#mf!verse

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Phone

Send me PHONE if you want to know what your name in mycharacter's phone is.

[normal verse]: 'Little Stoner Pup Who Could.'

[burlesque verse]: 'Doofus Lockwood.'

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You close your eyes. Darkness feels more prevalent than ever, almost stifling in the way light is choked out. The tenuous grasp twists over your neck, no actual being but the cimmerian shade slowly pushing you to that brink of death. You are alone-- unwanted and wholly uncared for. That is, until a presence sits next to you, delicate fingers brushing away the shadows. Your mother, though deceased, sits with you through the night, her smile and gentleness vanquishing any evils that surround you.

Stiles' hands grasped at thin air, his body curled in on itself as silent sobs wracked at his frame. The only sound in the room was intermittent choking noises, the occasional long, drawn-in sound of air moving through clogged nostrils; he couldn't bring himself to open his eyes, trying to burn the image of his mom sitting next to him into his retinas. Spots dance behind his eyelids as he squeezed his eyes closed that much tighter, his breath quickening to the point where he felt like his throat was constricting, like he was on the verge of a panic attack.

Didn't look like he was getting out of bed anytime soon.

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[Dream meme] Her lips against his jaw, his neck, his collar bone. Down the length of his chest, past his stomach to the space between his hips. Lower still. She takes him in her mouth and doesn't stop until he's gone, long gone, until he's arching up and writhing, tugging at the sheets.

Stiles woke with a gasp; his chest heaving with every breath, his skin flushed like he'd been running miles, a choked off moan lodged in his throat as he shifted on his bed. Grimacing at the stickiness in his boxers making itself known. "Oh my god," he panted, a hand sliding down over his face as he settled back on the mattress, trying to get his bearings again -- wondering why he'd had that sort of dream about her when he barely knew her.

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What’s the worst thing the mun’s made you do? What’s the best thing the mun’s made you do?

What's the worst thing the mun's made you do?

She was going to dress me up in a Red Riding Hood costume -- skirt, tights, corset, boots, the whole shebang -- and (ha) throw me to the wolves. Even though she hasn't done it yet, I'm waiting for it to be unleashed. She's a weird one, I'll tell you that.

What's the best thing the mun's made you do?

She hasn't tortured me yet? I mean, I haven't done anything that could be considered bad as of yet, so it's kind of hard to choose something that's the best, but. I'd say anything where she let me just have fun. She can be a doll (even if she's still weird).

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petrovabitch replied to your post: Do you enjoy perspiration, Mister Stilinski? Give...

“Twenty minutes is all I need, little one.”

"...You're kidding. This was you?"

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7, 22, 34, 55, 71.

7. Weirdest thing that ever made you horny:

Fangs. Enough said.

22. One sexual thing you would never do:

Scat. Or piss. Don't even come near me with that stuff, seriously. I will end you. It's a bit disconcerting how much I actually would do.

34. Favorite foreplay activities:

...Mm. Since pretty much anything other than actual intercourse can be considered foreplay, I dunno. I like making out a lot. Simple, but definitely satisfactory.

55. How would you feel about taking someones virginity?

I mean, I'd feel pretty honored, if I'm honest. I hold that sort of thing to a high regard since, well, I'm still a virgin myself. I wouldn't take it lightly, at least.

71. If you had a penis, what would you name it?

...This is insinuating that I don't have a penis in the first place, and rude. But, uh. I dunno. I called it Little Stiles for a while -- don't you dare judge me -- but maybe the Kanima would be fitting.

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✿

Number 14: Jawline Kiss.

While Stiles didn't normally go for the rich, "badass," jock type -- more accurately, the Jackson Whittemore type -- he couldn't help but feel drawn to Tyler somehow (if only to keep him on his toes). It was amusing riling him up, watching multiple emotions cross over his features before settling on exasperated annoyance, or, even better as the days went by, exasperated fondness. He could feel a smile tugging at his lips persistently as he listened to Tyler talking about something that happened during football practice -- more like half listening because in what world is football better than lacrosse, seriously -- his hands tapping out a rhythm against his jean-clad thighs. Stiles' smile turning coy after a moment though, an idea striking just as he moved to slide into Tyler's lap, straddling his thighs comfortably. "Okay, dude, I gotta say," he murmured, leaning forward to press an open-mouthed kiss to the hinge of his jaw, "While listening to you talk is turning into a surprisingly nice pastime of mine, I think we should really, y'know, wrap this up." He slid almost gracefully -- if you could call Stiles graceful -- off Tyler's lap again, walking toward the other boy's bedroom. "Time's a'wastin'."

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claimed

11: A hug.

"Aw," he grinned. "If you really wanted a hug, you could've just asked." Wrapping one arm around Tyler's shoulders while the other wound around his torso, Stiles gave the hybrid a modicum of a bro-hug, squeezing in an almost too-tight embrace before letting go.