────୨ৎ────

. ۫ ꣑ৎ . loser stiles and his out-of-his-league pretty girlfriend.

pairing: stiles stilinski x fem!reader.

summary: when stiles finally asks you to be his girlfriend and you say yes, he can’t believe it —and he’s not the only one. you two come in very different fonts. but, you’re so quick to prove him and his self-deprecation that you like him, fully and shamelessly.

warnings: used of y/n… im sorry. a little fluff? reader being a menace and the end of stiles life (in a good way).

a/n: i tried my best to be funny and make it a little longer. a mother needs to feed her kids. based on this req <3

stiles stilinski had spent a solid seven-teen years being a complete and utter dork. a nerd. a disaster in human form. the kind of guy who could tell you, unprompted, that the fear of long words is called hippopotomonstrosesquipedaliophobia but somehow still couldn’t spell “necessary” on the first try.

he was the guy who tripped over air, made obscure pop culture references no one asked for, and had a deeply unhealthy relationship with sarcasm.

so, naturally, when you—actual goddess, the prettiest face in beacon hills, social butterfly extraordinaire—agreed to date him, stiles was convinced he was being pranked.

“she said yes,” he had told scott the night it happened, voice shaking, hands gripping his best friend’s shoulders like he was trying to transfer the shock through sheer physical contact. “she said yes. to me. like, willingly. no coercion. no hostage situation. just… yes.”

scott, ever the supportive best friend, blinked at him. “huh.”

“what do you mean huh?”

“I just—” he rubbed the back of his neck, looking way too amused. “I mean, don’t take this the wrong way, but… dude, that’s y/n.”

exactly.

you weren’t just popular. you are the cool kind of popular. the kind that made people want to be around you instead of just tolerating your presence because of high school hierarchy rules.

you had this effortless confidence, this ability to make everyone feel like they belonged—even stiles, who had spent most of his life on the outskirts of social normalcy.

you are the type of person who could go from hanging out with the lacrosse team and his girlfriends to sitting with the theater kids in the same day, and everyone would be happy to have you there. people gravitated towards you.

meanwhile, stiles had spent most of freshman year trying to convince people that his name was, in fact, not short for “stilton” like the cheese.

It didn’t make sense. and yet, somehow, here they were.

dating you was like winning the lottery, except instead of money, stiles got the incomprehensible love and affection of a literal angel.

which was great.

except for the fact that he had no idea how to be cool enough to keep up with you.

“you’re overthinking it,” you told him one day as you sat in your car, legs propped up on the dashboard.

“I always overthink it,” stiles replied. “It’s literally my defining trait.”

you laughed, and god, that laugh. It was the kind of sound that made people pause, made them turn their heads just to see what could possibly be so funny.

“okay, fine,” you said. “then tell me. what’s running through that giant brain of yours right now?”

stiles exhaled dramatically. “alright, let’s start with the obvious. I am a disaster. you are not a disaster. explain.”

you tilted your head, amused. “you really don’t see it, do you?”

“see what?”

you smirked, leaning in a little closer. “you’re kind of amazing, stiles.”

he blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

“you make me laugh,” you continued, like you hadn’t just dropped a bomb on his entire worldview. “like, really laugh. you make things interesting. and you care so much about the people around you. I like that.”

stiles stared at you, brain officially malfunctioning. “uh. are you… are you sure you’re not under some kind of supernatural influence?”

you rolled your eyes, shoving his shoulder playfully. “just shut up?”

and just like that, he realized something insane. you actually liked him.

not just in a “haha, he’s fun to have around” way. not in a “pity date” way. not even in a “this is a temporary thing before I move on to someone more worthy” way.

you liked him. dorkiness, sarcasm, ADHD-riddled brain and all.

maybe he wasn’t as out of your league as he thought.

still, he spent the next few weeks in a state of perpetual disbelief.

he kept waiting for the moment where you would realize you had made a grave mistake and move on to someone who, well… had the ability to walk in a straight line without tripping over absolutely nothing.

but you didn’t.

In fact, you made it very clear that you were, for some ungodly reason, into him.

like, full-on, public displays of affection into him.

which was insane.

because now, not only did stiles have to deal with his own confusion, but also the confusion of literally everyone else at beacon hills high.

It started with a completely normal lunch. stiles, scott, lydia, and you were all sitting together, as usual, while he rattled off some extremely important information about why the original ‘star wars’ trilogy was superior to the prequels.

