. He hasn’t seen Derek in over a year now. They’ve talked over the year, actually they’d talked quite a lot in the past few months, especially, but Stiles hadn’t been face to face with Derek in well over a year. 

Stiles feels and equal measure of excitement and nerves. He feels almost jumpy as he heads down the stairs in his apartment building, and then out into the warm summer night D.C. air. 

He texts Derek that he’s on his way, and Derek texts back that he’s already there, waiting outside. 

Stiles gulps and licks his lips, and walks faster, pocketing his phone.

Stiles is away from the only home he’s known for 18 years. But he feels oddly free. He misses Scott, his dad, everyone like crazy, but he also feels less…heavy. Less like he was drowning. Stiles still looked around him surreptitiously, not able to shake off the habit from almost two and a half years of danger and destruction happening to and around him, but the air is quiet, people barely spare him a glance. 

It feels wonderful.

Stiles is able to breathe

He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this relaxed. 

When he rounds the corner to the coffee shop, he freezes, his inhale sharp when he sees Derek standing outside, and then it feels like his heart trips over itself when Derek hears him and turns towards him, and they lock eyes. 

Derek looks good. He looks as relaxed as Stiles felt. Derek was still in the tight jeans that Stiles remembered him wearing all the time (and damn, they always made Stiles stare a little longer than he should have) but his shirt looked soft and comfortable, and it was a light purple color that made Derek look absolutely…amazing. 

And he wasn’t wearing his signature leather jacket. He wasn’t standing with his arms over his chest. They were at his sides, just hanging, relaxed. He also wasn’t scowling. He was grinning. At Stiles.

And Stiles found himself grinning back. He let out a shocked laugh, and then he was walking fast toward Derek, who started walking toward him too. 

Stiles sped up the last ten or so feet, and then Stiles was practically jumping into Derek’s awaiting arms, and Derek gave a small “oof” as if Stiles, fragile human that he was, was able to knock the breath out of Derek. 

“Sorry,” Stiles murmured. 

But he felt Derek shake his head and wrap Stiles up firmly in his arms, and Stiles breathed out softly, tightening his arms around Derek’s shoulders and resting his cheek against Derek’s.

“I missed you,” Stiles whispered, surprised he let that slip out. But he did nothing to take the words back. 

“I missed you, too,” Derek said, and Stiles shivered. He and Derek had mostly texted over the past year, and the last time they had talked on the phone had been months ago. Stiles had missed his soft, beautiful voice. It was like honey to Stiles’ ears.

Two and a half years. That’s how long Stiles had basically lived in hell. 

But now….now, Stiles was getting out of it. With Derek, who actually picked Stiles up enough that Stiles was then on his tippy toes, somehow bringing Stiles closer in his arms, and Stiles huffed out a laugh. 

“Derek-”

“Shh, just enjoy it,” Derek murmured. 

“Can’t imagine the Derek I knew saying that,” Stiles whispered. Even at the end, before Derek left, when he was in such a good place, he hadn’t quite been like this. So happy. So relaxed. So ready to hug someone. And hug them closely, for that matter. 

“Yeah, well…some time away helps,” Derek murmured, and Stiles felt his heart beating faster when he felt Derek brush his lips lightly against Stiles’ neck. 

“Good thing I’m getting some time away, then,” Stiles murmured. And then after a long moment, “with you,” Stiles said. 

He felt Derek inhale sharply, and then the arms around him tighten. But it didn’t feel restrictive. It felt amazingly comforting. Stiles felt warm, safe. Relaxed. And maybe even a little bit happy.

“I’m glad you’re getting time away, too. With me.”

Stiles smiled, buried his smile against Derek’s shoulder, and then decided to hold on to Derek just a little longer. 

He didn’t feel the need to be anywhere else. 

anonymous asked:

Hey so you prob have v v many prompts but like I would love to suggest one.. Okay so, Dan is a very confident slutty pastel teenager and Phil is a badass punk boy that everyone fawns over.. and they absolutely hate each other but one thing leads to another and they end up at the same party where Phil is dared to fuck Dan in front of everyone.. (LOTS OF DEGRATION, and dom Phil and sub dan)

a 👌 classic 👌👌

*small mention of rape*

dirty talk + degrading + lots of language idk it’s one am

-

“You look like a slut.” PJ handed Dan a drink, leaning against the counter next to him, raising his eyebrows.

