Look Me In The Eye And Try To Tell Me This: Acting Tough Will Not Make It Hurt Any Less, You Know This,

Look me in the eye and try to tell me this: “Acting tough will not make it hurt any less, you know this, yes?” isn't utterly perfect for cowboy!Mitch 😍 Like whether it's him or reader who got hurt (and we both know they're equally foolhardy lmao)

send me a PROMPT for a 'new muse' blurb ~

Notes : it's TOO perfect for him! ugh cowboy mitch gets to meeee.

"ACTING TOUGH WILL NOT MAKE IT HURT ANY LESS, YOU KNOW THIS, YES?" | COWBOY!MITCH

Squinted amber hues were met with a quirked brow as you looked pointedly toward the man, your words provoking a loud scoff from the hoarseness that gathered in his throat. Mitch couldn't help but think utter ridiculousness of your sentiment - not that he didn't agree with its truthfulness, but rather so, he couldn't afford to fall short of his resilient and gritty character. Being the town's Deputy meant that Mitch needed to be strong, doughty, indestructible. He did have to act tough. His eyes slowly drifted down to your form as you pressed a damp cloth against his exposed side, sopping up remnants of blood that surrounded his freshly sliced wound. He winced, and you noticed.

"It's just a scratch." His voice was gravelly as he attempted to hide the pain that spiked his tone, choosing to immediately shut his mouth and grind his teeth as an alternative expression of pain. He shifted uncomfortably on the rickety barstool when you pressed further against the wound, the scraping of metal on metal echoing loudly amongst the dead atmosphere of the Saloon, only seen possible past closing time. He growled under his breath before hearing a quiet snicker, the curling lips of a smirk present between your cheeks only indicating that you did it on purpose.

"A scratch wouldn't have hurt that bad." You said, glancing up to the man when you felt his focus boring into you. Usually, he was the one possessing the over-protective trait; quick to swoop you out of harm's way and dictate the millions of consequences that would come from your rowdiness. Mitch was always there to catch you if you fell, and you even began to wonder whether he purposely followed you around just in case you found yourself in yet another troublesome situation. Regardless of his staunchness, it was incredibly endearing. "And I certainly don't think that a stab to the side counts nearly as close as a scratch, mind you. You're lucky you're alive, Deputy."

"Y/N, we've been over this-" He began, sucking in a sharp breath as you finished cleaning the open gash. He shook his head, breath releasing slowly as his voice dropped low, "You can call me Mitch."

You sounded a scoff, a resonant of puerility that was incredibly mocking "Oh, I'm well aware. But would calling you by your name get me the same reaction as it would calling you by your title? I think not." Legs pushed you upright as you gathered the red-stained rags, hands quick to ball them up as they were thrown haphazardly into an empty wooden barrel, and Mitch jested a groan at your sentiment whilst teeth sunk to his lip. Once again, you could sense the durability of his gaze meandering over your movements, watching as you continued to patch up the poor man after his unlucky confrontation with a common thief.

It was now easier to see the small smile that tugged between your cheeks as you spun on your heel toward him, a sewing needle and spool pin grasped lightly as you fiddled with them between hesitant fingers. You breathed out lightly before crouching back to Mitch's side, "What can I say, there's just something about gettin' under your skin there, that brings a little light to my days."

He was still toying at his lip; the need to release it quickly became apparent as it began to grow numb under its clamp, soon it would draw blood and he was sure you would reprimand him for yet another reddened wound. He exhaled heavily, an intent to steady his breathing as he awaited the next step of your aid and the inevitable misery to follow. It wasn't until he looked back down to your willingness to patch him up that Mitch started to settle into the stool, watching as you thread your needle, "You're a tease, darlin', ya know that? I'll have you saying my name one o' these days, maybe even screaming it if I'm lucky."

You didn't need to look at the man to know that his eye dropped into a low wink, the tone of his voice suggesting playfulness and rowdy jest. He liked to wind you up, that's why you wound him right the hell back. With a gentle head shake, you lifted your eyes until they met his caramel swirls that you've gotten to know so well, your needle now held high in the air with a threatening pose, "Keep talking sweet like that, and I'll be the one makin' you scream for all the wrong reasons, Cowboy."

It was hidden, only slightly by the angle he sat at whilst his elbow perched upon the bartop, when Mitch gulped down at the intimidation that you wore so damn well. He even thought that if he wasn't so alert in the moment, then a slight moan of appreciative attraction would've slipped so nonchalantly from him. He was quick to remain silent after that, but more so to retain concentration as he admired your quick handiwork.

"Okay-" You began, taking a deep breath to balance yourself. The skirt you wore was spread around your body as you kneeled on the ground, a near-perfect circle framing you as you mentally prepared yourself for the upcoming round of Mitch's pain. You held up a leather belt, folded over each other exactly four times before handing it to Mitch and pointing at your mouth. He immediately understood, teeth clamping around the material to prevent his future growls and screams from echoing through your night-filled sleepy town.

"Now, I'm no doctor, but I've seen this procedure more times than I could count on one hand. Do you trust me.. Mitch?"

Mitch nodded, instantly. Cheeks reddening at the use of his name, however, the leather prevented him from any further commentary. He saw your grin, and knew, just knew, that you calculated your words perfectly in time with his inability to talk.

Mitch was so incredibly taken by you.

One last draw of breath, and you smiled wider, "Let's finish patching you up."

I NEED A PRT2 TO FAKE DATING DYLAN PLEASE!!!!!!

I have gotten 3 requests for part two to [THIS] little blurb that I wrote. I couldn't say no.

Pairing : Dylan O'Brien x Reader

Warnings : smut, 18+ content, enemies to lovers cont.

Word count : a lot.

Notes : this one is for @theinternetisfulloftrash

FAKE NEWS PT. 2

Dylan's fingers danced along your shoulder blades and walked down the line of your spine until they reached the restriction of your bra. He kissed your shoulder once, and then another until he managed to unclasp the metal hooks. Before continuing, the man tilted his head back and caught your reciprocated drunk daze, the softness etched across your facial features leaving him utterly mesmerised. "You'll be screaming out more than that when I'm done with you, sweetheart."

You were breathless; drawn in by the minty fresh toothpaste he used this morning, by the warm brown colouring of his eyes, and most of all, the lustful hypnotising sound of his raspy voice. They were characteristics that you absentmindedly admired from afar, but the tension that held you both apart for so long was your largest obstacle. It was hard for you to admit aloud, though, that the leftover hatred that held your relationship together was the perfect spark to ignite the passionate moment you were inevitably going to have together. It was, really, a means to an end.

You were gazing up at Dylan, your own eyes wide as they looked over his glimmering amber hues. You didn't dare look away, you couldn't, not when the close angle you found yourself at allowed you to capture and memorise every small detail that made him who he was. Your thighs grazed one another when you lent up into him, the heat between them slowly building, a strangled moan pressing into the curve between his neck and shoulder. Your flat hands rubbed over his covered chest and you could feel the heavy thumping of his heart pulsate against your tender touch.

Dylan was overcome with mild nervousness - he was far from being a virgin, but the feeling of getting closer and intimate with you made the rapid pace of his heart skip a beat. His breath was shaky as it released, fingers slowly tugging down the straps of your bra until the thin lacey material gathered by your feet on the floor. You sighed in relief to be freed from the garment before your hands slid over his shoulders and entangled behind his neck once more. Your chest was pushed against Dylan's, the chafing of your now exposed and peaked nipples through his shirt provoked a deep growl to settle in his throat. Fingers tightly grasped your hips, the friction of his jeans now protruding into the inside of your thigh - telltale signs that the sex drive of the man before you was going into full throttle.

You bounced on the balls of your feet until your legs wrapped around his waist, head dropped almost immediately for you to join your lips together. He instantly pulled you flushed against his body and it wasn't long before Dylan walked you back toward the edge of your bed. You were clinging to him, lips still moving slowly, his taste easily becoming addictive. You were so enchanted by the array of sentiments Dylan was offering you that you gasped softly from shock when he dropped you onto the soft duvet, hair splaying across your pillows. He wasn't shy as his eyes dragged unhurried your frame, an impish smirk quirking between his cheeks when he eventually landed on your rubbing thighs.

