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agneslovestheinternet-blog · 2 months ago

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how many drinks?

stiles stilinski x fem!reader NSFW

a dirty lunchroom hypothetical gets stiles hot and bothered. hopefully no one notices the suspicious placement of his hands over his crotch, especially not you.

word count: 2.8K read time: 10min

warnings & info: nothing is in canon, everyone is probably ooc, pining, crushing!stiles, masturbation, spice, other suggestive nonsense

<_______>

“stiles, how many drinks would you have to down to fuck me?” you ask matter-of-factly, turning your head to meet your sentence’s subject from across your full lunch table.

“i said about twelve shots, at least,” scott states passively from your left side, not bothering to look up from his biology textbook.

“and i said, you don’t count. you couldn’t get drunk if you tried,” you sneer back. you turn your eyes back to stiles’s amber ones. “then lydia said like, five. i mean we’ve made out at parties before so…” you trail off with a sinful smile, exposing both your palms in the act of confession.

“i thought that was our little secret, y/n!” lydia feigns indignation at your right side, turning her head away from her boyfriend to pout her red lips at you in an exaggerated manner.

“when have you guys made out at a party?” jackson asks, almost licking his lips with excitement.

“you’re lucky she doesn’t swing that way, or it wouldn’t have just stopped at making out,” you snipe back. jackson’s face seems to loose all color at this sentiment and lydia rolls her eyes at you as she begins to reassure him in a quieter tone. you couldn’t stand his consistent pattern of insecurity, as evident by you asking such a personal question to your entire friend group in the middle of the lunch period, without a care in the world.

stiles is grateful that this bickering exchange took place quicker than he could answer your question. he’s also grateful that he’d already finished eating and naturally placed his hands in a clasp over his lap. he hadn’t realized how helpful that position would become, as he feels his blood rushing downward, something he was unfortunately used to happening around you.

there was the first time he saw you in a bikini at one of lydia’s summer parties. he was already in the pool when you came out of her house in the hot pink number and thus became trapped. unless he wanted to expose his aching hard-on to his entire friend group, (which was barely concealed under the paper-thin fabric of his fucking neon green swim trunks), he thought it’d be best to just stay in the water until he felt he could control himself.

that time didn’t come until two hours later when you’d finally decided to change back into your clothes in lydia’s room. after cursing at himself for conjuring that mental image, (which did not help the uncomfortable throb of his too-hard cock), he finally went soft enough to get out of the damn pool and dry off. that was the day he crossed swimming off the list of activities he could do in your presence.

another time, stiles had tagged along with you and lydia as you went homecoming dress shopping. it was supposed to be a lot bigger of a group, but melissa had grounded scott for whatever indiscretion he’d committed that week, jackson had a mandatory family thing, allison & issac had opted out of hoco that year, the twins skipped town for a few days, all of your girlfriends were busy and all of lydia’s scoffed at her when she suggested buying a dress from the mall instead of a luxury boutique.

lydia had disappeared into the jewelry section for a comical amount of time and then it was just you, modeling dress after dress for stiles. his jaw was clenched as he tried his best to keep his gaze focused on friend-appropriate areas of your body and will the blood to drain from his cock, which was poking uncomfortably against the seam of his jeans.

you’d exited the changing room in a form-fitting red dress that ended just past your knees with a problem that stiles knew would further his arousal; you couldn’t zip your dress up on your own.

you’d easily let him inside the enclosed space, shooting down his dazed protests that he was pretty sure this store’s staff wouldn’t approve of two teenagers in a closed changing room together. you’d gathered your hair to one side and turned around, and stiles had felt all the air leave his lungs.

this dress’s zipper started at your tailbone so the entirety of your back was exposed to him, causing his erection to pulse, almost painfully now. he approached you slowly, his hands shaking as one of them gripped the tiny metallic zipper. he placed the other one’s open, sweaty palm on the fabric over your shoulder, being careful to not grip down. as he started to tug on the zipper it was giving him a lot more resistance than he expected.

you ordered him to stand closer and pull harder, as the dress was tight and wouldn’t close easily. stiles had complied and tried his best to keep his brain from melting out of his ears at this entirely unexpected close contact. he had been even less successful at keeping the precum from leaking from his cock, which was now screaming at him to close the short distance between you two. when the dress was finally zipped up and you turned to face him, his face was bright red and he breathlessly excused himself to the bathroom.

stiles needed a release and couldn’t wait until he got back home; this shopping trip was already hours long and he couldn’t stand to be this hard around you for even another second. so he dropped his pants in the first open stall he saw and wrapped his shaking hand around his cock, pumping desperately.

he pictured that silver zipper moving in reverse, downwards, and then the dress being removed entirely, forgotten on his bedroom floor as he explored more of your skin than he’d ever seen before. he came nauseatingly quickly, in one thick spurt that he’d actually had the forethought to aim into the toilet.

as he came down from his rushed orgasm, stiles gave himself a few more slow pumps from his well-experienced right hand and it finally dawned on him how pathetically perverted he was. that he had to resort to jacking off in the stall of a mall restroom to be able to function around you for the rest of the day. he’d vowed never to go shopping with you again.

