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inlovewithdob · 2 days ago

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BRAINWASHED

Virgin!Stiles Stilinski x Fem!Reader

Everything’s clean - except for my thoughts. (Thinking about me getting you off.)

Can’t stop thinking you got me B R A I N W A S H E D .

Summary:

Stiles likes you. He really, really, really likes you. It's bordering on obsession, but he likes to believe that he has it under control.

So when you accidentally leave a pair of your panties in his presence, ripe for the taking, and they're in his backpack faster than he can blink - he realizes that he might not have it as under control as he would like to think. But he can't find it to be too much of a problem when he has those panties wrapped around his cock.

Virgin!Stiles Stilinski x Best Friend!Fem!Reader. Pining!Stiles/One Sided Fantasies. Panty Stealing. Smut/PWP.

Word Count: 8,000

Teen Wolf Masterlist | AO3 Link

Full list of warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: the reader uses she/her pronouns and is described as having a vagina; Stiles and the reader have been best friends since childhood and they are in high school now (they are both the same age) (for argument's sake, they are both 18, but the horny parts were motivated by the hotness of a 20-something actor so idc what age you interpret the characters as); the reader's looks are mostly undescribed and left neutral in terms of race, hair texture/colour, height, etc. however the reader is implied to be fat/plus sized; mentions of the reader wearing dresses and tights (things that the other characters on the show would typically wear); mentions of the reader having a cat - I did not give the cat a name so you can imagine it's the same as your cat's name/what you would want your cat to be called if you had one; use of Y/N and L/N (as in Last Name); brief mention that the reader would like wearing bikinis; the reader calls Stiles 'good boy' in non-sexual contexts and it turns him on; mentions of Stiles looking up the reader's skirt when she doesn't know it; some slight dubious consent because Stiles steals the reader's underwear without her consent and uses them in a sexual act (his masturbation); masturbation (Stiles touching himself); this is a one-sided/pining fic - all the sexual acts take place inside Stiles's mind as sexual fantasies while he masturbates; the reader character is described in these sexual acts as they play out in his mind, so that's why she is included heavily in the warnings; Stiles is submissive (even in his own fantasies) and he fantasies about the reader being dominant toward him; Stiles becoming aroused by the idea of the reader not shaving her pussy; technically there is edging - because Stiles edges himself to make his fantasies last longer; panty sniffing (though the panties Stiles took are freshly launder and not used ones); scent kink/sweat kink - Stiles likes the way you smell, including your sweat; kinks and sexual acts mentioned only in Stiles's fantasies (taking place only in his mind in this fic): car sex (in the back of the Jeep (typical, I know)), fingering (reader receiving), degradation kink (Stiles receiving - he likes the idea of the reader insulting him and being mean to him); pussy eating (Stiles fantasizes in depth about this); Reader makes a joke about spanking Stiles and Stiles has a small fantasy about being spanked by her; I think that's finally it.

A/N: Title for the fic comes from the song Brainwashed by Waterparks. Warning - Stiles might be a bit OOC in this because I wrote it before I started re-watching Teen Wolf again (and before I started watching Season 1 for the first time, because previously I had only seen 3B and beyond). In this, I have said that he's flunking classes and he's not really great with studying, while in the show, he's really smart and bookish and really well studied - but it could just be chalked up to the fact that he has a huge crush on the Reader that is distracting him from studying. So, interpret it how you want. I hope that you enjoy it, and please read through to my end notes to find out about a potential sequel to the fic!!

...

Stiles was hopeless.

That was the only way to describe his current state of being. Completely, utterly hopeless.

He was a complete and total loser, hopelessly in love with his best friend. And he was getting more stupidly caught up in that crush every single day. And of course, he didn’t even have the courage to admit his feelings for you so that it could be awkwardly out in the open. So that the two of you could get the rejection part over with, at least.

Basically - his feelings for you were slowly ruining his life.

Stiles had been in love with you for as long as he could remember. Well, maybe not that long.

See, you, him, and Scott had all been friends since the beginning of kindergarten, and naturally, Stiles always liked you as a person. He always thought of you as a good friend, even if he gravitated toward Scott more.

But he distinctly remembered the first moment when he had started to develop a crush on you. It was a very special memory to him - the day when you shifted in his eyes from annoying, slightly nagging friend to a beautiful, fierce woman.

It was the day when the three of you were out on Halloween night during the third grade - and that was around the time people started whispering about crushes in school, when people would have playground girlfriends and boyfriends that they broke up with every other week. That night, a group of eighth grade bullies began chasing the three of you, trying to take your candy.

Without hesitation, you picked up the largest rock in sight and threw it at one of them, causing a large cut across his forehead - and you loudly told them to ‘fuck off’ (the first time Stiles had ever heard such a word when it wasn’t coming from his dad). They had run away, somehow terrified of a girl a foot shorter than them.

That night, you had become his hero.

And since then, you had been the only object of his affections.

Of course, over the years, Stiles had plenty of opportunities to tell you about his feelings for you. He just… always felt too cowardly to do so.

In seventh grade, he had come very close to asking you out to the winter dance - only to have Scott beat him to the punch. When he pulled Scott aside to ask him about it, Scott confessed to him that he also had a crush on you. This resulted in their first ever fistfight. The first ever true rift in their otherwise close, brotherly friendship.

The boys didn’t speak to each other for days. Which, naturally, annoyed the hell out of you. Especially because, of course, neither of them told you why they were fighting, not wanting you to know that you were the source of the rift in their friendship. And to you, this only made the fight seem more stupid and immature.

So finally, when you demanded it, they called a truce. They agreed that they didn’t want to lose their friendship or lose you. They didn’t want to make you choose between them when it wouldn’t make any of you happy.

So Stiles proposed that the three of you should go to the dance as friends, which you loved, and they both got you a corsage, one for each wrist - and the three of you still laughed at the pictures of you holding each of their arms.

Eventually, Scott grew out of his crush on you and moved onto other girls, and he loved that he got to keep you as a close best friend, someone he could go to for dating advice if needed. Scott kept trying to convince Stiles to simply ‘man up’ and tell you about his feelings, but Stiles kept that same sentiment they had concluded upon years ago. Telling you about his feelings would only ruin the friendship. Not just between you, but between the entire group - it would fuck up the pack.

Though it felt like the more he tried to ignore his feelings for you, the more they festered like a tumor. While Scott was able to mature past his crush on you, Stiles only grew more intense, and more insane when it came to his ‘crush’ on you.

Over the years, his crush on you had grown from something sweet and childish into something much more. When puberty truly took over and lust was added into the mix, he now had to deal with the fact that you had grown into a gorgeous woman. He could barely control his arousal when looking at you, hearing your voice, smelling you, talking to you, thinking about you - even simply being in your presence made something in his mind melt. And it was growing much worse with each passing day. There wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t wake up with a raging boner fueled by sexual dreams of you.

And naturally, he would say that not telling you about his feelings for you was ultimately the best thing for him. He would steadfastly refuse to admit that him being distracted by all these fantasies of you was slowly eroding your friendship from the inside out. Slowly, bit by bit, his worst fears were coming true - your friendship was being ruined by his crush anyway.

But he tried to ignore that. Even if you were the most gorgeous, perfect being ever put on the planet, he tried his hardest to simply enjoy the platonic version of you. He tried to act like he wasn’t stupidly, head over heels in love with you.

He tried not to act like it.

But on nights like this, it was just so hard.

Tonight, the two of you were studying for an upcoming English mid-term that would be worth a decent portion of your final grade.

Logically, Stiles knew that he should have locked himself in his room and forced himself to study independently. Or he should have taken up Scott on his offer to study with him and Allison.

