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dreamersworldduh · 1 month ago

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ALL YOURS

• DEREK HALE x MALE!READER

SUMMARY — Derek's love for you is fierce, unrelenting, and deeply passionate, even when his heat takes control. While his primal instincts may amplify his need for you, his love and care remain constant. In these moments, you see every side of him—the lover, the protector, the alpha, and the vulnerable man who trusts you completely. His passion burns with intensity, but it's rooted in tenderness and trust, making you his anchor and the one he loves unconditionally. Despite his raw, wild instincts, Derek's love always shines through, grounding both of you in an unbreakable bond.

WARNING! 18+ MDNI. Suggestive Langauge. Swearing.

WORDS! 11.6k

AUTHOR'S NOTE! Hi! Just wanted to say the lack of Derek Hale fics is criminal, the man is so goddamn fineeee and such an fucking alpha…ughhhh. Anywho —happy reading😉✨

Being the boyfriend of Derek Hale is anything but simple—it's a challenge, a test of patience, loyalty, and resilience. Derek isn't just your average guy; he's a brooding, fiercely protective werewolf with a past heavy enough to weigh down even the strongest of hearts. Being with him means you've faced your fair share of danger, heartbreak, and intense moments that have pushed you to your limits, both emotionally and physically. It's not just about enduring the supernatural chaos that seems to follow him like a shadow; it's also about navigating his deeply rooted possessive instincts—a part of him that can be as intimidating as it is endearing.

Derek's possessiveness isn't something to be taken lightly. It's a primal, instinctive part of him, born from years of loss and betrayal, making him hyperaware of anything that threatens his loved ones. You've seen that fiery gleam in his eyes when someone so much as looks at you the wrong way or steps too close for his comfort. His protectiveness borders on territorial at times, as though his wolf senses are constantly on high alert, ensuring you're safe, no matter the cost. He's not afraid to stake his claim—not in a controlling way, but in a way that lets the world know that you are his, and no one else's.

Being with Derek means navigating these intense emotions. You've had to learn how to reassure him, to remind him that you're not going anywhere, even when his insecurities surface. It means being patient when his past haunts him, and understanding when his walls go up, knowing that beneath that tough exterior lies a heart that loves fiercely, but has been hurt too many times to count. His loyalty to you is unwavering, but it's a loyalty that demands the same in return.

And yet, despite the challenges, being Derek Hale's partner comes with its own kind of magic. His love may be intense, but it's also genuine, powerful, and raw. He loves with his entire being, protecting you as if you're the most precious thing in his world. You've endured the trials that come with loving a man like him, but you've also been rewarded with moments of vulnerability and tenderness that only you get to see—the way he softens when he looks at you, or the rare, small smile that lights up his face when he feels at peace.

Yes, being Derek Hale's boyfriend is no easy task, but it's a journey you've embraced wholeheartedly, knowing that the love he offers is as wild, untamed, and enduring as the wolf inside him.

Though there are two distinct sides to Derek's possessiveness, this moment reveals the softer, sweeter version of it—the one that makes your heart flutter and reminds you how deeply he cherishes you. It happens during a pack meeting at the newly restored Hale House, a gathering that feels more like a family dinner than a formal strategy session. The house, once a ruin, now stands tall again, filled with laughter, chatter, and the comforting scent of home. You've taken it upon yourself to help serve food to the pack members, moving gracefully around the room, offering plates and making sure everyone is settled.

Derek is at the head of the long dining table, his usual brooding demeanor softened just slightly by the warmth of the atmosphere. He watches you like a hawk as you move from one person to the next, his gaze unwavering. You can feel the weight of his attention, a mix of pride and something undeniably territorial. No one says a word about it, but the rest of the pack knows better than to comment—this is just Derek being Derek.

Finally, when everything is in place and everyone has been served, you grab a plate for yourself and look for an open seat. Before you can take a single step toward a chair, a strong hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you back gently but firmly. You glance down and meet Derek's intense gaze as he tugs you closer without a word. Before you know it, he has you settled in his lap, one arm snaking around your waist to keep you in place, as if daring anyone to suggest you belong anywhere else.

"Derek," you murmur, leaning in close so only he can hear. Your tone is a mix of amusement and exasperation. "This is your meeting. You're supposed to be leading it, not—"

"I don't care," he interrupts, his voice low and gravelly, but there's a softness in his eyes that betrays the intensity of his words. His hold on you tightens slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to make it clear he isn't letting go. "Stay here."

The pack continues their discussions, wisely ignoring the alpha's clear claim on you. You can feel his warmth radiating through his shirt, his hand resting protectively on your hip as if it's the most natural thing in the world. Despite the slight flush of embarrassment creeping up your neck, you can't help but relax against him. Derek, for all his gruffness, has a way of making you feel like the center of his world in moments like this.

You sigh, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "You're impossible."

"And you're mine," he replies, his tone quiet but filled with conviction, his lips brushing lightly against the side of your temple.

Though it's a little distracting for the rest of the pack, no one dares to question it. This softer, possessive side of Derek might be less intimidating than his fiercer moments, but it's no less powerful. It's his way of showing the world—and you—that you're not just someone he loves. You're someone he can't bear to let go of, even for a moment.

Then there's the other side of Derek's possessiveness—the version that's intense, commanding, and impossible to miss. It's the side that comes out when someone steps over a line they should've never approached in the first place. Tonight, that line is crossed while you're working your shift at the bar, doing the job you insisted on keeping despite Derek's protests.

"Let me take care of you," he's said countless times, his low, gruff voice almost pleading. But as much as you love him, you're too independent to let him shoulder your financial responsibilities. Bartending may not be glamorous, but it's your job, and you're proud of the work you do. Derek respects that—most of the time. But tonight, his patience is about to be tested.

It's a busy evening. Music hums through the air, mingling with the chatter of customers and the clinking of glasses as you pour drinks and banter with the regulars. Most of the people here know exactly who you're dating. They've seen the mark on your neck—Derek's love bite, dark and unmistakable, a territorial claim he left with purpose. The regulars don't bother you; they know better than to risk Derek Hale's wrath.

But tonight, trouble doesn't come from a regular. It comes from someone new—a man sitting at the bar, nursing a drink and watching you with a cocky smirk that instantly sets you on edge. At first, you try to brush off his attention. You're polite, professional, and quick to redirect the conversation, but he doesn't take the hint.

"Come on," he says, leaning across the bar, his voice dripping with confidence. "You can't tell me you're not single. A guy like you? Working here? Bet you get all kinds of offers."

You force a tight smile. "I'm not available," you say, your tone firm but not aggressive.

He doesn't back down. "Oh, come on. Don't tell me you're waiting around for some guy who isn't even here. What kind of boyfriend lets you work a place like this anyway?"

You feel a flicker of irritation, but before you can respond, the air in the room shifts. It's subtle at first—a strange hush that falls over the nearby patrons, followed by a wave of tension that seems to ripple through the bar. You don't have to look to know what's causing it. Derek is here.

You glance toward the entrance just as Derek steps through the door, his presence commanding attention even in the crowded room. He's dressed simply, but there's an edge to his movements, a barely restrained energy that makes everyone instinctively give him space. His sharp green eyes lock onto you immediately, scanning the scene and landing on the man leaning too close to your side of the bar.

Derek doesn't break stride as he approaches, his gaze narrowing. The man notices him too late, straightening up but not yet realizing the mistake he's made.

"Something wrong here?" Derek's voice is calm, low, and steady, but it carries a weight that silences the nearby conversation.

The guy tries to play it off, oblivious to the storm he's just invited. "No problem. Just talking to your... friend here."

Derek's lips twitch into a faint, humorless smirk as he steps closer, resting his hands on the bar. "He's not just my friend," Derek says, his voice dropping into a tone so cold it could freeze the room. "He's mine."

The guy blinks, clearly caught off guard but still trying to save face. "Hey, no offense. I didn't know—"

"You do now." Derek cuts him off, his gaze never leaving the man's. The unspoken threat lingers heavy in the air, and the guy shifts uncomfortably, glancing around as if searching for an escape. Derek doesn't move, doesn't need to. His sheer presence is enough to make the man mumble a quick apology before slinking away, disappearing into the crowd.

Once the intruder is gone, Derek's attention shifts to you. The tension in his jaw softens as he reaches across the bar, his large hand sliding against your wrist, pulling you closer. His eyes flick briefly to the mark on your neck as if to reassure himself it's still there.

"You okay?" he asks quietly, his tone softer now but still laced with that protective edge.

"I had it under control," you say, though the slight smirk on your lips betrays the rush of affection you feel in the moment.

Derek raises an eyebrow, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. "Sure you did."

You shake your head, leaning in just enough so only he can hear you. "You know I can have claws?"

"I know, but you don't have to use them when I'm around," he replies without hesitation, his voice steady and full of conviction. It's not a declaration for the room—it's a reminder for you, a promise that no matter what, Derek will always be there to protect you, to claim you, and to remind anyone foolish enough to cross him exactly where you stand.

For better or worse, this is the other side of Derek's possessiveness—intense, overwhelming, and unapologetically fierce. It's not always easy to handle, but it's part of who he is, and part of the way he loves you with everything he has. And in moments like this, you can't help but love him just as fiercely in return.

Then there are moments of intimacy and passion—moments that remind you of just how deeply Derek Hale loves and needs you. Tonight, one of those moments begins quietly, in the safe haven of your shared bedroom. The soft glow of the bedside lamp casts a warm light across the room as you sit comfortably on the bed, your back against the headboard, a book resting in your lap. It's not just any book, though—it's about being Luna to a pack.

You've never officially been given the title, but you've taken on the responsibilities in your own way. You care for Derek's pack—both the older members and the newer ones—like they're your own family. Whether it's listening to their problems, giving advice, training alongside them to sharpen their skills, or cooking meals that bring everyone together, you've seamlessly become their rock, their guiding presence. Even if Derek hasn't formally acknowledged it, the pack already sees you as their Luna, and you want to understand the role better—to be even more for them, and for Derek.

You're deep in thought as you read, turning a page when the sound of the bathroom door opening pulls your attention. You glance up just as Derek steps into the room, and for a moment, the air seems to shift. His hair is damp, water droplets still clinging to the ends and glistening under the soft light. A towel is wrapped low around his waist, leaving his broad chest and sculpted torso fully exposed, muscles flexing with every step he takes. The faint scent of his soap lingers in the air—a clean, woodsy scent that's distinctly his—and it makes your heart skip a beat.

Derek doesn't say anything at first. His piercing green eyes meet yours, and there's a flicker of something in his gaze—something raw and unspoken. It's a look that's equal parts admiration and desire, like he's seeing you for the first time all over again. You feel a blush creep up your neck, but you hold his gaze, unable to tear your eyes away from him.

"What are you reading?" he finally asks, his voice low and slightly rough, still thick from the heat of the shower. He moves closer, his bare feet silent against the floor as he stops at the edge of the bed.

You hold up the book slightly, showing him the cover. "Something about being a Luna," you reply softly, your voice steady but tinged with a hint of shyness. "I just... thought it might help. You know, since I've kind of been acting like one already."

Derek's expression softens, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small, almost imperceptible smile. He reaches out, his fingers brushing against your knee through the blanket you have draped over your legs. "You don't need a book to tell you how to be a Luna," he says, his tone warm and laced with pride. "You're already everything they need."

His words send a warmth through your chest, but before you can respond, he moves onto the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. He settles beside you, leaning back on one arm as his free hand comes up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. The closeness of him—the heat of his skin, the faint scent of him still lingering from his shower—makes your pulse quicken.

"You take care of everyone," Derek murmurs, his voice softer now, almost reverent. His fingers trail lightly along your jawline, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake. "You've made this pack stronger, more connected. And you've done the same for me."

You swallow hard, feeling the intensity of his gaze as it locks onto yours. "I just want to make things easier for you—for all of you," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "I want to be someone you can depend on."

"You already are," Derek says firmly, his hand sliding down to rest against your shoulder. He leans in closer, his forehead nearly touching yours. "You're my anchor. My strength. My Luna."

The last word comes out with a weight that makes your breath hitch. He's never said it out loud before, never made it official. But hearing it now, spoken with such conviction, sends a rush of emotions through you. Before you can respond, Derek's lips capture yours in a kiss that's both tender and demanding, pouring every ounce of his love and passion into the moment. His hand cups the back of your neck, holding you in place as he deepens the kiss, his body pressing closer to yours.

The book slips from your lap, forgotten, as you lose yourself in him. His warmth, his touch, the way he whispers your name like it's the only thing that matters—it's all-consuming. In this moment, there's no pack, no responsibilities, no worries. There's only Derek, and the unbreakable bond you share with him.

When you finally pull back, breathless, he rests his forehead against yours, his hand still cradling your neck. "You don't have to prove anything," he says quietly, his voice full of sincerity. "You're already everything I need. Everything we need."

The words settle deep in your chest, filling you with a sense of belonging you didn't realize you were missing. In Derek's arms, with his love surrounding you, you realize that being his Luna isn't about titles or duties—it's about being the person who stands beside him, through everything, just as he stands beside you.

Derek can be such a lover boy when he wants to be—a side of him that's soft, affectionate, and, at times, beautifully vulnerable. It's a part of him he doesn't show to many people, but with you, he lets down his walls, revealing the man behind the strong, stoic alpha exterior. In those moments, he's all tender touches and quiet words, the kind of man who holds you close like you're the most precious thing in his world. He's the Derek who gently brushes your hair out of your face, who kisses you like you're his lifeline, and who lets you see the raw, unguarded emotions that he keeps locked away from everyone else.

But that tenderness can shift in an instant—because when Derek feels his heat coming on, that lover boy softness is quickly replaced by something much more primal and consuming. It starts subtly at first: a faint tension in his muscles, a sharper edge to his movements, and a look in his eyes that burns with an intensity that makes your heart race. You've learned to recognize the signs, the way his breathing grows heavier, his gaze locks onto you, and his usually steady control begins to fray at the edges.

In the beginning, Derek tries to fight it. He does everything in his power to keep that vulnerability intact, to hold onto the tender way he speaks to you and the soft, reverent way he touches you. He doesn't want to lose control, doesn't want the heat to strip away the affection he shows so carefully. But his heat is a force beyond his will—a deep, primal instinct that coils inside him, pushing harder and harder until it demands release. It's not something he can suppress, and as much as he tries to resist it, it takes over, leaving him with only one overwhelming need: you.

The signs are subtle at first—his hands lingering a little longer when he touches you, his gaze trailing after you with a sharp intensity, and the way his breathing changes whenever you're near. But when his heat fully takes over, it's no longer subtle. It's raw, unrelenting, and impossible to ignore. His hands become more insistent, his grip firmer as though he's afraid you might slip through his fingers. His voice, once so soft and measured, grows rough, urgent, every word heavy with a hunger that makes it clear just how deeply he craves you.

For example, there was that one night when the house was quiet, everyone in the pack fast asleep. You were tidying up the living room, moving quietly as you folded a blanket and straightened up the mess left from the day. The only sound was the occasional creak of the floorboards beneath your feet. You didn't notice the way the air had shifted at first, the way the temperature seemed to rise just slightly. But then you felt it—the unmistakable pull of his presence.

You turned, and there he was, standing in the doorway. Derek's chest rose and fell heavily, his hair still damp from the shower he must've taken not long ago. His eyes—those piercing green eyes—were locked on you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. There was something different about him, something primal and wild simmering just beneath the surface. His muscles were tense, his hands curling into fists at his sides as though he was fighting to hold himself back.

"Derek?" you asked softly, your voice breaking the heavy silence. You set the blanket down, instinctively stepping toward him, but as soon as you moved, he was already closing the distance between you.

"I can't—" His voice was rough, almost a growl, and it sent a shiver down your spine. His hands came up, gripping your arms gently but firmly, his touch burning hot against your skin. "I can't wait anymore."

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat as he leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. His breathing was ragged, his body trembling slightly as he fought to maintain even a shred of control. "I've been trying," he murmured, his voice so low it was almost a whisper. "I've been trying to hold back, to give you space. But I can't—I need you now."

His words hit you like a wave, and you could feel the heat radiating off him, the tension in his body coiled so tightly it felt like it might snap. Derek's vulnerability was still there, flickering in the way his hands shook slightly as they slid down your arms, but it was swallowed up by the primal need overtaking him. He pulled you closer, his lips brushing against your neck as he inhaled deeply, his grip tightening as though grounding himself in your presence.

"Tell me you're mine," he rasped, his voice thick with urgency, his lips grazing the sensitive skin just below your ear. "Please."

You could feel his desperation, the way his entire being seemed to hinge on your response. And in that moment, with his heat burning between you and his love for you so evident in every touch, you realized just how much Derek needed you—not just physically, but emotionally, completely. You were his anchor, his safe harbor in the storm of his heat, and you would give him everything he needed.

You reached up, cupping his face in your hands and forcing him to meet your gaze. "I'm yours, Derek," you said firmly, your voice steady even as your heart pounded.

The words seemed to break whatever restraint he had left. With a low growl, he closed the gap between you, capturing your lips in a kiss so fierce and consuming it left you breathless. His hands roamed your body, his touch firm and possessive, as if he couldn't get enough of you. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you and the undeniable connection that bound you together.

In that moment, there was no room for hesitation, no space for doubt. Derek's heat had taken over, but it wasn't just instinct—it was his love for you, raw and unfiltered, driving every touch, every kiss, every whispered word. And you gave yourself to him completely, knowing that this was what he needed, and that you would always be there to hold him through it all.

Without a word, his strong arms wrap securely around your waist, effortlessly lifting you off your feet as though you weigh nothing. The sheer strength in his embrace sends a shiver through you, your hands instinctively finding their place on his broad shoulders for balance. His body radiates warmth, the tension in his muscles palpable as he carries you across the room with purpose.

He reaches the couch in just a few steps and lowers himself into it, pulling you down with him. His firm grip never falters, guiding you to straddle his lap with ease. The position is intimate, your knees bracketing his hips as your bodies align perfectly. You can feel the solid expanse of his chest pressing against yours, the steady rhythm of his breathing grounding you even as your pulse quickens.

Derek's hands settle on your waist at first, his fingers curling slightly as they find their hold. But they don't stay there for long. His touch becomes more deliberate, sliding down to rest on your hips before moving lower, his palms finding their place on the curve of your ass. He grips you firmly, his fingers pressing into the flesh with just enough force to send a jolt of heat through you. There's no hesitation in his actions, only a possessive intensity that makes it clear he's in control of the moment.

His green eyes meet yours, and the look in them takes your breath away. It's a mix of desire, adoration, and something more primal—something that makes it impossible to look away. His hands squeeze again, a low, almost inaudible growl rumbling in his chest as he leans in closer. The movement presses you tighter against him, and the sensation leaves no doubt about how much he wants you.

"You feel perfect like this," he murmurs, his voice low and rough, the words sending a shiver down your spine. His hands don't stop moving, alternating between firm squeezes and slow, deliberate caresses, as though he's memorizing every inch of you. The way his fingers dig into your skin is possessive, grounding, and completely overwhelming all at once.

You can't help but let your hands roam as well, sliding over the strong planes of his shoulders and down his arms. Every inch of him feels solid, unyielding, and the heat between you grows with every passing second. Derek's gaze never wavers, and the intensity of his attention makes you feel like the center of his entire world.

"You're mine," he says, his voice barely more than a growl, but there's an undeniable softness beneath the possessiveness. It's not just a claim—it's a promise, one that makes your chest tighten with emotion. And with the way he's holding you, touching you, you know it's a promise he'll keep.

Derek's lips find the curve of your neck with a hunger that makes your breath hitch. His movements are deliberate yet fevered, the softness of his mouth contrasting with the growing intensity of his desire. The first kiss he presses to your skin is warm and lingering, but it quickly deepens, his lips parting to let his teeth graze against your sensitive flesh. You can feel the heat of his breath as he starts to work his way down, his focus entirely on leaving his mark on you.

The first hickey blooms under his lips as he sucks at the delicate skin just below your jawline, his hand tightening on your waist as if to keep you steady. But you're anything but steady. Your body reacts instinctively to the sensation, a soft sigh escaping your lips as his mouth continues its work. His tongue flicks over the spot he's just claimed, soothing it for a brief moment before he moves on to another area, determined to make sure everyone knows you're his.

As his kisses grow more intense, your body seems to take on a mind of its own. Without realizing it, you begin to shift in his lap, the movement subtle at first—a slight roll of your hips, a faint press of your weight against his hands. Derek notices immediately. His hands, already gripping your ass, tighten their hold, his fingers digging into the flesh as if anchoring you to him.

The friction from your movements sends a spark through both of you, and you hear Derek's breath hitch against your skin. He pulls back for just a moment, his green eyes blazing with a mix of surprise and raw desire as he looks at you. "You don't even know what you're doing to me," he growls, his voice low and rough, every word dripping with need.

But instead of stopping, your body moves again, a subconscious rhythm taking over as you grind against him. The heat between you is undeniable, and every shift of your hips fans the flames of Derek's growing need. His hands guide your movements now, pulling you closer, pressing you tighter against him. His grip is firm, almost possessive, as if he's afraid you might stop.

"You're making this impossible," he murmurs, his lips finding your neck once more. This time, his kisses are rougher, more desperate, each one leaving a deeper mark than the last. The combination of his mouth on your neck and the way his hands control your movements has you utterly overwhelmed, your mind clouded with nothing but the feel of him.

Derek groans softly against your skin, his voice filled with a raw, unrestrained hunger that only spurs you on. Every small movement, every sound you make seems to push him further, his desire for you quickly spiraling out of control. You can feel it in the way his lips move against you, the way his hands grip you like he never wants to let go, and the way his body reacts to every subtle shift of your own.

There's no hesitation, no second-guessing—just the all-consuming pull of desire, the undeniable connection between you both as Derek claims you with every touch, every kiss, every whispered growl.

Derek's hands were everywhere—firm, strong, and utterly insistent. His grip on your waist tightened as his lips found yours again, rough and demanding, leaving no room for hesitation. It wasn't long before his hands slid lower, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your pants and boxers. With one swift motion, he began pulling them down, exposing the bare skin of your ass to the cool air. The heat radiating off his body only made the contrast sharper, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake as his hands moved over your newly exposed flesh.

The way his palms kneaded the curve of your ass made it clear he was ready to take things further, his movements growing more urgent with every second. Derek's breathing was heavy, his lips hovering just over your jaw as he whispered, "I need you." His voice was gravelly, raw with desire, and it sent a shiver through you. You could feel just how ready he was, the evidence of his arousal pressing firmly against you as he gripped your hips and pulled you even closer.

But as much as the intensity of the moment consumed you, a sliver of reason managed to push through the haze. You glanced around the room, the familiar surroundings of the living room suddenly feeling far too exposed. You placed a hand on Derek's chest, pushing lightly to create a small bit of space between you. "Derek," you said, your voice breathless but firm. "We're in the living room."

Derek paused for the briefest of moments, his green eyes flicking up to meet yours. For a second, you thought he might reconsider, but instead, a crooked smirk tugged at his lips. "I don't care," he replied, his tone low and filled with determination. His hands slid back to your ass, squeezing possessively as he pulled you tighter against him, his lips brushing against your neck as he added, "Let them see. Let them know you're mine."

You let out a soft groan, your resolve wavering under the intensity of his words and the heat of his touch. But still, the logical part of you persisted, refusing to let him completely ignore the reality of your surroundings. "You would care," you countered, your voice steadying, "if someone walked in and interrupted us."

That gave him pause. Derek let out a low growl, his forehead dropping to rest against your shoulder as his grip on you tightened. You could feel the tension in his body, the conflict between his desire and his instinct to protect you—not just from danger, but from the inevitable embarrassment of someone catching you both in such a compromising position.

After a moment, he let out a resigned sigh, his lips grazing your skin as he murmured, "Fine." His hands lingered on you for a moment longer, his thumbs brushing over your skin as if committing the sensation to memory before he finally pulled back, his eyes still dark with unfulfilled need.

Suddenly, he slid his hands to your waist and gently lifted you off his lap, setting you aside on the couch. The loss of his warmth, even for a moment, made you ache with anticipation, but your eyes stayed fixed on him, drawn to the commanding presence that always seemed to radiate from him in moments like this.

Standing tall in front of you, Derek's green eyes burned with desire, his gaze locking onto yours as his hands moved to the hem of his shirt. He tugged it upward in one smooth motion, revealing the toned expanse of his chest and the taut muscles of his abdomen, each movement accentuating the strength you knew so well. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, his skin flushed slightly as the fire between you both built.

Your mouth went dry as he kicked off his shoes and reached for the waistband of his pants. The sound of the zipper echoed faintly in the room, a soft but tantalizing promise of what was to come. Derek's pants slid down his legs, and he stepped out of them with effortless grace, leaving him in nothing but his boxers. The thin fabric did little to hide the evidence of his arousal, and your heart raced at the sight.

Finally, Derek's hands moved to the waistband of his boxers, his movements slow enough to drive you mad with anticipation but fast enough to show he couldn't wait much longer. He hooked his thumbs into the fabric and pushed them down, letting the boxers fall to the floor. As he stood before you, completely bare, your eyes were instantly drawn to him—his swollen dick, thick and hard, standing proudly, a sight that never failed to captivate you.

