"what a stupid lamb."

poly!marauders x reader ♡ 3.6k

synopsis: shifting for the first time to surprise your boyfriends leaves you a whirlwind of nerves, but with the guidance of your closest companions, you discover an animagus form that feels entirely, unexpectedly like you.

warnings: sweetheart!reader, r is shy and anxious, r is best friends with regulus and barty, animagus transformation, magic, snow, fluff, panic and anxiety, seasonal cold/snow, mild self-doubt, feelings of nervousness and vulnerability.

You stand nervously in the middle of the snow, your breath rising in small clouds as it meets the crisp winter air. Every nerve in your body feels alive, tingling with anticipation and fear. 

Pandora and Regulus are both staring at you, their expressions calm but attentive, while you panic and spiral quietly to yourself. 

Your thoughts feel heavy, though you are still very much yourself, very much human, in this moment.

“It is completely normal to feel nervous during your first transformation,” Pandora says gently, kneeling slightly in the snow to be closer to your level. 

tw noncon

toxic!shauna, who always threatens to leave you if you annoy her too much that day.

toxic!shauna, who comes knocking on your window later that night, never lets you get in a word about how she folded because she's pushing you back on your bed and gobbling up your teasing words with her lips.

toxic!shauna, who demands to sniff your panties when you come over to her place just to make sure you haven’t been fucking other girls. she'll drop to her knees and huff your crotch if you refuse because she’s being ridiculous.

toxic!shauna, who does hole inspections to make sure you're not sneaking around with other girls like she is. she never believes you if you tell her you just touched yourself, always throws a tantrum and accuses you of not being faithful to her.

fratboy!shauna x fem!reader

ྀིྀི

lily rose depp and 070 shake type shit

Warnings: g!p character (shauna), sex, cursing (?)

ummm also while writing this imagined reader to have kinda like that chic coquette style. Like ballet flats, kitten heels, mini skirts, lace n shit. idfk what im talking abt just agree w me :(

lowk just yapping ..sorry

________ ྀིྀི _________ ྀིྀི _______

fratboy!shauna who is OBSESSED with her sambas. She has every color available. Plans her outfits around them. (theyre also originally indoor soccer shoes so this checks out)

fratboy!shauna who when she first sees you in your matching pink set and ballet flats, chuckled with her friends

fratboy!shauna who definitely thinks you’re a prude

fratboy!shauna who doesn’t officially meet you until she sees you at a party in a tiny black lace dress and those stupid ass (Shauna’s words) black ballet flats. She obviously has to introduce herself and fuck you

fratboy!shauna who doesnt understand personal space when she’s drunk. She’s all over you but you gladly accept and entertain her. When she finally thinks she’ll take you back to her dorm for the night she’s humbled by you saying no and walking towards your friends while you giggle to yourself. She is so butthurt and will probably mumble “bitch”. But she doesn’t stop because she loves the chase

fratboy!shauna who when you start dating acts like she knew it would happen all along but she went home, thanking whatever higher being, that you said yes.

fratboy!shauna who is so annoying. She’s a rage baiter. She pokes your face while you’re sleeping, turns your phone off while you’re using it, acts like shes not listening to u, tries to act nonchalant and mysterious in public. Idk random shit.

fratboy!shauna who is such a golden retriever. she tries so hard to be a black cat.

fratboy!shauna who is lowk nonchalant sometimes (its just trauma)🫩🫩

fratboy!shauna who loves when you have french tips and your toes are painted white. she will always pay for them too.

+ she would 100% do that trend where the bf posts w his gfs foot on his face w the white toenails. I wholeheartedly believe she would beg to do it.

ྀིྀི

nsfw

fratboy!shauna who gets so hard so fast when you start rubbing her dick through her pants

fratboy!shauna who will make u keep ur flats on while she’s fucking u omggggg

she likes to do that thing where she folds u in half and hold down ur thighs or makes u hold ur legs yourself under ur knees for her (ykyk!) because she likes to see your flats while shes fucking u 😫

fratboy!shauna who is big on making you keep clothes on in general. Obviously she loves your body but if you’re wearing a top with the strap falling off ur shoulder and your cleavage hanging out just right then you will be keeping it on.

fratboy!shauna who lovesssssss when you get your nails done. She loves the feeling of you scratching her back while she’s fucking you and she lovesss to see them wrapped around her dick

fratboy!shauna who loves taking u from behind and pulling ur hair

fratboy!shauna who loves it when you talk back or complain while she’s fucking you (she loves a challenge)

Frat boy!Shauna who drugs you, innocent little sorority pledge, drink at a party at their frat house

She takes you up to her room and has her way with you

and then takes photos throughout ready to blackmail you afterwards

Pairing: James Franco x Reader

TW: Mentions of getting hurt, bruises, sprains etc, oral sex. Kinda fluffy honestly.