“you just have to accept that Jar Jar Binks was a crime against cinema,” stiles was saying, mid-rant, when he felt a hand casually slip into his.

he froze.

the table went silent.

you, completely unbothered, just kept eating your fries, fingers lazily intertwined with his.

scott immediately stopped chewing. lydia raised an eyebrow. somewhere behind them, he was pretty sure he heard jackson choke on his drink.

stiles, being the mature and composed individual that he was, blurted out, “are you—did you—was that on purpose?”

you gave him a deadpan look. “no, stiles, my hand just accidentally fell into yours.”

scott made a choked sound that was very unhelpful.

“I just—” stiles floundered. “you’re—you want to hold my hand? In front of people?”

you smirked. “what, do you want me to sign a permission slip first?”

lydia rolled her eyes. “stiles, stop acting like you just won the lottery.”

“but I did,” he said, eyes still wide. “this is like if someone found bigfoot, but instead of running away, bigfoot started dating them.”

you snorted and leaned closer, whispering, “you’re an idiot.”

and then—just to completely obliterate stiles’s ability to function—you kissed his cheek.

the cafeteria erupted.

all right, maybe “erupted” was an exaggeration. but scott definitely lost all ability to contain himself, because he burst into uncontrollable laughter, clapping stiles on the back so hard he nearly faceplanted into his lunch tray.

jackson muttered something about how the world was officially broken.

and lydia? lydia just sipped her drink and said, “honestly, this might be the funniest thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

stiles, meanwhile, was still sitting there, trying to process the fact that you had just kissed him in front of the entire student body.

“okay,” he breathed. “alright. cool. totally fine.”

you squeezed his hand. “you’re so lucky I can keep up with you.”

“I strongly agree.”

scott shook his head, grinning. “dude. just take the win.”

yeah.

maybe he should.

────୨ৎ────

now stiles had zero business being on the lacrosse team. he was only there because coach finstock occasionally needed a warm body to throw onto the field, and also because scott insisted that he “needed to be included in the team dynamic.”

that was stupid, because stiles was about as useful on the field as a drunk giraffe.

still, here he was, suited up, trying his best to not die.

you were sitting in the stands, chatting with some of the other girls on the cheer squad, but every so often, he caught you watching him.

why on earth would you be looking at him when there were actual athletes running around?

at some point, coach finstock (in a moment of pure insanity) decided to sub stiles in.

naturally, it went horribly.

he got knocked over in under a minute.

hard.

like, wind knocked out of him, stars in his vision hard.

by the time he sat up, still gasping for breath, he vaguely registered that someone was calling his name.

then, suddenly, you were there, pushing past some of the other students on the sidelines, crouching next to him.

“oh my god, are you okay?” you asked, eyes scanning him for any visible injuries.

“you,” stiles wheezed. “just—taking a quick—dirt nap.”

you sighed, shaking your head. “you really shouldn’t be allowed to play this sport.”

“tell that to coach crazy over there,” he muttered.

you rolled your eyes, then—without warning—cupped his face and kissed him.

right there.

on the field.

In front of everyone.

stiles was pretty sure his soul left his body.

by the time you pulled away, he was definitely malfunctioning.

“god,” he managed.

you smirked, brushing some dirt off his jersey. “maybe if I keep doing that, you’ll actually start scoring points.”

scott, who had jogged over at some point, burst out laughing, —again.

“please don’t encourage him,” he told you.

you just shrugged, standing up. “what can I say? I like an underdog.”

stiles, still staring into the middle distance, finally processed what had just happened.

then, very calmly, he said:

“I have no idea what’s going on, but I’m definitely not complaining.”

────୨ৎ────

stiles finally gets it. he gets you.

It took three months of dating before stiles finally stopped expecting you to give up on him.

because the truth was, you could.

but for some ridiculous, unexplainable reason—

you didn’t want to.

and maybe, just maybe, that was the best part of all.

stiles stilinski had exactly one defense mechanism when faced with overwhelming emotional stimuli:

panic.

pure, unfiltered, high-octane panic.

and you?

you loved it.

you lived for it.

In fact, stiles was about 80% sure that her actual favorite hobby—above reading, music, and being generally awesome—was finding new and creative ways to make him short-circuit.

your weapon of choice?

kissing him.

at random.

without warning.

In the most inconvenient and socially inappropriate moments possible.

