15 9 / 2014
awoopsehdaiseh said: ziam. they're about to do the frickle and then the frackle but Zayn realises they don't have condoms anymore.
"Shit." Zayn says, rifling through his bedside drawer. "Shit, shit, shit.”
15 9 / 2014
Derek telling Stiles to stop calling him 'Sour Wolf, dude or buddy' and Stiles addresses him with Mr. Hale for a whole week. It makes Derek go insane. Because that shouldn’t be so hot.
Oh god yes. And it could be the most innocent of interactions, too. The way Stiles says his name never quite sounds as innocent as it should, there’s always this hint of something more, even when the context is mundane. And maybe Stiles doesn’t realize it at first, at just how erotic his voice sounds when he says it.
Stiles standing up from the couch, on his way to the kitchen and glancing back at Derek. “Can I get you a drink, Mr. Hale?” He smirks at the expression that plays on Derek’s face, eyebrow quirked as Derek’s cheeks flush and he struggles to find an answer to a question he’s already forgotten.
Stiles and Derek getting invited out to the bar with Scott and Kira and Stiles shrugging and glancing at Derek. “I don’t know, depends on what Mr. Hale wants to do.” And Derek swallowing roughly and murmuring something about having plans, everyone seeing through the lie, even Stiles.
It doesn’t take long for Stiles to recognize what’s going on and to start using it to his advantage, knowing he can get Derek to do his bidding with a simple phrase. He gets bored on a long stakeout and stretches in the passenger seat beside Derek, shirt riding up along his stomach. “We should go home, Mr. Hale,” he says, glancing up to see Derek’s eyes tracking the movement of his shirt, breathing rough with the use of the name. Or “Come to bed, Mr. Hale,” when Stiles is tired and Derek is staying up later than even Stiles is capable.
And maybe Derek holds out and doesn’t give in to the urges Stiles inspires just on principle. He manages a whole week, but then one night when they’re alone, maybe curled up together on the couch watching a movie, Stiles speaks up and his voice takes on this lower tone that goes straight to Derek’s dick. “Do you know what I’d like, Mr. Hale?” And Derek makes this sound in the back of his throat that just borders on a whine and Stiles forgets what he was going to ask altogether in favor of exploring this further.
Stiles turns more fully to Derek, one leg hooking over Derek’s knee and he’s resting a hand on Derek’s chest, a mischievous look in his eyes. “I think I know what you want, though, Mr. Hale,” his grin widens before a shocked expression takes over as Derek grabs Stiles roughly and pulls him into his lap, hands firmly on his ass. He drags Stiles down into a hungry kiss, teeth nipping at plush lips that have teased him endlessly the last week with his name and all the promise behind it.
"You know what I want?" Derek whispers when he pulls back to breathe, lips brushing along Stiles’ jaw and neck. "I want you naked on our bed, open and begging for me to fuck you until you can’t even remember my name let alone those stupid nicknames you’ve given me. Understand?" He punctuates that with a nip on Stiles’ neck that leaves a bruise blossoming in its wake.
Stiles takes a shaky breath and nods his understanding before he replies, a smirk playing on his lips once more. “Yes, Mr. Hale.”
11 9 / 2014
Anonymous said: something based off of your url
The word comes harshly off Niall’s tongue, his cock heavy and pressed inbetween your thighs. You bite down on your tongue and you’re sure it’s blood inducing, but there’s no other option besides shoving a pillow in your own face.
Niall holds himself still for a few moments while you get your breathing back under control, your heart pounding beneath your chest, your skin sweaty and sticky with your two previous orgasms. He’s watching you, eyelids hooded and slanted low over his eyes. He would look menacing if there wasn’t a wicked grin on his face, one that’s been glued to his mouth ever since he made you come the first time.
"Do I need to keep you quiet myself?"
When his finger brushes against your bundle of nerves, another mewl slips past your lips, and soon Niall’s big hand is carved over your mouth and nearly pressed over your nose, which would be enough to cut off your air supply. He shifts his hips until his head is prodding at the apex of your thighs, teasingly so, and enough to cause you to groan underneath his wide palm, which tastes like salt and is pressing hard enough against your lips to keep you silent enough for his liking.
Niall brings you just on the brink of an orgasm, coating his cock in you until you’re withering underneath his body and he has to remove his circling hand against your clit and clasp your wrists in it instead. The hand over your mouth pauses, pushing down harder for a moment, before you get the feeling that he’s about to take it off, that he’s going to let you moan his name, that he’s going to make you beg for it, beg for him to fuck you into the headboard, that he’s going to —
Instead, his fingers pinch at your nose, and a white light of ecstasy surrounds you like a halo, and your thighs shake, your eyes roll to the back of your head, and Niall says one little word:
And you do, any noise from the back of your throat hitting the palm of his hand so you’re silenced.