“i’d say i’d need a solid seven or so,” allison muses, clearly giving the prospect some thought, “if it weren’t for him, obviously,” she smiles sweetly at her boyfriend’s brooding figure.

“my girlfriend is a connoisseur of deadly weapons, so i’m staying out of this,” issac continues modestly, leaning in to kiss allison on the cheek. the gesture is sweet but also definitively off topic, so you turn your gaze to the twins.

“sweetheart, if i could get drunk, i’d need to be blackout to sleep with you. i haven’t looked at a girl since i discovered young leo dicaprio in like, the fourth grade,” ethan retorts playfully.

“if i could get drunk, i’d only need like, three drinks to fuck you,” aiden chimes in boldly, wagging his eyebrows suggestively at you. you deadpan at him.

“that wouldn’t count even if you weren’t a werewolf; you’d fuck anything with a pulse and two X chromosomes,” you drawl venomously. for the upteenth time, you turn your eyes back to stiles.

“stiles, please. you’re the only guy at this table that isn’t taken or a cursed-to-be-sober werewolf. how many shots would you have to take to fuck me? i’m just curious; i won’t be offended if the answer is like, fifty,” you chuckle.

stiles chuckles as well, for an entirely different reason. his dick is rock-hard in his sweatpants and you think it might take him fifty shots to want to fuck you? now that’s laughable.

of course, he can’t tell you the real answer, which is a resounding zero. he would want to fuck you after a night of blissful sleep, completely stone-cold sober, at nine o’clock in the morning but if he said that you’d almost certainly sic the literal pack of wolves at this table on him. he searches his mind for an acceptable number of drinks that would make it ok for him to reveal he wants to fuck you when his friends suddenly chime in, their comments snowballing into an avalanche that threatens to bury stiles alive.

“come on stiles, y/n’s hot. surely it wouldn’t take that many,” lydia goads in a sing-song voice.

oh i’m aware that y/n is hot. i’m so aware, lydia, that most nights i moan her name out loud as i cum into my hand.

“yeah, you’re a teenage boy. all teenage boys are stupidly horny,” allison chimes in, backing up her friend as she shoots wild eyes at issac, clearly aware of this trait in her own boyfriend.

all teenage boys are stupidly horny, allison, and i am stupidly horny for y/n, thanks for seeing right through me.

“that’s true,” issac concurs with a mischievous smile.

“can’t argue with that,” scott agrees with a slight nod.

“glad i’m not the only one,” aiden jokes with a smirk.

“so, stiles, you gonna answer or just sit there like an idiot?” jackson quips, his confidence clearly recovered from the verbal blow you dealt him earlier. stiles’s eyes narrow.

“are you gonna answer jackson?” stiles spits. he knows that comment is a low blow considering his girlfriend is practically sitting on top of him but he’s desperate to turn the attention away from himself.

“y/n’s not my type. i prefer redheads,” jackson pinches lydia’s hip and leans in to kiss her, ending his participation in this discussion.

“and thank god for that because i don’t understand why lydia doesn’t find him repulsive,” you reply, returning your eye contact with stiles. “i’ll tell you how many drinks it’d take me to fuck you, stiles, if that’ll help,” you continue slyly.

stiles’s heart begins to race at just the thought of there being a bar to cross that might get you to fuck him. his mouth has gone too dry to speak, which actually isn’t too much of a problem because his brain is entirely drawing blanks as to how to respond to the most terrifying, wonderful sentence you’ve ever said to him.

“uh…ok. how many drinks would it take, y/n?” stiles finally asks in the most even, non-desperate tone his perverted mind can muster in this moment. whatever the answer is, as soon as the lunch bell rings he will be racing to the nearest bathroom to relieve himself over it. precum is already sliding down his agonizingly erect tip and it takes every ounce of self-control he possesses not to start stroking himself through his sweatpants right then and there.

“hmm,” you hum, your eyes raking over stiles in an analytical manner. your friends are all only half-listening now, with most of them breaking off into separate, two-person conversations on the side. stiles has your undivided attention and he’s probably the only person who will remember your answer to this question anyways.

