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andreafmn · 6 months ago

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Kinktober ⛓️ Day 20

Word Count: 3.1K Paring: Stiles Stilinski x Fem!Reader Prompt @kinktober2023: Foodplay WARNINGS: SMUT 18+ (minors DNI), food play, oral (male and female receiving)

Summary: Stiles Stilinski is forgetful. Everyone knows that, but no one more than his girlfriend (Y/N). There have been far too many occasions where the boy has forgotten special events or details for her to be mad when he fails to mention they have only one afternoon to bake a hundred cupcakes for a bake sale. And, instead of growing angry, she goes down a sweet turn.

A/N: I should be ashamed how long it has taken me to finish this damn series, but at least we are one step closer. Hopefully I finish before october 🫣🫣

MASTERLIST

In hindsight, volunteering to make a hundred cupcakes for a fundraising bake sale wasn’t the best idea. Even if it was for the lacrosse team, it sort of ended in disaster. Sweet, sweet disaster.

It was the first time since Stiles had been on the team that the lacrosse Cyclones had made it to the state competition, and they were not ready for the financial toll it would take. Since Jackson had left the school, most of the sports teams had their budgets slashed, as the Whittmores felt no need to continue contributing to their son’s extracurriculars.

However, the kids at Beacon Hills High School were nothing if not resilient, and they were determined to get the team to Santa Barbara.

Somehow, the idea of a bake sale made its way to the top of the fundraising list, and everyone and their mother had to come up with an item to bring to the school. Somehow, Stiles had roped him and (Y/N) into baking a hundred cupcakes by Monday morning, and it just so happened that it was Sunday afternoon.

It wasn’t the first time Stiles had gotten them in a pressing situation—most times, it was more life and death, but nevertheless, still pressing. The worst part was, he’d only just told his girlfriend two hours before they had to get to work. The pair had quite a long night ahead of them. Not that (Y/N) wasn’t used to it.

If the girl ever said that Stiles forgetting crucial details was a sporadic event, she’d be lying. In the years they had known each other, it had become a staple in their relationship. Even when they were only friends, she’d had to make sure anything they were meant to do was told to her first, or else she’d only find out when it was too late.

(Y/N) didn’t mind, though. She understood that the boy’s brain had always been riddled with far too many thoughts, and juggling it all could be quite frustrating. That’s why, when he woke her from her Sunday morning sleep-in, she simply said she’d shower, change, and head to his house. The girl knew he hadn’t done it in malice, so there was no point in being angry at him. At least he had remembered.

Thankfully, the journey wasn’t long since all she had to do was walk to the house next door. But she did notice the lack of a sheriff cruiser on the driveway. Only Stiles’ blue Jeep stood there, a layer of dirt gathered on the paint. Not only were they meant to bake a hundred cupcakes and decorate them, but they had to do it by themselves. And (Y/N) could only laugh at the situation.

“Stiles, I’m here,” she called out as she walked into his house as she had done a million times before. “I hope you’ve already gotten started.”

“Well, about that,” he chuckled awkwardly. It wasn’t until the girl walked into his kitchen that she saw he had only gone as far as getting the groceries they needed. “I didn’t know where to start, so I was waiting for you to get here.”

“This is gonna be a long night, huh?” she sighed with a smile as the boy nodded. “Alright then. Let’s get to work.”

In a matter of minutes, (Y/N) had set a game plan for the pair. She divided the ingredients into four stations for the four flavors they’d be doing, making sure that each recipe was visible and easy to follow. The last thing they needed were more setbacks. They only had so many hours to do 25 cupcakes of each flavor and make sure they were cool enough to be decorated. Everything had to be done precisely as written.

And for the first couple of hours, it had worked. Stiles and (Y/N) were working together like a well-oiled machine. While one mixed, the other served. While one set the timer, the other cleaned. It was all coming together nicely—too nicely.

It was only a matter of time before disaster struck.

Stiles had started to grow angsty with the repetitive tasks, his veins itching for more spontaneity. He knew he had brought this upon himself. Worse even, he had brought it upon (Y/N) as well, who, for some reason, never seemed annoyed with his constant brain scatters. Since he had known her, she had always been understanding of the way his brain worked. Where others would have chastised or criticized him, she took the time to ground him. It had been one of the many reasons he found himself falling in love with her. No matter how many times he would screw up, she was always supportive and sympathetic, finding ways to help him rather than bring him down.

And that afternoon was no different.

They were merely done with the vanilla cupcakes when Stiles had begun to grow bored. (Y/N) had instructed him to put away the dirty bowls and whisks used for that flavor before they started on the chocolate ones, but all he could think about was the chocolate syrup he had bought to drizzle on top of the dessert. His mind filled with some very unhygienic ways he could use the sweet liquid and where he could use it.

Suddenly, as though she had been reading his mind, the girl took the bottle and let it stream into her mouth. A few drops landed on her chin, and she wiped them up with her fingers before popping the digits back into her mouth. There was no subtext to it. Just a girl enjoying chocolate syrup.

But in Stiles’ everything was different. Wind was blowing her hair back, the lights had dimmed, and sensual music played in the background, all in slow motion. He was turned away from (Y/N) at the sink when he felt his erection press against the zipper of his pants, making for a very uncomfortable position as he washed the dishes. Stiles moved his legs from side to side, pressing his knees together as he searched for some much-needed friction.

But to (Y/N), he looked like he had been holding his pee in for the past few hours. “If you have to go to the bathroom, you can, Stiles,” she chuckled as she slithered her arms around his waist, grinning as he stiffened under her touch. “I don’t mind cleaning this up.”

“Oh, uh, that’s not it,” he stammered awkwardly. “I don’t really have to pee.”

“You can take a break if you want, then,” she said. “I know this is not the most thrilling task. At least, not compared to chasing down supernatural creatures. But you still made the compromise, so we have to get this done tonight.”

“Yeah, I know,” he continued fidgeting. His front was pressed against the counter, trying his best to keep his hardening bulge from her sight. “I just need a second.”

(Y/N) noticed the way Stiles froze against the counter, not even turning to give her a kiss on the cheek like he normally did. Instead, he washed the same bowl three times before noticing that he had yet to take another dish. His legs were pressed together, and his knees buckled back and forth in search of… friction, she realized. Her boyfriend was sporting a raging hard-on while they baked cookies.

She couldn’t fathom what about their situation had turned him on. They were covered in flour from their hair to their clothes, they had been standing for a couple of hours, and they hadn’t as much as touched hands since they had begun working. But the sweet taste in her mouth reminded her of what she had done only a few minutes before. The image of (Y/N) dripping chocolate into her mouth sparked a vivid picture in the boy’s head, and he succumbed to his wild imagination.

Any other girl would have ignored their boyfriend’s problem and focused on their long task. They had no time to waste, and certainly not many ingredients to spare. But (Y/N) wasn’t any other person, and she couldn’t let such a moment pass her by. For that split second, she thanked her lucky stars the Sherriff had gone to work, and the couple had the whole house to themselves. Things were about to get messy, and the carpet in his bedroom was hard to clean.

“Are you, by chance, turned on right now, baby?” (Y/N) purred in his ear as she ran her hands up his chest. “Are you seriously thinking about sex when we have so much to do?”

“I, uh, well, you know,” he stammered. “Things happen.”

“And what happened, Stiles?” she continued, sliding her hands now downward and landing on his cock. She squeezed it softly, chuckling as he whined at the touch. “What got you all hot and bothered?”

“Oh, uh, n-nothing really,” he replied. (Y/N) unhanded him then, allowing him to let out a breath of relief. “You know us teenage boys and our hair-thin trigger.”

“Right,” the girl said. “Turn around, Stiles.”

“I’m quite good here,” Stiles chuckled awkwardly. “I just need a minute.”

“Stiles, baby,” she called. “Turn around. I need to see you.

Once he did, he regretted not turning around sooner. Behind him, (Y/N) stood in nothing but her underwear, a mischievous grin adorning her face. In one hand, she held the bottle of syrup that had started it all. In the other, a can of whipped cream. And all Stiles could do was groan as his already painfully hard erection pressed against the seam of his jeans.

“W-what are you doing, (Y/N)?” he swallowed hard. “We, uh… you, uh…”

“I told you, babe,” she smirked. “You need a break.”

Stiles didn’t need to be told twice as he crossed the room to reach her. He took the image of her in, running his eyes from her head to her toes, as though he had never seen her in that way before. And, well, to him, that’s what it always felt like. (Y/N) was everything he had ever dreamed of, and most of the time, he felt like he had fallen asleep and never woken up when he was with her.

“You seem very intrigued by this bottle of chocolate, Stiles,” she teased, giggling softly as he placed his hands on her hips. “Is there something you wanna tell me? Maybe a little kink we’ve never explored before.”

“I didn’t know I had it until today,” the boy confessed. “The thought just popped into my head, and now, well, it’s all I’ve been able to think about.”

