#stiles stilinski dirty imagine

[sundrop-writes]

Stupid For You

Virgin!Stiles Stilinski x Fem!Reader

Hey - tell me what you want me to say. You know I’m Stupid For You.

I’ll take what I can get.

The best is hard to grip when everybody wants you, and everybody wants you.

Summary:

Stiles tried to return your panties - he really did.

But he still has the contraband in his possession, and he accidentally drops the underwear in the locker room in front of the entire lacrosse team. To cover up the fact that he stole them, he lies and says that he got them from you after a hook-up. And surprisingly - you back up his story?

Only with the promise that he helps you turn his lie into the truth.

Virgin!Stiles Stilinski x Best Friend!Fem!Reader. Best Friends to Lovers. Smut/PWP.

Word Count: 11,900

Teen Wolf Masterlist | AO3 Link

Before you read this fic, be sure to read BRAINWASHED. This fic can be read as a standalone, but you get more Stiles goodness by reading both, and the context of this one will make more sense if you read the other fic first.

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

Warnings: the reader uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina; this fic DOES use Y/N; as with the previous fic - the reader is implied to be fat/plus-sized; also again - for argument's sake, even though the character's in this fic are in high school, everyone is at least 18 (and the fic was inspired by a 20 something actor, so imagine the characters to be whatever age you want); mentions of panty stealing (carried over from the previous fic - Stiles stole a pair of the reader's panties in that fic and still has them in his possession); mentions of Stiles masturbating, but not described in detail like last time; mentions of Stiles having sexual fantasies about the reader; the rest of the lacrosse team finds Stiles with the panties and mocks him for it - they mock him for potentially having the panties to wear them and call him a 'cross-dresser', so I guess the warning here is transphobia and transphobic ideas (which would be very typical of high school boys, especially around the time this show was made in 2011); mentions of other members of the lacrosse team finding the reader sexually attractive (it is implied that the reader is generally known as a hot, attractive girl); mention of the reader wearing a 'slutty' Halloween costume to a party (Stiles has a picture of it that he 'loves'); for the actual smut section - the reader is dominant and Stiles is submissive; size kink - Stiles likes being manhandled by the reader because he is thin and skinny; the reader imposes rules on Stiles as a dom and he follows them, but there is no safeword implemented or needed (as the writer, I say they don't need one because they will never be put in danger of using one) (because they are fictional characters and their hard 'nos' will never come into play and only things they want will happen); orgasm restriction - Stiles has to ask the reader in order for permission before cumming; bondage - the reader uses a scarf to tie Stiles's wrists to the bed; the reader gives Stiles a handjob; lots of dirty talk; orgasm denial/edging (towards Stiles); the reader calls Stiles: needy boy, good boy, babe, baby, sweetheart; undertones of humiliation kink; undertones of pain kink (nothing severe, but Stiles does like a bit of pain); begging (from Stiles, a lot); protected penis in vagina sex (they DO use a condom this time) (different, I know); Stiles sucks on the reader's tits; Stiles eats the reader's pussy; thigh riding - Stiles grinds against the reader's thigh to cum; praise kink - towards Stiles; the reader calls Stiles 'pretty'; undertones of dumbification kink; I believe that is finally it. I hope you all enjoy!!

A/N: So, I have some mixed feelings about releasing this fic. Currently, I am only rushing to edit and release it in order to get it off my plate, and I want to do so before the end of the year. I wrote this during the hiatus, when I was writing fics without editing them and I really enjoyed getting to write a fic and go onto the sequel without having to stop and think too much about it. But to me, the first fic feels naturally complete. And so I didn't really like people nagging and continually asking for a sequel to the other fic as if it's not a complete fic on its own. It's only recently that I found a way to put it into words. Whenever I release a fic and people only care about seeing a sequel or a second part (especially if it's a oneshot with an intentional ending and people ask for a sequel like it's something so urgent), it makes me feel like that fic is not good enough because people view that fic as incomplete on its own. I know people think it's a compliment or flattering to ask for a sequel, but to me, if you like my writing, ask for me to write more for those same characters or in that same fandom - but if you are constantly asking for a sequel to a specific fic, it makes me think that you think that fic is not good and it needs to be completed in some way. But anyway - I tried to remember why I had fun writing this fic in the first place, and if anybody starts asking for a 'part three', I will start swinging. (THERE WILL NOT BE A PART THREE.) Also, when I originally wrote this, I was watching Season 1 and I had not met Isaac yet, so for my own fun, as my own special treat, I added Isaac to the locker room scene. Because he is my baby. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the fic!

...

A week later, Stiles still had not returned the stolen panties to you. 

It was something that he kept meaning to do. Honestly, he really did. 

But he just never got the chance to. 

Somehow, in that entire week, he had never been left alone in your room. Not for long enough to actually figure out what to do with the stolen goods. Should he leave them in your hamper and let you find them in the laundry? Should he slip them back into your drawer like nothing had happened since, technically, they were clean? He always ended up panicking and shoving them back into his bag whenever he heard you coming back down the hall. 

On other nights when the two of you had been studying together, it had been at his place instead of yours. And any time he had gone over to your house, you had been with him pretty much the whole time. 

And okay - maybe that wasn’t entirely true. Maybe you had taken bathroom breaks or left the room for a while because your mom wanted to talk to you. Or you ran downstairs to grab a pizza that you had ordered to share with him - but every time he opened his backpack to grab the panties in order to put them back, he felt some insane thing inside his head telling him that he just couldn’t do it. Part of him thought that it was fear over getting caught - the idea that you would walk back into the room just in time to see him with the evidence in hand. 

But deep down, he knew it was a possessiveness. The idea that these panties were now his. They belonged to him now and he didn’t want to put them back. Those panties were his prize - his special, secret little part of you. And he couldn’t give that up. Not yet. 

He hadn’t jacked off with them since that first time. Well, he hadn’t specifically put them around his cock and made a mess of them in the same way. But he held them in a clean hand and enjoyed the texture of the lace, enjoyed the thought of you wearing them - while he used his other lubed hand to make himself cum. And he had done that every single night, sometimes twice, since he had taken them. It was becoming a bit of a worrying habit. 

He was wondering if you had noticed them gone yet. 

Maybe, when he finally did get rid of them, he wouldn’t return them back to you - he would have to burn them or something, just to get rid of the evidence. And then he would have to go on believing that you either hadn’t noticed the specific pair gone or you went on thinking that you had simply just lost them. 

But he couldn’t dwell on that for too long - because he did actually have other things to do besides viciously jerking off to thoughts about you. Even though that activity alone took up way too much of his time these days. Surprisingly, he was doing a lot better in his classes thanks to studying with you (he actually managed to retain a lot more of the material when you explained it to him), and he had just made First Line of the lacrosse team due to a horrible outbreak of pink eye. So things in his life were really looking up. 

The team funneled into the locker room, sweaty and tired after their practice, but personally - Stiles was glowing. 

He felt like he had done particularly well that day, and you had shown up to watch his practice. Even if Coach kept getting his name wrong and you had almost stormed into the middle of the field to scream at him about it. Overall, it was a good day. And he had a study date with you planned after this, so he had nothing but excitement brewing in his stomach at the idea of getting to spend more time with you. 

But then - it happened. 

He had almost completely forgotten that the contraband stolen panties were even in his bag. The item had become such a normal part of his life now that he hadn’t even considered what might happen if someone else found them on his person. So he thought nothing of putting his bag on the bench in the middle of the room and rooting through it, wide open, looking for the fresh clothes he had brought with him. (Of course, the only reason he had even brought fresh clothes was because he knew he would be hanging out with you later, and he wanted to avoid another Mustard Stain Incident.) 

When he took out these fresh clothes and began dressing (fresh out of the showers, of course) - it was just a tiny blur in the corner of his eye. Just a little streak of purple falling to the floor. As he put his second foot into his jeans, he spotted them, right there, sitting in the middle of the locker room floor - and his heart stopped. 

Naturally - someone else spotted them too. 

And just as Stiles raced to pick them up, another hand snatched them out from under him. 

“Woah, Stiles.” Danny’s voice chuckled, rising back to his full height. “Are these yours?” 

Mockery was dripping in every inch of his words, and Stiles’s heart raced. He rushed to pull his pants up, not yet fastening his zipper, and he glared at Danny, entirely lost for words. He moved to snatch the purple lace panties where Danny was dangling them off one finger, partly disgusted, partly amused. 

Naturally, Danny dodged the move, still looking at Stiles with mockery written all over his face. 

“Ya know, this really isn’t your color - red would look much better on you.” Danny smirked. 

Wait - he thought that Stiles had them because he had been wearing them? 

This comment easily caught Jackson’s attention, who slammed his locker door shut and moved to see what his friend was talking about. 

“Oh my god,” He chuckled, looking at the item in Danny’s hand and then back to Stiles, amusement spreading into a horrible grin across his face. “You’re a cross-dresser! This is too good. I always knew you were a freak, but this just brings it to a whole new level.” 

Jackson’s loud voice caught the attention of the entire team, who all craned their necks to see what he spoke of - including Scott, who practically ran around the corner with his hair still soaking wet and some suds dripping off him, a towel hastily wrapped around his waist as he raced to see what Jackson meant. 

“What?” Scott balked, looking at Stiles entirely confused. 

“Look, they’re not mine!” 

Stiles barked, panic setting in as he realized how fast the rumor would spread. It would be incredibly juicy gossip, if it were true (and most people didn’t care if gossip was true or not, which would make it spread even faster) - so he rushed to stamp it out before that could happen. 

“They belong to Y/N!” 

With this harsh declaration, he reached out and snatched them back, and Danny was too shocked by these words to move away this time. 

The room fell deadly silent, save for the distant hum of the shower that Scott had left running in his haste to watch the confrontation unfold. Everyone was staring at Stiles unabashedly now, very clearly shocked by his words. 

Fuck. 

Stiles’s heartbeat ramped up again. He had been so quick to try and exonerate himself that he had walked into a whole new problem: 

Now everyone on the team would find out that he was a panty-stealing pervert. And he wasn’t sure which reputation was worse: that, or being assumed to be a secret cross-dresser. 

“Seriously?” Isaac asked, being the first one to speak up and break the silence. “Because if you of all people managed to hit that,” He let out a low whistle, let a train blowing out a hoot of steam. “I admire you. She is so fucking hot. Normally she doesn’t give guys at this school the time of day. How did you-?” 

“No, no fucking way, they’re not hers.” Jackson scoffed, cutting off Isaac’s congratulatory words, immediately in disbelief. His natural instinct was to think that Stiles would never be able to get with someone as hot as you. “She’s a ten and you’re a solid three. Maybe. In the dark. With a bag on your head. That so did not happen.” 

Stiles frowned at the insult, but he was relieved that nobody suspected that he had stolen the underwear. Nobody had seen through him to the much more likely truth. 

“Come on, he’s like a four.” Danny added on. “He could easily be a seven if he changed his hair.” 

Feeling suddenly self conscious, Stiles put a hand up to his head - and felt entirely confused about where this conversation was going. 

“You’re getting off topic,” Scott piped up, looking between Danny and Stiles, his face nothing but pure confusion. “You’re telling us that you finally, actually went for it?” 

He was shocked that you and Stiles had gotten together without him knowing it. And he was slightly disappointed that his best friend had gotten some action with his long-time crush without telling him about it. 

“Yeah, come on - give us some details.” Isaac added on with a grin.

“Yes, yes I did! I finally went for it.” Stiles replied, mocking confidence, puffing out his chest. “Y/N and I hooked up in my Jeep last week. And these are hers,” He added on, proudly holding up the underwear as his prize. 

If he was going to screw himself with a lie, he might as well make it a big one. 

“Really?” Jackson posed, clearly still not believing him. “So - how did it go down? Did you get to second base? Third?” 

“Uh… remind me of the bases again?” Stiles muttered. 

Isaac rolled his eyes, and Scott looked as though he was making calculations in his head. 

“What was it - handjob? Blowie? Did you finger her? When did you get those?” Jackson persisted. “Is she a screamer?” 

Stiles’s gut twisted. So he was going to need details for his fake story. 

“You are so utterly barbaric.” Danny muttered, turning back to his locker, clearly tuning out of the conversation now that it had gotten too ‘straight’ for him. 

“Gross!” Scott disrupted Stiles’s internal panic with a face of twisted disgust. “Can we not talk about one of my best friends like this? Please?” 

“Jesus, Scott, don’t ruin this for me,” Isaac whined, rolling his eyes. 

“Yeah, McCall, shut it.” Jackson grunted, dismissing him. “I just wanna know if Stiles here is lying.” 

Scott simply rolled his eyes and retreated back to the shower. He was someone who truly believed Stiles at his word. Even if he had never smelled the pheromones of sex on him, he guessed that ‘hooked up’ meant something else to Stiles. 

Stiles hated that this left him alone with several pairs of eyes dissecting him - the guys on the team who were perverted and gossipy enough to want to know the details of his hook-up with you. 

“Well - I’m not lying.” Stiles hissed through his teeth. “She - we. Well - we made-out in the backseat. And then - she - she rode my dick. Hard.” He said, knowing that his tone didn’t sound the most confident. But he supposedly had proof right there in the form of your underwear. 

“Hmm, really?” Jackson replied, still not convinced. “You know what? Why don’t we just go and ask Y/N about this whole thing? She and Lydia are waiting outside, aren’t they?” 

Oh fuck. 

Stiles was screwed. So, so screwed. 

His stomach rose up into his throat and he couldn’t get words out, couldn’t scream out ‘no’, couldn’t do anything to stop Jackson (who was fully dressed and ready) as he snatched the underwear out of Stiles’s hand and marched out into the hallway. All Stiles could do was rush out into the hallway in pursuit, following Jackson and the group of gawking looky-loos that had followed who now seemed very interested in this piece of drama. 

Stiles didn’t even have time to pay attention to the fact that he wasn’t yet dressed himself - he didn’t have a shirt or shoes on and his pants weren’t even fastened. He couldn’t bring himself to mind because he was about to be outed as a thief and a pervert, and likely about to be violently jumped by the entire team for it. 

He wished that he still had his lacrosse pads on. 

You and Lydia were standing against a couple of random lockers, chatting idly, and you both looked utterly confused by the mob approaching. Lydia looked even more confused (with a hint of disgust) when she saw that Stiles was still half naked, and if Stiles wasn’t flooded with panic, he might have noticed you raking your eyes over his torso with a certain hunger and then licking your lips. 

“Hey, Y/N,” Jackson smiled at you trying to be charming. “These fell out of-” He held up the underwear to show you, and you immediately frowned. 

“Ew! Why do you have them?” You cut him off, snatching them back before he could finish his sentence. 

“Are those your underwear?” Lydia asked, looking between you and Jackson with anger brewing. “Jackson, why do you have another girl’s underwear?” She ground out sharply. 

“Well, as I was saying,” He said, clearly annoyed. “Those fell out of Stiles’s backpack. And he claims that he only has them because he hooked up with you, Y/N,” 

You and Lydia both looked at Stiles - you, with a certain content glow in your eyes, and Lydia, glaring at him while her lips curled in unhidden disgust. Jackson stood there with a smirk, as though waiting to be right, and there was a moment where nobody spoke that Stiles swore his heart swelled up and climbed out of his throat. 

Then, you let out a soft laugh and said: 

“Yeah. We did. Why is this such big news?” 

Jackson glared at you and Lydia’s expression of disgust became even more prominent. Stiles became dizzy with shock and he hoped that nobody noticed the way his chest flexed as he let out a breath of relief. 

Thank God - you were covering for him. 

Wait. Why were you covering for him? 

“He and I have been hooking up for months now. We didn’t want to parade it around the school as gossip and I made him promise that I wouldn’t become locker room talk,” You stressed these words, giving him a small glare. 

Behind Jackson, Isaac’s face became painted with guilt. 

“But it’s true.” You said, giving Stiles an oddly sultry look. He knew he was standing there with his mouth stupidly agape, but he just couldn’t find it in him to close his mouth. “The last time we hooked up, I gave him these panties in case he got lonely on nights I can’t visit.” 

You reached out, running a single finger along his bare torso from sternum right to the waistband of his underwear where they were sticking out of his jeans - and yup, his dick was definitely ballooning to life now. 

“I didn’t intend for everybody on the lacrosse team to put their grubby hands all over them.” You said this sharply, glaring at Jackson now. 

He simply rolled his eyes in reply. Clearly, he hated the idea that he had been wrong, and he was pouting in silence now. 

“Okay, this has been sufficiently gross.” Lydia announced, effectively ending the conversation. “Jackson, can you go get your stuff so we can leave? We have dinner with my mom at five, and-” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Jackson sighed, rolling his eyes again. 

“Stiles, you better hurry up too.” You told him. “I need to get that bra I left in the back of your Jeep.” 

And then - much to his shock, you leaned in and laid a kiss right on his lips. Firm, but fast. Laying a claim on him right in front of everyone. Owning up to the story materially as much as you had with your words. 

If it hadn’t been for Jackson slapping him on the shoulder, Stiles would have been frozen with shock long after you pulled away. But then, he was on autopilot, walking back to the locker room with Jackson and the other onlookers who were whispering in hushed tones about him ���banging such a hot girl’. 

“I gotta tell you, Stilinski, I did not think that you had it in you.” Jackson told him, this being a compliment coming from him. “But I guess somehow, you ended up with a ten.” 

“I definitely want more details later.” Isaac told him in a low whisper before he returned back to his own locker. 

Somehow - Stiles had come out on top in this situation. 

In the hallway behind them, Lydia sighed and locked you in a judgemental gaze. 

“Really? Stiles?” She asked, harshness seeping through her voice. 

“What?” You shrugged. “He’s cute.” 

Lydia waited for further explanation, and you folded. 

“...And he’s easy to boss around. I like it when he gets flustered from simple instructions, but then does it anyway.” 

“Oh.” Lydia nodded. “So it’s a kink thing.” 

You laughed, shaking your head. You couldn’t entirely disagree with her. 

… 

It wasn’t until Stiles was nearly finished dressing, sitting on the bench tying his shoes that it truly hit him: 

He was still utterly screwed. 

Even if the guys on the team thought he was some high school hero for somehow managing to get into your pants (some of them high-fiving him and patting him on the shoulder in congratulations before they left the locker room). And even if, for some bizarre reason, you had chosen to cover for him in front of everyone (he put that on you being a loyal best friend and quite literally not wanting to air your dirty laundry in front of everyone) - you still knew the truth. You and Stiles might be the only people who knew, but both of you still knew the truth. 

For a minute there, he had been deluded enough to start believing his own bullshit story. But it was still complete bullshit. 

There hadn’t been some heat of the moment romp in the back of his Jeep that resulted in you naked for him, losing your underwear or giving them to him as a reward. He was still a pathetic virgin who had stolen them and had no right to have them in the first place. He still had to face you, likely knowing that this was the end of your friendship, because you were the only person who knew about the horrible thing that he had done. 

Stiles dreaded facing you, but he knew that he couldn’t hide out in the locker room forever. So he grabbed his gear and he braved his way into the parking lot, where you were now waiting by the Jeep since Lydia had left with Jackson. You were distracted, looking at something on your phone, and Stiles savored the few moments he had left to admire your beauty before you would declare that you hated him forever and never speak to him again. 

In all honesty, Stiles expected you to slap him, yell at him, and then leave. He expected you to, at the very least, tell him that the friendship was over and that he should never talk to you again. 

He was entirely surprised when he approached you and nothing of that nature happened. 

Instead, you gave him a cold, uninterested look before you said: 

“Door.” 

In the most deadpan voice ever, while motioning to the passenger’s side door - oh, of course. Obviously meaning for him to open the door for you. 

It was something he usually did upon instinct anyway (always bending over backwards to impress you) but today, the intense dread hanging over his head had caused him to forget. 

He rushed to get the door for you and you climbed into the passenger’s seat as you usually did, still not yet speaking to him. So then he busied himself with putting his gear in the back, still feeling anxiety curl in his gut at the conversation that would inevitably take place during the ride home. At least you still felt okay with riding with him. Perhaps the friendship wasn’t entirely ruined after all. 

He climbed into the driver’s seat and began fumbling with his keys in nervous, shaky hands, not yet ready to look you in the eye. You were staring at yourself in the flip-down mirror, fixing your hair, wiping off some lip gloss that had smeared. Usually this would be a moment he would absolutely drink in, loving to stare at you while you did such menial tasks. But today, after being caught doing such a horrible thing, he was absolutely drenched in guilt and he just couldn’t bring himself to face you. 

The two of you simmered in the silence for a few moments. He was waiting for you to bring it up - for you to scream, yell, hit him, do something. 

He was surprised by what came next. 

“You said your dad isn’t gonna be home tonight, right?” You posed, still looking in the mirror rather than at him. 

It was what he had told you at lunch, inviting you over to watch some horror movies that you had been bugging him to see. 

He had guessed those plans would be canceled, hinging on what had just happened. 

“Uh, yeah.” He said, confirming it once again. “He’s working the night shift.” 

“Good. We’ll go to your place then.” 

You thought he would start to drive at this confirmation, but he was still unsettled by anxiety. He was still waiting for you to acknowledge it, at least. 

“Ugh, okay… are you gonna yell at me?” He burst out, knowing that it was incredibly stupid, asking to be yelled at, but he truly didn’t know what else to do at this point. You gave him a strange look, almost confused, and ran his hands over his face in frustration. “Come on! We both know what happened!” 

“Stiles, my, my… what are you talking about?” 

Your voice was dripping with sarcasm and your eyes were filled with determined mischief, and he knew then and there - you wanted him to say it. You wanted him to blatantly confirm in his own words what he had done. 

Stiles let out a harsh sigh, leaning his head down and accidentally bumping his forehead against the steering wheel in a way that made the horn dully beep, the knot growing larger and tighter in his gut. 

“Come on, you know…” 

He trailed off, hoping that you wouldn’t actually force him to say it. He sat upright again, and you continued to look at him expectantly, patiently, and he swallowed around the terrible dryness in his throat before he forced himself to say it. 

“I - I stole your underwear and kept them in my bag.” 

You both knew that he was leaving out the part where he had masturbated with them. Even if you had no proof of that, it was starkly obvious to you. 

But you decided not to push him about that detail. (For now.) 

“Oh. That.” You said, continuing to sound utterly sarcastic in your cluelessness. 

Then your tone switched to something oddly genuine as you said something he never would have expected. 

“I’ve been waiting for like a week to see if you even had them. I kind of thought I was going crazy. I thought maybe my cat stole them because you weren’t fessing up and you didn’t try to bring them back,” You sighed. “I was worried my whole plan failed.” 

Something inside of Stiles snapped, and he thought it was the last branch on his tree of his sanity. He chose not to worry about it for now. 

“Y - your plan?” He stuttered out, barely grasping at the reality of what you had meant. 

You had wanted him to find your underwear? You wanted him to take them? You wanted him to-? 

You let out a bright, amused laugh. 

“Yes, dummy!” You said, reaching up and poking the side of his head while he stared at you in utter shock. “I left the panties there for you to take. You’re cute, but god - you’re really dense sometimes.” You let out a sigh. “Now drive, please. As long as the blood currently trapped in your dick isn’t gonna distract you too much.” 

He hated that he got a sick thrill from you mocking him and calling him ‘cute, but dense’. But he was glad that he was used to driving with boners that you had given him, because it didn’t distract him too horribly. Thoughts of what would happen when the two of you got there had him running a few stops signs, though. 

…

Stiles still wasn’t entirely sure how the heinous crime of stealing your panties had gotten him into this glorious position, but with the way things were going, he no longer cared to question it. 

The minute that the two of you got through his bedroom door, you grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him into a bruising kiss. He struggled to keep up, clumsy but entirely excited against the movement of your mouth, wondering if he had somehow gotten sucked into another heated daydream. 

But no, that couldn’t be true - because this was so much fucking better. 

The smell of your perfume in his nose, the little puffing breaths you let out against his cheek, the little moans that emanated from your throat. And holy hell, the feeling of your tongue shoving past his lips that caused him to let out a pathetic moan of his own as you seemed determined to filthily fuck his mouth with it. 

You were a lot more aggressive in real life than you were in his dreams. 

But he fucking loved it. He loved it so much. 

His cock was already throbbing in his pants, likely staining his boxers with copious amounts of precum as you walked him back toward the bed. You then used the hand you had in the middle of his chest to shove him roughly back onto it. 

“Oh my god.” 

He squeaked out the words at the feeling of being manhandled by you - given, he knew he didn’t weigh that much and he had made no effort to put up a fight, but it was still hot to know that you could shove him around so easily. Which was something he would have to mentally unpack with himself later. But for now, he would simply just enjoy it. 

While his dick continued to ache harder, he looked up at you in awe. You were standing at the foot of the bed with your lip gloss smeared, your chest heaving slightly with a wicked grin on your face. Stiles had never seen a more beautiful predator in all his life. The look in your eyes told him that he was about to be absolutely devoured by you - and he couldn’t fucking wait. 