Dylan's lips latched onto your neck before sucking and nipping over the small bits of skin between his teeth. His tongue became the bittersweet savior when it soothed over your beginning phases of bruising. You moaned, unable to keep it silent when he just made you feel that good. One hand held your chin gently to the side to allow him further access, whilst the other pried open your legs. He approached you cautiously as he tested your comfort, his thumb dragging down the wet slick already soaking through your underwear, catching your sensitive bud along the way. Your hips bucked involuntarily, bottom lip caught by your teeth, "Take them off." You spoke, hardly above a whisper but still strangled from the pleasure you were receiving.

Dylan moved the worshipping of his mouth over your collarbone, teeth grazing along the protruding structure with utter gentleness before continuing down the valley between your breasts. You couldn't see at that moment, but you were positive that a trail of small bruising marks are going to find a temporary home decorating your skin. He multi-tasked by tangling his fingers in the side of your underwear, tugging them with speed down your legs before they were discarded somewhere across the room. He was getting restless, impatient, and you relished in knowing that this desperation stemmed from you.

Dylan's thumb circled roughly against your clit, and after you sighed out a whimper, it proceeded to draw further down your slickness. You shuddered and Dylan groaned, "Fuck, seriously? I did this to you?" He queried, his ego-boosting significantly when you nodded and suspired a sound of agreement. He never considered that he was capable of arousing you so easily as his nose dragged down between your breasts and ribs, "If it's any consolation, I have a raging boner right now, and you did that to me, too. And now... I'm gonna have to fuck you crazy because... shit, Y/N... how can I not? Look at you."

You could feel the dark shade of lust haze over your eyes, your chest heaving as you pushed Dylan back with a hand flat over his heart. You followed until you both were sitting on your knees, the expression on his face shocked with anticipation of what was to come. "Then, we will need to take this off you, now." You demanded, already pushing the hem of his shirt up his torso until a chuckle pushed through his lips. When it was tossed to the end of the bed, his eyebrow cocked, daring you to continue.

It was agonisingly slow when your nails barely scratched down his newly exposed skin; tickling the patch of dark hair between his pecs, across the tightened muscles flexing over his abdomen, and only settling when you dipped a finger past the band of his grey jeans. Dylan's breath hitched. "And these... I want them gone. I want to see just how bad you want me, and then I want to taste you on my tongue." You sunk your teeth deep into your lip, already popping the button and pulling at the zipper that caged his throbbing member away. Dylan nearly choked on the spot before pushing himself off the bed, the denim disappearing quickly along with his boxer briefs. He took a deep breath when you beckoned him toward you with a curled pointer finger, his knees crawling along the duvet.

You reached out for his evidently hard erection and thumbed his precum over the swollen tip. Dylan trembled with his whole body before threading his fingers through your hair. He looked down at the exact moment you took him deep between your lips, glancing up at the man with doe-like eyes, your tongue flicking against the large vein on his underside. He threw his head back in absolute euphoria, "Fuck me... that's - shit, Y/N, you're incredible." He pushed your hair away from your face as a makeshift ponytail was held in his hand, wanting to watch you as you bobbed your head and hollowed your cheeks. Dylan's string of moans grew louder and more animalistic as you continued, only pulling back to draw a sharp intake of air. He eventually had to tug you away before lifting you to his lips, his tongue almost immediately prodding at your teeth for entry so that he could swipe over your own. He was growing desperate and you loved every second of it.

Dylan's hands returned to your waist, guiding you backward until you were laying down again. You were holding his cheeks and using it as leverage for you to explore every nook and crevice of his mouth, hearty moans becoming swallowed within the rugged exchange of your union. Your head fell back as his swollen girth jerked between your wet folds, Dylan obliviously grinding himself against you until he heard you release a small cry. Your eyes were squeezed closed and you couldn't wait any longer. Warm breath fanned down your neck, the puffiness of Dylan's lips grazing against your earlobe as he asked you for consent. You nodded with the little room you had, a hand of yours dragging down his back reassuringly as you pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I want you, all of you." You whispered in return.

It was sudden, but it was rapturous when he guided himself into your entrance - the combination of groans from the pain of him pushing through your tightness, to the elated sounds of pleasure when he finally bottomed out was all that could be heard. You mildly circled your hips to adjust yourself as you grasped at his hands, pulling them from their gripping position on your waist to the mounds on your chest. He understood your silent plea before giving them a squeeze, his thumbs rolling each nipple between his fingers and alternating it between kneading your flesh. The blissful expression on your face altered him that you were ready for him to move, but only after he ducked his head down to pass his tongue over your sensitive peaks, taking them completely between his lips and paying close attention to what made you feel good. Another whine escaped you and his gruff voice spoke, "You might want to hang on to something, sweetheart, I can get a little wild."

He pulled out slowly but didn't give enough time for you to process his words before he slammed back into your core, your hips clashing from the force. You cried out, loudly, gripping the sheets below you with one hand as the other pulled at his hair. Dylan's movements were fast, and rough, and ruthless. It was obvious that he needed to get out the sexual frustration that was eating at him - and you weren't complaining one little bit. Dyan lifted one of your legs and hitched it over his shoulder, the new angle allowing him to brush over that one special spot. You instantly screamed out his name, and he smirked. His driving force was powerful as it dragged you back and forth, every time his tip hit your back walls only forced incoherent sounds of gratification to scream past his ear. "Fuck, fuck... so good, please, just... fuck." You groaned, writhing underneath him and he could only grunt in response.

You could feel the red heat of friction gathering along your pelvis, and honestly, you wouldn't be surprised if it hurt like a bitch tomorrow morning. The hand in his hair fell to his shoulder, your nails leaving open scratches down his back as you clawed at him in unadulterated pleasure. He was hunched over your frame, lips returning to worshipping the exposed skin of your neck and collarbone, sometimes buried in your shoulder when he had to release an exuberant groan - eventually, turning borderline feral. His actions were so fast-paced that his girth fell from you, his panting strong as it fanned over the bruising marks on your skin. You took this an opportunity to turn yourself around, his body managing to barely lift up to allow you more room. You were on your stomach, ass perked in the air and shaking to get his attention.

He chuckled, breathless, before kissing down your spine and taking this break to bring back softness and relaxation. It was soothing, a nice contrast to being pounded mercilessly, and you only admired him more for looking after you. Dylan hummed with lack of breath, "You're not just incredible, you're perfect. And I'm a fucking idiot for not noticing earlier." His hands were gentle as they kneaded the flesh of your ass before a quick slap caused them to ricochet. You bucked your hips backward, biting harshly at your lip, voice barely audible as you begged him to do it again. He complied, a smack to the other cheek, and then he was back to kneading them amiably. He gave you two taps on your lower back to indicate that he was going to continue, hand jerking himself a few times to work his libido back up to full speed.

Your folds were still wet and tender when he welcomed himself back, the new position conjuring another round of moaning from both of your lips. You dropped your head to the pillow and grasped at the sheets beside your head, trying to meet Dylan's pace as you pushed back. You could feel tears begin to prick at your lash line when he continuously hit your g-spot. Your mouth fell ajar, voice nearly shrieking, "Dyl.. Dylan - fuck me, shit." It provoked an intense tingling sensation to gather at your clitoris and travel to your abdomen, the sprouting warmth beginning to feel like aching hedonism. You were close.

Dylan wasn't far behind when his thrusts became messy, the need to anchor himself leading the man to grip at your hair and carefully pull you toward him. Your back was arched and chest protruding forward, cries now scratching your throat. You unknowingly got louder when you neared the beginning of your awaited orgasm, only to be broken by the sensation of you falling, your body landing in a pit of salacious ecstasy. You were so enthralled by your climax that you didn't notice the tears finally breaking free, nor the utmost euphoric noise you liberated and echoed loudly around you. Dylan cooed, "That's my girl, such a good girl..." He continued to thrust, slower than he was before until your high was ridden out completely. Dylan seeing the effect he had on your explosive spasm drove him to his edge, grunting as he removed himself from your warmth. He yanked at his pulsating member, eyebrows furrowed immensely until his ejaculation adorned your back.