“So, what do you want to do with this, baby?” (Y/N) whispered as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Tell me what you want.”

A groan escaped Stiles as she pressed her body against his, his hands exploring the exposed skin of her hips. The cupcakes were long forgotten, and all he could focus on was the excitement he felt to fulfill the fantasy he had dreamed of only a few minutes before. “Whatever you want,” he said. “I don’t care where you use it as long as I get to lick it off your body.”

“You’re giving me so much freedom,” she smiled. “Hope you don’t regret it later.”

“I don’t think I could ever regret anything that has to do with you, babe.”

“Well then, let’s start you off slow.” (Y/N) unhanded Stiles before letting a stream of chocolate fall into her mouth, allowing a bit to drip down her chin and neck. “Oh, no! I’ve made a mess of myself.”

Laughing at her overexaggerated acting, Stiles licked his lips before running his tongue from her neck up to her chin, reveling in the taste of her skin mixed with the chocolate. Mixing food with sex had never been something he had thought to do, but after the first taste, he wondered why it had taken him so long to do so.

The way (Y/N) sighed as he licked away the liquid made his cock twitch in his pants, yearning for a touch he knew would take time. And he didn’t mind. Especially after his girlfriend removed her bra and let the bottle of syrup drip down her chest, exciting him even further.

He seemed like a starved man as he feasted on the girl’s breasts, making sure not a single drop of chocolate was left. He lapped at her skin, traveling the expanse of her chest before landing on the hardened peaks of her breasts. He nipped and sucked as he teased her, chuckling softly as she moaned and threaded her fingers through his hair. Chocolate on (Y/N)’s skin shouldn’t have excited him as much as it did, but he would risk a cavity if it meant tasting her this way every chance he got.

Even though (Y/N) had been the one to initiate contact, it didn’t take long for Stiles to take control of the situation. As he kissed his way down her stomach, he hooked his fingers through the elastic of her underwear and pulled it off until she was completely exposed to him. Then, he took the bottle from her hand and let it drip on her skin until it reached her cunt. His eyes were trained on the drops of brown that stained her body, watching as it slowly moved.

Before it could reach the ground, Stiles licked it up, groaning as he tasted her wetness mixed with the sweetness of the chocolate. If he had ever questioned what the nectar of the gods tasted like, after that afternoon, he’d gotten his answer. He lapped at her core like a starving man, acting as though she was his first and last meal.

(Y/N) braced herself with the counter behind her as Stiles hooked one of her legs on his shoulder for better access to her cunt. He teased her clit with his tongue, the syrup long gone but the sweetness forever lingering. He circled the bundle of nerves with the tip, applying just enough pressure to have her panting and moaning.

“Fuck, baby,” she groaned. “I’m so close.”

All Stiles could do was send vibrations through her body with a chuckle. He wanted her to come undone in his mouth, to have her knees buckle under the weight of the orgasm he was giving her. Because, regardless of where he was lacking, the Stilinski boy was always giving.

He was relentless in his pursuit of her climax, sucking and flicking, waiting for the tell-tale signs that she was reaching her end. Signs that weren’t too far behind as he continued his attack. She threaded her fingers back into his hair, pulling at the strands while she pushed his head tight against her until, with a loud shriek of his name, she came.

She pulled him to his feet as she recovered, crashing her lips onto his. She tasted herself in his mouth and moaned at the mix with the chocolate. “That was…,” the girl panted with a laugh. “Who knew you’d be this excited over a little chocolate?”

“Well, you know I’ve always had a bit of a sweet tooth,” he grinned. “I’m just surprised it took this long for us to do something like this.”

“Oh, and we’re not done yet,” she said. In a swift move, (Y/N) flipped them over, pressing Stiled against the counter as she reached for the can of whipped cream behind them. “It’s your turn, baby.”

“What’re you…?”

Before he could continue, the girl’s hands were unbuttoning his pants and pulling them down his legs, his boxers following in tow. She smiled as his erection sprung free, red and wet from the anticipation. Poor thing looked like it was ready to burst. And who was she to deny it the touch it was yearning for?

With a playful smile on her face, (Y/N) took hold of the base of his cock, chuckling as he took in a sharp breath at the touch. She then squirted a line of cream on his length, licking the excess from the tip of the can before turning back to Stiles. The boy stared at her with giddy anticipation, trembling as she hovered over him. Her breath tickled his skin, making his body erupt in goosebumps as he waited for her to move.

And, as much as she wanted to toy with him, (Y/N) knew how long he had already been waiting for, and they still had so much to do. So, instead of making him work for it, she swirled the tip of her tongue around Stiles’ cockhead, making him grow weak at the knees. The taste alone was enough to make her want more.

She ran her tongue across his length, memorizing the feeling of his skin on her tongue, the mix of his pre with the silky sweet of the whipped cream, and the way Stiles bucked his hips forward. It was a mix she wanted to experience again, sooner rather than later.

Once she was satisfied with the cleanup job, (Y/N) finally engulfed her mouth around Stles’ cock, drawing out a loud groan from the boy. She knew he was not going to last long, but she would make them the best few minutes of his day.

(Y/N) started at a slow pace, burying him in the wetness of her mouth while she swirled her tongue around his shaft. But with the way Stiles was wriggling with every stroke, she sped up quickly. Her head moved up and down rapidly, one hand gripping the base of his cock while the other worked to massage his tightening balls.

“Oh, god, baby,” he croaked out. “Fuck, I’m almost there—don’t stop.”

And she wasn’t planning to. Instead, she kept her pace, letting him reach the back of her throat as she sucked her cheeks in. She bobbed her head until saliva was dripping down her chin, and her breath was being cut off. Just like he had done for her, she was working to reach his climax—that wasn’t too far behind.

All it took was a perfectly timed squeeze of his balls, and Stiles was stuttering forward, holding (Y/N)’s head as he emptied himself in her mouth. Strand after strand painted the inside of her mouth until there was nothing left, and with a satisfied grunt, he exited her mouth.

Still knelt on the floor, (Y/N) swallowed Stiles’ finish before looking directly into his eyes and squirting whipped cream into her mouth. She said, “Much better,” and stood up.

Stiles grabbed the sides of her face and kissed her roughly, sighing at their mixed tastes in his mouth. “That really was something else,” he smiled as he released her. “We have to try that again.”

“Tell you what,” she grinned. “If we finish these cupcakes on schedule, I can promise you a very sweet treat after.”

“Then why are we standing here?” Stiles exclaimed as he pulled up his pants. “Let’s get this done!”

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honestlydarkprincess · 1 year ago

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keep your eyes on me

stiles x derek || rating: explicit || wc: 6k

It took Derek a week in his new apartment to realize that he had a completely unobstructed view of a bedroom in the neighbouring building. There was a huge, top to bottom window that allowed him to see both the desk that was pushed against it and the bed. At first he didn’t think anything of it, but then he saw the man who lived in said bedroom and he had been struck dumb. He was beautiful— tall, lean, and always had something in his hands or in his mouth. While he worked at his desk, Derek’s mystery neighbour would always twirl a pen or pencil and chew on the top when he was thinking.

Derek didn’t mean to start staring at his neighbour, it just kind of happened. They both worked from home it seemed, and Derek’s office faced his neighbour’s window, giving him a clear view. The first couple times he caught himself staring were an accident, he’d merely zoned out. Until one day when Derek looked out and found his neighbour staring right at him, a playful smirk on his lips. When they made eye contact, the neighbour winked and Derek had flushed pink, looking away.

Or, the one where Derek is shy and an accidental voyeur. Stiles is very into it.

read on ao3

#jess does kinktober #jess.writes #jess.fics #sterek #sterek fic #sterek fanfiction #stiles stilinski #derek hale #stiles x derek #derek x stiles #teen wolf #teen wolf fic #kinktober #kinktober 2023

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usermischief · 1 year ago

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♜Pairing: Briles (+ Isaac) ♜Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Brett Talbot, Isaac Lahey ♜Tags/Warnings: Briles established relationship, alpha!Brett, explicit sexual content ♜Words: 6187 ♜Kinktober 2023: Sharing

ao3

a/n: I wish you a very happy birthday, @amatchinwater! 💖

———

sharing is caring

“Hey, you got a minute to talk?”

Stiles looks up from his files, quirking a brow as he studies Brett for a moment. “Sure?”

After closing the door behind him, Brett quickly crosses the distance and crouches down next to Stiles’ chair. There are only two instances when he acts like this; wanting to make peace after an argument, or when he wants Stiles to ask for a favor. They haven’t fought in a while. “You remember how we talked about that an alpha has to sometimes take care of their betas?”

Stiles raises his brows. “And how you’re not a fan of that tradition. Yes, I remember.” The first time Brett brought this topic up, Stiles had already read all about it — and he decided to date him anyway. He's aware that intimacy and physical contact have a very different meaning for werewolves, but he’s also aware that humans becoming members of a pack slowly changed the meaning of sex, especially for the alpha couple. Apparently, human mates turned the alpha more possessive and aggressive towards others and even the members of their own pack. Stiles could write a whole dissertation about how goddamn stupid it is to think a human getting involved with werewolves can’t protect themselves, but since Brett is against a lot of old traditions and never excluded him from anything dangerous, he didn’t have a reason to do so yet.