“Y/N, please-” He was about to begin begging, but you cut him off sharply. 

“Shut up.” You barked, and he felt a beautiful wave of hormones crash over his body at this. You were much more aggressive than in his dreams. It was so perfect. “No more talking now.” 

You put a knee on the bed between where his thighs had naturally draped open and you leaned over his body, crowding tightly into his personal space. He hoped that the needy whine he couldn’t contain as you raked your nails across his scalp wouldn’t count as ‘talking’. He was desperate to follow your rules - so desperate to be a good boy for you. 

“You will do everything I tell you to.” You whispered against his lips, and he nearly began shaking as he resisted the urge to close the gap and kiss you again. “Unless you want me to tell all the boys on the team that you’re actually a filthy perv who stole my panties?” 

“Y-” He nearly gave a verbal confirmation of this, but then he remembered what you had said. 

No more talking. 

Instead, quickly picking up on following the rules, Stiles nodded his head aggressively. 

“From now on, you do not look at any other girl, you do not touch any other girl, you belong to me - do you understand?” 

He had no clue what ‘other girls’ you thought he might possibly be touching, or even talking to in a non-platonic way, but he got another tight thrill at being claimed as yours. He wanted so badly to be yours - to be your good boy. 

He nodded aggressively again - his tongue lolling out of his mouth, slick with want, practically drooling down his chin like a dog at this point, his eyes staring at you with a hypnotized kind of need. 

“When we are having sex, you do not speak unless prompted, you do not cum unless I give you permission, and from now on - you do not touch yourself unless I tell you to.” 

His cock throbbed weakly in protest at this. He swallowed thickly, his throat straining with complaints about your words. He knew it would be difficult to go from jerking off every morning and every night to likely not at all, but fuck - you, on top of him, you wanting to have sex with him - it was more than a fair price to pay. 

If someone had told him a week ago that he would be in this position, he would have given up anything for it. 

So naturally, he nodded again. 

“Do you understand?” 

He stayed silent, believing that he was following your rules. 

“Tell me that you understand.” 

“I understand.” Stiles breathed out in a rush, nodding again. 

“Good. Now take off your clothes.” 

You got off the bed again and he was momentarily distracted by watching you shuffle through your bag for something, but then he remembered the instruction. You wanted him to take off his clothes. You actually wanted to touch him. 

Stiles rushed to strip and he didn’t have time to be self conscious before you were kissing him again, drowning him in hot, open-mouthed kisses as he stepped out of his underwear and jeans where they were pooled around his ankles. You pushed him onto the bed again and this time followed him, straddling his waist while still fully clothed yourself. Wearing the shirt, skirt, and tights you had worn to school that day, making for an odd sensation as the fabric covering your hot cunt rubbed against his now bare, very hard dick. 

He didn’t think anything of it when you grabbed his hands and brought them above his head - but then there was fabric encircling his wrists, and he pulled himself away from your mouth to blink up dumbly, wondering what you were doing. 

You had gotten a scarf out of your bag, and you were tying him to the bedpost. 

“Remember what I said?” You grinned at him, tying a knot that was surprisingly secure. “Good boys get rewards, and bad boys get spanked.” 

He tugged experimentally on the hold, and it was pretty firm. Not tight enough to cut off his circulation - but he definitely didn’t see himself getting out of it without help. 

His stomach jumped as he wondered which you had deemed him as - good or bad. Especially because he was now tied up, completely at your mercy. He was splayed out on his back, so this wouldn’t be an optimal position to spank him in. But theoretically, you would do whatever else you wanted to him. And that thought sent an odd tingle through his body, causing a wonderful jolt through his cock.  

“I’m gonna give you a chance to earn a reward, Stiles.” You told him, delivering another messy kiss. “You gonna be a good boy for me?” 

“Yes.” He answered eagerly. “Fuck, yes - I wanna be good for you.” 

You grinned at this. 

He was more than eager to see what you were gonna do next. 

A sharp jolt of anxiety hit him when you sat up (leaning more of your weight on his cock, causing him to let out a pathetic moan) - he hated being separated from you already. He churned in anticipation as you took a moment to sit there and just admire him. 

Stiles was so pretty, tied up for you, ready to be devoured - his honey eyes glossed over with need and anticipation, his lips bitten pink and slightly swollen, parted in that beautifully dumb way as he heaved out shallow, desperate breaths. Yes, he was skinny - even playing lacrosse hadn’t managed to put much muscle tone on his body, but you did find a certain appeal in his lithe, thin form. You gained a certain thrill from knowing that you could so easily man-handle him, toss him down, and he really wasn’t strong enough to put up much of a fight in return. 

His cock, leaking frantically between your legs - was beautiful in its own way. A healthy six inches and nicely thick, his pubes dark, thick and untrimmed. Unkept because he definitely hadn’t been expecting anyone to see him without clothes anytime soon. Charming, in a sense. 

Just as Stiles was feeling smothered by the anticipation, by the heated gaze of your eyes running up and down his body, you then leaned to look in his bedside drawer. He wanted to scream for you not to do it, but he had a feeling that it would be breaking your rules; that it would be a ‘bad boy’ thing to do. And that would run the risk of you not touching him at all. 

You let out a laugh when you saw what was in the drawer. 

“You know, somehow I’m not surprised that this is almost empty.” You told him, bringing out the dwindling bottle of lube and placing it beside him. “You must like it really wet, huh?” 

The words were absolutely filthy coming off your lips, intentionally so on your part, but it sounded like a rhetorical question. He swallowed a whimper, but said nothing. 

“And this,” You picked up one of the many pictures he had of you in the drawer - one of you in your Halloween costume from last year. Lydia had dared you to wear something ‘slutty’, and you had shown up to her Halloween party in a black leather bra, a leather mini skirt, leather boots, and a pair of cat ears. Stiles had spent most of that night in the bathroom. “I have to say, I’m flattered.” 

You have another bright giggle before you put the picture back and then closed the drawer. 

“So - you think about me a lot, do you, Stiles?” You asked, scooting back on his thighs until you were sitting on his knees. 

Not a rhetorical question. 

He swallowed thickly, gathering himself to answer. 

“Yes.” He answered, his voice far too weak for his liking. “All the time.” 

You hummed thoughtfully at this. 

You reached to your waist, untucking your shirt from your skirt before you lifted it off completely over your head, revealing your blue lace bra to him. Dear god, you were so perfect. As you tossed your shirt off to the side, the bra strap slumped down your shoulder and he mourned over not having his hands free, wanting to gently lift it back up, or rip the whole thing off you, wanting to kiss along your shoulder-

“How often do you think about me?” You asked, reaching for the bottle of lube. 

Stiles felt a wave of shyness splash up inside of his gut. But he knew that it was useless to deny the truth now. He had already been caught, over and over again. You wouldn’t mock him now if he just admitted it. 

You cracked the top on the bottle, and the sound shook his insides - his dog-like mind so well trained to associate the sound with having his dick touched. He licked his lips, viciously trying to get his mouth to work in tandem with his brain. You had asked him to speak. He needed to speak. But that was growing more and more difficult while he stared down the ample cleavage coming out of your bra and shook with the anticipation of you about to touch his cock. 

“Every day.” He whimpered out. “All the time, I-” 

He let off a choked sound when you poured some lube into your hand and then finally, after years of him dreaming about it, you wrapped a loose, cool, wet grip around the base of his hard, leaking cock. His hips jumped up into your touch and he let out a choked sound from the back of his throat while you continued to look at him with an absolutely wicked grin. 

“Stiles,” You said his name in a firm tone, reminding him that he was supposed to be giving you an answer. 

“I can’t stop thinking about you!” He shouted, much louder than he had intended to. “All the time, I - I feel like I’m going insane. You’re too perfect, you’re too hot, I-I-I-”

“Hey, shh, baby.” You told him, running the other hand up his thigh in a way that made him gasp. 

You used that loose grip on his dick and began jerking him off, spreading the lube across him in the most leisurely way possible. It was a dull pleasure, but one so perfect because it was delivered by you. 

He had no clue how absolutely deliberate it was. But of course - everything you did with him was so deliberate, so well planned out to drive him entirely insane. 

“How often do you jerk off?” 

You asked, curiosity ripe within you as you imagined it: Stiles splayed out on this exact bed, pants around his ankles, his hand wet with lube and creating a sloppy blur on his cock as he jerked off as fast as possible, absolutely desperate to cum - his face twisted with pleasure, his thighs tensing, your name hot on his lips. 

You really wanted to know the kind of things he imagined, what made his kinky little mind tick. You wanted to know just how desperate he was to steal your panties in the first place. Did he think that he could get away without you noticing them gone or was he just too horny to care? 

You tightened your grip slightly, continuing to drag your hand up and down his dick in long, slow, deliberate strokes. You wanted him hard, throbbing, and desperate - even more so than he already was. You wanted him blinded with pleasure and begging. 

“A lot.” He breathed back, bucking his hips up to meet your touch, clearly already needy for more. 

You put a firm hand on his hip, pinning him to the bed. You tutted your tongue, scolding him. 

“Come on, Stiles.” You said, your tone somewhere between mocking and scolding. “You can be more specific than that.” 

You tightened your grip again, your hand now acting like a firm vice around his cock - something that made him moan deeply and close his eyes. You let him enjoy it for a few moments as you stroked him deeply, slowly - spreading the wetness over his cock in deep, pleasurably strokes. For the first time ever, delivering the pleasure of having a hand on his cock that wasn’t his own. 

Already, intense pleasure was knotting up in his stomach. Already - he was getting close to cumming. 

You could tell that from the way his breathing shallowed out, the way his stomach tensed. 

You pulled your hand back completely, leaving him to let out a confused sound and pop his eyes open at top speed, craning his neck up to look at you with utter disappointment while you continued to grin at him. 

“Tell me.” You instructed firmly. “How many times a week do you make yourself cum?” You continued your interrogation. When his face flashed with a streak of guilt, you changed the question. “How many times a day?” 

Stiles took a sharp breath. 

Again, he felt caught. 

“Twice.” He said it quietly, before gathering his courage. “Twice - twice a day. Usually… once in the morning and once at night.” 

You giggled. “Needy boy.” 

He was rewarded with your touch back on his cock. He let out a deep, satisfied moan as you started jerking him off again, wet and smooth, a bit faster this time. It created a lovely wet noise and he let out another moan when he heard it. 

“What do you think about when you touch yourself, Stiles?” You asked, your voice low and sultry - warm, inviting him to the possibilities. 

Perhaps, if he told you about the things he thought about, his most private and guarded thoughts, then you might make them come true. 

“You.” He moaned back almost instantly - trying to buck up into your touch again but being held down by you again. “I - I only think about you. I swear.” 

You licked your lips. 

It was something you loved to hear. But you yearned for more details. 

“Cute.” You sighed. “As flattering as that is, babe, I want specifics.” You pressed. “Specific fantasies. Come on, you must have kinks,” 

If he had to summarize it - his kink was you. 

And it was growing increasingly difficult to think with your hand pumping on his cock. 

“Your - your thighs!” Stiles blurted out frantically, saying the first thing that he thought of. 

Even now, feeling the heavy, warm fat of your thighs spread across his knees, had his cock jumping in your hand - had him buzzing and dizzy all over. It was one of his favourite parts about you, something that made him hard if your thighs brushed against him when the two of you sat too close together on the couch during a movie night. 

“Your thighs are so - so thick, and beautiful, and big, and-” He choked off into a moan when you moved your other hand to his balls, spreading some of the lube there and gently massaging them in a way that sent a jolt through his whole body, practically making him seize off the bed. 

You let out a giggle. 

“What else, baby?” 

His cock was hot and pulsing in your hand, and you knew he was close again. But you wanted him to get right to the edge before you cut him off this time. 

“I - I think about - about having your thighs wrapped around my head,” 

He choked out, stuttering as he began humping into your touch, so desperate to cum. He had pretty much forgotten about your earlier rules by now, had forgotten about asking for permission, and he just needed to cum into your touch. He needed it so badly. 

“I wanna eat you out so badly. I wanna taste you. I wanna eat your pussy. Please, please, please, please-!” 

This visceral begging tipped you off to the orgasmic delirium he was tipping into, and you squeezed your touch sharply around the base of his cock to keep him from cumming, even going so far as to give his balls a light tap in punishment. He let out a bitter gasp as his orgasm was sharply cut off, the feeling drowned bitterly in his stomach. It left his muscles so tight and left him flailing against his binds for a moment, squirming chaotically underneath you. 

“Bad boy.” You scolded him, your voice wicked and causing his dick to throb woefully in your unforgiving touch. “You didn’t ask if you could cum.” 

You leaned down and bit one of his nipples - pure teeth, unforgiving, and it made him cry out in a gargle of his own spit as his head became even dizzier. He didn’t even have the mental capacity to question why he liked the sharp spike of pain so much, especially not when his balls were throbbing so terribly, and he needed to cum so fucking badly. 

“Please?!” He cried out. “Please? Can I cum? I need it, I need-” 

“Shh, baby.” 

You hushed him again, taking your hand off his dick and leaving it to rest leaking against his stomach, running both your hands up his torso in a soothing touch as you leaned in and pressed a few sweet kisses on his open, whining mouth. 

“I’ll give you a chance to be good. Is that what you want?” 

“Please.” He replied, so desperate that he was on the verge of tears now. “I wanna be good for you, please.” 

“I’m gonna ride your pretty cock now. And if you wait to cum until I tell you,” You pressed these words hard, making sure he paid attention to this part. “Then I’ll let you eat my pussy. Does that sound like a good reward?” 

“Yes.” He replied, entirely breathy and excited. “Please, please. I’ll be good.” 

“Oh, baby. I know you will.” 

This spilled from your lips as an overly syrupy coo, and he couldn’t help but to yearn for more of that sound. 

You got off him, then, and he let out an utterly disappointed sound - instantly missing your weight and the heat of you above him. 

Stiles looked on with curiosity as you went back to your bag. His heart thumped with anticipation when you came back with a condom, and didn’t hesitate to open it and then roll it onto his still very stiff cock. (Just the few touches of you doing this had him warming with even more pleasure, and he worried that the touch of your pussy around him would cause him to cum instantly, disappointing you.) 

Then, he watched in awe as you stripped off. Your skirt, tights, and underwear, giving him a pang of disappointment that you left your bra on. You did this with intention, though, slightly worried that the sight of your bare tits would cause him to blow it too early. 

“Oh my god.” Stiles let out another whimper as you straddled him once again, putting a hand on his cock to line it up with your pussy. 

Fuck, holy fuck - this was really happening. He was really about to fuck you. He was about to fuck your perfect pussy. 

It was just as beautiful as he had imagined - covered in trimmed hair, which was glossy with your wetness. Fuck - he yearned to see that pussy spread out underneath him. He yearned to taste you. Even just feeling the heat coming off you as you lined up the tip, even through the condom - it was deadly. 

He was not going to survive this. 

He squeezed his eyes tight and held his breath, and you didn’t like that. You used your free hand to give him a light tap on the cheek - some small semblance of a slap, a grounding reminder that you were there, controlling him. 

“Hey, come on. Look at me.” 

Your words forced him to open his eyes, and he easily fell into a streak of obedience, eager to please you. His eyes snapped open and he looked right at you - absolutely enamored by your pretty face. 

“Good boy.” 

He let out another whimper at the praise. 

Then, you finally lowered yourself down onto his cock, sinking down in one smooth movement until you were fully seated - tightly wrapped around his dick and resting against his bony pelvis. 

He felt like the air had been punched out of him. That perfect, tight heat being wrapped around him - the wetness leaking out around his skin at the base of his dick, everything squeezing his cock like a vice, like you were made to fit him. It made him so dizzy, stole the air out of his lungs. It was all too perfect. 

“Oh. Oh. Oh god-” He gasped out, squirming underneath you, already intensely overwhelmed by the pleasure. 

You grabbed his jaw in one hand and held him still for another kiss, and he moaned hotly into your mouth, desperation growing inside of him. 

You started slowly grinding your hips into his pelvis, wanting to warm him up gently. As you pulled away from the kiss, he was panting frantically against your mouth, already overwhelmed. 

“Hey, shh.” You told him, smoothing your hands over his torso once again. “You gonna be good for me?” 

“Yes.” He quickly moaned in return, nodding his head eagerly. 

This was a side of Stiles that you had so quickly grown to love. You knew that you weren’t going to get enough of this - this beautiful soft obedience. Especially compared to usual sarcastic abrasiveness. 

This was your good boy. And you were going to have such a good time training him, having him learn the rules. You were heavily looking forward to shutting down his future quips on a dime with a simple threat of keeping future orgasms from him. 

You positioned your weight on your knees, then, and began lifting yourself off his cock halfway before you slammed your hips back down. You put your hands on either side of his head, between where his arms were stationed above him, still tangled up in the scarf and unable to move. After a moment, you built up a good, even pace - not quite gentle, but not entirely rough either. 

You were taking it easy on him for his first time. 

Stiles continued letting out shocked pants, sounding like a man drowning on dry land, hurriedly gasping for air. Soon, he began moaning as more wild pleasure was driven through his body from the feeling of your wet pussy gripping around his cock; from the feeling of you bouncing against his balls, from the sound of that perfect wet slap every single time you landed down on him. 

It caused a terrible need to brew in his stomach, and he knew it wouldn’t be long now. 

All too soon, he was going to cum. 

“Please!” He moaned out, trying to buck his hips up to meet yours - his muscles shaking so terribly that he couldn’t keep up with your pace and ended up just jostling wildly underneath you. “Please, please!” 

You grinned. 

You knew that you wouldn’t cum from this, but you were deeply enjoying yourself anyway. Stiles looked so pretty - so pathetic and pretty - gritting his teeth to try and hold back his sounds (which wasn’t working at all), tears rimming his eyes, a few even slipping out, his face tinging a lovely shade of pink from the exertion and the pure arousal. 

“Please ‘what’, baby?” 

You pressed, a slight edge of mocking on your voice that punched another harsh wave of arousal through his gut. It took everything he had in those moments not to cum - to hold it back. To be good for you. 

“Come on, sweetheart. You can say it. Just say the words-” 

“Please lemme cum,” He whined out, the words practically turning into a slur on his lips - mirroring exactly the way he had been begging to a fictional you as he had pumped his cock while sitting on this very bed not too long ago. “Please, please, please Y/N, please-” 

You leaned down to his ear then, whispering the words he so badly wanted to hear. 

“Cum for me, Stiles.” 

But this time it was so very real. 

With your permission given, his brain fired off, finally allowing himself to let it go. He let out a guttural, almost non-human sound as he humped his hips off the bed in harsh, fast strokes while you fucked down onto him tightly, roughly grinding into him to allow him to get the most out of it. Wanting him to have the most pressure from your hot cunt in those moments while his eyes rolled back into his head and he released a thick load into the condom. 

He was even pretty like this - his mouth wide open, his long lashes fluttering against his flushed cheeks, his chest heaving as he released a concert of beautiful, whorish sounds. 

When his hips stopped and his noises dissolved off into a more gentle panting, you leaned down to kiss him again. He most definitely deserved it. 

“Good boy.” You mumbled against his mouth, eager to praise him. “Such a good boy for me. You did so good.” 

This caused another sound from him, and you simply smiled as he began to kiss you back, eager and sloppy, smearing spit across your cheek while you reached up and began untying the knot in the scarf you had secured him with. 

“You want your reward now?” You asked him. 

You couldn’t lie, your cunt was thrumming at the idea of him getting between your thighs. You wondered if he would be able to make you cum. He seemed eager to please and so far, he was good at following instructions, so you could probably tell him exactly what to do to get you off. Even if he couldn’t, you would certainly enjoy the view. 

“Yes, yes, please.” He moaned against your cheek, that desperation thrashing back up inside of him. “Please, I’ve been good, please-”

“Yes, you have been.” You soothed him again. “Good boy.” 

You released him from the binds and then finally got off him, allowing his softening cock to pop free from your pussy - something that caused him to loudly moan. 

You took off the condom and tossed it into the waste basket that he had by his desk, the lube and cum seeping into the crumbled up, forgotten papers that he had there. When you came back to the bed, he was looking at you with wide, eager eyes, waiting for his next instruction. Such a good boy. You really loved how this was turning out. 

“I’m gonna lay down, and then you can get between my legs. Okay, baby?” 

He nodded eagerly again, and hopped off the bed to give you room, nearly tripping over his own feet in doing so. 

You fluffed up his pillow and then laid down, spreading your legs wide, and when you looked back to him, he was tracing every single inch of your body with a wide-eyed gaze. His mouth was agape once again, absolutely not hiding the fact that he was absolutely lustful for you, becoming utterly distracted by the sight of you (almost completely) naked in his bed, laid out just for him. 

“Stiles.” You called his name, garnering his attention once again. “Come on, baby.” 

You held out an arm, signaling for him to come over, and he eagerly climbed into the bed between your thighs. 

You thought for sure that he would make himself comfortable down between your thighs and get right to tasting you, as eagerly as he had begged for it before, but it was his turn to surprise you now. 

“Please, can you-?” He cut himself off shyly, tracing a single finger along the cup of the bra that you still wore, the last scrap of clothing hiding your body from him. “Can you take it off?” 

That sent a thrill through you. Rather than being demanding, he was still so trepidatious - wondering if he had tread too far by asking you to remove clothing, even after you had ridden his cock. 

Still, you couldn’t help but to want to tease him - just a little bit more. 

“You wanna see my tits?” You asked, running your hands up your body, teasing your fingers along the edges of the bra cups as if threatening to pull them down. “You wanna… play with my tits, Stiles?” 

“Yes.” Stiles breathed out, entirely eager. 

You could see his cock swelling back to life between his thighs already. 

“Do you think you’ve been a good enough boy for that?” You questioned, lustful eagerness in your voice. 

His answer would entirely dictate whether or not you took the bra off. 

He swallowed thickly, still nervous, his eyes flickering between your cleavage and your own eyes, as if looking for a hint at the answer. He waited a careful moment, and then finally spoke. 

“Yes.” He said, pausing for a moment as if waiting for you to argue the point before he continued. “Yes, please, I’ve been good.” 

“Hmm…” You said, pretending to think. “Alright.” 

You reached up behind you, unhooking your bra and tossing it away. When your naked breasts were finally revealed to him, his tongue lolled out of his mouth in an almost puppy-like way, his eyes nearly bulging out of his head as he stared hungrily at the roundness of your perfect flesh. 

This time, he didn’t even ask you before he made his next move - entirely fueled by his own eagerness and desire, he swept down and sucked one of your nipples into his mouth. Instantly, he let out a loud moan around your tit that told you just how much he was enjoying this, something that had your pussy getting wetter as you saw the way his eyes drifted closed with bliss while he sloppily laved his tongue over your skin. 

He was so fucking cute, so fucking pretty - so fucking perfect like this. 

He continued like this for a few moments before he trailed a line of sloppy kisses to the other tit and began sucking on that one, feeling the need to give both beautiful girls equal attention. He licked his tongue across the skin in a fat trail that had you tingling, that had your cunt clenching. You were glad he was enjoying himself, but it was making the space between your thighs feel rather neglected. 

“Stiles, baby,” You called out, starting to sound a bit breathy from need yourself. You raked your nails gently across his scalp again, causing him to let out another moan. “You said you were gonna eat my pussy, right? You don’t wanna disappoint me - do you, baby?” 

He popped off your tit immediately. 

“Not gonna disappoint you.” He said in a hurried tone, shaking his head. 

You pulled him in for another kiss, and when you released him, he rushed down to get comfortable between your legs, which you spread even more, dropping your foot off the bed on one side to give him more room. 

Your pussy was so gorgeous. 

So much better than he had dreamed of - wet, gleaming, smeared in your own juices and slightly gaped from his cock. A sight that absolutely thrilled him - seeing exactly where he had been, knowing that he had fucked you, he had been inside of you. 

The smell of your pretty cunt was something more unique than your sweat or perfume like he had originally thought. He leaned in eagerly and licked a fat, wide stripe from where you were fluttering and open all the way up to your mound, getting his first real taste of you - he let out a loud moan as it fully penetrated his senses, as everything that was you spread across his tongue for the first time. 

You were so fucking perfect. You tasted so fucking perfect. 

You let out a moan of your own when Stiles moaned against you again, the vibrations radiating through your sensitive core. This time, he latched into your clit, seemingly knowing that swollen bead was his ticket to success without you even having to tell him. He sucked harshly on it for a moment that made your thighs twitch and threaten to close around his head before he began digging his tongue against it, lapping at your cunt, trying to suck all the taste off it that he could. 

“Good boy,” You moaned, reaching out and cradling the back of his head (not having much hair to grab onto with the short buzzcut that he had) - keeping him tight against your pussy, not that he seemed intent to pull away any time soon. “Such a good boy. Good boy for me!” 

He wasn’t particularly skilled - it was obvious from a mile away that he didn’t have any experience, but fuck, he more than made up for it with his pure eagerness. He was eating your pussy like it was his last meal, moaning against you like he was getting more pleasure from this than you were - and hell, maybe he was. 