Your breath caught in your throat as you took him in, your pulse quickening as heat pooled in your stomach. Derek's body was a masterpiece, but it was the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing in the world that mattered—that truly stole your breath. His dick twitched slightly under your gaze, and a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, as if he could sense just how much you loved seeing him like this.

"You like what you see?" he asked, his voice low and gravelly, the deep timbre sending a shiver down your spine.

You swallowed hard, your eyes flicking up to meet his as a smile of your own formed. "Every time," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper but filled with sincerity.

Derek stepped closer, his body radiating heat, and the intensity of his gaze made your pulse race even faster. "Good," he murmured, his tone laced with desire. "Because it's all for you."

In a matter of moments, Derek gently pulled you up from the couch to stand in front of him. His green eyes locked onto yours, filled with raw hunger that made your knees weak. Without saying a word, his fingers slid to the hem of your shirt, tugging it upward in one smooth motion and tossing it aside. His touch was electric as his hands roamed over your exposed skin, pausing briefly at your chest before he moved lower, his gaze trailing behind every movement like a predator savoring his prey.

He crouched slightly to tug at your pants, unbuttoning and unzipping them with practiced ease before sliding them down your legs. The cool air of the room kissed your skin as your boxers followed, leaving you completely exposed before him. Derek stood tall again, his eyes raking over your body with a primal intensity that made your breath hitch. When his gaze landed on your hard dick, his lips parted, and a low, guttural growl escaped him—a sound so full of arousal it sent a shiver down your spine.

"Perfect," he muttered, his voice gravelly and thick with desire. His hands didn't hesitate as they found your hips again, his thumbs brushing over the sensitive skin just above your pelvis before sliding lower to cup your ass. He gave it a firm squeeze, a smirk tugging at his lips when you gasped at the contact.

Before you could process what was happening, Derek bent down slightly and wrapped a strong arm around your waist, hoisting you up onto his shoulder with effortless ease. The sudden change in perspective made your heart race, your body pressing against his as his other hand gripped your thigh to keep you steady.

"Derek!" you exclaimed, though your voice came out breathless, a mix of surprise and excitement.

He chuckled darkly, his hand sliding down to your bare ass, giving it a sharp smack that echoed through the room. "I've been patient long enough," he growled, his voice low and dripping with need. The sting of his hand on your skin sent a jolt of heat through you, and you could feel the strength in his hold as he carried you with ease.

Each step he took toward your shared bedroom was purposeful, the sound of his bare feet against the floor muted by the thundering of your heartbeat. His grip on you was firm but possessive, and his other hand didn't stay idle. It slid along your thigh, occasionally squeezing or smacking your ass again, the sensation leaving you breathless and your arousal growing.

"Keep squirming, and I'll have to stop right here," Derek rumbled, his tone teasing but with a dangerous edge that sent a thrill through you. "And I don't think either of us wants that."

The promise in his words made your body still, though the anticipation building between you was almost unbearable. Derek's confidence, the sheer power in the way he carried you as if you were weightless, only made your desire for him burn hotter. By the time he reached the bedroom door, you were already aching for him, your body alive with anticipation for what was to come.

Derek kicked the door open with his foot, stepping inside with purpose. He lowered you just enough to brush his lips against your skin, his hot breath ghosting over your back as he whispered, "You're mine tonight." Then, with one last firm squeeze to your ass, he laid you down on the bed, his body following closely behind as his desire for you became all-consuming.

Derek's lips crashed against yours with a hunger that took your breath away. His kiss was deep, urgent, and all-consuming, as if he couldn't get enough of you. His hands cupped your face, his fingers rough yet gentle as they tilted your head slightly to deepen the connection. You could feel the heat radiating off him, his chest pressed firmly against yours, his breathing growing heavier with every second that passed.

Your hands roamed down his strong, sculpted body, your fingertips tracing the ridges of his muscles. Derek groaned softly into your mouth, his lips parting slightly as his tongue brushed against yours, igniting a fire that made your entire body hum with anticipation. The kiss was messy, desperate, and filled with all the pent-up desire he'd been holding back.

As your hand trailed lower, you felt the tension in his body shift, his muscles tensing slightly under your touch. Your fingers brushed against his length, already hard and hot, and a shudder ran through him. Derek growled low in his throat, the sound reverberating in his chest as your hand wrapped around him. The growl wasn't just a reaction—it was primal, a raw expression of his need for you.

You started to pump him slowly, your grip firm but teasing. Derek's head dropped forward, his forehead resting against yours as he let out a sharp exhale. His lips parted, his breathing growing heavier with each deliberate stroke of your hand. "You're going to drive me crazy," he murmured, his voice rough and strained, a hint of a growl still laced in his tone.

The way his body responded to your touch was intoxicating. His hips jerked slightly, instinctively chasing the friction you were providing. His hands slid down to your waist, his grip tightening as if he needed to ground himself, to keep from losing control entirely. Every time your hand moved, a low, guttural sound escaped him, his arousal clear in the way his body seemed to tremble under your touch.

"You know what you're doing to me," Derek growled, his voice rough and filled with barely restrained desire. His green eyes locked onto yours, darkened with lust, and the intensity in his gaze made your heart race. "You're not playing fair."

You smirked slightly, your strokes becoming just a little slower, more deliberate, as you watched him struggle to keep his composure. "I'm just giving you what you want," you replied, your voice soft but teasing, a playful edge to your tone.

Derek's growl deepened, his hands sliding up your sides before pulling you even closer. His lips found yours again, this time rougher, more demanding, as though trying to pour every ounce of his need for you into the kiss. The way his body responded to your touch, the way he growled and trembled beneath your hand, was utterly intoxicating. You knew he was holding back, but the raw intensity in his kisses and his touch made it clear he wouldn't be able to for much longer. And that thought sent a thrill through you that only made you want to tease him more.

Suddenly, Derek's hand gently closed around your wrist, pulling your hand away from his dick. The intense look in his green eyes made your breath hitch, a silent promise of what was to come. He leaned in, his lips finding yours once more in a kiss that was both deep and commanding, his tongue brushing against yours with a hunger that left you dizzy. Slowly, his kisses began to trail downward, his lips and tongue leaving a fiery path across your jaw, then your neck, and lower still.

Each kiss was deliberate, his mouth pausing to savor the curve of your collarbone, the plane of your chest, and the dip of your stomach. His hands followed the journey, strong and sure as they mapped out your body, leaving no inch untouched. By the time he reached the edge of your hips, your pulse was racing, your breath coming in shallow gasps. Derek smirked against your skin, the heat of his breath a tantalizing tease as his hands gripped your thighs.

He looked up at you then, his gaze dark and filled with unrestrained desire. Without breaking eye contact, he slid his hands beneath your legs, lifting them effortlessly over his broad shoulders. The way he held you—strong, steady, and completely in control—sent a wave of anticipation coursing through you. Before you could say anything, you felt it: the first brush of his tongue, warm and wet, as it trailed along your hole.

A soft moan escaped your lips, unbidden, as the sensation overtook you. Derek growled low in response, the vibration against your skin only adding to the pleasure. His tongue worked with expert precision, circling, teasing, and pressing in ways that left you gripping the sheets beneath you. The heat of his mouth, combined with the pressure of his hands gripping your thighs, was overwhelming in the best way.

Your hands found their way to his hair, your fingers tangling in the soft strands as you held onto him for dear life. The small, involuntary tug you gave earned another growl from Derek, his lips curling into a smirk against your most sensitive skin. He didn't stop—if anything, he doubled down, his tongue moving more insistently as he sought every sound he could pull from you.

"Derek," you gasped, your voice trembling as your back arched slightly, pressing yourself closer to his mouth. The combination of his tongue and the strength of his hands holding you in place left you completely at his mercy. Each flick, each press of his tongue sent sparks of pleasure coursing through you, your entire body alight with sensation.

He paused just long enough to look up at you, his lips glistening, a smirk playing on his face. "I love the way you sound," he murmured, his voice rough with arousal before he dove back in, his tongue exploring you with even more intensity. The way his stubble brushed against your skin only heightened the sensation, the mix of roughness and warmth sending you spiraling.

Your grip on his hair tightened, a soft gasp escaping you as he found just the right rhythm. Derek's growls vibrated against you, letting you know just how much he enjoyed tasting you, savoring every moment. Time seemed to blur as he continued, his sole focus on your pleasure, making it impossible to think of anything else but the way his mouth felt against you. Every kiss, every stroke of his tongue was a reminder of just how much Derek wanted you, needed you, and was willing to worship every part of you.

When your hole was glistening and wet from Derek's relentless attention, he finally pulled back, his lips and chin slick as he looked up at you with a mix of hunger and satisfaction. His hands gently squeezed your thighs, his touch grounding as he took a moment to drink in the sight of you—flushed, breathless, and completely undone beneath him.

"You're perfect," he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, the words dripping with sincerity and raw desire. His hands shifted, one sliding up to caress your hip while the other found his own dick, thick and pulsing with need. Slowly, he stroked himself, his eyes never leaving yours, the sight of you clearly spurring him on.

Derek positioned himself between your legs, the tip of his swollen dick brushing against your slick hole. The contact sent a jolt of electricity through you, and your breath hitched as you felt the heat of him press against your sensitive skin. He moved deliberately, sliding his length along your hole, teasing you with the friction. Each slow, deliberate stroke left you gasping, your body instinctively shifting to chase the sensation.

"Derek," you breathed, your voice trembling with anticipation as your hands reached out to grip his broad shoulders. He smirked slightly at your reaction, the faintest curve of his lips a sign of his confidence, his control.

"Patience," he said, his voice rough yet soothing, his free hand sliding up to intertwine with yours. "I want to feel every second of this."

Finally, he positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his dick pressing just slightly inside. His green eyes met yours, searching for any hint of hesitation, but all he saw was your trust, your desire for him. With a steady hand, he began to push forward, his hips moving slowly, giving you time to adjust as he stretched you inch by inch. The sensation was intense, a delicious mix of pressure and pleasure that left you gripping his shoulders tighter.

Derek let out a low groan, his voice deep and guttural, as he sank further into you. "You feel so good," he murmured, his words shaky as his control wavered. His hands returned to your hips, gripping you firmly as he continued his slow, deliberate pace, every movement sending waves of heat coursing through your body.

Your body arched beneath him, your breath hitching as he filled you completely. The stretch was intense, but the way Derek moved—steady, patient, and utterly focused on your comfort—made it impossible to feel anything but pleasure. He paused for a moment when he was fully seated inside you, his chest heaving as he gave you a chance to adjust, his thumb brushing soothing circles against your skin.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice softer now, his concern shining through the haze of his desire.

You nodded, your hands sliding up to cup his face, your lips brushing against his. "I'm perfect," you whispered, your voice filled with both reassurance and longing. "Please, Derek. I need you."

Hearing those words seemed to break whatever restraint he had left. Derek's hips began to move again, slow and deliberate at first, each thrust pushing deeper, making you feel every inch of him. His hands held you firmly, guiding your body against his as he set a rhythm that quickly had you melting beneath him. Every movement, every touch, every breath between you was filled with passion, a connection so deep it left you utterly consumed by him.

Then his strong hands moved to guide your legs, lifting them effortlessly and wrapping them around his waist. The new position brought him even closer, allowing him to sink deeper into you with every movement, making your breath hitch with each thrust. His body radiated heat, his skin damp with exertion, and the steady grind of his hips made it clear he was completely consumed by you.

Leaning forward, Derek brought his face closer to yours, his green eyes darkened with lust but softened by the depth of emotion they held. His lips captured yours in a passionate kiss, his mouth moving against yours with a hunger that matched the rhythm of his body. His tongue brushed against your lower lip, and you opened for him, letting him deepen the kiss, your hands tangling in his damp hair as you pulled him closer. The kiss was intense, raw, yet there was a tenderness to it—a reminder that even in this moment of unrelenting desire, Derek was still yours, and you were his.

You could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles trembled slightly as he worked to hold back the primal instincts simmering just beneath the surface. Derek's heat was there, smoldering like an untamed wildfire, and every thrust, every growl rumbling in his chest, hinted at how much he was restraining himself. He wanted to lose himself in you, to let his heat take over completely, but he fought to maintain control, to ensure your pleasure and comfort came first.

"God, you feel so good," he murmured against your lips, his voice rough and strained, a testament to just how much effort he was putting into holding back. His forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours as his thrusts continued at the same steady pace, each one deliberate and measured. "I'm trying," he added, his voice breaking slightly, a growl slipping out as his hands gripped your hips tighter. "I don't want to hurt you."

You cupped his face, your thumbs brushing against his stubbled jaw as you gazed up at him. "Derek," you said softly, your voice trembling but steady, "I trust you. I'm here. Let go."

His eyes searched yours, his resolve flickering for a moment before he groaned, his lips claiming yours again in a kiss so fierce it made your heart race. His grip on your hips tightened, and his movements became just a fraction deeper, more purposeful, though still careful not to overwhelm you. The simmering heat inside him was building, and you could feel the tension rising with every thrust, every breathless kiss.

Derek held back, but barely. The restraint in his movements was palpable, his body vibrating with the effort it took to stay in control. Yet, through it all, his focus remained on you—your reactions, your pleasure, the soft moans and gasps he pulled from your lips as he pushed you closer to the edge. And in that moment, you knew that even as his heat threatened to consume him, Derek would never let it burn you. Instead, he would use every ounce of his strength to channel it into something passionate, raw, and undeniably yours.

You sat up slowly, the movement making Derek's breath hitch as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. His eyes met yours, dark with desire and barely restrained passion, as your lips found his in a kiss that was hungry, deep, and filled with the raw emotion simmering between you. The warmth of his skin pressed against yours, his strong arms wrapping around your waist to steady you as you moved.

Your body pressed against his chest, your heart pounding as you began to lift yourself, only to sink back down onto his length. The sensation drew a low growl from Derek's throat, his hands gripping your hips to guide your movements, his strength supporting you effortlessly. Each time you moved, a wave of pleasure rippled through both of you, the rhythm you created together growing steadily more intense.

Derek's lips moved with yours, his kisses desperate and consuming, as though he couldn't get enough of you. His tongue brushed against yours, his breath hot and ragged as you continued to rock up and down his length, taking him fully with every motion. The feeling of him filling you completely sent shivers down your spine, and the sounds escaping both of you only added to the fire between you.

"Ugh," Derek murmured against your lips, his voice rough and low, a tremor of restraint still present beneath the overwhelming desire in his tone. His hands slid down your back, gripping you more firmly, his fingertips digging into your skin as he fought to maintain his control.

You pulled back slightly, resting your forehead against his, your fingers tangling in his hair as you looked into his eyes. "Derek," you whispered, your voice trembling with the intensity of the moment. "I want you—completely. Don't hold back."

His eyes searched yours for a moment, the conflict in his expression clear. But as you moved again, your body pressing against him and taking him deeper, the last threads of his restraint began to fray. A deep, guttural growl escaped his chest as his grip on you tightened, his hands guiding your movements with more insistence.

The words, "Don't hold back," was all Derek needed to finally let go. His body stilled for just a moment, his chest rising and falling as he processed what you'd said, the last remnants of his restraint hanging by a thread. Then, like a dam breaking, something primal and unstoppable surged forward. His eyes snapped open, glowing a brilliant, fiery red—a vivid sign that his heat had fully taken over. The intensity in his gaze sent a shiver through you, but it wasn't fear you felt. It was exhilaration, knowing he trusted you enough to let his instincts take control.

With a low, guttural growl that reverberated through the room, Derek's hands gripped your hips tightly, his fingers pressing into your skin with a possessive force that left no doubt: you were his. His thrusts increased, the steady pace giving way to something far more raw, more urgent. Each powerful motion sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you, your body arching to meet him as he moved with an almost unstoppable intensity.

"God, you're mine," he growled, his voice rough and deep, a mix of desire and possession. The words sent a thrill through you, and you tightened your hold around his neck, pulling yourself closer to him as his thrusts drove deeper, faster. The heat radiating off his body felt like it might consume you, the primal energy pouring out of him filling the room as his focus remained entirely on you.

His glowing red eyes never left yours, even as his lips found your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your skin. Each kiss felt like a brand, a mark of his uncontrollable need for you. The mix of his rough, animalistic growls and the whispered praises against your skin left you trembling in his arms, completely lost in the storm of his heat.

"You feel so damn good," Derek muttered, his voice breaking slightly as his pace continued to build. His hands moved from your hips, sliding up your back, pulling you flush against his chest as if he couldn't get you close enough. The new angle sent sparks of pleasure through your body, your moans mingling with his growls as he pushed you both closer to the edge.

Every thrust, every motion, every sound Derek made was a testament to how much he'd been holding back, and now that he'd given in, there was no stopping him. His heat had fully taken over, his need for you driving him to claim you in every possible way. And as the overwhelming sensations built to a crescendo, you realized there was nothing else in the world but this—Derek, his love, his heat, and the unshakable bond between you.

Soon Derek's thrusts became relentless, his dick driving into you with a force and precision that sent shockwaves through your entire body. Each motion was deep, powerful, and perfectly aimed, hitting that sensitive spot inside you with the accuracy of someone who knew your body intimately. It was overwhelming, the way he moved—like every thrust was deliberate, designed to claim you completely and leave you trembling in his grasp.

Your hands clung to his shoulders, your fingers digging into the hard muscles as he kept up his intense rhythm. Derek's growls filled the air, low and primal, reverberating through your chest as he poured every ounce of his strength and need into you. His glowing red eyes bore into yours, the fiery gaze a reminder of the heat driving him, the primal instincts that he had finally let loose.

"Derek," you gasped, your voice breaking as another perfectly angled thrust sent a jolt of pleasure through you. The way he moved felt almost otherworldly, each motion deliberate yet raw, leaving you breathless and desperate for more. It was like he was determined in his mission to push you further, to make sure you felt every inch of him.

He leaned forward, his lips brushing against your ear as he growled, "Every part of you belongs to me." His voice was rough, strained, but filled with conviction, his words punctuated by the unyielding rhythm of his hips. The sheer dominance in his tone, paired with the overwhelming pleasure he was giving you, sent shivers racing down your spine.

Your body reacted instinctively, arching into him as your legs tightened around his waist. Derek's hands gripped your thighs, his fingers pressing into your skin with a possessive force as he adjusted his angle slightly, making each thrust even more devastatingly precise. The sensation was almost too much, a perfect mix of intensity and pleasure that left you gasping for air.

Derek was completely lost in you, the heat of his need driving him to claim you fully, completely. And with each thrust, each powerful motion, it felt like he was branding himself into your very soul, making sure you'd never forget exactly who you belonged to.

The pleasure overwhelmed you, building higher and higher until you couldn't hold back any longer. With a strangled gasp, your body tensed, and a rush of ecstasy surged through you. Your release came in powerful waves, your dick pulsing as streams of cum spilled between your bodies, coating your stomach and his. The intensity of it left you trembling, your chest heaving as you struggled to catch your breath.

But Derek didn't stop. If anything, the sight and feel of your climax seemed to fuel him further, a growl rumbling deep in his chest as he maintained his relentless pace. His glowing red eyes locked onto yours, the raw hunger in them making it clear that your pleasure had only pushed him closer to the edge of his control.

"You think we're done?" Derek murmured, his voice rough and dripping with desire. He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as his hips thrust deeper, harder, drawing out every ounce of sensitivity from your overstimulated body. "I'm not stopping until I've had all of you."

The overstimulation sent sparks of sensation through your nerves, your body jerking slightly at the relentless friction. Every thrust was a mix of pleasure and intensity that bordered on too much, yet you couldn't bring yourself to tell him to stop. The way he filled you, the way his hands gripped your hips to pull you tighter against him, left you utterly helpless under his control.

"Derek," you moaned, your voice trembling as your hands gripped his shoulders, holding on for dear life. The combination of your own sensitivity and his unwavering pace was overwhelming, leaving you caught in a haze of pleasure that felt like it might consume you entirely.

He growled low, a sound so primal it made your toes curl, and his lips found your neck, biting and sucking at your skin as he thrust into you with a ferocity that left you breathless. "I'm not done with you yet," he rumbled, his tone possessive, his movements a clear reminder that he wasn't holding anything back anymore.

Even as your body trembled from the overstimulation, you couldn't deny the heat building again deep inside you. Derek's intensity was undeniable, his need for you all-consuming, and the way he moved made it clear he wouldn't stop until you were completely undone beneath him—again and again.

Suddenly, Derek's movements grew even more primal, his glowing red eyes blazing with unrestrained heat. With a growl that vibrated deep in his chest, he pulled out of you briefly, he gripped your thighs as he stood up effortlessly, lifting you with him. The next thing you knew, your back was pressed against the cool surface of the nearest wall, the sharp contrast of heat and cold sending a shiver through your already sensitive body.

Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist as Derek held you there, his strength making it seem like you weighed nothing. One of his hands braced against the wall beside your head, while the other gripped your thigh tightly, keeping you secure as he aligned himself once more. Without hesitation, he thrust back into you, the sudden fullness pulling a loud, uncontrollable moan from your lips.

The new angle made every movement more intense, Derek's hips snapping against you with a force that left you gasping for air. Each thrust drove you harder against the wall, your body pinned completely under his control. His growls filled the room, low and guttural, as he poured every ounce of his heat-fueled need into you.

"I can't get enough of you," Derek muttered, his voice rough and breathless. His forehead rested against yours for a moment, his piercing eyes locking onto yours. "I can't stop—I don't want to stop."

The intensity of his words, combined with the unrelenting rhythm of his hips, sent sparks of pleasure racing through your body. Your hands tangled in his hair, your fingers gripping tightly as you pulled him closer, capturing his lips in a desperate, heated kiss. His tongue tangled with yours as his thrusts became harder, faster, each one leaving you trembling in his arms.

The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, mingling with the labored breaths and groans that escaped both of you. Derek's hand slid from your thigh to grip your ass, pulling you closer to him as his hips drove even deeper, hitting spots that made your vision blur. The wall behind you groaned slightly under the force of his movements, but Derek didn't seem to care—his focus was entirely on you, on the way your body responded to his.

"Fuck," he growled against your lips, his voice dripping with possession as his thrusts became almost brutal in their intensity. His heat burned through him, his need for you all-consuming, and he was determined to claim every part of you, to make sure you felt just how much he wanted you.

Every movement, every growl, every heated kiss pushed you closer to the edge again, your body completely overwhelmed by the force of Derek's passion. Pinned against the wall, utterly at his mercy, you surrendered to him completely, knowing he wouldn't stop until you were both completely undone.

With one final, deep thrust, Derek's body tensed against yours, his growl reverberating through the room as he reached his peak. You felt the warmth of his release flood into you, the heat of it spreading through your body like wildfire. His hands gripped you tightly, almost possessively, his nails pressing into your skin as he held you flush against him, refusing to let even an inch of space separate you.

The tension in his body slowly began to ebb as his growls softened into heavy, ragged breaths. Derek's forehead rested against yours for a moment, his chest heaving against yours as the remnants of his heat coursed through him. His lips found yours instantly, the kiss a mix of passion and tenderness, as if he needed to ground himself in you after the intensity of what you'd shared.

The desperation in his kisses began to fade, replaced by something gentler, more intimate. His hands slid up to cup your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones as he deepened the kiss, his body still trembling slightly against yours. It was as if he was pouring every ounce of affection and gratitude into that moment, letting you know without words how much he loved and needed you.

Gradually, as the heat left his system, the fiery red glow in his eyes began to fade. You watched as they softened, returning to the familiar, piercing green you loved so much. His gaze met yours, the intensity in his eyes replaced by a look of pure adoration and vulnerability. The primal edge of his heat had given way to the man you knew—the Derek who cherished you with every fiber of his being.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly, his voice hoarse from the growls and moans of moments before. His forehead pressed gently to yours, his hands cradling your face as he searched your eyes for any sign of discomfort.

You smiled, your fingers brushing through his damp hair as you leaned into his touch. "I'm more than okay," you replied, your voice steady and filled with warmth. "That was... everything."

A faint, almost sheepish smile tugged at Derek's lips, his eyes flicking between yours. "I didn't hurt you?" he asked again, his tone softer now, the protective side of him surfacing even after everything.

You shook your head, pressing a kiss to his lips, slow and reassuring. "You were perfect, Derek."

Relief washed over his features, and he let out a soft breath, pulling you into a tight embrace. He held you there for a long moment, his heart beating steadily against yours as his body finally relaxed completely. Even as the intensity of his heat faded, his love for you burned just as brightly, evident in the way he held you as if you were his entire world.

Derek's love for you shines through, even in the midst of his heat—a love so deep and unwavering that no primal instinct could ever overshadow it. When his heat takes control, his movements may be raw, his growls guttural, and his need overwhelming, but beneath it all, it's still him. It's still the man who cherishes you with every fiber of his being, who would do anything to protect you, and who trusts you enough to let you see him at his most vulnerable.

It's in those moments that you see Derek completely unguarded, stripped of all the walls he's built to shield himself from the pain of his past. You see the man who loves you fiercely and unapologetically, who worships every inch of you with an intensity that feels like it could consume the air around you. His heat amplifies that love, turning it into a force that's almost too powerful to contain, but even as his instincts drive him, he never loses sight of you—your needs, your comfort, your pleasure.

