The Seed of an Idea Smut Meme

When playing smut, as with most rp, sometimes you have a problem --- well, a problem that becomes two-fold. Maybe you have an idea, some inspiration that strikes you, but it's not fully formed. There's not enough here to make a proper post; or, perhaps, you don't have the place to do so or the person who may be interested in it. The other problem is that there is no meme to cater to this specific idea, because most memes have their own, built-in prompts that don't exactly fit.

Well, this meme kills two birds with one sexy stone. Here, you, the top commenter, provide only what you're interested in. This "idea" can be anything: a vague concept ("x, my boy character, crossdressing and having sex with a girl"), a picture, a lyric, a list of options, or a full-fledged starter. The only requirement is that your comment contain something. Everything else will follow, and others will show their creativity from what you've posted.

RULES

Comment with your character and your preferences.
Comments MUST contain a prompt of some kind. Blank comments will be deleted.
Comment to others, using what they've provided.
As far as pictures or gifs go, obviously this will be NSFW, but please, for pictures that show extreme sexual violence or questionable consent, link them rather than embed them.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only | Expand All

Naughty Nurse: Stiles has to get a shot of some sort and someone needs to distract him from it.

Detention: Stiles gets detention (again), only it's from a new teacher and he seems to be the only one being punished.

Handcuffs?: Someone found a spare set of Sheriff Stilinski's handcuffs and decides to 'test them' on Stiles.

"Who just leaves this shit laying around?" Roman called out from the other room, and strode back into view spinning a pair of handcuffs around one finger. The smirk on his face was an amused one, and he was eyeing Stiles in a way that was a bit beyond friendly. As friendly as Roman Godfrey could be, anyway.

He was dressed well as always, even if it was just to hang out, black dress shoes paired with close-fitting black trousers and a black v-necked shirt. All custom made to fit his 6'4 frame, of course.

"Are these your dad's, or are you a little freaky, Stiles?" No more freaky than Roman would ever be, and however poorly he hid his kinks he was almost positive his friend had no hint of just how strange the Upir could be.

"Not that I'm judging you." His voice was practically dripping with sarcasm, but that was the only way he knew how to joke around. Sharp features gave him a constant aura of coldness, and it worked to his advantage, except for when he wanted to be approachable. Like, right now, for example.

He scowled when he looked up and saw Roman twirling the handcuffs around, coming over and snatching them away. "They're my dad's and you're not supposed to go through his things."

That was Stiles' job, one that he did only when he needed to. Or when he was bored and stuck at home sick.

"Ooh, touchy subject?" Roman teased as the handcuffs were taken away from him.

"Maybe...you wish they were yours?" He'd always thought of Stiles as something of a prude, so it was fun to push his buttons every so often. He was cute when he blushed, anyway.

"No, thanks. Incarceration isn't really a kink of mine. Neither is getting my ass kicked by my dad when he finds out someone's been rooting around in his stuff." There was a system that had to be done in snooping. One that made sure his dad wasn't aware of it happening.

"Oh, fine. Tell him I did it, what's he gonna do, tell my parents?" A rather morbid joke, he no longer had parents to tell. Roman was now the sole face of the Godfrey Institute, and he really couldn't have cared less.

"What is a kink of yours?" He asked nosily.

"And I'll still get in trouble for not keeping an eye on you." Duh, Roman.

The question had him looking over at Roman as he tucked the cuffs in his back pocket, brows up. "What's with the weird fascination with sex stuff today? Did someone forget that I don't have experience with that?"

"I guess I should've remembered, considering how oblivious you are." He had to laugh at Stiles' inexperience, but he found it equally endearing as he did funny.

"You want it though, right? Experience. I have that." Maybe a little more obvious would get the point across a little better.

"If I have to get a megaphone and scream from the rooftop that I want to fuck you, I'll do that, too."

He fumbled with the handcuffs, almost dropping them before he managed to get them in his pocket. "Um... ah. Wow. I'd rather you didn't?" He gave Roman a weird look. Maye he was just pulling his leg, but Stiles couldn't tell with him.

"That's, um, nice and all, but I don't think you're my type."

"Stiles!" He snapped, gripping the younger man's shoulders tight. "Stop. Squirming. You're bleeding from the abdomen and you need stitches."