He didn’t back off or complain when you instinctively bucked your hips against his face. In fact, he seemed to take it in stride, downright enjoying the way your warm juices were smeared across his cheeks and chin, his eyes shut in bliss as he tongued openly across your cunt, his drool mixing with your wetness while he moaned against you. 

“Oh, fuck! Stiles!” 

He moaned harder at the sound of his own name on your lips, so beautifully pornographic, better than he had dreamed it would be - even when he had imagined it so many times over and over again. Somehow, even when you thought he might not get you there at all, his eager performance and the vibrations from his moans against your clit had you so close already. 

“Got me so close, baby,” You moaned, scratching the back of his head. “Such a good boy, so close-” 

He moaned in response and tongued more vigorously at your clit, and you worked your hips against him, practically riding his face in order to bring yourself over the edge. 

“Fuck! Stiles!” 

You let out a throaty moan as you came, beautiful pleasure surging through your body while your back arched against the bed. Inadvertently shoving your hips even closer to his face, making him even more beautifully messy while he sucked and licked you. He loved the feeling of your body twitching and seizing underneath him, he loved hearing your gorgeous moans, he loved knowing that he had made you cum. 

He lowered his face down and shoved his tongue inside you, determined to drink right from the source then, his nose bumping against your now orgasm-sensitive clit unintentionally, making you shout loudly. This further smothered him in your essence in a way that he loved, while he shoved his tongue inside of you as far as he possibly could, absolutely loving the way your pussy fluttered around him, the way your taste overwhelmed his senses, the pure heat smothering his face. 

“Baby, baby-” 

You gasped and struggled for air, knowing that he wasn’t overstimulating you on purpose - he was just eager. And that thought alone was so overwhelmingly hot to you that you almost let him continue. But your clit thrummed with an ache of protest, and you knew that you couldn’t spoil him this much, this soon. You couldn’t handle having a spoiled brat on your hands. 

“Baby, you have to come up now!” You ordered sharply, digging your nails into his shoulder as a warning, adding a tiny bite of pain to fully get his attention. 

Stiles let out a tiny whine of disappointment, but did as he was told, finally unlatching himself from your cunt. This move made a sinfully wet sound as he pushed himself up with his hands to sit between your thighs on his knees. Your eyes were immediately drawn to his once again hard, throbbing pink cock smearing precum against his stomach. 

You had a passing thought about telling him to grab another condom, but again - you didn’t need to spoil him so soon. 

You had another idea instead. 

“Oh baby,” You cooed, reaching out and loosely gripping his cock, causing him to let out a shuddering moan and buck into your hand furiously - which didn’t give him much sensation, only teased him more. “You got really excited from that, didn’t you?” 

He nodded vigorously, his mind completely mush at this point, too weak to form words. 

“Do you wanna get off against my thigh?” You purred, gently stroking your knuckles across his temple - feeling a wicked kind of joy in seeing his face smeared in your wetness, especially when paired with the dumb, glossy look in his eyes. 

He almost dared to ask for more - wanting to fuck you again, to put his cock between your tits and fuck them - but he had a feeling that you wouldn’t let him get away with it. And he wanted to be your good boy so badly. So he was willing to take whatever you had to give him. 

“Yes.” He croaked out, his voice slightly hoarse now from all the moaning. “Yes, please.” 

“Good boy.” You grinned at him. “Come on.” 

You moved your leg - already slightly stiff from how long he had been between them, stretched around his shoulders - and slotted your thigh between his. You raised it up slightly, gently propping the broadness of your flesh against his aching balls and his hard, leaking cock. 

“Wait, I want-” 

He looked around for a moment, and then grabbed up the bottle of lube where it had falling on the floor from the vigor of your fucking. He poured a good deal of it (almost emptying it) over his cock, letting it leak down over your thigh, before he capped it and threw it away again. 

You smiled. 

“You really do like it wet, don’t you?” 

He simply nodded, and began moving his hips. Instinctively, you reached out and grabbed him, taking a commanding hold on those narrow hips to guide him. He easily fell under your control, letting you guide his pace - which meant he moved in slow, languid, sloppy, wet (thanks to the lube) movements across your thigh - his cock dragging against your skin in a way that was delicious, but almost not enough at the same time. 

He began letting out whimpers, his face twisting with pleasure and the need for something more as his gut curled with a distinctive ache. As if sensing this, even unconsciously, you couldn’t help your mouth. 

“You look so pretty like this,” You told him, hot and breathy. 

Turns out - that was the something ‘more’ he so desperately needed. Hearing you call him ‘pretty’ would have been an insult on any other day, but today, it was downright delicious. Your voice curling around the word, directed at him - it felt like something he had been waiting to hear his whole life. 

“I love seeing you get off against my thigh, rubbing your pretty cock against me,” 

Stiles let out a moan and you felt him fighting to move faster, so you encouraged it, pushing and pulling his hips faster, causing more delicious friction on his cock. 

“Please, please-” He gasped. 

You knew it wouldn’t take much more. 

“You know, I’ve probably been waiting for this just as long as you have,” You whispered lowly in his ear, finally confessing your secret. “I’ve been watching you every single day, seeing how wonderful and dumb you are when you stare at me for hours, thinking I don’t notice. And I’ve just been waiting to pin you up against something and fuck your pretty little brains out-” 

Your words were cut off by him crying out, a wet splash against your thigh that had alerted you to him cumming. This was almost pathetic, just a few spurts of cum before it was over (you guessed that with how often he jerked off and from the fucking earlier, you had practically drained his balls). It made you curious if forcing him to abstain from masturbation for a few days would yield more impressive results. 

An experiment for later, you guessed. 

“Good boy.” 

You pulled him into another kiss, ultimately satisfied by the end result of your plan - leaving your panties on your bed as bait for Stiles to find as a way to gently tip him off to your attraction to him. It had worked out in the very best way. Even if you had to wait more than a week for the wheels to truly set in motion. 

… 

After a joint shower (which was filled with Stiles grinning at you, clearly soaking up the beauty of his luck in landing someone as gorgeous as you) - you changed the sheets on the bed while he made something to eat, and after the two of you ate together, you tucked him in to go to sleep. 

He was disappointed that you couldn’t stay the night, just as excited to do other non sexual things with you like wake up in your arms and hold your hand in the hallways at school - but you did have to get home before your curfew. Just as he was dosing off, you kissed him on the forehead, and you thought of something delightfully naughty for him to wake up to, even if you couldn’t be there. 

You took off the underwear that you were wearing - a pair of lacy blue ones, to match your bra - and you pinned them up on his corkboard for him to find in the morning. 

A perfect little present for your good boy.

… 

The next morning, Stiles woke up to a knock on his bedroom door. 

“Okay, rise n shine, kid, time for-” 

His father’s voice cut off abruptly, and Stiles didn’t have time to ponder why before-

“Dear god, what the hell is that?” 

Stiles shot up out of bed, practically falling on the floor, wondering what it could be - monster, werewolf, hunter, someone with a gun-

His eyes landed exactly where his dad was looking, and he was relieved not to find danger, and then terribly embarrassed to see your underwear from the day before pinned to his corkboard, spread out in plain view. Stiles immediately went into damage control mode. 

“Look, Dad, I can explain-” 

“You know what? I don’t wanna know.” His dad said firmly, making a motion with his hand that said he was brushing away the subject. “Just - get ready for school.” 

His dad moved to leave the room, and then he sighed and paused in the doorway, turning back to Stiles in a way that made his gut churn. 

“Just - did you use protection?” 

Stiles almost offered to show his father the used condom that was still sitting in the trash can - even if only as proof that the night before he had a real, living girl in his room. But he figured that would be going too far. 

“Yes.” He answered, calm and short. 

His dad nodded, and moved to leave again. He made it a bit further down the hallway this time before he turned around and appeared in the doorway again. 

“Son - you know, women aren’t objects, you can’t claim them like sexual conquests, and they deserve respect-” 

“Dad.” Stiles sharply cut off whatever speech his father was about to give, wanting his father to know that he hadn’t pinned the underwear to the corkboard himself. He wasn’t some fratboy who celebrated getting laid with a fucking trophy. 

“She - she gave them to me.” He said. “She did that.” He motioned to the underwear, and his father’s face shifted from anger to deep discomfort. 

“Oh.” He said simply. “Well - I - okay. I don’t wanna know any more.” He said firmly. “And for god’s sake, son, take them down.” 

Stiles nodded, rushing to do so. 

He was going to take them down - but he wasn’t rushing to give them back to you anytime soon.

...

Please keep in mind, this is a oneshot, and this has a distinct, intentional ending. There will NOT be a continuation or a 'Part 3'. If you enjoyed this fic, please consider reblogging it to show your appreciation, or commenting on this fic, or you can take a look at my Teen Wolf Masterlist for more of my fics from this fandom.

However, please do not comment on this fic asking for another sequel or asking for more - I generally consider that stressful and impolite. If you are going to comment, please comment about the body of work that has been written.

If you enjoyed this fic, please consider checking out my other fics about the criminally underrated character Isaac. Fics similar to this one are: Eager Little Puppy and Why Am I The One?

Or if you want more fics about subby boys, consider checking out Tongue Twister, Stop? (Baby, Don't Stop), or Lessons For A Genius.

Happy reading!! -Sunny <3

[bamboozledbird]

Written in the Stars // Stiles Stilinski Imagine

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, fem!reader Pairing: Stiles x Reader, Stiles x You (no use of y/n) Word Count: 5k Tags: fluff, fluff, fluff, i love my men nerdy and desperate, all characters are over 19, my vibe is it's like their sophomore or junior year of college Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, unprotected pnv (terrible advice, babes, don't listen to these idiots)

Request: stiles smut plssss!!! anything fluffy??? A/N: request mixed with a lil bit of an old work to ease me into my first smut. still coming across virginities at 27, and that is really something. s/o to the anon who requested it lmao.

Stiles’s childhood bedroom is an assortment of Star Wars paraphernalia, baseball posters, and bundles of wrinkled flannels squeezed to fit within four faded blue walls. There are a few books stacked on top of his desk, coated in a thin layer of dust from the semester away from home, and little plastic stormtroopers stand at attention on his dresser corners. It smells a little musty in his room, a little like damp earth, but you’ve always liked that smell. You especially like how his cologne smells here—like spice, like fallen leaves, like Christmas morning. 

“The curtains are blackout,” Stiles says. He pulls the heavy navy curtains over the window facing the small backyard. The grass is yellowing from the cold of winter, and the air is crisp with the same bitter chill. You shiver and burrow further into the sweatshirt you’d somehow commandeered long before you and Stiles were a we. A few flecks of dust float off the plaid bedding when he sits down on his bed. He looks up at you and grins at the sleeves hanging limply below your fingers, “Flip off the light.” 

You turn off the light and shut the door. It’s dark inside the room now—almost completely black. What little remains of the sun is gone, and now you can only see the glow-in-the-dark stars sticky-tacked to the ceiling. “You must have taken a lot of people up here,” you hum, grinning at him coyly over your shoulder. You’re not quite sure if he can make out the glint in your eyes under the pale fluorescent glow, but you’d like to think he can. Either way, you’re sure he knows.

Stiles laughs easily and scoots himself down to the edge of his bed, “Why?”

“For kissing,” you say, matter-of-factly, but you’re still grinning. You make your way towards him, and your prowl is far less smooth than you’d like it to be—the piles of books and a couple month’s worth of dirty laundry make an already difficult path downright hazardous. You count it as a win when you end up in his lap without tripping on anything, “Doesn’t everyone want to be kissed under the stars?”

His hands, his wonderfully large and veiny hands, find their way to your hips. It’s instinct for him, reflexive at this point, and here in the dark it feels like the only thing he knows. You can feel his grin against your neck, “Do you?” 

You hum, playing coy, and absently curl your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, thick and curling a bit at the ends. It’s grown out over the last few months. He’s been too busy with studying for finals and working at the library to bother getting it cut. You like it like this, long enough to hold onto, long enough to yank. “I like the stars,” you sigh—so close to his mouth, but not touching—and then you pull back, smiling fondly when you see his mouth is already puckered. “Tell me about ‘em.”

Stiles groans and falls onto his back, pulling you down with him. You end up tucked against his side, shivering as he slides his hand under your sweatshirt to trace a feathery line up and down your back. “That’s like the worst possible genre for innuendo. I can’t woo you while I’m David Attenborough-ing about astrology.”

You smile against his shoulder, and he yelps when you nip at his skin through his thread-bare t-shirt. “You like a challenge.”

He wraps a strand of your hair around his finger and pulls a little, just hard enough to tip into a reprimand. It’s at least half the reason you turn into a brat when he’s this close. “There’s Andromeda,” he hums against the top of your head, pointing towards a small cluster of stars. “Those are supposed to be her legs, and that’s her head, and the ones over there are her arms—fuckin’ uneven, I know. I think that side kinda looks like she’s holding out one of those canes with tennis balls on t—”

You smile and knock your head into his chin lightly, “Wooing, Stiles.”

He tugs on your hair again and swears under his breath when a little whimper tumbles past your lips. “Anyway, she’s next to Perseus—who looks a lot more like Patrick than a demigod. I mean, look at him; his body type is like…something between Dorito and spanakopita.” You laugh, and Stiles squeezes you closer to his side, tangles your legs together, and kisses the tip of your nose like he just can’t help himself. “Story goes, Andromeda's mom royally pissed off Poseidon, so he sent a sea monster to destroy her kingdom—as one does when someone’s talking shit.”

“Naturally,” you hum as you reach for the hand he has cupped around your waist. 

“Naturally,” Stiles agrees, nodding against the crown of your head. You try not to get too distracted by the length of his fingers, bending them and straightening them out one at a time, as he carries on with the story, “So Andromeda’s mom is up there with the titans of bad parents—like right next to Vader and every Disney step-mom ‘cause she fuckin’ ties Andromeda to a rock as a sacrifice for the mo—” He sucks in a shallow breath through his teeth when you start kissing along the row of his knuckles, first little soft brushes that almost tickle and then a few lingering ones that wet his skin. He swears again and ever-so slowly shifts his hips against the thigh tucked between his legs. You take pity on him and rest your entwined hands in the small gap between your breastbone and his ribs. His exhale is warm against your forehead, “Obviously, Perseus swoops in at the last minute, slays the beast, gets the girl, etcetera, etcetera.”

Humming, you tip your chin up against his chest and look at him through your lashes, “What happens during etcetera, etcetera?” 

“I think,” Stiles rolls over so that he’s on top of you, bracing his weight on his forearms, caging you in delightfully close to his broad chest, “something like this.”

You forget about the game for a minute when he starts mouthing at your skin with just the right amount of teeth. His hair, adorably messy and sticking up in little patches from your fingers, tickles the hinge of your jaw. “Didn’t Perseus kill Medusa?” you mumble, head tipping back into the mattress, eyes closed. 

“Uh,” Stiles keeps kissing along your neck, obviously distracted by the hitches in your breath and the soft sighs you let out when he breathes against spit-slick skin, “yeah?”

You can feel the heaviness of his whine against your mouth when you pull away, blinking up at him with big, round eyes—the picture of innocence. A little lamb, an unplucked daisy, a gossamer butterfly wing, entirely unaware of the raging hard-on pressed against your inner thigh. His skin is warm through his shirt, so warm you feel it on your legs when you wrap them around his waist. “While she was sleeping?”

“Uh huh,” Stiles slides a hand up your thigh. The other one is pressed into the mattress, and the muscles in his forearm flex under his full weight. You’re pretty sure he’d agree with anything you say like this.

Unfortunately for the pulsing between your legs, you’ve fallen victim to your own ruse. Your head tilts as you recall all the unsavory details of the Medusa myth, “After she was literally assaulted by his dad?”

Stiles drops his head against your chest and groans, “You’re killing me, baby.”

You grin and curl your fingers in his hair, petting him gently and squeezing your thighs against his hips, “Tell me another one.”

He sighs and rolls over, starfishing his right arm and leg over the edge of the bed with a dramatic flop. “We’ll skip Orion and the seven girls he stalked.”

“Smart choice,” you hum and snuggle into his side. His chest is firm from hours of trying to lift enough to play lacrosse with werewolves, but it still makes for a nice pillow. Stiles’s fingers find their way into your hair, and you swallow back the purr rising in your throat for his sake. He’s been so good for you, after all. You don’t want the torture to be too painful.

“And the swan-fucker,” he adds, scratching lightly at your scalp.

“What?”

Stiles ignores your wide eyes, smirking, and continues playing with your hair, “Altair and Vega. That’s a good one.” In the blanket of darkness and under the strain of yearning, his voice sounds soft and crackly, like one of those singers in the black and white movies, the ones that dance with the microphone. “Starts with a gorgeous, sexy, incredibly charitable goddess falling for a lowly mortal,” his grin is sly as he hikes your thigh over his, squeezing just under your ass, “a lot like us.”

“Boo. Awful.” You pull a face as he drops a flurry of kisses over your cheeks, nose, chin—your laughing mouth, “Disgusting. I’m disgusted.” 

His fingers dip into the waistband of your leggings, tauntingly close to just where you want him, “You don’t feel disgusted.”

Now, that won’t do. You’re just getting started. You trap his hand with your thighs and tap your finger against the slope of his upturned nose, “Finish the story.” 

Stiles whines a little and then sighs, returning the palm of his hand to the little dip above your hip. “Her dad is disgusted that she wants to bring a loser human home, so he turns them into stars on opposite sides of the galaxy.”

Frowning, you squint at the collection of stars he’d pointed to. They don’t look so far apart on his bedroom ceiling. “That’s…depressing.”

“It’s not over yet,” Stiles pulls on your hair and does his best to look annoyed, but the nip to your bottom lip feels far more like a reward than a punishment, “hush.” He waits a minute for you to comply—or, more likely, not comply—and you settle back on his chest and arch your brow, waiting. He arches his brow right back and then keeps going, “One day a year, on the seventh day of the seventh month, Altair fills the galaxy with his tears, and every bird in the sky makes a bridge with their wings so that they can spend one more night together.”

The corner of your mouth tugs into a little grin, “That is a good one.” You trace little patterns on his bicep, little swirls and stars, and rest your chin on his shoulder so that you can see his pretty face, “But just for the story. Only one night a year would kill me.”

“Baby,” Stiles clicks his tongue against the back of his teeth and shakes his head like he's disappointed, bottom lip jutting out slightly from under his top, “it'd take a helluva lot more than a couple light-years and an immortal father-in-law to keep me from getting to you.” 

It’s such a line, but the dopey grin he gives you while he says it somehow makes it charming. Maybe you’re just a little bit lovesick. Okay, maybe a lot. “You can kiss me n—”

He’s on you before you can finish, but you don’t mind being interrupted when he's slanting his mouth against yours just right and groaning into your sighs with a gravelly pitch that makes your toes curl. “Fuck me,” Stiles sighs. He dips back in before you can quip something bratty, something that would definitely earn you another yank on your hair—later perhaps. 

You straddle his waist, sit back in the cradle of his pelvis, and lace your fingers together on the mattress against the sides of his head. He whimpers. You curse. “Off,” you mutter against his mouth, tugging petulantly on the hem of his t-shirt. Stiles is quick to comply, like always, but the fabric gets stuck around his shoulders. You let him struggle for a minute, just long enough to hear more of those petulant little whines. When you finally help him wrangle his shirt over his head, you’re up close and personal with his mouth. His lips are pretty—swollen, pink, and shiny with salvia and your lip balm—and you’re filled with the overwhelming urge to bite. You toss his shirt somewhere on the floor behind you and lean down, your chest pressed against his. You can feel his heartbeat stutter, like a rabbit in a trap, when you stroke your thumb over his bottom lip. It’s soft and wet against your finger, and you sigh high in your throat, “Pretty.”

His chest warms, and you wish you had more light to admire the flush spreading from his neck to his cheeks. You know it’s pink and pretty too, but you’d enjoy seeing the proof. “Pretty?” Stiles echoes, cocking his head slightly, and slides his hands from your ass to your hips. He continues his path along the sides of your ribcage with the bottom of your sweatshirt bunched between his fingers.

“Pretty,” you nod, sharp and definitive. You sit up a little so that Stiles can pull your hoodie off, and then it’s lost to the dark abyss. Frankly, you aren’t that worried about if you ever see it again. You can always steal another one after you’re done. 

He shakes his head and runs his hands over your torso, your collarbones, your stomach, just under your tits—he can’t see that well in the dim light, so he’s damn well going to see you the only way he can. “Pretty,” Stiles groans, cupping your tits and gently thumbing over your nipples through the thin fabric of your cotton bra. It’s simple, white, unadorned by lace or a pattern—and it’s sexier than it has any right to be, he thinks. He’s eager to rip it off.

You shudder through the entire length of your spinal column, through all the nerves attached, and arch into his touch, “Yeah?” 

He coos, and your nipples pebble in response. It’s embarrassing but soon forgotten when Stiles cups your face, big hands encompassing almost the entire length of your jaw, and whispers, “Pretty girl. My pretty baby.” 

It’s even more embarrassing how quickly you feel your underwear dampen under the scrutiny of some simple praise. Now, you’re whining, and he’s letting out a string of guttural, “Fuck,”s as you grind down against the increasingly painful bulge in his jeans. Your nails leave little pink lines along the sculpted v of his pelvis, just deep enough to sting a bit—enough to send his head back towards his shoulders. He sits up a little more so that he can grip your hips, holding them still as he catches his breath, and you’re only a little ashamed of the way you mewl his name in protest. Stiles shuts you up with a kiss and shakes his head, “Can’t come in my pants like I’m 17 again. That’s the worst possible ending to our constellation. Like a 1/10, definitely certified rotten.”

You grin against his throat, and he swallows at the sharp press of your teeth. “Oh, I don’t think that’s the worst ending. Wouldn’t the worst be the one where you don’t come at all?” 

Stiles’s fingers dig into your hips and he pulls you down firmly against his lap, like he’s scared you’ll get up and leave him with a weeping cock and teary eyes. “Baby, don’t even joke about that. That’s a billion times worse than letting a sea monster rip me in half.”

“Guess you can split me in half then,” you shrug a little, and Stiles goes taut under you, fingertips flexing into the small of your back, “unless you want me to tie you to a rock. I’d be into that.”

He growls in your ear, nipping at your jaw and flipping you onto your back. You laugh, a little breathless, as you bounce back on the mattress from the force of it. “Definitely wanna split you in half,” Stiles mutters as he shucks off his pants and kneels at the edge of his bed. He starts peeling back your leggings, taking his time to kiss each sliver of skin revealed to him despite the urgency in his eyes, despite the ache in his white-knuckled grip on the buttery martial of your bottoms. “Gonna wreck you,” Stiles promises as he brushes his lips over your ankle a few times. His words are filthy, but his eyes are honey-sweet and lit with nothing but complete and utter devotion—like you really are a goddess in the sky. You’re already wrecked, probably have been since he kissed you for the first time, entirely ruined for anyone else.

“Did’ya know that Vega is brighter than Altair,” he says, quiet and reverent as he drops your leggings. You blink at him, a bit dumbly, but it’s his own fault for trying to have a conversation while he’s sliding your legs over his shoulders and fiddling with the hem of your underwear. “By, like, 5 places? I think? That’s us too—can’t even look at you sometimes,” he hums, warm against your wet cunt, and hooks his thumbs around your panties. You shudder, and he smiles. You aren’t quite sure if he’s talking to you or to the glistening flesh he reveals when he yanks the baby pink cotton to the side. Either way, you understand his dilemma. It’s torture to watch him sometimes. You have to close your eyes when the pink tip of his tongue darts out, wetting his lip, tasting the air. 

There’s a sigh. So soft. Really more of an exhale, and you aren’t sure where it came from. It could’ve been you, or him, or the stars. “You talk a lot,” this time you know the sigh is coming from you. 

Stiles smirks a little and slips his thumb inside your panties, swiping through your slick folds like he’s fingerpainting, “Is that a complaint?”

Your hips stutter, and his other hand is quick to clamp down on your skin, stopping any attempts to skitter away from his light touch. “I love it when you talk,” you hum, leaning up onto your elbows so that you can watch him work. He grins up at you, almost shy, and presses down against your clit. A wet gasp bursts through swollen lips as your back arches, and Stiles isn’t so shy when he bends down to drop a gentle kiss over his thumb. “But I, uh,” you brush your fingers through the dark hair flopping over his forehead and squeeze your eyes shut when his kisses become kitten licks, “I also love it when you use your mo—” His finger (his long, gifted finger) slides into your cunt with an embarrassing squelch, and his lips wrap around your clit as he sucks. “That,” you whine, back arching a little until Stiles spreads his fingers over your stomach and presses down, “I also love it when you do that.” 