Synopsis: You are a very clumsy person. You get hurt all the time, but James is always there to help you.

Based on this request.

James carries bandaids in his wallet. Not the flimsy ones that come in plastic wrappers, but the sturdy cloth kind that stay put even when you're moving around. He's got antiseptic wipes too, individually sealed, and a tiny tube of antibiotic ointment that looks comically small in his big hands. You know this because he's pulled them out for you three times this week alone.

"You're like a walking disaster," he sighs, kneeling on the pavement to press a bandaid over the fresh scrape on your knee. The gravel bits sting as he swipes them away with the wipe, but his fingers are careful, methodical. "How do you even manage to trip on flat ground?"

You don’t have an answer for that. Your balance has always been a joke—stairs tilt under your feet, curbs rise up to meet your toes, and somehow, even standing still feels precarious. James watches you like you're made of glass, his eyebrows knitting together every time you wobble. "Slow down," he mutters, catching your elbow when you misstep off the sidewalk.

That night, when you're stretched out on his bed with your legs tangled in his sheets, he traces the fading bruises on your shins with his thumb. "You're gonna give me gray hair," he says, but there's no real irritation in it, just a low, warm fondness that makes your chest ache. You kiss him just to shut him up, and he lets you, his hands sliding up your thighs like he’s checking for new injuries.

You’re halfway through unbuttoning his shirt when your knee collides with the bedside table—again—and James jerks back like he’s been burned. “Christ,” he mutters, catching your wrist before you can lunge for the offending furniture. “You’re gonna break something. And I don’t mean the table.” His thumbs rub circles into your pulse point, equal parts exasperation and something softer. “Just—sit still for two seconds, okay?”

But you don’t sit still. You slide off the bed instead, landing harder than intended, and James exhales through his nose like he’s praying for patience. “You’re impossible,” he says, but his hands are already guiding you back up, settling you against the pillows with a precision that borders on ridiculous. “Stay.” It’s a command, but his voice is all rough velvet, and when you nod, he rewards you with a kiss that tastes like mint and inevitability.

Later, when you’re on your knees between his thighs, he cards his fingers through your hair like he’s afraid to pull. “Easy,” he murmurs, hips twitching when you take him deeper. His palm cups your jaw, thumb brushing your cheekbone. “Don’t—fuck—don’t hurt yourself.” You hum around him, and he groans, head thumping back against the headboard. “You’re gonna kill me.”

It’s Tuesday when you finally take a spill bad enough to make you cry. The rain-slicked pavement rises up to meet you with a vengeance, and suddenly you’re on the ground with your palms stinging and your ankle throbbing. James is there before you can even gasp, his coat hitting the pavement as he crouches beside you. “Let me see,” he orders, hands already prodding at your ankle with clinical precision. You hiss, and his frown deepens. “Yeah, that’s swollen. Can you stand?”

You try—you really do—but the second you put weight on your foot, white-hot pain shoots up your leg, and your vision blurs. James catches you before you can faceplant into the sidewalk, his arms wrapping around your waist like steel bands. "Okay, no," he mutters against your temple. "That's not happening." Without warning, he scoops you up, one arm under your knees and the other cradling your back. You yelp, clutching at his shoulders as he adjusts your weight like you're nothing. "James—"

"Shut up," he says, but it's soft, almost fond. He's already walking, his long strides eating up the pavement as he carries you toward his apartment. Rain drips from his hair onto your cheek, and you press your face into the damp cotton of his shirt, breathing in the scent of laundry detergent and something uniquely him.

By the time he kicks his door shut behind you both, your ankle has gone from throbbing to a dull, persistent ache. James deposits you onto the couch with exaggerated care, like you might shatter if he moves too fast. "Stay," he orders, pointing at you like you're a misbehaving puppy before disappearing into the bathroom. You hear the cabinet squeak open, the rustle of supplies being gathered. When he returns, he's got an ice pack wrapped in a towel, a fresh bandage, and that same tiny tube of ointment.