“Thanks, that was the point.” Dan winked, hiking up his already far too short baby blue shorts. PJ rolled his eyes.

“You’re gonna get raped.”

“Um, excuse me, I can take care of myself.” Dan took a sip from the red plastic cup, frowning. “I haven’t gotten raped yet, have I?”

PJ shook his head, staring at Dan like he didn’t understand him one bit. “I just don’t get why you want to look like you strip for truckers.”

Dan pursed his lips, shifting his pink sweater so it hung on him perfectly, showing just the right amount of collarbone. He smirked.

“That’s probably because you’re a virgin, honey.”

PJ pretended to flinch, shaking his head. “Ouch. That was harsh.”

Dan just shrugged, licking his lips.

“Hey Dan,” PJ started, his eyes lighting up as he stared at something across the room. “Your boyfriend’s here.”

“Shit,” Dan groaned, not even having to look, but he did anyways.

Phil Lester had just entered the room, fully clad in black and far too many zippers.

He was wearing a black leather jacket and t shirt, his jeans the same shade, what a surprise. On his feet were large motorcycle boots. Dan scowled.

He had about five people practically hanging off his arms, Dan hated him.

“He thinks he’s so hot,” Dan grumbled, glaring at his cup. “He thinks he can get anyone he fucking wants, what a twat.”

“Aw,” PJ grinned. “Dan’s got a crush.”

“Fuck you,” Dan growled, punching him on the arm, hard. “I’m as close to having a crush on him as I am to fucking him.”

“Dan, you’re literally the sluttiest person I have ever met.”