His laugh vibrates deliciously against all the places he’s trying to devour, and you think it wouldn’t be such a bad way to go—being eaten alive by your gorgeous boyfriend. He pulls back to slip another finger in your pussy, spreading them just enough to burn in the best way, and then he’s prodding at the spot inside you that sends a jolt up your spine—makes your fingers wind in the bedspread, pull on his hair, fly to your mouth when you start to cry a little. It didn’t used to be like this. Sex. Getting fingered, fucked, even eaten out—it never felt like this before him. It’s…overwhelming, sometimes. Most of the time, actually. You keep waiting to get used to it, for the newness, the discovery of it all, to wear off. Hasn’t happened yet. You don’t think it ever will. Certainly not tonight. 

“Good?” Stiles licks his lips, at the glistening corners of his mouth, and you toss your head back—overwhelmed. “Good,” he concludes, and he’s not even smug about it. More like he’s making a note in one of his case files, something to look back on later when he needs it. He’s quick about getting what little remains of your clothes off, and when he crawls on top of you, you’re immensely grateful for it. Skin on skin, nothing quite like it. Quick romps in the jeep, up against alley walls, the sink of the occasional bar bathroom—all fun, but not nearly as satisfying as being completely pressed against his naked body, completely caged in by his large frame. Sappy, maybe, but it feels dirty when he drags the tip of his cock through your folds. When he bumps against your clit, you mewl and dig your nails into his back. He sucks in sharply and buries his face in the crook of your neck, “There’s a condom in th—”

“Forget it,” you whimper, carding your fingers through his hair. It’s a little sweaty where it meets his neck, and it’s so soft, and thick, and perfect, and—he’s stopped breathing against your neck. 

He groans from a place deep in his gut, deeper actually, and his arms shake, “Are you su—”

“Yes,” you nod rapidly and wrap your legs around him, arms too, and your fingers join in on the clinging when they twist in his hair. “Absolutely. 1000%. Please don’t make me say please.”

He lets out a little laugh that stirs the hair framing your face, and he traces your cheekbone, barely touching your skin. Your head swims with the look in his eyes: amber, warmth, and worship, “But you’re just so pretty when you beg.” Not that you’ve ever had to for long. Stiles gives you anything you want if you ask him the right way. If you look at him with big, wet eyes, if you jut out your lower lip just so—wet as well, the little lick of your tongue is part of it; that took him months to figure out—he crumbles. He’s said many times that better men than he have fallen victim to far less beautiful schemes. 

Stiles kisses the pout off your lips and nudges the tip of his nose over yours, grinning like a drunken idiot, “Told’ya, baby. Not a light-year, definitely not a little latex.” His grin slides into a little ‘o’ when you slither your hand between your bodies and grip his cock, sliding the first inch into your cunt, impatient. “F-fuck—fuck-ing hell,” he grunts and takes over for you, squeezing your hip until it starts to hurt a little. You’d say something, but then he’d stop—and you like the way it aches. You like knowing there will be a bruise. He’ll fret over it later, kiss each mottled spot better a million times, and you like that too. You like being taken care of, almost as much as he likes taking care of you. 

When he bottoms out, when his pelvic bone ruts up against you, a long, drawn out whimper spills through your pout. “Yeah? Feels good, baby?” Stiles watches your face closely, brushes away the hair sticking to your forehead, and drops a few kisses on your shut eyelids. You nod, and nod, and nod, until he stops you with another kiss to your lips. He kisses you slowly, presses his tongue against the seam of your lips, and you sigh. The kiss quickly becomes wet and filthy, and you’d be embarrassed by the sound of your tongues sliding together if you could actually hear it. At the moment, all you can hear is his cock sliding in and out of your dripping pussy—and that’s definitely sending a dizzying heat up your neck. You don’t worry about it for long when his hips shift and he starts hitting that spot inside you again. After that, neither of you can hear anything over your squealing. Stiles kisses away the tears gathering at the corners of your eyes and licks his lips, chasing the taste. “Right there, huh?” You babble an incoherent answer, and he strokes your hair and noses at your cheek, “Yeah, right there. I know. It’s okay.” 

Stiles slides his hands under your back and sits up, taking you with him. The new angle is impossibly deep, and you bite down on his shoulder and wind your arms around his neck to keep yourself there. With him. In the moment. “It’s okay, baby. I got you, promise,” he squeezes your hips, and despite his reassurances and the strength of his grip, you know he’s falling apart too. He’s close. You can feel it. His hips stutter a little, change direction, lose their dedicated pace—and it’s perfect because you’re right there with him. It’s been building for a while, probably since he led you by hand to his room, maybe even before that when he smirked at you behind his cup of tequila and (mostly) pineapple juice. 

You cry a little and bite down on your bottom lip, hard. Stiles kisses the sting away, and your eyes screw shut as you start babbling again, “I’m—”

He kisses you again and lifts his hands from your hips to cup your face, thumbing along your bottom lip when he pulls back—not far, just enough to look at your face, shiny with sweat and tears. “I know,” he stills for a moment, pausing the movement of his hips so that he can just feel you pulsing around him for a moment, “me too.” You aren’t sure if you want to hit him or kiss him for stopping, but you don’t have the strength to do either when he starts what must be his final round of thrusts. It has to be—you’re a few seconds away from collapsing or coming, whichever comes first. When Stiles moans your name in your ear, soft and high like he does when he’s right there, and he slides his hand down your stomach to rub firm circles on your clit, you’re happy it’s your orgasm that happens first. Your abs convulse a little as you twitch around him, and you curl in on yourself as much as you can with Stiles in the way. He’s not in the way for long. Growling, he shoves you back against the bed and mumbles, “Where?” after a few sloppy thrusts. 

You mewl as he keeps the pressure on your clit, reach for his wrist and try to pull his hand away, but he’s determined and you’re tired. You twitch and throw your head back, whimpering, “Inside,” before you can think better of it. It’s his fault, you’ll decide later, for prolonging your high with his mean, unforgiving, wonderful thumb. 

He’ll blame you, for feeling so perfect around him—for fluttering, and leaking, and trembling better than…anything he’s ever seen in porn, and he’s watched...a lot of it, so he’s a bit of an expert on the cinematic orgasm. “You’re so fuckin—you,” he shakes his head against your heaving chest and groans, “you’re everything.” And when he finally comes in you, you’re okay with taking the blame for something that feels so good. He manages a few more thrusts, and then he finally lets you pull his hand away from your cunt when he collapses onto his forearms, barely holding himself up from crushing you with his full weight. You’d tell him to roll over, but then he’d be over there and not in you, so you put up with the sweat and heaviness while your head spins. 

“Baby?” Stiles hums noncommittally in response to your soft prodding, and you smirk against the top of his head. All the smugness leaves you when you finally feel the foreign sensation of his cum leaking out of you. Shuddering, you kiss his hair a few times and scratch up and down his back lightly until he’s able to breathe normally. He pushes himself up onto his arms and glances down when he pulls out, staring for a moment at the way your pussy gapes a bit, watching the trickle of cum drip down your folds and onto the bed. He rubs his hand over his jaw and licks his lips, shaking his head—at a loss for words for the first time in his life. Your tongue is a little thick when you fill the void for him, “Next time, towel first.”

He finds it within himself to tear his eyes away from your cunt and gives you a crooked little grin, “Next time?”

You roll your eyes, but your grin is stupid with affection, “Sure, next time. Maybe. If you’re good.” 

It’s a little disgusting, the way he just rolls over and pulls you on top of him with absolutely no regard for the various bodily fluids sticking to your skin, but you forget about the unpleasantness of drying cum and cooling sweat when he kisses you. “I’m always good,” he huffs against your cheek. You shoot him a look, brows arched and eyes narrowed, and he smirks, “Okay, maybe not, but I’m always good for you.”

You nuzzle in a little closer and scoff, but it’s true. Stiles is so good, always—especially for you. “I guess you did manage to woo me. You’re very sexy when you’re talkin’ astrology, you know that?” 

He smiles, wide and happy, and wiggles his brows, “An absolute banger of an ending, right? I don’t think they could chart it in the stars without ruining your pretty face, but that’s probably for the best.” Stiles brushes his fingers over your lips when you let out a little questioning hum and takes your hand, growling playfully as he nibbles at your fingertips, “You’re mine. Nobody’s allowed to see you like this but me—definitely not horny little nerds with their telescopes.” 

You grin and bump your nose against his, “You’re a horny little nerd with a telescope.”

Stiles tips his head with a sly grin, and you already know what he’s going to say—it’s still devastatingly adorable when he whispers, “No, I’m your horny little nerd with a telescope.” 

Adorable enough to make you consider pulling him into the shower with you, and if the heavy-lidded look he’s giving you is anything to go by, you’d say he agrees.

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Any Stefek fic that is based off the movie Dirty Dancing? A friend of mine said she read a few but I can not find any! Thank you!!!

Nobody puts Sterek in a corner!

Awkward Dancing by StaciNadia

(1/1 I 1,193 I Teen)

Love and dancing come together at Argent's Resort.

I Can't Live Without Your Love by Val_Brown

(1/1 I 4,898 I Not Rated)

Derek stared out the car window as the green trees of the Oregon Coast highway rolled past. Every summer since he could remember they would head to a resort just outside of Bandon, Oregon. This was the last summer before he began college. The last summer before he had to start his future. He was going to make the most of it.

I Carried a Watermelon for Werewolf Equal Rights by alphasnark

(1/6 I 5,359 I Teen)

A Dirty Dancing AU.

feel the magic between you and I by stilinskisparkles

(1/1 I 11,432 I Mature)

“See?” Derek holds his arms out, “Everything’s working out great for you, and I still have no dance partner,” he turns to Erica, “Face it, no one is as good as you.”

“We still have one more,” she sing songs.

Derek peers over to the list, flinches when he sees Stiles’ name, “No.”

“You haven’t even seen me dance, and you’re already dismissing me?” Stiles sails into the room, tossing his bag in the corner as he does so and doing a dramatic spin to face them. “I got moves.”

Hot, sweet and wild by kishmet

(2/? I 14,665 I Mature)

When his father had announced the trip to the Argents' resort, Stiles had envisioned long days spent lounging on the beach with his laptop. He'd never imagined rigorous training sessions with the world's hottest, strictest dance coach.

Nobody puts Stiles in a corner by Stephaninnie

(7/7 I 39,565 I Mature)

Dirty Dancing AU where Stiles is Baby and Derek is Johnny and some things have changed but most things have stayed the same.

Certain Kind of Fool by saraubs

(1/1 I 36,530 I Mature)

Derek, who has been dragged against his will to the same resort his family visits every summer, is determined to spend the next two and a half months sequestered in his room. His only friend, his sister Laura, is preoccupied with her newly-bonded mate, and doesn't seem to care about anything but making him happy.

When Derek meets Stiles Stilinski, a sharp-tongued waiter, he thinks that this summer might not be a complete waste of time. There are only two problems: First, Stiles is human. Second, he doesn't believe in mates.

Dirty Dealing by lookslikenico, winglesswarrior

(13/? I 47,100 I Teen)

Stiles had a plan for his final summer before college. He was going to intern at the Sheriff's station, get ahead on the plans for the rest of his life. Unfortunately, his dad had some hazy idea of him having 'one last summer' as a lazy teenager. Now, he's stuck cooling his heels and feeling very out of place at some stuck up country club, where he feel he has more in common with the staff than the other members. Of course, that could be because the staff include his new 'how have we never met before' best friend Scott and the 'it should be physically impossible for someone to be that perfect' new crush, Derek. Who apparently hates him - but not enough that he won't swallow his pride and put up with Stiles' presence when he's needed to help get Erica out of trouble...

I May Be Naive But I'm Not Stupid by FelOllie

(18/? I 73,472 I Explicit)

Stiles Stilinski is the young, naïve high school graduate who's headed off to Columbia University (with every intention of going on to Columbia Law) because that's what his parents expect of him. Even though, really, all he wants to do is take after his father and become a cop.

Derek Hale is the sexy, mysterious, just-this-side-of-standoffish-and-rude dance instructor. He and his partner, Lydia Martin, work the summers at the playing-at-posh mountain resort teaching the over-privileged adults and their spoiled kids how to do the merengue.

The summer proves to be exactly what Stiles needs to finally learn how to take control of his life.

But, what happens when it's over?

[crushculture03]

Masterlist

💋 = smut ❤️ = fluff 🖤 = angst

Sam Winchester

Series

About you ❤️🖤💋 : (Ongoing) Valerie Singer and Sam Winchester first met when they were 16, it was an instant match but soon sam had to go and the letters stopped coming. Years later they unknowingly reunite at a college halloween party, here is their story.

Matty Healy

Series

Happiness 💋❤️🖤 (complete) : Julie Foreman has worked at dirty hit for 2 years now, finally she gets the chance to work and go on tour with her favorite band. When she finally meets the band her and matty instantly hit it off and sparks fly but will their love blossom or end up in flames...

Teachers Assistant ❤️🖤💋(ongoing) : You’re a senior in college just hoping to get through the year with no hiccups , but the universe has others plans when you put in Professor Healys class. When you unexpectedly volunteer yourself to be his T.A. you find your relationship with him becoming more than professional…

Imagines

Mirror picture 💋 : Matty posts a mirror picture and you can’t help but want him

Lollapalooza ❤️ : Matty surprises you onstage at your lolla set

Teacher’s Assistant 💋 : You’re Professor Healy’s T.A and one day when you go to his office you hear him moaning your name.

Teachers Assistant Pt.2 💋❤️: Your now boyfriend Matty, has had a stressful two weeks and it’s up to you to help him out.

Teacher’s Assistant Pt 3 💋❤️ : At an end of the term party that both you and matty attend, you catch someone flirting with him and retaliate, which causes matty to get jealous…

6 months later 🖤❤️ : You and matty broke up 6 months ago but you’ve been hiding a secret from him and he finds out when he spots you shopping.

Hot and Heavy 💋 : You watch matty during consumption and can’t wait to see him back stage

First time 💋❤️ : Matty takes your virginity

Night In shining armor 🖤❤️ : You’re a princess who falls in love with your fathers head knight, the one problem is that your love is strictly forbidden

Night in shining armor AU 🖤💋❤️ : Your father, the king, is a cruel man forcing you into a loveless marriage. But soon you meet his head knight and fall madly in love even though your love is strictly forbidden and can have dire consequences.

Tour baby! ❤️ : you find out you’re pregnant while on tour with the 1975.

Family Christmas ❤️💋 : You go over to Mattys childhood home for Christmas, and finally get to meet his family. And also mess around a bit in his old bedroom

Be my baby ❤️ : You go into labor with your and mattys first child.

Bad idea right? 💋🖤 : Months after your break up, you see him again, this time with a new girl on his arm. You go against your better judgment and let him talk to you and one thing leads to another

I’ve got you babe ❤️ : You were in a toxic relationship before matty, and one day you start your period and accidentally bleed onto his sheets and are scared his going to get mad just like your ex.

Vinnie Hacker

Oh Baby! ❤️ : You find out you’re pregnant while vinnie is in Paris for fashion week.

No Promises 🖤: Vinnie and you get into a fight, which escalates into your taking of your promise ring he gave you

Dreamer Cheater 🖤 : Vinnie cheats on you in your dream and you get upset with him about it

Open for requests! request form

Who i write for :

Matty healy

Ross lynch

Joshua Bassett/ Ricky Bowen

Stiles Stilinski

Joe Keery / Steve Harrington

Evan Peters

Vinnie Hacker

Castiel

Sam Winchester/ Jared Padalecki

[eevylynn]

Tiny Spark, Mighty Flame 

Words: 1136 Chapters: 1/? Rating: Teen

Ships: Sterek

Include: Hale Family Feels, Werewolf Stiles, Pack Alpha Stiles

Read at Ao3

Among born werewolves, it was common knowledge that the prime age for a human to endure the bite of an Alpha and survive was typically during their teenage or young adult years. In fact, the youngest recorded case of a bite resulting in a transformation and not death was previously eleven years old, so imagine the Hale pack’s astonishment when they learned of a small seven year old who was bitten and miraculously survived, challenging the known boundaries of possibility.

It all started on an unusually warm summer evening in Beacon Hills. School had finally let out the week prior, and young Stiles Stilinski was beyond ready to enjoy his freedom. His best friend, Jackson, had spent the last two months of school being sullen and quiet before lashing out on Stiles furiously at the slightest provocation. Considering how close the boys were previously, the change hurt, and Stiles didn’t know what he’d done to cause his once valiant defender to turn on him. Maybe Jackson just got tired of Stiles’ energy just like everyone else..

THUMP

Not fully paying attention to his surroundings due to lamenting about the loss of his friendship, Stiles’ foot hooked onto a large root, and he tripped. However, he didn’t just land on the loamy, leaf covered grass like he expected. Apparently, the part of the ground Stiles hit was just low enough that it caused him to tumble down the nearby edge and down a hill.

“Owww,” Stiles groaned softly, as pulled himself up onto his hands and knees once he stopped rolling. Taking stock of his body, he saw a couple of brush burns on his palms that were bleeding just enough that they were gone with a quick swipe on his dirty jeans. He felt a sting on his left knee as he stood up, but it didn’t look too bad when he picked the leg of his jeans up to look.

Taking a deep breath, Stiles swung his arms back and forth as he looked around to see where he was. This wasn’t quite an area of the preserve he had been in before. With the Stilinski’s house edging the large wooded area, Stiles would commonly run out here to play and explore beyond the edge of his own yard. His parents were normally okay with it as long as he mostly stuck to the path, which he usually did…until now.

Stiles should probably find a way back to the path, but the hill he had fallen down was a bit steeper than he felt comfortable climbing up with his tiny little legs. So, he couldn’t really go back that way. As long as he walked along the edge of the hill, it would be okay for Stiles to continue to explore down here, right? After all, it wasn’t entirely his fault that he fell. His mom told him all the time that it’s not his fault that his brain was just running faster than most others’. That’s why he didn’t notice that root, and it’s not like he meant to fall. Now, he’s just searching for a way to get back on the path. Yeah, that’s what he’s doing. He’s going through this new area off the path to get back on the path. He totally won’t get in trouble for that.

Stiles had stumbled through a second thick grove of trees before he realized he wasn’t quite sure where he was. He took a left when his way was blocked by dense shrubs since he was sure the path went that way. Mostly sure. Like 60% sure. Maybe.

“Ennis, be reasonable.”

The sudden deep voice made the small boy freeze in place.

Continue at Ao3

[sterek-ao3feed-archive]

Small Confessions

https://archiveofourown.org/works/51434617 by A Devil Like You (ShootToWin) Derek knows he's small. He likes that he's small. His problem is with everyone else and what they want from him, what they imagine him to be. If only he was more like Stiles. He doesn't give a shit about it. In fact he won't stop talking about his little dick. It's infuriating and it makes Derek's skin tingle. Words: 3718, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Teen Wolf (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski Additional Tags: Past Sexual Abuse, Warning: Kate Argent, Past Kate Argent/Derek Hale, Trauma, Body Image, Body Worship, Body Hair, Small Penis, Inferiority Complex, Praise Kink, Frottage, musk, Come as Lube, Come Shot, Come Marking, Hurt/Comfort, Dirty Talk, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Mutual Masturbation, Cock Worship, Stiles Stilinski has a Small Dick, Derek Hale Has a Small Dick read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/51434617

[ofmice-and-imagines]

Stairwells & backseats

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Warnings: smut, mild name calling, choking, skipping school lmao

Word count: 3,551

Synopsis: Stiles and Y/N get away from school during lunch to handle some frustration of a specific manner...

          “Sugar conducting cells of the phloem are separated by perforated sieve plates. This is in order to allow the movement of sugar through the plant. These cells also lack a nuc-” Ms. Sherman’s botanical droning was interrupted by the high B sharp note of our school bell piercing the calm air. “Well, it seems as if the bell has caught us today. We’ll continue our discussion on angiosperm morphology tomorrow. Don’t forget to submit yesterday’s lab reports to me before midnight tonight! Class dismissed.” Her mention of homework was followed by a chorus of displeased grumbles backed by the bustle of packing up. Pulling my backpack over my shoulder, I made my way out into the sea current of students flowing past the room.

          The click of high heels on vinyl tile grew louder as Lydia joined me and matched my stride. “There’s no doubt that you did the econ work.. Care to help a friend in need?” I asked, my voice giving away my hopefulness. Her glassy eyes made an obvious shift to gaze at my hair; I had decided to experiment with styles and do something different with it today. Lydia playfully rolled her eyes at me and teased, “Plenty of time to do your hair and not school work?” Almost automatically, I sucked my teeth to make sass a leading note in my response. “Actually, I did it. I just wanna check my answers, I really wanna make sure I don’t make less than a 90!” My hands shot up into a defensive gesture, although snaps would be better to accompany the jocularly hostile inflections in my voice. The copper-haired banshee widened her eyes and hesitated a second; this indicated her defeat.

          Soon, we reached Lydia’s locker and she began twisting away at the lock. Before I could comprehend it, my right arm was in someone’s grasp. Being pulled backwards left me with no choice but to follow suit. It was not difficult for me to recognize the blur of dark green flannel pulling me through the halls. Nothing in me doubted that Stiles was taking me somewhere with haste; by simply paying attention I knew exactly where. With careful focus on keeping up and not tripping over my feet, I barely noticed when we reached a halt. Just as I suspected, Stiles and I had ducked into our usual spot– a neglected stairwell tucked away in the science wing of Beacon Hills High. It was an area that was nearly always desolate and had no cameras; at some point Stiles insisted we used it as a nook for getting as steamy as the setting would allow us, and that’s what we had been doing since.

          Anyone could swear my eyes illuminated with delight upon seeing his face; it was my first sight of him all morning, as he had showed up late to school. “Glad you could finally join us, Mr. Stilinski. I’m guessing you woke up late?” I poked, trying to coax an explanation out of him. Stiles was quick to dismiss me with a “Yeah, yeah.” and got down to business with his original intentions. The force from him lunging himself onto me and initiating a kiss caused me to stumble backward. As a reflex, my arms coiled around his firm torso and I dissipated into our oral choreography. Between his rapid heartbeat and his tongue in my mouth, I found it easy to forget to breathe. The brunet began rutting his groin against me in an attempt to make his boner known to me. I loved everything about feeling the length his dick tucked away horizontally in his pants, held captive from its desires by his jeans. In the midst of all this, I suddenly felt his hand on my neck, applying just enough pressure to destroy any dam preventing a flood in my underwear. It was as if capturing my kiss and grinding against me wasn’t enough for him. With sum of all his inflictions, he had succeeded at making me want him to bend me over the banister and demolish my cunt right there. Just as suddenly as it all unfolded, Stiles darted away from me and naturally trodden from where we were on the landing to the top of the stairs.

          I was frozen with disbelief. Had he really gotten me riled up just to leave me hanging? Stiles had left me feeling nothing short of betrayed and confused. Soft steps brought an ensemble of brown curls into my view. Sydney had come up the stairs, and likely saw our session. It dawned on me that she was the most logical explanation for Stiles’capricious actions. “Um, Hey.” I smiled at her as she passed, hoping it would dissolve any awkwardness lingering. My greeting was met with a genuine smile and a “Good morning, Y/N!” which was a lot more comforting than it would normally be. It felt like a walk of shame as I made my way to class with my cheeks flushed red and my panties continuing to dampen. My phone buzzing against my torso from its resting place in my jacket pocket caught me by surprise. The screen irradiated with a message.

          💗Mieczyslaw💗: Close to caught- sorry!

          The stairwell scandal between Stiles and I only left me with a hot discomfort for my next few classes. Thinking of the abrupt end to our session opposed to the ending I wanted impeded on any focus I had. It’d be understatement to say I ached to feel at Stiles’ mercy once more. A lightning bolt of enthusiasm shot through my core when my phone went off as I made my way to lunch. Sure enough- a message from Stiles, this time bringing me eagerness rather than disappointment.

          💗Mieczyslaw💗: Lunch “date”?😏 Meet me at Roscoe.

          Without a second thought and no convincing necessary, I switched my path to head to the student parking lot. It comes as a surprise that no one heard my heart considering how loudly it pumped as I made my way to my boyfriend’s Jeep. Just the sight of the brown-eyed boy waiting for me made my knees go weak. Once our eyes calibrated together he flashed a genuine, toothy smile at me. The squint caused by his enormous grin always had the ability to melt me like a wicked witch. My feet seemed to speed their pace without my intentions. Before I knew it, I was launching myself into Stiles arms to be held in a hug. “I’d kiss you but I don’t know if I can handle getting any wetter..” I whined. What I meant as a statement Stiles took as a challenge. He subtly dusted wet pecks onto my exposed neck. With this, I shimmied out of his embrace and jabbed, “Aren’t you a huge tease?”

          “I have been today, no getting around that. I figured you’d ditch me to get revenge, doll. You love me more than I thought, Y/N!” Stiles bantered back. “Well, let’s bounce before I change my mind, loverboy.” I warned, only half serious. Nothing more was needed for Stiles to open the driver’s side door of his Jeep and motion me inside. He waited as I scooched across the seat to the other side and climbed in after me.