Really, why it had fallen to Derek to do this, Derek had no idea. He wasn't a doctor, wasn't even a nurse, had only the basic idea of how to sew someone up. But everyone else had gone, off after the thing that had attacked them or to find Melissa or Deaton, presumably so they could sew Stiles back together.

It couldn't wait that long.

Derek reached down for the med kit, grabbing the suture and needle from it. "I'll try to take as much pain away as I can, but you have to stop moving."

"Shouldn't a nurse be doing this? Or a doctor? Or someone who has a license? Preferably while I'm unconscious?" He was looking everywhere but down, down where he could feel the burning sting that throbbed over his stomach. God, what if his guts were spilling out? What if he died? Right here. With Derek.

Oh god, this sucked. His eyes widened when he saw the needle and he instinctively moved to try to get away.

A firm hand on his shoulder prevented his moving, and Derek scowled at him hard. "Don't make me sit on you," he growled, eyes flashing red. "I know what I'm doing."

Even the flashing red couldn't keep him completely still. "Yeah? Well, maybe you do, but I'm not going to magically fur-heal from you screwing up. Oh god, what's that? What's touching me? Is it my intestine? Oh god, they're falling out, aren't they? I'm dying. I'm dying and you're just doing this to rub salt in the wound. Oh god, do you have salt?"

"They're not falling out, but if you don't stop moving, you will bleed to death," Derek snapped, shoving Stiles down onto the bed, rising up onto one knee to straddle his thighs. "Hold. Still."

He was shaking. He couldn't help it. Adrenaline and anxiety and fear were all battling for control in him and he felt a nauseous slip-slide in his stomach as Derek loomed over him. "God, I'm dying. I'm going to die a virgin just like in those shitty horror movies."

Derek slid a hand up Stiles' shirt to lift it away from the wound, and peered at it a little closer. "Stop squirming and let me give you the stitches you need and you won't die a virgin," he said with a scowl, glancing up to Stiles' face. "Besides, virgins don't die in horror movies, they're the ones that live."

"Yes they do. They die as sacrificial lambs. The boy ones, anyway. Because we don't count. Oh god.. I'm a lamb. Ba-a-a..." He was talking nonsense now and he knew it, but he hurt and he was freaked out and he could feel the tacky feeling of the blood making his shirt stick to him. Oh god...

There was, probably, a better way to get Stiles to shut up, but Derek couldn't think of it and didn't really have the time to bother.

He leaned forward and down and kissed Stiles hard, one hand firmly placed on his chest just above the one, the other finding it by feel. He pulled away and before Stiles can react, he shoved the needle in and out, creating one stitch, black veins making their way up his other arm.

He was going to protest again as Derek leaned over him, ramping up for another rant about dying young and oh, the horror of it all, but there was a mouth suddenly on his and he couldn't speak.

Congratulations, Derek. You shut him up. At least, he did until he drew away and Stiles felt the plunge of the needle. "OW!"

Derek grunted, palm pressing down on him harder. "I'm taking as much of the pain as I can, Stiles. I can't distract you and sew you up at the same time."

He paused, then, looking a little apologetic. "I'm sorry."

Distract him? Distract him? That had done far more than distract him. It had convinced Stiles that he was well and truly dead. Derek Hale. Had put his mouth on his. Willingly.

He was so dead. "I'm dead."

"You're not dead," he said, scowling, drawing the needle through again and again. "And since you stopped squirming, you're not even dying anymore. I'm almost done."

But it huuuuuuuuuuurt. He was trying to look down but he knew he shouldn't. Nope. Shouldn't look down and see the nee--

He passed out.

Well. That was another way to get him to shut up. Sighing, Derek finished up, clamping the field kit shut, wrapping the needle up in gauze and tossing it into the trash can. It'd do, for now, until they could get him to a hospital or somewhere that wouldn't ask questions.

Grabbing Stiles' hand, Derek frowned, still drawing that pain out of him, despite his unconscious state. Who knew how long he'd be out, and he'd be hurting once he did come to.

Stiles had nightmares. Clips and snippets of things chasing him and teeth tearing him open. He groaned and tried to move, running way too slowly in dreamworld.

RULES

Stiles Stilinski | Teen Wolf | OTA

handcuffs

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