Dan rolled his eyes. “I’ll fuck almost anyone BUT him.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. Positive.”

~~~

Dan raised his eyebrows, amused. “No. You’re drunk.”

“C'mon Dan,” his friend Chris whined, tugging at his sleeve. “It’ll be fun!”

“No, it won’t.” Dan pulled his hand away. “It’ll be a lot of drunk guys daring me to jerk them. I’m not playing.”

Chris sighed, crossing his arms. “Dan, I hate to do this, but if you don’t come I’ll tell everyone that you hooked up with Mr. Parker over the summer.”

Dan’s eyes widened, and he glared at him. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would.” Chris smirked. Dan scowled at his friend.

“Fine. Fuck you, fine. Let’s get this over with.”

The game of truth or dare was happening in one of the bedrooms; Dan was fairly certain it belonged to the kid’s parents. It consisted of a bunch of drunk sweaty teens that had formed a circle, passing around risky orders and questions in excited whispers.

Dan sat down between Chris and PJ, running his fingers through his hair. He shot a glare at Phil across the circle, who was staring at him.

The first ten minutes were normal. The other kids basically ignored Dan, focusing on one person after another. They seemed to change their focus often; singling out one poor soul after another. Soon the focus was on Phil.

“If you had to fuck anyone in this group, who would it be?” Some guy asked Phil, and Dan looked up, for some reason interested to hear the answer.

Phil smirked, glancing around at everyone before his eyes landed on Dan. He laughed.

“Probably not him,” he said, grinning cockily. “I wouldn’t want to catch anything.”

Dan felt a pang shoot through his chest, and he crossed his arms.

“Fuck you, Lester. At least I don’t have to wear animal skin to look bad ass,” he shot back. Phil glared at him.

The rest of the group fell fairly silent, and Dan was highly aware of everyone’s eyes on them. Finally Chris spoke.

“Okay but, you guys should fuck.”

There was some mutual agreement, and Dan’s eyes widened.

“What? Why!”

“Yeah, no, for once I agree with you. Hell no.” Phil shook his head, looking shocked.

“With a few more drinks, you two will be all over each other.” A boy, Dan thought he remembered his name was Charlie and that he was the kid this house belonged to, said, taking a swig of his beer. There was some nodding from the other people.

“That’s not true,” Dan mumbled, crossing his arms.

“Alright, is no one going to say it?” Chris glanced around the circle. “Fine, I will. I dare you two to kiss.”

“Fuck no,” Dan said immediately, before Phil could even respond. “I’m not doing that.”

“Dan, don’t be a pussy,” Phil growled in a voice Dan was fairly certain he had never heard from him before. “It’s a dare.”

“You’re seriously agreeing to this?” Dan scoffed. Phil shrugged.

“Well, I’m not scared of a little dare.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Dan mumbled, sighing and moving closer to him, on his knees. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

Phil smirked, leaning forward and pulling Dan forward by his shirt so he was practically sitting in his lap. Dan hardly had time to react, let alone speak, before Phil was pressing their lips together. Dan just let it happen; it only lasted a second before Phil was pulling back and it was over.

“No no no,” Chris said, grinning. “That doesn’t count. You have to really kiss, for at least ten seconds.”

“Seriously?” Dan asked, and his friend just shrugged. Phil mumbled something under his breath, tangling his fingers in Dan’s hair and tugging him back roughly.

This time Phil kissed him open mouthed, their lips clashing and sliding together. Dan was highly aware of Phil’s tongue invading his mouth, and he fought back with his own.

Dan wrapped his arms around Phil’s neck, kissing him deeper and clutching at his shirt, so lost in the feeling that he didn’t hear Chris shouting that their time was up.

Finally Dan pulled back, mostly because he needed to breathe, and frowned when he realized everyone was staring at him. Including Phil.

Everyone was quiet, mostly in shock, until a boy in the back spoke up.

“I dare you to ride him,” he said, grinning drunkly.

Dan and Phil made eye contact, and Phil smirked.

“Well?” He asked cockily.

“You’re really putting this up to me?”

Phil nodded slowly, licking his lips and tangling his fingers in Dan’s hair, tugging his head back roughly. “Well, Dan? Are you too scared?”

“I’m not scared,” Dan breathed, frowning at him.

“Well then prove it, pretty boy.”

Dan gasped as Phil bit down on his neck, sucking thoroughly on a spot under his ear. It felt completely wrong to have the guy he absolutely despised leaving marks on his neck, but kind of fucking sexy in a way. Or maybe that was the alcohol talking.

Dan felt himself tense up as Phil slid his hand down his stomach, brushing the hem of his shorts.

“Couldn’t we use a different room or something?” Dan asked, grabbing Phil’s wrists instinctively.

“No,” said the boy from before, quickly. “We won’t have any proof you did it.”

“You thirsty fucker,” Dan hissed at him as Phil played with his zipper.

