#out of context stiles

[midnightwinterhawk]

Out of Context Stiles

It wasn’t until they were pulling up to his apartment building, right next to his Jeep, that Stiles realized he had given Derek ample stalker information. Now Derek knew where he lived, what car he drove, and how to make him come. That was a lot of personal information for a guy whose last name he didn’t know.

Sex Therapy by @asterekmess

[yikeshereiam]

why is everyone so attached to tara raeken??? there’s two whole other characters we actually saw theo murder with our own eyes and tara is who we're stuck on????

[roxyandelsewhere]

I have finished rewatching Teen Wolf. You mention s6b to me and I become a windup doll that says "6b stydia should have been like matteo with david in the last episode of his season in druck" and "stop making the downsides of stiles' absence so clear"

Didn't mention anything about what this season does with spiders because honestly I'm not even sure how to go about it. The big web in lydia's vision is like in The Mist (like real spider's webs discovered in 2007 year of The Mist btw) but no actual spiders there. Spiders only in scenes where its the horror of thousands of tiny invertebrates with many legs. Near the start Mason mentions scarabs too and it would have been fun to see them do more with all that

[staliaz]

Since when do you ship stalia?

I ship them ever since I watched the show back in 2017.

[sundrop-writes]

BRAINWASHED

Virgin!Stiles Stilinski x Fem!Reader

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

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

Summary:

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

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

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

Word Count: 8,000

Teen Wolf Masterlist | AO3 Link

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

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

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

...

Stiles was hopeless. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That night, you had become his hero. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He tried not to act like it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Again - he was hopeless. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N, uh-” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This thought caused Stiles’s stomach to clench. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

… 

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

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

His little secret piece of you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And what else could he do but obey? 

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

He was a man of simple, divine tastes. 

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

“Stiles, please.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Though he knew that would never fucking happen. 

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

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

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

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

Terrible idea. Terrible rabbit hole. 

But what would they smell like? 

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

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

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

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

He could always imagine the other aspects so well. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cum for me, Stiles.” 

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

Fuck. He had fucked up. 

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

… 

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

The only problem? 

Hang to dry. 

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

… 

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

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

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

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

Focus, Stiles. Focus. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Everything.” 

Stiles groaned.

...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[itsjustrosee]

NEEDS Void Stiles x fem!reader

Context: Stiles and the reader have a flirty-friendship, but aren't in an established relationship. When Stiles gets possessed by the nogitsune, he comes to the readers house who is unaware that he's been possessed.

Warnings: Spice

Wordcount: 1.1k

You slept peacefully in your bed until your eyes began to flutter open. Your mind groggily catches up to you as you slowly adjust to the lack of light in your room. As you sit up slightly, you shiver at your bedroom's surprisingly low temperature.

Even within the comfort and safety of your bed, drowning in the endless sea of covers and blankets that had now engulfed it, you still found your teeth clattering against each other.

Your eyes dart to the window in your room, which you could've sworn you closed before you went to sleep, but for some reason, was open now. The window's curtains blew in the wind after yet another cold breeze entered your room.

You muttered a curse under your breath once you finally built up the courage to leave the warmth of your bed and shut the window. You planted both your feet on the frigid floor and crossed your arms against your chest.

Very slowly, you made your way to the window, letting out a huff as you used both hands to close it shut. You turned around and leaned your back on the window, closing your eyes and sighing as you did so.

Once you opened them however, you saw someone standing in front of your bedroom door. At first, you were under the impression that your mind was playing tricks on you, but as you continued staring at the tall figure leaning on your door with his arms crossed, you realized that this wasn't just a figment of your imagination.

"H-Hello?" You whisper at the person and for some reason, your half-asleep brain thought it would be a good idea if you took a step closer to him. Upon further inspection, you realized that there wasn't just some random crazed lunatic in your room, it was Stiles.

"Wait- Stiles? Is that you?"

"Yes, it is. Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," He replies, his voice genuine, yet so low and husky that it sent a shiver down your spine.

He pushed off the door and walked towards you, his eyes raking your body up and down, eyeing you as if he was trying to commit this image of you to his memory. As he stared at your bare legs you came to the realization that you were standing in front of him in just a pair of low-rise shorts and a small tank top.

"What are you doing here?" You ask curiously while crossing your arms in an attempt to cover up the amount of skin you have exposed.

"I just felt like paying you a visit," He says as a grin plays on the edges of his lips, "I've missed you," He adds, his voice growing quieter as he steps even closer to you, placing his hands lightly on your hips as he does so.

"Is that so?" You reply with a soft chuckle while leaning closer and placing your hands on his shoulders.

You didn't know what it was, but at that moment something was drawing you to him. You couldn't help but entertain whatever had gotten into him which had compelled him to be so bold towards you.

"Mhm," He mumbled as he moved one of his hands to your cheek, the skin on his palm was surprisingly warm, causing you to melt into his touch. Heat cast off of his body as he pulled you closer, your chest pressing against his.

Stiles's eyes darted from yours down to your lips as he continued to look at you. The air was filled with tension that radiated so powerfully of desire and longing that it clouded your better judgment.

"You really are gorgeous, you know that right?" Stiles murmured, as he tucked a strand of loose hair behind your ear. His deep hazel eyes continue to stare at you, admiring all of your features.

You felt your cheeks grow red as Stiles took your chin in his fingers, lifting your head up and forcing you to return his gaze as your face was now only mere inches away from his. As you finally looked into his eyes, you noticed a glimmer of primal hunger behind them.

Suddenly he took your lips in his, encasing them in a long and passionate kiss. He continued to merge his lips against yours as he moved his hand from your cheek to the back of your head, his hand gently tugging at your hair as he kissed you harder.

You opened your mouth slightly, allowing Stiles's tongue to enter and explore every inch of it. As he continued to taste you, you moved your hands to the back of his neck.

Stiles pulled away momentarily, pushing you against your bedroom wall before picking up where he left off, claiming your lips once more in a hungry kiss. He brought his hands on the back of your upper thighs, signaling you to wrap your legs around his waist.

One of his hands stayed on your ass, keeping you propped up on the wall while the other began to trail up your torso, going under your tank top and cupping your breast.

You moaned into his mouth, his touch sending shockwaves through your body. After hearing the noise, Stiles's arousal only grew greater causing him to harden against his jeans.

His fingers found their way to your nipple, pinching it lightly between his thumb and index finger. Stiles groaned while his tongue continued to tangle with yours as you arched your back into him.

Stiles pulled away, biting down on your bottom lip slightly as he did so. He opened his mouth to speak, his heart beating against your chest as he caught his breath after the heated kiss you both shared.