“i’d say i’d need like six shots and a few beers in me to try and fuck you, stiles,” you say with indifference. an awfully specific answer, but stiles’s mind is already delusionally spiralling. you could be quite the heavy drinker at parties and you’d easily clear that many at one of lydia’s house parties. what would happen if he actually tried? is this just a hypothetical? or is this a legitimate bar to cross?

“why that many?” stiles squeaks out, trying not to sound desperate.

“i don’t know,” you shake your head and keep your gaze fixed on a spot far away, above stiles’s head, “i mean, you’re cute and all dude, don’t get me wrong. but you’re pretty awkward. if i wanted to fuck up our whole friend group dynamic i’d have to be drunk enough to not remember all the bad jokes you’d probably make,” you explain evenly, ending with a snort.

stiles’s ears are ringing. he can’t decide which emotion is more intense; the deep, swooning pride swelling in his chest at the ‘cute’ comment or the pit-in-his-stomach embarrassment at the ‘awkward’ comment. he’s also still impossibly hard, which adds an extra level of confusion to the cocktail of emotions brewing in his addled mind.

“that’s fair,” he responds somewhat softly. giving that you just gave him an incredibly detailed answer that he was trying not to etch into the walls of his mind as a tutorial for later, he finally feels confident enough to try to answer back.

“i think i’d need about the same,” he starts, his voice betraying him with a crack on the last syllable. he pauses, before deciding to be bold; “probably a few less though. i am a horny teenage boy, after all,”

“true true. so let’s go with like, 5 shots even, then?” you ask with a dazzling smile that somehow makes stiles’s knees weak even though he’s seated.

“yeah,” he nods sheepishly, his dick throbbing along with the movement of his head. if he doesn’t get his hand wrapped around himself in the next few minutes, he might just cum in his pants. the images of you letting him fuck you after a booze-filled party is almost too much to bear. and then, as if god himself wanted to give him an out, the bell rings.

“y/n you are seriously strange. i don’t know how you come up with these questions,” lydia asks with a disgusted look on her face, as the entire group stands and collects their things to leave.

“yeah how’d we even get on the topic in the first place?” scott asks.

“we were talking about lydia’s party this weekend and then about some of the worst things we’ve done while drunk. then allison said she tried to hook up with a friend while she was drunk once like a year ago and that prompted me to ask how many drinks it’d take all of us to hook up with each other,” you rattled off, grabbing your backpack and your ridiculously large, pink metal water bottle.

“oh yeah the party this weekend,” aiden interjects loudly. “well i guess we’ll have to put your theory to the test, huh stiles?” he claps stiles on the shoulder, sending an unpleasant lurch through his already on-edge body. aiden is the last person he wants to be touching him right now, as he holds a large notebook in front of his crotch and prepares to make a beeline for the bathroom, lest he blow his load right now onto this poor college-ruled writing apparatus.

“what theory?” he manages to question in a low voice that’s thick with lust. aiden doesn’t notice and continues.

“the drink theory! you and y/n are both single. lets see if she’ll really fuck you after a couple of shots,” he finishes devilishly, catching the door to the lunch room from the person in front of him and holding it for you to walk through. aiden relishes in being the instigator, but it doesn’t seem to phase you.

“stiles, if we fuck this weekend, promise me it won’t ruin our friendship?” you ask in a sugary sweet voice that’s dripping with sarcasm. it doesn’t matter though. the pent-up hormones racing through stiles’s body don’t care if you’re joking or not. his cock twitches and even more precum slides down his bricked shaft. he’s seriously starting to believe that all the blood that’s supposed to be in his brain is in his dick right now.

he weakly whispers “no promises” under his breath as he ducks into the nearest bathroom, leaving you to wonder aloud to your friends why the fuck he exited the conversation so quickly. then ethan tugs on your shirt sleeve to ask you a question about the math homework from the pre-calc class you share and your mind moves on.

stiles doesn't though.

finally. he thinks to himself as he pulls down his sweatpants and now-sticky boxers with record speed in the locked stall. the warmth of his hand around his aching cock after so many torturous minutes of it pulsing untouched in his pants almost makes him cum instantaneously.

he strokes himself furiously, finally feeling the knot in his stomach start to unwind after being driven insane by your words fueling his fantasies. he grabs a left handful of toilet paper, anticipating his sticky finish.

when he finally blows his load in strong, thick streams into the too-thin toilet paper, he has to bite down on his bottom lip to suppress the moan that so desperately wants to escape his lips. he tries to come to his senses quickly, flushing the toilet paper, pulling his pants back up and washing his hands feverishly in the sink.

as he leaves the bathroom, only one thought occupies his mind.

if y/n lets me fuck her this weekend, i’ll never complain about anything ever again.