“That didn’t change.” Brett pulls his shoulders up and sighs.

“I can feel a ‘but’ coming.”

Brett grimaces a little. “It’s about Isaac.” They’ve talked a lot about Isaac in the past few days. Although he’s been with them for almost two months, it seems like he’s not fully integrated into the pack. There’s a distance there, one that’s been plaguing Brett. No pack activity seems to change that.

“So,” Stiles says, clearing his throat awkwardly, “you want to sleep with Isaac?” It will bother him, he’s not ever going to deny that. But he is also not going to stop Brett from doing it if he considers it absolutely necessary. Stiles did inherently agree to a more or less open relationship when he decided to date an alpha and continued to date him after they talked about everything.

“No.” Brett turns the desk chair Stiles is sitting on and slips between his thighs. Although Stiles isn’t a werewolf, he can’t deny that seeing Brett kneeling between his legs is doing things to him. It’s not a position an alpha would put themselves in usually, but Brett has never put himself above him in any way. They’ve always been equals, especially when it comes to decisions for the pack. “Isaac’s been in two other packs with you.” He straightens a little, just enough to wrap an arm around Stiles’ waist and pull him closer to the edge of his seat. “It’s possible he’s followed you to this one. It wouldn’t be the first time a werewolf instinctively anchors himself to a former pack mate, and with everything you two have been through…” he trails off, raising his brows.

Stiles blinks. “You want me to sleep with Isaac?”

Brett hums in agreement.

For a few moments, Stiles simply stares at his mate. Part of him still waits for the gotcha-moment, but Brett doesn’t really make these types of jokes. He probably mulled this over for at least a week, trying to figure out the best way to bring it up. Issue is, there is no best way to bring something like this up. Stiles has absolutely no idea what to say. Isaac is attractive, no doubt, and he totally would’ve been down to sleep with him — if he weren’t in a very committed relationship. Agreeing to this now feels weird. He clears his throat and runs his fingers through Brett’s hair. “What does Isaac say?”

“I haven’t spoken to him yet.”

Stiles draws his brows together. “And you’d be okay with it?”

“I’ll be in the room.”

“Babe.” Stiles puts two fingers underneath Brett’s chin, tipping his head a bit further back. “That’s not what I asked.”

Brett grimaces and ducks his head, cheeks flushing slightly. It’s such a rare sight, something that happened the last time the day Brett asked him out for the very first time. He’s been so awkward and unsure back then. This side of Brett startled him all those years ago, it’s not any less surprising now. “You know I love you, right?”

The smile slips from Stiles’ features as the words sink in. Nothing good ever starts with ‘you know I love you, right?’. Absolutely nothing.

“No.” Brett is instantly alert, straightening and reaching up to cup his cheeks. “No, don’t go into panic mode. I just want to—” he cuts off and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath as if to steady himself. “I’d hate to see you with somebody else, but watching you and Isaac... I don’t know.”

Stiles blinks as realization dawns on him. “You’d be into that? Watching me and Isaac have sex?” He’s not exactly turned off by that admission. It’s more that he’s confused. Although Brett isn’t outright jealous, he’s proven to be very possessive which, again, is on par for mates. Stiles can feel the same tug of possessiveness whenever Brett is close with someone else. So, hearing this is surprising.

For a moment, Brett studies him and presses a finger to his bottom lip.

Out of instinct, Stiles pokes it with his tongue.

“No,” Brett admits then, shaking his head for good measure, “watching you be good for my beta— making him feel good, welcoming him... that’s what I’d be into.” There’s a hint of something unspoken, of something Brett has never outright said or asked him, but something that’s been floating around in his mind, nonetheless. Nature versus nurture. Brett is undoubtedly raised to fit seamlessly into the human society. That does not mean he isn’t fully in tune with his werewolf, and that side of him got stronger after becoming the alpha. There are little things that are standing out. He’s more protective, less reckless, almost responsible, and he started proving that he could provide for Stiles as well as the pack.

But there’s something else too.

Although Brett would never dare to treat Stiles as anything but his equal, he’s become increasingly frustrated when Stiles outright defied him. After all, he is the alpha, the leader of the pack. Brett’s word is law.

That’s how his wolf wants it.

Stiles cocks his head to the side. They both know he’ll never submit to Brett or anyone. That’s not who he is, and Brett would never dare to force him. Thing is, Stiles has often thought about finding a compromise, a way to ease Brett’s wolf without compromising their everyday life. “You want me to be a good boy?” Although Stiles has been thinking about it for a while, hearing these words out loud is still a bit jarring.

But Brett’s eyes flash red for the fraction of a second, proving that Stiles hit the nail on the head. He licks his lips and pulls off the chair on his lap within a second, arms wrapped tight around his waist. “I love you,” he tells him, lips brushing over his neck. “You’re so good for me.”

Stiles chuckles. “I know, but I still have to work.”

“Take a break.” Brett nips on his skin, looking up at him with an almost wolfish grin.

“Go talk to Isaac,” Stiles insists, cupping Brett’s jaw to gently push him away from him. “We can continue this when I’m done working.” The disapproving growl is not lost on Stiles, but he refuses to act on it. The only place he’ll ever consider to submit to Brett will be in the bedroom, and he can growl and hate it as much as he wants. “Priorities.” Stiles kisses the corner of Brett’s mouth.

Brett growls once more for good measure, but he relents. “Fine.” For an alpha, he knows how to act like a petulant child.

— — —

“Isaac’s here.” Brett slips into the guest bedroom and raises his brows. “You got out your best clothes, huh?” Scrunching up his nose, Stiles looks down on himself. He’s wearing one of Brett’s old college’s shirt and boxer briefs. Surely not his most attractive attire. “It’s comfortable,” he says with a shrug, “and I figured I won’t have to wear my clothes for too long anyway. So…” he trails off with a shrug.

Brett pulls him close by the hem of his shirt. “Are you still cool with this?”

“Yeah.”

“You need a bit more time for prep?”

Stiles squirms a little. “I did that in the shower.” The deal was for Brett to get him in the mood, but Stiles does not exactly need any help with that.

Chuckling, Brett grabs his ass and pulls him closer. “Excited to sleep with Isaac?”

That answer is ‘yes, very’, but it feels wrong to admit that. He doesn’t want to lie either, so he ducks his head instead.

“That’s normal, you know?” Brett grabs his chin, still smiling genuinely. “You’ve been in three different packs. You’re bound to feel an intense connection with him. I’m surprised you two never had sex before.”

Even though Stiles’ view on sex is pretty casual, it’s nothing against a werewolf’s opinion on sex — outside of a relationship that is. They’re usually pretty loyal once they found a mate. “Are you okay with this?” Stiles raises his brows. It’s going to be weird to have Brett watch them the whole time, but he gets that his wolf would never allow anything else.

Brett kisses him briefly. “I love you.” Smiling, he steps back. That’s not exactly a ‘yes’, but before Stiles can point that out, Brett has settled into the corner of the room. With the only light source being the left of two lamps on the nightstands, the armchair, and with that Brett, is almost shrouded in shadows.

“You look like a bond villain,” Stiles informs him.

Brett flashes his eyes.

“Now you look like a demon.” Stiles shakes his head when Isaac knocks on the door. Softly, almost as if he hoped it would go unheard. Stiles mouths ‘be nice’ before moving to open the door. They all agreed that this could be stopped at any time, but Stiles still would prefer it happened before starting anything. After all, Isaac has a hard time fitting in already. There’s no need to make this anymore awkward.

Isaac blinks at him, hands pushed deep into the pocket of his pants. “Hi,” he says softly.

“Hey.” Stiles steps aside, gesturing for Isaac to come in. “Ignore Brett. He’s being a dramatic asshole.”

Although Isaac chuckles, he’s clearly nervous when he glances at his alpha. He briefly nods at Brett before turning back to Stiles. Neither will be able to ignore Brett, but it’s probably still going to be the best if they at least pretend not to notice him. “You look…” Isaac trails off and sits down on the edge of the bed.

“Like I just rolled out of bed.” Stiles closes the door with a chuckle. He gets the feeling that Isaac is not going to be the one to make the first move. It’s not surprising, and to be honest, Stiles expected that. He rolls his shoulder and crosses the room. Flirting isn’t exactly his forte, but he’s pretty good at all the other stuff. Getting Isaac out of his shells should not be too hard.

Hopefully.

Stiles grabs his shirt by the back of his neck and pulls it over his head, tossing it in Brett’s general direction.

Isaac’s eyes widen slightly, but his gaze wanders over Stiles’ body regardless.