Each touch, each kiss, each growl is filled with unspoken promises: that you are his, that he will always protect you, and that no matter what, he will never let anything harm you. It's a love that feels almost untamed, wild and primal, yet at the same time, it's rooted in tenderness and trust. Even in his most unrestrained moments, Derek never forgets who you are to him—the one person who sees every side of him and loves him for all of it.

And in those moments, you see all the pieces that make Derek who he is. The lover, whose touch can be both gentle and possessive, worshiping you as if you're the only thing that matters in his world. The protector, whose instincts drive him to keep you safe at all costs, even from his own untamed power. The alpha, strong and commanding, yet willing to yield to you in ways he never would for anyone else. And finally, the man—the one who belongs to you as much as you belong to him, the one who lets himself be vulnerable and open because he trusts you with all that he is.

Derek's passion may burn hot enough to scorch everything in its path, but with you, it's never destructive. It's a love that warms you, strengthens you, and reminds you that no matter what happens, you are his anchor, his solace, and the one person he'll always come back to. And as he holds you close, as his red eyes fade back to green and his heat slowly ebbs away, you know without a doubt that his love for you will always burn brighter than anything else.

#x male reader #derek hale #derek hale x male reader #teen wolf #tyler hoechlin #tyler hoechilin x male reader #gay #smut

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zaceouiswriting · 2 months ago

Text

The Football Stud: Fever

Character: Gabe x male reader, (mentioned) Nolan Halloway

Universe: Somewhere in Teen wolf

Warnings: Smut: hardcore, degradation, humiliation, feminization, mentioned non-con

Author's Note: Sorry for the late upload. I was going to post something for Christmas, but that's coming much later. I actually wanted to do something wholesome, but it turned into smut faster than I could see, and I lost interest in it, so I wrote a smutty half request instead. (Please don't ask about the logic; there is none) I hope you guys enjoy this one.

You felt uncomfortable even though it fit perfectly, and unfortunately, you had to admit that it didn't look bad on you as you admired yourself in the bathroom mirror.

“Are you coming or not?” Gabe’s deep voice bellowed authoritatively through the locker room, easily reaching your ear.

You swallowed nervously, not wanting to answer, as you knew he would be mad if you were honest. But you took a deep breath because you were even more afraid of his reaction if you didn't answer.

"I don't really feel comfortable showing-"

"Shut up and come out," he shouted, audibly annoyed, "so you can do literally the only thing a stupid fag like you is good for!"

It felt like he had just punched you right in the chest. You felt humiliated on so many levels, and yet you opened the bathroom door, which led straight into the changing room near the showers.

You would be in the locker room if you just walked around the corner. It had been nearly an hour since the football game ended, and the coach handed Gabe the keys to lock the room behind him. The only visible light was the static glow of the lamps in the room, as the sun had long since given way to the moon.

Head down, you rounded the corner with tiny steps. You didn't see Gabe right away, but you became very aware of him when you heard him whistle after you. The first time it happened, you felt exhilarated, even ecstatic.

There, Gabe sat comfortably on one of the benches against the wall. His body was now much more muscular, as he trained twice as much as he used to, but on his lips was the same superior, condescending smirk, still the same, yet so different.

"You look so fucking hot," he commented, beckoning you to come closer to him, which you did.

When you were in front of him, he ordered you to twirl. You saw his eyes darken with lust as he took another swig of his beer bottle. Technically, he wasn't old enough to drink yet, but the football team had some leeway, at least on university grounds.

He emptied his bottle, placed it safely under the bench, and then simply grabbed you by the waist and sat you on one of his legs.

“Look at this skirt,” he said, fascinated by the sight.

You had no idea where he got it, but right before the game, he gave you a backpack with a cheerleading uniform and something else you wouldn't even think about out of embarrassment. Still, you put on everything he gave you.

“Are you satisfied?” you asked, stuttering and uncertain.

“You can be fucking sure of that!” he boasted loudly. "And even more so if a certain slut had listened to me the first time and not made me wait so long!"

There was a danger gleaming in his eyes that you knew all too well. He'll punish you, force you to shout more than just his name, and treat you so roughly that you'll miss class again. Before starting, you knew you'd have to lie to the others again about all the bruises you'd come home with. Last time, your fraternity almost started a manhunt because they thought someone was forcing them on you, but you somehow managed to calm them down, even though you had to admit to some pretty dirty secrets of yours.

You felt his rough hand on your lower back, moving further down to your ass. Suddenly, you let out a yelp as the same big hand gave your behind a hearty squeeze.

“What a perky ass,” he mutters in a slightly slurred voice, “fuck!”

"Don't you want to sit on my lap, baby girl?" His lips were so close to your ear that you almost moaned reflexively. "I know a dirty slut like you would love to know how fucking hard you make me."

Before you knew it, he had pulled you onto his lap. Both his hands were on your waist as he vigorously ground your ass on his lap. You could feel his big cock getting hard and poking you through his tight football pants.

When you heard him moan softly, you felt the heat rise to your face; you had never heard him moan desperately like that before. Usually, he moans like a rutting bull as he relentlessly thrusts his cock into you, but this somehow felt much more intimate.

"Do I have to remind you what I am to you?" His voice, which had previously been filled with lust, was suddenly stern, even cold. You swallowed hard and couldn't answer. "Pretend you can't hear me?" His laugh was dry; you already knew he was done.

Without a word, he pushed you off his lap but held you up, standing in front of him. Just a second later, his large body overshadowed you, with his hands tightened around your waist once more.

"What a cute little girl," he murmurs into your hair, "So small and yet so disobedient."

Your blood ran cold. He seemed angry, even furious, but you didn't do anything that bad, right? But even if you argue with him, it won't help and will only worsen things.

He doesn't say another word. Instead, he wraps one arm around your waist and lifts you effortlessly. He carried you to some lockers in the middle of the room, sat you back down on the floor, and bent you forward slightly with his other hand while he told you in a barely whispered voice to hold on to the lockers for dear life.

You were already halfway gone from worry and desire—if you were a girl, you knew you would be soaked—now only pre-cum covered the surprise under your short skirt. You truly felt like a slut in that moment, just like Gabe had always told you. Even though you weren't entirely sure what would happen next, you knew you had to hide how much you were already enjoying it.

He traced his rough fingertips over your figure, dancing on your skin like a drunken wisp. By the time they landed on your skirt and took it in his hands, you felt him shudder. Fearing that something had happened, you turned your head only to see Gabe's sinister grin. When he caught your gaze, his intentions were more than clear.

“Aren’t you a pretty girl?”

There it was again. At first, you thought he was just maddened from drunkenness, but now it was clear. He was actually feminizing you. You should have known when he made you dress in a girl's cheerleading outfit.

As you were in thought, Gabe covered you completely with his body, pressing his head firmly into your nape, gently kissing your neck, and eliciting soft moans from your stunned body. His hands continued to explore the entire time, finding their way under your skirt and gently caressing your legs, but you were sure that this would be the only time he would be tender with you that night.

And as if you had summoned it, he ripped up your skirt and slapped your right butt cheek with so much force that it almost threw you flat against the locker, only for him to whistle as if nothing had happened.

"Bitch, you look good in lace!" Gabe slurred like the drunken stud he is, so needy and horny that it was hard to believe.

You didn't even know where he got it because the price tag was still on when you got it, and you almost fainted; it was so expensive that you knew he wanted to do this more often, or so you thought.

“I really can’t wait,” Gabe suddenly murmured as he leaned back in his standing position.

With a quick movement, he shifted the tiny piece of fabric that hid your hole to the side, circling it with his finger before attempting to enter it, only to be stopped as it had contracted too much. You could hear him swearing quietly, cursing you and your uselessness.

Before you knew it, Gabe had raised two fingers to your mouth and ordered you to wet them, as that was the only lube you would get.

Without hesitation, you took them between your lips, let your tongue dance on his long, salty, calloused fingers, and finally took them completely into your mouth, feeling them touch the back of your throat.

The second his fingers reached the back of your throat, all you heard was him cursing once again, angry that he didn't use your throat, even though he had trained it for so long not to gag, even when he shoved his huge cock all the way into your mouth with one sharp thrust.

You knew from the beginning that it would make him mad because you knew full well that deepthroating him was his favorite sensation, especially in a crowded university lecture hall.

Gabe only gave you about a minute before he pulled his finger out of your mouth and immediately, with a precision that a drunk man like him shouldn't have, slid his fingers inside your ass. You gritted your teeth, holding back the pain, knowing that Gabe hated it when you showed any emotion other than lust and desire for him.

Without even trying, this guy hit the spot that made your mind go blank for a second, and when you came back, you felt a pain in your forehead. You found yourself in direct contact with the metal side of the locker.

As his fingers aggressively penetrated your hole, a pain shot through your ass. But you didn't complain because that was all you would get before he took you at a pace so brutal that you'd thank God he'd even prepared you in any way, which was already something great of him, as it was something he didn't do all the time.

“That should be enough,” Gabe mumbled, something he probably didn’t even want to say out loud.

Suddenly, you feel him swaying from side to side, the alcohol clearly taking its effect. But he doesn't let that distract him and instead guides his cock, albeit with difficulty, to your hole.

Although you feared the brutal treatment you would receive, you could barely contain your anticipation of feeling him again. It had been a while, and your hole felt empty for quite a long time. As he circled your hole, you quickly became impatient. While you subtly tried to get his cock into you, all you got was a hard smack on your ass, which was glowing a bright red color at this point.

Gabe muttered under his breath, cursing you for being an impatient cockslut, a bitch that needed to be filled. Although it seemed odd to you that he was trying to feminize you, it did something deep inside you.

"You want this cock?" he asked smugly, his words becoming more slurred by the second. "I'll fill you up like the good little slut you are until your belly is full of my child!"

Without even waiting for an answer, he pushed his cock in and didn't stop, even when you felt it was getting too tight, but you knew it would fit, even if it hurt a little. So you bit your tongue and waited for the pain to subside instead of saying anything or even making a sound.

In one forceful motion, his hands wrapped painfully tightly around your hips, just under your skirt, so tight that it hurt, but you still didn't make a sound; he penetrated you.

Only when you finally felt his thick glans pressing against your prostate did you open your mouth, which was usually so large when he hadn't had anything to drink. This drew a long, intense moan from you, which, in turn, elicited a deep, sadistic chuckle from Gabe.

“That's the shit,” grunted Gabe, “Moan louder for me, bitch!”

As you felt another slap and his cock throbbing violently inside you, you were forced to give him exactly what he wanted. You gave him more, moaning sluttily and even going an octave higher than you thought possible, sounding almost like a real girl.

"God... fuck," he muttered quietly as his hands became a little more bearable. "That's my little girl, my good little slut!"

He even went so far as to pet your head, almost making you feel like he really cared about you. But the relentless pace of his thrusts told you otherwise. Although you wished things were different, you knew there would be nothing between you, nothing other than mind-blowing sex, that is.

Gabe's thrusts got even harder, his warm manhood burning so well in your hole, but the worst part for you was how precisely he hit your prostate each time. With every thrust deep into your bowels, barely visible on your stomach, he ripped your senses from their sockets again and again. It was almost torture, but you loved every second of it, feeling like you could fly, breathe underwater, and face the next day as if you had conquered it many times before.

At the limit of your senses, you felt one of his hands moving up your stomach to your pectoral muscles. He squeezes your slightly trained muscle, which elicits a satisfied grunt from him.

For a long moment, it was completely silent; nothing was said, and the only sounds echoing through the room were the rapid, rhythmic slapping of your skins and the animalistic noises Gabe made like the brute he was.

“I’m about to bust,” Gabe suddenly announced, although his breathing and voice were even.

You were speechless; he had never come so quickly and calmly, always out of breath, sweating like crazy. Now, he was none of that.

As announced, it took almost no time before a few thick jets of cum filled your insides with much-needed warmth.

Gabe didn't pull out as he usually would. Instead, you saw his hand on the locker wall next to your head as you returned to the plane of the living, his muscular body hard against your back, and his warm breath that smelled of beer and something fruity, maybe strawberries or something similar. Turning your head slightly, you saw him grinning smugly at you; your heart dropped into your skirt.

Suddenly, you felt something soft on your lips. You couldn't process the sight before you; Gabe was so close, his eyes closed and his sinful lips capturing yours in a gentle, warm embrace. It lasted only a fleeting moment, warm and completely unexpected.

“Such a good, pretty girl for daddy.”

Your cheeks turned a deep shade of red. You wanted to mock and belittle him for calling himself that, but you didn't. You felt warm and wanted for once. So you let it pass and looked away in embarrassment, but Gabe, with a gentleness you'd never experienced from him before, placed a finger around your chin and forced your head back without much effort.

"Don't look away, baby," he murmured against your lips before capturing them again.

This time, he didn't close his eyes, instead holding eye contact with a knowing glint in his eyes. But you couldn't hold the eye contact for long. You closed your eyes and melted in his embrace. Your tongues quickly entangled with his, clearly more dominant. He pulled you closer to him, both of his hands exploring the front of your body as if it belonged to him.

It wasn't until he separated the two of you that you realized you were no longer standing but sitting safely on Gabe's lap. He was now leaning comfortably against the wall, hands clasped behind his head, flexing his biceps the entire time, clearly visible even through his football uniform. You'd be lying if you didn't feel things you weren't too proud of.

"Now be a good little slut and ride me," he told you arrogantly. "I've made you cum three times already, and I only came once, so keep going, baby."

He massaged your upper body as if calming you down as he spoke. It worked somewhat, but as you tried to follow his orders, you realized something: your legs hurt too much to move. Panic rose in you, afraid of what would happen if he knew. So you tried your best and even put your hands on his thighs, using them as leverage to move yourself up. But your whole body felt heavy.

Before you knew it, your arms gave way, and you fell against Gabe's chest. You heard his angry breathing and felt his hot breath on your neck.

“I’m sorry, I can’t do that,” you admitted sheepishly.

Suddenly, you felt a violent jolt and quickly found yourself on the cold floor. The skirt you had been given and the tight top were already worn out, even slightly torn, not to mention the lace underwear that was already crumpled and almost destroyed.

Gabe towered over you with his fists clenched. "You worthless bitch," he mutters, seemingly ready to dish out the worst punishment. But to your surprise, he just crouches down next to you. "I told you what will happen if you turn out to be worthless and unable to complete your one fucking job, you stupid whore!"

His voice was steady; none of the slurring you heard before was left as if he had never been drunk. Without hesitation, he spat in your face, stood back up, went to his backpack, and pulled out his phone.

Unable to move, you could only stare at him with wide eyes, horror coursing through your veins as you heard the disgusting words he used.

Just as you started to feel your legs again, the locker room door busted open. Loud laughter and energetic, indistinct conversations followed. The entire football team soon filled the room, but no one was looking at you as they greeted their quarterback. Gabe made pleasant conversation before folding his arms across his chest, not glancing in your direction once, just a small nod in your direction and more demeaning words.

When the team first looked at you, they were smug, calling you a needy slut who would even play a girl just to get some cock. Even though you felt bad, they had a point. But you still thought Gabe would say something in your defense, but he didn't.

Instead, even more horrible words came from him: He told his team that they could do whatever they wanted with you since you were useless to him now, but he wanted the cheerleading uniform and underwear back, even if they were in tatters.

You were too stunned, but when you saw Gabe, already changed and leaving, you stretched out your arm and begged him to take you with him. Instead, you only heard a scoff before he left the room and closed the door behind him.

As you were about to lower your hand, one of the boys took it with a wickedly grim grin. He gently stroked your hand, only to tell you to be a good slut to them because they weren't as generous as Gabe and would take drastic measures to make sure you did right by them.

Although you were disgusted and scared, you still nodded. You cried silently as you felt dozens of hands on you and someone supporting you. But when he was about to enter you, you screamed.

***

You woke up weakened, your body covered in a thick layer of sweat. Groaning in pain, you tried to find out where you were, only to find yourself in your fraternity bedroom.

“Thank God you’re awake,” you heard a gentle voice say.

You turned your head and smiled gently. "Nolan, what happened?"

Concerned, he touched your forehead, only to quickly pull away.

"You're not any better," he whispers lightly. "You fainted in one of your lectures, and our university doctor sent you back with Mark because you weren't so bad that you had to stay there. He did give him some medication for you, though."

You wanted to take the pills, but you couldn't move your body, just like in the locker room. Nolan quickly noticed this, put them in your mouth, and helped you drink some water.

You grimaced as the cold liquid ran down your throat, but then a sigh of relief escaped your lips.

“Did something happen to Gabe or the football team?” you asked in a hoarse voice.

It was immediately obvious that Nolan was uncomfortable. You feared the worst and believed that your dream was actually reality.

"Gabe came over but left when he heard you were sick," Nolan told you. "I still can't believe you tolerate him taking advantage of you like that."

Smiling and relieved that what you had experienced, even though it felt real, was only a dream, you gently stroked Nolan's hand.

"I wish he loved me as much as I love him, but I'm content with how things are right now," you said slowly, even though your throat hurt. "As long as I'm in this fraternity, I get the best of both worlds: mind-numbing sex with the person I love while also being able to cuddle with you guys and do all the cute couple things without anyone being pressured to feel anything."

Nolan sat there stunned, never having thought about it like you did, but he realized they actually treated you like their partner. All the time outside of class and when you weren't getting fucked by Gabe, they spent with you and your fraternity, cuddling, watching movies, playing games, and going out. None of them even had partners; they were completely focused on you.

You smiled as you slowly fell back asleep but asked Nolan to take care of you. Unconsciously, you laid your head on his hand, causing Nolan to get stuck.

A few hours later, someone else opened your bedroom door.

"Is everything okay?" The new person asked but got no answer. When he walked in, he saw Nolan holding you in his arms. "Damn, I must be late," he commented quietly, chuckling as she walked back out and closed the door behind her. Cursing himself for letting Nolan out of his sight.

[Masterlist]

#x male reader #male reader #male reader imagine #teen wolf x male reader #teen wolf #gabe imagine #gabe x male reader #gabe imagines #gabe #smut #male reader smut #male reader imagines #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf imagines

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supercap2319 · 10 months ago

Text

Noah Stilinski: "Do you boys have anything that you want to confess?"

Y/N: "Okay, I confess! I had a threesome with Peter and Scott in your office twice. And Stiles let Derek fuck him in your bed."

Stiles: "DUDE!"

Noah Stilinski: "I was gonna ask who ate all the BBQ chips, but go on, Y/N."

#x male reader #male reader insert #male x male #teen wolf #noah stilinski #linden ashby #dylan o'brien #sterek #stiles stilinski #peter hale x male reader #scott mccall x male reader #ian bohen #tyler posey

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godjustkys · 11 months ago

Text

| mndi +18

| Stiles Stilinski x Top male reader

please give requests.

"A-ah! Fuck! Oh fuck, f- mhhh!"

"C'mon, Stilinski, you can take it, hm?" You mumbled out, your hands placed firmly on his hips, thumbs grazing over his back dimples.

Stiles squirmed a bit under your touch, his legs shaking ever so slightly. "[Name], plea-se, 'm— I can't!" He exclaimed, shaking his head urgently.

After all that stupid pining from the both of you, you had him on all fours, naked, and on your bed. "Aw, don't give up so quickly.." You leaned forward a bit, getting closer to his ear.

"Ghh— shiiittt!" His nails dug deep into his palms, trying to hold his position steady. "Slow! Slow, please, go slow!" He raised his shaky voice a bit. Stiles was breathing heavily, his head still hanging low. Perhaps he was ashamed to look at you.

"I am, don't worry Stilinski, I ain't gonna hurt ya now," you said with a small chuckle, pushing your dick in deeper, going at a much slower pace per Stiles' request.

Stiles suppressed many noises that threatened to leave his mouth, trying to stay quiet. You were playing by Stiles' rules, since he's the one having it rough right now, but that didn't stop you from pulling out slightly and pushing in a little bit deeper at a faster pace.

Fuck. That thing you just did earned a loud whimper from Stiles. His back arched quite a lot and you were in such a great position to witness it.

"God, Stilinski," you breathed out, moving one of your hands up to the back of his neck then slowly running it down along his back as you simultaneously pushed your dick all the way in, now just letting Stiles adjust to it. "You've got one hell of a body," Stiles thighs were shaking as you murmured out compliments, but it soon calmed down because you let him adjust and get used to the feeling.

"And a pretty face. Aren't you just perfect?" And with that comment of yours, Stiles let out a shaky breath, unclenching his fists and taking a moment to relax.

"You ready for me to move yet, or do you want some more time?" You said in a smug tone, both your hands back on his hips. " 'm ready, 'm ready.. yep, you can- move." Stiles responded to you, his voice almost neutral, yet holding some urgency behind it.

" 'mkay," you grinned, pulling out slowly. Agonizingly slowly. "Tell me to stop if you wanna back down,"

As soon as you finished your sentence, you rammed back into him oh so harshly. Maybe you should've went easier but Stiles did say he liked it rough. "I g- Mmhhh! Ah! Fuck!" Stiles tried replying to you, but the way you slammed back into him felt so good, not to say that it didn't hurt at all. "Fuuuccckkkkk!" He moaned out, his voice sounding so sloppy and high pitched.

He grasped the sheets, his fists balling up. So far, your pace was pretty slow and gentle, not including the start of it. "How we doin' Stilinski, you feelin' good?"

"ngghh! yesyesitfeelsgood.. pleasepleaseplease—" he rambled out, placing his forehead against the mattress. "gofasterplease, [name], please." His voice was pretty quiet, quite difficult to make out what he had said. "Awh, use your voice, don't be shy," you teased in an amused tone, really taking in the sight in front of you. "What do you want me to do? I couldn't hear you,"

That was a lie, you most definitely heard him. You just wanted him to be louder - to hear his voice. Everything about him makes you more and more obsessed.

"Please. Go faster, pleaseee.." he whined out, his voice still high pitched. Was he a crybaby in bed? Oh god, the thought of that just turned you on even more. "There ya go," you exhaled, your tone so gentle as you quickened your pace by a lot, holding onto his hips tighter.

It was at this point that Stiles' arms had given out, his shoulders now on the bed as well. The only thing holding him up was you.

"You seem to be doing well, Stilinski, you likin' the position, huh?" You asked, your eyes fixated on the back of his head.

No genuine response, just some loud whimpers and moans.

"Oh come on, you can do better than that," you teased, pushing your dick in deeper with every thrust.

Nothing. Again. Just louder moans from your partner.

You let out a sigh as you pulled out, leaving Stiles confused at first. Then you flipped him over on his back, positioning yourself between his legs and continuing from where you left off.

Your hands were on either sides of Stiles, propping yourself up on the bed as you looked down at him. Stiles couldn't look at you, he was too embarrassed about this. He was going to turn his head away, but you kissed him so he had nowhere to go.

Your hands moved to Stiles's thighs after the kiss, holding onto them with a tight grip, pulling your lover closer when you thrust in. "Goh— od! Oh for fucks sake!" He cursed out, throwing his head back as his hands found their way to grip your shoulders.

Your hand wrapped around Stiles' dick and you started jerking him off. In response, your boyfriend let out a loud and such a slutty moan. "Fuh— fuck!" In response to the pleasure, Stiles' ass clenched around your dick. "Oh? You like that, don't you?"

Stiles' toes curled as he gritted his teeth. Soon enough he wrapped his arms around your neck, pulling you in closer as you jerked him off and fucked him, at the same time. "Look at you, being such a good boy for me," you muttered out, thumb rubbing over his slit. You started fucking him harder, thrusting deeper. Soon enough, reaching his prostate. When you reached it though, it was pretty obvious.

His nails dug into your back. "[Name], oh god, wait! nghh!~" He sobbed out, arching his back. You looked at him with delight, grinning and hitting the same spot again. "Is that the good spot?" You teased in a gentle tone. He couldn't help himself. The amount of whines and whimpers that left his mouth was insane.

Stiles was a moaning and sweaty mess at this point, his words weren't even coherent and they were all slurred. He left pretty obvious scratches on your back during this. "You're takin' me so good, baby.." you breathed out, your voice a bit hoarse. "You're a sight for sore eyes, can't believe I get you all to myself," you hid your face in the crook of his neck.

"ghhhh, mmmfuccckk.. imgonna.. [name], [name] imgunnacum..—" he barely formed a simple sentence, clearly out of breath. "Go on then, do it," you encouraged him, leaving a hickey on his neck after you responded. Stiles grabbed a fistful of your hair, his dick twitching in your hands as he came and his ass tightening around your dick, the liquid spurring out onto his stomach, some of it getting on you as well.

"Good boy.." you muttered, your pace slowing down ever so slightly, just for a moment. Stiles was still whining and whimpering - he felt a little too overwhelmed after cumming like this and you fucking him.

"Shh baby, just hold out for a little while, okay?" You encouraged in a soft tone, holding back your groans - you were close.

He nodded urgently, biting his lower lip as his grip on your hair loosened slightly. Stiles made eye contact with you, finally. God, the look in his eyes made your dick twitch inside him, not to mention the tears he was holding back.