But no, he just had to ask you for your ‘help’.

And you pitied him and said yes, because he was doing poorly in the class. The only reason for that being because it was one of the classes that he shared with you, and he spent all of his damn time staring at you across the room during it. He had tried to tell himself that he really would study tonight, that he would really take advantage of your intelligence here and now to get his shit together in order to up his grade.

But no. That was just one of many daily lies that he told himself. Since the moment he had set foot in your bedroom that afternoon (and it was dark out now, well into the evening) - he hadn’t been able to focus on anything but you.

Sure, sometimes that worked to his benefit. Hearing you recite Shakespeare, the words coming off your sweet lips - it did force him to focus on the material at hand for at least a short period of time. But it wasn’t like he was actually retaining any of it. He was just thinking about how gorgeous your voice sounded and how amazing you would be in an adaptation of Romeo and Juliet. One where he played Romeo, of course - and he would get to use someone else’s well-crafted words to romance you, finally getting to kiss you for the first time.

Again - he was hopeless.

Currently, Stiles was laying diagonally on your bed, sitting among a mess of books - the English textbooks, the assigned novels, the published copies of the play, along with binders of your notes and other notebooks, stray papers. He couldn’t pay attention to the notes he was supposed to be writing, not for a moment, not if his life depended on it. Not when you looked this stunningly beautiful while busy writing your own notes.

With the soft lighting from your bedside lamp brushing across your skin, making that skin look even softer, you were a goddess-like vision sitting on the bed across from him. You were wearing the simple dress that you had worn to school earlier that day, your modest tights since shed off in the name of ‘comfort’ (and so that your cat wouldn’t rip holes in them while crawling across your lap, you had remarked to Stiles). When you had stood at your hamper and peeled them off your legs, Stiles had a hard time not letting the drool spill out across his chin.

Your thighs were gorgeous. Thick, wide, spread out like a buffet for his eyes to feast on every single time you sat down. From his angle, laying down the way he was, he was up close and personal with the dimpling cellulite and stretchmarks you had there. The hem of your dress had ridden up when you had adjusted your position to get comfortable, and he felt absolutely spoiled by how much more of your thighs were revealed to him.

A few times throughout the evening, he had to physically clench his fingers, tight, to remind himself not to reach out and touch. To remind himself that he wasn’t allowed to touch. The last thing he wanted to do was to creep you out by randomly reaching out and touching your thigh. But he wanted so badly to touch.

How many times had he imagined what those thighs would look like bouncing and jiggling while you rode his cock? How many times had he imagined those thighs clamped around his head while he licked your pussy? (Far too many times for the good of his own sanity.)

Not to mention the concentration spread across your face - you were so fucking hot when you showed off your intelligence. Hell everything about you was hot - your sweetness, your laughter, your sarcasm, even your bitchy side. But your bookish side had to be one of Stiles’s favorites.

The way you would nibble your own lip when thinking, the way your brows furrowed slightly in thought. Everything about you - from the bra strap sticking out of the neckline of your dress to the chipped edge of your nail polish where you had chewed on it - you were a fucking vision. And Stiles couldn’t take his eyes off you, no matter how hard he tried.

It was a wonder that you didn’t notice Stiles staring at you - not as often as he did it.

Stiles felt strangely caught when you put down your pen and looked up from your notebook, then. He quickly scrambled to grab his own pencil and start writing something, to look busy. But of course, he just looked like more of an idiot when the eraser end began scraping across the page in nonsense patterns.

“Stiles,” You scolded him with a sigh, a way he was used to hearing his name come off your lips. “Have you gotten anything done? I told you to copy down at least half my notes-”

Of course. You pegged his blank page as simple laziness, rather than his brain slowly melting out through his ears due to his inability to think about anything but you (especially when he was in the same room as you). At least he hadn’t been caught staring at you in that creepy way yet.

You snatched up his notebook to check his work, and his heart dropped - if you looked too carefully, then he would be caught. In the back of that notebook, there were about three pages of his name and yours in hearts, and a few times he had practiced writing his signature as ‘Mr Stiles L/N’. (He was a feminist, and he liked the idea of starting a new tradition.) There was even a drawing he had made designing your theoretical wedding cake, including a cake topper where he was Superman and you were riding on his back while he was flying.

“Y/N, uh-”

He quickly snatched the notebook back, causing a glare from you while he sighed in defeat.

“Fine.” He shrugged, knowing that he had to admit to a smaller crime in order to cover up the larger one. It was something that he did with his father all too often. “I didn’t get anything done. I was slacking off. You caught me.”

“Stiles!” You scolded him again, reaching out to gently smack his shoulder. “If you keep this shit up, you’re never gonna graduate!”

Sadly, you were probably right. His crush on you was absolutely going to ruin him.

“Well, you could just let me copy off you,” He replied, giving you a wide grin that let you know he was mostly kidding.

You rolled your eyes in reply, and soon your gaze caught sight of the clock on your nightstand.

“Well, it seems like you have wasted enough of my time for tonight.” You scoffed sarcastically.

Stiles knew that you had intended this to be a joke - but he couldn’t help the twinge of pain the words caused in his gut. The idea that he was truly just a waste of time in your life. He pressed his lips tightly together to suppress a frown and didn’t say anything more, and then you continued.

“It’s almost your curfew anyway.” You pointed out, gesturing toward the clock. You were right. Stiles hadn’t even noticed how late it was getting - too busy enjoying his time with you. “We’ll pack it up for the night - but you should meet me at the library tomorrow morning, early, so we can go over everything again before the exam.”

Of course, you were still invested in the idea of him getting a good grade, even if that seemed unlikely to happen.

“You’re gonna make me get up early?” He whined, hating the idea of missing out on even ten extra minutes of sleep.

“Yes.” You stressed. “I want you there at seven o’clock. Sharp.”

Your ultra serious voice ordering him around was undeniably a turn-on for him. No matter what sexual fantasies Stiles cooked up about you in his mind, he could never picture himself having full control over you. In fact, most of the time, he found himself covered in cum at the idea of you having complete control over him. And it was likely because this was how most of your friendship went - you told him what to do, and he did it. And that was a huge part of why he fell for you in the first place.

When he didn’t verbally confirm the time, too caught up in his infatuation yet again, you let out a gentle growl of frustration.

“Stiles!” You called out his name. “You have to be there at seven. So you can’t get out of bed at seven - you have to set your alarm for like six-thirty, got it? Don’t make me come over there and get your ass out of bed like last time.”

This thought caused Stiles’s stomach to clench.

The last time you had come to his house to wake him up for school (because he had agreed to help you with some bakesale project and you were pissed off that he wasn’t there early to help you set up tables and whatnot) - you had charged into his house in a fury. You had your own key, of course, and his dad wasn’t there to busy you with conversation or pleasantries.

And you charged right up the stairs and nearly caught him with a hand around his cock, jerking off to a picture of you in a bikini from the summer before. And he had rushed to shove the picture in his nightstand and cocoon himself in the comforter to hide his body just as you made it to the top of the stairs, shouting at him for being late. Luckily, he had gotten away with the lie that he had slept in, rather than revealing the truth that he had been distracted because he had woken up with morning wood after having a heated dream about you.

When Stiles didn’t respond yet again, you grabbed a smaller decorative pillow from behind you and lightly hit him with it for emphasis, causing him to burst into laughter.

“Promise me you’ll be on time!” You said, smacking him with the pillow again.

“Yes, yes! I promise!” He finally agreed, his face becoming pink from laughter.

You dropped the pillow then, and leaned down, causing his eyes to inadvertently go straight to your cleavage while you gave him a gentle, friendly kiss on the forehead.

