Dont read this, this is just stories I want to read

Plush Thighs & Puppy Eyes

George wasn’t exactly a makeup artist, by any means. But he knew the basics from watching YouTube videos, and he wants to try it out. Dream’s been dropping hints for a while now that he thinks George would look good with something like that, so he’s curious to see what the blond actually does think.

He decides that today is a good day to do it because he ordered some clothes to match his makeup a few days ago, and they finally came today. He also ordered something else that he has no idea how Dream is going to react to, but he clips it around his neck anyway and glances at himself in the mirror.

It’s as good as it’s going to get.

He opens the door and enters Dream’s office. He glances up from his computer, where he was editing, and his eyebrows raise. He’s speechless for a minute, but finally, he speaks.

“You’re such a good boy, George,” Dream’s voice is thick and low, brimming with lust and desire. The brunet that stands before him goes red in the face, his eyes still fixated on the ground, where they’d been laying since he’d exited the bathroom wearing a soft, rosy-hued pink skirt that was all too short. Thigh-highs that were a sheer white settled just atop his thighs, plush skin pooling at the top. He was wearing a plain beige sweatshirt on top; but Dream assumed that wasn’t meant to be the main focus, and by god, it wasn’t.

Dream’s eyes rake him up and down, and he doesn’t try to hide it, either. George is beautiful and so cute, getting all dressed up and pretty for him. To top it all off, a thin coat of foundation powder was layered across George’s skin, and a pink lipgloss clung to his lips. Mascara lined his lashes, and Dream nearly had a heart attack every time the Brit looked down and blinked. He was sure he knew, too, playing the look up on purpose just to make Dream pounce on him.

And it was going to work. They both knew it. They both knew why George couldn’t meet Dream’s eyes—nothing like staring your demise in the face. Even if it—well, he —was very good, for being someone’s demise.

“You look so pretty,” the dirty blond continues, striding forward and gently taking George’s chin between his thumb and index finger. He tilts his chin upwards, but still George avoids his gaze, staring anywhere but into those green eyes he knew so well. “All for me. You’re so thoughtful, sweetheart. Look like a princess, just for me.”

George’s Adam's apple bobs in his throat at the use of the nickname, and the heat pools between right in his lower stomach. “Wanted to get all pretty for you,” he admits in a soft mumble. “Wanted you to see how pretty I was, then ruin me.”

Dream lets out a soft, low chuckle, index finger swiping over the lipgloss. It’s smooth and slippery; his thumb slips right across and smears it back to where his thumb resides on his chin. “Want me to make a mess of you, baby? Seems almost like a waste to get you like this—”

And that was when he saw it. The part of the outfit that he’d missed, the part that George had tried to hide and play off with the plain beige sweater. All the focus was on his lower half, so Dream hadn’t even caught the pink collar that settled against his neck. That isn’t even the best part—no, the best part is the silver tag that dangles from the hook. Engraved on that silver tag was a simple smiley-face. To anyone else, it looked relatively normal—but to them? It was everything.

Dream’s brain is flooded with reminders, memories of all the times he’d drawn a smiley-face on George’s neck, connecting some stray hickeys like stars in a constellation. George wore a lot of turtlenecks for that very reason, so Dream had never thought of him to get something like this set in stone, almost literally, even if the collar could be removed.

“Oh, George. You look filthy.”

He can see the Brit tense, knowing he was discovered. He swallows again, and he tries to move backwards to avoid Dream seeing more than he’s already seen, but the blond is quicker. He loops a finger into the loose collar and yanks him closer. George all but stumbles forward, face going red and eyes wide and doe-like. His pupils are already blown out, and he looks up at Dream with a soft gasp. The latter is smirking, head tilted and eyes clearly gazing at shimmery pink lips. “No, no, pup.” The name sends George reeling, knees weak and eyes immediately flicking to Dream’s. It all clicks.