"You're all mine," He growled possessively, a grin playing on his lips as he turned his attention to your neck, kissing and marking it with hickeys as he made his way down to your collarbone. He bites and then sucks on your sensitive skin, causing you to moan out in pain and pleasure.

Eventually, he brought his head back up to the side of yours before whispering into your ear, "I need more of you," He pleaded while nibbling slightly on your earlobe.

His words sent a shiver down your spine, the ache between your legs growing more prominent. The tension in the room was electrifying as his eyes met yours.

"Whatever you need, I'll give it to you," You murmured softly.

Stiles grinned at you as if that was exactly what he had been waiting to hear you say. He encased your lips in one final kiss before carrying you to your bed.

ahhhh omg another stiles fic. Thought I should take a break from all the wholesomeness in my other fics with him 😜I'll start working on my requests now that I've finished this.

BTW THANK ALL OF YOU FOR ALL THE SUPPORT I'VE BEEN GETTING LIKE WHAT???? YOU GUYS ARE SO SWEET I'M LITERALLY ON THE FLOOR PASSING AWAY RIGHT NOW.

deadass tho, I love every single one of you, thank you for all of the notes, reblogs and comments, each and every one of them makes my day <33

[katstiel]

After just having finished Teen Wolf for the first time, I can't stop thinking about Sterek. I am just so fucking fascinated by the phenomenon of this ship.

What is fascinating about it, is that there is BARELY any textual support for the ship at all. These two characters pretty much stop interacting after 2 seasons. If I'm being honest, their chemistry isn't even anything that wild. Any overtly shippable moments between the two can be counted on one hand.

What is fascinating, is that I firmly believe this ship exists due to the meta-textual context surrounding the show. Imo there are 2 main parts to this:

1. Sterek is a perfect example of queerbaiting in the original sense of the word. Because despite not having seen the show at the time, I vividly remember the boat video circulating. If you don't know what boat video I am talking about, just search YouTube for 'Sterek boat'. It is probably the most insane marketing stunt I've seen for a show.

And, after looking into it, it seems that the creative forces behind the show actively encouraged fans to ship Sterek through Asks here on Tumblr and other social media posts.

If this marketing hadn't happened, I don't think Sterek would've ever been as big as it became.

2. Derek as a character has no real purpose in the plot of Teen Wolf, except in the 1st and maybe half of the 2nd season. He is there mainly for the gratuitous nudity and objectification. Tyler Hoechlin is shirtless in so many scenes that frankly, it's a little ridiculous. In most other YA shows from the same era, he would occupy the love interest role for the main character... Except, Teen wolf's main character is, unlike most other fantasy/ya shows at the time, a guy. More importantly, the male main character Scott's entire motivation in the first few seasons revolve around his own love interest, Allison. So obviously, Scott isn't available to pair Derek up with. That leaves Stiles. Stiles isn't technically the main character, but he is the closest after Scott.

Stiles is also queer-coded like crazy. I don't know how the fandom reacted to the S3 moment where he talks to a bisexual girl, but if I had been in the fandom at the time, I would have taken it as explicit confirmation that Stiles is bi. There is no other way to interpret that scene, and no other purpose for it to be in the show.

So we have a classic, hot love interest character with no obvious romantic partner, and a queer-coded, almost-main character. The logical result is Sterek.

So like. Without the marketing or the context of similar shows of that time, there really is no reason to ship Sterek other than a vague "their dynamic is fun" that could be equally applied to many other pairings on the show. Which, for the record, is a completely respectable reason to ship something, but it would never have resulted in one of the biggest ships on Ao3 (at one point, it was second to only Destiel) on its own.

I'm not even gonna apologize for how long this post turned out because if I could, I would write an entire academic research paper on how this ship came to be. It is genuinely a fascinating case.

[theslowestpoke]

Oh my god?? @edison-khc ??! What a lovely post to make and a gorgeous piece of artwork, too! It means the world to me that you resonate with Kintsugi enough to do this, especially if it isn't your normal ship!! 🥺🥺 Wasn't expecting to be emotional at work today, but thank you, what a gift. 🥰

while scisaac is not normally my go-to ship (its actually stackson) @theslowestpoke 's 'Kinstugi' work actually makes me go feral with their characterisation of isaac and stiles.

i also adore the title of kinstugi especially in regards to the character isaac because hes one of the only characters that i think may see the bite as a gift truly, giving him a sense of power and control when he was previously powerless in an abusive household. and because hes a beta werewolf that manifests in his golden eyes. gold is literally a sign to isaac that he has independence .

Link to the work:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/38921808/chapters/97338300

[theonlyblackcanary]

Meme for this Teen Wolf fic I'm reading

For context Scott and Allison decide to kick Stiles out of the pack and he's promptly kidnapped and tortured by Gerard. Derek and the rest of the pack find out after Danny, Aiden and Ethan save him, because Scott lied and said that Stiles left willingly. So everyone turned on him and Allison and there's lots of pack piles

Here's the link!

[teenwolftalk]

The Teen Wolf movie’s lack of context to the Derek & Sheriff Stilinski relationship is a travesty because you know this man helped Derek Hale raise his son.

You can feel the history in their shared frustration over Eli’s fixation with the jeep. You see how easily either of them show up when the other calls for back up. Sheriff didn't hesitate to be the bad cop and threaten Derek’s son so Eli would cut Derek some slack. Stiles’ father was there to help Derek figure out how to be a good parent, I have no doubt he showed up a few times to the house on his days off to babysit. And I know Derek has called the Sheriff at the station over the smallest emergencies. In the process Derek found himself growing fond of Stilinski, even seeing him as a father figure. Surely he enjoyed how much it drove Stiles up the wall when his dad called to talk not about the FBI, but how amazing Derek was doing with Eli. I can almost hear the frustration in Stiles voice as he realizes Derek Hale is trying to replace him, maybe to spite him. Definitely to spite him.

Derek and Argent had an understanding. Derek and Stiles put aside their differences to save each other over and over. But when Derek needed someone, the one man left to protect Beacon Hills stepped in to help the big scary werewolf without hesitation. Sheriff Stilinski never forgot about the young Hale boy who lost everything, even when that boy jeopardized his son’s life. He knew Derek needed a parent to show him the ropes. He also knew how hard it was to raise Stiles as a widowed father, and one look at Eli told him Derek couldn't do this alone, not like he had. Claudia would want her husband to help Derek, to put aside their differences, and be there for each other. And he was there to defend Derek after he was gone, to ensure Eli knew just what kind of father he had. The film’s ending aside, I know Eli wound up in the Sheriff’s care, staying in Stiles’ old bedroom because there was no way that man wasn’t seeing what he started through for Derek’s sake.