You gasped as his hot cum landed over your sweaty skin, needing to drop your body against your bed from the tiresome experience. Your face was buried once again in your pillow as you tried to settle your breathing, a small smile tugging at your lips when you felt Dylan drag a piece of material over your back. You tilted to the side, watching him clean you up. "Is that your shirt?" You asked, pushing yourself up from the mattress. He only nodded in reply and moved the dark grey t-shirt down to between your legs. You couldn't help the small tremble as he passed over your still sensitive nub, a tender pull of a smile gracing his facial features. When satisfied, Dylan balled the shirt and threw it out your bedroom door, a reminder for him to put it in the laundry later. You were glad when he didn't leave, instead collapsing next to you and laying on his side, his cheek propped up in his hand as he gazed over your flushed expression.

"That was hot, right? Like it's not just me thinking that it was the best sex ever, right?" He questioned, wanting to know desperately if you felt the spark as strongly as he did. His long fingers reached out to tuck stray hairs behind your ear before pushing back the matted locks against your sweaty forehead. You had never seen such a soft smile adorn his lips before, even when you were faking it for the world to see - this one was genuine, real, pure. It created a tingle in your stomach, representative of butterflies dancing their way to your beating heart.

You offered a smile of your own, teeth on show as you grinned widely. You looked down for a brief moment as a deep rose blush of bashfulness accompanied your afterglow complexion. "No, definitely not just you. It was amazing. You were amazing." Your reply was short and sweet, enough for Dylan to bite at his lip as his eyes sparkled with bliss. He searched for your spare hand and pulled it to his lips, gentle kisses covering each knuckle before one was planted on the back of your hand, finally followed by a long peck to your palm. He easily intertwined your fingers together and hell would freeze over before he let them go.

"Does this mean that you don't want to hit me with your car anymore?" He quizzed, taking the gentle opportunity to insert some part of his well-known joking side.

You giggled, "Maybe not today. But if you keep this up... then maybe not at all."

can we have ‘ do you touch urself think my of me’ w dylan for ur 500 sleepover thing’ thxx

Warnings: 18+, mentions of sexual language, sexual activity, female masturbation

"DO YOU TOUCH YOURSELF WHEN YOU THINK OF ME?"

You shuddered; large hands ghosting over your sides, radiating dizzying warmth through the terrycloth of your towel. You could feel his movements so clearly despite the lack of physical touch, and it was beginning to make your mind sway with increments of a lustful haze. It was absentminded as your head gently fell back, lulling to the side as his warm breath fanned down your neck, each small exhale feeling like a fiery kiss against your sensitive skin. The man knew exactly what he was doing - the ability to arouse you already easy enough, but executing it without the usage of his masterful hands and lips only added to his adept skillset. You offered a gentle nod of your head, a response that you could only muster from the small amount of sanity he was letting you have. Dylan's lips curled into a generous smile as they dragged under your ear, a tender peck placed over the still wet skin from your shower.

He carefully pulled the abundance of your wet locks over your other shoulder so that his access to your neck became facile, lips now able to properly envelop your skin and leave behind an array of moan-inducing kisses. The man couldn't help but press himself against you, one hand now gripping your waist tightly as the other sat just above your thigh. Even though your eyes were closed, you were sure that you could sense the inevitable swelling of the veins in his arms, an indication that he was trying to hold himself back - that whatever self-control he harnessed was holding on by a whimsy thread before he would eventually have you backed up against the basin and screaming out every goddamn syllable of his name.

"Dyl..." You moaned softly, and if he wasn't focusing so hard on enhancing the purple bruise near your clavicle, he would have missed your near-silent plea. By now, your arm had been thrown behind you to allow your fingers to thread through his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp as your other hand entangled with the one guarding your waist. You could feel the upturn of his nose nuzzle into the curve of your neck as Dylan reveled in the soothing attention you were feeding him. He hummed lightly against your skin, his lips unable to stop the small litter of pecks that now trailed across your shoulder as he gently pulled down the material shielding your body. You were immediately covered in goosebumps; the cool air meeting your hot and flushed skin spiking the small bumps and provoking a display of shivers down your spine.

"Does the thought of my fingers make you feel good?" He wondered aloud, voice raspy as it was whispered against the shell of your ear. You could only manage another nod as your teeth sunk deeply into your bottom lip, tugging at the reminiscence your body felt as you remembered how good his hands treated you. It was now more obvious that your thighs had been rubbing together from the arousal he easily prompted - ankles crossed over and a small patch of red skin that was caused by evident friction near your heated core. Just the thought alone of the man behind you harassing your moistened sex was driving you absolutely insane.

Dylan untangled your hands before setting his lightly over yours, his movements slow as he dragged your touch down the front of your body. You opened your eyes, lashes fluttering against your cheek before you focused on your boyfriend in the reflection before you. He was mesmerised - eyes detailing the way you were reacting to his touch and intimate maneuvers - until his gaze finally fell on yours, causing a smirk encased in mischief to curl at his lips, complementing the heavy wink that fell from his right eye. He maintained eye contact as his pointer finger directed yours to your clit, the nub incredibly sensitive as he controlled your caress in a circular motion. He was guiding you to pleasure yourself as your chest instantly swelled with a deep intake of air, mouth falling ajar and eyes slowly becoming hooded.

You eventually sighed out in contentment; leaning back against Dylan when your legs began to grow unstable, his spare arm reaching across your chest. He grasped one of your fleshy mounds as he began to squeeze, his thumb and forefinger pinching an exposed peak to draw out your building moan. Dylan smiled as he watched your face contort with pleasure before murmuring in your ear, "Whatever you do, don't stop." His voice fractured with his own arousal, despite wanting to push it aside to focus primarily on you. He let you continue rubbing an array of shapes against your clit, his second and third finger now sliding into his mouth as he coated them with oral lubricant. You watched him intently, and you knew what was coming.

His lips brushed against your neck, "Keep your eyes on me, baby. I want to see how I make you feel when you cum on my fingers."

It was a growl that entered your ear, the beautiful caramel tone of Dylan's eyes now clouded with a dark chocolate hue, fervor for your pleasure now etching across his features quickly. He managed to suction his lips back to your neck, eyes still boring into the mirror. You couldn't look away from him, you didn't want to, which is why it took you by surprise when he pushed both fingers deep inside of you. An involuntary gasp squeaked past your open mouth, soon followed by a throaty moan that echoed loudly off the tiled walls. His pace was relentless as his fingers thrust quickly, the curl of their tips brushing over your rigid roofing and eliciting a whine of desperation. You didn't dare slow down your harassment on your clit, even pressing down harder when Dylan's nails scraped over a sensitive part of your core.

It was a quick set decision as he reached up to grasp your chin, turning it toward his awaiting lips before he pressed them harshly against yours. He didn't start to take your bottom lip between his own pair until he felt you relax slightly into him, an indication that you were content with the kiss. He sucked, teeth dragging your lip away as he pulled back, only to immediately dive back in and soothe his tongue along the graze. You were receiving amounts of pleasure all through your body, head now spinning with all sorts of romantic sentiments and lustful sensations. You took the opportunity to drag your tongue over his, pulling your boyfriend into you even more by the union shared between your mouths.

It was his turn to groan, only to be swallowed by you as you took leadership in the kiss. Dylan, though, still had reign over your upcoming orgasm as he thrust faster, angle changing until he found the special spot that made you scream between his lips. The room echoed with your joint sounds of satisfaction, complementary to the slick wet noises of his fingers drenched in your arousal as you neared your orgasmic high. You explored his mouth with the desperate muscle, recognising every nook and crevice as if it were the back of your hand. You provoked grunts from Dylan as he sucked the air from your lungs, needing to survive on your taste and feeling, nose dragging across your face as he fought the metaphorical battle of tongues.