“Good boy.” You responded, praising him for agreeing to your terms. Obviously, it was another joke.

But these praising words combined with your lips even slightly brushing against his skin, along with your tits dangling so close to his face, had his cock swelling to hardness nearly instantly. He grabbed the pillow then, trying to look subtle as he put it over his crotch, desperately trying to hide the very obvious bulge that had popped up at the front of his jeans within seconds.

He was lucky when you shifted your attention away from him, now busy with cleaning off the bed, gathering your textbooks in a pile and moving to put them on your desk in the corner. You being distracted gave him a few moments to try and mentally will his dick down, which worked slightly. Only slightly.

“You could help me, you know.” You mocked him lightly - distracting him from his thoughts of baseball, trying to will the blood out of his cock.

He looked up and saw you standing there with his backpack, putting away his textbooks and notebooks now. He had been so dumbly distracted by his own dick that he hadn’t noticed you taking the kind initiative to clean up his things for him too.

“Right, sorry.” He jumped into action and did so, taking things from your hands and shoving them into his bag with haste.

“You don’t have to rush out, I just need the bed cleared off so I can pick out my clothes for tomorrow.” You told him.

“Wait - you actually pick out your clothes in advance?” He asked, thinking that this was entirely adorable, and explained why you were always so well dressed.

(And it explained why you were always so punctual in the mornings while Stiles was usually a mess - running around his house still half-asleep, shoving his head into a shirt that he had sniffed to see if it was clean, shoving things frantically into his bag in order to get out the door five minutes late.)

“Well you know not all of us are okay with just throwing on last week’s mustard stained tee shirt,” You said, playfully pointing to a mustard stain that he had on his shirt from lunch.

He rolled his eyes in return, trying to ignore the slight twist of embarrassment that wanted to swell up inside of him at the comment.

There had been a point where he used to make a very pointed effort to impress you. Back when his crush on you had first gotten serious - likely around the beginning of high school. He used to get up early every single morning, spending a lot of time being intensely picky about the clothes he wore. He drowned himself in cologne (until you had complained about it), he wore certain colors just because you mentioned liking them. But none of it seemed to garner any more of your attention than usual.

And so, he resigned himself to be the loser best friend who would always just float at the corners of your life, drowning in his secret affection for you until some better, hotter guy came along and swept you off your feet one day.

He was just glad that day hadn’t come yet.

Stiles was hesitant to leave - he wasn’t done being around you for the day yet, too emotionally attached. But he guessed that he would need to get some decent sleep before waking up at the asscrack of dawn in order to see more of you the next morning. (Even if it would include the horrors of studying at the library.)

“So - I’ll see you tomorrow morning?” He posed, ready to take his leave as he swung his backpack over his shoulder.

“Ooh, wait one second.” You said, eagerness twinging through your voice.

His heart pounded hard in his chest for a moment, wondering if this could be the moment he had been waiting so long for - would you stop him there, grab him by the shoulders and kiss him hard, and then tell him that you had been feeling the exact same way as he had for all these years?

“Which one?” You asked, spinning around from your closet to face him, holding up two dresses on hangers.

Oh. You were asking for his opinion about what you should wear to school the next day.

“The blue one.” Stiles said, motioning towards it. “That shade of blue looks beautiful on you - it compliments your skin tone well, and it makes you shine. But ya know, you look gorgeous in everything. You could wear a paper bag to school and everyone would still be jealous of how amazing you look.”

He rambled on for a moment too long, and realized that his genuine fondness for you - something straying too far into romantic territory - was slipping out.

“But - uh, yeah. I’ll see you later.” He quickly added on, now eager to leave before you could make any further comments.

Then he dashed out of your room and down the stairs, getting out the front door so fast that he practically left a poof of cartoon dust behind him.

He got into the Jeep and tossed his bag into the passenger’s seat - which, he hadn’t realized was not even zipped up. (A habit you often scolded him for - going around with his bag unzipped.) Papers and books spilled across the seat and underneath it, and he let out a loud growl of frustration.

“Idiot!” He screamed, scolding himself as he leaned down, trying to clean everything up. “Idiot, idiot, idiot!”

Partially, he was feeling so idiotic because he had just been so vulnerable with you and you probably thought he was weird for it. Actually, that was mostly why.

As he was picking up his things, he realized that - yup, he was missing his English textbook. He had forgotten it in your room. He heaved out a sigh and collapsed back against his seat. He could leave without it - but then he would get an earful from you in the morning about how he was ‘forgetful’ and ‘irresponsible’. Ugh.

He got out of the Jeep again and shuffled his way back into your house - your mom was working late, so there was nobody there to question him running out of the house at top speed and then appearing back so soon. All he got was a curious chirp and a head tilt from your cat, who was sitting on the top of the stairs.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Stiles remarked to the animal, stopping for a moment to pet him. “I’m pathetic. But you can’t rat me out, okay? I know she thinks highly of your opinion and I need you to put in a good word for me. Got it?”

The cat purred and pushed his face into Stiles’s hand, so he assumed that was a positive affirmation that he would root for Stiles - or at the very least, keep his secret.

Stiles linger for a moment to scratch the cat’s furry cheek, and then he stepped over the cat and made his way back toward your room. He passed the closed bathroom door and heard the shower running, and he almost cheered. If you were in the shower, then you wouldn’t notice him slipping back in to grab his book, so you couldn’t scold him for being a forgetful idiot.

He went into your room, and the second he made it through the mouth of your open bedroom, his eyes locked onto your bed like a hot target. Your clothes for the following day were spread out so neatly, and right there, on top of the blue dress he had suggested - there was a pair of lacy purple panties that were something right out of one of his fantasies.

Stiles had thought about your underwear before - many times. Too many times to count.

He had even caught small, passing glimpses of your underwear before - when you had worn dresses without tights and bent over in front of him. But he had only seen enough of it to determine the color, not to know if it was lacy or silk or cotton. And even that was enough to send him into a tailspin that had him rushing to the bathroom to relieve his aching cock.

In the back of his mind - or truly, the forefront of his mind whenever he jerked off to thoughts of you - he always wondered what kind of underwear you wore. What kind of decorative wrapping your pretty pussy would come in if he ever got the other-worldly privilege of getting his hands up your skirt.

Would they be simple, practical cotton underwear? Would they be cute? Would they be sinfully sexy? Would they be those underwear with the days of the week written across the front?

But seeing this now - seeing the tangible evidence in front of him that you actually planned to wear purple lacy lingerie to school - it was something that had all sense draining from his mind as blood rushed to his cock once again. He barely had time to think about it - and he didn’t think about it. Because then, they were in his hands, in his pocket, and he was back in the Jeep, hiding his stolen goods in his bag and hastily zipping it up so he could slam his foot on the gas and race home.

He didn’t even have a chance to think about the fact that he left without the textbook that he had gone back into your room looking for. He didn’t have the attention span to notice that said textbook was in a stack along with your own - almost as if purposefully kept there like an excuse to lure him back into your room, rather than clumsily forgotten by him.

…

When Stiles got into his room, he slammed his bedroom door shut behind him, now entirely frantic, and thankful that his father was working a late shift again. He sat down on the edge of his bed, his hands shaking with anticipation as he unzipped his bag and pulled out the thing he had so hastily snagged.

His mind was warring with so many sensations. Guilt for taking the panties, paranoia that he would get caught, shame that he even had the urge to take them in the first place - but all of that was easily toppled over and forgotten in the name of lust. Overwhelming lust and arousal that he felt for you. Greed and joy at knowing that he had something so private of yours in his hands now - something so secret that he shouldn’t have. A perfect little piece of you.

His little secret piece of you.

He still couldn’t believe that this was the kind of underwear you wore on a daily basis.