This Sterek-adjacent dynamic is everything, and it hurts that we will never get the Hale spin-off these two deserve because, wow the emotional subcontext that carries through those 15 unspoken years is too much.

[midnightwinterhawk]

Out of Context Stiles

“It would never work out. He drinks eighty dollar bottles of Cabernet, I drink store brand hard seltzer. I live in DC, he lives in California. I work for the FBI, he’s a serial killer. You see, they’re little details, but they add up.”

Such a Lovely Place by @luulapants

[gynnnicsworld]

Does Derek prefer to believe Scott over Stiles? Is stiles and lydia connection in season 3 really as strong as many say? Stick around for us to talk about it!

I really don't want to offend anyone, I just want to open a kind of conversation with people willing to discuss with arguments and reflect in a respectful manner.

You know, I was in some kind of "debate" with some people online, and These people really didn't know how to dialogue calmly.

But they helped me to reflect and want to find people who know what they are talking about.

Let's start with the first topic:

Does Derek prefer to believe Scott over Stiles?

Context: This question was raised in the situation of Donovan's death at the 'hands' of Stiles, many said that without a doubt Derek would be on Scott's side because to begin with Derek comes back again and again for Scott when he needs him. And that Scott is like a brother to Derek and that Stiles is simply Scott's 2x1, but in a situation like that of Donovan and Stiles, Derek would undoubtedly choose to believe Scott.

While I argued that Derek would definitely go to Stiles to find out 'the truth', and I say 'truth' like that because I argued Derek has ALWAYS sought out Stiles for answers and in moments where he doesn't know what's true and what's not, trusting 100% in what Stiles tells him.

credits GIF: Colethewolf

I also recognize that at some point along the way, Derek began to consider Scott as a brother or something like that, and I do NOT detract from the connection that exists between Scott and Der, but despite this, I completely believe that Derek would support Stiles, in addition to the fact that Der does not see everything in black and white like Scott does, because Der's personality is that of someone who knows that the world, like people and situations, are gray.

Plus, we all know that Stiles is literally Derek's anchor and Derek goes to him for help whenever he needs it.

Second topic: Is Lydia and Stiles' connection as strong as many say in season 3?

Context:

This question is about whether Lydia is the right "anchor" at that time for Stiles to bring him back from the ritual. Some people say that Lydia was already in love with Stiles at that point, and that their connection was special and that Stiles' ajar door was already like that before the ice bath and that it has nothing to do with Lydia and their connection.

And here I do not mean to offend anyone or start any ship wars, no, here I said "At that time the relationship between Stiles and Lyds was not deep enough, at that time Lydia had just begun to consider Stiles a friend, but the friendship between Lydia and Stiles was not at the level that Lydia and Allison was at that time, so I consider that was not the best option for Stiles. Unlike Scott and Deaton who have a father-son type connection. While Ali feels romantically attracted to Isaac and vice versa.

I mean, I love the friendship between Lyds and Stiles, to me they are the smart badass duo, I deeply love the connection they have, to me Lydia and Stiles are the only ones (with the exception of Peter, because we have to be honest, that guy is really smart) who can follow each other's level of thinking/intelligence, and truly getting a connection with someone like that is quite difficult so I understand that both of them feel mutually understood by each other. And I think that's essentially where that special connection they have, they are the brains of the pack, thanks to them most of it is still alive.

But having said all that, I still think that the connection between Lyds and Stiles at that point wasn't deep enough yet and it wasn't the right choice.

Please leave your opinions <3 and thank you

[dcangel]

What Hurts The Most

A fic inspired by “what hurts the most” by rascal flatts. (Peep some lyric references in there)

Context: you and stiles were the couple, always together and completely inseparable. But lack of communication due to overwhelming stress and responsibilities of balancing the pack’s supernatural problems as well as school left for a gap between you two, and it didn’t end well.

tw: emetophobia, slight intoxication (not really), no smut

she didn’t tell you. Lydia didn’t tell you stiles was gonna be here. In all fairness, she probably didn’t know. It wasn’t her fault that everyone always came to her parties; that she was popular and could fit in anywhere. After all, she was in the pack, so, naturally, she invited all of them. Just because you and stiles hadn’t ended on good terms didn’t mean that one of you shouldn’t get to come and enjoy a good night with friends, right?

So here you were: in your little red dress, having grown to love the color over the past year or so, and feeling like the world was about crumble as you froze. Lydia noticed your shift in mood instantly, probably related to the literal shifting movements you made, trying to get out of sight. Out of everyone’s sight, preferably, but most definitely out of his sight.

You tried so hard—so excessively hard—to keep your eyes off him. After finding your eyes gazing in his direction, your mind telling itself that you only wanted a quick glance, just a small glimpse for only a second, and then you’d look away for the rest of the night, you had to pry your eyes away, physically turning your body to prevent it.

Lydia knew, and she had told you it was for the better. Not that either of you were malicious during your end, but it just brought baggage along with the subject when it was even hinted at. Baggage of which you were starting to feel the weight of right now.

Kira came over with Scott as you and Lydia had been chatting about school and gossip; things you used to do before when life was simple and you weren’t constantly stuck in ‘don’t die’ mode thanks to the supernatural. To others, it would’ve seemed as if you were genuinely engaged in this conversation; talking, smiling, nodding your head, even falling back into old habits of talking with your hands. But the red-headed girl knew, even Kira—who you’d not been friends with for long—could tell. It was all just a guise.

Scott, of course, recognized a few indignations of your facade, and he figured that you’d probably just want to have a girl talk without him there. So, he told his girlfriend he’d be talking to a few other friends—probably meaning stiles—and gave her a quick kiss on the forehead before leaving.

The pda made you antsy. It reminded you of him. Of course it did, everything did. The forehead kisses, him holding you from behind as you sunk into his grip and he held you against his warm chest, and for just that moment, you two felt the unspoken sense of security and safety. But now you were alone; unsafe, unstable, and with nothing against your back other than red satin and a chilled breeze.

You must’ve spaced out, because the next thing you knew, the girls were trying to calmly usher you into the house. A seemingly normal thing, but you could tell it was rushed, a sense of urgency could be observed from their body language.

They weren’t gossiping much, telling you that they just had to change the scene because there were people around who shouldn’t be hearing what they had to say. It would account for the darted glances, aimed at people next to or behind you.