He kneels in front of you, his hands gentle as he lifts your injured foot onto his thigh. The ice pack makes you flinch at first, but he holds it steady, his thumb rubbing absent circles on your calf. "You're lucky it's just a sprain," he mutters, but his voice is all warmth, no bite. His fingers trace the swollen skin around your ankle, so careful it makes your chest tight.

James presses the ice pack more firmly against your ankle, his other hand sliding up to cradle the back of your knee. "You're gonna be the death of me," he murmurs, but his lips brush the inside of your calf like a secret apology. The cold seeps through the towel, dulling the ache, and you let your head fall back against the couch with a shaky exhale. His fingers don't stop moving—up your thigh, down to your toes, mapping every inch of you like he's memorizing the terrain of your latest disaster.

When he leans forward to press a kiss to the arch of your foot, you can't help the laugh that bubbles out of you. "Stop," you whine, wiggling your toes away from his mouth, but he catches your ankle again, his grip firm. "James—"

"Quiet," he interrupts, but his voice is honey-thick, and the way his teeth graze your instep sends a shiver up your spine. The ice pack is forgotten on the floor as he shifts closer, his hands sliding up your legs, pushing your skirt higher. His thumbs dig into the meat of your thighs, spreading you open like he's trying to find the source of all your clumsiness. "Gotta make sure you're not broken," he mutters against your skin, and you can feel his smirk as much as you can hear it.

You gasp when his tongue finally drags over the inside of your thigh, wet and slow. "This isn't—medical attention," you manage, but your hands fist in his hair anyway, tugging him closer. James hums, the vibration traveling straight to your core, and you swear you can feel his laugh against your skin. "S'preventative care," he argues, nipping at the sensitive flesh near your hipbone. "Gotta keep you from wandering off and hurting yourself again."

His breath ghosts over your damp skin, teasing before he finally mouths at your clit with deliberate, lazy strokes. You jolt, thighs clamping around his ears, but James just chuckles—the sound muffled against you—and drags his palms up to pin your hips to the couch. "Easy," he murmurs, lips brushing your folds. "You'll give yourself whiplash." His tongue flicks once, twice, just enough to make your back arch, then retreats like he's savoring the way you whine. "See? Danger everywhere with you."

You tug at his hair in retaliation, but he only nips your inner thigh in warning before diving back in, this time with none of his earlier restraint. His tongue laps at you in broad, wet strokes, the flat of it pressing just hard enough to make your toes curl. Every time you try to rock against his mouth, his grip tightens, holding you still like he’s determined to prove he can keep you in one piece. "James—" His name fractures in your throat when he sucks your clit between his lips, the pressure toeing the line between pleasure and sweet, shuddering overstimulation.

He pulls back just to watch you squirm, his chin glistening. "You're so fucking reckless," he mutters, dragging a thumb through your slick and spreading it over your trembling stomach. "Running around like you're not made of glass." His fingers slide lower, circling your entrance, and you bite your lip hard enough to taste copper when he pushes two inside without warning. The stretch burns—you’re still tight from how worked up he’s gotten you—but James doesn’t slow, crooking his fingers just so until your hips jerk. "But look at you," he murmurs, curling them deeper. "Taking it so good anyway."

The praise coils hot in your belly, and you’re suddenly grateful for the way he’s pinning you down because you’re shaking apart, the couch cushions clutched in your fists. His mouth returns to your clit, tongue swirling in time with the thrust of his fingers, and it’s too much—your injured ankle throbs in time with your pulse as your thighs start to tremble. "I can’t—" you gasp, but James groans against you, his free hand sliding up to splay over your ribs like he’s counting your frantic heartbeats.

You come with a muffled sob, your body arching off the couch as James works you through it, his fingers slowing but not stopping until you’re squirming from oversensitivity. He pulls back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and the smug satisfaction in his expression is almost unbearable. "There," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your trembling thigh. "Now you’ll stay put."

But you don’t stay put—because of course you don’t. The second he stands to toss the ice pack back into the freezer, you wobble to your feet, testing your weight on the injured ankle. Bad idea. A sharp gasp escapes you as pain lances up your leg, and James whirls around, his face shifting from exasperation to outright alarm in half a second. "Oh, for fuck’s sake—" He’s across the room before you can blink, scooping you up bridal-style while you yelp in protest. "I swear to god, you’re like a toddler who doesn’t understand object permanence. Out of sight, out of mind, huh?"