Of course it was a little painful, but you were doing your best to be gentle with him. Plus, he wasn't really crying, he was just teary eyed.

Your hands moved to Stiles' chest, grasping his pecs. "mggh.." a soft mewl escaping the other's lips. You squinted your eyes curiously, a sly grin spreading across your face.

With that, you pulled out, jerking yourself off til you came with a silent grunt. You didn't want to make Stiles feel so dirty for his first time with you..

#stiles stilinski #teen wolf #male reader #top male reader #dom male reader #stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles stilinksi imagine #teen wolf stiles #stiles stilinksi smut

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nino-rox · 3 months ago

Text

Stiles Stilinski x Male Reader | S

Warnings: NSFW Gay Sex, Explicit content, Teen Wolf AU, Teen Wolf x Male reader, Top Stiles Stilinski x Bottom Male Reader, degradation, raw (please use protection !)

Disclaimer : This is a Fan-fiction story written for entertainment purposes only, no part of the story implies or affirms anything regarding real world events or individuals. Please be of the appropriate age ( i.e, Adult as per your country’s stipulations and regulations) before interacting with this post

NOT PROOF READ !

—

{A/N: Not proof-read! Have fun Pookies <3}

The thundering bass of the rave wrapped around Stiles like a living thing, vibrating through his chest, shaking the ground beneath his feet. Strobe lights flashed like lightning across the crowd—a blur of sweaty bodies, neon accents, and wild energy that surged with every beat. The air was thick with sweat, alcohol, and smoke, and it felt like chaos incarnate.

But none of that mattered to Stiles.

Because Y/N was here.

And holy crap, he looked good.

“Scott!” Stiles hissed, his voice barely cutting through the music. He grabbed his friend’s arm, nearly dislocating it in his urgency. “Scott! Look.”

Scott stumbled slightly, squinting in the direction Stiles was pointing. “Is that… Y/N?”

“Uh, yeah, that’s Y/N,” Stiles confirmed, his voice cracking slightly. “I knew he was lying. He said he was too busy, right? Those were his exact words. Too busy. But now he’s here, and—oh my God.”

Scott glanced at him, eyebrow raised. “Maybe he just didn’t want to come with us, man.”

“Okay, first of all, rude. Second, do you see him?” Stiles stammered, gesturing wildly toward the figure leaning casually against the bar. “Look at him! He’s a whole—he’s like—Scott, he’s a walking thirst trap.”

“Dude,” Scott sighed, already tired of this, but Stiles wasn’t listening anymore.

Y/N was there, drink in hand, the pulsing neon lights painting his skin in shades of purple and red. His dark button-down was halfway unbuttoned, hanging loose around his torso, and Stiles’ eyes zeroed in on the exposed lines of his collarbone, sharp enough to draw blood. His sleeves were rolled up, the veins on his forearms faintly visible in the light. But it was the shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of his abs—a sheen of sweat glistening faintly—that made Stiles’ throat go completely dry.

And then, the jeans.

They were impossibly, unfairly tight, hugging Y/N’s thighs in a way that made Stiles’ brain glitch like an old computer. When Y/N shifted his weight, Stiles’ eyes darted, unbidden, to the curve of his bubble butt, and a very inappropriate thought hit him like a truck: That’s not fair. No one’s butt should look that good in jeans. I could probably grab—

“Stop staring at his ass, Stiles,” Scott muttered, elbowing him hard.

“I’m not—okay, fine, maybe I was,” Stiles said defensively, snapping his head up to find Y/N’s face instead.

Only to find that Y/N was looking right at him, a sly, knowing smile curving his lips. Stiles’ heart stuttered violently, and Y/N gave the faintest tilt of his head before turning back to his drink.

“I’m dead,” Stiles whispered, running a hand down his face.

“You’re embarrassing,” Scott corrected with a smirk. “Let’s just say hi before you combust.”

As they pushed closer, the details of Y/N became sharper. Stiles could see the faint flush to his cheeks, the way his hair looked messily perfect, as though he hadn’t even tried. His posture was lazy, his body loose and relaxed in a way that screamed confidence. Stiles wanted to touch him—trace a finger down the bare column of his throat, drag his teeth against that stupidly perfect collarbone. Mark him, his brain supplied unhelpfully.

Stiles was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t notice Y/N had turned toward them until it was too late.

“Hey, guys!” Y/N called, his grin wide and inviting. The music muffled his words, but they still hit Stiles like a punch to the chest. He had that lazy slur to his voice, the kind that said he’d already been drinking, and his smile was slightly crooked, his eyes bright with mischief.

“Hey!” Stiles blurted, far too enthusiastically. “You—uh—you’re here! You said you weren’t coming!”

Y/N shrugged, taking a long sip of his drink before leaning forward slightly, voice dropping to a teasing lilt. “Plans change.”

And then—he winked.

Stiles froze, his face turning a dangerous shade of red. Scott, mercifully, stepped in to save him. “We were just gonna look for Allison,” Scott said, his tone amused but casual. “You and Stiles have fun.”

Scott gave Stiles a quick thumbs-up before disappearing into the crowd. Stiles didn’t even have time to glare at him because Y/N stepped closer, his body brushing against Stiles’ arm.

“Come drink with me,” Y/N said, reaching out to grab Stiles’ wrist.

The contact burned in the best way possible—Y/N’s palm was warm, his fingers rough and strong. Stiles’ heart nearly leapt out of his chest as Y/N tugged him toward the bar, weaving through the crowd with a casual ease that made Stiles’ brain sputter.

They ended up with shots in their hands, Y/N grinning like he’d won something. “Cheers,” he said, raising his glass, his fingers brushing Stiles’ again in a lingering, deliberate way.

Stiles swallowed, his eyes locking onto Y/N’s. “Cheers.”

They downed their drinks, and Stiles coughed, the burn of alcohol scorching his throat. Y/N laughed, leaning into him as they both stumbled slightly. The motion brought their faces close, their foreheads nearly touching.

“Careful there, lightweight,” Y/N teased, voice low and warm.

“Careful yourself,” Stiles shot back, trying to sound confident even though his brain was short-circuiting.

The music shifted, deepening into something heavier, darker. Y/N turned toward him, his grin softening as he tilted his head. “Dance with me.”

Stiles barely had time to process before Y/N’s hands were sliding around his neck, their bodies aligning as though they were made to fit. Stiles’ own hands found Y/N’s bare waist, his fingers brushing over the smooth skin. He swore he could feel the heat radiating off Y/N.

They moved slowly at first, the beat thudding like a heartbeat beneath their feet. Stiles’ gaze dropped again—Y/N’s shirt was long gone, tossed somewhere near the bar, and all that was left was miles of skin and muscle, flushed pink from the heat and alcohol.

Teeth marks, Stiles thought helplessly. I want to leave teeth marks right there.

Y/N’s fingers curled into the nape of his neck, drawing him closer until their foreheads nearly touched. Stiles could feel Y/N’s breath on his lips, warm and faintly sweet.

“You’re staring,” Y/N murmured, his voice low and teasing.

Stiles didn’t even pretend to deny it. “Can you blame me?”

Y/N laughed softly, the sound barely audible over the music. “No,” he whispered. “Not really.”

Their movements slowed, more swaying than dancing now, the space between them nonexistent. Stiles tightened his grip on Y/N’s waist, his thumbs brushing slow, deliberate circles against the bare skin. Y/N shivered slightly under his touch, and Stiles grinned, leaning in just enough that his lips brushed the corner of Y/N’s jaw.

Y/N sucked in a sharp breath, his grip on Stiles’ neck tightening.

“I should’ve dragged you here sooner,” Y/N murmured, his voice soft but charged.

Stiles smirked, letting his hands slide a little lower, teasing the edge of Y/N’s waistband. “Better late than never.”

Y/N didn’t respond—not with words, anyway. Instead, he leaned in, their lips hovering dangerously close, the tension between them so thick it felt like it might snap.

And Stiles was perfectly fine with that.

He closed the distance between them, pressing his lips firmly against Y/N, his grip on the other boy’s waist tightening and pulling him closer - till they could completely feel each other. It was electric, the way they fit together, their bodies moving instinctively.

As Y/N’s hands held Stiles face, their tongues intertwining in a dance of its own, a feeling of euphoria rushed through him, like nothing else existed. Just the two of them, their breaths mingling and hearts pounding together in sync.

It was perfect.

When they finally pulled away, both boys were flushed, breathing heavily and staring into each other's eyes. The intensity between them was palpable, and as they slowly began to regain their composure, they couldn't help but burst out laughing.

"That was... unexpected," Stiles remarked, chuckling slightly.

"You're telling me," Y/N replied, a slight blush spreading across his cheeks.

Stiles bit his lip, glancing up at him. "So, are we doing this?"

"What do you mean?" Y/N asked, raising an eyebrow.

Stiles smiled, leaning in and gently pressing his lips against the other boy's, before whispering, "Let's get out of here."

They left the club, their fingers intertwined and their hearts beating rapidly in anticipation. The air was cool and crisp, and as they basically ran down the street to Stiles’ jeep. The tension between them was growing with every passing moment, and it wasn't long before they wouldn’t be making it do bed.

Pushed against the jeep, Stiles Stilinski and Y/N, kissing hungrily. Y/N was pinned against the car door, their tongues fighting for dominance. They were both moaning loudly, and it was obvious that the sexual tension between them had grown too much.

"We're not going to make it to the bed, are we?" Y/N murmured against Stiles's lips, his voice breathy and heavy with lust.

"Hell no," Stiles growled, pulling y/n off the car, hurriedly slamming the jeep’s back door open. They fell into the backseat, their limbs tangling, and the next thing they knew, they were kissing again.

It was passionate and messy, the air between them filled with nothing but heat and desire. They were both panting and moaning, their hands roaming each other's bodies, exploring every inch. Stiles took a moment to pause and just admire Y/N … in his car … he was so ready to ravage that body.

“You’re drooling sexy,” Y/N said as he winked, sending Stiles a smirk.

Stiles wasted no time in dragging his lips down the other boy's neck, pushing the other on his back. His skin was warm and soft, and as he reached the collarbone, he bit down, drawing a loud moan from y/n, whose hands snaked their way grabbing & tugging at Stiles’ hair.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous," he breathed into y/n’s neck, running his hands over y/n's bare chest and torso.

He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his chest, and Y/N squirmed beneath him as the other’s tongue flicked across his nipple. He then moved to the other, sucking and nibbling. Y/N arched his back, letting out a string of whimpers.

"God, Stiles..."

Y/N bucked his hips up, desperate for some friction, but Stiles held him down, pressing him further into the car seat. His mouth continued its trail downwards, stopping to nibble at y/n's hip bones, biting, bruising and - marking.

Y/N’s already had a fucked out expression, one that Stiles was coming to love.

Y/N’s hands sneaked under Stiles’ t-shirt, roughly yanking it off.

“You’re sure getting needy,” Stiles said smirking as he dragged his tongue across Y/N’s v-line again, placing gentle kisses on the burning bruises, licking occasionally - making y/n arch his back his pleasure and pain.

"You're so good with your mouth," Y/N moaned, his eyes shut tight as his fingers tangled in Stiles' hair.

"Oh, trust me. You haven't seen anything yet," Stiles muttered, his voice low and husky.

Y/N let out another moan as he felt Stiles' fingers hook on the hem of his boxers, sliding them down painfully slow. Once they were discarded on the floor, he immediately turned the other around, gently smacking his ass.

Y/N gasped, a moan escaping his lips as the pain slowly turned into pleasure, making him rock his hips back, his cock rubbing against the leather seat.

"Fuck your ass is so juicy,” Stiles growled as his hands squeezed Y/N’s ass, spreading them apart. He leaned down, blowing gently against his hole.

"Please," Y/N breathed, his body shivering. "Stiles, please."

Stiles smirked and licked a wet stripe along the crack, tasting Y/N, hearing him moan loudly.

"Oh my God," Y/N panted, his fingers gripping the car seat. "Please, Stiles."

"Begging already, huh?" Stiles whispered, his voice dripping with lust. "You're so fucking sexy."

Stiles leaned forward again, this time letting his tongue slip inside. Y/N's legs shook, and he let out a long moan, his cock leaking onto the seat.

He continued to fuck the other with his tongue, his finger slowly creeping up the crack, teasing his hole, as his other hand grabbed y/n’s dripping cock.

"You taste amazing," he groaned, stroking the other.

"Fuck, Stiles, I'm gonna cum," Y/N whimpered, his legs shaking.

Stiles pulled away, his lips red and swollen.

"I don't think so, sweetheart," he said, his eyes glinting.

He flipped y/n around, pressing his lips against the other cock deep-throating it hungrily. Y/N's body arched, his eyes rolling back.

“Fuck STILES Oh MY GOD!” Y/N squealed arching his back as Stiles continued furiously bobbing his head, his finger gently massaging Y/N’s hole.

"Shit, fuck, I'm gonna cum!" Y/N screamed, but Stiles had other ideas.

He quickly pulled his mouth away from the other, leaving him a whimpering, horny mess, as he pushed a finger into his hole.

"Please, please, I need to cum," he begged, his eyes pleading.

"You'll get to," Stiles promised, leaning down and sucking on his nipple.

Y/N was practically sobbing, his body convulsing. "Please, fuck me, please," he begged, tears streaming down his face.

"You're so fucking hot," Stiles muttered, pushing another finger inside.

Y/N cried out, his whole body shuddering as he came hard, his cum spraying all over his stomach.

"Fuck, that was hot, and I haven’t even gotten started yet," Stiles breathed, his cock twitching.

"Stiles," Y/N gasped, his chest heaving. "I need you to fuck me."

Stiles smirked, his hand running along the other's length.

"You're such a dirty slut, aren't you?" he teased, pressing his fingers into the other's entrance.

"Please," Y/N begged, his face flushed, with the most fucked out expression every, the kind that made Stiles’ hard on HURT even more.

Stiles pulled his fingers out, and pushed them in repeatedly, thrusting, and curving his fingers. Y/N was writhing and panting, his cock already hard again, his prostate sending waves of arousal through him.

"Fuck, I can't wait any longer," Stiles growled, unbuckling his pants as he licked his lips.

Y/N got up, grabbing stiles arm pushing him down. Straddling him and rubbing his ass on his raging hard on.

"Fuck me, How are you so huge,” y/n said panting as the other positioned himself.

"You're the one who's going to take all of this," he growled, grabbing y/n by the hips.

Stiles bucked his hips, his tip prodding but not entering the other's hole.

"Fuck, stop teasing," Y/N said, his voice trembling.

"Beg for it," he whispered, his fingers digging into the other's flesh.

"Please, please, I need it, I want it, fuck, please, Please let me ride you! I want you I want you so bad," Y/N whimpered, his legs shaking.

Stiles gave him a wicked smile and slowly bucking his hips, entering the other with his tip, and slowly letting himself fill the other.

"Ah, fuck, you're so tight," Stiles moaned, his hands gripping the other's waist.

"Ah, ah, ah," Y/N whimpered as he felt the other fill him up, stretching his walls, his body tensing.

"Oh my god, fuck, you're so big," Y/N groaned, his head thrown back in ecstasy.

"God, you feel so fucking good," Stiles grunted, his fingers digging into the other's hips, spanking his ass as hard as he could.

Y/N moaned, his eyes rolling back, his body shivering.

"Please, please, harder, fuck me harder, oh my god," he whimpered, his voice a low whine.

"I'll give you harder," Stiles grunted, spanking the other, as he began thrusting into the other with full force.

"Fuck, you're such a slut, aren't you?" he groaned, his nails raking across the other's back, unconsciously drawing blood.

"Oh, fuck, please, yes, fuck me harder, harder," Y/N begged, his body tensing, his cock throbbing.

"That's right, beg for it," he growled, spanking the other again.

Stiles’ hands moved all over y/n’s body, as if he was making a mental map of every inch of him - and now it all belonged to him. His fingers gently played with Y/N’s nipple, causing him to squirm.

"Fuck, you're so hot, so beautiful," Stiles murmured, his thrusts growing more erratic, y/n struggling to keep riding at such a pace.

"I'm gonna cum," Y/N panted, his body trembling, his toes curling.

"Not yet, not yet, I'm not finished with you yet," Stiles grunted, his grip tightening. As he pushed y/n onto his back.

"Wait, what, are you gonna-"

Before he could finish, Stiles was pushing the other's legs apart, his tip brushing against his hole.

"Oh, fuck, yes, yes, yes," Y/N moaned, his body arching.

"Such a good little slut," Stiles said, grinning down at the other, his cock throbbing, as he entered the other's hole.

"Yes, yes, oh my god," y/n panted, his hands gripping the leather seat.

Stiles thrust deep and hard, his tip brushing against the other's prostate, causing him to scream, his whole body spasming.

"You like that, don't you?" he grunted, thrusting deeper, harder.

"Yes, oh god, yes, please, please, fuck, don't stop, don't stop," y/n begged, his body shuddering, his legs trembling.

"So tight, you're so tight, fuck," Stiles moaned, his hips slamming against the other, his balls slapping the other's ass, his grip on the other's hips almost painful.

"Harder, harder, fuck, fuck, please, fuck, oh my god," Y/N cried, his face twisted in pleasure, his cock dripping, as Stiles slammed his prostate with his thick 10 inches.

"Such a slut," Stiles grunted, his nails digging into the other's thighs.

"Yes, fuck, I'm your slut, fuck, I'm your dirty whore, please, I'm your fucking slut, fuck me, use me, oh my god, please, fuck, oh god," Y/N whimpered, his words incoherent, his mind spinning, his whole body shaking.

"I'm gonna cum," Stiles growled, gripping the other's hair, as he bit down hard sinking his teeth into y/n’s neck again -

| his thrusts growing erratic.

"Cum in me, cum in me, please, fuck, I want it, I want it," y/n begged, his legs wrapping around the other, pulling him closer, his hands clutching the leather seat.

"Take it," Stiles growled, thrusting his full length deep into the other's tight, hot hole, as he shot his load inside.

"Fuck, fuck, yes, yes, oh god, fuck," Y/N panted, his eyes rolling back, his legs quivering, as the other filled him, his whole body shuddering with orgasm.

They stayed like that for a few moments, both of them panting, sweaty, and breathless, their bodies glistening in the dim light and sweat.

"Holy shit," Stiles finally managed to say, still not pulling out of the other, his cock still twitching, his breathing ragged.

"Yeah," Y/N panted, his eyes still unfocused, his face flushed.

"That was..."

"Fucking amazing," Y/N finished for him, grinning, his hair matted, his body drenched.

"Yeah," Stiles said, his chest still heaving.

"Yeah," Y/N agreed, his breathing beginning to steady.

"So, what do we do now?"

"Well, we could always go again," Stiles said, smirking.

"I like the way you think," Y/N said, laughing softly.

(Author’s Note: RINSE AND REPEAT BITCHES ! Thank you for reading ! This was originally written for my Stiles x male oc reader Story: ANOMALY. So please don't be shocked if I reformat and edit to put this smut into ANOMALY! THANK YOU FOR READING )

CHECK OUT ANOMALY ! From my master list in bio!

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defectivevillain · 27 days ago

Text

give you all my poison

pairing: Peter Hale/Reader

reader's pronouns are he/him; race is ambiguous.

Derek shakes his head in disbelief. Then he falls silent and squints at you. “Peter’s right, you do smell a bit weird.” He frowns, his eyebrows furrowed. “Should I be concerned that everyone’s smelling me?” you ask. “We’re werewolves,” Derek says flatly. Yes, you suppose that is a suitable excuse.

You’re not quite sure what Peter Hale’s obsession with your scent is about. You just know that he doesn’t seem to care what you think, because he’s constantly breaking the distance between you and sniffing at your neck with a confused and irritated expression.

word count: 4.8k | ao3 version

Warnings: mentions of skin-peeling/shedding (molting); canon-typical blood, injury, violence, and supernatural stuff

author's notes: The reader is male/transmasculine. His race is ambiguous.

This is canon divergent, maybe even canon non-compliant. This fic’s pacing is pretty quick and it’s dialogue heavy. But I thought of the idea yesterday and just had to share it. I’m obsessed.

I'm bad at creating my own titles—this one is an edited lyric from Thank You for the Venom by MCR. Because duh.

“You smell very strange,” a familiar voice says in lieu of a greeting. You look up from the couch to find Peter standing in the opposite doorway, his nose scrunched and a pinched expression on his face. He looks effortlessly casual in his cardigan and jeans, and his gaze flits about your form before settling on your face.

“Thanks,” you say wryly. You’ve long grown used to Peter’s somewhat blunt, borderline rude personality. He’s clever and has a sharp wit, making him rather entertaining to speak to. You thought you had grown used to his sardonic nature, but that remark hurts a bit.

“You know what I mean,” Peter says, appearing moments away from rolling his eyes.

“I really don’t,” you admit. You know werewolves have a particularly strong sense of smell, but you’re not sure why he’s pointing it out to you.

“You smell—” Peter breaks off, annoyed. He takes a step into the room and freezes, falling quiet for a moment. “—strange. You don’t smell like a human.”

“What?” you ask, growing a bit worried. What’s that supposed to mean, exactly?! Are you not human? “Wait, what do I smell like, then?”

Peter takes that statement as permission to break the distance between you and start sniffing your neck, to which you try to push him away. He chases you for a moment before leaning back with a focused expression on his face. “You smell acidic,” he concludes.

“Maybe my pH levels are off,” you mutter dryly, ignoring how your heart had jumped at his sudden proximity.

Peter hears the remark (damn his werewolf hearing). And damn it, that means he can probably hear your heart racing. Ugh. “No,” Peter responds, breaking you away from your thoughts. “You don’t smell like any human I’ve met.”

“Do you go around smelling humans a lot?” you ask, attempting to alleviate some of the tension in the air.

“You could take this seriously, for once in your life,” Peter says, entirely unimpressed by your jab.

“That’s ironic, coming from you.” You smile. “And take what seriously? You just said I smell weird. And then you proceeded to smell me without warning.”

Peter looks at you for a moment and growls, walking off into the nearby hall. You stare after him in confusion, before making peace with the fact that he’s not going to explain himself.

Several minutes pass before another presence enters the room. You’re about to ask Peter what the whole smelling debacle was about when you realize the new arrival isn’t Peter, but instead his nephew, Derek. He gives you a stiff nod from his spot in the doorway. You raise your brow expectantly, sensing he wants to speak with you.

“You seem to be…” Derek then says, trailing off for a moment as he evidently struggles to find the words. “...Particularly good at annoying my uncle.” He then notes, taking a step to the side and leaning against the wall.

“I try my best,” you say.

Derek shakes his head in disbelief. Then he falls silent and squints at you. “He’s right, you do smell a bit weird.” He frowns, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Should I be concerned that everyone’s smelling me?” you ask.

“We’re werewolves,” Derek says flatly. Yes, you suppose that is a suitable excuse.

“Okay then,” you relent. That still doesn’t give you an explanation, though. “Why is it such a big deal?”

“Werewolves use their sense of smell to distinguish between friends—or pack members—and enemies,” Derek explains.

“Well, can’t you just look at me to do that?” you ask. Derek scoffs, as if it’s an incredibly dumb question. “What?” you say defensively.

“It’s not that simple,” Derek says, vague as always.

“So… what’s the problem with me smelling weird?” you eventually prompt him.

“It’s not a problem, necessarily,” he remarks. “But all humans have a somewhat similar smell: blood and sweat. Either you have strange genetics, or…” You stare at him expectantly. Derek just exhales. “Or you’re not human,” he finishes.

“Oh,” you remark, not quite sure what else to say. “Fun.” The prospect of you being supernatural is definitely overwhelming. But maybe it’ll just be a fluke. Maybe you just have some undiagnosed health issues. Surely there’s a logical explanation for this.

“Yes,” Derek says, a hint of a smile on his face at your sarcasm. It quickly fades as he considers the statement. “So you could be some sort of supernatural creature.”

“Wouldn’t I have known that by now, though?” You frown.

“It depends,” Derek murmurs. “Not all creatures have to undergo a bite or formative event to trigger their powers. Some are born that way, others are created through science.”

“Huh,” you remark. “You know a lot about this stuff.”

“Thanks to me,” Stiles chimes in, popping up in the opposite hallway. Derek’s eyes immediately shoot over to Stiles and you resist the urge to laugh, instead following his eyes and looking at your friend.

“Hey, Stiles,” You greet him.

“Hey!” he says brightly. He’s tapping his fingers against the wall. “So, I heard you’re joining the supernatural gang?” You know him well enough to know that the smile on his face is a devious one. You may be in trouble.

“Not yet,” Derek interjects, before he can get too excited.

“Well, you can be an honorary member,” Stiles says with a nod. You feel yourself start to relax at the remark. “And don’t let Peter get to you. He’s kind of a dick.”

“Stiles,” Derek warns him. “Okay, so he’s definitely a huge dick,” Stiles corrects himself. Derek groans in annoyance and walks off, leaving Stiles and you in the living room. “Mind if I sit?”

“Go for it; I could use some human company. Or semi-human, I guess.” You move over to give him more room.