Naturally, you wondered who was around that wasn’t allowed to hear such drama. A few quick head turns—that you tried making discreet—and glancing at lamp posts covered in neatly trimmed ivy, or maybe even the roof, as if there was something interesting about them that might offset any of those who would find your directed glances unsuspicious, lead to a new discovery.

Like muscle memory, your keen eyes found him easily in a crowd. Unfortunately, you also had the displeasure of finding someone else next to him. A girl. Blonde hair, pretty eyes that you couldn’t determine the color of from this distance, on-point makeup, a perfect button nose, and just overall drop dead gorgeous. She was all over him, hands gliding and smoothing over his flannel-clad torso as she overdramatized her laughs at whatever he was saying, clearly a bit intoxicated.

For a moment, when Lydia and Kira realized that you had seen what they were trying to keep you from, they stopped fighting against your resistance. They gave you sympathetic looks that went unseen by your—now glossed over—eyes.

Your struggling stilled, your hands losing their grip on each of the girls’ arms. Your elbows dropped, then your hands did, your smiling expression long before either of them.

You felt physically ill, every muscle in your body went stiff like a living corpse—which is what you might as well be at this point. Your skin was pale—not just pale, but drained of any color, any life that had been left inside after your other half was torn from you not even a month ago.

And now he was here—as expected—but with another girl. Did they just meet or something? Did he come here with her? You could’ve sworn that she wasn’t around earlier. And if it was the latter, then that means he’s already moved on. Already found another girl to commit to when you two couldn’t even figure out the problems you had when you were together, those of which are now left unsolved; forever solidified in the black and white color of your once vibrant past.

“Oh,” you breathed out, the air in your lungs was thick and sat heavily. It was that type of slow, unsystematic but somehow still very calculated breathing that would automatically start when one would try and hold back the floodgates from opening.

Suddenly you turned back to the girls, the polished smile you held nearly identical to the one before, but tampered with the emotion you held in your eyes, and started walking inside like they wanted you to do before. “So what were you gonna say? The stuff that you didn’t want anyone else hearing.”

Kira looked a bit stunned, like she was just waiting for it all to come crashing down as if you hadn’t fully realized what you’d seen yet. But Lydia was a bit more accustomed to your insincere smiles and happy attitudes whenever something that would send the average person spiraling downwards came about.

“Well,” she started, searching her brain from any drama juicy enough to distract you, “you know Molly, right?”

You nodded like you were there and in the moment, but your eyes were distant. “From Biology?”

Lydia nodded. “Yeah, well, I heard that she and Kylie had this huge fight about shoes or something stupid…” Lydia kept talking, and you kept making interjecting comments, occasionally throwing in a surprised face or two, yet the two girls saw right through you.

You kept looking around the room, through the glass doors to Lydia’s backyard, even going as far as to strain your neck a little to see into the next room, of course, all while trying not to make it obvious. But you were slowly going insane. You couldn’t decide whether you wanted to run as far and as fast as you could from beacon hills and never look back, or if you just wanted to collapse and kick and scream like a toddler. The other things you wanted to do weren’t really options on the board.

You were drawn from your inevitable breakdown by the strawberry blonde placing a gentle hand on your arm. One look at her and you already knew what she was silently asking. No, you weren’t okay. But for the night, you were going to have to be.

Over the next thirty minutes alone, you tossed back shot after shot of diluted punch. You weren’t sure why you were taking shots of the spiked punch, to be honest. You just thought maybe it would trick your brain into thinking it was straight alcohol instead of some mild fruity concoction at a highschool party.

It did help to get you feeling a little better, and by better, it meant that you couldn’t bring yourself to care about holding things in as much. You started gossiping with Lydia and Kira, you started dancing whenever your favorite songs played, you started laughing when someone would get pushed into the pool. You started having fun and enjoying yourself.

And with the lack of restraint came the glances, the gazes that lasted a little too long, the jealousy of some girl you didn’t even know the name of, the need to breakdown and continue the almost-daily streak.

You kept talking to your friends, occasionally singing along to some songs with them like every lyric didn't remind you of him in some way, or like how the tempo didn't remind you of how his heart would beat when you laid your head on his chest at night.

It didn’t quite hit until Radioactive started playing. The song itself had no significance, but rather, the music video. You remembered sitting with stiles and watching the music video, and feeling sad because the puppets were beating each other up or something. Whatever it was, you couldn’t exactly remember since it’s been so long since you’ve even heard this song, let alone watch the video. Plus you had a bit of alcohol in your system now from how much punch you drank.

Something didn’t sit right in your stomach, and you noticed immediately. Your tipsy movements stopped, your face now one of concentration and slight fear. You had a fear of throwing up, always have and always will.

“L-Lydia?”

The strawberry blonde could tell something was wrong just by the pitch of your voice; like a scared kid thinking the world was about to end over some mild concern. “Yeah?”

You didn’t want to jinx your inevitable fate of getting sick, but the sour look on your face could pretty much convey your fears.

“Okay, it’s okay.” She said calmly. “Let’s just get you inside, alright? You’re gonna be fine, I promise.”

After leading you through her house, filled to the brim with sweaty, intoxicated teenagers, pushing and elbowing a few who barely looked conscious, she brought you to an upstairs bathroom where hopefully you wouldn’t be bothered. The bathroom was connected to one of the guest bedrooms, and you’d have to go through the bedroom to get there.

You insisted she wait outside and to not speak to or touch you at all, it was just some overstimulation problems your body had while throwing up that you wanted to avoid. You didn’t have a hair tie, and without Lydia or Kira to help since you locked them out of the pristine room, you were left to struggle with holding your own hair back as you hunched over the toilet and released the contents of your stomach.

The vile feeling of acid mixed with a fruity flavor and revolting feeling of the party snacks coming back up scorched your throat. Your fingers held a weak grip, but one that felt like your life depended on it, on the edge of the toilet as you completely disregarded all your standards for cleanliness.

Tears welled in your eyes, the extreme dislike for the revolting feeling and taste combo coming on quickly and strongly.

And then it all came crashing down.

The resistance you had for not getting sick in years—other than that one month,—the walls you put in place, the courageous and happy role you played day to day; all of it. It all went to shit.

And all because when it came down to this moment, where you were expelling every substance you ingested in the past few hours, the person you needed most was god knows where doing god knows what with whoever the fuck he wanted. And what he wanted wasn’t you. That’s how it seemed, at least.