────୨ৎ────

stiles was already having a rough day.

coach had made him run extra laps for “being a distraction” (which was not fair, because technically speaking, it was danny who had laughed first).

so there he was, post-practice, dripping in sweat, hair a mess, brain still recovering from almost getting hit in the face with a lacrosse ball, when you materialized out of nowhere.

“hey, loser,” you greeted, leaning against the locker next to his.

stiles jumped about a foot in the air. “jesus—you can’t just sneak up on a guy like that!”

you, completely ignoring him, hummed thoughtfully. “you look cute when you’re sweaty.”

stiles immediately turned red. “I—what—who?”

and before his brain could fully reboot, you leaned in and kissed him.

right there.

In the locker room.

With scott and half the team still standing right there.

stiles froze.

his brain immediately short-circuited.

somewhere in the background, he could hear the distinct sounds of his teammates reacting.

jackson made a disgusted noise.

“seriously? right here?”

danny, ever the neutral observer, just snorted. “I mean, props to her, I do love watching stilinski suffer.”

scott, instead of helping, just shook his head fondly. “dude. just accept it.”

you, for your part, just smirked against stiles’s lips, completely unbothered, and pulled away with a satisfied little hum.

stiles, meanwhile, was still frozen in place.

mouth slightly open.

face burning red.

brain? completely fried.

“did I break you?” you teased, poking his cheek.

stiles let out a strangled sound.

jackson groaned. “oh god, get a room.”

you turned to him, smirking. “jealous?”

jackson scoffed. “not even remotely.”

you shrugged, looping your arm through stiles’s. “good. because I’m not sharing.”

and then you walked off, dragging stiles with you—leaving the entire locker room howling in laughter.

────୨ৎ────

stiles had one sacred rule in life:

the library is a safe space.

the library was for quiet and learning and pretending to do your homework while actually texting scott about supernatural nonsense.

the library was not for being publicly humiliated by your ridiculously hot girlfriend.

unfortunately, you did not respect the sanctity of anything.

stiles was sitting at his usual spot—textbook open, pen in hand, pretending to study—when you slid into the chair next to him.

“hey,” you greeted, voice suspiciously sweet.

stiles narrowed his eyes. “you’re up to something.”

you smiled, all innocent. “me? never.”

he squinted harder. “what do you want?”

you tilted your head. “can’t I just want to spend time with my adorable boyfriend?”

stiles immediately turned red. “I—you—stop that.”

“stop what?”

“being cute,” he hissed, glancing around to make sure no one was listening.

you grinned. “make me.”

before stiles could formulate a response, you very casually leaned forward and kissed him.

and not just a quick kiss.

oh, no.

this was a calculated attack.

a slow, lingering kiss, tongue and all—just long enough to completely fry his brain, but not long enough for him to actually do anything about it.

by the time you pulled away, stiles was bright red, gripping the edge of the table like his life depended on it.

“why?” he gasped out.

you shrugged. “felt like it.”

stiles gaped. “we are in library.”

you smiled sweetly. “uh-huh.”

“In a library.”

“yup.”

“where people can see us.”

she leaned in, lips brushing his ear. “I know.”

stiles let out an undignified squeak.

and that was the exact moment lydia martin—who had apparently been sitting three tables away—very loudly shut her book and said, “I’m going home. this is disgusting.”

you just laughed.

stiles, meanwhile, buried his face in his hands.

────୨ৎ────

now, there were rules when it came to dating in front of parents.

rule #1: no PDA.

rule #2: seriously, no PDA.

rule #3: do not test sheriff stilinski’s patience.

you had no regard for any of these rules.

stiles had just walked you to the door, ready to say a very normal, appropriate, and respectful goodbye, when you suddenly grabbed his hoodie, pulled him way too close, and kissed him stupid.

right there.

In his driveway.

where his father could definitely see.

and as if that wasn’t bad enough—

the front door creaked open.

sheriff stilinski cleared his throat.

you pulled away completely unbothered, turned to the sheriff, and grinned.