          We drove until we reached a road lined with woods indistinguishable from any other wood-lined desolate road. A few turns later, Stiles parked Roscoe in a familiar isolated clearing. I found it crazy how many spots bared significance to us that would just be places to other people.

          “You brought me to pick wildflowers for lunch? Or is this the part where I find a surprise picnic?” I questioned, although I was aware why he’d brought me here. It wasn’t any different from the reason he’s always brought me here. Still, I pitched jocular scenarios, “Nope, I’ve got it! You’re gonna leave here without me and no one is ever gonna see me again! I think I’ll start running now.” I playfully reached for the passenger door handle but was quickly frozen by the sound of the doors clicking locked. Stiles’ adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed intensely. “I wouldn’t put that past anyone- after all this is Beacon Hills.” His tone was as dark as possible with this statement. My eyes softened until he beamed to invalidate my alarm. “Y/N, you know why I brought you out here.” He accompanied this statement with a hand motion to the teepee on display in his lap and continued, “You can feel in your own pants why I brought you here, doll.” With this utterance, a firm hand slid to my side of the Jeep and rubbed against my thigh gently, but with all the aggressive hunger of a piranha. Not wanting to prolong the exposition, I climbed over the front seat. In the process, I showed careful precision in arching my back to emphasize my ass and to ensure an enhanced performance from Stiles. In the back seat, I motioned for him to join me.

          It took less than a minute for our activities to be in full swing. Both of our shirts were gone and my neck was damp and red with Stiles’ passion. My panties were soiled with my desire, no thanks to his rough, carefully targeted grinding against my cunt. His boner seemed no less hard than it did during our time in the stairwell. With the thought of his rigid staff working away in my core, my thighs squeezed together to generate even more friction. “Who knew I’d be having dessert for lunch, darling?” He stopped his actions long enough to accompany his statement with a short lived glance upon my face. Without so much as an opportunity for me to blink, his focus realigned with my chest and it was again besieged by Stiles’ open mouthed antics.

          “If I leave here with my chest raw and not my pussy, you and I are going to have issues. Majorly.”

          This statement stopped the boy in his tracks. After taking a second to register my prurient remark in such an assertive voice, his hands were flying to his belt with utmost urgency. “Keep talking like that and our only issue will be my premature ejactulation..” As if on cue, his cock rose to its full potential, no longer confined by pants or boxers. The truth in his comment was evident in the seemingly concrete state of his member, and the precum that had gathered on its head like glaze. Like glaze, in addition, the thought of tasting it made my mouth water out of desperation.

          Stiles shuffled and shifted backwards so that his back rested against the backseat door behind him. I had no time to fathom what he was doing when he leaned forward and placed his palm against the back of my head and impelled it towards his yearning area. In the franticness it didn’t bestow me to welcome his cock with an eager mouth, so my lips were met with his tip’s warm seepance. With his gaze captured in my own, and his eyes wide with expectancy, I slowly licked the substance from my mouth’s outside. I could hear the impatient arousal in his gulp following my action.

          Saliva gathered from his brackish fluid, I finally ended his anticipation with his dick between my lips. My tongue showed tremendous self determination as it explored the forward end of his sheath. I was taking time to enjoy the sensations presented by the different textures of Stiles’ dick tip and shaft. It soon became obvious that my curiosity didn’t meet Stiles’ amusement. “I swear you’re the hugest fucking tease, Y/N..” But his comment seemed to trail off at the end once I lowered my entire head onto his cock. His words simply dissolved into his sounds of gratification meshing perfectly the unintentional noises of my slurping. My pussy only proceeded to soaken more at the feeling of my jaw setting up an ache from the stretch Stiles’s dick caused. It was no surprise that the thought of it being painful to accommodate Stiles only deepened my craving. The boy began using my hair as his personal handles to direct my inflictions, and seemed to get greedy as his hips started to work at a similar rhythm, us colliding in the middle. His jabs at the back of my throat were bound to be a sight of soreness in a few hours. The pair of skilled hands shoved my head farther onto his cock until my nose met his pelvis and held it there. No escape was available from the way he clenched my head in place, only a loud, intense gag from me led to my freedom.

          Soon his member was throbbing with rapid blood flow which one could assume to be accompanied by adrenaline. Stiles’ grip on my hair tightened and began pulling me back from my impositions on his cock. He forced me back against the opposite side of the car; out of disappointment and impulse I attempted to lean back into him. A hand with a firm grasp around my neck was used by him to shove me back into place. His hand didn’t leave my throat as he gradually leaned to where his face barely touched mine. “Stay.” he growled, using a tone that could make me do anything.. with a pool of desire in my panties, that is.

          He turned away to reach into the front to dig through the glove compartment in a frenzy. His hands resurfaced from the mess clutching a foil square that even the most innocent of minds could recognized with ease. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his mouth as he used his teeth to tear the condom packet open. My mind wandered to the things his teeth could do to me. It went without my noticing that my eyes had closed as I zoned out and melted into the imagination of Stiles pleasuring me with his mouth.

          The feeling of his hands separating my legs yanked me out of my trance. His sheathed cock stood with perfect posture as he clasped it, leading it to my center. My clit was met with the stroking of his lubed tip against it, causing me to gasp at the impression and suck my lip in to crush it between my teeth. I had the urge to clamp my legs shut from the toe curling sensation of his member effortlessly violating my clit. The region between my legs was a nothing less than a black hole, hungry to take in anything that would feel good, but specifically Stiles’ cock. “I don’t want it Stiles, forget about my clit! Please take this pussy.” My words caused him to halt his actions once again and fix his gaze on my face. The smirk embellishing his face made eeriness sweep through me, there was no doubt that he wouldn’t give me what I ached for.

          Even my thighs had gone slick with my juices when Stiles made it his intentions to eat me out. My self lubrication only led to wet noises as he thoroughly tongued my blossom. The boy was careful to drag his tongue through every area that would get a reaction out of me. His tender, feather-like licks against the inside of my labia sent my legs squirming. My hips wiggled against the backseat, my only goal being reaching his cock. “Y/N, don’t act like you can’t take a little tease. Karma is a bitch, especially to cockteases like you.” With that, he dove back into my pussy, and aimed his aggressive sucking at my clit. He was attentive to kneading my thighs with his hands and making sure that I felt his nails and tensed up because of it. Stiles knew how to speedily get a tsunami wave building up behind my dam. As soon as he felt my hand draw up a handful of his hair, he sat up. This was done with an excessive amount of enthusiasm, as his head banged against the ceiling in his haste. “Ow, fuck!” Stiles yelled. A large guffaw escaped my chest at the sight of the boy holding his head in agony. His eyes quickly lost their pain filled squint and he looked at me with furrowed brows.

          “It’s funny?” He asked.

          “Extremely!” I replied, breathless from laughing.

          “Oh yeah?” frustration was prominent in his as his hand reached to claim its rightful place around my neck. I could already feel my head going light as he adjusted his grip enough to stop my laughing. “How about now, slut?” questioned the boy. At this point I was as ready to take his length as I’d ever be. His free hand went to his cock and got to work placing it in alignment with my desirous hole. A slow thrust into me was hardly necessary, my built up anticipation combined with the condom’s lubricant  allowed for him to enter me with finesse. I gasped from both the tenacious grip that persisted on my neck and surprise at how he filled me to the brim. I couldn’t say that it fit like a glove, but I could say that it felt as if his dick was made the perfect size to push my limits, to stretch me just right. Stiles didn’t have to be all the way inside of me for me to already feel the pressure against my insides. The slickness of my heat was the perfect condition for Stiles to immediately get to work breaking it in. There was nothing but purpose shown in his callous rutting against. He was a man who knew what he wanted and exactly how he was going to get it. His very passion was being put to action in the form of incessant grazes against the spot I wished he could directly slam against.

          It didn’t help my wetness that his strokings against me were so precise and calculated, Stiles wasn’t just the brains of the pack, he was the brains of our libido. The best part was that he was as skilled as to know the correct moves to send us both over the edge, me writhing and seeking mercy, and him meeting my hopes with nothing but brute thrusts to milk his release.

          When Stiles was inside of me, going like he happened to be, I could never avoid losing control. The sounds coming from me were ones I had no clue how to duplicate any other time. “Fuck, fuck.. Mieczysław!” my own hand shot up to clutch the wrist of the one he had planted on my throat. Beneath us, we could feel the Jeep rocking slightly in calibration with his vigorous thrusts. My whimpers and mutterings were everywhere once Stiles was hitting my g-spot with flawless accuracy and vitality. My hands mimicked the knot above my pelvis in their tightening around Stiles’ forearm and wrist. As soon as my toes seemed to curl without my doing, I knew it was only a matter of time, and so did he. Urgency became an added factor to his thrusts, trying to get himself caught up to me as far as finishing. I was hardly more than a mindless slut for the pleasure he was giving me before I met my long anticipated end with a grunt that must have rang throughout the entire clearing. My thighs shook beyond my controlling as I clawed at my boyfriend; he was now using my pussy to reach his own finish. This thought alone could leave me ready for another round. Without much further ado, his pent up lust spilled into the latex. It took more than a few extra strokes to completely empty his shaft. Soon, his jawline rested upon my collar bone, and the rest of him fell into place on top of me. My hand gently skimmed against his milky back as my eyes searched the Jeeps’ interior for something to rest on amidst our unified pants. Eventually, they landed on the digital clock up front, gleaming “1:13,” and simply shifted to watch out of the windshield.

          After a second of thought, my eyes widened with panic. “It’s 1:13. Stiles, it’s 1:13! We’re late, and so fucked.” I began nudging him off of me and reaching for my shirt that had ended up in the passenger seat. Stiles chuckled as he fastened his pants, “We’re definitely fucked after what we just did, huh?” His jab was followed by a kiss to my cheek. He removed the condom, rolled down his window and tossed it out. “Hey! Don’t be a litterbug, Mieczyslaw Stilinski.” I chastised in the same way one would tell a child not to bite. “Relax, princess, it’s biodegradable.” and with this, Stiles tugged his shirt over his head. He climbed back into the front seat leaving me to finish dressing in the back.

           Roscoe roared to life before Stiles spoke, “We’re already late and there’s no changing that, doll. Might as well make it super late, you hungry?” Both my stomach and face smiled with the mention of food. “Is that a question? Always, Mieczyslaw.” We exited the clearing with an appetite and his hand resting in its rightful spot on my thigh.

[stilinski-jpeg]

Wrong Loves My Company Pt 6 (NSFW 18+)

A/N: I don’t have much to say on this one except THANK YOU to @writing-obrien per usual. She helped me soooo much with this one, because contrary to popular belief, I suck at writing smut.

Warning: SMUTTTTTTTTTTT.

Word Count: 4526

Parts 1-5 [Here]

It'd been a few weeks since Tyler had left. And as bad as it sounds, I'd almost forgotten about him. Dylan and I had been almost inseparable for days. Granted, we spent most of the time at his apartment. But it was the happiest I'd been. Sometimes it felt like Dylan knew me better than I knew myself. He knew just how to turn my day around. Like one day I had had a bad day at work, a bad day in general, really. Tyler and I had gotten into a huge fight via text about something that was so pointless I don't even remember what it was about. My boss yelled at me for something I didn't do and to top it all off, my apartment flooded because my shitty neighbors upstairs over flowed their bathtub.

What are you doing, kitten?

He texted me as my landlord told me that it could take up to three or four days to fix the problem and clean my apartment.

Oh you know, having the worst day ever.

What happened? He texted back, almost instantaneously.

As I typed out my ‘awesome’ day and hit send, I dreaded going to a hotel for half a week.

Stay with me.

The three words were so simple, but had my heart racing. He was waiting for me when I pulled up to his apartment, cigarette between his lips, leaning against the wall. He smiled when he saw me, stamping out his cigarette and walking towards me.

“Hi.” He smirked, grabbing my bag of the few clothes I was able to salvage from me.

“Hi.”

Ten minutes later I was in the bath that Dylan had drawn for me, full of bubbles, relaxing. I let the stresses of that day soak into the water and out of my body. A knock on the door startled me from my meditation. Dylan popped his head in, giving me a small smile.

“I come baring gifts.” He held up a glass of red wine,and I blew out a sigh of relief. He padded in, setting it in my hand. I smiled gratefully up at him.

“I'm sorry you had a bad day.” He murmured softly.

I took a huge sip of wine. “Me too.”

“Wanna talk about it?” He asked.

My first thought was to say no, but as soon as I tried to give a brief overview of the day’s events it turned into a full blown story. He laid the toilet seat cover down, sitting and mulling over my words. He seemed to be considering everything I said. He perked up his brows and scoffed all at the right times, making me feel valid in my feelings. When I was done, he let me stew for a few more minutes. He didn't say a word, just let me cool down before standing up and pulling a towel from the rack.

“Tonight sounds like an ice cream and awful horror movies night.”

I smiled at him, also standing and letting him wrap the towel around me. He helped me out, kissed my forehead and sent me on my way to get dressed while he set up the movie.

It was moments like that, that I had over the course of just a few weeks, that made me think that I might have stronger feelings for him than I'd ever intended. The thought shook me as we laid together in bed. His body was nestled around mine as I lay awake. I had to be to work in a about two hours, so I knew if I got up now I could make Dylan and I breakfast before I had to go. I tried, and failed, to inch out of bed, his arms pulling me back in.

“I have to get up, Dylan.” I giggled.

A slew of fake snores erupted from him, making me laugh even more.

“I'll be back.” I promised, trying again to wriggle away.

“Just call in.” He whined, pulling me back and kissing my neck.

“I can't.” I said unconvincingly as I leaned my head further to give him better access. “No sick time.”

“Quit then.” He teased, and I laughed.

“Said the musician to the girl with desk job.”

He was kissing my favourite spot, right where my shoulder and neck met and hummed sweetly.

“Stay.” He whispered into my ear, and I almost did. But I really did have to go. As nice as it would be to cuddle all day, duty called. Which is exactly what I told him. He groaned, finally letting up on his grip. I smiled, getting up and pulling out a pair of jean shorts out of my bag, to go with the usual one of Dylan's shirts I was wearing.

He was staring at me when I turned back to him and smirked when I caught him. “Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?”

“Today?” I asked tapping my chin. “I don't think so.”

He grinned a perfect grin and I headed out of the room before he had me second if I needed this job or not.

I hummed beneath my breath, one hand holding the pan steady as I scraped an egg onto the plate with the other. I smiled at my finished work and leaned over to turn the hob off. His arms wrapped tightly around my waist and I jumped, a deep chuckle sounded behind me. He landed his chin in the crook of my neck as his body pressing against my back.

“Good morning, kitten.” He rasped, arms tightening around me as he kissed my cheek sloppily and I leaned into him, twisting my head to the side and pressing my lips into his. He deepened the kiss, turning my body and pressing me in against the sink. I dropped the pan and spatula on the ground and they clanked loudly against the linoleum. His hands locked on either side of me and he pushed the plates across the counter to the side, fastening onto my hips as he lifted me onto the surface. His rough fingers trailed along my bare thighs and played with the hem of his shirt, lips breaking away from mine.

“I don’t think you know just how much I love seeing you in my clothes.” He said, his breath washing against my face as he popped the button of my shorts.

”I don't even know why you put these on.” His lips were brushing mine as he spoke, his eyes roaming over my body and his rough palms trailed along the insides of my thighs, sparking a fire within me in seconds. He masterfully slipped my pants off my hips, letting them drop to the floor. His lips found mine again, rougher this time, while his tongue licked between the seam of my lips and finding mine. His hands kneaded my thighs for a while longer, tongues and lips lazily working together but when his hands slipped behind me to grope what he could of my ass, I lost it.

I groaned into his mouth, lifting my arms as he pulled the shirt over my head, discarding it with the growing pile on the kitchen floor. He pulled my knees apart, and settled his body between them as his bare chest pressed into mine. My fingers played with the waistband of his sweatpants, pulling at it teasingly. His lips trailed across my neck, sucking and licking the soft skin, careful not to leave any marks. I finally pushed the clothing hanging on his hips down, his cock springing free and slapping against his abdomen and I pulled back, laughing under my breath.

“Someone came prepared.” I teased, eyeing his hard on and he smirked.

“I'm always ready for you.” He quipped back, fingers tweaking my nipples as he spoke and I whimpered.

“The bed was cold without you, kitten.” My heart softened at his words. He'd never cease to amaze me. I pressed my lips back to his and they moved torturously slow over each others. I gasped when I felt his two fingers trail through my folds, forcing me to let out a breathy moan.

“I was making you breakfast. Eggs, bacon and sausages, you love that.” I said trying to keep up our conversation, which was coming increasingly hard.

“You know what I’d rather have?” He chuckled, dropping to his knees and throwing both my legs over his shoulders as he pulled me to the edge of the counter. His tongue swiped through my folds and I cried out, hands fisting his hair and tugging lightly as he hummed against me. The vibrations shot through me and my head fell back against the cabinets behind me. His tongue slipped down, pushing into my entrance and my back arched as I shuddered. The mangled noise coming from my mouth, uncontainable.

“Let’s play a game.”

His suggestion sent adrenaline coursing through my veins and he looked up at me from between my thighs, eyebrow raised and his lips wrapped around my clit, sucking hard.

“What kinda game did you want to play, Dyl?” I managed.

“I’ll write something with my tongue and if you guess it right, I’ll let you come.” I could feel his smirk against my thighs as his lips worked trailed along them, kissing and biting gently.

“You’re on, baby.”

His lips found my clit again and he pushed two fingers into me, curling them perfectly and stroking my walls as I mewled. His tongue darted out, licking through my folds and began tracing patterns as I moaned loudly. His name spilled from my lips as my mind hazed but I desperately tried to concentrate. He added a third finger, picking up his speed and I clenched around him.

“Any guesses yet?” He chuckled, the sounds shooting along to my core and hitting every nerve in my body as I cried out, practically purring for him as my chest rose and fell rapidly.

“Did you spell your name?” I tried and he laughed, standing up and pressing his lips to mine as his fingers twisted and pumped, teasing me horrendously. I could taste myself in every inch of his mouth and I whispered his name into his mouth, taking another shot at a guess. He smirked, his cock pressing into my thigh as he stood, fingers buried deep within me, bringing me closer and closer to my climax.

“I’m not that cliché, baby.”

“Something sexual?”

“Not really. I can feel how close you are, come on, kitten. You can guess it.”

I knew then what it was. Of course he would spell out kitten. What else would he do? I stuttered out the nickname as his fingers curled in me, making me clench tighter around him.

“That's right. My kitten.”

The way the unique-to-him pet name rolled off his tongue sent me spiralling over the edge and I came all over his fingers, hands tightly gripping his shoulders. His mouth swallowing my shouts as I spoke his name like a prayer and he grinned, pulling away and licked his digits clean.

His hands were wet and coated in his own saliva and they found my hips as he pulled me closer to him until I was balanced on the edge of the counter. He wasted no time lining himself up, pushing forward and bottoming out. His hips never stilled as he pulled out slowly, slamming back in again. My eyes rolled back, nails tearing red welts into the skin of his back as sounds so loud they could be counted as screams ripped from my throat. He grunted in my ear, biting my bare shoulder and holding my hips tightly as he moved, hips slamming into mine bruisingly and I was coming again in minutes, clenching around him and drawing his orgasm from him as his hips lost rhythm.

“I’m gonna- gonna cum.” He grunted, through clenched teeth.

“Cum.” I breathed.

A few more hard thrusts later, he pulled out, spurts of cum shooting out onto my thighs and the counter. I reached over, grabbing a paper towel and handing it to him. He cleaned himself and me, before crumpling the towels up, tossing them in the bin across the room. He leaned against me, kissing me softly. Our noses bumping, before he pulled away. He bent down, pulling on his sweatpants and stepped away to grab my clothes and hand them to me. I redressed as he picked at the breakfast I'd made for us.

“It went cold.” He murmured through a mouth full of food.

“That’s your fault. Coming in while I’m trying to cook you a nice breakfast just like I do every other day. But nooo, you had to fuck me against the counter.” I giggled and he rolled his eyes.

“Oh, by the way, happy birthday.” He smirked, pulling me into a warm hug.

Tyler hadn't even mentioned my birthday when we texted. One of the many fights we'd had since he'd been gone was whether or not he'd be here for my birthday. Every time I asked, he complain that I knew when he planned this trip that he wouldn't be here for my birthday and I need to get over it.

“What do you want to do tonight?” He asked, pulling away again to nibble at the food.

“Isn't that your job to figure out?” I laughed, bustling around the apartment to find my things.

“Well yeah, but I need some ideas.”

I wiggled into my flats, giving him a pointed look. He pretended to not see it, making me smile. In fact, it wasn't his job to figure out. It was another person's who had no intention of attending any birthday festivities that I planned anyway.

“How about for my birthday, you were a different hat?”

I whipped his head to me, mouth half full of sausage, trying gage the seriousness of my request. I tried on my best poker face, but couldn’t fight the smile that protruded through. He dropped the sausage he was eating on his plate and wiped his hands clean.

“That's it, you've disgraced my Mets for the last time.”

I knew what was coming before he did it and took off running just as he started chasing me. I roared with laughter as I ran circles around the living room back in to the kitchen. He caught me as I tried to outsmart him as we challenged each other at the kitchen table. I ran the opposite way hoping I was faster than him, but he wrapped his arms around me pulling me into him. Then began the kissing and tickle attack.

“Okay, okay!” I managed through squeals of laughter. “I have to get to work.”

“No way, I got you now!” He said between kisses and finger tickles.

Loud banging on the door caught both of our attention, stopping the play instantly. I smiled devilishly at him knowing once he set me free, he would never catch me again. He knew too.

“I'll get it!” I said loudly, and he feigned a serious look but I could see his smirk through it.

He let go of me and I practically skipped to the door. I could feel his eyes on me as I turned the locks, he was plotting his moves for when whoever was at the door left. I opened the door, a huge smile on my face that almost dropped when I saw who was on the other side of the door. He was holding all his bags in his arms and he looked to be struggling to keep them all balanced. He grew a wide smile as his fell on mine.

“Tyler?!”

I tried to sound surprised, even though I was thoroughly shocked. He was the last person I thought I would see when I opened that door. But there he stood. Dylan rushed past me, helping Tyler with his bags and towing them back inside. I wasn't sure what to do, my mind was racing a million miles an hour.

“Happy Birthday, sex kitten.” He said warmly, I cringed as he brought me in for a hug. I could feel how ridged my body was and knew there was no helping it. I wasn't sure how I felt in the moment. I pulled away, a fake smile on my face.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, but the smile stayed on his face.

“I uh, I was just...”

I had no idea how to answer that question. We were caught! This was the moment Tyler would find out that his best friend and I had been fucking for the past week and a half. But it would go further than that. He'd analyze every interaction Dylan and I ever had together, only to find out this has been going on for months. Maybe not the physical part, but definitely the emotional part. I could feel my eyes prickling and my heart beat rapidly in my chest. I opened my mouth to tell him when…

“Her apartment flooded.” Dylan said. Tyler's eyes flashed to his friend then back to me.

“Holy shit! Are you serious?” He said, concerned, pulling me in for another hug.

“Yep.” Dylan answered for me again. “So it was either she stayed here or go to a hotel.” He was back in the kitchen stuffing his face with breakfast.

“Of course, I'd want her to stay here. Good lookin’ out, bro.” Tyler grinned, holding me tighter.

I glanced over at Dylan, who seemed nonchalant as ever. I swallowed thickly, wanting nothing more than to be out of this situation.

“Well, I am running late for work.” I pushed away from Tyler gently, grabbing my purse, and heading out of the still wide open door.

“See you tonight?” Tyler said, walking over to steal a piece of Dylan's bacon.

“Where else would I go?” I smiled, but meant the phrase literally.

“Bye.” Dylan waved, his tone different than I had ever heard it.

“Bye.”

I wanted nothing more than this work day to take as long as possible. The last thing I wanted to do was go home to Dylan and Tyler. I had totally forgotten about Tyler in the small time he was gone and that made me feel horrible. But the thought of not being able to go home and just exist with Dylan, broke me.

You see it wasn't as easy as just breaking up with Tyler because the truth was I still really liked him. Even though Dylan and I had developed feeling way fast, it didn't negate the ones I still had for Tyler. I could feel a headache forming as I tried to think this over.

Hey Sexy Kitty! I miss you.

I groaned.

Hey Kitten, are you okay?

I turned off my phone after that. Unknowingly, the two boys were both fighting for me and making me choose which one of them I wanted. But the problem was; I didn't know.

I stood outside of the boys front door for almost five minutes. Part of me wasn't sure if I should knock or not, even though the last week I'd always just walked in. After a few more seconds of thought, I finally decided just to walk in.

I had a sense of deja-vu when I saw the two of them sitting on the couch with each other. They both smiled at me as I dropped my stuff on the floor and sat in between them.

“How was work?” Dylan asked with a smirk.

“It was long and tiring.” I complained, “and my feet hurt.”