You grumble into his shoulder, but his chest is warm under your cheek, his heartbeat steady against your ear. He doesn’t put you back on the couch—instead, he carries you to the bed, depositing you gently atop the comforter before climbing in beside you. His arms band around your waist, pulling you flush against him until your back is pressed to his chest, his chin hooked over your shoulder. "You’re staying right here," he mutters, nipping at your earlobe. "No more wandering. No more disasters. Understood?"

You huff, but there’s no real heat in it—not when his hands are tracing idle patterns over your stomach, not when his breath is warm against your neck. "You’re bossy," you accuse, and he laughs, the sound vibrating through you. "Somebody’s gotta be," he counters, his palm sliding up to cradle your ribs. "Or you’ll be limping for a week."

"I'm serious," he whispers, his voice dropping into that soft, gravelly register that always makes your heart skip, "I’m putting you in bubble wrap tomorrow." You lean back into him, a sleepy smile tugging at your lips as you realize that for someone who treats you like you’re made of glass, he’s the only person who never seems afraid to hold all the pieces together.

» shauna shipman x fem!reader.

— warnings: average s3 shauna behavior back at it again. nsfw content. mdni. oral sex (r!receiving). implied overstimulation/multiple orgasms. this is pretty short, and also i didn’t beta read...

shauna who is all over you the second she picks up your scent, so sweet & ripe in her nostrils, she just has to have you. if you’re around the others, having dinner when the smell hits her, she starts acting different immediately, and while you obviously can’t sense it the way she can when you’re ovulating, the shift in her behavior gives you a pretty good idea of what’s going on: suddenly she’s pulling you closer to her constantly, nudging her nose into the back of your neck, her deep inhales telling you everything you need to know. she’ll outright growl when you squirm and wiggle in her lap, strong, calloused palms trying to fix you in place by the hips.

as soon as you’re behind closed doors (or, rather, a closed curtain, but that’s still better than nothing, in this hell hole that lacks any sort of proper privacy), shauna is all over you in every sense of the word: before you know it, you’re down on your back, all that strength in her touch making you dizzy as she practically tears off your shirt and buries her face between your breasts. shauna’s tongue darts out almost instantly, dragging up the center of your chest, and she moans at both the taste of your skin & the scent of your body, already more concentrated under all your clothes.

“sh-shauna-” you gasp, tangling your fingers in her hair. at the first, weak attempt to guide her toward where you need her mouth most, she slaps your wrist away and glares up at you, dark eyes flashing dangerously until you lift your hand from the back of her head, eliciting a pleased grunt from shauna. you drop them aside obediently and grab the furs instead, your fingers curling to fists there when her teeth finally drag over your nipple. now is the first time that you feel that your body seems more sensitive, shivering when shauna’s lips seal around your breast and suck. “fuck!” your back arches, but shauna keeps you pinned to the ground, even uses her knees to fix your legs in place, spread open wide to give her easier access, not only to your core, but also to the source of that scent.

once she’s had enough of your chest, shauna quickly moves lower. it isn’t without leaving hickey & lovebites in her wake that she makes her way down your body, licking a long stripe from your sternum to the waistband of your pants before she nuzzles her face between your legs, not even taking off the shorts yet. you moan at the pressure of shauna’s mouth through the two layers, her tongue licking over the fabric. it’s fucking obscene, how badly she wants you in those moments, the urges too strong to even bother with a single button & the zipper.

shauna takes one more deep breath, nostrils flaring as she reaches for the waistband. her fingers momentarily struggle with the fabric before finally, finally, yanking it down your legs, not even taking the time to unbutton your pants. once both your shorts and your underwear have come off in one go, she tosses them over her shoulder, not sparing them a second glance as she grabs you by the knees and spreads your legs. aware that you must be utterly soaked, you watch shauna take you in, your skin cooling where your slick is sticking to it on your inner thighs.

after what feels like an eternity of her shamelessly staring, she positions her thumbs on either side of your clit and parts your labia, cocking her head without taking her eyes off you when it draws a wet squelch from between your legs. your clit throbs under her watchful gaze, and shauna’s brow arches in response, a bemused expression on her face. that grin is the last thing you can fully register before she lowers her mouth and starts eating you out like a woman starved.