It didn't take long for you to pull back, your voice crying toward him with furrowed brows and an incredibly heaving chest, "I'm gonna cum..." You breathed, whinging tangled with your tone as you found his spare hand. It was second nature as you grasped him, fingers sliding between his own, wanting to hold your boyfriend for support from what you anticipated as a body shaking high. He sped up even further, the contraction of your walls around him making his groin twitch and harden. You could feel it as he spontaneously pushed against your backside, the throbbing of his member settling into your lower back. Knowing that this was turning him on threw you over the edge, completely.

Eyes rolled back as you convulsed; the heated ache in your pelvis spreading through your veins as your body erupted in euphoric fire. A loud cry escaped you, "Fuck... fuck, Dyl-Dylan... baby... shit..." Your words were incoherent, unable to form proper sentences as you spoke absentmindedly in time with the stars exploding over your eyes. You could, however, see the familiar orbs of your partner as you maintained eye contact, Dylan's brows furrowing as he bit his lip with enough force to draw blood. His pace began to slow, only stopping when your frame collapsed against his chest. He pulled the tired digits to his mouth, sucking away the remnants of your juices and moaning at the taste he often dreamed about.

"That was so hot." He breathed out, your hearts thumping in unison as the only sounds now surrounding you both were the jagged breaths you shared.

You agreed as you reached up to him, your arm still shaky as you cupped Dylan's face and rubbed your thumb gently over his flushed cheeks. "You, are, incredible." You huffed, smiling sincerely despite the tiredness that now blanketed your face. He could tell by the lidded eyes you flashed him that the pleasure you felt took a lot out of you, prompting your boyfriend to lean in and tenderly kiss your swollen lips. His soft actions made your shoulders slump in serenity as you remained settled against him, only to be held flush further against his chest as his arm protectively sat at the base of your ribs. You managed a chuckle, "Guess I'll have to have another shower to clean this mess up." You gestured to the dripping juices falling down your inner thighs.

Dylan pulled back, at least two steps away from you as you braced yourself against the counter. He smiled gingerly as he removed his shirt, thumbs tucking into the waistband of his sweats and boxer briefs, "Good, I'll join you."

Winter Wonderland || Mitch Rapp x Reader

Summary : Mitch introduces you to your first snowfall during the Holiday season.

Words : 2.3k

Warnings : swearing, mild angst? couldn't help myself, sweet mitch

Notes : 3rd Installment - YAYA! Merry Christmas! Happy Holidays! gif credit [unknown / x]

The crisp air of the Russian wilderness nipped at your skin as you stood on the verandah of the small wooden cabin, arms crossed against your chest to defend yourself from the chilled temperature. All that you could see was painted-white forestry as far as your naked eye could go, their branches creating the perfect cover for the shelter you were calling home for the remaining week. You would rather be at your home for Christmas - curled up in your lonely queen bed sipping from a bottle of red wine, crappy holiday television numbing your drunken mind into a deep slumber. Instead, you found yourself held up between four walls that were certainly too small with a moody Agent taking up more space than he should, and a variety of intel to help you bring down Bratva, the infamous Russian Mafia.

Silence captured you in a bubble, holding you hostage from the outside world as the secluded space your cabin occupied remained lifeless - an exception being yourself and Mitch Rapp, just as the Central Intelligence Agency intended. The near dilapidated building behind you was a safe house that only had its moment to shine when a mission in the area needed attention. You had been situated here for six days, the term 'cabin fever' becoming quite literal when all that preoccupied your mind was hunting down your current murderous target. You needed air, you needed change and stimulation. What you truly needed was a bottle of hard liquor to get you through your remaining time here, but that was far from being possible.

That's what led you to stand outside, hoping that your mind would clear itself from the upcoming migraine threatening to spill over behind your eyes. You were in a daze as you focused on the quiet wilderness in front of you, making Mitch's following footsteps seemingly unable to be detected until his frame stood tall beside your own. He could see the stress etched between your eyebrows as worry lines scarred your skin, accompanied by the way you were chewing on the inside of your cheek. He recognised your frustration - he felt it before, on many different occasions - which is why he didn't press you into diving straight back into work. You deserved a break. His caramel eyes followed your gaze as they looked over the landscape, comparing the snow-speckled greenery of the trees to the grey skies above. He could easily identify this weather pattern, having learned it from his foster parents when he was fourteen.

"Looks like it's gonna snow." He hummed, matching your stance by interweaving his own arms in front of him. The widening of your eyes alerted Mitch that his words intrigued you, a minuscule smirk now playing upon his lips before he continued to gain your attention. The man cleared his throat, his weight shifting to one side of his body as his free leg stretched out in front of him. He turned his head to look at you but found your hopeful eyes still widening and already staring back to meet his pair. Mitch noticed the optimism, childlike desire boring into him as he discerned the reasoning behind your change in demeanor. The man chuckled sincerely, "You've never seen snow before? Actual snow, falling from the sky?"

Your head fell into a soft shake, embarrassment creeping up your neck and settling on your cheeks, a bright flush pinching almost immediately. Sharing your firsts, in general, was a scary task - the possibility of being judged constantly becoming a possible scenario that had to be faced. You curled in your lips and looked toward the makeshift driveway in front of you, making a noise of a saddened sigh, "Yeah, never. I get it, an Agent in her mid-twenties who has traveled the globe, and never come across any sort of snowfall? It seems highly unlikely." Your comment harnessed a playful tone despite the uneasiness, arms uncrossing to instead wring your hands in a matter of anxious fidgeting. "I'm what you call a rare case of bad timing; never at the right place when it was the right time... but it's always been a childhood wish of mine, even through all this CIA bullshit. It's one of the only things that I could keep from my old life." Shoulders lifted into a shrug, quick to sink back down before eyes returned forward.

"I think you'll be in luck. I'm no fucking weatherman or whatever, but trust me when I say that you might get that wish sorted out a little quicker than you thought."

Mitch tried to remain stoic, a trait that he wore proudly for nearly four years now, but he found it oddly impossible to move beyond caring about making you happy. 'Giving a damn' had been out of his system since he joined the agency, retribution swallowing his head and heart for a long period of time until he was finally set free. Mitch wasn't one to put human emotion at his forefront, but the way your eyes sparkled at his statement, the anticipation building and evident on the quirk of your lips... it prompted serotonin to flood his system and for you, he felt genuinely happy. It made him chuckle that for a moment, a slight peaceful moment, he forgot that on the other side of this chilly porch you were a professionally trained Assassin.

The timing could not have been more impeccable as you both remained still in silence, a gust of icy wind prickling your skin and provoking a shiver to dance up your spine. Small stars of ice began to flutter from the sky, and it felt like an odd chance of perfect coincidence. More began to fall at a faster pace, raining down over the lush green foliage surrounding you both. Your eyes were wide once more with utter starstruck from the beautiful image of fragile snowflakes decorating every inch of the scenery - it was a Christmas miracle, a reason to believe in magic, something so absolutely picturesque and stunning.

Your breath had hitched in your throat, and for a second you didn't notice, but Mitch did. He watched as your facial expressions contorted into a child-like version of yourself, even wondering if you had the smallest beads of tears gathering over your lashes before your hand wiped at your eyes. The silence was broken as you scoffed, playfulness hugging your words tightly, "You sure you're not Mitch Rapp, Meteorologist? Or are you a witch and this is one of your freaky lil spells?" Your frame turned until you were facing Mitch, your grin wide in benevolence.

"I swear that it's just coincidence! Scout's honor." Mitch's right hand pressed proudly to his chest as he laughed; a joyous sound stemming from the butterflies in his stomach, complementary to the scrunching of his nose and pinching in the corners of his warm eyes.