“good afternoon, mr. stilinski.”

stiles, meanwhile, had stopped breathing.

the sheriff raised an eyebrow. “you trying to kill my son?”

you smirked. “not today.”

and then you smiled—like a menace—patted stiles on the chest, and walked off, leaving him to deal with the aftermath.

the sheriff stared at him.

stiles stared back.

after a long, painful silence, his dad just shook his head and muttered, “unbelievable.”

then, he walked inside—chuckling to himself.

stiles, still standing frozen on the porch, groaned.

you were going to be the death of him.

and, honestly?

he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Maze Runner Masterlist

Newt

Main Masterlist

Everyone Knows

Part 1. Part 2

Remember

Finally Said It

My Boy

Public Affection

Breathe

Balance

You and Me

Loop Holes

Got Your Wish

Waiting All Night

Walk in the Woods

Like a star

Protector

Thomas

A Message

The Maze Runner

The reader goes through the Maze trials with a message, but she has no idea who it's from. That is until he enters the maze. And he helps them get out.

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6. Part 7. Part 8

The Scorch Trials

The reader, Thomas, and the remaining Gladers are thrown into the outside world, and quickly have to figure out what life is like outside of the Maze. Thomas, with his memories returning, doesn't know what he should and what he shouldn't tell the reader.

Part 9. Part 10. Part 11. Part 12. Part 13. Part 14. Part 15. Part 16.

The Death Cure

The gladers need to get Minho back. And they're going through with Thomas's plan to take down WCKD. Things aren't at all simple.

Part 17. Part 18. Part 19. Part 20. Part 21. Part 22. Part 23

Relax

See You Later

Pretty Boy

Told You

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Show You

388 notes View Post

strawberryshortcake143

1 year ago

Slay

i’ll keep your brittle heart warm.

synopsis : peter was always on your mind, you were always on his, perhaps that would make him a little bit of a distraction.

pairing : frat!peter parker x reader

wc : 1k

warnings : FLUFF FLUFF FLUFFF, uhmmm soft making out !!! other than that… i guess peter being an absolute idiot (a down bad idiot), but even if this is cliché as hell, it’s super cute and fluffy :)

‎‎ masterlist | request | navigation

a/n : hi ! sorry the fic is a little late this week, but frat!peter has been on my mind constantly shehhsjsns <3 he’s leaning more towards the peter more than the frat butttt i wanted him to be a little softer for this one :) big big thank you to @strawberrystarcake for the help on the editing, and @toms-gf for giving me the idea (this one is for u hehe)

“parker, you joining us?” the familiar voice echoes from the other side of the room. peter winces, not at all because he was opposed to the idea, but he’d made plans with you.

“uh- i’ll catch up later? i have somewhere to be.” the boys, all spread out in various positions on the couch, smirked and ‘ooo’ed at the implications of that.

liam speaks first. “right, got plans with your girl?” peter nods.

“ooh, you’re so down bad, parker, it’s not even a joke anymore.” james, another one of his friends, gives him a soft shove.

maybe he was right.

peter had never planned for your arrangement to escalate into anything further than a fling, and though he had never been an expert when it came to matters of the heart, he knew that he was too far gone.

it wasn’t uncommon for him to find himself smiling at the thought of you. he was constantly lost in thought, and sometimes, it became difficult to snap him out of his dream-like state.

even when his mind wasn’t completely occupied by the thought of you, he found that you had been living rent free in a certain corner of his mind. he’d catch himself wondering about you or associating little things around him with you.

he wasn’t all too familiar with this feeling, but it wasn’t unpleasant, just confusing to navigate.

he’s never felt this way before. his heart never fluttered at a subtle touch, he never felt like he was melting whenever someone walked into the room, he never felt his heartbeat race at mere eye contact.

but with you? you had him feeling everything all at once.

but, of course, he hasn’t told you this, any of this. but he had a gut feeling that you might feel the same way, and that was enough for him to allow himself to fall deeper, as irrational as it may be.

it was no longer ‘maybe he was right’, and peter knew. to put it simply, he was right.

“better get going, you don’t want your girl waiting on you,” trent blurts, interrupting peter’s train of thought.

“right. i’ll see you guys later?” peter says, the boys nod and wave him goodbye as he walks out the door.

“oh, love.” liam sighs dreamily as the rest of the boys snicker.

as soon as peter enters the library, he’s met with a sense of comforting familiarity. before anything had begun happening between the both of you, you two had spent a lot of your time in the halls of this library. whether it were nights filled with endless work, or simply wandering around in attempt to find books you could read together.

he knew exactly where to find you: a certain corner of the library that you claimed to be ‘warmer and cozier’ than anywhere else.

he spots you browsing the history section, your face scrunched up, clearly focused. he sees all your things, messily laid on top of a wooden table, the one you always use.

he smiles to himself before sneaking behind the bookshelf you were browsing, and just as you pull a book from the shelf, you catch a glint of brown eyes from the other side. you stay silent for a moment, before smiling at one another.

then you shove the book between you two, and the next thing peter hears are quick footsteps.

peter’s utterly confused, he didn’t notice the look of mischief written all over his face.