There used to be a time when Stiles would’ve shied away from it, yet Brett worshipping every inch of his body certainly did wonders for his confidence. That’s why he’s slipping onto Isaac’s lap without hesitation. “Hey,” he whispers again, chuckling softly as he bumps their noses together.

Isaac doesn’t respond, body stiffening slightly. Still, he grabs Stiles’ waist and tips his head back enough to give easy access to his mouth.

An opening Stiles surely isn’t going to miss. He cups his jaw and kisses him. As much as he’d love to ease Isaac into this, they are on a bit of a time limit here; Brett’s patience isn’t endless. So, Stiles grinds against Isaac, feeling elated at the soft gasp he gets in response. This whole thing may happen under Brett’s watchful eye, and there is a reason they’re having sex to begin with, but Stiles doesn’t want Isaac to think Stiles isn’t into it.

Because he is.

As confusing as the request was at first, Stiles can’t deny that he wants to have sex with Isaac.

But the werewolf stays passive even though he allows Stiles to deepen the kiss and starts kissing him back.

“You can stop at any time,” Stiles reminds him between kisses, “it’s okay.” Although, admittedly, it would suck.

Isaac shakes his head. “No, it’s just—"

It’s just Brett.

“Ignore him.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Isaac mumbles and scrunches up his face adorably.

Thing is, it’s really not. Stiles doesn’t have to be a werewolf to be fully aware of Brett staring at them. “Focus on me,” he tells Isaac, sliding one hand between them. “Just me.” He palms Isaac through his jeans, loving the way his eyes flutter and his lips part for a soft gasp. “Just. Me.” Smiling, Stiles kisses him again, and it seems as if Isaac’s courage follows his hard-on.

Finally, he slides his hands down to Stiles’ ass and deepens the kiss by tracing his tongue with his own. About fucking time. Brett isn’t the most patient of people, and he’s certainly not going to wait forever until Isaac got his shit together. He’d rather fuck him right in front of him to show him what he’s missing out on.

Stiles moans into the kiss.

That thought really shouldn’t be this much of a turn-on. Yet, here he is. Stiles gets the weird feeling that he’s going to learn a lot about himself today — and he’s not going to complain about it. Brett and his sex-life can only be improved by this; not that it isn’t fucking amazing already.

“You’re still very dressed,” Stiles mutters into the kiss. Not that getting fucked in clothes doesn’t have its very own appeal, but Stiles does prefer to have his partner naked. There’s something about the skin-on-skin contact that cannot be beaten by anything else.

Isaac gets to his feet, lifting Stiles without any issues, before tossing him onto the bed with a grin. Looks like someone’s gotten a bit more comfortable.

Good.

Without wasting a second, Isaac strips down to his boxers. His body is to die for, his dick a hard outline against his tight boxer briefs. He’s painfully attractive, and if Stiles is entirely honest, he can’t wait to get his hands on him — to taste him.

Stiles licks his lips and inches to the edge of the bed. Beckoning Isaac to come closer, he sits back on his heels. This is about Isaac. This is about making Isaac feel comfortable, about making him feel good.

For a second, Stiles cuts his gaze to his boyfriend, who stays unmoving in the corner of the room. His eyes are trained on him. Stiles wonders if Isaac can feel it too, the heaviness of those blue eyes; the way it’s making him feel hot and cold — the way it makes him want to please Brett. He wants, no, needs to hear him say he did good.

Still looking at Brett, Stiles hooks his fingers under the waistband of Isaac’s boxer briefs. There’s a nod. Short. Almost curt. And it snaps Stiles back into the moment. He looks up at Isaac, who stares down at him, wide-eyed. His hands are frozen in mid-air, like he stopped himself halfway through running his fingers through Stiles’ hair. When Stiles pulls his boxers down, Isaac, too, snaps back into motion. He curls his fingers into Stiles hair, guiding him towards his dick.

Moaning, Stiles wraps his lips around the tip. Heat rushes through his body when Isaac curses above him, voice nothing more than a breathless whisper. His fingers twitch in his hair, and something about the impact fills Stiles even further with the insane need to please. For the first time in forever, he doesn’t have the urge to be a little shit. He wraps a hand around Isaac’s dick and takes him deeper into his mouth, flattening his tongue against the underside of his dick. The tangy taste makes his mouth water.

He bobs his head, making sure to pay attention to every part of Isaac’s dick, tightening his lips around the tip — taking as much as he could and more each time until he pulls his hand away and grabs Isaac’s hips with both.

Isaac runs his fingers through Stiles’ hair almost like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands otherwise — until his grip turns near painful when his dick hits the back of Stiles’ throat.

Taking a deep breath through his nose, Stiles pulls back again. It’s best not to push his gag reflex. Stiles looks up at Isaac, flushing with pleasure at the bright yellow eyes staring right back at him. It’s entrancing and almost as hot as Brett’s red eyes.

Almost.

“Isaac.” Although Brett’s voice is light, a ripple of unease cuts through the other wolf as he turns his head to look at his alpha. Brett approaches him, face unreadable even though his dick is so hard it has to be uncomfortable in those jeans.

Stiles pulls away and sits back on his heels, shifting uncomfortably as he watches both werewolves.

Brett says something Stiles can’t quite catch, but Isaac merely nods, shoulders relaxing again. To Stiles’ surprise, Isaac’s even grinning when he locks eyes with hm again. That’s new. Isaac’s been nervous around Brett on the best of days. No wonder. After all, his track record with alphas isn’t exactly the best. The poor guy probably worried Brett would rip his head off since Scott threw him against a wall twice for simply liking Allison; yet here he is, about to fuck his alpha’s mate.

Werewolves.

“Someone’s impatient,” Isaac informs him, nodding in Brett’s direction with a sly grin.

Brett rounds the bed. “So cocky already.” His gaze is locked on Stiles, burning with both heat and amusement. “Looks like,” he continues, his voice dropping to a low whisper, “someone’s got a magic mouth.” Chuckling darkly, Brett wraps his fingers around Stiles’ throat and pulls him up until he can brush their lips together. “I love you, gorgeous,” he all but paints the words against Stiles’ mouth. “You’re doing so well.”

Stiles keens softly, reaching up to pull Brett down for a proper kiss.

“No.” Brett grabs his arm, stopping him in his tracks. “It’s still Isaac’s turn.”

A shudder runs down his spine. Isaac’s turn. It should make him feel weird, instead it makes his dick twitch in his already too tight briefs. There’s a part of him that still fully believes he shouldn’t be this excited about fucking Isaac. He’s in love with Brett.

And yet.

Dragging his thumb over his mouth, Brett lets go of him. He doesn’t sit back down in his corner, however. Instead, he gets comfortable on the bed, leaning against the headboard, legs spread open almost invitingly.

Stiles nearly loses his mind as he forces himself to turn away from him again. Brett is doing it on purpose, he knows that. He wants to push him, like the asshole he is. But Stiles is not going to cave. Two can play this game.

Isaac looks at him, hands awkwardly in the air like he’s not entirely sure how to continue now that Brett is right there, which is most likely the exact reason Brett did it. His methods may be questionable, but they usually work.

It’s annoying.

Stiles pushes the thought out of his mind. For a few heartbeats, he studies Isaac’s face – the dirty blonde curls hanging into his forehead, his sharp jawline, the bright blue eyes, and his mouth, so damn kissable. He all but lurches forward and does just that, pressing their mouth together in a greedy kiss that’s too much teeth for a couple of seconds. Stiles buries his fingers in the soft curls, pulling Isaac down and closer to him.

That’s all it takes to get Isaac right back where he left off. His hands are on his ass almost immediately. Kneading. Pressing and grinding their dicks together in a delicious way.

But he’s really not in the mood to drag this out any longer. “Fuck me,” Stiles whispers, about ready to beg him. He hasn’t needed anyone inside of him as desperately since the first time he slept with Brett – and the time after that, when they finally solidified their mating bond. The first month after the mating bite, Stiles had more sex than other people have in their whole lifetime.

Isaac breaks the kiss and pushes Stiles onto his back, his mouth hot on his neck and shoulders and chest as he kisses his way down Stiles body, nipping his skin but never risking leaving a mark. He not deterred by Stiles’ fingers in his hair or nudging Brett’s foot with his elbow. His chin brushes against his dick, and his stupid curls tickling the inside of his thigh make Stiles whine.

“Please,” he begs, tugging in Isaac’s hair. “Please, please, please.”

Isaac chuckles.

Hot breath hits the wet spot on Stiles’ boxers. The sensation makes him nearly jump out of his skin.

But Isaac doesn’t tease him any longer. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of Stiles’ boxer briefs and pulls them down, tossing them into the corner of the room. As Isaac crawls back between Stiles’ legs, his gaze jumps from Stiles’ dick, to his face before he seemingly locks eyes with Brett.

There’s a new tension in the room, and suddenly, Stiles realizes that he’s in bed between two very lethal werewolves. This whole thing stands and falls with everyone being on board with everything that might happen – even someone stopping this.