You couldn't help but revel in the happy noises he made - his laughter low and rumbling, but absolutely evident and wholehearted. His chest would rise and fall, head falling back, only with minimal incline, as it projected to the roof. It was hard to believe at first, but now you know, Mitch Rapp is capable of human emotion besides fury and sadness. You offered him a thankful smile as your eyes locked together, his head now nodding in acknowledgment before you ran inside. Your heavy parker as hanging on the back of the nearest armchair, material warm from the budding fireplace - one of the few things that Mitch was determined to keep alive. It was a mere few seconds until you were back out on the porch and your arms weren't even fully submerged into the sleeves yet.

You hummed, eyes shamelessly raking over your partner in his black knitted sweater and cargo pants. You clicked your tongue, looking to him in fake disapproval, "Well? Are you gonna grab your jacket or what? Come on, Rapp!"

If there had been a race for who had gotten in and out of that Cabin the quickest, it would be a very close tie with Mitch suddenly pushing back past you, a high-spirited nudge to your shoulder, and stretching out his legs in the new covering of soft snow. His smirk grew wider when you chastised him under your breath, the mock anger dissipated instantly when you felt the snowflakes gather on your rosy cheeks. They melted within half a second due to the heat of your flushed skin but were quickly replaced by more and more tiny flakes before the cycle would start again. Your heart thumped against the caging of your chest; the purity and innocence of the falling snow adorning the tips of trees and blanketing the cabin behind you only caused a warm sensation that usually isn't found in this climate, your veins spreading the welcomed feeling.

"Stick out your tongue," Mitch said, your focus breaking as you looked toward him. He was already demonstrating his suggestion, the pink muscle protruding from his mouth before he played a small game in catching the snowflakes as they fell. You complied without question, embracing the idea and savoring the experience as specks of ice decorated your own tongue. It was short-lived before a surprising intrusion of solid snow hit your side, your body shuffling forward slightly as you gasped. Foggy condensation hovered around your lips from the immense drop of temperature, the fog evaporating as your head turned within to face the perpetrator of snow. Mitch was grinning, his teeth on show proudly as he tossed up another ball of snow, catching it as if it were a baseball and he was preparing to pitch.

"You want to play a losing battle, huh? I was on the girls' softball team for most of High School. You can't outdo me." You taunted him, hands sitting with pride on your hips.

Mitch scoffed, another hearty laugh slipping past his lips and settling deep in his chest, "You're preaching to the wrong choir, Y/L/N. Scholarship at Syracuse for Lacrosse and I was the seventh-grade Baseball star in Middle School. You literally don't have a chance. I'm not just an Assassin for my day job, I'm Assassin on the sport's field too."

Your hands held in the air, a defensive gesture for your playful banter, "Okay, okay. You win, Rapp, geez. Way to make a girl doubt her snowball throwing skills. Such a gentleman."

You shook your head, amused over his attempt to joke with you. He could tell that you thought he was a moron, the way you bit your lip to hold back your near-inevitable smirk was a sure sign, and he started to feel as if he did his good deed for the day by making you smile. Mitch didn't want to break the progress already gained, but the man was curious - it was written in his blood, his skill set, his personality - the question that had been burning in his mind for just under a week sat on the tip of his tongue. But, is it worth the possible reverting of your new optimistic attitude? He took risks, it was in the job description, so what was the harm in just prying, even a little bit?

"So... I know it's Christmas in two days... you have anybody you could've spent it with back home? Missing out on some quality family time, or anything?" He looked away as the questions spilled, unsure of how you would react. He didn't know much about you, seeming that your private life was rarely exposed and often under lock and key. He was very similar on that front, but the past couple of years had taught him to let go a little, that not everybody in this large scary world is actually a bad guy. He also knew that Stan filled you in on his file before you departed for Russia, and he wanted to be the one to level the playing field.

"I don't have a family. I don't have time for a special someone. And my apartment doesn't allow pets." Was all that you said, your positive demeanor briefly slipping away to expose a cold indomitable face. Being alone allowed you to focus on your duties as an Agent, the thoughts of worry about not returning home weren't playable cards in your deck and it allowed you to not just be an Assassin but to be a deadly one. It was as if Mitch was looking into a mirror of the man he used to be four years ago - it was frightening and all-around sad.

Mitch piped up, taking a tentative step toward you, "I understand, you know. My parents died when I was young, and I haven't seen my brother in so long... I doubt he even knows I'm alive, to be honest. So, guess I'm alone too." He looked toward the nearly white trees, a deep breath sucked in, and spat back out with the same fog that surrounded you earlier.

You dared to reach out to him, your left hand gently placed over his bicep before you squeezed him tightly, reassuringly. "We can be alone together." You said with a small smile and now softened eyes that held so much admiration and passion. It was proof that Mitch Rapp could melt away the coldness that you often found entangled with your heart. An absolute miracle.

"But right after the snowball fight, right? Because I am very prepared to fucking dominate you, this isn't a game anymore. It's actual war."

You nodded, the lift of your lips indicating a silent thank you for moving past the mushiness route that your conversation took. Instead, you growled with impishness, "Bring it on, Rapp, but I'll let you know, I'm not going to back down so easily again."

Revelations || Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Summary : Remembering Stiles leads to remembering your hidden feelings for him. [REQUESTED]

Words : 5.4k

Warnings : smut , oral, angst, not proof read

Notes : this is my first published smut on this blog, fingers crossed! PLEASE BE KIND!!!

The corners of your eyes squinted harshly as you screwed them tight, your lips somewhat parted, chest heaving with deep and sharp intakes of breaths. Your body was stuck between a battle of writhing with pleasure and completely freezing with the upcoming climax - this is what he did to you. It was indescribable how euphoric this moment was, even the roughest and fastest of actions still managing to appear slow as you savoured every touch and sound. Heat travelled along your skin in usison with the prickling goosebumps he gave you and suddenly everything felt like the ultimate out of body experience. You were too dazed to feel your fingertips dragging down his back or to feel the thin layer of sweat bead over your skin, pursed lips pressing lazily to his shoulder. Your voice was caught in your throat even though you desired to scream out as your bodies thrusted as one unit along a blue and black plaid bed sheet, legs tangled, and hands now joined and held over your head. You couldn’t see his eyes or the way your joint pleasure contorted his facial features due to his face being deeply buried in the crook of your own shoulder, teeth and tongue harassing your collarbone.

Your vision slowly blurred, prompting a sudden sharp pain to claim home behind your eyes.

The body wrapped around yours stayed in place, even when you tried to voice that something was wrong. He couldn’t hear you. Your hands and arms could no longer move; your legs losing feeling altogether. All previous sensations of pleasure had dissipated as anxiousness set it and took complete ownership. The thumping reverberations of your racing heart ricocheted through your chest and onto the mattress underneath, the rate increasing the more you tried to wiggle free. It was as if your body didn’t want you to leave - as if it wanted you to stay and see something, hear something, remember something. It wasn’t until a barely audible whisper regained your focus, hot breath tickling your left ear, an ‘I love you’ echoing through every part of you. The reiteration of blood coursing through your veins and loud beats of your heart stopped within seconds before you were encased in utter silence. Hearing a pin drop would surely shatter the intensity of this silent sound barrier. The head laying on your shoulder lifted with slow pace, the first thing you notice being the deep caramel tone of his irises - the familiar caramel tone. The brown set of eyes glanced to your lips and back up to match your focus. The slightly wet and pink swell of his lips cocked into a truly happy smile, the grin sitting between freckle and mole splattered cheeks and a soft rose hue blushing along his pale complexion. The boy spoke again, “Remember, I love you. Remember, Y/N… I love you.”

You squinted and tilted to the side, his words resonating deep within you as another sharp pain spiked within your head. Those four words continued to echo and grew louder and louder with each passing second until all you could hear was ‘remember I love you’ on agonising replay. Your eyes squeezed closed as you silently begged for it to stop, but as quick as it came, like a rubber-band pulled too far - you snapped.

“Stiles!”