Phil hummed against his neck as he pushed down his shorts, and Dan let him. None of them would remember this in the morning, and most of them had seen Dan naked anyways.

“I bet you love this,” he whispered, biting down on Dan’s ear, scratching his nails down Dan’s thighs. “You’re such a fucking slut, I bet you love being exposed like this.”

“Says the guy who’s erection is digging into my back,” Dan shot back, and Phil shrugged.

“So? I’m turned on. At least I admit it.”

Dan jumped slightly as Phil brushed over his bulge, and Phil chuckled.

“I hate you,” Dan breathed as Phil palmed him, drawing a whine from Dan’s mouth.

“Mmh, doesn’t sound that way.”

Dan felt Phil messing with his own jeans, pushing them down his hips.

“Do you know how many people would love to be in your place right now, you ungrateful slut?”

Dan smirked. “Yeah, just about every thirteen year old girl in our school.”

Phil pulled Dan’s hair roughly, exposing his throat, and Dan couldn’t help letting a whimper escape him.

“You don’t get to speak to me that way,” he growled, and Dan could feel his hard on grinding against his ass. “Understand?”

Dan couldn’t help but moan, grinding back on Phil’s lap. “Yes sir,” he gasped.

Phil put his fingers to Dan’s mouth, and Dan took them obediently. He carefully covered them with spit before Phil pulled them out.

“I figure you don’t need stretching,” Phil muttered, smirking meanly. Dan just nodded, unable to think of a snarky comeback in that exact moment.

Dan felt Phil lining up, and then gripping his waist.

“Push back,” he breathed, pulling Dan back on his lap slightly. Dan moaned, pushing back on Phil’s cock completely.

He grinded back slowly, his eyes closed and whorish moans falling from his mouth nonstop.

“That’s it, baby, moan like a dirty fucking slut for me,” Phil groaned, biting down on Dan’s neck. “Such a good fucktoy, that’s it.”

Dan whined, letting out little gasps and “ah ah ah”’s as he bounced and grinded expertly, fucking himself on Phil’s dick. They seemed to have both forgotten anyone else was in the room, except for a faint prickle on Dan’s neck, the feeling of being watched, which was honestly turning him on even more.

Phil grabbed Dan’s wrists, pinning them behind his back and thrusting up into him roughly.

“Think you can cum without me touching you?” He asked huskily. “Because, that would be really fucking hot.”

Dan nodded almost immediately, speeding up his movements with a loud whimper.

“Fuck, daddy,” he gasped, and Phil practically growled.

“What a pretty toy, acting like such a slut for me, in front of all these people,” he whispered, meeting Dan’s hips with his own. “Everyone’s watching you, Dan, watching you call me daddy and fuck yourself on my cock. I bet you fucking love it, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Dan whimpered. “Yes, daddy, god yes, l-love it.”

“Good boy.” Phil pulled Dan’s head back on his shoulder. “Now cum for me, princess.”

Dan let go with a loud continuous feminine moan, his hips twitching as he thrust forward automatically. Phil groaned, burying his face in Dan’s neck as he let go inside of him.

Dan slumped onto the carpet, completely fucked out, his eyes still closed.

“Jesus,” he breathed.

Phil was suddenly very aware of all of the people staring at them, and laughed.

“Hey, Charlie, I can use your shower right?”

The boy nodded slowly, still shocked into silence.

“Cool.” Phil grinned, scooping Dan up bridal style in one motion and standing carefully. “Uh, if you hear noises from the bathroom, you probably have rats and it’s totally not a second round.”

I DIDN’T HAVE TIME FOR “CLASSY”

Originally posted by magiccastles

Summary: You’re the student body president. Your boyfriend is the school’s notorious bad boy and an underground performer. There’s no way the two of you do anything sexual… right?

Warnings: language, fingering, penetration (idk man it’s smut and it’s not as wild as some I’ve written)

Word Count: 2133


“You’re watching me perform tonight, right baby?” Jaebum asked, snaking his arms around your waist as his chest pressed against your back.

He placed a small kiss on the back of your neck then one behind your ear. You leaned back against him, temporarily stopping what you were doing.

“Help me finish taping this poster up and I’ll consider it,” you replied.

Keep reading

good girl » myg » m

» request: nopeee

» genre: mostly smut

» author’s note: i write too many bts scenarios omg,,,,,,, i guess they’ve really just been inspiring me a lot lately so oh well. also i’m v proud of this edit bc i photoshopped yoongi’s tattoos and i think it looks pretty cool if i do say so myself ^-^ anyways, i hope you all enjoy and feel free to request ! 

» word count: 3.4k+

» warnings: au, asphyxiation kink, daddy kink, light bondage, a little bit of degradation, alcohol use, smoking, etc.

[nsfw under the cut]

A quick sigh fell from your lips as you pushed through the crowd, searching desperately for any sign of Namjoon. The sweaty bodies of your peers shoved and jostled you, making it difficult for you to navigate the room in search for your friend, but you managed. Pushing your way into the front room, you catch sight of his disheveled hair, and sweat-glistening skin, “Yah, Kim Namjoon!” You call, catching his attention.