shauna’s tongue is wet & warm as it drags from your entrance, upwards, picking up your arousal on its tip to swirl it around your clit. your mouth hangs open, embarrassingly whiny noises spilling from your lips as you hear shauna inhale deeply between every lick, clearly enjoying herself down there. you gladly spread your legs wider, make room for her, so she can work her tongue through your folds again and again, groaning over the obscene slurping sounds each time she laps up more wetness. she’s on your clit, licks over your hole, and pushes inside, somehow all at the same fucking time, and you have no idea what shauna is doing to make it feel like this, but you no longer have the brain capacity to question it, unable to string together a single coherent thought.

every groan she lets out reverberates through your whole body, your sweat soaking into the furs below you, the harder shauna works over your clit, all while keeping her firm hold on your thighs & kneading the flesh as her tongue flicks over your cunt. it seems to please shauna, to see how far she can push you with her mouth within just a few minutes, and she lets out a low noise with her lips sealed around your clit, its vibrations making your eyes roll back.

you must be dripping, you briefly think, given the noises her tongue makes against you, but there’s little time to focus on that when everything else feels so good. shauna licks through the length of your cunt, ending each stroke with a flick against your clit, just the way she knows you like it, and so you’re arching off the ground in no time, and not even her hands on your hips can keep you this time because…

because you’re coming, you realize too late, that’s why. the orgasm catches you entirely off guard, a hot shock that starts low in your abdomen and spreads through your body, taking over before you can warn shauna. knowing her, she probably felt it coming long before, anyway. your legs tremble under her hands, hips jerking forward while she helps you through the climax with twice the abandon, doubling her mouth’s efforts now that she’s tipped you over the edge.

you try once, twice, fingers twisting tight in his dark hair, yanking because the pleasure is so sharp it almost hurts. your thighs are already trembling around his ears and every drag of his tongue feels like it’s peeling you open layer by layer.

he doesn’t budge.

instead he makes this low, broken sound against you, half groan half whimper, the vibration sinking straight into your clit. his big hands clamp down harder on the backs of your knees, spreading you wider, pinning you exactly where he wants. like he’s saying without words: you’re not going anywhere.

“baby—” your voice cracks, barely a whisper.

he answers by flattening his tongue and licking a slow, heavy stripe from your entrance all the way up, curling the tip around your swollen clit at the end. then he sucks, gentle at first, then firmer, cheeks hollowing while his eyes flick up to watch your face crumple.

you pull again, desperate, scalp burning under your grip.

he moans louder this time, shameless, hips jerking once against the mattress like he can’t help it. the pain lights something up behind his eyes and he presses his face deeper, nose buried, tongue working faster, messier. wet sounds fill the room, obscene, unapologetic.

your legs try to close on instinct. he growls, actual growl, and forces them apart again, shoulders wedged firm between your thighs now so you can’t even think about closing them.

he likes the tug. likes the sting. likes knowing he’s overwhelming you so completely that all you can do is claw at him while he drinks you down like he’s starving.

another hard suck and your back bows off the sheets, a sob ripping out of your throat.

he doesn’t stop.

just keeps groaning into your cunt every time you pull, every time it hurts him a little, like the pain is proof you’re still here, still feeling every filthy second of what he’s doing to you.

you’re shaking apart and he’s latched on like he’ll never let go.

Pretty in Pink..!

pairing : james franco x girly/fem!reader

word count : 1,318

content : fluff, some suggestive scenes/language

—> blurb . . . he thinks it's an act. the gloss, the giggle, the girl—all of it too perfect to be real.

authors note : this is my first fic I hope you like it !! I loved this request sm I LOVE older James and I am a very girly person myself so it’s perfect !!! I kind of derailed but I hope this still fulfills your requesttt! also sorry everyone for such a late move on with doing your requests, I had lost my account but now I'm ON them

James was used to the deep, intellectual conversations his whole career. Surrounded by book and film critics that always had some obscure artsy argument that his work wasn’t pretentious enough for them. Growing old in this environment moulded him into this mindset quickly—grey hairs sprawling in his dark brunette curls.

