#stiles stilinski dirty imagine

[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.

[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

[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.

[invisible-storyteller]

Reverse it

(read it on AO3) Pairing: Stiles Stilinski/Derek Hale Rating: Teen and Up Words: 1570 Summary: Stiles's waiter was HOT. Capital letters H-O-T.

Stiles's waiter was HOT. Capital letters H-O-T. 

Stiles was sure he'd get three-degree burns on his fingertips if he dared to touch such a bootylicious specimen. And bootylicious was indeed the correct term because damn, the guy had a nice ass. Stiles really wanted to get his hand on that thing. Or in it. Preferably both, with enthusiastic consent from the guy, of course.

"Could you be more obvious?" His daydream was rudely interrupted by his dining partner slash coworker, and seriously, couldn't a man just enjoy some fantasizing in peace nowadays? Stiles squinted his eyes at Erica, who had demanded Stiles take her out to a restaurant after all the extra shifts she had willingly endured when Scott came to visit a week ago, and admittedly, some compensation was overdue when Stiles had pulled a three-days-straight friendship extravaganza with his quasi-brother, and hence he was seated in this fine establishment way above his budget frame - although, Stiles was starting to regret his momentary kindness now. And Erica really had no right to judge Stiles when she too was clearly appreciating the view. It wasn't like Stiles was feeling weirdly possessive over a stranger - okay, maybe a little bit - but Tall, Dark and Handsome probably received a handful of dirty glances on a daily basis to revel in such a treatment. Oh God, did that make Stiles no better than every other person who had ever salivated over that body? Well, Stiles at least had the intent to take the guy on a date first, get to know him, see what made his lips curl into that soul-warming smile that showed off his adorable bunny teeth, and figure out the exact colour of his eyes and maybe stay up all night watching Friends reruns while talking about anything and everything and-

Okay, so Stiles may have fallen for the guy a bit. It wasn't his fault, he clearly had a type and this man obviously checked off all the boxes. Stiles couldn't help but imagine taking him on candle-lit dinners and making him laugh and rimming him until he came with Stiles's name on his lips... shit. Getting a boner in a fancy restaurant was definitely something Erica would never let him live down, but how could he concentrate on anything else other than the living proof of divine sculpting skills in front of him?

"Ask for his number, loser," Erica's hiss broke through his thoughts, snapping Stiles's attention away from the waiter's arm muscles as he poured a glass of wine to another awe-struck patron.

"No, thanks, I actually want to make it to 25," Stiles snorted, not even trying to hide his pout.

Because yeah, the man was gorgeous. But he also had a resting murder face - which Stiles could understand, what with the people basically undressing him with their eyes 24/7 and the whole working in customer service thing - and Stiles had a hunch that the man would rip his throat out if Stiles (a solid 5) asked him (an 11 at least) out. And the guy just seemed like the very serious type - all brooding and no grooving. It didn't bother Stiles much, but evidence showed that sexy, serious and smart people (aka the 3Ss) equalled a higher chance of the person getting tired of him before they even reached second base and Stiles had a feeling that scoring with this guy only to be dumped a few days or weeks later would be such a blow to the heart that Stiles might not recover from it. And who was he kidding? He probably didn't stand a chance, anyway. Greek God was probably taken, too, as was Stiles's usual luck.

"Batman, if you do not make a move on him, I swear to all things leather that I will get Boss to team you up with Greenberg on our next op."

Stiles's eyes widened in terror at such a threat of betrayal.

"You wouldn't." “Try me," Erica smirked, her eyes travelling to the waiter as he once again approached their table.

Stiles swallowed.

"Here's your bill, Sir," Waiter with the sexy eyebrows said as he placed the piece of paper onto the table, not even making eye contact despite Stiles's noticeable side glances.

His heart rate would have picked up from just one look at the total price - Erica certainly knew how to treat herself, even if Stiles would have to live on bread and tap water after this night - if it hadn't been racing already by the waiter's sheer proximity. It was made all the worse when Perma Stubble leaned down to put the card terminal on the table and Stiles was ambushed with the smell of his sandalwood shampoo. The urge to bury his face in the crook of the man's neck was plain ridiculous at this point. “Ouch!" Stiles winced while he tried to ignore both the waiter's confused glare from beside him and Erica's tenacious kicking under the table. Fuck wall climbing, she should have been a soccer player!

Erica gave him another pointed look while the waiter's rising annoyance became palpable, and okay, in spite of what his friends would say, Stiles had some self-preservation skills. Erica would just drag him back to this place if he hadn't at least tried to ask the man of his dreams out on a date, so he might as well shoot his shot. But if Stiles was going to make a move, he would rather not get his hopes up without testing if their relationship had a chance of working out first. Compatibility and all that. Inspiration seemed to strike at the right moment, too, and Stiles had only one thought in this rare moment of bravery: the guy had better be able to take a joke.

Slowly, with slightly shaky hands, Stiles pulled his wallet out from his pocket and deliberately made eye contact with the waiter - pats on the back for him for not looking away from the piercing gaze of those magnificent eyes - as he reached into one of the small compartments and pulled out a single. Uno. reverse card. Erica appeared to be torn between face-palming and bursting into laughter as Stiles placed the card on the bill with a smirk on his lips and challenge in his eyes. This was it. The following seconds would decide his possible future with the gorgeous waiter of his wet dreams.