He turns on his heels to face you and grins, waving you over to where he stands with Seokjin and some girl you’ve never seen before. You wrestle your way through the last bit of the crowd, and finally you reach where they stand in front of the window. Namjoon drapes an arm over your shoulder, and you lean into the comfort of his sweaty, but strangely comfortable embrace. “I was looking for you,” Namjoon says, a smile playing on his lips as you laugh at his lie. 

Keep reading

briefzombiechild  asked:

I just have to say that your art is amazing! The effort you put into these characters - designs, scenarios, fusions - it's all incredible! Especially the human versions of their cars... Although I didn't notice Sasquatch there. Do you have any plans on showing us her humanized look? Just curious. Have a nice day :)

1. Thank you so much!  ^////^  That’s the sweetest thing I’ve heard all day, ahhh <3 <3

2. I’ve had the idea for Sasquatch in my head for a long time, but I never got around to actually doing art of her!  :D  She’s a big ol’ beaut.

“Give peace a chance and then if that ain’t workin’, kick ‘em in the nuts!” - Sasquatch at some point probably.

She’s a weird and contradictory mixture of aging motorcyclist, hippie and lumberjack, and she could probably lift Nine with one arm.  Jacob (AKA “Goat”) is her vintage and extremely souped-up chopper, which she occasionally takes her dates out on, to the kids’ general disgust.

…..she’s got really big feet.

Midnight Luxe  {Part 5}

Originally posted by vkookie-trash

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4)

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: angst, fashion designer Jungkook AU,

Summary:  Your life was nothing but a drag until you met Jeon Jungkook, the alluringly beautiful fashion design student who asked you to model for his upcoming runway show. Soon you find yourself pulled into his eccentric group of friends and their enticing world of fashion, sex and music, a world that may ultimately leave your heart in pieces.

Inspired by the anime/manga Paradise Kiss ♥


The feeling of his hands on you made your heart freeze. His touch sent electric shocks convulsing throughout your body until you felt as if you might explode.

 You hadn’t realised things had gotten this bad. You hadn’t realised that you already liked Jungkook far too much.

 And now you were almost certainly in far too deep to back out.

 The tape measure pressed again your waist almost painfully, the tight band constricted your breathing but you made no complaint. Carefully, Jungkook read each measurement he got from various parts of your body and scribbled them down on a lined page in a little red notebook.

 The way he furrowed his eyebrows as he concentrated, so completely dedicated to getting the absolute perfect measurements from you, was addicting to look at. You didn’t need to worry about him catching you staring at him so awestruck, he was so intensely focused on what he was doing that you doubted he would look up even if a giant meteorite hit earth.

 You quickly realised you loved watching him whilst he worked. You loved to see how truly passionate he was about what he did, you loved the ways his eyes glowed with an adoration for his craft. When he was working, he seemed more alive than ever.

 You took a few deep breaths in an attempt to remain calm. If he caught on to the fact that you had even the slightest hint of feelings for him, well, you weren’t too sure exactly what would happen but you’d decided that it wasn’t something you wanted to find out. You couldn’t let feelings get in the way.

 “Okay, I’m almost done,” he said, finally loosening the tape measure from your waist after what felt like forever, You were sure it must have left a red mark from where it had been wrapped around you so tightly.

 Jungkook was wearing a pinstripe suit and on anyone else, you were sure you would have laughed at them for wearing such attire in a casual situation. But it was Jungkook. Everything he wore seemed unquestionably fitting and he pulled it all off with such elegance. He was breathtaking.

 “Great, what’s left for you to measure?” you asked.

 “Your bust.”

Keep reading

phantomavenger  asked:

Prompt #11 :)

I loved doing this one. Here’s #11: “If I die I’m going to haunt your ass.”


“You’re the worst, like the actual worst!”

Derek huffed beside him, “if you don’t shut up I’ll leave without you.”

Stiles paused, eyes wide and mouth dropped in shock at the threat. He didn’t sense any joke behind it. Instead he went back to his silent freak out as he did his best to ignore the undead groans from the other side of the door.

Zombies. Freaking zombies. As if Beacon Hills couldn’t get any worse. This time if people were bitten they wouldn’t turn into were-somethings. They’d be zombies; rotten, gnarly, undead flesh craving things. Of course Stiles had played his fair share of online games with his friends to fight off creatures, like zombies, but the real thing was much more terrifying. They smelled terrible, their skin looked horrendous especially when it fell off in chunks, and for the love of God the noises were things of nightmares.