----------

The sound of your breathless panting bounced off every surface of your bedroom, your body now lifted into a completely upright position, your handheld over the hammering of your racing heart. The cool draft entering from your open bedroom window made you shiver as the chilled air came in contact with the salty droplets of sweat staining your clothing and decorating the exposed skin. You dared to look beside you and notice that you were alone in your bed and that you definitely weren’t sleeping on blue plaid sheets. If your knowledge on the Supernatural didn’t exist, then you would consider this an awful case of Nightmares - but you knew better, unfortunately. This was because of the Ghost Riders. This was you finally remembering him. Stiles. Your eyes widened substantially with haste as you reached for your phone, immediately pulling out the charging cord and tapping on Scott’s caller I.D. Your legs swung over the edge of your bed and began to make nervous shaky movements, rocking with anticipation. It nearly rang out before you heard a gruff voice grumble into the receiver, evident sleepiness coaxing his inaudible words. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “Scott.” You said sternly, hoping that he would gain more consciousness. “Scott, this is important… Scott, wake the hell up!”

You heard stirring on the opposite end of the line. “I’m up, I’m awake, what?! Y/N, what’s wrong?” He replied, now sounding all kinds of worried.

“I remember him… Stiles, I remember him.” You spoke slowly, still trying to wrap your head around the string of events that led you to this conversation with one of your best friends. You held your bottom lip between your teeth as your spare hand combed through your hair, tugging nervously through the ends. You and your friends had spent weeks trying to put a name to the boy that none of you seemed to know of - a repercussion of the Ghost Rider’s hunt. Slowly, the puzzle pieces began to slide together, but within your still quaking hands, you held the ultimate answer. You cleared your throat, “Scott? You still there?”

Rustling was all that you could hear before a brief loud response from Scott provoked you to pull the phone back, “Yeah, I’m just getting dressed. I think… I think I remember him too, kinda. The night I got bit in the Preserve, I think he was there with me. It was his idea to go there. I remember Sheriff saying his name when I hid behind that log.” You could have sworn he dropped the phone next as a loud clang caused you to pull away again, Scott’s whispered voice now cursing the closer he seemed to get to it. “I’ll be there in five.”

“Scott, wait…” Your voice jarred, quick to slip out before he could hang up. The soft background noise alerted you that he was waiting for you to continue, “I think it’s more than just remembering him. I’m pretty sure I’m in love with him.”

Scott sighed, “Then we better get him back as soon as possible”.

----------

Being able to just see Stiles once more was enough for your mind to start wandering. He was standing on the other side of your friends with that damn bat in tow, eyes boring into yours, face softening before you were suddenly wrapped within his arms. The embrace you two shared was the tipping point for your uncontrolled river of tears - and that’s when you knew that after all of this sneaking around and sex with no strings attached, you were most definitely in love with Stiles Stilinski. You had been sitting with this revelation for a couple of hours now, your body currently perched on the side of his bed with knees pulled to your chest. The lamp behind you cascaded your shadow against the wall and the only sounds you could hear were from the emotional reunion downstairs between father and son. You weren’t able to make out what words were spoken, not that you were purposely listening, but the happy tone and muffled sobs were enough to make you smile at a reconnected relationship. You could only hope that the wants and fears pouring from their hearts only matched the heartfelt desires you had to share with him. Your eyes were trained on the photo frames littering his bedside table, but of course, you were mostly drawn to the one depicting two overly-joyous teenagers. Your legs hung over his arms as you were wrapped around his back, hands joined as they fell over his shoulders. He had a tight grip on you that day, constantly reassuring you that he wouldn’t let you drop. Your smiles were both wide and so immensely genuine - you could only hope that after your confession of true feelings that the two of you would continue with a future that shone as bright and happy as that photograph.

Your thoughts were so deep that you didn’t hear Stiles retreat back up the stairs and close the door behind him. He watched you distinctively as he toed off his shoes and allowed his jacket to slip from his arms, falling by his feet. He didn’t want to speak yet, not whilst he was watching your frame as you sat on his bed, feeling content as he remembered just how much he missed seeing you in his room. The corners of his lips lifted into a smirk as you began to absentmindedly smile at the framed photos, daring to reach out and drag a single fingertip over what he figured to be the capture of the two of you. Stiles finally cleared his throat, his facial features softening as he remained looking at you. His eyes by now were slightly pink and puffy from crying with his father, but hiding his vulnerability from you was the last thing he ever wanted to do.

Stiles bit his lip with a raspy voice, “I, uh, said something to you… before they took me. It’s really important that you remember what I said, Y/N.”

Your eyelashes danced against the top of your cheek, head dropping into a slow nod. Of course, you knew what he was talking about; how could you not? The collection of words had been on replay in your mind ever since you began to regain memories of what made Stiles special to you. Never once did you break eye contact with the emotional boy standing on the other side of the room. The moment you were waiting for was getting closer - pouring every ounce of your feelings out in the open - however, as Stiles neared, your stomach swarmed with the flittering of butterflies. The tone of your voice was nearly inaudible as you spoke, head falling into a slight tilt to accompany the small quirk of your lips, “Remember I love you.”

The wide toothy grin that you found so enticing was now present, the corners of his eyes crinkling in pure happiness. Stiles continued to take steps toward his bed until he could reach out to tuck stray hairs behind your ear. The boy cleared his throat, “I need you to know that what I said… what I feel precedes any of this Ghost Rider bullshit. That when I said it, I meant it with every single cell in my body. It's cliche as all hell, but life is too short to not take a chance. Especially with the way we live. So if I'm gonna do this, then I'm gonna have to do it now before it's too late.” Stiles allowed his fingers and knuckles to drag over your cheeks before he cupped them with such fragility, the warm whisky tone of his eyes glistening as they bore into yours. He took a deep breath, still wearing that damn smile, “I love you, Y/N. This isn’t about the sex, nor is it about the sneaking around and the late-night fun. This is about how I truly feel about you. And fuck, had I not been an idiot in the first place and just told you instead of mindlessly getting into bed with you, then you’d know that you had always been special to me. Our whole lives and friendship… it was always meant to be us. Even if it had to happen this way. All that I ask from you is that you can look me in the eye and say you feel the exact same fucking way. That’s all I need. Just say it back… please.”

The universe came crashing around you all at once - you felt like every lost emotion or declaration of love finally caught up with you, colliding into a flashing display of serendipity, and it made you feel so goddamn good. It was as if you could finally take a deep breath of fresh air and breathe, that all of the birds were singing again and the sun had the strength to shine through the grey clouds that dulled your most recent days. Stiles made you feel at peace. You decided to not hold back the gathering tears that threatened to spill over your lashes, embracing the way he made you feel such emotion. Hands of your own slid up his arms and settled over the hold he still had on your cheeks, making you beam brightly at him as his thumbs dragged over your cheekbone. You could tell by the soft contortion of his features that he understood your reciprocation, but the flicking of his eyes between your lips and your own gaze only indicated that he still needed to hear those words before any further move was made.

You absentmindedly licked your trembling lips, a small giggle escaping you when his thumb brushed over their plumpness to stop their shaky movements. You carefully kissed the thumb, sighing in content, “I love you, Stiles Stilinski. I will always love you.”

Stiles moved quickly as you were tugged against him, chests meeting as part of a soft embrace. The close proximity that you were oh-so used to felt different for once - this wasn’t just lust brewing between you both, but something so much more emotional, much more pure and true. Stiles’ upturned nose brushed over yours, nudging it with utter delicacy as pursed lips chased your supple pair. You were still holding your hands over his as you squeezed, an indication for him to finally make his move and prove just how much he loves you. Stiles closed the gap between you both with a gentle press of his lips, relishing in the warmth of your sweet flavor, just long enough for him to inhale your breath. He didn’t want to rush like he usually would, choosing to take his time so that he could remember the way you blossomed under his touch and taste like a flower entering Spring. Your hands fell to his shoulders before slipping over them, gathering at his back as they hung in bliss. It was you who made the next move as you pushed your tongue against his clenched teeth to roughen the kiss, the pent-up feelings of losing Stiles and gaining him back now poured into every swerve your tongue made against his. It was electric when your heads turned to better the angle; only proven by the deep groan that pushed through Stiles’ mouth, allowing you to swallow his satisfaction and growing libido.