It really shouldn’t turn him on as much as it does. Right now, if Brett were to allow it, Stiles would happily be fucked by them at the same time. That would certainly do wonders for the pack bond. Stiles shudders at the thought, clenching around nothing. He really needs someone to fuck him in the next couple of minutes, or he will do it himself. Stiles cranes his neck, looking up at Brett. His face is near unreadable, eyes ever so slightly narrowed – like it hits him only now what’s about to happen.

“Please,” Stiles whines, reaching a hand back. Awkwardly, he pats Brett’s thigh, fingers ghosting over his sweatpants until he’s able to palm his dick.

The moment he does, Brett’s fingers curl around his wrist in an iron grip. “I think I said no, didn’t I?” Oh, that’s his alpha voice. “Get on your hands and knees.”

Although he doesn’t look at him, Stiles knows this command is directed at him. But he can do that. He can totally do that if it means Isaac can fuck him in the very, very near future. Stiles rolls onto his stomach and hoists himself onto his hands and knees. Today isn’t about intimacy, not really. This is happening to forge a connection, to force Isaac to stop holding back.

Brett tosses Isaac a condom and locks eyes with Stiles. His fingers run over Stiles’ cheek, making him shudder with the touch alone. Brett smirks as he presses his thumb against Stiles’ bottom lip.

Almost out of instinct, Stiles pokes it with his tongue.

“He’s ready,” Brett’s voice is nothing more than a whisper. “You can fuck him.”

That seems to be all the permission Isaac needs. He grabs Stiles’ ass, spreading him open, and for a few seconds, nothing else happen.

Stiles can feel heat creep into his cheek at the thought of Isaac just staring at his ass – a thought that’s flying out the window when Isaac’s dick finally joins the fun. He grinds against him, hellbent on teasing Stiles just a little longer. Clenching his teeth, Stiles shoots him a look over his shoulder. “Isaac,” he snaps, “if you don’t-”

The press of Isaac’ dick against his rim cuts him off. “I’m sorry?” His voice is innocent sweet, almost like he isn’t on the verge of fucking him. “You were saying?” He pushes in, and they both moan loudly.

Stiles rocks his hips back, needing all of Isaac inside of him right fucking now. He curses under his breath, curling his fingers into the sheets. Isaac’s fingers dig into his skin, and a part of Stiles hopes they’re going to leave little marks on his body; something to remember this by, so when he wakes up in the morning, he knows this wasn’t some kind of fever dream. Funny, how he’s never realized how much he wanted to sleep with Isaac until now. At this point, he doesn’t even care if it’s their pack bond or his own desire. Does Isaac feel it too? Stiles wants to know, but he’s not going to ask with Brett right there.

That feels like crossing a line.

Then again, Brett can probably smell it on him; how desperate he is for another guy’s dick. Guilt churns in his stomach as the feeling of betrayal joins his desire.

Brett kisses his forehead, so strangely gentle. “Relax, my love. You’re perfect.”

The words ricochet through him, and he whines softly. Stiles is torn between wanting Isaac to fuck him into the sheets and his need for Brett, his mate. Letting out a breath, Stiles lowers himself onto his forearms and leans his cheek against Brett’s thigh. As Isaac continues to sink into him, inch by torturous inch. It’s so fucking slow, Stiles wants to scream.

But when he finally, finally buried fully inside him, Isaac kisses his shoulder blades, first left than right. “Sorry,” his words are cool against Stiles’ skin, “sorry, this is... a lot.” So, he does feel it too. Good to know.

“I get it.” Stiles pushes himself up on his hands again and looks at Isaac over his shoulder. The werewolf looks utterly wrecked already, and Stiles wonders if it feels even more intense for him. It wouldn’t be the first time. Werewolves do have that benefit. “But I really-” Stiles grinds against Isaac, trying to get his point across “-need you to move.”

Preferably now.

Isaac doesn’t move immediately. Yet again, his gaze snaps to Brett. It’s a silent question for something.

“Oh,” Brett chuckles, running his fingers through Stiles’ hair. “He can take it.”

Before Stiles can even ask what he’s talking about, Isaac pulls back and snaps his hips forward. Stiles moans, hardly recovering from the first thrust before Isaac has found his rhythm. Hard. Fast. Barely holding back.

Stiles loves it. Maybe a little too much. There is something burning in his veins, something he’s never quite felt before — not like this, at least. Stiles remembers the addictive high of the mating bond, the strange warmth cocooning him for weeks after. If this is anything like this, this will have some interesting consequences.

But now, it’s probably too late to think about those.

It’s hard to think in general — at least about anything but Isaac trying his very best to fuck his brains out. If he keeps this up, nailing his prostate more often than not, Isaac might actually be successful a lot faster than Stiles would like to admit.

Cursing and moaning, usually at the same time, Stiles is trying to match Isaac’s rhythm; something that’s mostly impossible by how hard Isaac’s fingers dig into his skin. He’s taking over his body, claiming him for as long as Brett lets him — most likely chasing the same insane sensation that is drowning every corner of Stiles’ soul.

A soft moan reaches his ears.

Brett.

Stiles raises his head, nearly choking on air as he spots Brett’s fingers tight around his own dick. It shouldn’t be hot — it fucking shouldn’t. Brett shouldn’t be so turned on by Stiles fucking somebody else, and Stiles’ brain shouldn’t nearly short-circuit learning that Brett is getting off to it.

But damn, it’s one of the hottest things he’s seen.

Stiles reaches for Brett, curling his fingers into his blonde hair and crashes their mouths together. Finally, finally, Brett caves and kisses him back — and when Brett’s tongue brushes against his, and Isaac is still pounding into him just right, something snaps into place without any further warning. Stiles’ whole body stiffens as his orgasm slams into him without any warning – pleasure coursing through him like a tidal wave. He’s dimly aware of cursing against Brett’s mouth. Only a heartbeat later, Isaac’s weight comes crashing down on him, body shaking, and dick pulsing still deep inside of him.

Nobody ever told him that a pack bond snapping into place during sex almost rivals a mating bond.

Stiles blinks his eyes open, afterglow still lapping at his body, as hands are cupping his jaw and cheek. A shudder runs through Stiles’ body, his brain still too foggy to understand a single word that’s coming out of Brett’s mouth. It takes a hot minute until he connects the sounds to the movement of his lips. “Look at you,” Brett whispers, thumbs brushing over Stiles’ cheekbones, “so perfect.”

Isaac makes a quiet sound in the back of his throat then pushes himself u and pulls out only to collapse onto the bed right next to them again, spent and clearly deep in his afterglow. A sheen of sweat makes his curls stick to his forehead. Even looking as boneless as Stiles feels, Isaac is still unfairly attractive.

Never in his life has a pack bond snapping into place felt like that, and Stiles isn’t entirely sure if it was supposed to be this intense. He doesn’t get the chance to ask either because Brett is kissing him like a drowning person and pulling him closer.

Stiles’ heart is pounding in his chest, his body craving Brett as much as it’s pleading to slow down, to give him a chance to get over all that stimulation. “Wait,” he mutters into the kiss. “Hold on, give me-”

But Brett grabs his waist, whispering, “sorry, sorry.” as if he’s actively hurting him, or doing something Stiles isn’t down for.

Yes, Stiles would love to get a few seconds to catch his breath, and for everything to stop feeling like it’s too much. His nerves are on high alert, as if the pack bond snapping into place cranked his sensitivity up to a hundred. Still, he can tell that Brett isn’t entirely in control right now. He’s warned him about it, about his wolf’s need to reclaim, to drown Stiles in his scent again, to scrub Isaac away. There’s no anger in Brett’s touch, just the urgent need to fuck him that took over his entire body. Stiles knows the difference. They’ve had angry sex countless of times.

This isn’t it.

Brett’s fingers run over skin almost apologetically as he turns Stiles around, even chuckling softly as Stiles’ legs refuse to cooperate for a few seconds. Not that he needs them. Brett holds him with one hand, angling him in a way that makes it comfortable to lean against his chest. He lowers Stiles down until the tip of his dick is pressing against his hole. Despite having just been thoroughly fucked – or maybe because of it – Brett pushing in comes with an uncomfortable stretch.

Stiles squeeze his eyes shut. “Please,” he mutters, turning his head to speak against Brett’s throat. “Slow down. For me?” For them, more likely. Because Stiles wants it to be good for Brett as well. It should be more than just a fuck out of werewolf-principle.

The disapproving rumble is already answer enough, but Brett drives his point home by snapping his hips up and pulling Stiles fully onto his lap.

Stiles yelps then punches Brett’s thigh. “Fuck you.”

Brett sneaks his arms around his waist and kisses his jaw and cheek. “Sorry,” he whispers again. “Sorry, did I hurt you?”

“No.” Stiles takes a deep breath in through his nose and out through his mouth. He’s not entirely sure if this is one of the hottest things that happened to him, or if he wants to snap at Brett for being so fucking impatient. But he’s been warned. Still, he kind of expected to be pushed into the pillows and fucked.