Sick pained groans that were hollow and void of any sort of intelligence.

Just hungry.

Very hungry actually since they tried to make him Stilinski a-la-mode about five minutes ago and Derek a Hale sunday.

“This is your plan? Hide in a storage closet?” Stiles asked and flailed just crazily enough to knock over a paint can.

It clattered to the floor with a harsh sound followed by a long silence. Derek’s eyes flashed blue, and gave Stiles level ten of the Hale-Glare-of-Gloom™. From outside the storage room of the old factory the silence gave way to loud hungry moans of the undead, bodies banging against the door. The rusted hinges weren’t going to last if the pileup on the other side grew until the pressure was too much.

“If I die I’m going to haunt your ass,” Stiles muttered as he shuffled backwards until he was flush with the wall, his heart about to beat out of his chest.

“You’re not going to die Stiles,” Derek said.

“I’m so going to die, you’ll probably heal,” he said, his hand ran through his hair but didn’t seem to have its usual calming effect, “oh, God. I’m gonna be a zombie—holy, Derek…you gotta keep my dad away from fast food, alright? His cholesterol is through the roof. Give Scott my comic collection; he’ll keep them safe–”

His panicked ramble was cut off when Derek was suddenly in his space, his hands tight around Stiles’ shoulders. There was this look of…uncertainty in his pale green eyes, and before Stiles knew what happened he was wearing the leather jacket.

“What–?”

“Keep your head down, hang on tight, and whatever happens…run,” Derek said seriously before he hoisted Stiles up onto his back.

Stiles gasped in surprise, his legs automatically locked around Derek’s waist as his arms wrapped around Derek’s shoulders. His mind raced with questions, for example; why the fuck Derek was about to risk his life for him of all people? Seriously there was no rhyme or reason for it, the guy made his dislike for Stiles crystal clear.

The door was kicked open, the hinges flying off and the metal crushed the few zombies right in front of it. There was a split second path and Derek was already running; Stiles let out a small shriek and curled himself tighter against Derek, his head hidden in the crook of Derek’s neck. Hands tried to swipe at him, but the leather and denim he wore made it hard for hands to actually grab and tear into his flesh.

Stiles had no idea how Derek was doing, he had no idea if he was hurt, he had no idea where they were going. At one point Derek jumped, and they free fell for a while before landing. Eventually though they made it to a place where fresh air was all around them and the noises of zombies were gone.

He found it in himself to look up when Derek slowed, they made it out of the old factory, into the back end of the woods.

Victory.

Well almost, because suddenly Derek collapsed to the ground with Stiles still on him. His knees smacked onto the hard ground violently but he had enough sense to roll off Derek, finally taking a second to see if he was okay.

“Oh my God, dude, Derek!” Stiles gasped and scrambled to his knees to shove Derek on his back and off his wounds.

There were angry tears of skin and muscle, blood oozed out in thick globs, and Stiles was so sure he was about to puke. Derek let out a pained sound and tried to curl in on himself only to fail and fall back.

“You so cannot die! We save each other! We don’t freaking die!” Stiles exclaimed, trying to see if the wounds were healing themselves or not.

Hands cupped his face and pulled him away from Derek’s torso. His eyes met pale ones which were riddled with pain. Stiles hated that; he couldn’t even do the cool werewolf pain drain thing, he could only sit there helplessly. He wasn’t just sitting there though, because now he was bent down with lips on his which were surprisingly soft.

So maybe he totally flailed and maybe he accidently bit Derek’s lip, but he was well within his freak out rights. Derek Hale was kissing him and he hasn’t kissed many people, let alone super attractive people that were so out of his league.

Stiles pulled back, lips still semi-puckered with his brows drawn in, “why did that feel like a goodbye kiss?”

Derek had the audacity to roll his eyes, “not…a goodbye kiss, it was a ‘calm down I’m healing slowly’ kiss.”

“So you’re not dying?!”

“No, I can feel myself healing.”

“Oh sweet Jesus,” Stiles wheezed, leaning back down for another kiss which was probably only a little less clumsy than the first one.

“What kind of kiss was that?” Derek asked softly.

“I think it was a ‘thank god you’re not dead don’t do that to me again you dick’ kiss,” Stiles answered.

“I saved your life. I’d do it again if I had to.”

“Are you getting sentimental on me?”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Derek did in fact shut him up.


ASK ME A PROMPT FOR THE DRABBLE CHALLENGE!

(Modern Day) Khal Drogo x Reader...

IMAGINE….being new to town and your first impression of Drogo, “Khal”/President of the local motorcycle club known as the Dothraki.