“baby?” he whisper shouts, scrambling around the area before catching a glimpse of your figure, running from one shelf to another.

then it hits him, you were messing with him.

his look of mischief matches yours once he realizes, he follows quickly behind you, and before you know it, you’re up against a bookshelf, inches away from peter.

“hi.” you send him a cheeky grin, one that he sends right back to you.

“you’re going to drive me crazy.” his eyes gaze softly at yours, before trailing down to your lips.

“i know.” you quip, before moving as fast as you can to try and run away once more.

“ab-up-up.” he tuts, catching you once more. his lips brush softly over yours, lingering for a moment, before he presses his lips against yours. one hand finds its way to your waist, he uses it to pull you closer towards him.

but you find yourself shoving him aside, “peter! this is why i came early!” you slowly make your way back to the table, peter trailing after you like a puppy.

“what do you mean?” it was as if you could hear the pout in his voice, so you don’t allow yourself to look back.

“you’re… very distracting.” you make sure your tone is soft, you didn’t mean it in a negative way and you wanted peter to know that.

“am not!” he takes your hand, turns you around, and suddenly, you’re inches away from him again.

“seriously!? look at what you’re doing!” this time, you couldn’t help but giggle.

“there it is.” he smiles softly, appearing pleased.

“there’s what?”

“that laugh i’ve been waiting to hear all day.” you’re pressed against one another, his warmth surrounded you. “permission to lean in, m’lady?” dork.

“permission granted.”

he leans in, your chest feels warm as your lips make contact.

he cups your cheeks to pull you even closer, if possible, as if letting you go would be the end of him. your hands curl into his hair, you begin to feel goosebumps wherever his hands traveled; down your waist, approaching your thighs as he drew lazy patterns with his fingers.

you could never truly get over the way your lips pieced together perfectly, how it felt like his were caressing yours ever so softly.

whenever your lips part, he whispers soft words you can barely understand, like he’s taking it all in. he finds himself grinning into the kiss, which was apparently infectious, because so were you.

“told you! distraction.”

“oh, shut up.” he says, before pulling you in once more.

taglist : (send me an ask to be added hehe !) @live-laugh-lovejoy @tomsholland2412 @parkerpeter24 @herpeanutzombie

a/n : tysm for reading :) pls reblog to support your writers !!! requests are open !

DO YOU WANT TO WORK ON A GRAVITY FALLS DATING SIM??

Well, now you can!

Hi. Laura here, formally known as stan’s wife‼️ by the masses! I am working on a dating sim where you can romance either STANFORD, STANLEY, or BILL!

I am looking for artists, writers, musicians, and voice actors. Find the application link here!

I look forward to reading your applications!! Yaaaay!!

DO YOU WANT TO WORK ON A GRAVITY FALLS DATING SIM??

(Reblogs greatly appreciated!! Luv u guyz!)

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strawberryshortcake143

2 years ago

17K notes View Post

strawberryshortcake143

1 year ago

ye of little faith | e. p.

nav. | m.list

summary: eustace doesn’t believe that edmund has a girlfriend.

wc: 800

pairings: edmund pevensie x fem!reader

warnings: VERY unedited. also it’s 1am and i just wrote this in a burst of inspiration, so please don’t expect it to be good.

a/n: i don’t really know if this will make sense to anyone lol, i think i wrote it in a confusing way, but hopefully it’s okay. it’s mostly eustace’s pov, i wanted to try something new. also, this exact scenario has been in my head for months now.

“There’s no way he has a girlfriend,” Eustace tells Lucy, barging into the room. She immediately knows who he’s talking about, able to hear Edmund on the phone downstairs, voice softer than it usually is, taking the tone he automatically opts for when he speaks to Y/N.

“Why?” Lucy asks, half-heartedly entertaining her annoying cousin while she thumbs through the pages of her book. Unfortunately for her, Eustace Scrubb brightens at the attention, straightening up and launching into a rather well-thought out spiel.