For a moment - that felt more like a torturous eternity - there was no reaction from the man. Stiles was just about to start mourning the loss of his fantasy relationship when he spotted a server book being raised and opened, and he had to bite his lip in a nervous habit as the waiter - still with an emotionless expression - leafed through his stack of papers and grabbed something thin hidden under the notepad. Stiles's eyes nearly bugged out of his head when the waiter suddenly slammed another Uno reverse card on top of his own.

Stiles stared at the card for a few seconds - experiencing the unusual occurrence of being left speechless - before lifting his eyes up to the man, mouth hanging open in a way that must have looked unattractive (and he still couldn't care) and his heart nearly going into cardiac arrest at the dazzling smirk the guy was sporting. Oh my god, he was perfect.

“Marry me."

Stiles didn't even notice that he had said that out loud until the waiter ducked his head to hide a (devastatingly cute) smile and Erica started snickering across from him. Despite his raging blush, Stiles couldn't take his eyes off the waiter or the nervous and yet curious glimpses the man was sending him from behind his eyelashes. Seriously, how could someone so intimidating be so adorable at the same time?! Life just wasn't fair. “I don't think your girlfriend would appreciate that," The waiter finally spoke, and Stiles would have cheered for getting more than three words out of the man if Demigod Dude weren't darting his eyes anxiously at Erica who was leaning back in her chair, unbothered and fully enjoying the show.

"Erica? No! No, no, no, nope. Ew. We're just friends."

The waiter's head snapped up so fast it must have hurt his (lickable) neck, his eyes sparkling with something achingly similar to... hope? Stiles pinched himself in the leg - double ouch - okay, so not a dream. "So... no girlfriend?" The waiter asked tentatively and Stiles wanted to swoon at his shyness.

“Wait, what do you mean 'ew'?"

Stiles ignored Erica's question and instead flashed a flirtatious smile at the waiter as he shook his head. "No girlfriend." "And no..." The waiter's blush deepened, and wow, that had to be one of Stiles's favourite looks on him, "No boyfriend?"

"Not yet," Stiles bit his lip, raking his eyes over the man's body shamelessly, delighted at the way that it made the man's blush spread to the tips of his ears. "I'm Stiles."

"Derek." The waiter replied, his eyes roaming over Stiles in a similar fashion. Stiles beamed.

"I'd really like to go on a date with you, Derek." The waiter ducked his head again and before Stiles could think that he was being rejected Derek was already opening his server book a second time, and with a shy but mischievous smile, Derek presented another Uno reverse card. Stiles laughed so hard he nearly fell off the chair.

[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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[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.

[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.”

[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.

[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.”

[strangerquinns]

Dylan O'Brien Concept/Blurbs

SMUT(18+)

new look; dylan o’brien

morning sun; dylan o’brien

bathtub fun; dylan o’brien

wakeup call; dylan o’brien

friends with benefits; stiles stilinski

first time in months; dylan o’brien

party; dylan o’brien (part two)

apart; dylan o’brien

night-out; dylan o’brien

dirty text; dylan o’brien

hard and deep; dylan o’brien

high; dylan o’brien

breaking the rules; dylan o’brien

slow and hazy; dylan o’brien

“use me”; dylan o’brien

in charge; dylan o’brien

happy birthday; dylan o’brien

four months; mitch rapp

strangers in a bar; dylan o’brien

baby making; dylan o’brien

interview; dylan o’brien

smoking; dylan o’brien

shower fun; dylan o’brien

morning; stiles stilinski

good night; dylan obrien

good girl; stiles stilinski

FLUFF

sacred romance prompt: first date

dinner for two; dylan o’brien

a third; dylan o’brien

birthday boy; dylan o’brien

love of my life; dylan o’brien

movie night make-out (smut-ish); dylan o’brien

family; mitch rapp

crush; stiles stilinski

NYC tourist day: dylan o’brien

the first moment; dylan o’brien | i love you, too (part two)

on the streets of New York; dylan o’brien

drunk snuggles; dylan o’brien

happiness; stiles stilinski

potentially romantic prompt; gaze; dylan o’brien

early morning cravings; dylan o’brien

dive bar; dylan o’brien

stay in bed; dylan o’brien

newborn; dylan o’brien

forehead kisses; dylan o’brien

sneaking in; stiles stilinski

tongue tied; mitch rapp

mother nature; dylan o’brien

little white chapel; dylan o’brien

mother nature; dylan o’brien

“mommy, mine!”; dylan o’brien

terrible plan; stiles stilinski

Halloween fun; dylan o'brien

ANGST

need you close; stiles stilinski

the target; mitch rapp

proposed confession; dylan o’brien

one year anniversary; stiles stilinski | part two

jealousy; stiles stilinski | part two

potentially romantic prompts: catch; stiles stilinski

friends with benefits; dylan o’brien

“because I love you,”; stiles stilinski

“hold me”; stiles stilinski

a year in the dark; stiles stilinski

five years later; dylan o’brien

“will i ever recover?”; dylan o’brien (deleted by accident)

“by your side”; dylan o’brien

OTHER (NO THEME)

jealous; dylan o’brien

tied-up; void!stiles

pillow fort; stiles stilinski

red-carpet; dylan o’brien 

sleepover; stiles stilinski

baby; dylan o’brien

thanksgiving dinner; dylan o’brien

pda; dylan o’brien

mending and distracting; dylan o’brien | part two

shining armor prompt: (kill); void!stiles

Oblivious Lovers Prompt Night

Best Friends Brother

The Kiss

Void!Stiles

Perfect

Adore

imagines + mini-series masterlist

blurbs/concepts page two

[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

[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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