He wrapped an arm around your waist before expertly lifting you from your standing position, his body closing over yours as he laid you down on his bed. Never once did he break the union between your lips until he felt your fingertips dance along his abdomen, desperation evident when they tangled in the hem of his t-shirt. He chuckled against your lips as he pulled back, his eyes glistening at the whine you made when his warmth temporarily left you. Stiles was soon to replace your sweet taste with his bottom teeth when he knelt back, his body sitting up straight with an arm thrown behind his back. Slowly, he tugged at the back collar of his shirt, the material thrown haphazardly across the room. It was as if second nature when your nails immediately scraped gently down his exposed chest, dragging through the prominent strips of dark chest hair and trail leading down into his jeans. Stiles shuddered from the contact, but couldn’t keep his ever-growing smile of admiration away from between his cheeks.

Permission wasn’t needed when your shirt was next, its location unknown when it too was tossed over Stiles’ shoulder with little to no care. He paused to have a look at you as you lay beneath him; your hair splayed across his bedsheets and chest already heaving from the building anticipation. He couldn’t help but think of how beautiful you looked when you were vulnerable to him. Stiles was encased around your frame within mere seconds, a large hand splayed against your cheek as the other fiddled with the button on your jeans, refusing to pull away until it was popped and ready for him to tug down your legs. You lifted your hips for easy access, your knees soon pulled apart by Stiles. He sat between your thighs with a dazed look in his honey eyes, the small tug of a smirk grazing the corners of his mouth. He wanted you to feel good as his hands slid down from your knees and over your thighs, fingers daring to slip under the band of your underwear. The light shudders you released was indication enough that you wanted this as much as he did.

A small moan gathered in your throat when you were hit by cool air, the wet slick of your lower lips now exposed as Stiles removed the thin piece of fabric covering you. He wasn’t shy as a finger dragged down your centre - after the many times you both shared together already, he knew his way around your body, but even then he is still always amazed by how intensely you react to his touch. Your head lulled back in serenity when Stiles rubbed his thumb in circles over your clit, the sensitive nub eliciting more moans and soft words of encouragement to slip past your lips as if you were in a drunken haze. His movements increased in pace when his lengthy pointer finger was pushed inside you, your muscles tightening at the addition of his digit. He thrust it with steady pacing and accompanied it with the pulsating muscle of his tongue flicking at your clit.

Stiles skilfully alternated between sucking and licking, harassing your most sensitive area until his finger curled in order to scrape against that one special spot inside you. You nearly screamed when he found it, a second finger entering to help pay close attention to the rough patch that made you want to cry out in euphoria. You could feel his lips pull up into a smile when you sharply groaned at the jubilant sensation of your upcoming climax, your thighs unwillingly squeezing around Stiles’ head, stipulating your need for him to fasten his actions so you can experience that much-awaited bust of fireworks behind your eyes. Curses fell as fingers grasped the sheets beneath you before you suddenly lifted your hips from the mattress and released a nearly pornographic moan from reaching your high. Stiles didn’t stop as he helped you ride out your climactic moment, fingers continuing to thrust but his lips now sucking gently at your hip bones. Your body trembled immensely, and you could’ve sworn that you would feel the afterglow for at least a week. With that thought, you sunk, completely disoriented from the best oral he had ever given you. You could tell from his intensity that he definitely meant it when he confessed that he was in love.

Stiles couldn’t help the cocky smile he provided or the raspy chuckle, his tongue casually darting out to lick away the residue of your taste gathered on his lips. He managed to catch eye contact as you willingly looked over to him, “You good? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cum that hard before.” He mused, his ego now boosted with a quirk of his eyebrow pointed toward you. Stiles bit down on his bottom lip and tugged at it with a satisfying growl, his body lowering over yours once again until he was able to nip at your exposed left shoulder.

“You been holding out on me then, Stilinski?” You retorted, remaining breathless when his calloused fingers began to pull down your bra strap, swollen and warm lips dragging down your arm. He sounded a genuine laugh when he repeated his gentle movements on the other side. You tipped his head back with a single finger, drunken and affectionate caramel eyes ogling back at you when your fingers unclasped the last layer of material covering your chest, your bra thrown across Stiles’ bedroom. Stiles cursed under his breath, his following moan doused with erotic tones as he took an exposed peak in between his lips. Knowing that you were completely naked under his writing form coursed fire in his veins. It was involuntary when he began to slowly grind his clothed length along the inside of your thigh, the friction from his jeans leaving behind a red heated mark on your skin.

Stiles elegantly rotated between your breasts, his hand cupping and tweaking at the side without his tongue’s attention. By now, your body was squirming with pleasure, and you surely could feel the urgency of Stiles’ eager member twitch through the rough denim fabric. You reached down to tug at the band of his jeans, signaling to Stiles that you wanted more. He pulled back to sport his even puffier lips, their soft complexion making the boy look so goddamn innocent - of course, in reality, you knew just what those deadly lips could do. He positioned himself back on his knees before stepping away from his bed, maintaining sensual eye contact as he undid and removed his pants. The moment the denim was pulled past his thighs, he released a noise of utter satisfaction, his member freed from its toughest confinement. Your eyes were curious when they glanced down to his groin, your breath hitching at the evident wet patch caused by yearning precum. You found happiness in knowing that you helped do that to him.

He made it painfully obvious that he was checking out your heaving, desperate body as he reached to his bedside table, his hand fiddling aimlessly around the drawer until he pulled out a crinkling foil packet. The only rule Stiles ever had during sex was that he wanted to keep it safe - something about how he could barely look after his eighteen-year-old self, so how would he look after a baby? His willingness to protect you both always made you smile without fault. He carefully slid the corner of the packet between his teeth in order to pull down his trunks; Stiles’ shoulders deflated with bliss when he was finally free and exposed to you. His dick wasn’t too large, but the perfect size to satisfy you over and over again. Like his arms, he had veins running along the girth, a prominent one up the underside that always made him weak to the touch. It wouldn’t be completely outlandish to even suggest that it was his sexual Achilles heel - and your greatest weapon to get just what you wanted.

You were broken from your mouth-watering stare as the sound of ripping foil caught your attention. Stiles’ inflamed and sensitive tip was soon spread with his precum before he jerked himself a few times, the condom in his other hand then rolling down his length with expertise. Salacious groans pushed past his lips when he touched himself, preparing his body to gratify yours. His eyes had squeezed shut from the attention he gave himself, only to see your finger beckoning him closer when he returned his focus to you. Stiles didn’t need to be told twice, launching himself across the bedding until his hands lay flat beside your head and his nose nuzzled against yours. Your face scrunched up out of reflex and you giggled sweetly at his affectionate action. With his forehead dropped and pressing to yours, the boy took a deep contented breath, his tone settled to a whisper, “I love you, so much. I’m never gonna stop saying it. You’re everything to me, you are my everything. I truly, madly, deeply love you.”

He ignited a fire within you - one that would burn for as long as he remains by your side to offer you a promise of forever love. It was seen in the way you cupped his cheeks and left a fiery path where your fingertips danced, and how you lent up into the boy and left him with a hot union of your lips as you slid your tongue against his. Everything about him left you heated; and you never wanted to cool down. As you pulled back from his lips, still brushing over his with the slightest of grazes, you smiled. Your nose copied his earlier action as you nuzzled Stiles, even matching his quiet tone, “I love you too, and I will for as long as I live and breathe, Stiles. You’re stuck with me now, sweetheart.”

It was the confirmation he needed to position himself against your still dripping entrance, the tip dragging helplessly over your sensitive bundle and causing small tremors of your body in its wake. Stiles gave you a small nod before one of his hands linked with yours, still sitting beside your head, and the other helping to guide his dick into your awaiting core. You firmly squeezed his fingers, Stiles reciprocating the ferocity as he pushed through the tightness of your walls, carnal sounds of mild pain and pleasure harmonizing between you both until he was completely bottomed out. His chest rose and fell with each deep breath he took, taking his time to allow you both to adjust to the feeling of each other. You could feel the rapid beating of his heart thump against your own chest, provoking you to place your spare hand over the beating muscle as a silent way to reassure him - of what, you weren’t too sure, but he instantly responded with a kiss to your forehead and smiling lips pressed to your hairline. You were ready for him to continue, your voice cracking in your throat from the feeling of his length filling you, “Move, Stiles.” You signaled, hips already reaching for his until he managed a mild chuckle, an obscene playful remark about you being ‘needy’ muttered under his breath.