“First of all, it’s Edmund we’re talking about. He’s awkward, way too hostile and bad-tempered. Not to mention, he’s barely of average height, and his hair? Absolutely ridiculous.”

“Y/N likes it,” Lucy says mildly, earning a scoff from Eustace.

“Y/N.” he says with disbelieving scorn, “As if she actually exists. You expect me to believe that a woman as beautiful and intelligent as you lot claim she is would actually be interested in Edmund? And so interested that she calls and writes to him multiple times a week? Yeah, right. I bet that Ed’s hired an escort to help him forget about how lonely he actually is. Or he’s paying some poor girl to play the part of a caring partner.” Eustace has had many such theories, the more creative ones dealing with blackmail and holding family members hostage, but so far, monetary imbursements seem to be the most likely.

“Sure, Eustace,” Lucy mumbles, having checked out of the conversation a while ago. He shakes his head at her disinterest, convinced that he is right, and leaves the room, muttering to himself disbelievingly.

Keep reading

Tags

edmund pevensie x reader edmund pevensie x fem!reader edmund pevensie x f!reader edmund pevensie imagine edmund pevensie oneshot edmund pevensie x y/n

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strawberryshortcake143

1 year ago

Tattoo artist Simon definitely makes reader promise that she’ll never go to a tattoo artist that isn’t him while he’s fucking her. Pounding like a madman while she can barely get her moans out - edges her until she promises that he’s the only one who will ever touch her.

you sound like you've experienced this before. how'd you get into simon's parlour, hm? have you been taunting him with that tattoo that isn't his? riling him up? daring him to finally claim you as his pretty little client? oh he takes the bait alright. among other things

you don't really know how you got here. pressed down into the tattoo chair on your hands and knees. actually, you have an inkling of it. probably has something to do with the way you posted on your social media page again, posing with the tattoo on your shoulder that wasn't done by simon.

and little did you know how tightly he clenched his phone when he saw that you had added könig as a friend as well. knowing full well that könig requested to follow you first before you followed him back. trying to one up him, simon bets. trying to stake his claim as if simon didn't already have you first.

you didn't think anything of it when simon asked you to stay after the shop closed. has all the lights off except the half of the room where he's plowing you into the seat. watching the way your juices glimmer around his cock every time he takes such long strokes from your pussy.

"how bad y'wanna cum, love?" he grunts. doesn't even sound like he's broken a sweat! how dare he.

you groan into the leather of the chair, ruining it as if your cunt hasn't been leaking all over the seat of it. simon doesn't care. can easily replace it. don't think he will. not when you've finally left a mark back for him >:)

"mmmh!" that's all you can say. he coos and grips your jaw to turn your head. spits into your open mouth and goes back to fucking you nice and deep, making sure to drag his cock the full length along your walls.

"aw, can't even speak? s'okay. don't need to speak to anyone other than me. don't need anyone else trying to ink you, mark you. not when you're mine."

you feel like you've been going for hours. the normally sweet and attentive simon is gone, replaced with someone who looks so mean. is so feral. and can't get enough of your pussy! he pounds into you and slaps your ass meanly, leaving a temporary mark of his that feeds the urge to claim you.

"si-moooon," you drawl out as he starts hitting that one spot. he smirks behind you, pushing you even more into the seat as he fucks you so good. "w'nna cum."

"yea?" he moves his hand from the back of your neck to your hair and pulls you back to look at him again. "y'only get to cum if you promise to come to me only."

you blearily gaze back up at him as he plunges into you. can't focus too well. you just nod your head in your haze, too drunk on his cock to think.

"need your words, sweetheart." he growls out. "tell me, who is it who's fucking you?"

"y...you, simon," you pant out. he grins and slaps your ass again.

"'nd who is going to make you cum?"

"you, simon! please!" another slap, this time he rubs your cheek gently and grins at the forming handprint,

"you promise to come to me only? i only work with what's mine."

you nod, desperate to feel you cum around his girth. because he's just been toying with you all this time. just filling you up nice and slow and whenever you get close he'll pull out to rub between your ass checks. "yes. i'll only go to you, simon! i'm yours!"

"damn right," he says with a final spank and starts fucking into you with newfound strength. finally giving into his primal need to claim you. "you're mine to ink, mine to fuck, mine to make cum. mine, mine mine."

you feel like you're about to burst at that. and you do when he leans down to groan into your ear with a, "and mine to cum in and mark from the inside."