((I may have….got too into this…I’m not sorry haha))

y/f/s – your favorite soda/pop/they’re called something different in England aren’t they? Or am I thinking of somewhere else?

 y/l/n - your last name

You were filling up the gas tank to your vehicle when the unmistakable rumble of motorcycles could be heard coming down the street. Lifting your hand to shade your eyes, you looked left and right and then left again just in time to see two dozen, if not more, bikes of different makes and models come speeding around the corner. Your breath caught, your eyes lighting up with curiosity, when you realized they were coming to the gas station, but your gaze was on the man in the front of the progression.

He was wearing leather from head to toe. His boots, his pants, and the sleeveless vest…all leather. He had bracelets on his wrists that you immediately wanted to know the use/story of. You had always liked long hair, and his was pulled up into a “man bun.” His legs were long and the tightness of the leather jeans showered the power in them. He was just…a very attractive and muscular man.

As the mc progression came to a stop, you quickly averted your gaze and tried to hide your blush as you finished pumping and put the nozzle back. You screwed the cap back on and closed the little “hood” to the gas tank before grabbing your bag from off the passenger seat and heading inside to pay.

There were two people already in line to pay so you moved to the back of the small room and grabbed a bottle of y/f/s and a candy bar before moving toward the cash register.

The girl behind the counter was a teenager, probably about sixteen, and seemed to find her nails were interesting than the money behind handed to her. She handled the transaction with the two people in front of you – an elderly man and a woman in her late thirties or early forties – all the while loudly, and obnoxiously, popping a piece of chewing gum.

Finally, it was your turn and you stepped up to the counter handing over a twenty and telling the girl which pump you had used. It wasn’t until you had finished speaking that you realized she wasn’t paying any attention. Huffing in annoyance, you turned your head to see what she was looking at just in time to see the biker man you had been checking out minutes earlier open the door and step inside under the soft jingle of the bell on top of the door.

“Hey Drogo,” the teen smirked and popped the gum once more. “We have those smokes you like,” she pointed out, sounding proud of herself.

Drogo was staring at you, a raised brow of curiosity on his face, as he replied to the teen with only a fleeting look and a, “Good. I’ll come in and get some once your brother comes in.”

The girl seemed to deflate some, a scowl pulling onto her face. “I can sell them to you,”

“You’re seventeen, last time I checked, girl. I’m not getting anyone in trouble.” The biker chuckled and you felt your stomach flutter. It was deep and low and so hot. “And who are you?” he was talking to you now, and you barely managed to find a voice.

“Y/n…my name is Y/n…Y/l/n. I’m new to town.” You tore your gaze away and once more handed the money to the teen and told her which pump you had used.

This time she did the transaction and then turned away, grabbing her cell from off the counter behind her.

“Y/n Y/ln. I’ll have to keep an eye out for you.” Drogo murmured, stepping closer to you as you went to move for the door.

You nodded, swallowing was difficult, “Alright. You do that.” And you practically ran for the exit.

His chuckle was the last thing you heard from him.

When not stretching out behind the desk in the Oval Office, Kennedy defined the Ivy League casual style of the early ’60s. On land, this often meant blazers in navy blue wool or brown Harris tweed, paired with khakis in the summer or gray flannel trousers in the cooler months. The sport jackets were often cut like his suits with slim notch lapels, 2-button fronts, welted breast pockets, jetted hip pockets, and 4-button cuffs. Underneath, the shirts and ties were the same as his suits – white shirts with blue-ish ties.  His shoes were typically off-white canvas sneakers with white laces, worn with thin socks in either white, blue, or black. On sockless days, he would wear dark leather penny loafers that was usually paired with a sweater and white boat slacks. Around his various vacation homes, he would wear velvet Albert slippers with his initials in gold.

I wish, I really wish, that people would learn the difference between “sexual” and “provocative.”

Something that is provocative elicits a “sexy” idea without being outright sexual. Tight pants are provocative; ass-less chaps are sexual.

Normally it doesn’t matter if we use these words interchangeably, but when it comes to things like Yurio’s “Welcome to the Madness” skate, it helps to know the difference. I don’t think this is going to stop the antis from getting their bloomers in a bunch, but maybe it’ll help other people realize that there’s nothing wrong with Yurio’s performance, appreciating the aesthetic, or acknowledging the arousing effects it could have on Otabek.