So when you came around in his life, his new young girlfriend, it was welcomed with open arms—but not without suspicion. Your pink frilly mini skirts and lace camisoles were hot, sure—he wasn’t going to deny that. You were a breath of fresh air from those uptight, ostentatious producers and publishers. You weren’t focused on milking an industry for money or getting high box office results, you were fun, and you didn’t care if his latest book had enough questions in it to count as a discursive.

You even loved his silvery patches and fine lines on his face, tracing them with your painted shimmery nails in bed on slow mornings.

But the whole… ‘girly girl act’ was so foreign he couldn’t imagine a real girl to just… be like that. Sure, he had girlfriends like you when he was young, but they were always putting up a front he didn’t care for.

Your perfectly styled hair, perfectly buffed nails, perfectly short skirts, a perfect… he was getting ahead of himself. But he swore he wasn’t going crazy, right? You always smelt like fresh roses and something sugary, and traces of glitter seemed to follow you around everywhere. It all had to be some sort of act like the rest he met. Convinced, he set his mind on catching you off guard, in a sweatshirt—or something—for once.

It wasn’t to shame nor pry, not at all. He felt that you were keeping these sparkly pink walls up, like you weren’t comfortable with him. He did not believe a girl could actually be as stereotypically feminine as you.

“Y’know, you don’t have to…’act’ like that around me.” He murmured passingly while you were over. The assumption hanging vaguely in the air.

“…like what?” Your wide eyes shifted, pretty little head tilting in adorable confusion. Eyebrows furrowed, you truly weren’t acting.

His dark brown gaze softened, caught between realisation and something warmer.

“You’re—“ He paused, gesturing vaguely to your body. Mouth agape, about to say something but nothing could come out. “C’mere, baby,” running a rough hand through his salt and pepper locks, he takes you by your hand and leads you to his bedroom.

You follow, a little hesitant, still lost in whatever he wasn’t saying.

James digs through his wardrobe before pulling out an old grey sweatshirt. When he turns around, he just…looks at you. Examining the way your long lashes flutter up at him—all wide-eyed and soft, makes something within him falter. He refused to believe you could be this doll like. Like an actual barbie.

“I want you to put this on, alright dollface?” He spoke softly, or as soft as his gravelly voice could go. Handing the folded clothing to you all bunched up, you take it in your arms.

He held your shoulders with both his large hands, leaning down just inches from your face. “You can do that for me, right?” He breathed, voice low enough you could feel it on your lips.

You just nod slowly, glancing down at the sweatshirt that smelt like him—cigarettes and his cologne. Unwrapping it, you pull it over you, pushing your arms through the holes as the dark, oversized fabric wrapped your form. Your frilly skirt was invisible under the length of it, hands just barely peaking out the sleeves.

His eyes followed you, taking in your form in his clothes. In his scent. God, he could watch you all day in that, covered in him. It nearly made him forget why he had you wear it in the first place.

And the answer? Lip gloss perfectly shimmery, hair perfectly soft, eyes perfectly glassy. You still looked like a doll, even when drowning in his clothes.

“Do I look bad now?” You sighed, raising your eyebrows with a shrug.

“No…and that’s the problem.” His coarse hand runs over his stubble and smooths down his gently chapped lips.

James had begun to accept your girly-doll like nature. Realising this wasn’t just a front, this was you. Girls don’t have to be artsy and serious like what he’s been consumed by for 20 years. Once he did, oh he couldn’t tear his eyes off you.

Everything you did was disgustingly feminine in the best way possible. One blistering summers day, he was sat on the couch, legs spread and his head leant all the way back. The acid conditioning unit had broke in his apartment while you were over, you weren’t too fazed as you were in a low cut pink tank and shorts from Hollister. Which was one of the only good things that came out of this heat for James.

You were in the kitchen grabbing a cold drink to pair with your strawberry flavoured lollipop. You take it out your mouth with a loud pop and take a long gulp of ice water, your lips and tongue stained pinkish-red. Sitting the candy back in your mouth, you walk over to James on the beat up leather couch.

He glances at you, tired eyes lolling his gaze up and down your pink figure. “What is it, baby?” He murmured, running a hand over his face, his other strong arm leaning over the back of the couch.

“Nothing.” You replied casually, the only sound in the room being your voice and the sucking from you and your lollipop.

You climb into his lap, slinging both your legs over to the side as you lean your head on his shoulder. James grunts, immediately going to wrap his arms around your waist and back.