Just imagining that this was what you wore to school - thinking about the fact that this was what you were wearing under your clothes during your everyday interactions with him: it drove him wild.

He easily pictured this pretty lace sticking to your cunt when you were wet, the lavender colored material getting slick and slightly darker, soaked through and visibly sticky when you spread your legs for him to see. He wondered if your pussy would be shaved or not - but you didn’t have a boyfriend, so currently, you didn’t have anybody to shave for.

He remembered a conversation from a few weeks ago where Scott had wondered if he should shave his pubes for Allison and you had remarked that ‘putting a razor near your junk’ was ‘ill-advised and stupid’ - so you probably didn’t even like shaving your pussy on principle.

This immediately put a picture in his mind of your pussy being covered in soft hair that matched the shade on your head - maybe a bit darker. It would clump together with your juices and become soaked when you got wet. The little hairs would probably stick out cutely from the sides of the bikini cut underwear, peeking at him.

Your pussy would be the prettiest thing he had ever seen, he knew that for certain.

Stiles imagined getting you in the backseat of the Jeep one night after a game.

He would still be covered in sweat from his efforts, worn out from trying his best. Sure, he wasn’t the best player, but you wanted to ‘reward’ him for his efforts on the winning side, even if he hadn’t directly contributed to the win.

So as soon as the game was over, before he even had time to change out of his pads or shower, you hauled him to the parking lot and shoved him into the car. His gear was only half-off, ditched hastily by your feet, and you were in his lap - a perfect prize after all the hard work he had done, sitting astride his already sore thigh muscles while you kissed him - hard. Your mouth greedily sucked the oxygen out of his lungs while you shoved your tongue past his lips, painting his tongue with your sweet spit - and fuck, it felt like he was made for this.

He got sucked so deep into the fantasy - it felt so damn real.

He imagined having his hands splayed out against your beautiful, plump ass, gripping you tightly, noting wanting you to separate from him for even a section. While you held on tightly to his face, sealing him into the kiss until his lips were sore. And you would only pull back to look into his eyes with glossy desperation and utter out:

“Please, Stiles. I need you. I need you to touch my pussy.”

And what else could he do but obey?

So he would lift up your skirt - a particularly short skirt that you had worn with nothing else but a pair of knee-high socks. Something that you knew he loved to see you cheer for him on the sidelines while wearing. Even though it was a chilly night, you couldn’t feel too cold when you saw him glancing at you every single chance he got. Of course, those distracted stares had gotten him screamed at by Coach more than once. But he loved the way your skirt would flutter up in the nighttime breeze, teasing him. The way the fucking beautiful thick fat of your thighs would jiggle whenever you would jump around in order to cheer him on.

He was a man of simple, divine tastes.

So - he would lift up that perfect skirt to find those purple lacy panties underneath; to find the perfection of your wet cunt waiting for him, growing slicker by the second, more needy for him. You were humping yourself against his athletic cup, which his hard cock was practically dying inside of, bursting to get out of the hard shell of plastic to touch you. But he ignored his own needs for a few minutes longer in favor of yours. Reaching forward, sliding his fingers along the wet spot at the front of your panties, absolutely indulging in the beautiful gasp you let out when his touch grazed across your swollen clit through the fabric.

“Stiles, please.”

He could almost hear it - it was so fucking clear inside his mind. The way your voice would be so pitched with desperation, so perfectly needy curled around his name. He wanted so badly to hear it in real life.

And he would push those panties to the side, pushing his fingers inside of your hot, wet cunt-

Back in the real world, Stiles’s cock gave a needy pulse, leaking into his boxers.

He heaved out a sigh, his cock practically vibrating with blood. He had driven home the whole time trying to ignore that boner, but he simply couldn’t do that anymore. He just had to give in.

He hesitantly put your panties aside - already feeling a strange sense of attachment to them - and reached to his nightstand, grabbing the bottle of lube that he had in the drawer. Shamefully, it was already half empty, mostly due to the fantasies that he had about you. He undid his pants and had them around his ankles in record time, and whipped off his shirt for good measure, knowing that he was quite a ‘splasher’ and not wanting to get cum on it to pair with that ugly mustard stain.

He lubed up his cock more than a healthy amount, knowing that it would contribute to the fantasy of you being so wet around him. It was a distant fantasy that he would never actually get to achieve, but hell - a man can dream. Then he began to slowly pump his cock in hand, wanting to milk it and truly enjoy it, and he let his mind get back to work.

He thought back to your place. A place he was comfortable, spent a lot of time at hanging out with you.

He imagined that early that night when he had forgotten his book, rather than you being in the shower, he went back to your room and found that you had been getting ready for bed. You were rubbing sweet-smelling lotion on your arms, pulling back the covers, wearing nothing but a pair of cute little socks, a tiny camisole - where he could very visibly see that you weren’t wearing a bra, with the natural teardrop shape of your breasts bared to the eye, your nipples poking through the fabric - and those purple lace panties.

When he would appear in the doorway, you would gawk at him and ask:

“Stiles? What are you doing? Did you… forget something?”

But you would be positioned half leaning over the bed, taking back the covers so it would be comfortable for you to sleep - and your ass would be unintentionally on full display. Your sweet pussy lips peeking at him from behind, the roundness of your ass so fucking inviting, daring him to leave bite marks across the beautifully fat flesh.

And after a few moments of him staring so brazenly, saying nothing, simply drinking in the gorgeous sight of your body bent over, wearing so little clothing, wearing those perfect little lace panties-

(Stiles sped up his hand on his cock, the lube sounding downright sloppy in the silence of the room.)

You would stand up to your full height, come to him in the doorway, put your face so close to his and say:

“If you’re gonna spend so much time staring at me like a gaping idiot, then you should do something about it.”

Stiles had to stop the swift movements of his hand and clutch his grip tightly around the base of his cock, making his entire dick throb hard as he edged off his own orgasm.

He still wasn’t sure why the idea of you calling him an ‘idiot’ in such a brazen tone made him want to cum so hard - but he didn’t have time to unpack all that now.

He grabbed up the panties again with his non-lubed hand. Something in the back of his mind thought that it would be a crime for him to get them dirty. Another part argued that he would absolutely love to get them covered in his cum, not clean them, and then return them to you. That it would be fucking thrilling to have you wear them in that dirtied state.

Though he knew that would never fucking happen.

If he returned the panties to you covered in his cum, then you would slap him, call him a pervert, and likely have Scott beat the shit out of him with his newly harnessed werewolf strength. Stiles pushed this thought to the back of his mind, though.

Out of curiosity, he lifted the fabric to his nose and took a whiff. They smelled like fresh laundry - a nice lemony detergent. Of course they weren’t ones you had previously worn - they were a pair you had been planning on wearing tomorrow.

He distantly wondered if that meant you would not be wearing underwear tomorrow, because he had taken your intended pair. And that could have led his mind down a whole different filthy track, but instead - he began to wonder what a pair of your dirty underwear might smell like.

You should take a pair of used ones. A voice in his mind told him. Snatch them right out of the hamper. Come on, you’re over at her place all the time. She won’t even notice them gone.

Terrible idea. Terrible rabbit hole.

But what would they smell like?

He wasn’t deluded enough to think that pussy smelled like roses. He had never been close enough to one - a real pussy - before to actually know. Yes, he was a virgin. He could have said that he was waiting, ‘saving it’ for you - but every other girl, including you, was smart enough to look past him. There were plenty of other guys who were better looking and more charming than him, and probably better in bed than him, that girls had chosen instead of him.