“Ah, I hate when that happens.” Tyler sympathised.

“Will you rub them for me, Ty?” I asked him, looking at him with my best puppy dog eyes.

“Babe, come on.” He whined.

I opened my mouth to begin the fight I knew was coming when Dylan spoke, stopping me.

“I'll do it.” He offered.

I looked at Dylan with furrowed brows. There's no way Tyler would go for that? He'd ask questions, he’d suspect something, he’d-

“Thanks bro.” Tyler grinned before settling back into the couch.

I wanted to be appalled by the lack of caring Tyler had but Dylan winked in my direction followed by his sexy smirk. I huffed, turning in my spot on the couch so my feet were in Dylan's lap and my head in Tyler's. I turned my head watching the tv as I felt Dylan pull off my flats. His hands kneaded my feet deliciously. I sighed as he moved up slowly, moving his fingers deeper into the tissue of my calves. I tried to just enjoy the massage and not think about where I really want his fingers to be. But I mistakenly glanced over at him and he smirked, that fucking smirk that meant that he knew what he was doing.

“I'm going to take a shower.” I announced abruptly.

I really did need a shower, but I knew Dylan's hands would surely only go as higher. But we had to be on our best behaviour now that Tyler was home.

“Kay.” Tyler said distractedly.

I rolled my eyes, even though he didn't notice. I smiled half-heartedly at Dylan before standing up and walking into the bathroom.

I had only been in the shower for a few minutes. Enough time for me to have gotten naked and have gotten the water to the perfect temperature. I stepped in, letting the hot water wash the day off of me. Even if only for a moment, I had to forget what was going on before I went insane. I couldn't keep this ruse up forever, there would come a time where I'd have to choose. But I didn't want too.

I couldn't.

I was so distraught by my thoughts that I barely heard the door open and close. And I almost yelled out when I opened my eyes to see Dylan poking his head out from behind the shower curtain.

“Dylan! What the fuck?” I hissed, grabbing my chest to make sure my heart was still beating.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay! You didn't text me back all day.”

I softened slightly, smiling and letting my hand fall from my chest as my heart rate turned back to normal. His lips however, were twisted into a soft smirk as he locked the door, stepping towards me. His eyes were locked on my wet breasts now I’d released them as I swallowed thickly. He pulled on the bottom of his shirt, dropping it to the ground and let his sweatpants and underwear follow as he walked towards me, hand wrapped around his shaft, pumping slowly.

“I do like you wearing my clothes,” he stopped to take me in again. “But kitten, I have to say my second favourite you, is naked you.” He grinned, stepping into the tub and I backed up under the water, my hair sticking to my shoulders as I hit the wall.

“Second favourite?” I questioned and his eyes met mine, a sincerity in them, accompanied by a soft glow. “When am I your favourite me?”

“When you're mine.” He growled lowly, nose nudging mine.

My head moved towards the door, my first thoughts going to Tyler and what if he caught us. But his thumb and pointer finger locked on my chin, pulling my attention back to him as his lips crashed down onto mine. His other hand gripped my waist tightly and he pulled our hips together, his erection pressing into my stomach and I moaned lightly.

He pulled back, placing a finger over my lips gently and letting his breath brush over my face.

“You’re gonna have to be quiet, kitten.” He teased and I raised an eyebrow, letting the nail of my finger scratch lightly across his skin as I trailed down his wet happy trail. His breathing hitched as my fingers wrapped around his cock, making me smile.

“I can be quiet. Let’s see just how quiet you can be, baby.” His lips were trailing along my jaw as I moved my hand along him slowly, and I smirked, letting my lips travel across his chest and hips as I slowly lowered to my knees, hands rubbing his thighs as his head fell back.

I blew cold air across his tip, the contrast to the hot steam on the room making him moan loudly and he cut himself off, biting down on his fist. I wrapped my lips around his tip, sucking gently and his other hand found my hair, bunching the wet threads in his hand as he held my head in place, hips cantering forwards as he set a rhythm he liked.

He tapped the back of my throat each time and I gagged slightly, my cheeks hollowing as I created a tighter environment for him and I could tell he liked it because his hand tightened in my hair, pulling against my scalp in a way that had me moaning and the vibrations sent him flying over the edge as he came, hot spurts of salty cum shooting into the back of my throat and I swallowed around him, dragging out his orgasm as his hips stuttered.

He helped me to my feet and connected our lips instantly, kissing me deeper than I'd ever been kissed before. The water flowed between us as our mouths moved as one. Finally, we parted both of us needing the air.

“What was that for?” I breathed.

“In case I never get to do it again.” He said, not meeting my eyes.

My stomach plummeted then, and I did the only thing I could think to do. I wrapped my arms around him pulling him into a hug. It was wet and slippery, but he needed it.

And so did I.

Later that night I lay in Tyler's bed with him. He had hinted he wanted to have sex a few times but I'd turned him down. I wasn't in the head space to even pretend to be into sex. My mind was troubled and worried and overwhelmed, unable to even process how I felt. All I wanted in this moment, was for someone to hold me and tell me everything was going to be okay. I needed Dylan. But that wasn't going to happen. It's not like I could just tip toe out of Tyler's room and slip quietly into Dylan's.

Wait. Why couldn't I do that?

So, against my better judgement, I did it. When I closed the door behind me in Dylan's room, I could barely make out his body in the dark. But his light snores were familiar and comforting and I couldn't get in the bed fast enough as nuzzled my body into his.

He stirred sleepily, wrapping his arms around me. He wasn't awake, it was just his natural unconscious reaction to my body being next to his.

“Dylan.” I whispered sweetly.

“Hm?”

I was surprised he answered at all, but it made me smile anyways.

“Dylan, I don't know what to do.”

He wrestled around, pulling me impossibly closer to him. “Just stay with me, kitten.”

And so I did.

[bamboozledbird]

𝕤𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕦𝕣𝕖 𝕜𝕟𝕠𝕨𝕤 𝕙𝕠𝕨 𝕥𝕠 𝕙𝕒𝕦𝕟𝕥 // stiles stilinski imagine

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, fem!reader, Theo Raeken, background Liam Dunbar Pairing: Stiles x Reader, Stiles x You (no use of y/n) Word Count: 2.8k Tags: angst, emotions, and feelings. oh my. is theo just flirting to drive stiles insane, i can neither confirm or deny, also if you listen to halloween while you read this don’t clock me Warnings: canon-typical violence/gore, descriptions of drowning, sad boiy hours

Request: #7 from the prompt list you just reblogged with stiles pleeeeeeaaaase and thank you wit all my love on top A/N: you know angst is the way to my heart. thank you so much for the request, and i wholeheartedly accept your love xx

It’s quiet at night. There aren’t many things you like about living in a small town, but the quiet, the stars, the sweet glow of lightning bugs in the summer—those things are pretty nice. Normally, you wouldn’t take a shortcut through the Perserve, not after everything that’s happened over the last couple of years, but there’s just something about a warm august evening that makes everything feel okay again, like you’re still seven and the only monsters you’re afraid of are the ones you read about in books. It’s so hard to find her now, that little girl with missing teeth, the innocence of running through the trees and splashing in rain puddles. She’s been covered up with so much ugliness, so much blood, so much grief. 

You sigh and check your phone. It’s late, but not too late to skip your detour across the splintering bridge over the creek. It’s out of your way, but the cicadas are calling, the breeze is ruffling your hair, and you’re taken hostage by another bout of nostalgia.

Cold Creek Bridge is an old, rickety thing, a health hazard you’d discovered with Scott and Stiles a decade ago after you managed to slip away from three sets of overbearing parents. The wood is still riddled with water damage, rotting in several places, and the structural integrity has always been far too precarious for little kids to be playing on—but that hardly mattered to the three of you when there were rocks to throw and the perfect climbing tree on the other side of it.

You end up sitting on the bridge, dirty sneakers by your side, and your feet dangling over the edge. A little content sigh slips through your lips as you close your eyes, leaning back against your palms. For a moment, you just listen to the soft music of cicadas rattling and an owl cooing at her chicks. 

“You look the same.”

You flinch at the strange voice and whip your head towards the sound of the intruder. It takes a second to place his face—it’s been eight years after all, and he’s only been back for a few days. “Theo,” you breathe, relaxing your grip on your keys. A pretty sorry excuse for a weapon, especially against a werewolf, but it was all you had: three stubby metal claws. A tiny wolverine—you grin a little at the thought and then tilt your head, “I’d like to think that I’ve changed a little since the fourth grade.”

Theo drops down next to you—a bit closer than you’d like, but you’re trying to give him the benefit of the doubt for Scott’s sake—and smiles at you. It’s so charming, blinding almost, even in the low light of dusk, and you can see why people want to believe him. You can also see why Stiles doesn’t. “You look the same when you’re concentrating.” He leans forward and gently taps his finger just above the bridge of your nose, “You still get that little wrinkle right here.” You blink for a moment, and his finger lingers. His smile softens, “And you’re still the prettiest girl in the room.”

You’re almost too surprised to be flustered. Almost. The back of your neck warms as you rest your cheek against your kneecap, “I’m the only girl in the room.”

Theo laughs, and you like the sound. It’s been a while since you’ve heard anyone laugh, longer since you made them. You can’t remember when everything went so wrong—was it when Ally died? When Stiles was possessed? When he broke up with you after you finally got him back? Maybe, it went all the way back to the night Scott was bitten. It doesn’t really matter, you think; it wouldn’t change anything now. Theo shifts, and he’s so close you can feel the warmth radiating from his thigh, “Prettiest girl in any room. I always thought so, but I was too chickenshit to say it.”

You scoot back a little so that you can turn to face him, mouth twisted up in suspicion. The girl he remembered, the girl you were, she’d believe him—the girl you are has seen too much to take a charming boy at his word. You lick your lips and flush when he tracks the movement of your tongue. His eyes are a confusing color, like they can’t decide if they’re actually blue or green. Either way, they’re unrelenting. Swallowing, your gaze darts to the wooden slats below, and you finally notice the white flowers beside him. “Those are pretty,” you nod towards the blossoms, “lilies, right?”  

Theo lifts the bouquet and strokes the delicate petals with a light touch, studying the yellow center pensively, “They were my sister’s favorite.”

You look down at the water, watching the surface ripple, with your bottom lip tucked behind your teeth. It looks so peaceful now. You can’t see the bottom, and the water winks at you with its slow trickle and the glimmer of moonlight. It’s difficult to imagine someone dying here. You reach for Theo’s hand and rest yours on top of his, “It must be hard. Coming back here.”

Theo nods and tosses the lilies into the creek. Neither of you say anything as you watch them float downstream like little white ghosts. You’re struck with the image of Ophelia drowning in a river with wildflowers clutched in her hand. It’s marginally better than picturing a little girl gasping for air through blue lips, flailing under water until the last bubble pops. You let Theo turn his hand over and lace your fingers together, and for a while all you can hear is the sound of your breathing—and then a branch snaps and a solid thud follows. 

Stiles spills out of a thicket of trees, and Liam trails after him with his hands fisted in his sweatshirt pocket and his lips curled into a small pout. 

“What the hell are you doing out here?” you hiss, but Stiles isn’t looking at you—not exactly. He’s staring at your hand interwoven with Theo’s, a blank expression on his face. You snatch your hand back and push yourself to your feet, “Are you following me?”

Liam’s head swivels back and forth between you and Stiles like a parakeet with an anxiety disorder, and Stiles…Stiles is still looking at your hand like it’s covered in blood. You shove it into the pocket of your jacket and fumble for your tennis shoes. When you look down, Theo is already there like something straight out of a fairytale—on his knee, dirty Nike in hand, smiling at you like he knows you’re going to say yes. “I think he’s following me this time,” Theo says, gently guiding your foot into your sneaker. “What do I have to do to get you to trust me, Stiles?” 

“Getting your hands off of her would be a start,” Stiles snaps, nostrils flaring. You shoot him a pointed glare, but he’s still avoiding your gaze. 

Theo holds his hands up in surrender and then gets to his feet, wiping the dirt off of his jeans, “I didn’t know you two were a thing. That’s my bad, man.”

“We’re not,” you say brusquely, and Stiles clenches his fists by his sides. It’s been so long since you’ve referred to you and Stiles as a we, in any context. It feels a little like heartburn, knowing that now the only thing tying you to him is your memory. Your history. What you were. It’s all past-tense—it’s all over. Has been for well over a year, and sometimes it still hurts exactly the same way it did the day he left. Crippling, paralyzing, so heavy it sent you to the bathroom floor with his t-shirt in your hands.

You never ended up washing it. You kept meaning to for the first few months, but it smelled like him—like cedar and the first grade, like sneaking in through windows and sleeping next to a warm body—like another memory you didn’t want to erase with laundry detergent. It doesn’t smell like much of anything now, hidden in the depths of your closet behind all the other things you try to forget, and you can’t quite decide if that’s worse than lavender soap. 

Theo flickers his gaze between the two of you, something sharp in his eyes that makes them more green than blue, and then he smiles at you, “Clearly, you’ve got some discussing to do. I’ll take the little squirt home.” Liam squawks when Theo places his hands on his shoulders, something about falling in a hole, and you forget to be worried when Stiles jams his hands into his hoodie and turns around to leave. 

You’re tempted to let him, eyes heavy from lack of sleep and chronic stress, but you end up snarling, “What the fuck is your problem?”

Stiles freezes. You can’t see his face, but his shoulders tense and the muscles in his back go taut, “My problem? What’s my problem?” He whips around, and he’s breathing heavily in front of you before you can blink, “I’m not the one cuddling up to a potential psychopath.” 

Your breath falls in uneven, shallow pants once you register how close he is. You can count his eyelashes, so unfairly long and dark, and you think about waking up in a cold sweat to freckled skin smooshed against your neck. On sticky summer nights, it’d been almost insufferable, the way his body chased yours in his sleep—now, it’s one of the things you miss the most. Swallowing, you take a step back and wince when the wooden railing bumps directly against your spine, “I can't help but find it terribly funny that you think you’re in any position to give me dating advice.”

Stiles clenches his jaw, the muscles in his neck jumping under the strain, and looks off into the forest. He stays silent for so long you think about shoving past him and calling Lydia for a ride, but his voice cracks through the chirping bugs before you can gather the energy, “You can hate me, but just…don’t trust him.” His eyes are big, desperate, rapidly flickering back and forth between all the nooks and crannies of your face. For a second, it looks like he’s going to reach out for you, but he just wets his bottom lip and shakes his head a little, “Please.” 

You blink up at him and then let out a rather indelicate snort, “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say please.”

The corner of his mouth twitches into a wry smile, barely but it’s still there, and he leans against the railing of the bridge, “That can't possibly be true.”

You rest your arm a few inches away from his and smirk at his warped reflection in the creek, “It’s a good look for you. Keep it in rotation.”

Stiles hums a little and picks at some of the faded paint chipping off of a support beam. You tilt your head, watching him struggle with the mouthful of words rolling around his tongue. He rubs his jaw and grips the railing tightly with his other hand, “I want you to be happy. You know that, right? That’s…that’s all I want.”

The confession rests heavily in your stomach like a rotten pit, and you wonder if happy is even possible for you—for any of you. The moment you think things are starting to turn around, everything tends to fall apart. A kanima paralyzes someone, a witch sacrifices some virgins, your possessed boyfriend tries to kill you.  “I don’t hate you,” you finally say, quiet and soft. You sigh and rake your fingers through your hair, “I never hated you.”

Stiles gives you a look and then smiles a little, “Yes you did.”

Rolling your eyes, you shrug and turn to face him, “Okay, maybe a little—but just because it’s written in the ex code of conduct. It’s basically the law when you get dumped out of nowhere.”

Stiles blinks at you with round brown eyes, wide and bottomless. They’re glowing in the moonlight, or maybe that’s just him. “You don’t…” he licks his bottom lip and shakes his head slightly, “you really don’t know?”

You give him a minute shrug and dig the toe of your sneaker into a rotting patch of wood, “You never said.”

“I hurt you,” Stiles whispers, throat raw despite the low volume. You look up from the bridge. His eyes are shut tight, and his fists are clenched by his side. You know that it’s a confession—the guilt is written in every wrinkle and tremor—but you don’t quite understand what he’s confessing to.

Your chin tips up a little as your brows knit together, “...when you broke up with me?”

He shakes his head again and winces, lids still squeezed shut, “When I was…you know…I…he—we hurt you. I couldn’t…I couldn’t look at you. I couldn’t touch you without seeing...without remembering what I did." He's so far away from you now, in a place you can't touch, can't even see. He looks so much older than he is, and you want to scream at the unfairness of it all. He would've become a man on his own, eventually. Life crushes everyone eventually, after all, even the people normal childhoods. You know better than most that trauma teaches, and it teaches quickly—but god he would have fucking grown up without it.

"I can still feel it sometimes," he whispers. "The blood—your blood. I remember everything. The heat, the…” he winces as his tongue curls around the next word, slow and pained, like it has to be pulled out of him with forceps and a scalpel, “power.” He looks like he’s going to be sick, and your stomach twists. “I can hear it too, the way you...choked on your blood, fuck—and god your screams. Yours...fucking you of all people. I never thought—I thought that I couldn't hurt you, like it was physically impossible.”

You drift to his side instinctively and rest your hand on his shoulder after a moment of hesitation. He flinches and opens his eyes, gaze lingering on your hand. The intensity is different this time. Your hand isn’t dripping blood, now it’s holy, his only salvation—but his expression darkens when his eyes trail the length of your arm and land on the puckered, jagged line running over your collarbone. It’s cut off by the neckline of your tank-top, but you both know it continues across your breast. Stiles’s hand trembles in the air and then drops to his side, “You still have the scar.”

Your fingers trace along the line of knitted skin. The nerves are still dead, severed with a blade and pale hands. You can’t feel the sensation of your fingertips brushing over it, but you know it’s there—that it will always be there. It’s a permanent reminder of the worst day of your life, but you’re certain that Stiles wouldn’t guess the right one. “It doesn’t hurt,” you whisper, taking his hand and placing it over your chest, “and remembering doesn’t either. Not anymore.” You don’t have nightmares about Void, at least, not in the last few months. You’re past all that, have been for a while now—but you’ll always be haunted by the way Stiles looked at you after he came back and the numbness after he left a few weeks later.

Stiles’s fingers tremor when he feels your heartbeat. They stroke over the fading line slowly, almost reverently, and come to stop on the curve of your neck. He cups the lean tendons and presses this thumb against the knobs of your spine, “It hurts me.” His lashes flutter against his cheeks for a moment before he closes his eyes, “All the memories do.”

Shuddering, your head tips forward—seeking the support of his shoulder, but he slips away before you can lean into his warmth. It takes you a few seconds to regain your composure, but eventually you manage to stand up straight. You pull your jacket tighter against your torso and shiver, “I believe you.” Stiles’s brow curves in confusion, and you chew on your bottom lip, “If you think Theo’s hiding something, I believe you.”

He stares at you for a moment that feels infinitely longer than it must actually be, and then something breaks behind his eyes. He looks like he’s about to cry, and you spare his pride by looking down at your shoes. “Why?” Stiles clenches his jaw and rubs at his eyes aggressively with the sleeve of his hoodie, “Why would you…after everything?” 

You search his face until he finally meets your gaze. Your eyes are soft but still resolved, “Because of everything.” Stiles’s lips part and close a few times, and you know the urge to kiss him is as stupid as it is overwhelming, so you give him a little smile and turn to leave.

“He’s telling the truth about one thing,” Stiles says quietly, so quietly you almost miss it as you reach the other side of the bridge. “You are the prettiest girl in any room.”

[celestialvoid-fanfiction]

@loveyprophet​: *kicks in door* I NEED A SPY KIDS STEREK AU

How would that work?

@loveyprophet​: I’M GLAD YOU ASKED...

So, Derek and Laura are getting ready for a trip to their uncle Peter’s when these people dressed in black come into their home and attack them and their parents.

Laura and Derek manage to escape by hot-wiring their mom’s car.

Derek: *hotwires care* Laura: Derek Samuel Hale, WHERE DID YOU LEARN THAT?! Derek: I’ll explain later. Just drive!

They get away but their parents are captured. They make it to their uncle’s house and tell him what happened. Uncle Peter reveals that their parents and him are spies, and that one of their old enemies must of found them.

He asks Derek and Laura to help rescue their parents, explaining that whoever took their parents would expect him, but they wouldn’t expect kids. Laura easily agrees and Derek reluctantly goes along with it, but he feels like something’s off.

They go to Uncle Peter’s tech guy, Deaton, who hooks them up with some high-tech gadgets, armor, and everything they’d need. As they go to leave, he warns them not to trust anyone; not even family.

Laura still has no idea how they’re going to find their parents and Derek comes up with an idea. They reach out to Derek’s computer camp friend, Danny, and ask him to trace his parents. Luckily, Derek’s dad managed to keep his phone on him while being abducted and they’re able to trace him. 

Derek and Laura thank Danny and go to find their parents. As they’re driving through the streets of Beacon Hills, Laura realises they’re being followed. Out of nowhere another car tries to run them off the road. Derek catches a glimpse of the driver and passenger: more people dressed in black. 

Laura floors it and managed to lose the men during a traffic scuffle. They return to Deaton and secure a ride in a spy sub. They go off to coordinates Danny found. It leads them to a remote island with a odd structure intertwined with the ridges and curves of the island. They make it inside and split up to look for their parents. 

While snooping around, Laura finds a hallway full of cell doors. In one, she finds a boy around Derek’s age. He tiny compared to Derek and he looks like he’s taken a beating. 

The boy notices Laura and asks her if she can get him out. She tries to and when she finally succeeds, Laura accidentally trips an alarm. She grabs the kid’s arm and runs to where she last saw Derek.

They find Derek cornered by a couple of guards. Laura begins to panic, frantically trying to figure out what to do: she needs to save her brother without drawing attention to them, then she realizes that the boy from the cell is no longer beside her. She see him sneaking up on the group and watches in awe as he single-handedly disables all the guards.

The boy turns to Derek and asks, “Are you okay?”

Derek just stares at him, stunned. Finally, he’s able to mutter, “Whoa.”

Boy: “That doesn’t really answer my question.” Derek: “I mean, yeah! I’m totally fine! I could have taken them  on.” Boy: (amused but sarcastic) “Yeah... sure.”

Laura joins them and together they try to sneak out of the complex.

Derek asks the boy if he has a name, trying to act cool (and failing miserably). They boy suddenly pushes Laura aside and pulls Derek flush against him, pushing their backs into the wall and narrowly escaping the sight of guards passing through the hall.

Once the guards are gone, the boy leans in close to Derek and whispers, “It’s Stiles, by the way.”

(Poor Derek can barely hear him though becasue wow is this boy’s surprisingly solid and Derek has never been this close to someone, especially someone this hot and all he can think is ‘Now’s not the time to get a boner from someone whispering in his ear’.)

“Cool,” Derek replies, his voice cracking mid syllable. 

As the keep walking Laura teases Derek, “Wow, little bro, that was some real smooth talking back there.”

“Shut up, Laura.”

Anyway, they ask Stiles why he was imprisoned and Stiles explains that he was taken as a bargaining chip by a man called the Lone Alpha. Laura asks him what he means and Stiles tells them that a Lone Alpha is a rouge spy; someone who’s forsaken who their organisation and their family for their own gain. 

Stiles asks them why they’re here and Derek jumps in, recounting everything that had happened that day: how their parents had been kidnapped by men in black.

“What did you mean you were taken as a bargaining chip?” Laura asks.

“My dad’s the head of the European Espionage commission,” Stiles explains. “The Lone Alpha is hoping to extort my dad for resources and fire power. What about you guys? Who are your parents and why were they important enough to be taken?”

“I don’t know,” Derek admits. “Our parents are Talia and Frederick Hale. They were jus-”

“The Talia and Rick Hale? The best spies in the Western Hemisphere? Talia Iron Fist and Rick Rounder? Oh my gosh, I cant believe this. What are they like? Are they as awesome as the rumors say? Oh my gosh. You two are super hot, so if you guys look like this they much be like ten times more attractive!”

(And that’s all I got because I can’t stop thinking of Derek and Laura squabbling for 90% of their adventure. And all Derek can think about is the fact stiles thinks he’s hot.)

(Lovey, how does it end?!)