“Righhht.. nothing, huh?” He smirked to himself, his voice low as he played with the back of your hair. The feeling of your ass on his crotch making him adjust and shift in his seat. “You’re doing something. You pink—princess…nymph..girl.” He sighed, his words a jumbled mutter of thoughts.

“I think the heat’s getting to you.” You smiled into his ear, that goddamn sound of you suckling on that lollipop driving him crazy.

He chuckled lowly, “No, you’re getting to me.” He moved his face to face yours, eyes challenging.

He was so close that you could feel the weight of his words. You turn your head slightly away as you swirl your tongue around your lollipop. “Does that make me hot?” You quip.

“Something like that.” His large hand comes up to gently turn your head to keep looking at him. Hazy brown eyes flicking between your cherry stained lips and defiant gaze. “Look at me.” He whispered more like a plea.

You absentmindedly trace the candy along your lips before giving it another taste. Eyes compliantly following the guide of his hand.

“You little minx.” James mumbled, fixated at the way your lips moved around it, a small saliva string separating from you and the lollipop as he spoke. “Take that goddamn lollipop out your mouth.” His lip quirked, semi amused but frustrated at the same time. The restraint in his gruff voice palpable. A stiff mound growing unattended to beneath his pants and boxers.

“Or?” You drawled, popping the slightly smaller redish-pink confection from your pouty lips. Testing how far you could dance on the line between safe and dangerous.

And it seemed you just tipped a little too far.

He surged forward, capturing your strawberry flavoured lips with his. Clasping both sides of your face with a surprising gentleness, guiding you through it.

You moaned into it, your grasp holding onto his sturdy forearms, eyes fluttering closed.

Tasting you like a man starved, James figured he was in heaven. His very own real, pretty little barbie doll.

Strawberry flavoured too.

Pretty in Pink..!

pairing : james franco x girly/fem!reader

word count : 1,318

content : fluff, some suggestive scenes/language

—> blurb . . . he thinks it's an act. the gloss, the giggle, the girl—all of it too perfect to be real.

authors note : this is my first fic I hope you like it !! I loved this request sm I LOVE older James and I am a very girly person myself so it’s perfect !!! I kind of derailed but I hope this still fulfills your requesttt! also sorry everyone for such a late move on with doing your requests, I had lost my account but now I'm ON them

James was used to the deep, intellectual conversations his whole career. Surrounded by book and film critics that always had some obscure artsy argument that his work wasn’t pretentious enough for them. Growing old in this environment moulded him into this mindset quickly—grey hairs sprawling in his dark brunette curls.

So when you came around in his life, his new young girlfriend, it was welcomed with open arms—but not without suspicion. Your pink frilly mini skirts and lace camisoles were hot, sure—he wasn’t going to deny that. You were a breath of fresh air from those uptight, ostentatious producers and publishers. You weren’t focused on milking an industry for money or getting high box office results, you were fun, and you didn’t care if his latest book had enough questions in it to count as a discursive.

You even loved his silvery patches and fine lines on his face, tracing them with your painted shimmery nails in bed on slow mornings.

But the whole… ‘girly girl act’ was so foreign he couldn’t imagine a real girl to just… be like that. Sure, he had girlfriends like you when he was young, but they were always putting up a front he didn’t care for.

Your perfectly styled hair, perfectly buffed nails, perfectly short skirts, a perfect… he was getting ahead of himself. But he swore he wasn’t going crazy, right? You always smelt like fresh roses and something sugary, and traces of glitter seemed to follow you around everywhere. It all had to be some sort of act like the rest he met. Convinced, he set his mind on catching you off guard, in a sweatshirt—or something—for once.

It wasn’t to shame nor pry, not at all. He felt that you were keeping these sparkly pink walls up, like you weren’t comfortable with him. He did not believe a girl could actually be as stereotypically feminine as you.

“Y’know, you don’t have to…’act’ like that around me.” He murmured passingly while you were over. The assumption hanging vaguely in the air.

“…like what?” Your wide eyes shifted, pretty little head tilting in adorable confusion. Eyebrows furrowed, you truly weren’t acting.

His dark brown gaze softened, caught between realisation and something warmer.

“You’re—“ He paused, gesturing vaguely to your body. Mouth agape, about to say something but nothing could come out. “C’mere, baby,” running a rough hand through his salt and pepper locks, he takes you by your hand and leads you to his bedroom.

You follow, a little hesitant, still lost in whatever he wasn’t saying.