“I fit the bill,” Stiles hums in agreement, stretching his legs to let his feet rest on the coffee table. Derek always hates when he does that, you note with amusement. You get the feeling Stiles has started doing it on purpose now. “So, you think you’re supernatural?” he asks.

“I don’t think so,” you frown. “I mean, if Peter hadn’t said anything about me smelling weird, then I wouldn’t have even considered it.”

“Peter said you smell weird?” Stiles blinks, before face-palming. “Idiot.” You get the weirdest feeling there’s something you’re missing. But you can’t focus on it for long before Stiles is continuing to speak. “Don’t worry. He’s probably trying to make something out of nothing.”

“I hope so,” you sigh.

“Hey, don’t panic,” Stiles remarks. “Even if you are somehow supernatural, then we’ll be able to help. You’re definitely in the right place.”

“Thanks, Stiles.” You smile, appreciating your friend’s support.

“Don’t mention it,” he says casually, reaching for the TV remote. “Now, wanna watch shitty reality TV? How about 90 Day Fiance?”

“Hell yeah,” you respond affirmatively.

As days pass and bleed into weeks, you slowly start to forget your unusual interaction with Peter. You continue studying and focusing on school, occasionally meeting up with the pack when they need another set of eyes on things. Ultimately, your spring semester is shaping up to be a normal one.

But then some strange things start happening. Beacon Hills is a strange place—you’ve grown to accept that. It’s home to all sorts of supernatural creatures. Hell, you’re friends with werewolves: you can handle a bit of weirdness. Usually, you’re not directly involved, though. You’re always a bystander, which you’re more than fine with. Things don’t necessarily happen to you, which is why it throws you when you wake up one morning to find your skin peeling—and not just a normal amount. It’s… Well, you don’t even want to think about it anymore. You just feel like a snake shedding its skin. The thought makes you shudder.

And then there’s your strange tolerance for heat. You’ve never quite loved the summer months in Beacon Hills, since it can get very warm outside. You’re usually okay if you stay inside. But this summer, for whatever reason, you’re not only comfortable in the heat—you find yourself actively seeking it out, moving to sit in the sun instead of the shade and going outside more often. You also find yourself feeling less fatigued, as if you’re expending less energy. It’s all so weird. You would try speaking to Stiles about it, but the pack has been pretty busy lately with the appearance of a few hostile Darachs. Besides, you don’t even know how you’d begin to breach the topic.

It all comes to a head on one particularly sweltering summer afternoon, when you find yourself seeking out the sun’s warmth instead of resting in the air conditioning like the rest of the pack. You had gotten some incredulous looks, but you couldn’t quite focus on that. You can’t rationalize this behavior of yours—you just know that it feels right, somehow.

“What are you doing out here?” Peter scoffs, clearly trying to sound disinterested. You squint and look over to find Peter standing next to you in a tank top and sweatpants. There’s a note of something close to concern in his voice. You pretend not to notice, instead considering the question.

“Relaxing.” You just shrug, crossing your legs and taking a slow breath.

“It’s practically a desert out here,” Peter points out. “You’re crazy.”

“I’m fine,” you reassure him, noticing the worry hidden behind the insult. “It feels nice.”

Peter leans forward and brings a hand to your forehead, frowning. “You don’t feel warm,” he notes.

“I told you,” you say quietly, without venom. Peter just mutters something under his breath about stubbornness before walking away. You glance around and find him retreating into the cool, air-conditioned house. You hum and turn your attention back to soaking up the sun’s warmth. It feels quite nice—almost rejuvenating.

Then a sudden sharp pain bleeds through your ribs. You gasp and bring a hand to your abdomen, feeling as if it’s tearing itself apart. Your back is aching persistently too, adding insult to injury. You’re leaning down to the ground now, a hand on the grass as you try to breathe past the stabbing sensation in your chest. What is happening? One moment you��re fine; the next, you feel as if your entire body is stretching and ripping at the seams.

You blink and submerge yourself in darkness. When you open your eyes, you realize you’re on your feet again. Except… you’re taller than normal. And your lower half comprises eight inky black legs. There’s something weighing your back down; you manage to turn around enough to see a giant stinger. Are you… a scorpion? You stare down at your form in disbelief. Everything from your waist up is human; from the waist down, you look like a scorpion.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Peter’s voice breaks through the silence and you look over to find him staring at you in complete disbelief. He’s standing just past the stairs to the house, regarding you with an unreadable expression.

“...Hey,” you manage to say awkwardly, your heart racing in your chest.

“That’s all you have to say for yourself?” he exclaims incredulously. "Hey?”

“I didn’t know this would happen!” you quickly defend yourself.

Between the likely indicators of your distress—your accelerated heart rate and pained breathing—and the commotion from your argument with Peter, you’ve successfully drawn Stiles and Derek out of the house. Derek doesn’t look super surprised, only a bit wary; and Stiles looks excited. His eyes are practically glittering. “I knew it, dude!” he exclaims, sending you a thumbs-up. You feel some of your nerves fade at the friendly gesture. “Supernatural gang! Hell yeah. You look so fucking cool!” You fight off a smile.

“Stiles,” Derek admonishes him. But he’s hiding a smile.

“I knew you smelled too weird to be a human,” Peter says triumphantly, a victorious grin on his face. He seems to have gotten over the whole scorpion transformation thing pretty quickly.

You just huff in annoyance. You have more important things to worry about at the moment, like returning to your human form. “Any advice on how to…?”

“Go back to normal?” Peter supplies. He’s studying your tail with particular interest, hunger flickering across his face. You hope he doesn’t want to eat you. “No idea.” He shrugs.

You look at Derek helplessly. He sighs. “I’m not sure either,” he admits, before glancing at Stiles. “Any ideas?”

“Finally someone asked,” Stiles huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Thought I’d be standing here twiddling my thumbs the whole time.”

“Stiles,” Derek says exasperatedly.

“Right, right, not the time,” Stiles sighs, before taking a step closer to you and looking up at you. “Okay, so I’ve done some reading. Because, well, emissary stuff. I guess. Anyways! I remember the process being similar to werewolves—having something anchor you to your humanity.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” you ask helplessly, starting to feel a bit scared.

“It’s okay, you’ll be okay,” Stiles says, evidently sensing your distress. “We’ll get you out of this soon, don’t worry.” He placates you. Damn it, Stiles always knows just what to say. You want to be embarrassed, but hell, you just turned into a half-scorpion! This is far from normal.

“Your anchor can be a person, a relationship, an object,” Derek adds. “Anything that reminds you of your human form.”

You take a slow breath, attempting to calm yourself down. You can do this. You don’t need to rush it, either. You’re not in danger right now—Peter, Derek, and Stiles are here. They’re not scared by you, and they didn’t shun you. You’re going to be fine. You’re safe. You repeat that notion like a mantra in your head. You’re safe. You’re okay. You’ll be just fine. And slowly but surely, you start to believe it. The stiffness and discomfort slowly bleed out of you and you feel a sudden pressure in your knees before you crumple to the ground.

“Not bad,” Peter says, the words sounding garbled through your ringing ears. He’s standing far closer than you thought he was—if you were to stand up, you’d probably crash into him.

“Ugh,” you just groan, attempting to peel yourself off the ground. Your limbs are aching and there’s some sort of liquid dripping from your fingers. But otherwise, you’re back to your human form! Small mercies.

Peter doesn’t even offer you a hand, instead just bending down and hauling you to your feet like a stray kitten. You blink and wobble a bit, set right by his rather tight grip on your upper arm. “Thanks,” you say to him, before looking down at your dripping hands. “This is probably venom.”

“Probably, yes,” Peter says with a smile.

Stiles and Derek approach you, vastly different expressions on their faces (intrigue and skepticism, respectively). Stiles leans in to scrutinize the liquid for a moment. “It won’t hurt you, because you have resistance, I’m sure,” he reassures you. “But it’ll be poisonous to us. Maybe even corrosive,” Stiles analyzes.

“Corrosive?” you echo.

“Look.” Stiles inclines his head down to your feet. You follow his gaze to where you had first fallen after your transformation. There’s a sizable chunk of ground caving in on itself, evidently from where the venom had fallen to the ground and eroded it. “Hey, you should try shooting it.” He proceeds to shoot his wrist out like Spider-Man shoots his webs.

“I’m not Spider-Man,” you huff. Peter lets out an amused noise; you decide to follow Stiles’s instruction, if only out of curiosity. Unsurprisingly, the venom just drips off of your hands. You smile knowingly.

“Hey, it was worth a try,” Stiles defends himself. He seems eager to change the subject. “Anyways, now we have a shit ton of werewolves, a Kitsune, a spark, a Kanima—Jackson’s lucky he’s even being included—and you. Nice. Sounds like the start to a really bad joke.”

Derek just rolls his eyes. He probably doesn’t realize it, but his eyes are gleaming with fondness as he looks at your friend. You catch Stiles’s eye and smile, which he returns with a smile of his own. Maybe one day he’ll notice Derek’s pining. Maybe one day.

“Let’s head back,” Derek suggests. “You should probably be in our company for a few days, to ensure you don’t transform accidentally.”

“Yeah, that wouldn’t be good…” you hesitantly agree, thinking about transforming into a half-scorpion in the middle of your lecture hall. That’s one easy way to fail your classes. You stare down at your hands, relieved to find that the venom has been absorbed into your skin once more. Where exactly that venom goes is a mystery you don’t particularly care to solve.

“I can do some research,” Stiles offers, practically bouncing on his heels at the thought. “Some light reading.”

“You call those thick ass books ‘light reading’?” Derek mutters disbelievingly as he heads back towards the house.

“Yes.” Stiles frowns, walking behind Derek. “And that’s not how you say ‘you’re welcome,’ sourwolf.”

You don’t really have the wherewithal to comprehend what they’re talking about, so you instead just focus on not tripping over your own feet as you head back to the house. Peter still has a hand on your arm, which you’re secretly grateful for. You sort of feel like you’re walking through a thick sludge. Evidently, the transformation will take some getting used to.

You can’t be more than a minute’s walk from the house, but you’re still tired by the time you get up the steps. You pause in the entryway, bracing yourself with a hand against the wall. You can feel Peter’s inquisitive gaze burning into the side of your face. “You’re about to pass out,” he reminds you.

“Thanks, I hadn’t noticed,” you say dryly. The remark lacks your usual bite, instead sounding a bit pathetic.

“You’re welcome.” Peter smiles sweetly. You roll your eyes. Despite his acerbic remark, his grip on you tightens as he leads you to the living room. You pretty much collapse on the sofa, feeling all of your adrenaline promptly seep out of your bones.

“Get some rest,” Derek practically orders. Stiles lets out a pointed cough and he lets out a strangled breath. “You’ll need it,” he says a bit more kindly.

You don’t have the time or energy to contemplate the weird expression on Peter’s face as he stares at you; or notice the meaningful look Stiles gives you, his eyes flitting between Peter and you pointedly. Within moments, you’re succumbing to exhaustion and falling asleep to the ever-familiar sound of Stiles and Derek’s bickering.

You would think, in the time since you learned you’re a Girtablilu—which is the official word for a creature like you, according to Stiles—that Peter would abandon the whole scenting issue. You’re pretty surprised, then, when he walks into the room and freezes again, a frown rising on his face.

“You smell different,” Peter says.

“Not this again,” you protest. But it’s too late—Peter’s already getting up in your space and sniffing you. You remain still this time, if only because you know resistance is futile.

“You smell like the banshee,” he concludes after his impromptu inspection.

“Lydia?” you ask. Peter knows her name—he shouldn’t be calling her ‘the banshee.’ You sigh, knowing that’s an argument you’re not going to win. “Yeah, we’re roommates. I’m surprised you’re just now noticing.” Indeed, you’ve been rooming with Lydia for the entire year.

“Co-ed dorms?” Peter questions.

“Yeah, our residence hall is all-gender,” you reply, confused by this particular line of questioning.

“Interesting,” Peter says. The irritated expression on his face suggests that it’s nothing of the sort. “And she’s your girlfriend?” he clarifies.

You stare at him in complete disbelief. He stares back unflinchingly. “What—? No,” you choke out. Where in the hell did he get that idea?

“You’re sure?” Peter asks, a smile on his face as if he’s amused at your expense. It looks a little strained. “You smell like her.” Okay, now he definitely sounds annoyed.

“Positive,” you respond firmly. “Lydia likes women; she’s dating Allison.” And the two of you live together—it’s only natural that her scent will carry over to you, if that’s how the whole scent thing works. You’re still very confused by it. Thankfully, that’s not really your problem—since you don’t have an enhanced sense of smell like the werewolves.

“Oh,” Peter remarks.

“Yes, oh,” you say, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “And I’m gay too. So we’re just friends.” Peter doesn’t say anything for a long moment. “We get that question a lot.” You then explain, needing a reprieve from the awkward silence.

Peter just hums. “I didn’t realize you like men.”

A pause. “Well, I do,” you say somewhat helplessly. You have an idea of why he’s so interested in that particular tidbit, but you don’t want to get your hopes up or read into it too much.

“I do, too,” Peter says.

Your eyes snap to him so fast you nearly give yourself whiplash. For a moment, you’re struck silent as you just stare at him incredulously. Fortunately, you’re saved from stammering out a response when Derek storms through the door, looking furious. “I’m going to kill Stiles,” he hisses, surging through the room and heading to one of the adjacent hallways. The tension that had been settling between Peter and you is promptly broken, leaving you both standing in the living room somewhat awkwardly.

Unfortunately, it seems Peter hasn’t lost his creepy fixation with your scent. The first and second time, you weren’t expecting it. This time, you manage to see it coming.

“You smell like Stiles,” Peter says as he enters the room, studying you intently.

“Okay, no need to test it,” you say quickly with a shake of your head, leaning away from him before he can start sniffing you again. You’ve since learned from your mistakes. “What’s with you and this scent thing?” you demand.

Peter just smiles, entirely unashamed of the stunt he just tried to pull. “Why were you with Stiles?” he asks instead, proceeding to entirely ignore your question.

“You know him,” you answer exasperatedly. “He’s a ‘slut for research,’ in his own words. He wanted to see what kind of scorpion I am.”

“And?” Peter prompts you.

“Well, we’re not quite sure,” you begin. The research process was pretty entertaining. Stiles was fanboying half of the time, which was a bit flattering, honestly. “We couldn’t test if my tail grows back without cutting it off, which we didn’t want to do, obviously. But I am fluorescent, supposedly. So that’s fun. And then my venom’s toxic too.”

“I guess I was molting last week,” you recall. Peter’s entirely silent, which convinces you to keep talking. “Scorpions can live up to a year without food, but we can’t test that either. They also have low metabolic rates. That’s about it, I think.” Some of that information is from Wikipedia, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“I’d never met a Girtablilu before,” Peter admits. That statement feels more impactful than you can comprehend, for some reason. There’s a certain weight to it.

“Me neither,” you then huff. Peter’s expression cracks into a slight smile.

“You’re something of a rare breed,” he teases.

“Don’t say it like that,” you argue insistently. “I’m not a pet.”

“You’d be a cute one,” Peter continues, uncaring of your objections. “Just put you in a tank, throw you crickets every few days.”

“Perish the thought,” you say with a shake of your head.

“Take you out for walks,” Peter continues, if only to irritate you more.

“I’ll sting you,” you threaten him.

“You won’t,” Peter says.

You both know it’s an empty threat. “I won’t,” you agree.

“I have diplomatic immunity, it seems,” Peter notes. He looks smug now.

“For now,” you emphasize, wanting to wipe that damn smirk off his face. “Don’t get comfortable.”

“Oh, I won’t,” he says. The sharpened teeth in his grin send a bolt of something down your spine. “I’ll be watching you very closely, sweetheart.” And, in typical dramatic fashion, Peter’s gone before you can respond. That’s probably good for you, because otherwise, he would’ve noticed the flustered expression you’re sure is written all over your face.

You’re starting to think something’s wrong with Peter. Maybe he’s sick or something. He’s just been acting a little… strange. For one, he keeps on touching you—casual gestures like a hand on your shoulder, the nape of your neck, or your back. He doesn’t behave like that with anyone else. Next, he’s being weirdly evasive. Every time you try to speak with him, Peter almost seems distracted.

In hindsight, maybe you should’ve expected this behavior to manifest in other ways. Because surely that’s the only explanation for why he thought that pursuing multiple Chimeras on his own would be a good idea. Peter’s strong, sure, but not that foolish. At least, that’s what you thought.

Safe to say, once you all learn of Peter’s absence, you’re the first to volunteer yourself to go after him. Stiles had tracked down the location of the Chimeras the previous day, so it won’t be hard to find. Furthermore, your venom will prove useful—since the creatures have very few weaknesses otherwise. Derek doesn’t seem happy about it, necessarily, but Stiles manages to distract him long enough for you to make your daring escape and go after Peter.

You find him in the same clearing Stiles had labeled as the Chimeras’ hideout. He’s fending them off, but you can tell his balance is slightly lopsided and he’s slowly losing ground. You sigh, resigning yourself to a messy evening before transforming into your Girtablilu form and fighting off the creatures at Peter’s back.

After what feels like far too long, you’ve successfully defeated all of the Chimeras. You take a slow breath and calm down, embracing your human form once more. As you return, you stumble and shoot an arm out, bracing yourself with a hand on the tree Peter’s leaning against. The transformation still isn’t as smooth as you want it to be, but you know it’ll improve with time.

“Maybe don’t go off on your own again,” you say breathlessly, looking down at him with a tired smirk on your face. “Also, you’re welcome.”

Peter’s staring at you with wide eyes, his gaze roaming your face as if drinking in the sight of you. You stare back at him, a bit curious about his sudden intense scrutiny. He doesn’t explain himself, instead keeping quiet and just looking at you eerily.

Eventually, you extend a hand to him; he takes it and allows you to tug him to his feet. You move to release your grip, but Peter’s grasp is steadfast and unrelenting. The two of you stand there for several moments, far closer than what is socially appropriate.

“You’re difficult to impress,” Peter eventually murmurs.

You blink. “You were trying to impress me? Why?” The thought is almost ludicrous.

“Because I… care about you,” Peter says, his voice almost dripping with condescension and revulsion. You recognize the bravado in the gesture—knowing he’s masking his uncertainty and nerves. Then you process the statement and everything finally makes sense: the scenting; the physical contact; the look on his face when you first transformed, and the look he gave you just now; the concern disguised with sarcasm.

“Oh,” you breathe.

“Yes, oh,” he repeats, clearly taking delight in calling back to the last time you said those same words. Suddenly that conversation about sexuality makes a lot more sense.

“Well,” you drawl, sounding a lot more confident than you feel, “are you going to do anything about it?”

“Does that mean what I think it means?” Peter’s eyes are glittering.

“Yes,” you confirm, your voice wavering ever so slightly. Peter’s expectant gaze is only making you more nervous. “I care about you too.”

“Good,” Peter states, before surging forward and kissing you. You’re quick to embrace him in return, your arms looping around his shoulders. It’s far from a sweet or harmless gesture—Peter doesn’t do sweet, and you think his claws are digging into your waist somewhere. But… you wouldn’t want him any other way.

“Well,” a familiar voice says far too soon. Peter and you break apart, both of you turning to investigate. “I guess you guys had it handled after all.”

“...Hey, Stiles,” you sigh, recognizing your friend at the edge of the woods. Stiles sends you a wave.

“Derek thought I should check on you,” he explains, shoving his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. “He’s gonna kill me, though: I bet him that you guys would get your shit together by the end of the week.”

“So, thanks,” Stiles says with a smirk. “I can’t wait to rub it in Derek’s face.”

Peter and you exchange a look before sighing in exasperated defeat.

I had to look up werewolf scenting for this. and then I immediately got embarrassed and stopped and deleted my search history. And now I'm talking about it here and leaving a permanent digital footprint. sigh.

thanks for reading! <3

check out my other works, sorted by fandom.

general taglist: @its-ares @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @kingkoku @the-ultimate-librarian @gayaristocrat @always-lying-to-you @moss4ev3r

friendly reminder that i don't give permission for my writing to be shared to other sites, stolen, copied, translated, or used in any way. thanks!

#defectivevillain #teen wolf #teen wolf x reader #Peter hale #Peter hale x reader #Peter hale x male reader #Peter x male reader #teen wolf x male reader #Peter hale x transmasc reader #x transmasc reader #transmasc reader #male reader #x male reader

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marshmellowjay · 2 months ago

Text

Hyper emotionally sensitive reader, (literally me) like any inconvenience can cause tears, or an emotional response.

Stubs toe? Tears. Sad video? Tears. Overwhelmingly happy or sad? Tears. Just an emotional sweetheart.

Imagine they find out that their toddler is the same as their mommy/papa reader. Sobbing their little heart out because they dropped something, or simply because they are extremely confused.

The two often crying with each other because the other got sensitive and it triggered a response.

And even if (character) feels bad for their sweethearts, they can't help but find it adorable, even a little funny that their two loves of their life are so sensitive.

A pair of emotional sweethearts 😖

#viserys targaryen #jessiesworks #fem reader #male reader #gn reader #reader x jjk #haikyuu x reader #slashers x reader #reader x anyone #percy jackson x reader #reader x mha #teen wolf x reader #twilight x reader

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clean-bands-dirty-stories · 7 months ago

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Mercy ~ T.R.

A/n: I haven’t actually watched this far into the show, this is all from second hand understanding, so if it’s a little OOC I apologize :)

Request: “Can you do a Theo Raeken x Mreader where the reader never doubted that there was goodness in Theo’s heart even tho he committed terrible acts, the reader supports Theo because they knew that he was led astray since he was a child. The pack believes that the reader maybe crazy and when they discuss that Theo deserves everything bad that happens to him, the reader defends him, which makes Theo feels like he doesn’t deserve someone like them.” By anon

Word Count: 2100+

MASTERLIST

"Stop that."

Y/n was a pretty passive person. His strengths came from maintaining focus and calm. Hiding, not being seen, never losing control. When he spoke, it was always even and his gaze gave nothing away. He wasn't particularly comforting, or good at fighting, but he was extremely good at getting out of a tight situation - or sneaking into one without consequences. It left him often as the one who could get reinforcements, deliver information where it was needed, or learn important things others couldn't because he hadn't been noticed or stopped.

Which meant easily enough that when he glared at someone, or when his sharp tone snapped through the room with genuine anger, the pack knew it was a severe reaction. If you didn't know him, it would be easy to dismiss the outburst as quieter than Derek's, or softer than what Isaac or Stiles might have hit with. There was no sass or sarcasm and even very little poison in the words... but the fact that it was so full of emotion was telling.

Especially because all they were talking about was Theo.

Scott raised his eyebrows as he shot Y/n a sideways glace. "Stop what?"

"Don't talk about trauma you don't understand," was all Y/n said.

Stiles' face twisted slightly with an anger leaning confusion. "What are you talking about? Theo tried to kill Scott and take over all of us. Including you. He did horrible experiments on the chimeras he did get his hands on - and most of them died. All he has done is cause pain and misery since he got here. Who the hell cares what he's been through?"

Y/n's sudden pointed look stopped Stiles dead. It was equivalent to a blade being pressed to his throat, or a gun leveled at his head. It was a threat - a promise - and he knew to back down immediately. "You never know what kind of person others' experiences would have made you if you'd lived through them. Theo was a child. And before you go off or dismiss me like you have in the past, Stilinski, no I don't condone or dismiss the vast amounts of harm he has caused the people around him. I'm not saying anyone is required to forgive him just because he had a hard life. I was there when Kira sent him to hell the first time, and I helped every step of the way. I stand by what we did. But he doesn't deserve all the pain and suffering he's been through, and it does matter, and he deserves a chance to get better and be a different person." He grew quiet for a moment, sensing everyone in the room growing tense and avoiding his eyes. He sighed and stood from his chair. "I'll see you guys later - let me know when you need me." He left the room, leaving everyone staring after him with wide eyes and parted lips.

Despite how important he found his message, Y/n knew not to push it. It wouldn't go anywhere to hit a brick wall over and over again. It would just break his hand.

"What's your deal this time?" Scott sighed the words, his shoulders drooping. This time Theo was in the room, and they'd been trying to ignore Y/n expression as it grew darker and darker, but Scott was powerful because he cared - of course he couldn't last forever.

Y/n's eyes were trained on the windows to the side of the room they were on, taking in the view of the outside past them. Trying to focus and ground himself. He needed to answer this calmly no matter how volatile he felt; they needed to be united in the face of those who depended on them. Like Liam and Theo.

When he did speak, he could feel every single pair of eyes on him. "I will not stand for that talk in my presence. Keep your harsh words to yourself, or I will intervene."

Stiles, who had been the one going off on Theo, rolled his eyes. He was still wrapped up in his ow feelings and thoughts and didn't have the wherewithal to control himself - even under such threat from Y/n. He fell back on what he was best at: not shutting up. "Theo killed his own sister-"

Y/n snapped. He rushed Stiles, hands wrapping in his shirt as he slammed the other boy against the wall. Everyone scrambled, but Scott held up a hand and caught his breath, eyes wide. They all paused. They had trusted Y/n to not go too far this long; they needed to keep doing so. This was important to him, and it needed to happen. Stiles looked startled but unhurt, so they could hold their breath for just a second. Each person was coiled though, ready to launch the second Scott gave the signal.