Having been your friend years before you started something new between you two, stiles knew you better than you knew yourself. He knew you didn’t like people around you when you weren’t feeling good, and he never asked why, even though it made no sense. He knew you didn’t have an answer, it was just a matter of comfort. And you didn’t even have to tell him it was okay to sit next to you, to talk about the little things that went on inside his head, to slowly start tracing his fingers over yours. He didn’t need to ask and you didn’t need to tell him because you two had something most didn’t. A real and true connection.

And then you reverted back to most relationships, nothing special, and no communication anymore. You couldn’t understand how things just “fizzled out” or you two just “drifted apart” because how could that happen? All those promises, affectionate touches or gestures that were so sickly sweet they were toothache worthy—had they meant nothing? In the moment, they meant the world, and that was mutually agreed upon, but what about now?

You were at your worst: the lowest of the low between the combination of a breakdown and ones of your worse fears passing through your system at the moment, and the only one that could truly help you, if only a little, wasn’t yours anymore.

It was stupid, so fucking stupid. How had it managed to get this bad? You should’ve just said what was on your mind, never put it off as something to say later. You felt like you took it all for granted, and that if you had a chance, you’d trade everything, everything, to give him all those words that you left unspoken.

Between the shaking, the loss of everything your body had left to run on, and the calls of your name from outside that fell on deaf ears, you felt empty. Both physically and emotionally. You were chilled by the ever-flowing breeze in the drafty room, yet your insides felt like molten. It made you want rip your hair out, claw at your skin, dig your nails into any surface until they bled—like you wanted an inanimate object to feel as much pain as you did,—kick things, scream until your throat bled, which probably would take long thanks to the corrosive stomach acid, and bash every mirror and glass object in this room.

Of course, Lydia’s house had nothing do with your internal neurasthenia, yet you found yourself digging your nails into the slightly tarnished porcelain that you had draped yourself over, head still partially in the bowl.

You genuinely didn’t know if you could go on from here. Maybe making Lydia’s guest bathroom your forever home wouldn’t be the worst choice. The small clock in the corner steadily ticked, and despite being on the second floor and on the opposite side of the house, you could still hear the booming music that shook the frame of your friend’s home.

You tried reciting every line, every word, every beat to the currently played song that you could, hoping it would get your mind off the nauseating feeling in your gut and the equally horrendous smell assaulting your nostrils. You just decided to flush the toilet to at least solve one of your million problems.

Even if you eventually chose to leave Lydia’s bathroom, your makeup was completely fucked. You were sure your mascara flaked off in the streams of tears down your cheeks, and with the flood from your eyes carried your concealers and foundation, probably your eyeliner as well even though it was usually pretty good about staying on.

Thanks to the lack of lucidity in your semi-manic state, you didn’t hear the door handle turning, nor did you hear the soft creak of the hinges as the opened wide enough for a person to slip through. Had you been listening to the movements, you would’ve heard the silence that came when one would typically close a door after entering a room.

You didn’t realize there was another presence in this room until the shadows of their motions got closer, and you felt the heat of someone slowly walking behind you. They sat down on the edge of the shower bath, and only then when you peaked from the corner of your eyes to see their elbows resting on their thighs, their hands already starting to fidget, did you know who it was.

Your head fell on your arms that were resting on the toilet seat, your heart sinking to your feet, which, in all fairness, wasn’t that far from where your heart was. Your head was hung over the rim of the seat into the bowl, and you watched as your tears made small ripples in the filtered water. For a moment, you recognized your appreciation for Lydia’s big house and over-tidy habits even more; the toilet was probably very rarely used and was also, knowing Lydia, most likely cleaned once a week.

But that small distraction only occupied your mind for a second before your brain forced you to remember the, now awkward, situation you’ve been put in. You thought you had healed, or was starting to, but with stiles the closest he’s been to you in weeks, given the tiny room, your mind began to revert to the easygoing mindset you typically occupied—well, up until around a month ago. Being with stiles meant you didn’t have to think, unless you were with the pack, and you two would act like there wasn’t a care in the world.

Even now, you still acted like that. But not because you had someone to goof around with that matched your energy so well, rather, it was because you no longer had the will. You couldn’t bring yourself to care about things as much as you used to, despite the so called “care-free” attitude you maintained during those ostensibly infinite months.

The tears easily rolled from the corner of your eye, down the bridge of your nose, below the other eye, and down your cheek into your hair, creating a wet horizontal line. You had nothing left, so why not just wallow in self-pity?

Unfortunately, you felt the wretched sense of your guts churning, you grumbled a few small words of lost denial before using the rest of your strength, your body automatically curling over the toilet, your head partially in the bowl, and clawed at the porcelain as you gagged and heaved.

Nothing came out except for acidic spit, not even bile. That’s when you knew that it was probably over, your intestines having expelled all substances it held. The left over nutrients, or rather lack of thereof, only wished you to hold yourself over the toilet with every bit of shaky vigor left in you. You didn’t even bother looking over at the person, having lost all self preservation from losing your entire digestive tract in a matter of minutes, and also from shamelessly dry-heaving in front of them.

No one spoke, the air heavy with unsaid words, unspoken hearts. Him not seeing that love in you was the reason for your inevitable nightly meltdowns. It would be one thing if you broke up, both people still maintaining the feelings, unlucky in the sense that it just wasn’t going to work between them, but knowing that it could—it did—work between you two, and having so much left to say, so much left over in your heart for him that continued to thrive, and watching him walk away, had to have been one of the most gut wrenching, vomit inducing (literally) feelings known to mankind.

You heard him take that familiar precursory breath like he was preparing to speak, and for a moment, a stupidly naïve moment, you hoped beyond hope that this would be the moment he’d apologize for ending things, tell you that he missed you and still loved you, and maybe—just maybe—he finally realized that he was made for you, and you for him. That you fit together perfectly, better than completing a satisfying thousand-piece puzzle.

But nothing came. Not the words you foolishly listened hard for in case they were spoken under his breath, not even a saddened sigh. Not a single word was uttered from his spot.

The entire English lexicon—hell, you would’ve taken French or even Spanish—and not a single word was exchanged in order to express the locutions that made it hard for you to get up, get dressed, and live with this regret for eternity.

And yet you always thought that if you had the chance, you’d gladly exchange every breath in your lungs for what little attention he’d give back, even just a lingering look. And here was your chance: sitting to your right on a matching set of porcelain, leaning forward on his elbows, fingers anxiously twisting and gripping at each other.

Where were those words? Those extra breaths you promised him—if not him, then yourself—you’d keep for this moment? Where the hell were they? In the toilet with the rest of your self respect and preservation?