[sweet-pea-channie]

Pretty Little Fangs - Stiles Stilinski Imagine (smut)

Author: @sweet-pea-channie​​​

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski x fem!vampire!reader

Words: +5,2k

Warnings: smut, oral (male receiving), teasing, deepthroating, car sex, public sex, dirty talk, unprotected sex (be better than that!), riding

Requested by @moumouton4​​: Basically it's Stiles who has a girlfriend who is a vampire and like all vampires she has fangs and she knows from an event that Stiles is turned on by the sight of her fangs and so sometimes she gets them out and smiles at him just to turn him on "playfully" during a class, during a game, in the canteen and even at Derek's house for the pack meeting until he gets tired of it and looses his cool( smut if you want )

AN: I’ve never written anything that involved vampires, and I also never watched anything with vampires like Vampire Diaries or Twilight. So don’t judge me if I got something wrong. I had to research a lot :D But luckily, I’m a huge Supernatural fan. It took me a while to write it, thanks to another writer’s block, but here you go! :) 

Masterlist

"Okay, and why don't we just go and-"

"And what? Ask politely if they would stop attacking us?" interrupted Derek as you stood around the table in the vet clinic. Once again, the Alpha pack had surprised you as you spent another evening at Derek's to figure out how to deal with them. But before you had a plan, Derek's alarm system went off and the entire pack was downstairs in the compound, once again demanding to see Derek and to see you. Why you were so interesting to the Alpha Pack was a mystery to everyone. After all, you were anything but a werewolf. 

"How old are you again?" asked Derek, annoyed.

“17.”

"And for how long?"

"For two months," you reply with a slight shake of your head. "Do you think I would voluntarily spend my whole youth that could last up to god knows how many years in school forever? Once I graduate, that's it."

"Isn't that what all vampires do?" asked Peter, who was once again unwanted in the mix. Fortunately, he had ducked into a corner and was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed in front of his chest. 

"Don't you live in wolf dens?"

"Okay, can we please stop this? I don't live in wolf dens!" grunted Peter, pushing himself off the wall and coming closer to you. Stiles' gaze met yours with a proud grin. After all, he had told you about how he had approached Peter about it while the rest of you were in the bank looking for Boyd and Cora.

"Okay, and now maybe we can focus on how to convince the alphas not to kill any more of us?" asked Scott in a raised voice, looking at all of you somewhat disappointed. This was something serious, after all, and once again you couldn't resist egging each other on. 

"Sorry," you mumbled, pressing your lips together. "But let's be serious now. They want something from me that I can't understand why. Why can't I just go up to them and ask what they want from me? Why are they so desperate to have me in their pack? Vampires are not made to live with werewolves. I have my nest, I'm provided with everything I need there."

"I'm strictly against it," Stiles interjected, raising his hand upward. "Who else?"

Of course, you sighed. No one could ever give you a good reason why you couldn't go to the Alphas. 

"Y/N, just because you're immortal and have stronger superpowers than us doesn't mean they can't still kill you," Scott replied, agreeing with Stiles. 

"I don't think werewolves are going to pull out a machete and chop my head off."

"That's pointless," Isaac countered, leaning against the medicine cabinet behind him. "If she wants to go so badly, just let her go."

And oh my, did that plan backfire. Of course, no one wanted you to make your way to Deucalion alone, but no one could stop you anyway. Of course, the next day Scott noticed that something was wrong with you, and so he followed you, without you noticing, into the vacant building where you had found Boyd, Cora and Erica. 

To sum it all up quickly, yes, you were right. Werewolves do not bring a machete to a fight between werewolves and a vampire. Instead, they brought a knife, soaked in dead man's blood, that had incapacitated you for a while, while Kali crouched on the ground in front of you, stroking your cheek with her claws. "You are worth so much more than you think."

The alphas disappeared without even giving you a decent answer, and Scott ran out of his hiding place to help you. Your thoughts were conflicted when you saw him. Annoyed that he didn't trust you and always had to follow you around, but on the other hand relieved that he was there to help you. 

There was no real cure for dead man's blood. Your body had to heal from it alone. Drinking human blood would speed it all up, but if you told your father now that you needed another transfusion today, even though you had just gulped one down yesterday after he got off his shift from the hospital, he certainly wouldn't help you. After all, you had brought this on yourself. He already had to make sure the hospital didn't notice if he took home multiple blood transfusions for the whole family. 

"I called Stiles to come pick you up. I can't very well drive you home on my bike like that. And I don't think your parents are going to be thrilled to see you like this now, are they?" he asked, helping you back to your feet. 

You nodded and put your arm around his shoulder, so he could transport you out without you putting much weight on him. It was already dark outside, after all, it was always safest for you to go out when it was dark. Scott set you down against the wall of the house and walked a little further along the curb toward the street to check on Stiles. "How long will it take to get the blood out of your system?" asked Scott as he turned back to you. 

"Could be a couple of hours," you replied, pressing your lips together until you felt the sharp tips of your fangs, which, thanks to the blood inside you, didn't retract as usual. "So it’d be the best if no one would see me now."

Scott nodded and looked back out at the road, where he could see the lights of Stiles' Jeep in the distance. Stiles put on the brakes when he finally arrived at the old bank and jumped out of the car while the engine was still running. "Are you all right? Is everything okay? What the hell happened? What are you doing?" 

"Everything's fine, Stiles. Just a bit of dead man's blood. It's gonna come out of my system soon," you replied, reaching out your hand for him to help you up. But Stiles suddenly stopped without moving and stared at you motionless. 

"What's wrong with your teeth?" he asked under his breath and kept staring at your fangs. 

"They don't retreat, side effects of the blood," you mumbled as you tried to stand up on your own after he didn't really want to help you. And as if he suddenly understood what was going on again, he sprinted to you and helped you get into his car. You didn't really know why he was acting that way, but it all made sense when you were back at school a few days later. 

It happened at school. Lydia once again had no appetite for the not-so-delicious food in the cafeteria, and so she decided that you would have another day of getting sandwiches from the little café across the street. So Lydia had one arm wrapped around yours and the other around Allisons as you made your way out through the school halls. 

Immediately you recognized his voice among the dozens of strange voices. Once again, Stiles couldn't stop talking. He was still far away from you, you couldn't see him yet. He was probably standing with Scott at his locker, which was around the corner from you. 

“I’m telling you man, her fangs, they just... I don’t know, something is just happening to me when I see them. It’s like they’re turning me on. And even though she was in so much pain the other night, I couldn’t stop looking at them and I couldn’t stop wondering what they’d feel like on my skin.”

“You mean her biting you?!”

“No, no, no. Well, I mean, maybe she could just nibble a bit, you know. As long as she won’t sink her teeth into my skin, I think we’re good.”

“You’re having wild fantasies, man.”

“But I know that she’d never do that. She’s too scared that she’s going to bite me. So just looking at her fangs is enough for now.”

"What's going on?" asked Lydia when she noticed you weren't really paying attention anymore. You finally walked past the hallway that led to Scott's locker, and there you could see the two of them. Stiles was standing next to Scott, who had his head buried deep in his locker, while Stiles couldn't stop talking about your fangs. You didn't even know he was that turned on by them. But one thing you were sure of, you were definitely going to take advantage of that now.

It was actually a normal Thursday, except for the fact that yet another lacrosse game was coming up. Allison and Lydia didn't want to go with you, so you were forced to spend yet another game next to Noah and Melissa. After all, you promised Stiles you would watch every game. You didn't really mind. The fact of seeing a sweaty Stiles with strands of hair stuck to his forehead made him that much more attractive. 

Stiles was finally substituted in the last quarter after having to spend the first 45 minutes on the bench, and he gave it his all for the last 15 minutes.

You were up by three goals and the last two minutes were on the clock when Stiles came closer and closer to the opponent's goal with the ball in the net. His father was already screaming his name in excitement, while everyone around you was already cheering. And who would have thought it, Stiles actually managed to get you another point. His teammates ran up to him and threw themselves at him, while his gaze went in your direction. Proudly, you smiled at him and knew that now was the perfect time. As you smiled at him, you extended your fangs and embellished your vampire smile. Stiles' mouth dropped open abruptly, and he ignored his teammates around him as he struggled to come to grips with what was happening.

He didn't know why you did that, but of course it turned him on all at once. His breath quickened and his heart raced. All he wanted right now was for the last minute to be over as quickly as possible, so he could run to you. 

Scott slapped Stiles on the helmet to get him back in the game, having noticed that Stiles zoned out for a second. Stiles shook his head and concentrated for the remaining seconds until the game finally ended. 

The students who had been watching the game ran onto the field and celebrated the victory with the players. You apologized to Noah and Melissa and made your way to the field where all the students were standing. You lost sight of Stiles when you finally got to the field; he was lost in the crowd. But you didn't have to look for long, because he had already found you. 

He grabbed your wrist and pulled you to him. You startled, not having seen him coming, and let out a soft gasp as you slammed into his chest. "Stiles."

Stiles' hand immediately reached around and was now on your lower back, pressing you even closer to his sweaty body. His lacrosse jersey had long been removed, and he was only wearing the tight-fitting gray undershirt. Your hands were on his chest and pushed your upper body back a little, so that you could look at him completely. And as you had feared, a few strands stuck to his forehead again, while the others stuck up wildly. You ruffled a hand through his damp hair and rested your hand on the back of his neck. 

"I'm all sweaty," Stiles said, rolling his eyes. 

"I don’t really care at all," you countered. 

Stiles' right corner of his mouth pulled up, and within a second he had his other hand on your cheek and pulled your face to his. He wasted no time and kissed you directly with an energy he never usually did in public. His tongue found your lower lip directly and asked for entrance. You opened your mouth a little wider and moaned softly as his tongue met yours. 

"Guys! Get a room!" someone shouted next to you. You sighed and flicked the person off without even seeing who it was. 

Stiles broke away from you and bit his lower lip as he continued to look at you intently. 

"What was that for?" you asked him, playing with the little hairs on the back of his neck. You could feel exactly how the little hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he got goosebumps on his arms. 

“Just wanted to celebrate the win with my absolutely gorgeous girlfriend,” he replied and placed another kiss, this time a gentle one, on your lips. “I gotta go back to the boys. But will you be at my place once I’m coming home?”

You nodded and pressed your lips to his one last time, and then pushed him into the crowd with the others. He turned once more and winked at you before turning around, tripping once over his own feet, and then joining the boys.

“So the items or concepts used to increase one's economic influence are called what?” Coach asked while walking from left to right in front of the class. "Stilinski!"

"What?" asked Stiles, who had just not been paying attention and looked up from his notepad. 

“Items or concepts used to increase one's economic influence are called what? Come one Stilinski, that’s an easy question! Get it wrong, and you’re benched for the next five games!”

“But Coach! Our next game is the most important one!” Stiles complained, nervously searching his notes for the right answer.

“Well then, I guess you better have the question!”

You couldn't take it from the beginning, and had already taken out your cell phone and quickly texted Stiles the answer as a message. It's capital. Capital is the answer. ;) 

Stiles' phone, which luckily was out in front of him, lit up and your message appeared right on his screen. "Um, it's capital."

Coach was already ready to yell at Stiles and bench him for the next five games. In fact, he had his back turned to the class and was walking toward the blackboard while mumbling to himself. But when he heard the correct answer, he turned abruptly and stared at Stiles in confusion. "That's right, Stilinski."

Stiles breathed a sigh of relief and turned to you. You sat two rows behind him on his right. He mouthed a simple thank you and smiled at you. You winked at him and smiled back, but instead of your normal smile, you showed him your fangs again. Stiles widened his eyes and quickly turned back to look ahead. If you didn't know why he reacted like that, you'd definitely be confused. But luckily, you knew what it was doing to him. 

With your head down, you chuckled to yourself for a moment, thinking about how you could continue to drive him up the wall before he would do something about it. 

After class, Stiles and you headed to the lunch break, where you would meet up with the others as usual. Since the weather was nice as usual, you waited outside by one of the picnic benches for your friends. Stiles was already sitting on the bench while you leaned against the table and waited for Lydia. After all, she had promised to bring you something to eat the day before. 

The break went on as usual. Isaac spent it making stupid and unnecessary comments while Scott tried to reason with him. Stiles sat across from you and stared at you the whole time while you talked with Lydia and Allison. 

"What?" you asked when you finally noticed him looking at you the whole time.

"You have something in your teeth," he said, pointing to his own to show you where, "right there."

"You mean here?" you asked, opening your mouth as you ran your tongue over your incisor. And of course you took the chance again. Before you had opened your mouth, you extended your fangs and showed them in public in front of Stiles. 

Stiles gulped and had to pull himself together to not show his emotions using his gestures. "Mhm," he agreed without really talking and nodded. 

"Is it gone?" you asked, running your tongue over your teeth once more. 

He shook his head and pressed his lips tightly together. He could already feel the sweat forming on his forehead. Why you were showing him your teeth all the time, he couldn't explain.... except...

"Oh god," he muttered and stood up. He grabbed your hand and pulled you away from the table. Lydia cried out briefly as you were yanked away all at once, and looked at Stiles in shock. You shrugged as Stiles pulled you farther and farther away from the group, and only got the same shocked look back from Lydia that she had already given Stiles. 

As soon as you were away from your friends, Stiles pushed you against the wall of the school, where you were far away from everyone else. "You're doing this on purpose!"

"What?!" you asked faithfully. 

"You heard me, I know it. You're doing all of this on purpose!"

"Stiles, I'm afraid I still don't know what you're talking about," you replied while showing him your teeth once again. 

Stiles grunted and put his head back. “You need to put these pretty little fangs away or else-”

“Or what?”

“I can’t promise for you to walk properly the next few days.”

It always turned you on a lot when Stiles told you exactly what he was going to do to you, or when the dominant side of him came out. Nothing was more exciting than that. And so you couldn't wait until school was finally over. 

You were both in his Jeep on the way to Stiles when this feeling came over you. You couldn't wait until you were home, and so you risked everything. You looked at Stiles while he had his left hand on the wheel and his right hand casually resting on his lap. So you grabbed his hand and pulled it over to you. Stiles smiled at you briefly and then focused back on the road. 

First, you played with his fingers and gently stroked each finger with your index finger. You could already see that goose bumps were spreading on Stiles' arm. Next, you took his hand in yours and brought it to your lips to place a kiss on the back of his hand. Stiles hummed softly beside you and pressed his hand against your lips again for you to place another kiss on his hand. However, as you did so, you opened your mouth slightly and thus Stiles' fingers touched your teeth and not just your normal teeth, but your fangs. 

Stiles jerked his head to the side and looked at you with a look you couldn't identify. So you took a step further and opened your mouth even wider. Stiles' pinky was now right between your teeth, and he watched you very closely as you carefully nibbled on his pinky. 

Stiles had to concentrate hard to look ahead again at the road, after all, that was all he had ever imagined that you would include your fangs in your lovemaking. And when you nibbled lightly one more time, Stiles jerked his hand back and clamped down on the wheel with it while now indicating well above the speed limit. 

Not a minute later, Stiles stopped the car in a small driveway in the woods, where hopefully no one would see you. He stopped the engine and pulled the handbrake before reaching for your wrist and pulling you slightly over the console. A soft gasp escaped your lips, darkening Stiles' eyes.

"I warned you."

"I know," you whispered, pressing your lips together as you waited to see what Stiles was going to do to you now. He put his other hand on your cheek and pulled you even closer to him, finally placing his lips on yours. The kiss was directly full of energy, he wasted no time and to show how much he wanted you right now. 

To give you a better grip, you placed your right hand on his thigh and gripped it tightly once. Stiles gave a short moan and broke away from your lips to see what you were doing. You smiled seductively at him and kept moving your hand up until your palm was now over the distinct bulge in his jeans. Stiles licked his lips before biting his bottom lip and sitting down a little further in his seat. 

You pressed your lips on his again while you continued to stroke him through his pants and could feel exactly how his penis twitched and became harder and harder in your hand. Stiles already had one hand around you and his palm was on your back, pressing you closer with it. The other hand found its way to your clothed chest, where he tried to pinch your nipple through the shirt and bra. 

His tongue was already fighting with yours, and again and again a soft moan escaped your soft, plump lips. You detached yourself from his lips and looked at his jeans, where his dick was already clearly visible through the fabric. Already missing your lips, Stiles pressed several sloppy kisses to your neck while you went for the button on his jeans. 

He found your sweet spot and sucked and licked on it until you couldn't stop moaning. It distracted you so much that you couldn't concentrate on freeing his dick from his pants. So Stiles did that for you. Hastily, he opened the rest of his pants and pulled his erect penis out of his boxers. One look at his dick was enough for you. Pre-cum was already leaking from his tip. 

You couldn't wait any longer and wrapped your hand around his erection. Stiles hoisted briefly, again and again he had to get used to the fact that you had ice-cold hands, but that was quickly forgotten, as you licked all the way from the base to the tip where this big and pulsating vein was staring right at you. 

Your tongue was swirling over the tip of his penis, trying to savor the taste of it, but Stiles couldn’t get enough of you. You could feel him pushing your head down onto his erection to finally wrap your lips around his dick. “Please, stop teasing.”

“I’m not teasing,” you mumbled against his dick, the vibration of your voice sending another wave of emotions through his body. 

“Then just suck it.”

“As you wish,” you whispered, and wasted no more time. As you slid him into your mouth, another hiss left Stiles’s lips. Taking your time to get used to his length, you kept one hand at the base of his cock, while your mouth worked on the upper half. You were trying to get as much in as possible. You stroked the part of him that wouldn't fit with one hand and fondled his balls with the other, so that no inch of him was left neglected while you pleasured him with your mouth. Simultaneously sucking and stroking on him, Stiles grabbed your hair, leading you down farther onto him, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat. You couldn’t hold back the moan that was trying to slip out, and you could feel him twitching in your mouth. Stiles couldn't have been shy about his sounds if he'd wanted to - he panted and moaned in time with your motions, especially on the few occasions you slowed your pace to pay special attention to the sensitive head of his cock, circling it with your tongue.

“Oh fuck, taking my cock like a champ. You want some more, huh?” Stiles grunted and pulled at your hair, so you were looking up at him while you were still sucking his cock. Saliva was running down your throat, and Stiles couldn’t think of something that was more beautiful right now than the sight of your lips wrapped around his penis. 

“I asked you a question.”

“Mhm,” you nodded and saw Stiles’ eyes darken. Suddenly, he was jerking his hip up, hitting the back of your throat once again. 

“Open up wide for me.” 

As told, you opened your mouth wide for him and let him fuck your mouth. Your hands were on his knees, trying to keep you in place while Stiles was fucking your mouth like there was no tomorrow. But Stiles had to stop himself, he wanted to make sure to give you the same pleasure. He grabbed your head and pushed you off of him, immediately missing the warmth of your lips and mouth. 

You were licking your lips and wiped all the fluids from your mouth with the back of your hand, while you kept looking at Stiles, waiting for him to give you orders. 

“Backseat now.”

You did as told and crawled into the back seat. Stiles followed you and made sure you had enough room by pushing the driver's seat forward a bit before he sat down next to you and pulled you onto his lap. His erection was still free of clothes, and you could feel him right between your bodies. Automatically, you began to move your hips on him, causing friction that made you moan. Stiles leaned in and kissed you, desperate and needy, and you almost immediately let a moan slip from your mouth and into his.

Meanwhile, he worked on your shorts, opening the button and the zipper before his hand slipped past your underwear. You gasped as you felt his fingers right between your folds, gathering all the slick. “You’re already so wet for me,” he hummed against your lips. 

“Please just take it off,” you begged. Stiles wasted no time and helped you to take off your shorts, but he stopped at your lingerie. A smirk was set on his lips as his fingers deftly pushed your panties to the side, teasing your entrance with two of them. “Is this all from me?” As the words left him, he pressed open-mouthed kisses to your skin, lips against your shoulder, slowly making their way to your neck. 

Closing your eyes, you leaned your head back to give him more access, trying to grind against his fingers. “Please, Stiles. Want you,” you whined, desperate to have anything from him at the moment, but mostly you just wanted to ride him already. 

“You want me what? Have to be specific, babe,” he said, slipping the tips of his fingers in a bit, just barely giving you a taste of what you were craving so much at the moment.

“Want you in me, Stiles. Just need you to fill me up please,” your words were breathy and desperate, and Stiles’ grin was wide. Without warning, he slid the two digits in, thumb brushing against your clit.

The pace at which he slid his fingers in and out of you was slow and torturous. With your knees buckling, you let go of your shirt to grab a hold of his shoulders and leaned your head against it, voice cracking as you spoke again. “Not- Not your fingers,” you gasped.. ”I need your cock, please, Stiles.”

He let out a light chuckle against your neck, slowly withdrawing his fingers. A whine left your lips as you felt his fingers be replaced with the tip of his dick sliding against your entrance and as he started to push into you, you slowly let yourself sink down onto him.

“Oh god, Stiles,” you wailed, pulling away from him and tilting your head backward. “Stiles, fuck, you’re so big.” There were tears in your voice, and Stiles had to bite the inside of his cheeks to ignore the forming smile.

Stiles pulled his face away, his head once again thrown back against the backseat as moans escaped his mouth, “Fuck, gorgeous. You’re always so tight,” his words burn through you as he slowly fills you up all the way. But he couldn’t wait to be buried deep within you. So with a harsh thrust he was balls deep, a loud gasp filled the car as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders to steady you. He moaned when your tight walls swallowed his cock. Using his thumb, he played with your clit as he rocked his hips slowly to build up the pace.

And that’s all the permission you need as you start to drag your hips across his, the tip of his dick nudging your walls. You moan out when he starts to thrust up into you ever so slightly. 

“You’re taking me so well,” Stiles murmured as he laid his head down on your cleavage and lightly nibbled your skin. He built up the pressure with his thumb on your clit and could feel you clenching. Stiles knew he wouldn't last long like this, he loved it when you rode him. Thank god, did your strength allow you to have the stamina for this. 

"Oh god, Stiles," you moaned. The pressure in your belly was increasing, and you could feel your orgasm slowly approaching. “Please don’t stop.”

“I’m not gonna last long if you keep going like that, babe,” Stiles groaned, placing his lips faintly on top of yours. “Shit.”

Feeling his member twitch, you heard him say “Fuck Y/N I’m close. Can you cum for me?” Tightening around him, you moaned “Stiles I’m gonna cum.”

Your heartbeat raised, your cunt tightened into something that made it so easy for him to spill.  “Sti- Stiles, Oh fuck-” your sentence was ruined by a moan, your body shaking as your mouth remains open.

You felt my orgasm hitting you like a brick. Cumming all over Stiles’ cock, you had to push his hand off of your clit, the feeling getting too much for you. 

Under you, Stiles moaned, his face scrunched up as he could feel his release at the edge of him. Your cunt closed around him as you were riding out your orgasm, clinging to his cock, and your lips captured his as he moaned into your mouth. One last clench of you and you had him. He spilled everything he had for you inside your tight walls, and you absorbed the lustful moan he always gave you when he came. 

Slowly, you came to a stop and sat on Stiles for a while, while you caught your breath. The beads of sweat on Stiles' forehead showed how intense it was just then. The windows were also slightly fogged, no wonder with the rising heat in the car. You could feel him softening inside you, but Stiles kept you on his laps with his strong hands on your thighs. 

“God, Y/N. The things you do to me,” Stiles breathed out and captured your lips softly. 

“Guess we have to thank them,” you replied with a smirk and showed him your fangs again, biting on your lip with them. 

“Put them away right now!” he warned you. “Or I swear to you, I’m taking you all over again, but this time on the hood of my car.”

“Hmm,” you hummed, pressing your lips against his again. “Sounds like a plan.”

[thesuicidalflower]

Yup, pretty accurate

looks like cinnamon roll but could actually kill you: scott mccall

looks like he could kill you but is actually cinnamon roll: theo raeken (fitE ME)

looks like cinnamon roll and is actually cinnamon roll: liam dunbar

looks like he could kill you and could actually kill you: derek hale

looks like he could die from eating too many cinnamon rolls: stiles stilinski

[teencopandthesourwolf]

FIAT LUX

written for @sterekdrabblesgonelong using the @sterekdrabbles 23/11/22 challenge words that were: PART, MATTER and SPOT with the end-of-month theme of HONESTY.

sterek fic, MATURE, 2245 words, post-nogitsune stiles, stiles stilinski has PTSD, heavy angst, imagined body horror, healing, getting together, falling in love, POV stiles.

READ IT HERE ON AO3

.

"Hey, you good?"

Somebody spoke. Stiles remembers that. He also remembers thinking, at the time, how it sounded a lot like Derek's voice.

He'd been right. Of fucking course he'd been right. 

Stiles was scrambling to process what had been said to him, alongside trying to figure out what exactly was happening to his still-wobbly sense of self.

"Stiles? Are you okay?" 

Stiles couldn't answer. Couldn't get any sounds out of his strangled throat, nor force his suddenly arid mouth to move and make the right shapes needed for words.

Everything was muddying all over again, his mind and body becoming a wasteland in a heartbeat. He was barren, a damned apocalypse. Truth be told, since his possession, Stiles was just an empty shell, only pretending to be human. And now his memories were flashing before his eyes, having once again become a trailer for his fucked-up, one-man indie zombie movie. Although—no, actually. No, that wasn't right. This wasn't a trailer. The Horrors were back in full, movie-length, and were now playing out their incredibly specific brand of Existential Dread right before Stiles' glassy eyes in all of their glorious, terrible technicolour.

Spawn of the Dead: Double Feature!

Grab yourself an extra large bucket of Salty'n'Sweet and settle in for the midnight showing.

How, though?