6K notes View Post

strawberryshortcake143

1 year ago

!! suggestive (and mini smut) - minors dni; bimbo (fem)!reader has simon wrapped around her pinky (we luv to see it!); the squad’s here too; hinted age difference (30s v. 20s)

when they ask him where you two met, simon always tries his best to tamp down the smile threatening to grace his lips before clearing his throat and answering, "in the ER."

the questions that follow are always repetitive: 'what, why?', 'what happened?', 'how did things even go from there?' the last one is often paraphrased into some other versions, but the sentiment remains – people always get surprised, reduced into awkward stumbling because how could you even segue into a romantic relationship from having met in the ER?

well, simon thinks, it's actually quite fucking simple.

it was three in the morning and simon was in the lobby, waiting to be called in, when he saw you walk in: you clutched your broken heeled shoes in your hands, your beautiful legs were bearing injuries and cuts, and your hair was a wild mess. then, you ambled towards a baffled triage nurse.

"hi!" simon recalls your melodic voice echo, sounding too hyper even when you looked all banged up. "can i use y'r restroom? we got kicked outta the club."

simon was so focused on you that he didn't even notice the pack of girls following behind you, all of them looking just as haggard and bruised up. one of your friends was actually worryingly injured, so it’s no shock when the nurse rushed towards her, slightly panicked and confused before steering your friend away, leaving you there in the lobby.

then, you turned around, frowning at having been ignored, and it gave simon the best vantage point of finally seeing your face. he swears his heart stuttered in his chest, his lungs constricting, because holy shit, you are beautiful.

"then the rest is history," simon ends, pulling you close to him. any closer and you would have ended on his lap – something he preferred, anyway – but johnny continues to stare at the two of you with a slack jaw, his eyes almost bulging out in confusion so simon tries to keep it civil.

you giggle, and simon watches as the rest of the squad snap their eyes on you, as though expecting you to grace them with a better explanation. but simon knows that you probably don't even know what's going on, having been busy tapping away on your phone, your acrylics making distinct clacks as they hit the screen.

"i love the history channel," you singsong, batting your eyelashes as you give them a dimpled smile. "simmy-" simon almost coos at the nickname you gave him, "and i looove watching the penguins."

simon presses a kiss on the top of your head, ignoring the bewildered looks his squad is shooting him.

"that's the 'animal planet', love. not the history channel," simon corrects gently, rubbing his hand down your side.

"oh!" you say, unbothered by your mistake. "okay!"

and that was that.

"what the fuck," simon hears johnny wheeze out only to up making choking noises when kyle elbows him. simon ignores them, choosing to watch as you turn back to your phone, mass-retweeting a series of post made by the magazine catalogue that you've been following.

cute.

---------

"fuck," simon hisses, feeling the sharp edge of the kitchen knife slicing through the first layer of his skin. he watches the blood bead, trickling down his finger, and simon wipes it before it can stain the pristine green – "sage!" you tutted to him once – countertops.

"si?" you ask, padding towards the kitchen at the clamour. he feels you press yourself to his side, your perky tits nuzzling his robust muscles. "what's goin- y'r bleeding!"

he grunts, frowning at himself for having made you worry. he moves to reassure you that he's okay, but you're already tugging him out of the kitchen, your smaller hand wrapped around his thicker wrist.

god, he loves seeing the size difference.

you're wearing his military shirt, the material sliding down your body beautifully, before pooling just above your perky ass. simon unabashedly stares at the way your ass jiggles – hidden underneath the tiniest booty shorts he knows you own – his throat bone dry and his sweats filling up all of a sudden.

he barely realizes that you two are in the bathroom until you're steering him towards the edge of the bathtub before twisting to fish the emergency kit from the floor cabinets. simon almost groans at the perfect shape that your ass makes when you bend over, feeling himself throb with raging desire.

you pull out a pink emergency kit and skitter towards him again, slotting yourself between his spread legs. simon raises his hand – the uninjured one – to grasp at your waist, sliding it down to your hips, before giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"it's nothin' fatal, sweet'art," simon mumbles, thumbing your hipbone as he tries to comfort you.

you're still pouting at him when you say, "sure, i guess. but lemme help you?"

and who is simon to say no to that?