But even with the movements of reaching out a weak hand for the opulent, four-ply toilet paper stocked neatly on a mounted holder, and wiping the filth from your lips and chin before tossing the plush tissues into the slightly-soiled water below, you still hadn’t managed to come up with those lexises.

Pressing the small handle, you flushed your (somewhat) dinner along with your dignity down the toilet. You took your time getting up, feeling each of your limbs and the muscles within straining and shaking uncontrollably as they works tirelessly to keep you upright to a certain extent.

You dragged your cramped-up legs over to the sink, leaning forward and gripping the marble with a deceptive force. You weren’t wrong; your makeup was absolutely wrecked: streaks that mapped the flow of your tears through your foundation, messed up lipstick that tried its best to cling to most lips through a sheer stain, and mascara in places you didn’t even know were possible to get the black substance there.

“She’s pretty,” you heard your own voice croak, “what’s her name?”

A stutter came, like he was about to deny your slight accusations. “Charlotte.” His words sounded uncaring, and you hoped to whatever god or gods out there that it meant they weren’t a thing like you assumed.

How the fuck were you supposed to compete with a pretty girl named charlotte? Lydia would say you’re not, that you should just let it go. That it was all over now.

You hummed with a nod, pretending like this was interesting information when you really just wanted to get the fuck out of here. “Well, she seems nice.” You didn’t even know the girl and you already hated her guts. “I hope she can be all the things I couldn’t.” You whispered, biting your bottom lip to conceal the pain that was begging for an exit.

A quick glance in his direction which your heart required for your departure, and you knew that you’d rendered him speechless. Perhaps voiceless, maybe even stricken with the same sorrowful illness that consumed you.

Who were you kidding, he was probably just doing this for himself so he could have a clear conscience when he moves on to the next girl—to Charlotte. Fuck.

No matter what fabrications you made in your mind, putting in genuine effort to make him seem like the bad guy or to find a reason to hate him, you couldn’t. You knew stiles would never do something like that. He was the most selfless person you know—knew.

Your mind was in shambles, tearing itself apart while the other half burst to flames. A train wreck. So, you gathered what was left of your being as a whole, and gave him the most genuine smile you could muster as if you were happy for him, and walked out.

You left him there; a bitter tinge of guilt, jealousy, and grief all mixed into one lethal concoction. It certainly didn’t feel like closure, but you had to tell yourself it was the best you were going to get.

And, in the end, two hearts had written love letters that fate failed to deliver.

Heavily unedited

Sorry if it’s a bit cringe (especially towards the end) but I kinda rushed it since I really wanted to get this out, plus I can’t tell if I’m good at writing these depressing things or not??

Also, watch out for a pt 2 bc I might make one if yall want👀

12/21/23

[curses-of-the-void]

Mechanical - Jordan Parrish

Fandom(s): Teen Wolf

Wordcount: 1041

Warning(s): Fluff?, Kisses,

Summary: Just her luck, huh?

The stars are shining overhead, wind blowing crisp leafs over the ground, a flickering streetlight gleams over her as she mutters a litany of curses as she drops the wrench in her hand at the sharp jolt of electricity that zaps her hand. Hopping back, she shoves her hand into her mouth, laving over the shock with her tongue, pausing to watch the purple webbing pattern that is spread across the side of her hand quickly fade, sighing as she leans heavily against the side of her car.

"Please, Gods and Goddesses above. Please. If you get me out of this, I'll be good. I won't pick on Stiles anymore, I-I'll donate all my clothes to charity. I'll... I don't know what else, but I'll do it!" The response she gets is a distant rumble, before lightning strikes across the sky, and nonexistent clouds appear, only breaking open to pour rain down on her. "Seriously?!" A soft sob escapes her mouth, eyes falling shut as rain pounds on her, coating her, soaking her, making her shake. Slamming the hood shut, she kicks the wheel of her broken down, beat up old Toyota, making it squeak, before she climbs into the driver's side, slamming the door as she shakes out her hair, wrenching as much water out of it as she can, before she reaches over to grab her phone, scrolling through her contacts.

Stiles would recommend duct tape, and she's pretty sure it wouldn't help in this context. Her dad? No, he's been pulling doubles at the station, and is probably sleeping at the dinner table, pouring over files for answers to The Beast. Lydia would come give her a ride, but she really should be resting after Einchen House. Scott? No, that's just asking for trouble right now. Her finger hovers over a familiar number, of someone that her dad disapproved of her befriending, to the point where he threatened to demote the deputy when he found her laughing as she lounged against his desk. It seemed like everyone had driven a wedge between the two of them.

A strike of lightning in the distances has her jump, finger falling on the call button before she realizes it, making her wince as she hesitantly raises the phone to her ear. Please don't pick up. Please don't pick up. She thinks, but the phone barely rings for a second time, before it's picked up with tired "Hullo?" making her flinch. Shit!

"H-Hey, Parrish." He murmurs her name in confusion, and she lets out a weak laugh. "Yeah, uh, I'm sorry... I didn't know who else to call."

"What's going on? Is something wrong?"

"No! No. I uh..." Her head falls against her steering wheel, clenching her eyes shut as a rumble of thunder booms in the distance. "My car won't start." She laughs breathlessly.

"What?! Where are you? I'm coming to get you." He says, and she hears the shuffle of clothes, and the clink of a belt, making her frown.

"Did I wake you?"

"No. Don't worry about it." He answers, before there is a clank of a door latching, and she grips her steering wheel with one hand, muttering a curse directed at herself. "Hey! No berating yourself. Now, tell me where you are." She rattles off the street name, and Parrish repeats it for confirmation. "I'm not far now..."

"Kay." She feels a sudden tightness in her throat.

"You okay? Is there something wrong?" He asks, his kindness making guilt weigh in her chest.

"N-No. I-It's nothing." She answers, and jumps when there is a knock on her window, making her look over to see Jordan standing there, phone in hand, covered by his deputy jacket. She pops open the door as they both hang up, rain falling around them as he lifts his jacket, covering her as well as she slams the door to her car shut with a loud metallic creak.

"I'll call you a tow tomorrow, for now we should get you home. Where it's safe." She nods, feeling that tightness in her chest and throat grow, before she follows close beside him as he guides her to his car, catching her as she trips over her own feet, touch lingering as she looks up at him.

"...thanks." She murmurs, turning away as he opens the door, covering her as she climbs in. He's at his side, climbing into the car as she buckles up, freezing as she looks up, and he's mere inches from her face, looking at her. The air is thick with awkwardness, charged with an electrical current that always seems to linger between them. "Thank you, Jordan... for coming to get me."