How the hell could the parasitic evil which they'd ended—it absolutely had gone, it had!—be so inexplicably here? Like, right here and now, delightedly wrapping one crooked hand around Stiles's stringy neck while using the other to dig into Stiles's already bent-way-out-of-shape psyche, sinking its dirty claws in all the way again until Stiles couldn't think or see straight or even speak.

How could the thing they'd destroyed still have him so very firmly in its clutches?

In his peripheral there were now only blurred-out, bony digits where his fingers were supposed to be; Stiles couldn't stop the violent shaking as he looked down at his hands and felt bile rise in his throat that tasted of reams and reams of filthy bandages rapidly climbing his esophagus, in a far too-real scene from some disgusting, stop-animation nightmare.

onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten! 

Oh, fuck no. 

It was here. Even if it wasn't really; it was. Here, crippling each of his faculties, one by one with a sickening sort of ease, the ghost of it shutting down his capacity to process his surroundings, to operate his body correctly, to function as a human being, even if only a pretend one. It was too quickly obliterating his ability to just be.

To be Stiles.

Void.

Oh, God. 

No! No! No! No! No! No! No! 

Breath became cement in his lungs. 

onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten! 

Re-appeared and yet not, the spectral memory of the Nogitsune was once more burrowing its way beneath pale skin and fragile bone, digging a six-foot deep grave ready to bury Stiles's power to answer a simple question and say No, no, I'm not okay and I really need some help here, and so very easily quashing his in-vain attempts at doing anything at all about this runaway train of a shit-show situation.

Chaos.

He'd lost control again. 

This time it was aftermath. Or aftershocks. Or afterburn or afterbirth or some other after-metaphor for absolute guilt.

onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten! 

"Can you hear me, Stiles?"

Stiles wasn't really there anymore.

Stiles was spiralling, fast, due to that broken part of his soul ripping apart all over again and gaping open, a casm, a disgraced depiction of his abject shame for his past actions that now flowed out from the ghoulish wound like spilled wine. He looked down to see invisible gut-shot viscera tumbling out of him, staining his shirt and shoes like claret on crisp white sheets and instantly soaking into his skin and muscles and right through to the marrow of his bones, infiltrating his forever-infected anatomy in a strange sort of self-perpetuating vicious cycle. His heart, full of holes, was leaking its last vestiges of goodness, draining right out of him, his body now just a humanoid estuary. Other Stiles Juices added to the polluted mix—tears and adrenaline and cortisol, all becoming a veritable hurricane in his brain and chest and belly, swirling around viciously, dangerously—until it had drowned out his voice and drenched his autonomy in a chorus of non-existent Let me in! Until he'd lost his will completely to a bottomless whirlpool of contempt.

onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten! 

Oh, Void had truly left its mark. 

And so there he was. Just a stricken, hyperventilating five-foot-ten jagged fissure wearing his clothes and his face. A mask was all that was left of Mieczysław Stilinski: Stiles, just a stupid boy in the body of a not-quite man, who was suffocating in the mould and the rot of himself.

The intangible had brimmed over and drip-drip-dripped until it was gushing freely and spilling right out of him and onto the floor, becoming an epic tidal wave of oblivion that would splash and tarnish and permanently stain everything and everybody around Stiles, all that he loved. 

Again. 

Only this insanity wasn't invisible, not to him. It was a vivid Hieronymus Bosch knock-off. A never-ending bloodbath painted in brushstrokes of the richest of colours. Stiles was an oily waking nightmare, a moving tapestry of his own creation that was playing over and over and over on the glitched-out loop that was his faulty VHS mind.

onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten! 

"Don't step in it," he'd whispered. 

He doesn't remember if Derek had answered. He doesn't remember much of anything after that. 

Derek, just like everybody else, was poisoned by Stiles's toxicity. Forever marked, just as Stiles had been—because of Stiles.

Stiles, with his bony hands that hid those undetectable tattoos in blacks and blues and mauves that were the inky Rorschach contusions of all his loved one's cuts and bruises; Stiles, with his immortal pattern of dead leaves that twisted along the gnarled branches of his inner Lichtenberg tree; Stiles, with his fear-induced awful decisions that had lead to the lives of so many being taken; Stiles, with his murderous intent—borrowed or not, it made no fucking difference in the end; Stiles, with all of this horror; Stiles, with his blackened soul that was now only recognisable as death.

Yet, in stark contrast, his haemoglobin-bright red ravaged veins were very much not dead. He felt them, now, itching beneath the surface of his skin, unreal yet so real and becoming vine-like, pulsating and stretching out their long creepy creeper-fingers to reach down inside of him, clawing their way back home to the black hole that was his centre. And they were growing. He could feel them swelling in his arms and his legs and his face. Alive. Becoming stronger and stronger, they traversed alongside his nervous system like a road map, journeying through what was left of his tattered existence and getting so big and so fat they too were branches and were somehow both choking him and splitting him clean open—Stiles, roots and all—his thoughts and actions reduced to nothing more than a fractured glass pane in an already damaged photo frame which threatened to crack and turn him into thousands of thousand-year-old shards of nothing but absolute destruction.

onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten! 

Out, damned spot. 

Maybe Derek had said more words. Begged and pleaded for Stiles to talk to him, to make sense of things for him. For Stiles to tell him what the hell was going on.

onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten! 

onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten! 

onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnine—

ten? 

Or was it eleven, or twelve that time? 

Too late. 

Rip. Tear. Shatter. 

Stiles had collapsed under the weight of his own mistakes.

*

When something in his brain managed to press the pause button on the horror show, there was only numbness.

Nothing. 

Then remorse had once more seeped through his pores like a poisonous gas, a hazy mist of it eventually filling him and triumphing over delirium because, after some time—minutes, hours, days, maybe—Stiles was finally able to communicate again.

Well, sort of.

There were four words he had to offer.

"It's all my fault." 

And as he'd made frantic attempts to once again count his uncontrollably shaking fingers, he'd whimpered those words on repeat, for an indeterminate amount of time and in a thousand different voices, none of which sounded like his own.

"It's all my fault."

onetwothree—start again.

"It's all my fault."

onetwothreefourfivesixseven—shit.

"It's all my fault."

onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnine—

"Hey, I've got you."

Derek?

If he wasn't dreaming, it meant Derek hadn't left him. He should have. Stiles was to blame for so very many terrible, terrible things.

But Derek had stayed and minded him, regardless.

He took Stiles in, after that. Fed him. Forced him to wash. Watched him as closely as he ended up holding him, in a way that he shouldn't. In a way that nobody ever should because Stiles was a travesty. Undeserving. But Derek? Derek was good and so Derek did it anyway. And those big arms folding around Stiles broke Stiles all over again, broke him impossibly more. Only it was a different kind of break this time around. Maybe not gentle so much as it was firm and necessary. A resetting of bones.

Then, somehow, slowly, painfully, Derek helped to put Stiles back together again, which was nothing short of a Herculean feat.

That Humpty Dumpty Stiles, he'd spent weeks sobbing and going mute, sobbing and going mute, and sobbing and sobbing and shouting and shrieking and screaming the loft down, bringing his feral nightmares back to life and out into the open and into the here and now, into Derek's already too-difficult world.

Stiles was just a transparent bag of those reset bones. Fused with fear and sorrow and so much sin, glued up all wrong, and held together with tears and snot and guilt and shame—and an ancient, evil-tainted love; a love possessed. 

Until he wasn't. Until there were hints of a new kind of love shimmering around the edges of their lives. Something quiet. Something lighter.

A love made up of Stay here with me and Stay another night and consistently screaming into the dawn but never any pity nor judgement and whole days of silence and then communication via eyebrows and heartbroken Fuck Yous and last-minute notes left on the refrigerator door and second and third and fourth, fifth, sixth chances and just being there and Shut Ups with no real heat behind them and listening and listening and listening some more and sandwiches left untouched until there were sandwiches half-eaten and finally sandwiches scarfed down at the speed of light again and conversations with thumbs-up and thumbs-down and Don't Call Me Dude and comfortable silences and unexpected classical music afternoons and awfully bad puns and quality time spent alone together and Wanna watch the Discovery channel? and smiling eyes and crappy paper planes and precarious mountains of hot buttered toast and stolen borrowed too-big Henley's and thrifted old sci-fi novels and English to Latin dictionaries and games of PSYCH! from opposite sides of the same room and eyes being rolled into the backs of thick skulls and gallons and gallons of Dirty Chai Lattes and a far too-kind and outstandingly stubborn asshole's absolute forgiveness and furtively holding hands in the dark and weighted long looks that said I know, it's okay—I'm broken too and the silent question of Do you want me? and the tactile answer being Of course I do, you idiot. Of fucking course I do. 

It was a love that made Nogitsune love never, ever love. A real love that shook its head softly at such dreadful affection.

Werewolf trumps Demon, every damn time.

* 

Stiles might not be able to laugh—at least not properly, not yet. He's getting there, though. The quirk of his lips today is bigger than yesterday's meagre twitch. And who knows, tomorrow could even bring a grin. Stranger things, right? 

There's still pain. Stigma. Suffering. Still so, so much work to do. Only now it's manageable. A touch easier.

Derek's touch.

There are many more hard days and nights to come, Stiles knows that, but he is nothing if not single-minded and he's making steady progress. Every day, he's mending. Thanks to Derek and Stiles's determination, the fissure that he'd become is closing up and he is no longer infected with quite so much self-doubt. There's scar tissue, sure. How could there not be?

But Stiles is healing.

He's being replenished and renewed, little by little, bit by bit, and at long last he's finally finding his voice again. The right tone, a familiar pitch—and it's strongest in those times he utters a particular word. It's a name, actually, so often spoken as a mantra, or mouthed delicately like a prayer.

"Derek?" 

Of fucking course. 

"I'm here."

No more counting fingers. 

As it happens, Stiles Stilinski is finding his way back to his life and to himself with the help of Derek Hale, sometimes stumbling and yes, often having to crawl from the oppressive blackness, dragging himself through it using only his non-existent fingernails and stubborn will, barely making it out alive by the skin of his teeth.

Yet he knows, now, that he'll conquer that darkness. Because he's not alone anymore. There's help at hand, in his hand, where Stiles holds a candle that burns just as brightly as the Sun, the Moon and the Truth, and won't ever blow out—not while shielded by the shape of the 'wolf.

Fiat Lux. 

Let there be light.

[starshipsofstarlord]

Win

stiles stilinski x reader / masterlist

summary; a little pre game warm up never hurt anyone / warnings; smut, handjob, orgasm denial, fantasies, dirty talk, swearing

His cock leaked in you palm, as you ran your skilled hand over it, your thumb swiping over the tip as he released a desperate whine, burrowing his head back into the head rest of his driver’s seat. Stiles was at your mercy, ruining his bottom lip with the prying of his teeth, as he desperately tried to buck his hips up into your grip.

Each of his hands were sternly wrapped around the circumference of the wheel, his knuckles turning white as he relentlessly held onto it. It served as a source of relief, he was able to take his prominent frustration out on the battled steering device as he breathily sighed, his amber orbs screwing shut as he mumbled your name.

“Fuck. Shit. Don’t stop.” You had not intention of doing so, and thus you sped up your pace, watching him as he inhaled heavily through his nose, his dark brows furrowing as he felt close. And then, you stopped, denying him of such an end to the pleasure. “Fuck.” The syllable was elongated, drenched in disappointment as he hit his forehead against the top of the steering wheel.

“Something wrong baby?” You smiled, tenderly running your precum slathered hand over his tense shoulder, him slightly shivering from the soft contact, that poised strongly against the treatment that he had just gotten from you.

“No.” He steadied his breathing pattern, pulling his flushed face back, and hollowing his cheeks in dismissal of thought. He knew your intent, he knew it was well, but it still wasn’t good enough. Not when he wanted nothing more than to fuck you in the backseat of his jeep, until the windows were pent up with steam, and the vehicle was having trouble remaining stiff on its wheels.

“You’re going to win that game, aren’t you? If you do, then you’ll get your surprise.” Clasping your fingers in the sides of your shirt, your heaved the fabric gently up, watching as his eyes ogled, filled with supple desire, and some drool leaking out of the corner of his chapped lips.

“Yeah, imma win.” He was certain of it, you were giving him all the control that he needed. From the leather bra that resembled the outfit that catwoman often adorned herself in, messy stitching purposely running up the seams, it was full reassurance that the competing team was going down.

And then he would go down on you, and discover the matching underwear, that was surely loose around your hips, with various strings hanging from the sides, to make an appearance of disarray upon the sultry and figure hugging component.

“Good. Because I wouldn’t want to have to spent all this money on this little treat for nothing. I could reuse the cat ears that are in my bag for halloween, but this set, well I’d never get a refund. And you wouldn’t deserve to see them, now would you?”

“No.” He firmly spoke, feeling himself grow hard in his lacrosse shorts once more, as his feet tapped frustratedly on the floor of the jeep. You dropped your shirt down, leaning over the console and kissing his cheek.

“Win baby, then we can ditch the after party. Might even let you fuck me in the locker room.” Winking at him, he felt his mouth gape at the half filled promise. His tongue swirled in his mouth at the thought, as his eyes flickered over your whole demeanour, attempting to read the supposition and how it ran over your form.

“The girl’s locker room?” He asked hopefully, being met with you flirtatiously batting your eyelashes, nodding with a prominent grin contorting your face. “Fuck yes.”

“I know you’ve never been in there, but it’s a fantasy of yours. But imagine being allowed to come in there, huh. Sounds good, doesn’t it?” There was a teasing edge locked onto your words, and Stiles wasn’t sure that he would last until after the game.

“Better than good y/n/n.” He sighed, leaning his head back. “I’m gonna go out there and bust, I can’t fucking stop thinking about fucking you in the little girl’s room.”

“So I’m a little girl now?” You contemptibly asked, grazing your hand upon his thigh, until you grabbed his cock, rolling the girth around in your grip.

“No. Definitely not.” His face was flushed as he painted prolifically. “Just wanna see your tight cunt, feel it wrapped around me, squeezing me til I explode. All that’s on my mind now.”

“That’s a shame, cause your dad is gonna be watching your game. It wouldn’t be fair would it, if I allowed you to go out on the pitch all hot and hard, would it?” Wildly, Stiles shook his head, surveying you through half lidded eyes as you tucked your hair out your face, and ducked your head, pressing a kiss onto the pale skin of his thigh.

Your teeth pinched the flesh, extracting a gasp from the lacrosse player, your tongue darting out to lap at his balls. His lips pursed together as he tried to stifle his moans, his hands flying to the dash before him, as he endured the texture of your tongue swiping upon him.

With your right hand, you found purchase on his cock, tugging once more at his length. As you did so, he sputtered out praised, though that was usually not his forfeit, but you allowed his mistake to slip, this once at least.

“Do you want to cum before the match Sti?” He whined, allowing you to continue pleasuring him, unaware of what the consequences would be if he accepted your offer. It was not you just being gracious, it was practically vandalism of his body.

Stiles wasn’t sure he’d survive in Beacon Hills much longer if you were to treat him so vigorously. He felt like a bomb, prepared to convert damage in his surroundings all for one goal, and that was to find some bliss within all this madness.

“Yes. Please. Baby I need to- uh. Shit, shit, shit baby, I can’t-“ you ran your tongue over his spilt milk, lapping it up with kitten licks, as your y/e/c eyes stared ruthlessly up at him. His seed coated your tongue like molten gold, and with such greed, you gulped every shovel of the substance down, holding your smirk at bay until you were finished cleaning him up.

“Too bad, you’re not gonna get any release later tonight though. Guess painting the walls of my locker room white is no longer on the table, you’ll just have me purring instead. Good thing I know where they keep the canes for the bad boys.” Stiles froze, instantly regretting ever considering you would gift him out of mercy.

Before he could retaliate with wet eyes, or blubbery responses, your eyes drifted away, and to the lock screen of your phone, your tongue swiping over your lip, as you contently put it back away. “If you wanna win for me, you’re gonna have to go now babes. I’ll see you on the field, m’kay?”

He couldn’t refuse your kiss, not as you leant towards him, and pressed your lips upon his own. The taste of himself wasn’t so horrific, he rather enjoyed having the affects of what you did to him dancing on his tongue. One thing was on his mind, and that was the only priority he had; it didn’t matter if there was a darach in the local premises, carrying out sacrifices.

It was his aim to win, either way, he couldn’t be an example of a virgin sacrifice, not considering you had so blatantly offered to take the weight on his shoulders with a shrug, and proceeded to do much more than just that. Even if he wasn’t allowed to cum again tonight, he was still eager to claim his prize, after all, it was one of his hormonal dreams, that could play out into reality, so perfectly, and filthily.

[smellslikemultifandomimagines]

i have a smut request for stiles x reader- could you do something where stiles buys reader some vibrating panties and she wears them then they go out in public and he turns it on then, like just dirty kinky shit (praise kink, public orgasms, dirty talk, anything else and in a full length imagine if you don’t mine) :)

pairing: stiles stilinski x fem!reader

warnings: smut → public sex, use of vibrating panties, public orgasms, dirty talk, praise kink.

word count: 595

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:• ☾ ☼ ☽ •:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•

smut night has finished for the week - thanks for participating!

requests are open🖤

request guidelines✨

🌻masterlist🌻 (includes both smut masterlists)

Stiles hadn't told you that the underwear he bought for you the other day had a vibrator in it. No, it wasn't until the two of you were out for lunch in a nice, semi-busy cafe that you felt the buzzing between your legs.

With wide eyes, you look up at Stiles, but you're only met with a smug expression on his face. His thumb moves up and down the screen of his phone. That little shit was controlling them.

"stiles, what the hell are you doing?" you ask, looking around the cafe to make sure no one suspected anything.

"teasing you," he simply responds. Your thighs clamp together as he sets the setting high, waves of pleasure coil through your body. Your bite your nails, suppressing a moan that threatens to release as the pleasure builds and builds.

The buzzing stops. He had turned it off for now. He just wanted to test the waters.

By the time the food came out and was placed on the table by the waitress, he turns it on. The low setting of the vibrator is enough to make you whine. You take a sip of your coffee, wanting so bad to succumb to the pleasure and moan out his name. But you're in public; you know you can't do that.

Pressing your palm to your forehead, you let out a very quiet, breathy moan. Stiles had turned the setting up a notch higher, the buzzing making it impossible for you to sit still.

"Baby, are you okay?" Stiles asks innocently, a complacent smile playing on those teasing lips of his.

"Hi guys, how's everything going?" the waitress asks, approaching the table. Setting the phone in his lap, Stiles turns up the setting.

"good, thanks," you choke out as he kicks you gently under the table. The little shit is testing you.

"Great! Let me know if you need anything," she smiles warmly, turning on her heels before walking towards another table.

"stiles, we're in public!" you whisper yell at him. You suck in a breath; the pressure in your lower stomach builds with each second that goes by.

"aw, come on, princess. I'm just having a little fun," he chuckles. Stiles turns off the vibrator, leaving you unsatisfied and on the verge of tears. You're completely conflicted with wanting to cum, and wanting to stop this entirely.

"stiles," you pine, eyes pleading with him. He leans forward on the table, voice low enough so just you can hear him.

"what do you want, angel. Tell me, and it's yours."

"I want to cum," you whisper, drink in hand to take a sip so no one notices. Gladly, Stiles turns the toy on again. Your leg crosses over the other and squeezing together. He turns the setting higher and higher and higher -

"oh," you moan into your palm as you bite your nails hard. Your pussy pulses as you ride out your high. You look around, face completely heated as you couldn't believe you just came in public.

"was that all, baby?" Stiles dares, eyes darkened with lust.

"Can we please go home? I really need you to fuck me," you whisper. He turns on the vibrator again. This time he keeps it on the lowest setting.

"not until we finish our meal," he snickers, picking up his knife and fork and finally digging to his lunch. You sigh, doing the same as you subtly rock against the chair.

"you're doing so well, baby. I'm so proud of you," he praises, hand stretching out to hold yours.

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tag list: (click here to be apart of the tag list!)

@dylanobrienhehe // @jermaee // @boxofsteampunkplaces // @bailaycantaconmingo // @mollyknm // @angelcbf // @greengarsstuff // @v3niceb1tchldr // @shrekaliciouzs // @jenniferrvsesi // @stellastyless

═══════*.·:·.☽✧✦✧☾.·:·.*═══════

[colethewolf]

I posted 1,937 times in 2022

373 posts created (19%)

1,564 posts reblogged (81%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@chrisevansbuddy

@carlospy

@wolfflock

@sterekotp1

@feelsforsterek

I tagged 584 of my posts in 2022

#sterek - 265 posts

#sterekartwork - 142 posts

#dylpickle - 79 posts

#superhoech - 40 posts

#artwork - 36 posts

#teenwolfart - 21 posts

#derek hale - 21 posts

#geraskier - 20 posts

#the witcher - 20 posts

#stiles stilinski - 19 posts

Longest Tag: 100 characters

#now who told hoechlin to play derek as though he just found out that stiles is the love of his life?

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

you guys have to know that I go absolutely feral for this derek with this stiles.

Like, just imagine them bumping into each other like 10 years later at the local coffee shop or bagel place whatever. and at first they just stare at each other because neither of them know what they want to say

cut to a couple seconds later and they're pawing at each other and jumping each other's bones in the restroom because it's like every dirty thought or feeling they ever had about one another has decided to overflow right now in the moment

and then by the time it's over, the only thing either of them are thinking is "okay i'm literally not letting you go this time around"

please

1,066 notes - Posted April 3, 2022

#4

um hello?

like father like son?

it's there 1 thing derek hale's gonna do, it's gonna be him making sure he protects his own

1,116 notes - Posted October 7, 2022

#3

Eli Hale Headcanons

(because I’m still in disbelief that Derek & Stiles literally have a child in canon now)

1. Eli is prone to a very special Derek-level of broody behavior as he especially likes to scowl.

2. Eli possesses a perfect mix of Derek’s snark & Stiles’ quick-thinking sarcasm.

3. Eli attends school at Beacon Hills High & maintains decent grades.

4. Unlike his parents, Eli doesn’t enjoy sports. He doesn’t play basketball or lacrosse. He likes music instead.

5. Speaking of music, Eli is the lead singer and guitarist of a scrappy little garage band that he put together with his 2 best friends.

6. Eli’s band is called “BLUE IS PRETTY” which he named after the mantra his parents always say, due to there being a negative stigma towards people with blue werewolf eyes in the werewolf community.

7. Eli is a beta werewolf who is more likely to punch a bully in the face than sit down and talk things out, taking more after his human father.

8. One of Eli’s favorite activities is the weekly training exercises he does with Derek to help train his werewolf abilities.

9. Eli’s werewolf powers kicked in at age 5, which took both Derek & Stiles by surprise, because werewolves don’t typically get their powers until around age 9-10.

10. Surprise was an understatement. Eli’s powers kicked in during a normal trip to the grocery store wherein Eli took off running faster than a human child ever could, leading to an embarrassing display of Derek trying to chase after him and catch him.

11. Eli’s first word was “fucker” because Stiles has a mild case of road rage. This led to an awkward explanation later that night when Stiles had to explain to his husband why their son kept calling everything a “fucker”.

12. Eli wears Derek’s old leather jacket, which is pretty loose on him, but it was originally Derek’s father’s. It’s special. And Eli knows it makes him look cool.

13. Eli drives Stiles’ jeep, which yes, still works! It’s held together by magic now, as opposed to duct tape.

14. Eli is gay, but doesn’t have a boyfriend yet. Although he does have a crush on a cute hall monitor who always stops him for listening to music in the halls.

15. Eli purposely wears his headphones and loudly listens to music in the halls for this reason.

16. Eli isn’t close to Derek’s uncle, Peter, as Derek & Stiles have opted to not establish that relationship due to Peter being a seriously bad influence.

17. Eli has an after-school job with his friends as ushers at the local movie theater.

18. There’s a show on Netflix about teenage werewolves that’s really bad & moderately offensive to werewolf culture, but Eli & Derek like to binge watch new seasons together to mock how much the show gets wrong about being a werewolf.

19. Eli’s bedroom is painted black with lots of various posters from his favorite bands plastered onto the walls. He keeps his room at just the right amount of messy & likes to burn candles that aren’t strong enough to burn his werewolf nose right off his face.

20. Eli’s wolf form is devoid of eyebrows, just like Derek’s & Eli likes it because he thinks it makes him look cooler than other werewolves.

What are your Eli-Stilinski Hale headcanons, ya’ll?

1,317 notes - Posted March 27, 2022

#2

See the full post

1,626 notes - Posted February 23, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Tyler Hoechlin: There's something I want to say about Vince and the way that he plays the character (Eli Hale), can I kind of say who he reminds me of a little bit?

Jeff Davis: *shaking, shitting, & internally crying over the fact that Hoechlin is about to say that Vince playing Eli reminds him of Dylan O'Brien/Stiles Stilinski* : No.

1,750 notes - Posted July 26, 2022

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