Hard.

But he’s also not complaining. It’s beautifully intimate, the way Brett is slowly grinding against his ass. His arms are tight around him, fingers teasing his skin — and the way his dick is brushing up against his prostate is driving him slowly insane. As much as he wouldn’t have minded for Brett to make sure Stiles remembers who he belongs to, this is too good.

Brett rocks up into him, arms tightening. His breathing is shallow, fast, and Stiles can tell he’s close to his orgasm. “Babe, I need-” Brett cuts himself off, gasping into Stiles’ ear in a way that sends hot tingles down his body. “Relax, babe. Please.” He sounds way too desperate, too needy.

This is the hottest thing Stiles has ever heard.

He presses against Brett, rolling his hips, grinding down. Part of him wants to speed it up, wants Brett to cum so Stiles can hit the mattress and fall asleep. Another part of him would love to stay like this forever, wrapped up in this beautiful heat with Brett deep inside him — maybe even knotting him.

No sooner has the thought crossed his mind when he can feel Brett’s knot press against his rim. “Fuck,” he curses softly.

“I’m sorry.” Brett’s hot breath ghosts over his skin, thumb tracing invisible lines under his belly button.

Stiles really wants to tell him to shut up. There’s no reason to apologize. To be fair, Stiles should’ve probably expected this. It’s stupid he didn’t, but sometimes it’s so easy to forget that Brett is very much an alpha werewolf who is driven by his own instincts. He’s too Zen for his own good almost all the time. His words, however, leave his brain before he’s even got the chance to open his mouth as Isaac moves between his legs.

The grin on his lips speaks volumes, and he doesn’t hesitate. His lips wrap around Stiles’ dick in an instant.

The sensation alone nearly makes his brain melt.

Stiles lets his head fall back, shuddering and moaning. He curls his fingers into the sheets as his body struggles to figure out if it wants to press against Brett or thrust into the heat of Isaac’s mouth. This is nothing like using a sex toy when Brett sucks him off. This feels like fucking heaven. His dick is hard again, and when it hits the tip of Isaac’s throat and Brett’s knot finally slips in, he nearly combusts.

Stiles’ vision whites out for some glorious seconds. He arches his back, feeling Brett’s arms tighten even further around him as his hips move back and forth almost helplessly – locked into place by Isaac’s mouth working around him, and Brett’s dick pulsing deep inside him as he rides out his own orgasm. He cannot remember ever cumming this hard – or this fast for that matter – for a second time.

His body, however, goes from feeling absolutely amazing to too much in about two seconds. Hissing softly, Stiles curls his fingers into Isaac’s hair and pulls him off.

Isaac licks his lips, studying his face for a few seconds, before he leans up and kisses him. It’s a bold move, doing it with Brett not only still buried inside him, but also with his head right next to them.

Brett merely chuckles, either too high from his own orgasm or actually okay with this.

Sighing, Stiles parts his lips. He shudders at the taste of himself on Isaac’s tongue. If he’s honest, he didn’t know what to expect from this night, but it certainly wasn’t this. It was so much better than he could have imagined – and part of him wouldn’t mind doing it again. But not tonight or tomorrow, or even this week. He’s too fucking tired, his body painless and numb because of whatever werewolf magic Brett’s knot is working on him. He barely feels the stretch or pressure. Stiles is pretty sure his body is tricked into enjoying the sensation of being this full by some supernatural bullshit, but he doesn’t particularly mind.

When Isaac breaks the kiss, Stiles doesn’t bother to open his eyes. He leans back, pressing his face against Brett’s neck ready to pass out.

“I love you,” Brett whispers. Stiles hums in response.

-------

#briles #stisaac #stiles stilinski #brett talbot #isaac lahey #teen wolf #kinktober 2023 #*tv:teen wolf #*w:kinktober2023 #*w:complete #*s:briles #*s:stisaac

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bellybounce · 1 year ago

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Day 4 - "Marshmallows"

Sterek unintentional weight gain!

This is day 4 of @fatguarddog's feedist kinktober. I find it quite hard to stick to timelines with these things so just moving through the prompt list at my own pace!

Comments appreciated and prompts welcome in my DMs

Prompt; Marshmallows

Stiles let out a groan of frustration, pushing his hands into his fleshy stomach and sucking in so that he could actually see the red flashing numbers that had been half blocked by his middle. Really, the fact that he had ballooned that much should have been an indicator of how much he had gained, and yet when the scales finally settled on a mocking 263 pounds, his mouth dropped in shock.

He pinched at his flabby belly, the pale flesh sticking out in front of him like he was 6 months pregnant, bloated even when he’d not even eaten breakfast yet. If that wasn’t bad enough, his belly had taken the form of a B, sinking in deep at his belly button before protruding back outwards even further than his top half and had begun to sag over his underwear, half covering his crotch. He stepped backwards off the scale, watching as his belly wobbled and moved independently to him. As he walked towards the bedroom he was all too aware of the fact that his thighs had backed on the pounds too, and were now rubbing so much that he had developed a slight waddle to accommodate it.

In the bedroom he forgo his jeans - they had been a nightmare to pull off the night before, an event which had led to this spontaneous weigh in - and stuffed himself into sweatpants that he chose to ignore were also feeling a bit tight around the waist. He had no substitutes, however, for his t-shirts and had to settle for a very hugging white one that cupped his fatty chest and clung to every roll around his middle. He tried his best to pull the sweatpants as high as they world go in order to roll the shirt into it but the second he moved he felt it inch upwards and expose a sliver of pale flesh,

Stiles studied himself in the mirror. Every single calorie he had stuffed into his face was evident on his body. He turned sideways, smoothing his shirt down and cupping his stomach in both hands as if it were a baby bump, and marvelled at how massive he actually was. As if reading his thoughts, two muscular arms appeared and wrapped themselves around him, resting over his own.

“Boy or girl?” Derek teased, his hands rubbing up and down Stiles’ belly soothingly.

“Fuck off,” Stiles groaned burying his head in his hands whilst Derek held his belly. “I’ve gotten fat, Derek.”

Derek hummed in agreement, moving his hands to the overhang of his stomach and holding the girthy weight of it in his hands, Stiles signed in relief as the weight was no longer dragging him down. His back had started aching a lot these past few months as his weight creeped up and Derek had figured out on his own that holding Stiles’ stomach eased the pressure. It was embarrassing but it also made Stiles feel loved.

“You’re not disagreeing,” Stiles mumbled into his hands.

Derek let go of Stiles’ stomach causing him to puff out a breath as it dropped down unexpectedly. Derek turned him in his arm, wrapping them around his shoulders and pulling him flush against him, Stiles’ boulder of a stomach pushing against Derek’s lean abdomen. “l’m not going to lie to you,” Derek ran his hands soothingly up and down his back, “you know you’ve gained some weight, what does me telling you otherwise do?”

“I’m all ugly and gross and jiggly,” Stiles muttered, trying to crowd more into Derek’s space but being stopped by his belly. “I’ve gained over 100 lbs since High School.”

“You’re my mate, Stiles, I’ll love you wherever you’re 100 pounds or 500 pounds,” Derek told him, pulling him closer and placing a kiss on his hairline. “But, I want you to be happy, so if you feel you need to lose some weight then that’s what we’ll do.”

Stiles lasted 3 days of sadly poking at salad leaves and grilled chicken, dreaming of smokey bacon burgers and a late night taco bell drive through visit and breaking out the Hale family recipe book to make those chewy peanut butter cookies before he was struck by an amazing idea. Four hours later he came through the door with a whirlwind of bags that he dumped in the kitchen before finding Derek in the living room.

“You’ve been gone a while,” he stated, opening his arm, welcoming Stiles into a hug. Stiles didn’t hesitate and dropped down onto the space, the couch groaning with the sudden added weight matching Stiles’ groan as he belly slapped against his thighs. Instinctively, Derek wrapped his arm around Stiles’ middle, his hand resting on the swollen ball. Stiles watched Derek’s hand absentmindedly rubbing circles into Stiles’ tight skin and felt a shot of excitement and warm up his spine. He wasn’t that big, was he? Maybe he was fine as he was? He had upgraded his clothes, going two sizes bigger - “They need to be bigger Derek! How do you expect me to work out in such tight clothes, I need to be comfortable!” - and now he didn’t look as big. Maybe it was the clothes fault! This train of thought was combated by the sight of his belly bulging out onto his thighs; it was that big.

“I’ve had an idea,” Stiles told Derek firmly. “Marshmallows!”

“Marshmallows?” Derek repeated, sounded confused.

“Marshmallows,” Stiles nodded in confirmation. “They basically have zero calories, Derek. That way I can still have a sweet treat whilst not eating anything fatty. I’ll be much more motivated to lose weight if I can still eat things that aren’t classed as rabbit food.”