James digs through his wardrobe before pulling out an old grey sweatshirt. When he turns around, he just…looks at you. Examining the way your long lashes flutter up at him—all wide-eyed and soft, makes something within him falter. He refused to believe you could be this doll like. Like an actual barbie.

“I want you to put this on, alright dollface?” He spoke softly, or as soft as his gravelly voice could go. Handing the folded clothing to you all bunched up, you take it in your arms.

He held your shoulders with both his large hands, leaning down just inches from your face. “You can do that for me, right?” He breathed, voice low enough you could feel it on your lips.

You just nod slowly, glancing down at the sweatshirt that smelt like him—cigarettes and his cologne. Unwrapping it, you pull it over you, pushing your arms through the holes as the dark, oversized fabric wrapped your form. Your frilly skirt was invisible under the length of it, hands just barely peaking out the sleeves.

His eyes followed you, taking in your form in his clothes. In his scent. God, he could watch you all day in that, covered in him. It nearly made him forget why he had you wear it in the first place.

And the answer? Lip gloss perfectly shimmery, hair perfectly soft, eyes perfectly glassy. You still looked like a doll, even when drowning in his clothes.

“Do I look bad now?” You sighed, raising your eyebrows with a shrug.

“No…and that’s the problem.” His coarse hand runs over his stubble and smooths down his gently chapped lips.

James had begun to accept your girly-doll like nature. Realising this wasn’t just a front, this was you. Girls don’t have to be artsy and serious like what he’s been consumed by for 20 years. Once he did, oh he couldn’t tear his eyes off you.

Everything you did was disgustingly feminine in the best way possible. One blistering summers day, he was sat on the couch, legs spread and his head leant all the way back. The acid conditioning unit had broke in his apartment while you were over, you weren’t too fazed as you were in a low cut pink tank and shorts from Hollister. Which was one of the only good things that came out of this heat for James.

You were in the kitchen grabbing a cold drink to pair with your strawberry flavoured lollipop. You take it out your mouth with a loud pop and take a long gulp of ice water, your lips and tongue stained pinkish-red. Sitting the candy back in your mouth, you walk over to James on the beat up leather couch.

He glances at you, tired eyes lolling his gaze up and down your pink figure. “What is it, baby?” He murmured, running a hand over his face, his other strong arm leaning over the back of the couch.

“Nothing.” You replied casually, the only sound in the room being your voice and the sucking from you and your lollipop.

You climb into his lap, slinging both your legs over to the side as you lean your head on his shoulder. James grunts, immediately going to wrap his arms around your waist and back.

“Righhht.. nothing, huh?” He smirked to himself, his voice low as he played with the back of your hair. The feeling of your ass on his crotch making him adjust and shift in his seat. “You’re doing something. You pink—princess…nymph..girl.” He sighed, his words a jumbled mutter of thoughts.

“I think the heat’s getting to you.” You smiled into his ear, that goddamn sound of you suckling on that lollipop driving him crazy.

He chuckled lowly, “No, you’re getting to me.” He moved his face to face yours, eyes challenging.

He was so close that you could feel the weight of his words. You turn your head slightly away as you swirl your tongue around your lollipop. “Does that make me hot?” You quip.

“Something like that.” His large hand comes up to gently turn your head to keep looking at him. Hazy brown eyes flicking between your cherry stained lips and defiant gaze. “Look at me.” He whispered more like a plea.

You absentmindedly trace the candy along your lips before giving it another taste. Eyes compliantly following the guide of his hand.

“You little minx.” James mumbled, fixated at the way your lips moved around it, a small saliva string separating from you and the lollipop as he spoke. “Take that goddamn lollipop out your mouth.” His lip quirked, semi amused but frustrated at the same time. The restraint in his gruff voice palpable. A stiff mound growing unattended to beneath his pants and boxers.

“Or?” You drawled, popping the slightly smaller redish-pink confection from your pouty lips. Testing how far you could dance on the line between safe and dangerous.

And it seemed you just tipped a little too far.

He surged forward, capturing your strawberry flavoured lips with his. Clasping both sides of your face with a surprising gentleness, guiding you through it.

You moaned into it, your grasp holding onto his sturdy forearms, eyes fluttering closed.

Tasting you like a man starved, James figured he was in heaven. His very own real, pretty little barbie doll.

Strawberry flavoured too.