He wondered if your pussy smelled like that perfect bit of sweat that you gathered at the end of a long day. Sometimes when he went to hug you before the two of you parted ways, he would catch a whiff of the tiniest undertone of musk, a good amount of sweat paired with the berry scented body spray you had put on that morning, and orange tic-tacs you had popped after lunch. It was a delectable combination.

He imagined that your cunt would smell like that bit of sweat, combined with the blueberry body wash you used - the one he knew about and loved because of the time you had insisted he use your shower while stinking up a study session because he had skipped the showers after lacrosse practice when he was late to be with you.

He imagined getting hints of that blueberry body wash smell coming off your thighs when his head was buried between them. What would your cunt taste like? That was a mystery he wanted to solve live.

He could always imagine the other aspects so well.

He could imagine the feeling of the heat under his tongue, the perfect feeling of your wetness mixing with his spit. He imagined getting to bounce your swollen clit against his tongue and while feeling your moans and cries of his name vibrate through your body as he pleasured you so well - the feeling of your pubes brushing against his cheeks as his entire face became soaked with your wetness.

But the taste - that was something he could never conjure up in his mind, no matter how hard he tried.

He knew that eating your pussy would be perfect. Not just because he would be giving you pleasure, serving you. But he so often dreamed of having his head smothered by your thighs, having you grab his head and shove him tighter into your cunt, you purposeful and demanding. You having that beautiful control over him while he drowned in your wetness.

He knew that he would likely cum in his pants from eating you out if he ever got the privilege of doing so, and even if you laughed at him - stupidly, he would find that hot too.

Stiles picked up the pace again, pumping his cock in hand evenly and firmly - even reaching down with the other hand to cradle his balls, gently rolling the flesh in his hand as he got lost in another fantasy of you.

He imagined the two of you in his bed - textbooks forgotten and pushed off onto the floor, your dress hiked up around your hips, and again, those fucking purple lace panties. He was on top of you, hovering on his knees so that his hard cock wouldn’t brush against you (even through his jeans) while the two of you sloppily made-out.

It wasn’t long before you pulled away from his kiss-swollen lips.

“Stiles,” You purred into his ear, kissing along his neck. “You know, you’re so pathetic.”

These words had his cock jumping, spurting out precum - in his fantasy, it made his underwear messy as you undid his fly.

In the real world, it made his hand messy as he continued to rhythmically jerk his cock.

“I’m not gonna let you fuck me.” You told him, contrasting these words with your intentions as you put your hands inside his waistband and shoved his pants and underwear down over his hips - down to his knees until his hard, throbbing cock was exposed. “Not until you prove yourself.”

Before Stiles could ask the question, the beautiful, fantastic you that he had made up inside his mind gave him the perfect answer.

“Get yourself off by rubbing your pathetic dick against my panties. And then - I might let you fuck me.”

In the real world, Stiles let out a throttled moan - a choked sound that surely would have had his father knocking on the door to ask if he was okay if he was at home. And then he rushed to grab the panties again, and without even thinking, he used his sticky lubed up hand to position the fabric around his dick. It was a coarse roughness compared to the slick smoothness he had previously been feeling, but it did wonders to complete his fantasy as he delved back to the you inside of his mind.

He started rubbing the slightly lube-sticky rough fabric up and down his dick at a very slow pace as he imagined it:

Being perched between your thighs, with the fabric of the panties stuck to your wet cunt, his cock hard and leaking as he tucked himself right up against you and began to rub his dick against you in order to get off. Just like you wanted, just like you had ordered him to do.

“Please.” Stiles chanted, the words leaking out of his lips, chanted into his empty bedroom as he pleaded to the imaginary you that would always have a hold over him - just as tight of a hold as the real you had. “Please, please - oh fuck.”

He moved the fabric over his cock faster as he moved his hips faster in the fantasy, imagining how hot your pussy would feel against him, imagining your nails digging into his hips as you looked up at him with mocking and adoration in your eyes. He imagined you forcing his hips faster, trapping him in place with your knees bracketed around his thighs, showing him absolutely no mercy.

“Please, please, please.” He chanted, knowing with a distant part of his mind that he must have sounded utterly delirious. “Please, Y/N, lemme cum-”

“Cum for me, Stiles.”

Confirmed by that fantasy version of you and truly unable to hold it any longer, Stiles arched up off the bed, cumming all over his own fist. Just as he had predicted, it was an utter, uncontrollable mess. He shot cum all over his stomach, and absolutely soaked the fabric of the panties - making a horrible mess of them. Which, the lube had definitely already done. He laid there for a single moment catching his breath before it truly hit him.

Fuck. He had fucked up.

You would definitely notice the underwear missing after a while and he certainly couldn’t return them to you in this condition.

…

Stiles spent the next hour in the bathroom, absolutely panicking over how to get them clean. Luckily, he wasn’t a total idiot and he looked up the washing instructions online - and after hand-washing them in warm water with a ‘gentle’ detergent (handsoap was the best that he could do), they came out perfectly clean.

The only problem?

Hang to dry.

He set his alarm for early, earlier than you suggested, and prayed that he wouldn’t sleep through it. In fact, he set three more alarms just to make sure. He couldn’t have you or his father barging into his room to wake him up when he had a pair of your stolen panties pinned to his corkboard in order to properly dry them so that he could sneak them back to you in good condition.

…

The next day, he departed for school by 6:45 with the stolen goods hidden away in his bag, ready to sneak them back into your room later that afternoon. He made it to the library ten whole minutes before seven, and you seemed shocked that he was not only on time - but early.

“Wow.” You said, having just gotten there yourself, spreading out your items at a table - including a tray with some coffees. “You know, Stiles, I am impressed.”

“You don’t have to act so - so shocked.” He replied, partially interrupted by a yawn.

You leaned over to get a pen from your bag, and Stiles’s eyes immediately went to your ass, unconsciously trying to spot panty lines through your dress and tights - wondering if you were even wearing underwear because he had stolen the ones you had intended for today.

Focus, Stiles. Focus.

“Well, if you weren’t here by seven sharp like I told you, I was gonna pour this in the garbage.” You told him, taking his coffee out of the paper tray and sliding it toward him.

“You don’t have to be so mean.” He chuckled, airy and light - very secretly annoyed with the way your ‘mean’ streak affected him sometimes. Why did he have to be turned on by you scolding him and punishing him? Why?

“Hey, if I’m not mean then you never get anything done.” You told him truthfully. “And you know how it works by now. Good boys get rewards and bad boys get spanked.” You told him, letting out a bright laugh - indicating that it was clearly meant to be a joke.

But instantly, it shook his mind with imagery of you bending him over the table, ripping his pants down and spanking him until he came untouched and cried for mercy, forcing him to agree that he would behave and listen to you. He became downright dizzy at the thought.

You meant it as a joke - he had to sharply remind himself. But the way you so casually called him a ‘good boy’, said that he was deserving of a ‘reward’ - it sent chills down his spine and already had his cock waking up. Too early. Bad rabbit hole.

If he was any sort of brave, he would have pushed it more and asked you what kind of ‘reward’ you had in mind. But he wasn’t, and he was too tired to analyze the potential consequences.

“Oh!” You said, as though suddenly remembering something. You moved to grab your bag again and Stiles closed his eyes to forcefully keep himself from staring at your ass. “You left this at my place last night.” You told him, sliding his English textbook across the table toward him.

He was too busy trying to calm his own lust that he missed the smirk on your face - the mischief lingering in your eyes, the intention in your tone. He was too caught up, drowning in his own affections for you that he never would have pieced together that you had taken in and hidden it on purpose as a ploy to get him to come back. That you had put out some other bait for him to find.

“Thanks.” He said quietly. “So - what do we need to go over before the test?”

“Everything.”

Stiles groaned.

...