I mean, first of all, when we talk about the issue of sexualizing teenagers in media, it is, more often than not, in the context of sexualizing teenage girls, and this is largely because of the omnipresence of sexualized girls and women in media contributing to the sexualization of girls and women in real life. This is a big part of rape culture, and why we fight so hard for the representation of women in media where they are not sexualized or treated as sex objects. I’m not saying that there isn’t a problem with sexualizing teenage boys (assumptions of hypersexuality in boys and men is a whole other can of worms), but I am saying that a teenage boy faces far fewer unwanted sexual advances due to what he wears or how he acts. Having a teenage boy perform a provocative piece in media does not have the same repercussions as having a teenage girl do the same. (This isn’t to say that you’re not allowed to find it uncomfortable, but you have to recognize that they are your personal feelings, and the piece itself does not actually contribute to a larger problem.)

That said, even when we rail against the sexualization of women and girls, we do so because the sexualization is either unnecessary, or it’s the entirety of the character. We absolutely recognize that women and girls have a right to be sexual and wear provocative clothing if they want to, but creators tend to handle it so badly that we implore them to stop altogether (until they can figure out how to do it right).

Yurio’s performance is neither unnecessary nor is it the sole aspect of his character. From his introduction, he’s stated that he wants to do more mature pieces, he’s shown distaste over his “innocent” image, and he’s been genuinely pleased when he’s taken seriously as an adult. He wanted to do “Eros” from the start, and his free skate was built around showcasing his physical maturity as a skater. He desperately wants to shed the “kitten” and “fairy” image - he moved up from Juniors to Seniors as soon as he could (15 is the youngest you can be in seniors, but you can stay in juniors until you turn 19), he’s loud and brash and assertive, and he jumps at any change to prove that he’s not a child anymore. He’s getting to the point where he can take control of his life and his skating, and it’s pretty clear that he wants to stop being infantilized. He’s desexualized, to the point of dehumanizing him (“fairy” and “kitten” and even “ice tiger” remove his humanity; they seek to name him as something “other” and so it’s easier to ignore that he is a growing, maturing young man with his own thoughts and feelings and desires). So it absolutely makes sense that he would take the opportunity to use his exhibition skate as a chance to exhibit himself as a sexually mature adult. He is not “Russian Fairy” or “Kitten” - he is Yuri fucking Plisetski, and he will damn well be provocative if he wants to.

“Welcome to the Madness” isn’t some frivolously pornographic fanservice - it’s an actual effort to show Yurio as he sees himself: as an adult, as a sexual human being, as a person with a dark and radical sense of style. It’s his chance to debut himself without having to worry about jumps or scores or adhering to an aesthetic he no longer enjoys (if he ever enjoyed it at all - I can personally see Otabek’s “eyes of a soldier” observation as a hint that, since he was little, Yurio was determined to do what he needed to do to get where he wanted to be, regardless of how he felt about it). Otabek gets to be a part of this because Otabek has always seen Yurio as he is. Yurio was never “fairy” or “kitten” to him, and for somebody that has had to live with that typing because of his looks and his particular abilities, he greatly appreciates that Otabek looks past all of that and sees the truth of Yurio.

I honestly believe that Yurio would be fucking pissed at everybody trying to shame his performance, trying to desexualize him, trying to shove him into the “innocent” box. Ship or don’t ship Otayuri, but recognize that Otabek is, so far, the only person in Yurio’s life that has explicitly stated that he sees Yurio as a mature adult, and admires him for it. Otabek, an 18-year-old, sees Yurio, a 16-year-old, as his peer, his equal, and this is a hugely supportive and healthy aspect of their relationship - not because Otabek is sexualizing Yurio, but because Otabek is allowing Yurio to take control of his image on his own terms, and is supporting him in that endeavor.

“Welcome to the Madness” is a provocative piece, yes, and it’s meant to be. Because Yurio wants to be able to be provocative. But it’s not sexual. That is, as far as we’ve seen of it, nothing about it is euphemistic of sexual acts. He is showing off his body and his flexibility in a way that is sexy, and that’s the point, and he’s allowed to do that. That’s part of bodily autonomy. If you find it arousing, that’s all on you, because the piece wasn’t meant to be titillating fanservice, it was meant to be showcasing a young man taking charge of himself, his body, and his image as a skater. You don’t get to shame the creators for recognizing that a 16-year-old boy deserves bodily autonomy and the right to dress and skate how he wants.