"of course, love."

he lets out a quiet chuckle when you press your glossed lips on his forehead, unbothered even when your lips leave a sticky stamp on his skin.

he watches you disinfect his wound with a strawberry-scented sanitizer before wrapping a pink adhesive bandage around it. his worries about having his open wound disinfected by a glittery sanitizer fade away when you picked his hand up to place a kiss on his now-bandaged finger.

glitter-induced infections no longer matter. not when simon's getting nursed to full health by such a pretty girl.

he licks the back of his teeth, clenching his jaw, and thinks, you deserve a reward, don't you, sweetness?

---------

johnny blanches when he sees the bandage around simon's finger. "LT, what in fuck's name is that?"

his loud voice snags the attention of garrick and their captain who ambled their way towards him upon hearing the commotion. garrick chokes on nothing when he sees the pink bandage that simon's sporting.

"bandage," simon replies, pride heavy in his voice. "from my girl."

johnny whirls and shoots a pointed look towards kyle and john. kyle is the one who breaks the silence.

"…are they safe for use?"

"what's the cat even bandaging?" johnny adds.

simon huffs, flicking his finger up to give the squad a better view. "firstly, this is 'hello kitty'. secondly, you questionin' my girl’s ability to care for me?"

john coughs, looking away, kyle arches a brow at him like the answer should be obvious, and johnny gulps loudly, before mumbling, "...yes."

simon sniffs, unable to blame them. "yeah, well, don't."

the squad is still quiet. waiting.

simon finally gives in and replies, "i checked. they're safe for use."

he rolls his eyes at their dramatic sigh.

"that's good to hear," john says before clapping his hands together once, urging them to disperse.

simon grumbles all the way back to his room.

---------

simon loves his pretty, dumb girlfriend to death.

he loves seeing you dolled up – skimpy dresses made of silk material paired with heels that could honestly stab someone to death. he also loves seeing you in nothing but his ratty jumpers – loose black sweaters stopping just after your crotch and the sleeves falling past your fingers.

but nothing tops seeing you naked and crying for him.

nothing could ever top this – your legs folded close to your chest, your ankles hooked on his shoulders, your pretty make up running as tears trickle from the corners of your eyes and flood your cheeks.

he thrusts his fingers in your cunt again, breathless when it punches out another slick gush of your squirt, drenching you two even more. you squeal, body locking, your hips lifting from the bed. simon has to press down on your belly to keep you stable.

"siii!" you cry out, thrashing on his hold, but simon just kisses your leg as he continues to fuck his fingers in you.

"shh," simon murmurs, feeling so choked up at the sight you make. "one more for me, yeah?"

you moan out a reply, a garbled mixture of 'yes' and his name, before wrapping your hands around his arms, your acrylics digging into his skin. simon doesn't even register the pain, still too caught up at fingering you to feel the way you're clawing him.

still too caught up at how perfect you are for him.

(later, when he checks the mirror and sees the angry red welts, simon purrs at the sight of them. because simon loves being marked by you, doesn't matter how, as long as he has bearings of your pleasure. pleasure he gave you.)

---------

simon receives a video message from you. it’s nothing long or conspicuous, but simon still chokes when he finally gets to watch it.

because in the video, you’re wearing simon’s old varsity shirt on top of your university cheer uniform.

“look!” you chirp, twirling for him. “found this in the closet!”

simon slams his captain’s door open and demands a vacation leave.

---------

the lieutenant has a new tattoo and johnny doesn't know what the actual shit it's supposed to be.

it looks like a wriggly blob of a... cloud? a cotton ball? candy floss?

it was still a somewhat fresh tattoo so simon never truly shows it off – johnny doesn't even know if it's worthy of being shown off – until one night at a bar, simon rolls up the sleeves of his jumper and leans to the squad to point at the blob.

"lookit," he slurs, tipsy and just a touch giddy.

finally, johnny cheers to himself before reaching forward to poke just beside the scribble.

"what's it?"

"mittens," their lieutenant croons, smiling down at his skin like a weirdo.

johnny has seen enough mittens to know that whatever that fucking squiggle is isn't mittens.

"uhm," kyle says, thankfully thinking along the same lines as johnny. "is it?"

"yeah," simon says wistfully, drunken in a lovesick way. "s'my girl's cat. she drew it f'r me."

oh. well, fuck. now that's just too cute.

wait.

"that's a drawing of a cat?" johnny rasps out, choking on his spit before turning to study the tattoo again.

it's still a fucking blob.

christ.