Edit to my notes as of Oct. 9th, 2024:

It is now my biggest regret announcing that there is a sequel to this fic in my drafts, but there is one that is fully written and just needs to be edited (but that is something that takes time and effort - neither of which I am going to put into the fic right now). However, it will not be posted anytime soon, and it is delayed infinitely. It will be posted when it is posted (and currently I don't know when that will be), and I would appreciate people not chasing me down and not asking about it.

Originally, my point of having a comment and reblog goal on this fic was so that a certain percentage of the people who read and liked the preview for this fic would have to reblog it, but the ratio on this fic is still absolutely horrendous, and it's clear to me that once people saw that goal was met, they didn't care to reblog this fic or comment on it if they enjoyed it - they only care to nag me and chase me down for the sequel while this fic sits at over 600 likes and less than 100 reblogs and comments (including my replies to people's comments).

If you are reading this fic after the edit, I hope you enjoyed it. I hope you do stick around on my blog while I work on and post other things. But the sequel to this fic will not be coming out anytime soon because I am a person with shifting interests, not a robot. Those shifting interests (and me chasing them organically) is the reason that I can produce 200k of fanfiction in a year and post all of it for free for people to enjoy.

And as always - if you enjoyed this fic, please comment about the body of work that has been written. And perhaps, consider reblogging it to show your appreciation. Please do not comment about the sequel.

If you want to be tagged in the next part, you can ask to be put on my Teen Wolf taglist by interacting with this post, but please know that if you don't follow my taglist rules, you will be removed from the taglist promptly. If that happens, you are still welcome to read and enjoy future fics, you just won't be included in my taglists ever again.

Happy reading, and I hope you enjoyed the fic!!

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inlovewithdob · 3 days ago

Note

Hiii I’m coming over here to request from youuu >:)

Would you be willing to do some headcanons for an extroverted!Anakin x shy!reader pretty please?

Ilysm babes, have a good dayyy <33

EXTROVERT!ANAKIN X SHY!READER HEADCANONS

Author's note: sorry my dearest pookie you had to wait so long. I did not forget about you :)

TW: public sex

Extrovert!Anakin who basically found you, started to like you, and eventually 'adopted' you' (aka you started dating)

Extrovert!Anakin who had never dared himself to cross your barriers - if you didn't feel like going outside, he stayed with you (if you wanted him to), if you wanted to go somewhere, he went with you (if you wanted him along with you)

Extrovert!Anakin who was sygnifically higher than you, which made you feel less nervous in public. Which was more attractive as well

Extrovert!Anakin who thrives in social situations. He’s charming, bold, and effortlessly the center of attention wherever he goes. Meanwhile, you’re content observing from the sidelines, preferring quiet moments and small groups.

Extrovert!Anakin who becomes protective of your shyness. If anyone makes you feel uncomfortable, he’s quick to step in with that intimidating side of him. He’s not afraid to throw a warning glare if someone is being too forward or pushy.

Extrovert!Anakin who, again, absolutely adores being social (feels low and sad when he's not being social - it's like a need in his life he can't live without), so he often brings you into his friend group, introducing you with pride, his arm around you like he’s keeping you safe.

He knows being the center of attention isn’t your favorite, so he’ll make sure to handle the conversations and steer any much-not-needed attention away from you if you seem to be uncomfortable.

Extrovert!Anakin who's clingy. The second you’re in a more private spot, he’s wrapping his arms around you, pulling you close, and giving you that cute smile. If you’re ever feeling nervous, he’ll just hold you and whisper sweet, goofy things to make you laugh.

He’s not shy about PDA either. You’re constantly holding hands, and he loves sneaking little kisses on your cheek or forehead, making sure you always feel loved and cherished like you deserve to be.

Extrovert!Anakin who's big on helping you grow out of your shell, but he always does it at your pace. He’ll cheer you on with every little step, whether it’s speaking up more or trying something new. He’s your biggest hype man, telling you how proud he is and how amazing you’re doing.

If he notices you getting a little more talkative or comfortable in a situation, he’s over the moon, with that adorable, proud-boyfriend smile that screams love

Extrovert!Anakin who adores the blush that rises to your cheeks when he says something flirtatious or when he’s being openly affectionate in public. He’ll lean in close, whispering something that makes your heart race, just to cherish your shocked, shy expression.

Extrovert!Anakin who, as loud and social as he can be, he often finds that you are his calm. When he’s tired of the chaos and all the things in the words, your body seems to be the very perfect spot to curl to

Extrovert!Anakin who is as clingy as coala, (mostly when you two are alone);

It’s late, and you’re trying to finish a book you’d been reading all week, yet Anakin has other plans. He practically melts against you, wrapping himself around you with a sigh - head nestled in the crook of your neck.

“Can’t you just put that down?” he murmurs, his voice soft and full of that irresistible warmth. “I’ve been waiting all day to hold you like this.”

You laugh, but it’s no use—his arms tighten around you, his legs tangled with yours, practically holding you hostage in the most loving way possible. His eyes are closed, a faint smile playing on his lips as he now buries his face in your shoulder, breathing you in like you’re his entire world.

“Anakin…” you begin, but he only mumbles something sleepy and contented, pulling you even closer. "I'm trying to read.."

“I know,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “But it's so comfortable here..just wanna cuddle"

Extrovert!Anakin who loves to play with your hair. Twirling the strands of it around his slim, long fingers, tucking them behind your ear (which makes you blush as well) or just try to make a very clumsy braid because he is 'bored'

Extrovert!Anakin who often takes you to picnic dates;

Anakin’s fingers interlace with yours as he leads you through the twilight, a woven basket swinging from his other arm. He glances back, his eyes glinting with a childlike excitement that never fails to make you smile.

“I found the perfect spot,” he says, barely able to contain his enthusiasm. “Just under a grand old tree that week ago this couple stole us"

And he’s right. Minutes later, you’re nestled on a blanket beside him, under the perfect shadow from the tree. Anakin has this way of making even the simplest things feel extraordinary. He pulls out treats he insisted on making himself (though you both know the pastries from park's markets are always there as backup). And what's even adorable and incredibly sweet, is his sheepish smile when he takes out more advanced food - cookies, muffins, always saying "well, that actually I made with my mom"

Halfway through, he suddenly picks up a daisy from beside the blanket and tucks it gently behind your ear. “There,” he murmurs, admiring you with an awestruck gaze, like you’re a vision, a muse, a pure sun in the sky full of dark clouds. He’s always like this, brimming with love as if you're his entire world and meaning of existence

Extrovert!Anakin who made love to you in public toilet;

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear, “my sweet, shy girl… who’d ever guess you’d let me take you here, like this?”

You bite back a moan, your body aching with each deep thrust he made. “Feels so good, Ani…”

He grins, before his hand slides up, covering your mouth to muffle your moans. “Shh… you wouldn’t want someone to hear, would you?” he breathes, eyes dark and gleaming as he watches your reaction. His hips snap harder against yours, making you tremble beneath him. “I know you love this, though,” he teases “The shy, good girl everyone knows… so needy for me here, in this dirty, little bathroom…”

You gasp against his hand, your eyes closing as he angles himself deeper, making your whole body arch up to meet him.

“That’s right, sweetheart,” he moans himself, eyes shutting close from too intense feeling from your core. “Take every inch of me.” His other arm moves to hold you steady, fingers digging into your hip to guide your clumsy movements to meet his more precise ones. Yet still, he drives you crazy - he’s relentless, the thrusts he makes against your fluttering, clenching core a perfect mix of rough and tender, each one driving you closer and closer to the final edge. “Such a good girl,” he whimpers to your ear

“What would they say,” he whispers against your ear, “if they knew how much you were loving this? Little Miss Shy, moaning my name in public bathroom, with no care in the world" he angles his hips to hit that sweet spot that leaves you gasping. “There it is… that’s what my sweet girl likes, isn’t it?” he watches as your head falls back, completely under his spell. “Gonna fill you up, love.. Think you can be quiet for me now?”