And maybe this plan wouldn’t have been too bad of an idea if Stiles had simply stuck to a bag of marshmallows every now and then. Instead, however, he seemed to have added marshmallows to every meal, dosaging himself with far more sugar than he had consumed when he wasn’t on a diet . Marshmallow cereal for breakfast in the morning - “It’s fine Derek, it says it contains fibre” -, Marshmallow fluff slathered onto half a dozen pieces of toast for lunch - “Marshmallows hardly have any calories, Derek, so really it’s only a couple hundred calories for the bread” - an Thanksgiving style Sweet Potato casserole topped with a bag of marshmallows every evening to pair with his chicken. As if that wasn’t enough, he would constantly be snacking on candy bars filled with the sticky filling, would keep bags of them in his desk drawer to eat as he worked, and would make himself trays full of s’mores for a midnight snack.

Any concerns raised about the validity of this “diet” was met with a scoff. “I googled it - there’s on average 23 calories in a marshmallow. I could eat 100 a day and only just hit my intake requirements,” he proudly told Scott after their monthly pack meeting, conveniently ignoring that a) he ate at least 100 with his dinner last night and b) the graham crackers he had slapped them between held significant calories in their own right.

6 weeks into this new diet and Stiles seemed to be ballooning by the day. Derek was very well versed in every inch of Stiles’ body and could tell that the skin was becoming more taunt, that there was more to grab hold of at night, that his face was looking more puffy as the weeks moved on. Stiles, however, seemed none the wiser, completely ignoring that he wasn’t having to pull the drawstrings on his sweats as far anymore. Instead, he stood in front of their bathroom mirror shirtless, admiring himself from different angles.

“I think it’s starting to work, you know,” he declared, holding his belly in his hands and jiggling it. Derek watched on in amusement, having witnessed this dance many times, each time Stiles having an excuse as to why it definitely wasn’t working.

“Okay, so i’m a bit bloated at the moment, but i’ve only just eaten,” - he’d had a cookie pizza that had pepperoni shaped marshmallows on top for dessert - “but my pants still fit as good as the day i bought them!” - the pants no longer needed their drawstring to fit snugly, and had also “absolutely, definitely been shrunk in last weekend's wash.”

“You look good, babe,” Derek nodded along, getting ready for bed. “You coming?”

“Yeah, yeah, let me just get a few chocolate bars in case we get snacky,” Stiles retreated downstairs only to return 5 minutes later, puffing as he walked, the stairs taking their toll on him as he reached the top and made his way into the bedroom, his waddle becoming more prominent. He threw himself on the bed with a huff, the mattress bouncing under him and he hurried under the covers.

“You alright?” Derek asked, his hearing picking up on the fast heartbeat in his chest.

“Yeah, yeah, man,” he waved him off, resting his arms either side of him above the covers, pulling the sheets tight against his swollen middle. “Just tired, nothing to worry about.”

The rest of the pack had voiced their concerns to him about this diet, how it clearly wasn’t working and that Stiles was packing on more weight now than he ever had whilst passively gaining. Derek simply shrugged and stayed silent. Stiles was happy, he was confident and he was still as attractive to Derek as he was their first night together, what he chose to do with his body wasn’t Derek’s business. He enjoyed exploding Stiles’ body when they were in bed together, what did it matter if there was more of it to hold? All his previous relationships had been filled with sharp bones and cold bodies but with Stiles, Derek found comfort in the heavy weight resting on his chest as he slept, the warmth of his skin melting into Derek.

It took another month for all of this to come to a head. Stiles had continued to pack on the pounds as the days went on until, finally 10 weeks after the start of the infamous diet, Derek watched in amusement as he tried to pull himself out of bed after a particularly large midnight stuffing .

“Ughhhh!” Stiles puffed, having to rock himself a few times to get enough momentum to roll onto his side and drop his legs to the floor. He wrapped one arm around his stomach, that was still bloated and stuffed from last night, to hold it in place before his other arm held his weight, pushing him upwards. His arm shook underneath his frame before giving in and he collapsed backwards onto the bed.

Derek stifled a laugh and came to stand over him. Flat on his back, his mountain of a stomach swelled like a beach ball over him, pinning him to the bed. He held out both arms to Derek who pulled him to his feet effortlessly with his supernatural strength.

Once on his feet, Stiles looked down at his stomach in thought. “Maybe I should weigh myself, just to make sure i’m on track,” he sounded unsure so Derek nodded and gestured for him to lead the way. Derek could have gone first, but this allowed him to enjoy the view as Stiles waddled, his legs further apart than 3 months ago. His back was bowed slightly, pushing his stomach out further as it led the way, the bottom flabby apron section swinging as he moved.

Standing in front of the scales, Stiles took a deep breath before mounting the device, the plastic creaking underneath his pudgy toes. Derek could see the cloud that Stiles had been living in these past few months fading away, could see in his face how he could no longer convince himself that this diet was a good idea. “You’re going to have to look,”Stiles mumbled, “I'm too big.”

Derek stepped around Stiles and glanced down, excitement burning through his throat as he smiled slightly, “306.”

“WHAT!” Stiles head shot up, his eyes filled with panic, “I’ve gained almost 50 pounds!” He stepped back from the scale, sitting himself on the edge of the bathtub, staring down at his massive girth. It seemed as if most of the 50 had gone to his magnificent belly, inflating it to the point where it covered nearly half of his thighs.

Sensing it was now or never, Derek took to his knees in front of Stiles, spreading his legs apart so he could crowd into his space. He grabbed the pale skin between his hands and pressed his lips to the belly. He could feel the warmth of the tight skin against his mouth, and could hear the light gurglings below the surface.

He began peppering kisses along the flesh, punctuating his words with his lips. “Stiles you’re the most” kiss “handsome” kiss “loving” kiss “beautiful” kiss “mate I could ask for.” His fingers digged into the pudge, his thumb rubbing smooth circles into the tender flesh. He nuzzled it with his nose, feeling Stiles’ hand find his hair and begin playing with the strands.

“Derek,” Stiles began but Derek shushed him, pulling back to look him in the eyes. He pushed himself up against Stiles' middle, feeling it squish between them.

“No, just listen,” Derek insisted. Whilst his eyes looked at Stiles, his hands stayed on his stomach. “You were so small when we first met, every time there was a new threat I was convinced you were going to snap in two. You were always so cold to touch and never relaxed. Now, you feel safe, you feel warm, I can feel you next to me in my sleep, I know you’re there. You’re my mate, Stiles, and I want you to be safe and happy and secure.”

“I don’t want you to leave me,” Stiles mumbled, pulling Derek into his chest, hands still wrapped in his hair.

“Stiles, be honest - are you losing weight for yourself, or for me?” Derek asked.

Stiles was silent for a beat, his chest rising and falling against Derek’s head before he nodded. “I look at all the other people you’ve dated, and I look at you and I wonder what must people think when they see us together? And then I get sad and end up eating my feelings which starts the cycle all over again. It’s nice, not caring about whether an extra slice of pizza is going to tip me over the edge and add another pound, but it’s even nicer coming home to you every night.”

Derek stood, pulling Stiles up with him before sitting in his place. He tugged Stiles forward, allowing him to straddle his lap, immediately feeling secure feeling the weight of him pressing on his legs.

“You’re happy and you’re safe. I need to feel like my mate is safe and protected, and you are. That’s all that matters to me.” With Stiles’ arms around his neck securing him in place, he let go of his waist to hold his stomach again. It had invaded the space, pushing against Derek but being so large that it didn’t even allow Stiles and himself to be face to face. “You’re so attractive to me.”

“You into this, sourwolf?” Stiles grinned, wiggling so that his belly jiggled in Defek’s hold. Always one to lighten the mood when things got a bit too serious, Stiles threw his head back in an exaggerated sigh before declaring “well I suppose I can put my diet on hold if it means you can get off easily.” Derek rolled his eyes but grinned all the same, leaving forward to plant a kiss on Stiles’ puffy cheek. “If I had known you were this kinky I would have hit the 300 pound mark months ago!”

“Stiles,” Derek warned.

“I know, I know,” Stiles mumbled, resting a hand on Derek’s chest, tracing his finger up and down. “I don’t mind being bigger, like you said, I feel more sturdy and myself, more confident. If you’re okay with it then so am I.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too,”Stiles waggled his eyebrows at Derek. “Now, you kinky bastard, how about we go explore all 300 pounds of me?”

This is also on Ao3 if you could go show it some love over there! https://archiveofourown.org/works/51231895

#teen wolf #sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #teen wolf weight gain #weight gain fiction #weight gain #belly kink #obese belly #belly kisses #fat belly #feederism kink #feedist kinktober 2023 #fat stiles

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musicerrorfics · 3 months ago

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Sorry for the delay, life got a little crazy. So here's a double release.