All it took was a couple of thrusts for you to throw your head back, Stiles attempting to tease you by pulling out all the way and slamming himself back into you with the utmost passion and desire to make you feel good. You easily fell victim to his game and whined his name constantly between mumbles of curse words and explicit groans. He repositioned himself back on his knees, hands sliding down your chest and over your breasts at a painfully slow pace before settling on your hips. He lifted them to allow for a new angle and thrust mercilessly into you. Stiles didn’t hold back - he didn’t want to, frankly, every emotion that built up within him since he was taken was now portrayed in the strong feelings he felt for you. He has had sex with you before, multiple times, but this moment… this was special, and he wanted you to know just how serious and dedicated he was to loving you properly. Between his panting, Stiles managed to offer you words of encouragement, proud to tell you that you were the epitome of beauty and that you felt so amazing around his pulsating member. By now, you could feel a pull in your lower abdomen and tears prick at your eyes - silent alerts that you were close once again to climatic euphoria.

With shaky arms you pushed yourself from the mattress and secured them around his neck, chests now flushed once more and your legs straddling Stiles’ lap. He pushed out an animalistic growl that had settled in his throat, his own arms wrapped around your frame and holding you against him for dear life, “Fuck, baby…” His voice was husky, reveling in the new position that allowed him to reach that special spot within you for the second time tonight. You were helpless as your forehead dropped to his shoulder, the beaded sweat layering his skin leaving spots of warmth against your own. You tried to keep up his pace by meeting his hips, only to be briefly distracted by the sweet nothings he continuously poured into your ears. If you could ever describe the word perfect, it would be this moment - entangled with the boy you love, your body ignited by passion and pleasure, and his calming sweet words echoing in your ears.

Your small hands laid flat against Stiles’ chest before you pushed him back, his body now lying on the bed, head just missing the edge whilst your movements take control to finish you both off. He flashed a large grin as he peered up to you, the corners of his eyes crinkled in pure happiness and admiration. He loved how you knew his favorite position, even more so when you show your small moments of dominance. Your hands remained pressed against the heaving of his chest as you bounded your hips, eyes rolling back into your head with a slightly agape mouth. You were close to the finish line; the band in your abdomen continuously pulling, waiting for the final snap. You could tell that Stiles was close too as his thrusts became slightly sloppy, however, it only made him pick up the pace even more. You circled your hips, gyrating at every possible angle as you sunk up and down on his dick, a loud moan echoing off the walls - one that if the Sheriff had still remained downstairs, he would definitely hear it.

The tears that had settled on your lash line finally spilled over, only a couple of drops rolling down your cheeks. Stiles reached up and gathered them on his thumbs, his hoarse tone cooing at your emotional build-up, “You’re doing so good, baby, so good. Nearly there.”

“I’m so close.”

“I know, sweetheart, just let go.” Stiles whispered, pulling himself forward to capture your lips within his own. You sucked the breath out of him as you finally reached your release, your body trembling in Stiles’ arms, erupting into metaphorical fireworks. Stars flashed behind your blacked-out eyes and you had never felt so goddamn loved in your entire life. You tried to maintain bounces that were easily taken over by Stiles’ thrusts, helping you ride out your high as he too was nearing his edge of glory. You mindlessly said that you loved him, over and over again into his ear until he filled the rubber pocket around his well-worked girth. Open mouth pants and heavy breathing flashed over your sweaty shoulder, soon to be replaced by sloppy wet kisses. You allowed your hands to rub delicately at his back to calm him down, and he thanked you quietly with murmurs against your skin.

“Ya know…” Stiles began, his upturned nose tracing your collarbone, “As fucking cheesy as it sounds, now I know why they call it making love, cause that was… that was somethin’ else entirely.”

With a nodded head, you lifted his chin with your finger to show him just how brightly you were beaming, the afterglow making him see you in such an angelic light. “It was absolutely something else, it was deadset fucking amazing. Like, seriously, Stiles, where have you been hiding that?” Your question was rhetorical as you lent down to him, placing a chaste peck to the corner of his mouth where his lips met, but he still answered anyway.

“It was just waiting for the right time, I s’pose.” His answer was followed by a kiss of his own, settling on the tip of your nose before pressing to your forehead and each of your cheeks. With hooded eyes he pulled back, an expression of endearment contorting his smile. Stiles had finally found his peace, even amongst the dangers and chaos of the supernatural world. He had someone to ground him and always pull him back from the darkness; he had something worth fighting for, and you had a love that could never leave you - no matter how hard anybody tried to take it away from you.

Hi can I do a Dylan o brien where the reader is sick so he looks after her ?? X

Not so Healthy || Dylan O'Brien x Reader

Words: 612

Warnings: swearing and cute dyl

[GIF]

"Don't come near me." You warned, hand outstretched as your body shuffled back against the plush cushioning of the couch. You could barely see through the swollen puffiness under your eyes and the glaze of sickness causing everything in your sight to appear hazy; but you could see HIM, approaching you slowly. You huffed as you realized that you couldn't move back any further, your body stuck for an escape. A sudden thump of your headache behind your sinuses provoked your head to fall back and a loud groan push through your cracked lips. "I don't want you to get sick, Dylan, it fucking sucks."

You could hear him chuckle before his knees hit the hardwood floor beside the couch, his lengthy fingers splayed over your bicep as it rubbed reassuringly up and down your arm. Dylan dropped his chin to your stomach and peered up at you through his dark lashes, the honey swirls of his eyes instantly warming your insides as you peered down to him. He cooed softly, "Let me nurse you back to health, baby. I wanna help". His lips pushed into a soft pout, the fingers dancing along your arm now dragging over your neck and tracing your jawline. He knew that the delicate touches he gave you always managed to soothe whatever pain you were in, physically or emotionally - and you appreciated every second of it.

His cooing got louder as he crawled further up your body, his lips ghosting the curve between your neck and shoulder. You sighed in content at how such simple and dainty actions can minimize your pain, even in the slightest. Your sweet moment was ruined when a sudden sneeze shot through you, flying over Dylan's head before your hand flew up to cover any more from escaping. You groaned loudly before pushing his head down and away from yours, "No... no kisses, no cuddles. I'll be damned if you end up like this. You need to go sit over there..." You spoke sternly, your trembling finger pointing to the lone armchair across the room.

In response, he scoffed. Dylan pushed himself up with hands perched on either side of your body, an eyebrow cocked in a challenging manner. "And what if I don't want to? What if I want to kiss you? What if I don't care about getting sick, huh?" He bit his lip at your disapproving expression as he tried to hold in a chuckle at your added stubborness. "You need painkillers and water. I'll get you some soup, anything... but there's no way that I'm gonna let you suffer through this by yourself. Just let me help you. I'll even put on a sexy nurse costume, ya know, if that seals the deal..."

It was your turn to giggle like a little schoolgirl, head shaking and smile finally wide upon your lips. The image of your boyfriend dressed in a sexually provocative Halloween costume now burnt in the back of your mind and you silently thanked him for it with a squeeze of your hand over his. "We both know that that'd totally make me feel better. God, you'd look so hot..."

"Okay, calm down. Can't have you getting all aroused when you can barely stay awake right now." He quipped, squeezing your hand back. Dylan stood quickly and leant in to press a chaste kiss to your overly warm forehead, provoking a small frown when he pulled back again. "You definitely need meds. Then we'll cuddle and watch and movie and eat soup, alright? Maybe gazpacho." He gently pushed your hair back and grinned at your gracious expression.

"Thank you for being the best nurse."