"Derek tried to start his own pack and fucked up Jackson's entire life. He has been universally unhelpful, an all-around dick, and general trouble since day one and we forgave him. Isaac was part of that pack, and actively antagonized everyone in our pack - especially you and Scott. He got into fights, belittled other people, and fell through plenty of times when we really needed him. He's disappeared completely when we need him the most and we forgave him anyway because we understand him and see his perspective and work around it. Jackson actively tried to kill us for weeks, but we wrote it off because he was being controlled. But he was that vicious far before he was a monster, and actively bullied and belittled all of us. He put Scott in danger several times and tried his best to ostracize us and make us hate ourselves. Even Lydia used her intelligence and power to hurt and tear down other people - but she's the most active part of this community just because her powers forced her to be here and we accepted her the way she was after that, allowing her to be truer to herself as time passed until she became a genuinely kind and caring person.

"There have been plenty of people who have actively hurt us that we've forgiven. Don't even get me started on Peter. But we forgave them anyway, and they were far older than Theo was - and most of them did what they did without any outside influence. Theo was a child, and whatever horrible thing they did to the other chimeras for a month of two, Theo got for seven fucking years. I don't care what you think or what you know, shut your fucking mouth or I will shut it for you. He's been given the chance to change, and he's trying his best to. He has done a lot for us since he's been back - especially for Liam. He's one of the only ones who's treated Liam's struggles seriously while you make fun of the boy for what he deals with - and you know what? Now that I'm thinking about it, who the hell are you to say anything? You want to start digging shit up about the Nogitsune? How about Allison?"

A hand landed on Y/n shoulder as Stiles' face went pale. "That's enough." Scott.

Y/n caught himself, letting Stiles' shirt go and stepping back. You don't have to forgive him, or like him, but if you're going to talk shit it better not be where he can hear you. Or where I can hear you, for that matter. Next time I'll just deck you - I'm tired of your bullshit." And with that, he left the room. He knew there would be some kind of repercussions for that... but he didn't care. If he left the pack then perhaps it was just time for it to happen.

He was sure that was the end of it for now, but he heard the door open behind him again as he made his way down the hall. Of all the people he had been expecting to see when he turned to defend himself - he had not been expecting Theo himself.

The brunette boy slowed out of his jog once he'd caught up, stopping too close to Y/n. There was something in his eyes. Tears, at his water line, but also so many emotions that twisted and roiled - too many for Y/n to even begin to decipher. Y/n was taken aback by the emotion, and froze in place, unsure what would happen next. Final Theo managed a, "Thank you," but it was so thin that Y/n knew there was so much to that than the simple two words would be communicating normally.

So he took a second to think, so absorb it all and try to understand. His expression melted and softened, opened up and allowed sincerity and vulnerability to come through. He had been watching Theo struggle for ages now and he was more than willing to let it show plainly. "I'm glad you're back, Theo. That you've taken this chance to learn new things and become a new person. I knew back then that you were capable of good, and you haven't disappointed."

Theo's eyebrows came together. "You did?"

Y/n shrugged, growing a bit sheepish. "I doubted it in the end... I mean, everyone has some good in them, but I decided that it was over, you'd lost your chance, and it hit me to my core. But you served plenty of penance in hell, and when you came back... I could tell you were so different. And I hoped again. And it all paid off. You're becoming the person I always knew you could be. I'm proud of you."

Those emotions turned across Theo's face again and he paused for a whole second before something snapped, or broke - something. Theo closed the distance between them, grabbing Y/n's face and pulling him into a kiss. Y/n hummed in surprise but the sound turned almost immediately into a moan when their lips actually met. The kiss was hard and passionate. Their hands pulled at each other, both of them losing whatever control they had in that moment to do their best to drown in each other.

Y/n hooked his fingers in Theo's belt, pulling him closer, and whatever anxiety Theo had about the moment melted away. His hands moved from Y/n's face to his hair, fingers wrapping around the strands and tugging on them, forcing his head back to tuck Y/n flush against his chest as every inch between them was filled. Y/n moaned again and Theo sighed into the kiss, his expression relaxing and a smile coming to his face. He reacted again, forcing Y/n to scramble to keep up with him as he moved them through the hall until Y/n's back slammed against the wall.

It was aggressive and desperate but didn't actually hurt. Y/n found himself surprisingly comfortable and only enjoying every moment they shared now. There was tenderness to the kiss too. Small things, like the tips of Y/n's fingers running across the top of Theo's waistband and ghosting the skin there; Theo's thumb rubbing the softest circles at the back of Y/n's neck where the smalls of his hair grew thinner than the rest of the thicker hair, allowing his skin to feel the contact and tingle at such affection. There was nothing sexual to it, which also made every single kiss and bite as Theo caught Y/n's bottom lip or skated away from his lips and began to trail across Y/n's jaw and down his neck - it was all accompanied with sighs and kisses if Y/n's hissed in pain.

How long had Theo wanted this? Because the sheer relief and desperation communicated Y/n's own feelings like a mirror.

After a few minutes they both relaxed and melted into each other, their touches and holds relaxing until Theo simply leaned into Y/n, their foreheads pressed together. It was quiet for a few beats, and then - "I don't deserve you."

Y/n scoffed. He reached up, gripping Theo's jaw between his fingers. "I'll kick your ass too, Raeken."

That made Theo smile. "Feel free." He left another kiss on Y/n's lips, but this one was lingering and soft. It was more intimate that way, and they were both left a little dazed. "Will you go on a date with me?" He still didn't seem entirely sure, which was almost laughable after the kisses they'd just shared, but Y/n didn't say anything.

Who was he to give someone shit for questioning the person they liked liking them back when they thought it impossible?

Y/n sighed, nodding. "Yeah. I'd like that."

Theo pressed their foreheads together and they sat there for a long time. Y/n got the feeling that neither of them would feel alone ever again... They had each other now. They'd be just fine.

Story Tags: @badblondebisexualboy

Male reader Tags: @ravenpuff-oli @sortzz

#teen wolf #male reader #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf imagine #theo raeken #Theo raeken x Reader #theo raeken imagine #teen wolf x male reader #theo raeken x male Reader #cody christian #Cody Christian x reader #cody christian imagine #Cody Christian x male Reader

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gatorbites-imagines · 1 year ago

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may I request Scott McCall x male reader smut where Scott a bottom I have not found a fic where scott is a bottom anywhere and I love to see more support for this fandom pls

Scott McCall x male reader

Ficlet

Scott has always had a special part in my heart ever since I watched Teen Wolf years ago. You are so right about the lack of bottom Scott content, so I hope this helps scratch that itch a little bit.

Reader is a kanima-wolf combo, like Jackson, cuz I love the kanima plot. did someone say tailplay? cuz theres tailplay.

I had a lot of fun writing this ngl, hope you guys enjoy.

Scotts claws dug deep groves into the floor, a high-pitched whine leaving him as the powerful flexible muscle of your tail curled around his middle, dragging him closer to where you were crouched near the shadowed corner of the room.

The day had been spent high strung on your part, as Scott had seemed to make it his mission to tease you. From sultry looks as he bit his lip, or the way he would push his scent at you specifically to leave you agitated. He seemed to take it as a win when he caught your tongue flicking out between your lips, tasting the air as your leftover reptilian instincts demanded of you.

You had been a kanima when you were bitten, around the same time as Jackson. It stemmed from similar issues to Jackson, something deep and emotional that left you feeling like you weren’t in control of yourself. You had to live up to very high expectations set by your parents, who were very strict about everything you did, also making it impossible for you to accept your sexuality at the time.

But with the help of the pack, you came to accept yourself, and like Jackson, you turned into something more of a hybrid, a mixture of a kanima and a werewolf. Unlike Jackson, you always fell more back onto your reptilian urges than the wolf urges, which was why you were now hissing softly as your slitted eyes bore into the naked back of your lover as you dragged him towards you.

With a flick of your tongue, you could taste the strong arousal in the bedroom, Scott’s bedroom, the faint scent of precum reaching your heightened senses. With a rumbled hiss, you wrench down the pajama pants Scott had been wearing, striking your lightly scaled hand across his naked ass. “You’re so dirty Scott, you were waiting for me, huh?” you hiss, squinting up at him as he looks at you over his shoulder, a slight squint to his eyes that told you that your guess had been correct.

Your tail released his middle as he laid out flat across the floor, lifting his hips just enough for you to pull his pants all the way down and off without tearing them. A whimper left him as your claws ran across his thick thighs, groping the muscle underneath with an appreciative hiss. “So needy” you mumble, digging your thumbs into the dimples of his back, making him keen breathlessly.

Your pupils shrank into slits as you watched how his muscles tensed, his back arching so beautifully as Scott shuffled his knees apart, trying to fit your torso between them as you scraped your sharp teeth across his lower back. The threat of your venom had only ever served to arouse him further, the possibility of being completely paralyzed sending a bolt of thrill and lust through your lover’s entire body.

It was something you had only experimented with once or twice, when you both had felt a little more in control of your more beastly half. But as of now, your tail lashed out, knocking something random off a shelf in the background. Scotts softly glowing eyes met yours as he looked back at you again, audibly gulping and whining softly, almost beckoning you to touch him more.

Spreading his cheeks apart, your tongue started to roll out of your mouth, ready to slither inside him to spread him open the way you knew he loved the most, until you saw the familiar shiny sheen across his pucker. “Did you prep yourself Scott?” you asked with a slight lisp, your longer than humanly possible tongue still hanging out of your mouth.

Instead of answering, Scott simply blushed and buried his head into his folded arms, his knees shuffling to allow him to lift his hips farther, giving you all the answer you needed. Instead of teasing him further, you crawled up his body, letting your torso drag across his back until your chest was pressed against his back, chin hooked on his shoulder.

Your tail coiled around one of his thighs, far up enough that part of your warm scales brushed around his pouch, making him twitch and moan, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of smooth scales against his skin. “You’ve always been such a freak Scott, never imagined you’d be so turned on by scales” you snicker, tone teasing but also thick with want, half hissed as your tongue felt too long for your mouth.

“Maybe I should just fuck you with my tail instead, what do you say?” you murmur into his ear, the tip of your tail just barely pressing against his slick pucker, making Scotts hips flex as his jaw drops in a soundless moan. You knew it was a fantasy of his, you bet hed even let him fuck him when you were still just a kanima, ruled by a master and mind not your own.

You had seen his search history, you knew the kind of stuff he was into, and if that just so happened to always involve a lot of stuff that was similar to your anatomy? Who would have to know but you, Scott, and God.

The tip of your tail just barely pressed inside, your tongue reptilian tongue pressing against his pulse point as Scott moaned, head falling to the side to give you as much access to his throat as possible. It was an extremely submissive pose for a true alpha like Scott, but it always served to make you feel a deep feral rush, to somehow get someone like Scott under you and writhing.

But before your tail could breach the loosened ring of his hole, you pulled it back, doing your best to ignore the whined out “no, no, please” from Scott. Instead, you reached down and undid your belt, quickly releasing your hard length and letting it rest between the globes of his ass, rolling your hips against his to let him feel it.

“Next time, my cute little alpha” you tease, your sharp teeth scraping hard enough against his shoulder to make blood bead up at the bites, but they quickly healed over, only giving you a slight taste. “Please, please, please” Scott whimpered, sounding almost near tears. Its seems you hadn’t been the only one worked up all day, as Scott almost outright panted for your touch, your cock, your tail, anything.

You swore you could see him drooling as you finally press inside him, his hips shoving back against yours hard enough, that if you weren’t holding him still, he would have impaled himself onto your dick almost immediately. A slight warning hiss-growl left you, as if warning him to stay still. A rumble left him in response, his inner alpha seemingly feeling disrespected by your display, even as Scott arched and moaned for more.

Scott was only given a moment to adjust, just how he liked it, before you started moving your hips. A clawed slightly scaled hand was placed between his shoulder blades, shoving his face harder against the floor as your hips struck against his own, his noises rising in volume and neediness.

Scotts claws ached as they dug into the floor, his fangs flashing as his jaw dropped, open mouthed gasps and moans leaving him as the noises were punched out of him, tongue almost hanging out as drool ran down his chin.

As you struck his prostate, he almost wailed, but before that noise could leave him, the tip of your tail was shoved between his teeth, pressing down against his tongue, and tickling the back of Scotts throat, only making his eyes roll back as he groaned.

Your noises were akin to chuffing as your hips slammed against his, claws digging into Scotts back and hip hard enough to draw blood as venom filled drool dripping from your mouth and down into the divot of his spine. Scott gagged as your tail shoved deeper into his mouth, part of it pushing down his throat as he moaned and sucked on it like it was your cock, spit and drool running down his chin and creating a puddle under him.

There was no way for him to beg with words for you to go faster, but Scott was able to wrench one of his hands from the floor, reaching back to hold onto your hip, urging you to go faster, deeper, harder. So, with a deep hissed growl, you did, striking his sensitive prostate with the precision of an expert, making him keen around the scaley meat of your tail.

You weren’t even sure when Scott came, his cock squirting across the floor in thick white spurts, his eyes rolling back as the euphoria crashed through his body and making him tighten around you. But you were too consumed by your own pleasure, hisses and growls leaving you as you kept pounding into him, taking great pleasure in the wet slick noise of your hips meeting his ass, and how it left him moaning and crying out for more.

When you finally reached your end, you crushed your hips against his, your sharp teeth digging into his shoulder as you came, cumming deep inside him in the way you knew he loved as it made him feel so full of you. Your tail withdrew from his mouth with a wet sputter, strings of drool hanging from the deep green scaled to his pink wet mouth, a noise so high pitched you barely heard it as he came a second time.

Purring filled the room as you held Scott, grinding lazily into him as you milked your mutual orgasms as much as possible, before Scott finally slumped, completely limp and panting. You would think you had injected him with your venom with how limp he went, but in reality, it was just the post orgasm bliss.

With a soft kiss pressed against the already healing bite, you carefully pull you and get Scott to his feet, shuffling him into the bathroom to get him cleaned up, maybe even give him a nice warm shower so you two can be washed up. After getting him dressed in a new part of pajama pants, you tuck him into bed, expertly cleaning up the mess of blood, drool, and other bodily fluids left on the floor. You’ll have to find a way to fix the groves you guys left in the floor, but that was for later.

When all was said and done, you could finally allow yourself to crawl into bed with Scott, the scales on your skin receding for the most part, claws and sharp teeth disappearing to where they came from, and your eyes returning to your usual ones. The only thing that stayed was your tail, which curled around Scott in a loving embrace as you pulled him close to your chest.

Scott let out a soft huff, snuffling closer to your neck before he went limp once more, almost laying completely on top of you, basking in your presence and scent as he felt safe enough to be completely vulnerable, sleep quickly rushing up on him. You didn’t feel tired, so like usual, you laid back and held Scott as he snored softly, one hand rubbing up and down his back as you scrolled your phone with the other. His body heat always left you feeling sluggish afterwards, some kind of reptile reaction, but it made you feel safer to watch over him as he slept, so that it what you did, until Scott was ready to wake up again.

#male reader #scott mccall #teen wolf #kanima reader #kanima #scott mccall imagine #scott mccall headcanon #scott mccall x male reader #scott mccall x reader #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf headcanon #teen wolf x male reader #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf smut #scott mcall smut #mild blood tw?#tailplay? tailplay

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starboye · 7 months ago

Text

pairing: stiles stilinski x male reader

request: hi!! i was reading your writing for a bit and i was curious if you could write a stiles stilinski smut?you can make the plot <3

warnings: smut, cursing, face fucking, oral sex

stiles was always the class clown, the funny one who was there to brighten everyone day but in his horny time of need he can become the most persistent fucker known to man, he'll grope your ass or rub his bulge across you just so you could get annoyed and take him anywhere more private to let him fuck you till he dumps a load in you and today was no different.

you get a notification from your phone and open it to see stiles texted you, you check the message and see a picture of stiles clothed bulge and a text saying "I need you" and scoff with a chuckle "I can't right now I'm in class" you reply and he is quick to text back "I don't care please come to the bathroom" the text read "stiles no" you reply "please please just this one time and I won't ask you anymore" stiles replies back.

you knew that was a lie but you decided if you could just get him to cum you could be back in class in no time so you asked the teacher if you could go to the bathroom and he let you, you walked down the hallway trying to find which one stiles was in and you soon did, hearing stiles call you over you walked into the bathroom and immediately get pulled into an empty stall where you're met with stiles lips crashing against yours.

"a hello would have been good" you joke "well then hello will you suck my dick" stiles says "fine" you huff dropping to your knees in the fairly clean bathroom stall and pulling stiles pants down to his knees watching in amusement as his dick springs out, a drip of precum falling from the tip "what's got you so horny" you ask "I thought of you riding me while studying in class" stiles says.

"oh really, tell me all about it" you say sinking your mouth onto his dick "well first you wanted to help me study but then you straddled my lap and started grinding on me" stiles begins telling while trying to not look you in the eyes as to not lose all train of thought "and then what" the say muffled by the cock you were currently throating "yo-you started making out with me and then it stopped, I woke up" stiles groans looking down and watching you take his dick so easily.

"we could definitely do that after school" you say panting after pulling stiles out of your mouth "no no don't stop" stiles says pushing you back down on his dick, you could feel his animalistic urges coming out and you wanted to take that further by taking him all the way down to the base with no gagging and looking him in the eyes, his eyes filled with hungry lust and your filled with a coat of tears but stiles holds back knowing he can't do everything he wants to you in a school bathroom.

you tighten your throat around his dick wanting to swallow his delicious cum, you place your hands on his thighs for stability and bobbing your head back and forth across his length, he grabbed your head and slammed his dick into you, constantly hitting the back of your throat before he empties his thick cum into your mouth, you could feel it overflowing in your mouth but you swallow it all down.

"fuck" stiles huffs falling back against the stall wall "we should do this more often" stiles says "never again will I do this" you deny getting up and wiping the dust from your pants, stiles pulls you into a quick kiss before fixing his pants "see ya after school" stiles asks "definitely, I wanna hear more about that thought you had in class" you grin before walking out of the stall and back to your class.

taglist: @mailmango @spermeboy @ghostking4m

#stiles stilinski #stiles stilinksi x male reader #x male reader #gay smut #x male smut #x male y/n #stiles stilinksi smut #teen wolf #teen wolf x male reader

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night-night-stories-before-bed · 22 days ago

Text

The Devil’s embrace is warmer than fire.

Warning ⚠️; Depiction of PTSD, nightmares, panic attacks, trauma.

Pairing; Nogitsune!Stiles/Male!Creature/Reader

Summary; You meet Stiles at the University as your roommate. A very traumatized roommate that you quickly grew fond of and soon became protective of. And Stiles welcomed your embrace in his nightmarish nights.

Note: I got that idea after seeing a post saying something like “What if Stiles was left with powers after his possession or transformed into a Nogitsune and so Incame up with this!

Credit @cafekitsune

Starting University was a stressful period for anyone, but for someone like you, inhuman? It was worse. Not knowing who would be your roommate or even if you'll be compatible. Your biggest fear was being paired with another creature and fighting for the room. You didn't have the resources to get your own place nor the possibility to explain why you would need to change room.

But you were lucky and ended up with a human.

Stiles was one hell of a phenomenon. Full of energy, extraverts and as bright as a sun, but you saw through his act and quickly realized he was wearing a mask. His eyes, his smiles never reached them and the dark circles under them immediately told you your roommate experienced sleepless nights. And he was so reactive. The simplest sound was enough to make him flinch and tense like a deer caught in headlights. Stiles had been through some bad shits, it was obvious the moment the two of you met. Yet, he was still so welcoming of you and so happy to have a roommate. He spoke of movies and cinemas nights, going out for pizza and beer or even gaming together.

He won your heart just like that.

You thought your years of University would be easy, comforted you were to share your room with a nice guy like Stiles. Someone you could grow close to and call a friend. It would be nice to have someone with who going out and having fun. Someone who wouldn't judge you for what you were.

You were wrong and the first night proved it without a doubt.

You were woken up by the sounds of painful whimpers and hushed begging. You groaned, opening your eyes and searching for the source. In the dim moonlight coming from the window, you saw Stiles trashing around in his beds. All his blankets were in the ground, but he still fought like the devil was after him.

- “Please no… Derek!” Stiles whined and flinched in his sleep.

- “Ow, Stiles, wake up man. You dreaming.” You groaned, burying your face in your pillow as to dim the sounds.

But he didn't wake up.

So you got up and leaned down above him, gripping Stiles’s shoulder and shaking him. He woke up, scared and before you could react, punched you in the face. You fell on your ass, holding your chin, shocked. As for Stiles, you heard him panting and whispering how sorry he was. In his voice, you heard little sobs.

You said nothing, just sat next to him and held him until dawn. Until he finally calmed down.

But each night was the same thing; nightmares and impossible to wake Stiles up without him trying to defend himself. He never spoke about what happened to him and you understood. Who want to share their trauma to anyone? Especially when it was clearly still fresh. But it wasn't long before you learned he had encountered creatures like you and fought them. How in hell was Stiles still alive, you didn't know, didn't ask. How were you supposed to explain he talked in his sleep? How he cowered and begged Derek or others to help?

Stiles was pathetic and you pitied him. No human should have to go through whatever he did and be left alone after.

And as days passed, you began to notice little changes in Stiles. The way he smelled was changing just like the world around him. Things began to happen, chaotic almost like fighting in the corridors, students insulting the teachers and so on. You saw Stiles’ skin becoming paler and he had a harder time feeding. But then, he would get better after touching certain people while helping them.

But the nightmares didn't get better, in the contrary.

So one night, you made a bold move.

As Stiles trashed around, you woke him up by throwing a tennis ball at him to avoid being hit. Poor Stiles screamed and sat, shielding his face with his arms and panting like a dog. It broke your heart. You grew fond of Stiles and became close friends with the eccentric young man. But as Stiles looked at you, you joined him in his bed.

- “H-hey! What are you…” Stiles began, but you shushed him and wrapped your arms around his torso.

As you lay down, you pulled Stiles against your naked chest and shivered as you felt how cold his skin was. Ice cold and he was shivering like a leaf. You pulled the blankets over you two and grunted as you ordered dered him to go back to sleep. Of course, Stiles argued, tried to make it seem like he was fine, but you just wrapped your arms tighter around him. After a few minutes of rent, Stiles relaxed and even snuggled closer. His breath against your neck made you shiver and you closed your eyes.

- “I know what you are.” Stiles whispered, shivering lips brushing against your warm skin.

- “I swear if you are quoting Twilight, I will carry you to the nearest lake and throw you in it.” You groaned, trying to play it off, but your heart raced in your chest.

It wasn't possible, right? You were careful and never let anything show. So how? How could Stiles know and show no fear? Anyone with more than two brain cells would run away from you, not let you hold them like that.

- “It’s fine, I am not scared. I know you won't hurt me and I won't tell anyone.” Stiles added with a sigh. “Not the first one I meet.”

And with that, your roommate fell asleep in your arms, leaving you confused as fuck. You didn't know how to react or what to do. Should you abandon the university and run away? Should things stay the same? You didn't want to go and leave, you had made friends and Stiles had become important to you. You were protective of the little human for reasons unknown, but his admission scared you.

Raising a hand, you brushed Stiles’s hair and smiled weakly as you felt how soft it was. You closed your eyes once more, burying your nose in it. You couldn't leave, couldn't abandon Stiles. So you would stay and see where things went.

And so began a new habit. Each night you would join Stiles in his bed or he would you in yours and you would keep an eye out in case he had a new nightmare. Funny enough, Stiles never had one as long as he was by your side and you didn't know how to feel about that. It was proof he felt safe next to you, but you weren't used to it. You were a monster, something humans usually called the Devil, so why did Stiles feel safe with you?

It didn't make sense, until it did.

Alone in your shared room and bed, Stiles began sharing memories of the past years. You learned who was Derek and his pack and all the adventures Stiles went through. May they be happy or painful, Stiles shared them with you. You were horrified upon learning Stiles was possessed by a Nogitsune. You never met one but knew what they were capable off.

It explained the nightmares.

It explained everything.

Why his scent changed, why everything weird and chaotic happened around Stiles. The Nogitsune had left its traces on your friend, slowly transforming him. A shiver ran down your spine at the realization. Stiles wouldn't be human for long and no one had told him, leaving you to announce the bad new, but how?

To thank Stiles for his trust, you shared with him facts about your nature and answered all his questions. God did he have an endless list of them! His questions kept coming and you even wondered if you had made a mistake, but each time you looked down and saw the twinkle of joy and curiosity in his eyes, you knew you made the right choice.

You softened by his side, for once not feeling disgusted by what you were. Stiles took care of you as much as you took care of him. He helped you study, and was there for you when instinct became too strong and overpowered you. You never hurt him, on the contrary. You grew more protective of Stiles as days and weeks passed and before you realized it, you began seeing him as your mate.

Mate.

A simple word that carried so much weight and duty. Like telling him the truth about his transformation.