"You don't need to thank me. I'll always come for you." She feels heat flood her face at his promise, his words making her breath catch in her chest. He murmurs her name, and she reaches down, grabbing his hand as she rests her forehead against his own, absorbing his presence as much as she can. "I've missed you."

"Me too." She laughs softly. "Goddess above, I've missed you." She shakes her head, leaning back to look into his green eyes. "You know that I wasn't ignoring or avoiding you by choice, right?"

"I know. Sheriff Stilinksi threatened me, if I didn't stay away, that I'd know what the barrel of his gun would look like." She blinks, shocked by the fact that her father would threaten him like that.

"Yet, you still came." She murmurs, and Parrish grins softly, reaching up to wick away a drop of rain from her cheek.

"You're worth it." His words light a fire with her, and she reaches across the center console, hands grasping his face, before she is kissing him, the heat of his skin making her body flush, especially when one of his hands cups her waist, tucking up under her shirt, the other cupping her cheek, kissing her back in return. "So worth it." He murmurs, before kissing her again.

"Definitely."

[ahgrace6]

Melody finds out | Stiles Stilinski

Context: if melody and stiles had sex before going over to Lydia’s house. or if teen wolf was rated R (a continuation of the witch who cried wolf episode 5 | the tell)

Warning: smut, p in v, oral (male receiving), virgin!stiles, buzzcut!stiles, virgin!melody

Melissa had let melody stay home the following day after the incident in the video store. "alright sweetie, im off to work." melissa calls from the front door as it clicks shut.

sometime later a shout of "melody!" was heard from downstairs. Rolling her eyes the girl gets up from her bed and walks down to open the door to reveal stiles standing there. "are you okay? what did you see last night?" stiles asks the girl. Rolling her eyes Melody replies "i'm fine stiles, i didn't see anything." and begins climbing the stairs again.

Stiles who is unhappy with this answer after seeing her shaking form last night closes the front door and begins following the girl up the stairs. she was dressed in just his shirt and a pair of blue panties that peeked out from under the shirt making his breath hitch as he looks away not wanting to perv on the girl. 

entering her bedroom melody sat down looking at the boy with an irritated look on her face, he and scott had been hiding something from her since the first day of school and now he wanted information from her?

"please." stiles asks sitting next to her on the bed. Melody smiles and replies "i'll tell you what i saw if you tell me what you and scott have been hiding from me." the blonde attempts to bargain with the boy. 

"uh." stiles hesitates not knowing how scott would feel if he revealed that the shaggy haired boy was a werewolf. Sensing the boy’s hesitation and wanting the information the blonde smiled stating "i can get it from you another way."

stiles' brows furrow. "you can?" "uh huh." she answers getting within millimeters from his face before climbing on top of his lap straddling him. stiles breath hitches as he looks at the girl on top of him "oh my god." he whispers 'is this a dream?' he thinks.

"tell me what's going on stiles." melody demands. stiles stays silent and frozen his hands glued to his sides awkwardly causing the blonde to grab the buzzcut boy's hands and placing them on her ass. stiles lets out a moan like sound at the feeling hesitating before squeezing. "come on stiles." the blonde persuades wrapping her arms around the boys neck their faces centimeters apart. 

"you tell me what's going on, i tell you what i saw and then we can have some fun." she smiles slowly bringing her hand down his chest and stomach smiling seductively at him. "don't you wanna have fun with me stiles?" she asks lightly as her hands brush his belt buckle. 

the boys head nods up and down aggressively as he pulls her closer to him on his lap his hard cock pressing against her barely clothed heat a whimper leaving the girls throat. melody pushes his body onto her bed leaning over him now. "im sitting on top of you in just my underwear with your shirt on stiles, i could easily just take off the shirt.. do you want that?" the blonde asks seductively "yes, god, please." stiles breathes out the girls hands go towards the bottom of her shirt slowly lifting it "please, stiles. just tell me what's going on, im not gonna tell anyone." she asks once again. 

"Scott's a werewolf." stiles mumbles out in his fog of desire when her breasts are revealed. melody's eyes widen as she sits up still straddling the boy her shirt lowering "a werewolf?" she asks. stiles nods aggressively "yes, and an alpha is trying to bring him into his pack and make him kill people." the boy mumbled out his hand cupping her face bringing her lips towards his. her breath mixes with his as stiles connects their lips.

Melody’s tongue enters stiles mouth brushing against the boys own tongue. Breaking apart from the boy Melody rips off her shirt and discards it on the floor. Stiles eyes widen as the blondes breasts are exposed again his hands going up to fondle them. Reconnecting their lips stiles pulls the girl closer to his body.

Stiles lips slowly go down towards melody’s neck sucking on the skin to show everyone that they were wrong, he finally got the girl of his dreams, she wanted him and he wasn't gonna let her go. His lips going back up to her mouth stiles whispers “I’ve always wanted you, baby.” Whimpering into the boys mouth Melody replies “me too stiles” in a whisper.

“Stiles.” She whispers again, “you’re wearing too many clothes.” Stiles immediately removes his shirt and she begins to kiss down his naked torso down to his happy trail. “You want me to suck your cock baby?” She whispers making stiles rapidly nod up and down.

Removing stiles belt, jeans and boxers Melody stares at stiles cock before wrapping her hand around the base “it’s so big, baby.” She whispers as his eyes roll into the back of his head at the pleasure.

she begins licking the tip of stiles cock before going down to the base licking a long strip from the bottom to the top just like lydia had spoke about when talking about blowjobs, stiles hands thread through the girls hair as she begins sucking on the boys dick.

moans can be heard coming from the boys mouth until he rips her off right before he cums. melody whimpers in annoyance as she wants to taste his cum but he pulls her back to his lap whispering "i wanna cum inside you, baby."

smiling melody removes her underwear making them both completely naked. arousal coats the blue panties causing stiles to moan as he brings his fingers to her heat feeling a pool of wetness.

"what about a condom?" stiles asks as melody lines herself up with his cock. "i think Scott keeps some in the bathroom." the blonde replies getting off the boy and heading to her and Scott's shared bathroom in search for a condom retrieving one and climbing back on top of the boy their mouths intertwined again.

melody fiddles with the packet opening it and rolling the condom onto stiles before lining herself up with him and sinking down. a large moan erupts from the boys mouth as melody whimpers into his neck from the stretch.