Extrovert!Anakin who's deeply observant and knows how to comfort you without you even saying a word. If you’re overwhelmed at a party, he’ll instantly lead you outside for a breather, holding your hand and letting you decompress in his arms.

Anakin has a sixth sense for your moods and will check in constantly. “Hey, you doing okay?” he’ll ask, leaning in with those big, concerned eyes, ready to support you in any way.

Extrovert!Anakin who, in public, will love doing cute little things like running up behind you, picking you up in a surprise hug, or brushing his fingers across your shoulder to make you laugh. It’s all about making you feel seen and adored, even if you’re naturally shy.

He’s so proud to have you by his side that he’ll introduce you to literally everyone. When you’re too shy to talk, he’ll just laugh and carry the conversation, making it feel effortless for you.

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @deceptiive @anakinskwkler @bimbo-baggins17 @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless

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inlovewithdob · 6 days ago

Text

Last Time - Stuart Twombly

Masterlist

Romance Masterlist

Summary : You've been sleeping with Stuart since the beginning of your internship at Google. After every night spent together, he always claims it's the last time but he always comes back.

Warnings : set during the movie, hooking-up, implied smut, drinking (be careful with your alcohol consumption), nightclub and stripteasers, a bit of angst, happy ending, maybe some grammatical mistakes as English is not my first language, tell me if you see some or if I missed any warnings.

Word count : 3k

French version on Wattpad

French version on Tumblr

Song Inspiration : This Love by Camila Cabello

You squint your eyelids as the first sunray comes into your bedroom at Google’s. You slowly raise while wrapping your bare chest with your sheet. You notice Stuart getting dressed, ready to leave like a thief in the night, again. When he came to see you yesterday, you didn’t know how to resist him even when you knew how it was going to end. Like every time. You think you’re really pathetic to let him have that much power over you.

“What time is it ?” you ask.

“6:00 A.M. I’m gonna go back to my room.” he informs you, before a silence takes place, “About yesterday-”

“It won’t happen again”, you finish with weariness, “I know.”

“This time, I mean it. If we keep doing-”

“We might jeopardise our internship. I know.”

“We’ll see eachother later, with the team, for the new trial ?” Stuart enquiries whilst scratching his neck.

“Yeah.”

He smiles at you awkwardly one last time and leaves your room, his beanie in hand. You let yourself lay down on your bed again and curse at yourself all at the same time. It’s been a little over a month since this has been happening. Generally, it always begins again the same way : you ignore each other for a few days then he slowly comes back to you and next thing you know, you’re both naked until he tells you it’s the last time. It’s like a never ending story. The more the time goes by, the more you feel like he takes you for a fool. You wish for once, he’d keep his words when he says it’s over. You can’t take it anymore. Everytime, you build up walls, trying to get used to the idea that it won't happen again but he takes a perverse pleasure to make them fall again and again. You feel like you’re just a game for him. You wish you could say it didn’t affect you that much but yet, everytime he comes back just to leave once more, your heart tightens a bit more in your chest. You’re totally overwhelmed by it. Besides, as your internship goes by, the more your feelings for Stuart get stronger to your dismay. Yet, boys were the last thing you had in mind when you came here.

Upon arriving in the team's meeting room, you realise you’re the last one. You freeze for a second when your eyes fall on Stuart, but you act as if it was nothing. No one knows about… you two ? Well, if we can use that word to describe it, indeed despite your intimacy, Stuart reminds you often ‘you two’ doesn’t exist. You keep your pseudo-relationship a secret to avoid a weird atmosphere in the team, the balance between each of your personality and your age compared to Billy and Nick is already very fragile.

A week has gone by since your last time. You feel some relief to know he still hasn’t come back. Maybe this time he was serious about it ? You’d be lying if you said there hasn’t been an obvious tension between Stuart and you in the past few days. Albeit your team doesn't know, they feel something happened between you two, though they can’t guess the reason. Nea tried to talk to you about it in private, however you denied everything. You lied to her by saying there isn’t any disagreement between Stuart and you. After all, everything is over, what would be the use in telling her ?

You’re in your room, ready to go to sleep when you hear someone knocking on your door. You open it and find Stuart, his lips pinched together. You feel sick in your stomach, thinking it’s going to happen again like the last times.

“Sorry to bother you, my charger doesn’t work anymore and I wanted to know if you had another one or if I could use yours.” he explains, showing his phone.

“My battery is full, you can use mine now.” you propose.

You’re going to get your charger to give it to him. Though, when he takes it, he doesn’t move from your door. You raise your eyebrows, not understanding what he wants more.

“I’d like to talk to you. Maybe we could do it while my phone’s charging ?”

He gives you his cell and your charger, you go plug it and put the phone on your nightstand. You turn around and see Stuart trying to avoid your gaze. The silence is becoming more and more unbearable so you sit on your bed. You give him a look to invite him to say what he has in mind. He sits next to you and clears his throat.

“You know, maybe we should act like nothing happened. I think the others are guessing there’s something.”

“Yeah.”, you sigh, “Nea even asked me if something happened.”

“What did you tell her ?”

“That nothing happened, she was imagining things. She didn’t seem fully convinced, but she didn’t insist.”

“If it curbs our internship, we’d really need to do something.”

You nod as a simple answer. You both stay silent, not knowing what to add. You avoid his eyes at first before feeling the presence of his body closer to yours. When you turn your head towards him, you notice his lips are only a few inches from yours. You don’t even know how you got there. You know you should back up, nevertheless you feel attracted to him, in spite of yourself. Stuart knows how to bring you back to him. You have no idea if he does this on purpose or not, yet, he can make you succumb slowly again. You don’t have the time to think much longer that you fell Stuart’s lips on yours. You kiss him back as if it was an automatism. Like you’re used to, your body gets closer and closer and you straddle Stuart’s lap. He puts his hands on your hips to have no distance between you two. You feel his hands slipping under your shirt and as if it was an electroshock, you snap out of your transe and break your embrace from him. You run away in a corner, opposite from him, trying to get a grip on yourself and putting your shirt correctly again.

“You said it was the last time last week.” you exclaim, out of breath, “Is that why you came to my room tonight ? Your phone and the conversation were just excuses, weren’t they ? I’m sick of it, Stuart. I feel like this is just a game and I’m the one who gets played. You can’t leave and come back again and again. It’s hurting me.” you admit.

“Sorry, I don’t know what got into me. I meant it when I said it was the last time.” Stuart apologises with red cheeks.

“Yes, just like the time before and the ones before. I always need to build up walls and then you have fun destroying them. I’m tired of it, Stuart !” you lose your temper, “You can’t say one thing and the next time say another one. I’m lost. I don’t know how to act with you, that’s why the team realised something happened between us.”

“Y/N, I swear to you-”

“Keep your explanation for yourself.” you retort before going to your nightstand, “Take your phone back and go ask Yo-yo for his charger. Leave me alone.” you order, giving his cell back.

Stuart lower his eyes before getting up from your bed and leaving your room without saying anything else. When he closes the door, you run your hand on your face, sighing. It’s the first time you’re able to stop yourself before it goes too far. On one hand, you consider this a victory but on the other hand, he still got into your head for a second. You wish he didn’t have that much effect on you. If you could, you’d go back in time and make sure to stay far away from him. You shouldn’t have talked to him and become friends with him, you should've listened to your brain and focus on your internship.