It was a hard conversation filled with denial and screaming and tears from both of you. You hated being the one to announce the news and seeing the hurt in Stiles’ eyes. Each tear he shed broke your heart even more. But in the end, Stiles couldn't deny the truth and you promised him it changed nothing between you two. You didn't fear nor was disgusted by him. That night, Stiles cried himself to sleep in your arms.

You didn't say anything about your feelings, didn't act different by fear of breaking the friendship you had with Stiles. You couldn't bear the thought of losing him just because of something out of your control. But Stiles proved to you he was more observant than you ever thought. You came back to your room one day only to find both bed pressed against one another and Stiles sitting there on the phone. He was speaking to his father while taking notes in one of his school books.

- “Of course, I am coming back home for Christmas, but I already told you I wasn't going to be alone.” Stiles said as he rolled his eyes. “I want you to meet my boyfriend. Yeah, boyfriend! I told you years ago, but you said I wasn't gay because of how I dressed!”

Stiles laughed, a soft snort, as his smile grew upon seeing you. He waved his hand, signalling you to come closer. And you did, not in control of your body. You slowly got onto the bed and lay down next to Stiles before his hand fond your hair and stroked it. All tension left your body and you were able to breathe again. You closed your eyes, snuggling closer and wrapping your body around Stiles. You heard him chuckle and he gently scratched your neck, sending little shivers down your spine.

- “What can I say? I found a diamond and I am not going to lose it.” Stiles replied to something his father said. “He’s keeping me safe, so you don’t have to worry about it.”

You smiled, face buried against his tight.

He had noticed the way you acted, the way you always put yourself between him and any other creatures you might encounter. You didn't thought he would realize what you were doing, but that was underestimating Stiles.

Your boyfriend…

Such a strange but welcomed realization.

The travel to Beacon Hills, California, was a nice one but you weren’t impatient to do it again. You were growing nervous with each passing hour, not knowing how Stiles’ father would be toward you. You barely heard anything about the man except from the stories Stiles shared and you were conflicted about how to feel toward him. Then there was Derek’s pack. You were going to walk on their territory without warning.

Would they smell how Stiles’ scent had changed?

Naturally, your boyfriend picked on your nervousity and tried to help calm you down. Listening to him rambling about everything and anything was a nice distraction, but a short one.

It wasn't long before your mind turned back toward the future and what could go wrong. An angry pack of werewolves weren't easy to deal with and maybe Stiles wouldn't be enough to keep the peace. Worse, maybe he would get hurt trying to or they would turn against him because of his transformation. But you wouldn't let anything happen to him, never.

All those worries in the end were useless.

Everything went more than fine. Noah Stilinski of course gave you the talk, but it was expected. Not only was he a sheriff, but Stiles was all he had left. It was only natural he would want to protect his son. Besides that, you enjoyed meeting him. He didn't ask questions about your nature, but you knew he knew you weren't human with just the way he had looked you up and down. Maybe he had expected it too. Stiles didn't seem to surround himself with normal people after all.

No, the only rough meeting you had was with Derek and his pack. You had expected it, but it went smoother than you thought. They all gave you threats of course, as if you had the intention of hurting Stiles or breaking his heart. The worse had been Derek and the way he had looked at you, his eyes turning red at some point.

It had been Stiles who had calmed him, but for once he didn't see what you did.

Possession, jealousy… guilt. So many emotions in Derek’s eyes and you knew why. He had his chance,lost it and now you had what he desired but couldn't have.

You had Stiles’ heart.

Knowing it, you felt a sense of pride. You were proud that Stiles had chosen you as his mate, even tho he wascould have found so much better. You stayed close to him, arms wrapped around him knowing damn well what you were doing. Not just putting your scent on him, but showing off. And trying to cover his true scent, wanting to protect your boyfriend’s secret.

Derek caught on it, but not Stiles and your poor boyfriend kept wondering what the fuck was going on.

And the day passed slowly for you, but not for Stiles. You watched as he enjoyed every second of the reunion, as if he was back home. Yet, you could tell something was wrong about the interactions. It was as if Stiles didn't belong among them anymore and you wondered if they had caught on about Stiles. But bless his heart, your mate never realized anything and didn't had his heart broken. And a part of you hoped it was you who was the problem and not Stiles, but every fiber of your body screamed for you to stay close to Stiles, you couldn't leave him alone.

That night, as you laid in bed with Stiles, you tried to be a comforting presence to him. While he was clueless about what was going on, your mate still was worried about what was happening to him. He wasn't fully human anymore and yet not a Nogitsune yet. He was trapped between two natures, two worlds and it scared him. You shared his feelings, but tried to make him feel better.

- “Whatever the future hold, we are going to face it together. I promise.” You swore, face buried in his hair.

Stiles nodded, his face buried against your naked chest while his fingers grabbed onto you for dear life.

- “Maybe it would be better to not come back here… or rarely.” Stiles whispered and you shivered, knowing he was abandoning his home.

- “I will keep you safe, even if its mean fighting your friends.” You replied and Stiles shook his head.

- “I don’t want you too. Besides, I’m going to join the F.B.I, I told you. I won't have time to come back here often, so better start now and let Derek and everyone get use to it.” Stiles sounded determined, but you heard the small hesitation in it.

You wrapped your arms tightly around him and kissed his head, smiling as you saw how courageous he was being. You could imagine the pain the decision put him through, but also understood you couldn't change his mind.

- “And I’ll be by your side every steps you'll take. We’re in it together, forever, no matter what.” You said and you felt Stiles’ smiling against your skin.

It was a promise, an oath and you were going to keep it. You knew the future was going to be complicated and painful, but it was worth it. A life time with Stiles was more than worth it.

#male reader #x reader #x male reader #fanfic #reader #writeblr #writers #angst #teen wolf #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf x male reader #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles stilinksi x male reader

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dreamersworldduh · 16 days ago

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Omg hiiii again,i don't know if you've watched Teen Wolf, but can you write of Stiles stilinski. Instead of Stiles liking Lydia since third grade, he's like the male reader instead, and he's finally wanted to make a move on male reader so he tries to show off at lacrosse practice but it failed and he continues until he finally confess to male reader. If it could get a little sexual at the end it would be soo appreciated 🙏🙏. Your works are still sooo good, and I loved my request you did. Thank you so much 🙏🙏🙏

CLUMSY CONFESSIONS

• STILES STILINSKI x MALE!READER

SUMMARY — Stiles Stilinski has spent years secretly in love with his best friend but never found the courage to confess. However, after an intense lacrosse practice where he pushed himself to impress you—only to end up in the hospital—he began to realize he couldn't keep his feelings bottled up any longer.

WARNING! FLUFF. Suggestive Langauge.

WORDS! 6.9k

AUTHOR'S NOTE! Here we are with the sarcastic, witty and dashing, Stiles Stilinski. There’s a easter egg in there from one of my favorite movies—if you catch (you are awesome). This was fun to write—honestly there might be a part 2, but anyway I hope you enjoy ✨

Nine years, six months, and two days. That's exactly how long Stiles Stilinski has been in love with you—not that he's been counting or anything. Not that he lies awake at night, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars on his bedroom ceiling, replaying every moment, every touch, every stolen glance between you. Not that he marks the time in the way your laughter has changed over the years, from the high-pitched giggles of childhood to the softer, more knowing chuckles of adolescence.

It all started in third grade, in Mrs. Carter's classroom, where you plopped down beside him without hesitation, your pencil poised over wide-ruled paper, the scent of bubblegum lingering in the air between you. You were the first person to truly see him—not just as the hyperactive kid with too many thoughts and too little filter, but as Stiles. You noticed things, like how he bit his lip when he was nervous or how he tapped his fingers against his desk in a pattern only he understood. You laughed at his jokes, even the really bad ones, and when he forgot his fruit snacks, you always—always—slid half of yours across the desk without a second thought.

At first, it was admiration, a simple fondness for the way you scrunched your nose when you concentrated, the way your hair caught the sunlight just right, the way you somehow made even the most ordinary moments feel special. But admiration turned into something deeper, something heavier, something that settled in his chest like an immovable weight. It was in the way his pulse stuttered when you linked your pinky with his during a scary movie, the way his stomach flipped when you ruffled his hair absentmindedly, the way he memorized the exact shade of your eyes even though he'd never had the courage to hold your gaze for too long.

Through the years, there have been countless moments—late-night talks where your voices dipped into whispers, study sessions where your knees knocked together beneath the table, inside jokes that no one else could possibly understand. But through it all, Stiles has never let himself say the words that burn at the back of his throat.

Because as much as he aches for you to look at him the way he looks at you, as much as he dreams of your fingers lingering just a second longer when they brush against his, he's terrified. Terrified that if he speaks the truth, if he lets the love that has woven itself into his very being spill from his lips, he'll lose you. And losing you? That would be the one thing he could never recover from.

The connection between you and Stiles is so natural, so effortless, that his friends can't begin to comprehend the idea of you ever walking away from him. To them, you and Stiles are an inevitability, a force of nature, like the tide meeting the shore—constant, unwavering, and undeniable. If anyone is blind to the reality of the situation, it's him. Because to everyone else, what you share isn't just friendship. It's something deeper, something unspoken yet impossible to ignore, woven into the very fabric of your interactions.

Scott has lost count of how many times he's watched the two of you exchange nothing more than a glance before dissolving into laughter, as if carrying on an entire conversation without a single word. It's almost eerie how in sync you are, how seamlessly you anticipate each other's thoughts and reactions. He's seen it happen mid-battle, mid-study session, mid-sentence—you don't even have to try. It just happens.

Lydia barely suppresses an eye roll every time Stiles insists, "We're just friends." Because to her—and to everyone else—there is no just about it. She's analyzed every interaction, every lingering look, every moment Stiles gets that dreamy, faraway expression when you aren't paying attention. She's seen the way his hand twitches, like he wants to reach for yours but doesn't, and the way his entire body relaxes the second you're beside him, like you're the one thing in the world that makes sense.

Even Malia, who isn't exactly known for her emotional awareness, has taken notice. More than once, she's tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at the way Stiles instinctively moves toward you, how his body seems to orient itself in your direction even when you're across the room. Once, she even asked, completely deadpan, "Are you sure you're not mates?" Stiles choked on his drink, of course, but it didn't escape anyone's notice that he didn't actually deny it.

To them, it's not a matter of if you and Stiles will finally admit what's been obvious for years—it's a matter of when. Hell, half the pack already assumes you're together. And if they didn't know any better, they'd think you and Stiles were just keeping it a secret for the fun of it, stringing everyone along in some kind of elaborate inside joke. Because a connection like yours? It doesn't go unnoticed. It doesn't just exist without meaning something.

While your friends—and most of the pack—were convinced that you and Stiles were already a couple, the rest of the student body had their own interpretations. Sure, some people noticed how often the two of you were together, how your steps naturally fell in sync, how Stiles' entire demeanor shifted the second you entered a room. They saw the way he leaned in when you spoke, like every word that left your lips was something precious. But others? They didn't pick up on the unspoken language between you, the lingering glances that stretched just a beat too long, the way Stiles seemed to breathe easier when you were near.

No, they only saw what wasn't there—no hand-holding between classes, no kisses stolen by lockers, no official title to confirm what everyone else assumed. And because of that, they came to one simple conclusion: You were single.

Technically, they weren't wrong. But Stiles sure as hell didn't see it that way.

He stood beside his locker, fingers curled tightly around the strap of his backpack, jaw clenched as he watched the scene unfolding just a few feet away. One of his fellow lacrosse teammates—Jake something, because honestly, Stiles couldn't be bothered to remember—was leaning far too close to you, his forearm braced against your locker like some kind of wannabe heartthrob in a bad teen movie.

Stiles knew that posture. That smirk. That tone. He'd seen it a hundred times before, heard the fake charm laced in every word. And right now, every muscle in his body screamed that Jake wasn't just making conversation—he was flirting.

And worse? You were smiling. Not the dazzling, full-wattage grin that Stiles had practically built his entire emotional stability around, but a small, amused curve of your lips. A polite, entertained smile. But still, a smile.

Stiles' stomach twisted in frustration.

With an exasperated sigh, he turned to Scott and Isaac, his eyes darting back to you every few seconds, like he couldn't quite tear himself away. "This is ridiculous," he muttered, voice low and clipped. "He's not even funny. Or interesting. Or good at lacrosse, for that matter."

Scott, ever the reasonable one, placed a steadying hand on Stiles' shoulder. "Relax, man. If anything was really happening, you'd know. You two have a connection. Just talk to him."

But Isaac? Isaac had no intention of easing his suffering. With his usual smug grin, he leaned lazily against the lockers, arms crossed. "Look, I hate to break it to you, Stilinski, but your boy over there?" He nodded toward Jake, who was still talking to you, still way too close. "He's one of the hottest guys in school. Aside from me, obviously."

Stiles scowled as Isaac flicked a piece of lint off his sleeve, completely unfazed by the death glare he was receiving.

"It's only a matter of time before someone snatches him up," Isaac added, his smirk widening.

Stiles groaned, throwing his hands in the air. "Wow. Super helpful, Isaac. Really appreciate it."

Scott shot Isaac a look, but the damage was already done. Because as much as Stiles wanted to brush it off, those words lodged themselves into his brain like a splinter. What if someone else got to you first?

That single thought sent a jolt of determination straight through him.

No. Not happening.

If there was ever a time for Stiles Stilinski to stop hesitating, to quit hiding behind fear and excuses, it was now. Because if he didn't make a move soon, someone else would. And there was no way in hell he was about to let that happen.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, spilling gold and amber hues across the lacrosse field, you settled onto the bleachers, the cool metal beneath you warmed by the lingering heat of the day. The air was thick with the sounds of practice—the rhythmic thud of lacrosse balls meeting sticks, the sharp calls of the coach barking orders, the occasional grunt of exertion as the team wove through their drills. Your eyes, however, were locked onto one player in particular.

Stiles Stilinski.

Despite his usual chaotic, slightly uncoordinated energy, there was something different about him tonight. He was focused. Determined. Almost... competitive?

From across the field, he spotted you, and it was like a switch flipped inside him. His face lit up instantly, a grin stretching from ear to ear. With one hand gripping his lacrosse stick, he lifted the other in an enthusiastic wave—so enthusiastic that he nearly lost his grip on his stick in the process. You chuckled, returning the gesture with a playful wiggle of your fingers, amusement dancing in your eyes.

Unfortunately, your little moment didn't go unnoticed.

"Trying to impress someone, Stilinski?"

The voice came from beside Stiles—Jake Matthews, one of the more arrogant players on the team. The same Jake who had been leaning against your locker earlier that day, trying to charm his way into your good graces. His tone was casual, laced with teasing, but there was an unmistakable challenge woven beneath it, a smirk tugging at his lips as he glanced between Stiles and you.

Stiles' grin vanished instantly, replaced by a scowl as he turned to face Jake. Oh, this guy again.

"I don't need to try," Stiles shot back, tightening his grip on his stick. "Some of us have natural charm. You wouldn't understand."

Jake scoffed, twirling his lacrosse stick with an easy confidence. "Right. We'll see about that."

And just like that, the game was on.

What should have been a standard practice turned into something else entirely—an all-out competition. Every drill, every pass, every shot suddenly became a battleground. Jake, fueled by his own arrogance, made a show of his skill, dodging past defenders with ease and landing shots with near-perfect precision. But Stiles—fueled by sheer stubbornness and the undeniable need to win—was playing with an intensity no one had ever seen before.

He ran harder, passed sharper, and somehow—somehow—even managed to score a few impressive goals. The kind that made both Scott and Isaac stop mid-conversation and exchange stunned glances.

"When did that happen?" Isaac muttered, arms crossed as he watched Stiles maneuver around a defender with surprising finesse.

Scott shook his head, equally baffled. "I have no idea. But I think we just found his greatest motivation."

It wasn't just effort. It wasn't just determination.

Stiles was playing for you.

And honestly? It was kind of working.

Until it wasn't.

Maybe it was the adrenaline. Maybe it was the overwhelming urge to one-up Jake. Or maybe—just maybe—it was the fact that he could still see you sitting on the bleachers, eyes trained on him, an almost amused little smile playing on your lips.

Whatever the reason, Stiles got cocky.

Going for what was supposed to be his grand finale, he sprinted across the field, angling himself for an epic shot—one that, in his head, would be flawless, the kind of goal that would leave you thoroughly impressed. But instead of landing his cinematic moment of triumph, disaster struck.

His foot caught in the turf.

Time seemed to slow as he realized—far too late—that there was no saving himself from what was about to happen.

With a graceless flail and a yelp of pure panic, Stiles went down. Hard. His lacrosse stick tumbled from his grip, skidding across the grass, and a collective wince rippled through the field as he landed in a heap, the sharp crack of impact echoing through the air.

A second later, a low groan escaped his lips.

Scott was the first to reach him, dropping to his knees. "Stiles, you okay?"

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, mentally assessing the damage before attempting to sit up. "Yeah, yeah—I'm fine," he grumbled, only to immediately suck in a sharp breath and clutch his ankle. "Okay, nope. Not fine. Definitely not fine."

Isaac, standing over him with a smirk, tilted his head. "Hate to say it, Stilinski, but I think your charm just backfired."

Despite the pain radiating from his ankle, Stiles still found the strength to glare up at him. "Wow. So helpful, Isaac. Truly."

Scott sighed, already prepared to help him off the field, but Stiles barely registered it. Because even as his pride (and his ankle) throbbed in agony, his gaze flickered toward the bleachers—toward you.

Your expression was a mix of amusement and concern, but the fact that you were concerned at all sent a different kind of ache through Stiles' chest—one that had nothing to do with the fall.

Because twisted ankle or not, humiliating wipeout or not, one thing was crystal clear.

He wasn't going to stop fighting for your attention.

Not now. Not ever.

The hospital room at Beacon Hills Memorial was as sterile and dimly lit as ever, the harsh fluorescent lights casting a clinical glow over the walls. The scent of antiseptic and freshly laundered sheets filled the air, but none of that mattered to you. Your arms were crossed as you stood beside Scott, watching Melissa McCall—Beacon Hills' most capable nurse and, more importantly, Scott's ever-reliable mother—wrap Stiles' ankle with practiced efficiency.

Her movements were swift yet careful, the kind of precision that only came from years of experience. She worked as she spoke, her voice both professional and motherly, a perfect blend of authority and care.

"You're lucky," she said, securing the bandage with a firm but gentle touch. "It's just a minor sprain. Stay off it for a few days, maybe use some crutches if it starts hurting too much. And—" she shot Stiles a knowing look before he could so much as open his mouth, "no attempting to run around on it like an idiot."

But Stiles wasn't listening.

His focus wasn't on Melissa. It wasn't even on his ankle.

It was on you.

Scott, ever perceptive, noticed immediately. He caught the way Stiles was staring—completely unaware that he was doing it, his brown eyes locked onto you with an intensity that would've been impossible to miss if you'd only turned your head.

Scott sighed. Here we go.

With an exaggerated stretch, he clapped his hands together and glanced at his mother. "Hey, Mom, why don't we go check on the nurse's station?" His tone was casual, too casual. "Y'know, in case they need you for anything?"

Melissa blinked, confused. "Scott, I work here. If they need me, they'll—"

"Great, let's go." Scott didn't give her a chance to finish, already ushering her toward the door with the determination of someone trying to prevent an impending disaster.

Melissa shot him an unimpressed look as he all but shoved her into the hallway. "Subtle," she muttered before the door swung shut behind them, leaving you and Stiles alone in the quiet hum of the hospital room.

For a few seconds, neither of you spoke. The distant beeping of machines filled the silence, along with the faint murmur of nurses and doctors just beyond the door. Stiles shifted slightly on the bed, drumming his fingers against the railing, the metal clinking softly under his touch.

Then, finally, he cleared his throat and attempted a casual smile—his signature smile, the one that had always been a little awkward but undeniably charming.

"So," he started, dragging the word out, his voice just a little higher than usual. "You, uh... you saw that, huh? The game. The practice. Me. Doing well for once."

You tilted your head, pretending to think. "Yeah. That was... a first."

Stiles pressed a hand to his chest, scandalized. "Wow. Wow. So little faith in me. I'm wounded. Emotionally and physically."

You grinned, shaking your head. "I'm just saying, I've never seen you play like that before. I mean, you were actually keeping up with everyone."

Stiles scoffed, but the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. "Okay, that's fair."

The two of you shared a quiet laugh, the tension in the room easing just enough for Stiles to relax against the pillows.

But then, curiosity flickered in your expression as you leaned against the hospital bed's railing. "So... what was that all about, anyway?" You lifted an eyebrow. "I mean, I've seen you play before, but never like that. You were on fire."

Stiles opened his mouth, prepared to toss out some half-hearted excuse—something about adrenaline, maybe sheer dumb luck. But before his brain could catch up, the truth just slipped out.

"Well, yeah. It was because of you."

The second the words left his mouth, his brain short-circuited. His eyes widened, mouth snapping shut like he wanted to reel them back in, as if he could somehow undo what he had just confessed.

You blinked.

Stiles panicked.

"Uh—I mean, not like because of you, you," he rambled, his hands flailing as he scrambled for damage control. "But, like, inspired by you. Or, uh, motivated? Encouraged?" His voice pitched higher with each word, his hands now waving in frantic gestures. "Not that I'm saying you specifically motivate me, but—well, actually, no, that is what I'm saying, but not in a creepy way, just in a totally normal and cool way—"

"Stiles."

He froze.

You had your arms crossed now, watching him with thinly veiled amusement. "So what you're saying is... you were trying to impress me?"

The question hung in the air for a moment, thick with unspoken tension.

Stiles let out a strangled, nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck as his gaze darted anywhere but at you. "Pfft, no! Of course not! ...Maybe."

A slow smirk spread across your face.

Stiles groaned, immediately flopping back onto the hospital bed with a dramatic sigh, one arm thrown over his face like he couldn't bear to see your reaction.

"Kill me now."

Your laughter rang through the small hospital room, light and effortless, cutting through Stiles' dramatic groan as he buried his face in his hands. His fingers gripped his hair in frustration, as if sheer force could undo the last sixty seconds of his life.

Rolling your eyes, you reached forward, fingers wrapping around his wrists, and gently tugged them away from his face. Stiles resisted for about half a second before relenting, his hands falling limply to his sides, revealing a face that was, without a doubt, very pink.

His expression was a perfect storm of embarrassment and something else—something softer, something hesitant, something that made your stomach flip if you let yourself think about it too hard.

"Come on, don't be so dramatic," you teased, keeping your hold on his wrists as you leaned in slightly. "It was kinda cute, actually."

Stiles blinked. "Cute?" His voice cracked on the word, high-pitched and unfiltered, and the moment he realized it, he immediately cleared his throat, forcing a more neutral expression—one that utterly failed to hide the way his ears had gone red.

You only grinned, giving his hands one last tug to pull him forward.

And that's when it happened.

You had moved without thinking, stepping closer in the process, and suddenly, you were standing between his legs. His knees bracketed your body, the warmth of him radiating through the thin fabric of his hospital shorts.

Stiles definitely noticed.

His breath hitched. His brain stalled. His hands, which had instinctively found their way to your waist to steady himself, froze.

And no matter how hard he tried, he could not not think about the fact that you were right there—closer than you'd ever been, close enough that he could count the flecks of color in your eyes, close enough that if he tilted his head even slightly, your lips would be—

Nope. Nope. Nope, nope, nope. Not going there.

Stiles tried to focus on anything else—the distant beeping of machines, the muffled voices of nurses in the hallway, literally any other thought that wouldn't make him combust in real time. But you weren't making it easy. Not with your hands still loosely gripping his wrists, not with your body so close, not with that teasing smile that made his heart do things it had no business doing.

His fingers twitched against your waist before he quickly ripped them away, gripping the edge of the hospital bed instead like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

Meanwhile, you seemed completely oblivious to the absolute meltdown happening in Stiles' head. Instead, you just tilted your head, amusement dancing in your eyes.

"You good?" you asked, watching the way his entire body had gone rigid.

Stiles let out a noise that was supposed to be a casual laugh but came out more like a strangled wheeze.

"Yeah! Yep. Totally fine. Just, uh..." He forced a lopsided grin—one that was more nervous wreck than charming rogue. "Just... sitting here. With a sprained ankle. And my very attractive best friend standing way too close and—"

His mouth snapped shut.

His eyes widened.

You raised an eyebrow, arms crossing over your chest. "What was that?"

Stiles slapped a hand over his face so fast it was almost comical. "Nothing. Didn't say anything. Please disregard."

But you just smirked.

Leaning in ever so slightly, you lowered your voice just enough to make Stiles' stomach flip.

"Stiles," you murmured, tilting your head. "Are you nervous?"

Stiles groaned, flopping back against the pillow like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole. "I hate you."

You just laughed again, and despite his sheer, complete mortification, Stiles was pretty sure that sound alone could heal his ankle faster than any of Melissa McCall's medical expertise.

You then reached forward and nudged his shoulder—not hard, just enough to jolt him out of his spiraling self-destruction. His head lifted slightly, his brown eyes meeting yours again, still wide from his earlier slip-up. You could see the wheels turning, his brain scrambling at full speed, desperately trying to figure out how to recover, how to backtrack, how to un-say the words that had already left his mouth.

But before he could even attempt an escape, you smirked.