"are you okay?" stiles asks concerned. "yeah baby, im okay." she smiles as she connects their lips again whimpering into the kiss when she lifts herself back up and down again.

after a few minutes the two are moaning messes stiles hips come up to thrust into her as she rides him. "so good stiles." she moans. "perfect. so perfect." he moans back in response.

she clenches around him and stiles assumes that means she's close. "stiles." she whimpers. a loud moan erupts from stiles mouth as a warm sensation fills the blond as stiles orgasms. melody following shortly after.

lifting herself off of stiles cock melody whimpers from the empty feeling. stiles removes the condom heading to the bathroom to dispose of it coming back with a warm wash cloth to clean the girl up. afterwards stiles pulls the girl back towards him holding her close to his body as the blondes phone goes off bringing the two back to reality.

Scott's a werewolf and there's an alpha werewolf running around killing people.

melody opens her phone seeing a message from Lydia. a video of the monster she'd seen last night.

"this is what i saw." melody tells the boy turning the phone towards him. "this is the alpha? isn't it?" she asks. stiles hesitantly nods "i think so." "Lydia." melody mumbles getting out of stiles embrace and walking towards her dresser.

the two redress and head to Lydia's. stiles immensely happy but disappointed that their cuddling had been cut short.

[itsjustrosee]

Alright because of all the support on my last post with Stiles, I figured I should write another 😚👍

Worried Sick Stiles Stilinski x fem!reader

Context: established relationship, Stiles comes to visit you when you don't show up to school

Warnings: none, just fluff

Wordcount: 1.1k

You had been in your room curled up in bed, tangled in blankets and stuffed animals all while you were supposed to be at school.

You had just gotten your period and your cramps left you nothing short of bedridden and on the verge of throwing up all day. You were experiencing womanhood at its absolute finest, to say the least.

Suddenly, the door to your room swung open, and a very confused and distressed Stiles entered your room. His expression softened once he saw you weren't dead or bleeding out, and a wave of relief seemed to wash over him.

"Not using the window to get in anymore?" You asked jokingly, rolling to your side to face Stiles who had now set down his bag and kneeled at the side of your bed. Being Scott's twin, you and Stiles needed to keep your relationship a secret. That's why when it came to hanging out, Stiles would always come in through your window rather than your front door so the both of you wouldn't get caught.

"Well, you gave me a key to your house for a reason right? Also going in through the window would've taken me too long," Stiles explains, his expression still slightly filled with worry as he placed one of his hands on your bed while the other tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

"What were you in such a rush for?" You ask with a chuckle in reaction to Stiles's seriousness, snaking your hand out of your covers and placing it on top of his.

"Well you didn't show up to school and I was worried," He explains, his expression soft and genuine. "I thought something bad might've happened," He says quietly and slowly.

For any other boyfriend, his girlfriend not showing up to school shouldn't cause them this much stress, but considering all the supernatural shit Stiles has somehow managed to get involved in, he couldn't help but worry himself to death.

"I'm okay Stiles, really I am," You say, reassuring him, "Just on my period that's all," You explain, trying to manage a smile but your stomach felt like it was being turned inside out, so it probably came out as more slightly disturbing than comforting.

"Ok good, I thought it could've had something to do with that. Which is why-" Stiles says, relieved, as he gets up and grabs his bag before sitting down next to you on the bed. "I have come prepared," He continues with a goofy smirk plastered on that stupidly cute face of his.

You sit up lazily as Stiles begins to show you what he bought. He whips out a plastic bag from inside of his backpack with items ranging from Tylonal, Advil, and Mydol, (which you immediately snatched and swallowed), all the way to chocolates and a heated stuffed animal.

"I got confused when I saw all the... feminine products, so- um-" He explains while taking out yet another plastic shopping bag from his backpack to reveal at least ten different boxes of tampons and pads.

You pause and stare at the ginormous haul of items that Stiles has bought you and you can't help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude.

You appreciated Stiles and his caring towards you more than anything, especially in moments like these. He always knew the right things to do and the right things to say, and you loved him for it.

Stiles, however, didn't take your silence in the right way. "I'm sorry- it's stupid I know, I bought way too much. I bet I still have the receipt somewhere, maybe I can still return it-" He asked, sadness and disappointment slowly creeping into his voice.

"No!" You reply quickly. "Don't return it, and none of this is stupid," You confirm before sighing for a moment. "Stiles, this is literally like the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me," You explain, turning to look at him while you say it, a smile slowly forming on your face as you do so.

"Really?" Stiles questions, his embarrassed expression being replaced by one of relief and pride.

"Really," You say while scooting over in your bed and patting the space next to you, beckoning him to join you.

Stiles lays down next to you, and you gladly roll over and climb on top of him, resting your head by the crook of his neck as you wrap your arms around him. The heat radiated off of his body as you listened to his heartbeat and the slow movements of his chest going up and down.

Stiles brought the covers over you and kissed your head before speaking once more, "You don't want to use the stuffed animal I gave you?" He asks with a chuckle as he wraps his arms around you, his thumb rubbing soft circles into your back.

"Nope, I think you'll do just fine," You say as you lift your head to look up at him.

Stiles takes this moment to lean down and kiss you gently. He kissed and held you as if you were the most fragile thing in the world. As if with one wrong move you'd shatter into a million pieces, so he treated you with such care, holding you softly and closely to make sure you didn't.

Though the kiss only lasted a few moments, it made you forget all about the pain you felt in your abdomen and replaced it with butterflies. He definitely had a way of making you feel safe and comfortable whenever you were around him.

Once he pulled away, he looked at you with hearts in his eyes, "You're so beautiful, you know that right baby?" He said, his voice so faint that it practically made your heart beat out of your chest. He removed one of his hands from your back and placed it on your cheek and you immediately melted into his touch.

You could only let out a satisfied hum in response, you were too lost in his features to bother replying coherently.

Stiles let out a low chuckle as he kissed your forehead, his hand moving from your cheek to the back of your head, stroking your hair as he did so.

"Get some sleep okay?" He said while wrapping his arm just a bit tighter around you, "I'll be right here if you need anything," He said softly.

"I know," You say, your words muffled slightly as you rest your head in the crook of his neck, "You're not goin' anywhere," You say with a smile as you place a quick kiss on his neck.

"Didn't plan on it," Stiles mumbles, about to fall asleep even before you do. But as your meds kick in, you can't help but slowly drift off to sleep as well.

Okay, I'm having WAYYYYYY too much fun writing these I'm sorry 😭

I finished majority of my finals so I'm going to be much more active again so keep sending in requests! I'm continuing to work on them

Also, I cannot thank you guys enough for all of the compliments and praise I've received on my last post with Stiles, it was literally so sweet of you guys. My inbox was literally filled with people praising my writing and y'all have no idea how happy that made me, like literally my heart almost burst.