After your last altercation, you haven’t said another word to Stuart. You try to avoid him as much as you can, despite the circumstances. Unfortunately, that night, you have to stay in his presence longer than you’d want to. Your team needs to create an app and neither of you has an idea so with the team, you’re still in your room, making knots into your brain.

The more the time goes by, the more panicked you all are. It’s the second to last trial so you can’t make a mistake if you want a job for the next year. From time to time, Billy and Nick try to propose some ideas but they have already been done. What annoys you the most in the situation is that they don’t seem stressed about the fact you got nothing. The teamworks is really complicated with them sometimes. You feel like they don’t understand how important this internship is for you.

“You know what ? We should get out, change our mind.” Nick says without a warning.

“We need to find an idea for our app. We don’t have the time to go out.” you retort, massaging your temple.

“You’re always working. It’s not by racking your mind you’re going to find a solution, trust me.” he says before getting closer to his friend. “Trust us.”

“Alright, but not too long.” Lyle accepts, “We really need to work.”

After a meal in an Asian restaurant, Nick brings you to a bar, on the advice of a person from the restaurant. When you arrive in the place, you all discover Nick in reality made a mistake while translating. It’s not a bar, it’s actually a nightclub, like the stripteasers prove it to you. You instantly feel embarrassed, like the rest of the group. Some women get closer to you, especially to the boys. One of them comes in front of Stuart who has his nose in his phone. When he raises his gaze, he’s surprised at first, then his eyes go wider when the stripteaser takes his fingers and puts it in her mouth. You can’t help but open your eyes wide as well when you see the action. Without saying anything else, Stuart follows the women in another part of the club whilst you stay by Nea’s side.

Thirty minutes later, they’re all having fun and drinking alcohol. As for you, you stay in the booth, a drink in your hand. You don't really want to dance with Nea or see Stuart having fun with another woman. This night is definitely in your top three of the worst nights of your life.

Notwithstanding, you try to see the good side by thinking Stuart doesn’t come your way with his hormones yet you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you feel something to see him leave with that woman. You don’t like to be eaten by jealousy. You finally got what you want : Stuart away from you but at the same time your body only wants one thing, to have him again. Stuart doesn’t make you think rationally and you hate that, you hate him for that.

“Not having fun ?” Nick asks you as he sits next to you.

“I’m not in the mood to party.”

“Y/N, you’re 21, it’s time to enjoy yourself. After that, it’ll be too late, believe me.”

“I have too much in mind to enjoy myself.”

“Ah ! It’s because of a boy, isn’t it ?” he states, smiling. “Maybe I know the guy who is turning your head.”

“Nonsense ! I’m worried about the app we still haven’t made yet because of you and Billy’s brilliant idea.”

You put your drink down on the table in front of you violently before standing up, angry at what he said. You only take two steps when Stuart comes in front of you with a huge smile on his face. Apparently, he just had a great time. You see him open his mouth, ready to talk, but you cut him off.

“You shut up, I absolutely don’t want to hear you !”

You go in the club’s bathroom to splash some water on your face, hoping it’ll calm you down. You’re surprised to know you got easily riled up. The situation with Stuart is irritating you more than you thought.

Ten minutes later, you leave the bathroom and go meet the group. However, you find them on the verge of getting thrown away by the bouncers. Confused, you follow them out of the club and Yo-yo informs you they got into a fight, that’s why they had to leave. Sometimes, you wonder why you didn’t make more effort to get into another group.

You end up in a place near the Golden Gate Bridge to sober up, well actually for them to sober up because besides two drinks, you didn’t drink anything else so you’re fine. Lyle is completely wasted while the others are hungover.

You’re on a bench, away from the others. Your annoyance is too strong for you to laugh at their alcoholic antics so you prefer to stay alone and enjoy the coolness of the morning. You need thirty minutes to finally laugh at Lyle’s actions. He says a lot of nonsense which is really different from what he usually does. From afar, you can see Stuart talking to Nick. You wonder what they’re talking about before you can’t stop yourself from doing it. Stuart needs to stop being on your mind 24/7. Speaking of Stuart, you see him get closer to you. He sits next to you so you refuse to look at him, keeping your gaze on the landscape in front of you.

“Could we stop avoiding each other ?”

“When we don’t, they notice there’s something between us… I mean there was.” you retort drily.

“I said we wouldn’t sleep together anymore, not that we should stop talking.”

“Except that when we do talk, you always wanna get in my pants. So I prefer keeping my distance.”

“I didn’t want to ruin our friendship.” he admits, “you’re an amazing person.”

“Less amazing than the other woman at the club.” you murmur.

“What ?”

“Nothing.” you tell him, not wanting to show your jealousy.

“Y/N, I swear I never meant to play with you or ruin our friendship. When I kissed you the first time, I don’t know what got into me. It shouldn’t have gone this far. I apologise.”

“We’ve talked about it a thousand times, Stuart.” you sigh, looking at him, “I feel like we go around in circles. Either you want me or you don’t. But you can’t leave and come back whenever you feel like it.”

“I know.”

“Why do you do it then ?” you ask him, desperate.

“I don’t know.”

“Wow, you know how to talk to women.” you say sarcastically. “Fuck this love.” you mutter before standing up.

“Wait. I care about you, Y/N.” Stuart holds you back while taking your hand in his, “More than I’d like to and I think that’s why I leave and come back. I don’t want to lose you but I don’t know if you want me.”

“I wish you had talked to me about this instead of hurting me. At least, I’d feel less shitty.” you throw at him before leaving him alone.

Your team’s hangover ended up giving you an idea for an app which earned you a lot of points. Although you’re happy to see your internship is going well, you can’t help but feel perturbed by what Stuart told you earlier. Did he mean it ? Or did he only want to put you in his bed again ? He said he cared about you however you don’t know if you should believe him. After all, you got disappointed so many times by him in a month and a half…

As your trial is over, you walk to your room to finally get some rest. Between the sleepless night and the app you had to do at the last minute, you don’t have energy anymore. You dream of only one thing : the comfort of your bed. You’re about to open your bedroom’s door when you hear someone screaming your name.

“Y/N !”

“Stuart ? What do you want ?” you question as he comes in front of you.

“I’m tired of hiding.” he drops, “I really care about you, Y/N. You’re a smart, funny and beautiful person. I was stupid for always leaving and coming back, you don’t deserve me to do this to you. You were right this morning, I should have talked to you about what I felt before screwing everything up. It’s just, I didn’t know if you’d want a relationship with me so I was okay with what we had and you seemed okay with it too, except I ended up hurting you and I’m terribly sorry about it. I know I’ve ruined all my chances with you, but if I could at least have you as a friend, it’d make me happy. Y/N, I promise you, if I could go back in time, I’d confess my feelings for you way before so you wouldn’t hate me now.”

“I don’t hate you.” you correct him, staring at him.

“You don’t ?”

“I have been disappointed by you, that’s for sure. You’ve messed with my brain, that’s the least we can say, but I can’t help and fall back into your arms because I care about you, too.” you admit to him, “I know I’ll probably regret what I’m about to say but if this time, you promise to communicate with me, to not run away at the first hesitation, I’d like to be friends with you again. Even if I have feelings for you, I can’t promise you we’ll get back together, I need to fully trust you again before getting into a relationship. But I can’t act as if I wanted to stay away from you. Let’s try one last time.”

“One last time is all I ask.” Stuart smiles with a hopeful look.

In the end, this last time ended up being different from the previous ones. Your relationship with Stuart has finally been able to blossom into something beautiful, like both of your hearts wanted it so much.

Masterlist

Romance Masterlist

{This is my side blog so I'll be answering comments under the username @marie-sworld}

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