"You know," you said casually, tilting your head, "for someone who thinks I'm attractive, you don't seem to realize you are too."

Stiles blinked.

His lips parted slightly, like his entire operating system had just crashed, his brain throwing up an error message in real time. He opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again—his face flickering between shock, confusion, and sheer disbelief, as if he had just misheard you. As if he needed a full system reboot before he could process those words properly.

"I—wait—what?"

Your smirk softened into something more genuine. "I'm serious, Stiles. You're really attractive." You shrugged, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I just figured someone should tell you, since you clearly don't hear it enough."

Stiles made a noise.

A noise.

Something between a strangled laugh and a dying animal, his face turning an impressive shade of pink. His hands twitched at his sides, his fingers fidgeting like he suddenly had no idea what to do with them. He sat up a little straighter—well, tried to—but in doing so, he only ended up shifting closer, his knee brushing against the side of your leg.

And that was when he realized—again—just how close you were.

Oh, God.

His brain was overheating.

Before he could spiral any further, you leaned in.

His breath hitched.

The world tilted.

Your voice softened, something warm and undeniably real threading through it. "And... I'm really proud of you, you know." Your eyes searched his, the words landing in the space between you like something solid, something true. "You played amazing out there."

Stiles swallowed hard.

He wasn't sure which part was making his heart race faster—the fact that you were still standing between his legs, the way your voice sounded so genuine, or the fact that—

Oh.

You were leaning in even closer.

His breath caught entirely when your lips pressed softly against his cheek, warm and lingering for just a second longer than necessary. The heat of the contact sent a shiver down his spine, burning through him, leaving a brand behind.

His entire body locked up.

Every single nerve in his system short-circuited.

By the time you pulled back, Stiles was frozen.

Mouth slightly open. Eyes impossibly wide. Heart definitely no longer beating at a survivable rhythm. If it were anyone else, you would've assumed he had stopped breathing altogether.

You tilted your head, amused. "You okay there, Stiles?"

Stiles slowly blinked.

Then, with absolutely zero control over his own reactions, he squeaked—an actual, audible squeak—before aggressively clearing his throat and scrambling to collect himself.

"Y-Yeah! Yep! Totally fine!" His voice cracked halfway through the sentence, and he winced. "Just—just processing. You know. Uh. Normal stuff. Normal processing."

You chuckled, shaking your head fondly. "Glad to hear it."

Stiles, meanwhile, was pretty sure he was never going to recover.

For the rest of the week, Stiles could not stop smiling.

It was actually getting ridiculous.

Every time he so much as thought about that moment in the hospital—the soft press of your lips against his cheek, the warmth of your voice when you told him he was attractive, the way you had stood so close, right between his legs like it was the most natural thing in the world—his face would break out into a stupid, lovesick grin that he couldn't wipe off no matter how hard he tried.

Scott had definitely noticed.

So had Lydia. And Isaac. And literally everyone who interacted with him for more than ten seconds.

"Okay, what is wrong with you?" Lydia had asked at lunch, raising an unimpressed eyebrow as she watched him stare off into space with the goofiest smile she'd ever seen. "You look like a golden retriever that just got praised for doing a trick."

Scott, already knowing exactly what was going on, just smirked and shook his head. "It's about you know who."

Isaac, biting into an apple, tilted his head. "Ah," he said, nodding in understanding. "Bleachers Kiss Syndrome. Classic case."

Stiles snapped out of his daze immediately, scowling. "Bleachers Kiss Syndrome is not a thing."

Isaac took another bite. "It is now."

But as much as Stiles tried to brush it off, he knew they weren't wrong. Because no matter how many times he replayed it in his head, he kept circling back to the same conclusion:

He had to tell you how he felt.

He couldn't keep pretending it wasn't there, couldn't keep shoving his feelings down just because he was scared of what might happen. You liked him—maybe not in the exact way he liked you (yet), but you had to like him at least a little, right? No one just casually calls their best friend attractive and kisses them on the cheek like that unless there's something there.

Right?

Oh, God. What if he was reading this all wrong?

What if it was casual for you? What if you just saw him as a best friend, nothing more?

What if he confessed and completely ruined everything?

Stiles groaned, dragging his hands down his face as he sat slumped over his desk at home, staring blankly at his notes for a history test he definitely wasn't studying for.

But then his mind wandered back to the way you had looked at him in that hospital room, the way you had smiled right before kissing him, the way you had stayed by his side, even when you didn't have to.

And that's when he decided—screw it.

He needed to tell you. Because the way his heart had been feeling lately? He wasn't sure it could handle keeping this to himself any longer.

Stiles knew he had to find the right moment to tell you how he felt—really tell you. Not in a half-mumbled, nervous slip-up. Not in an awkward, flustered compliment that he immediately tried to backtrack. No, this had to be something big, something meaningful.

That moment didn't come right away.

In fact, it didn't come until the championship lacrosse game.

Beacon Hills was up against one of the toughest teams in the league—the Cyclones—and to say it was an intense game would be an understatement. The air was thick with tension, the crowd was electric, and every player on the field was running on pure, unfiltered adrenaline.

The game had been brutal—fast breaks, bone-rattling defense, near-impossible shots that somehow found the net. By the final quarter, Beacon Hills was up by just one point. One more goal, and they'd win the championship. But if they missed? If the Cyclones countered?

They'd be going home humiliated.

The pressure was insane.

Scott, Isaac, and Stiles stood tense on the field, eyes locked on the opposing team as they strategized their next move. Sweat dripped down Stiles' temple, his chest heaving with exhaustion, his heartbeat thunderous in his ears.

And then—because the universe was a cruel, cruel place—the ball ended up in his stick.

Everything stopped.

For a split second, it felt like the entire world had gone silent.

The pounding of footsteps, the roaring of the crowd, the whistles and frantic calls from the sidelines—all of it faded into a distant hum as Stiles stared at the lacrosse ball nestled securely in his net.

He swallowed hard.

Oh, no.

Oh, no, no, no.

This was bad.

If he made this shot, he'd be a hero.

But if he missed?

If he missed...?

He would never hear the end of it. Not from his teammates. Not from the school. Not from literally anyone who had ever met him.

Stiles tightened his grip on the stick, fingers clammy, his pulse wild. He could do this. He just had to—

And then, in the midst of the chaos, he heard it.

"You got this, Stiles!"

Your voice.

It cut through everything, ringing loud and clear from the stands.

Without even thinking, Stiles turned his head toward the bleachers, his nerves momentarily forgotten.

And there you were.

Standing in the middle of the crowd, eyes locked on him, wearing a smile so bright, so damn confident, that his stomach flipped. Both of your thumbs were raised in encouragement, your expression screaming, C'mon, Stilinski, don't overthink it. Just take the shot.

For a second, the rest of the crowd seemed to fade, as if everyone else had noticed exactly who he was looking at. A ripple of murmurs passed through the stands, eyes shifting toward you, wondering why you of all people had chosen that exact moment to cheer.

But Stiles?

Stiles didn't care.

Because suddenly, the nerves? Gone.

The weight of the game? Didn't matter.

Because you believed in him.

Time seemed to slow down the moment Stiles swung his lacrosse stick, sending the ball flying through the air.

The crowd held its breath.

Everything—the pounding of his heart, the shouts from the sidelines, the sound of cleats scraping against the turf—faded into a distant hum as the ball spun in a perfect arc. It cut through the air, passing by outstretched sticks of the opposing players who leapt desperately in an attempt to intercept it. But Stiles had aimed it just right—just high enough to avoid their reach.

The goalie's eyes widened. He reacted a second too late, diving forward, his gloved hand stretching toward the ball in a last-ditch effort to swat it away.

For a fraction of a second, it looked like he might block it.

But then—

Swish.

The ball slammed into the net with a resounding thwack.

Silence.

For half a second, no one moved. No one breathed. Even Stiles, still frozen in his follow-through stance, wasn't sure if he had actually seen it happen or if his brain was playing some kind of cruel trick on him.

Then—

The referee's whistle pierced the air.

And just like that, the silence shattered.

The stands erupted. The entire Beacon Hills crowd exploded into cheers, a deafening roar of excitement and disbelief as people jumped to their feet, screaming in celebration.

Stiles barely had time to process it before Scott tackled him from behind, practically lifting him off the ground. Isaac was right behind him, ruffling his hair and shouting something about how he actually pulled it off. Other teammates swarmed in, clapping him on the back, shaking him by the shoulders, shouting in his face like they couldn't believe it either.

But none of that mattered.

None of it even registered.

Because the only thing Stiles saw, the only thing that mattered, was you.

Still standing in the bleachers, still grinning from ear to ear, eyes locked on him like he was the only person on the field.

And that's when he knew.

This was the moment.

The deafening roar of the crowd faded into a distant hum, drowned out by the rush of adrenaline pounding through Stiles' veins. His breath came fast, chest heaving, but he barely registered it. The celebration erupted around him—teammates shouting, hands slapping against his back, coaches cheering his name—but none of it mattered.

Stiles didn't think. He just moved.

He shoved past his teammates, dodging high-fives, ignoring the victorious yells, his feet barely touching the ground as he sprinted toward the bleachers. The crowd was a blur around him, faceless and unimportant, their voices lost to the singular, relentless thought hammering in his skull: Get to you. Get to you. Get to you.

His cleats scraped against the turf as he vaulted over the barrier, weaving through the surge of students rushing onto the field. He hardly noticed the way some clapped him on the shoulder, how a few shouted his name in triumph.

Because you were all that mattered.

The second he reached the bottom of the bleachers, your gaze locked onto his, and in that instant, every hesitation, every excuse, every fear that had kept him silent over the years vanished.

Not anymore.

Stiles took the steps two at a time, pushing through the ache in his muscles, his pulse hammering harder with each step. His entire body was electric, wired with something more powerful than adrenaline, more overwhelming than victory.

And then, finally, he was standing right in front of you.

Your lips parted, a breathless laugh escaping as you opened your mouth to congratulate him—but you never got the chance.

Because Stiles didn't wait.

His hand lifted instinctively, cupping your cheek, his fingers feather-light despite the wild energy thrumming between you both. His thumb brushed gently against your skin, his touch softer than it had any right to be considering the way his heart was slamming against his ribs.

His eyes searched yours for just a fraction of a second—just long enough for you to see everything he had been too afraid to say, too scared to show.

And then, finally—finally—he closed the distance.

His lips crashed against yours, the kiss raw, desperate, full of everything— every moment of hesitation, every ounce of longing that had been bottled up for years. His other hand found your waist, pulling you in, molding your body against his as he melted into you, as if this was the only place he was ever meant to be.

The roar of the crowd, the championship, the entire world disappeared.

There was only this.

Only you and him.

And the only thought running through Stiles' head as he kissed you was:

Finally.

Suddenly, something cool and unexpected landed on his cheek. It was subtle at first—just a single drop of water sliding down his skin. He barely registered it, too caught up in you, until another followed. And then another.

He pulled back slightly, his breath mingling with yours as his eyes fluttered open.

And that's when he felt it.

The gentle pitter-patter of rain beginning to fall from the sky.

You both tilted your heads upward, watching as the dark night sky gave way to a soft, steady drizzle. The stadium lights caught the droplets as they descended, making them shimmer like falling stars.

But there was no rush for cover, no panicked scramble from the crowd.

No—if anything, the rain only seemed to heighten the energy. The cheers still echoed across the field, players and students alike embracing the moment, their victorious shouts mixing with the sound of raindrops hitting metal bleachers and dampening the turf.

Stiles, however, wasn't paying attention to any of it.

Because as the rain soaked into his jersey, cooling his flushed skin, his gaze drifted back to you.

You were still watching the sky, droplets catching in your hair, sliding down the curve of your cheek. And then, as if sensing his eyes on you, you turned to face him again.

And you smiled.

A small, soft, knowing smile—one that made his breath hitch all over again.

"Congratulations," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the chaos around you.

Stiles' heart stumbled, his chest tightening in a way that was both overwhelming and perfect.

He returned the smile, unable to help the way his fingers instinctively curled around your waist, pulling you closer.

Then, without hesitation, he kissed you again.

This time, it was slower—less frantic than the first, but just as intense. Rain mixed between your lips, the coolness of it contrasting with the warmth of the moment. His hands tightened their hold on you, as if anchoring himself to this, to you, to the undeniable certainty that this was exactly where he was meant to be.

And as the crowd cheered, as the rain continued to fall around you, as everything else faded into the background, Stiles realized something—

Winning the game had been incredible.

But this?

This was the real victory.

As the rain continued to fall around you, soaking into your clothes and sending a pleasant chill down your spine, you pulled back slightly, just enough to meet Stiles' gaze again. His brown eyes were still wide with disbelief, flickering with excitement and something deeper—something that sent a thrill through you.

You leaned in close, your lips barely brushing against his ear as you whispered, "We should get out of here."

Stiles pulled back, blinking at you in surprise before a teasing grin spread across his face. "What? You scared of a little rain?" he teased, shaking his wet hair dramatically, sending tiny droplets flying everywhere. "C'mon, I thought you were tougher than that."

You rolled your eyes, stepping even closer, your hands trailing up his damp jersey until they rested on his chest. You could feel his heart hammering beneath your touch, the steady rhythm growing faster the longer you lingered.

"That's not why we should leave," you murmured, your voice taking on a tone just sultry enough to make Stiles freeze.

His cocky expression faltered slightly. "Oh?"

You smirked, tilting your head as you leaned in, your lips barely grazing the shell of his ear. "I just think... a champion deserves to be properly celebrated," you whispered, letting your voice drip with suggestion.

The effect was instantaneous.

Stiles practically short-circuited.

His breath hitched, his fingers tightening against your waist as he processed what you just said. His face went through a series of rapid changes—shock, realization, then a dawning understanding that sent heat rushing to his face.

"Oh," he managed to breathe out, his voice slightly higher than usual.

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes again, watching with amusement as his brain visibly scrambled to catch up.

Then, in a move that surprised even himself, Stiles grabbed your hand, lacing his fingers through yours as he stepped back. "Right. Yes. Leaving. Immediately. Great idea. Fantastic idea."

You chuckled, allowing him to pull you along, both of you ducking through the rain as the cheers from the crowd faded into the background.

Because this night?

It wasn't over yet.

#x male reader #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski x male reader #dylan o'brien #dylan o’brien x male reader #teen wolf #teen wolf x male reader #gay

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zaceouiswriting · 2 months ago

Text

The Football Stud

Character: Gabe x male reader, (mentioned) Scott McCall

Universe: Teen wolf

Warnings: Smut: degradation, humiliation, choking

Author's Note: I finally finished one of my smaller works, and for some reason, it had to be smut—though that's a problem for another time. Since I haven't written smut in a while, I'd love to hear from you all if it's okay and if you liked it as much as I hope you would.

You were bent over the counter by the sinks in one of the school's bathrooms, your head pressed against the surface by strong, immobile hands. At the same time, hard thrusts from behind slammed you in a harsh rhythm against the same counter. You would surely be bruised soon enough, but you didn't care.

"Fuck," a deep voice yells from behind you. "Why are you still so damn tight?" he asks, a smug tone in his already arrogant voice.

That was a good question. He's been forcing himself on you for months now, ever since he caught you staring in the locker room after gym class one day. You couldn't take your eyes off his perfectly muscular body or the big, thick, limp penis he unashamedly showed off to everyone before you got in the shower.

Back then, you never thought he would fuck you, or any guy, for that matter. But you'd be lying if you said you didn't like it in some ways; feeling his hands all over your body, his sharp, brutal eyes constantly staring at you, even in class, only for him to tap your desk in the middle of class as he passes by, signaling you to follow him so he can fuck you wherever he wanted.

"You fucking faggots are all the same!" he continues, his humiliating, degrading words driving you to the brink of lust-fueled madness. "You stare at me and drool over my body like I'm just a piece of meat," his words become a little slurred, "but I'm not like you, nothing more than a hole that needs to be filled by a real man!"

You couldn't deny his words. After all, you were desperately attracted to him. You were in the same class your entire school career, watching him grow from this scrawny, whiny little boy to this handsome, muscular flirt. Rumor has it that he's a real stud who apparently fucked his way through the cheerleading squad and most of the other girls in school, something you never could have imagined.

Even though he is brutal to you, you feel honored to be the one this man completely destroys. And even though you are the same age as him, you don't feel like you deserve to be called a "man" compared to him.

While you were lost in thought, the other suddenly grabbed the back of your head and pulled it upwards so that you had to look at him through the mirror while your upper body was still pressed to the counter surface by his big, strong other hand.

"Look at yourself!" he commanded, his face grim, as if he were doing something disgusting, but his rhythmic thrusts did not let up or slow down in any way. His rock-hard cock pulsed violently against your inner walls. "What do you see?"

When you finally did as he commanded, you saw your eyes red with tears, your mouth wide open, and your head was in complete euphoria. The sheer size of his cock alone gave you more than just pleasure, although it still hurt a little, but not as bad as the first time when he almost ripped you to pieces when he fucked you dry. You couldn't walk for nearly a week after that.

If you were honest with yourself, you felt and looked pathetic for letting yourself be taken advantage of by this stud who will surely play college football and maybe even go pro. Yet all you cared about was being his toy, even though you wanted more. You were satisfied that you were at least something to him, even if it was just his sperm vault that was regularly filled with his hot cum. But as a side effect, he was also fucking your brains out at the same time, which made you wonder who was really taking advantage of whom.

A sharp pain, worse than the cock trying to stretch your inner walls, snaps you out of your thoughts. As your eyes focus, you see a large red mark on your face. It's not the first time he's hit you, but you've been a good boy, just like he wants, so this time, it hurt you more than just physically.

"Don't look at me like an innocent slut!" His harsh words make you even sadder. Suddenly, he holds you tight, grabs your hair roughly, and pulls you towards him. "You know I hate it when you don't look and act like my little whore, so what's wrong?"

With tears in your eyes, you didn't want to, but you spoke anyway. "Why did you hit me?"

With a look of contempt you've never seen before in his mysterious dark orbs, he looks down at you like you're an idiot. He rolls his eyes in annoyance; it's almost playful, only to push you back to the surface harshly, immediately picking up his rhythm but thrusting into you harder than before. He was so brutal that you cried out involuntarily, only to see him grinning like a psychopath in the mirror; then you knew it was all intentional.

“That’s right, bitch, scream my name,” he yells euphorically, visibly happy about the pain he is inflicting on you.

Contrary to what he thought you would do, you gathered all your strength and covered your mouth with your hands, visibly angering him. Even though you knew he would punish you for it, you thought it was fair since he didn't answer your question. But when you saw him gritting his teeth, you almost broke down and did it anyway because you wanted nothing more than to be his good boy. After all, he always treated you nicely when you were good to him, but you had to make something clear right then.

He, on the other hand, was already at the end of his tether, slamming his hands onto your bare waist and holding it in a grip that would undoubtedly leave you with more bruises. But you didn't even care, too scared because you already knew what was coming next.

Slowly he pulls his cock out of your abused hole, all the way to the tip, and with a devilish grin, maintaining eye contact, his hips suddenly snap forward. The force pushes you to the mirror while the pain causes your arms to fall like cooked noodles at your sides. You didn't even notice how you finally let out a primitive scream, as your brain was already mostly incapacitated.

“Gabe!” You finally shouted so loudly that everyone in the surrounding classrooms could hear it, even if you didn't know it yet.

“Louder!” Gabe orders you in an icy tone, perfectly concealing his prior pure excitement.

And as ordered, you scream his name so loudly that your voice breaks. Through a veil of tears, you see Gabe's grin in the mirror; it's eerie, almost dark, like the smirk of a murderer.

But suddenly, Gabe leaned forward; his thrusts became a little sloppier. His hot breath tickled your neck, but despite the way he treated you, you were not afraid; on the contrary. If he ordered it, you would worship the ground he walks on. Carefully, he took your chin between his fingers and forced you to make eye contact with him again.

"Now tell me," his deep voice echoed in your soul, sending not only shivers through your entire body but your brain exploding in pure ecstasy, "who owns this hole?" He moved his cock slowly in and out, making it clear that he meant your loose asshole.

Feeling his cock suddenly throb viciously, you moaned his name. As you watched his face become even more smug and confident, you realized what a stud he had become, knowing full well that he was superior to everyone else. Your already rapidly beating heart nearly jumped out of your throat.

"And who owns you, slut?" He pronounced the degrading name prominently and slapped your left butt cheek so hard that you knew you would have another bruise there in the morning.

Immediately after the slap, he stopped his thrusts to hear your reaction, knowing without a doubt that your response would not be the result of pure lust controlling you.

Out of breath, it took a while, but when you saw Gabe's waiting look, you swallowed hard.

"You, Gabe," you finally managed to choke out, your words almost drowned out by your heavy breathing.

To you, your whispered words felt like a promise, an invisible contract that you will probably never be able to escape. Yet you didn't mind.

"Who?" Gabe asks again, his grin becoming sinister, his hand tightening around your chin while his other hand quickly begins to clamp around your throat.

"You, Gabe!" you squeaked with all the strength you had left. Your voice echoed through the bathroom, but you couldn't stop; you repeated his name like a mantra.

Even Gabe seemed surprised when you started to cry. It wasn't because of the pain, at least not physically. Although you never minded being just a hole for him, something inside you broke in that moment; you suddenly realized that there would never be anything more, no matter how much you wanted it to be.

Even with all your heartache, a moan suddenly erupted from you. Your mind became foggy almost instantly as something struck deep inside you.

Through the mirror, you saw Gabe standing upright again, his letterman jacket hanging halfheartedly over his shoulders, his perfectly fluffy, styled hair in disarray, but most striking were his facial features, stern but compassionate. Despite his look, he first gently ran his rough fingertips—due to all the training he does—over your soft back until he forced you where he always said you belonged: bent over and wide open for him. Like a good, obedient slut.

“You’re so tight for me,” he murmurs, his voice slightly trembling.

Just from his voice, you knew he was close to coming, even though he hadn't fucked you in almost a minute. Suddenly his thrusts became faster, distracting your mind from your emotional turmoil as he endlessly pushed his cock against your prostate to the point you couldn't control yourself anymore. Your hands twitched at your sides, clenching them as if you were searching for something to grab onto; you gasped like a bitch in heat until your limbs fell back onto the counter, your head bouncing off it a second later.

"Fuck, I'm close... I'm clo- Fuck!" Gabe's deep voice echoed off the bathroom walls as his body stiffened.

You felt copious amounts of cum filling your insides to the brim as his sweaty hands pressed deeper into your flesh.

But as you feel this wonderful, warm, thick sensation, your body gives in to exhaustion and knocks you out on the spot.

When you awoke from your short nap, you saw a shadow standing over you. You looked around anxiously and found yourself on the floor, lying on his letterman jacket. When you felt the soft fabric under your overstimulated cock, you came a third time in less than twenty minutes.

As you turned your head ever so slightly, you saw something you never thought possible. There stood Gabe, wiping your ass. He looked disgustingly at his hand as he wiped his cum off and out of your hole. However, when he caught your eye, his annoyance turned to anger.

"Fucking faggot," he mutters, clearly dissatisfied. "Can't even take it up the ass without passing out, pathetic whore."

A feeling of shame began to grow within you. It only worsened when he stood up, washed his hands, and simply walked towards the door. You could have sworn you heard your heart breaking at that moment.

“Your jacket.” Your voice was just a whisper, but Gabe halted anyway, his hand already on the doorknob.

"Don't think anything of it," he presses through clenched teeth. "I don't want your worthless sperm on it." He pulled a disgusted face again and even went so far as to spit right at your feet. "I would never want anything back from such an easy slut like you."

You lowered your head and nodded, understanding that he didn't want anything you touched. But despite everything, he didn't leave the room. Gabe sighed heavily. You saw out of the corner of your eye how he wiped his face, looking somewhat displeased and defeated simultaneously.

"Tomorrow morning, same time, same place," he mutters dejectedly. Your head snaps up, unable to believe you heard him correctly. You're amazed at the warm face he showed you for the first time. But he must've realized his mistake as his face twisted to anger again. "You're just a better slut than most girls, but if you pass out again, I'll hand you down to the rest of the football team. Got it?"

You nodded happily, unable to hide your euphoria, which caused Gabe to chuckle darkly, but you didn't care. For the first time, he actually saw you as more than just a hole, upgrading you to one of his sluts, which was better than being just a piece of meat, and maybe there's hope for much more in the future.

Lost in your dreams, you didn't notice Gabe finally leaving the bathroom. You lay there for another minute before finally gathering your clothes strewn throughout the room and putting them back on, even though they were gross.

The second you stepped out of the bathroom, Scott was outside the door asking if everything was okay.

You knew he meant well, but it pissed you off. He's always on your case, wanting you to give up on Gabe, but at the end of the year, you were both going to different colleges anyway, so you wanted to use this time to at least get fucked properly. With a scowl on your hardened face, you told him you were great, pushed past him, and went to find your friends, ignoring all of Scott's attempts to pry deeper into your business.

[Masterlist]

#x male reader #male reader #male reader imagine #x male reader imagines #male reader imagines #teen wolf x male reader #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf imagines #teen wolf #gabe x male reader #gabe imagine #gabe imagines #gabe #smut

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