Watching His Wolf:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/59664856

And Hot For Teacher:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/59681014

#fanfic #fanfiction #teen wolf #stiles stilinski #derek hale #chris argent #kinktober

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scribesoflex · 1 year ago

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kinktober ‘23 — 🎃

a/n; im nervous for kinktober but also excited bc if i do it…then you guys will be well fed and I won’t need to write during break and stuff 🤗 also it’s fun to write little works and oneshots based around a kink or scenario instead of having to write a whole story with like…plot 💀 anyways!!! happy spooky season 👻‼️ taglist is now closed…but if you still want to keep up with my kinktober celebration, check back on this masterlist!! all fics will be linked as they are posted 😋 u can also find all fics by searching the tag “— kinktober ‘23 🎃” on my page.

warnings; smut, angst, strong sexual themes, violent sexual scenarios, dark romance themes, all x fem!reader.

characters; ethan landry, jake sully, stiles stilinski, rafe cameron, tobias eaton/four, bruce wayne, finnick o’dair.

d-1 ; ethan landry x breeding kink (drabble)

d-2 ; stiles stilinski x somnophilia (oneshot)

d-3 ; bruce wayne x pain kink (drabble)

d-4 ; rafe cameron x size kink (oneshot)

d-5 ; jake sully x mirror sex (drabble)

d-6 ; finnick o’dair x pussy drunk (drabble)

d-7 ; four x dumbification (oneshot)

d-8 ; rafe cameron x exhibitionism (oneshot)

d-9 ; stiles stilinski x over stimulation (drabble)

d-10 ; jake sully x cunnilingus (drabble)

d-11 ; bruce wayne x age gap (drabble)

d-12 ; stiles stilinski x reverse age gap (drabble)

d-13 ; ethan landry x step sis (oneshot)

d-14 ; four x wax play (drabble)

d-15 ; finnick o’dair x submisson (drabble)

break from 16th through 20th 🎃

d-21 ; ethan landry x creampie (oneshot)

d-22 ; stiles stilinski x expeditionism (drabble)

d-23 ; jake sully x sensation play (drabble)

d-24 ; four x bondage (drabble)

d-25 ; bruce wayne x phone sex (drabble)

d-26 ; rafe cameron x sex tape (oneshot)

d-27 ; finnick o’dair x dub con (drabble)

d-28 ; four x breath play (drabble)

d-29 ; stiles stilinski x dacryphilia (oneshot)

d-30 ; bruce wayne x fear play (drabble)

d-31 ; mystery fic!?

#ethan landry smut #stiles stilinski smut #finnick odair smut #jake sully smut #rafe cameron smut #bruce wayne smut #tobias eaton smut #kinktober

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tamerofpickles · 1 year ago

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His Father's Wingman: The First Date

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Prompt Filled: Cam Show (Day 13 of Notsolany’s Teen Wolf Kinktober)

Ship: Stiles/Sheriff/OFC

Summary: Sheriff Stilinski is finally trying to date again, but he is rusty from being a single dad for so long and not comfortable with how technology has changed things. His video first date with a woman he liked was going disastrously when Stiles accidentally interrupted them. Stiles decides to play wingman, and both are surprised by how far they are willing to go to impress a woman.

Tags: First Date, Online Dating, Stripping, Frottage, Father/Son Incest

Rating: E

AO3 (2374 words)

#teen wolf #kinktober #kinktober 2022 #stiles stilinski #sheriff stilinski #stilinskicest

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drabblesofsmut · 2 years ago

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Masterlist

★★★

• Teen wolf

Stiles Stilinski → Warning: rude oral m!receiving, dirty talk, praising, Stiles has a thick, big cock.

Liam Dunbar → Warning: unprotected sex, claw kink (?, Virgin reader.

• marvel

Bucky Barnes → Warnings: f!reader, fingering, semi-public sex.

• stranger things

Eddie Munson → warning: face sitting.

Eddie Munson → Warnings: f!reader, fingering, oral (f!receiving).

Steve Harrington → Warnings: vaginal sex, almost getting discovered, bitting.

• Kinktober masterlist +18 - 2022

#teen wolf smut #teen wolf #stranger things #stranger things smut #marvel #marvel smut #stiles stilinksi #eddie munson #kinktober #kinktober 2022 #Steve Harrington #bucky barnes #liam dunbar #liam dunbar smut #steve harrington smut #eddie munson smut #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski smut #bucky barnes smut

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sparkandwolf · 1 year ago

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𝐻𝑒𝓎, 𝓎𝑜𝓊!

𝐻𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒶𝓃 𝒾𝒹𝑒𝒶 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝒶 '𝓉𝑜𝒷𝑒𝓇 𝓅𝓇𝑜𝓂𝓅𝓉 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝒹𝑜𝓃'𝓉 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒 𝑜𝓇 𝑒𝓃𝑒𝓇𝑔𝓎 𝓉𝑜 𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝒾𝓉?

𝕎𝕒𝕟𝕥 𝕥𝕠 𝕤𝕦𝕡𝕡𝕠𝕣𝕥 𝕥𝕨𝕠 𝕢𝕦𝕖𝕖𝕣 𝕔𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕤 𝕨𝕙𝕠 𝕒𝕣𝕖 𝕥𝕣𝕪𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕠 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕒 𝕗𝕒𝕞𝕚𝕝𝕪?

Myself and my spouse are taking fic requests off of the 'tober lists below:

Flufftober Whumptober / Angstober Kinktober

Pricing: $3 minimum per fic. Higher donations will be prioritized in time and word count.

@sparkandwolf (Ko-Fi | GoFundMe)

Emryn's Fandoms: 9-1-1, 9-1-1 Lone Star, Teen Wolf, Shadowhunters, Stranger Things, Criminal Minds, RWRB, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, New Girl, others by request. Emryn's Faves: Femslash (any pairing), Buddie, Steddie, Sterek, Malec, Hotchreid, trans/enby characters. Emryn Won't Write: Underage smut, canonically queer characters shipped with a sex they’re not normally attracted to, Billy Hargrove.

@some-little-infamy (Ko-Fi | GoFundMe)

Elle's Fandoms: Shadowhunters (tv & book verse), 9-1-1, Stranger Things, Critical Role (C2), RWRB, Teen Wolf, New Girl, others by request. Elle's Faves: Literally everything. Elle Won't Write: Underage smut, canonically queer characters shipped with a sex they’re not normally attracted to.

*Elle and Emryn reserve the right to deny any prompts that they don't vibe with. It's a very small chance, but never zero.

#teen wolf #sterek #derek hale #stiles stilinski #stydia #malira #allydia #allora #writing commissions #flufftober #whumptober #angstober #kinktober

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honestlydarkprincess · 1 year ago

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make me, break me

stiles x derek || rating: explicit || wc: 4.9k

“You know what I think you need, Derek?” Stiles said lowly, his tone one Derek had never heard from him.

“What?” Derek felt breathless. He didn’t know what Stiles was about to say but he felt tense in a new way, a better way. He was eager for Stiles’ next words.

“I think you need to get fucked.”

The words hung between them and Derek couldn’t breathe. What exactly did Stiles just say?

Or, the one where Stiles has the perfect idea on how to help a very stressed Derek.

read on ao3

#jess does kinktober #jess.writes #jess.fics #sterek #sterek fic #sterekfic #derek x stiles #stiles x derek #derek hale #stiles stilinski #teen wolf #teen wolf fic #kinktober #kinktober 2023

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usermischief · 1 year ago

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♜Pairing: Briles ♜Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Brett Talbot, Kira Yukimura, Lori Rohr ♜Tags/Warnings: getting together, explicit sexual content ♜Words: 8217 ♜Kinktober 2023: Reluctant Sex

ao3

---

this funny feeling

“And, here you go.” The hotel employee pushes the door to the dining room open.

Stiles smiles at her. “Thank you so much. I’m terrible with directions.” And he’s a bit too tired after having to catch a fight at 3 am to navigate a hotel he’s never been to.

“That’s absolutely no problem, darlin’.” The woman smiles before returning to the reception. Luckily, it’s early enough that not too many people are out and about yet.

So, Stiles isn’t surprised when the only people he spots in the dining room are Satomi, Morrell, Brett and Lori, as well as two couples with newborns. He’d have preferred for Kira to be up as well, but he also can’t expect her to crawl out of bed at 7 am during her vacation.

Stiles’ heart jumps when Brett turns to look at him — and a smile blossoms on his lips. Fuck. This is the worst. He thought he’d be over him, still, every time he sees Brett again, his crush on the guy all but punches him in the face. Going to the same university for two years brought them a lot closer together. They were friends, surely. In the beginning out of convenience, but that changed later. They hung out daily, and Stiles’ heart did what it did best — it got attached. He did date other people during and after college, but it didn’t fucking matter. Every time he sees Brett again, he’s right back where he started.

Stiles takes a deep breath and crosses the room. “Good morning.” With a little awkward wave, he drops his bags on a chair next to Brett. “And thank you so much for the invitation. I know this is a pack thing…” A two week long vacation is exactly what he needs after the year he’s had, but he’s still a bit unsure about the whole thing. Part of him feels like he’s intruding on something private.

“Kira and Brett insisted to have you join us.” Satomi smiles up at him.

Brett too?

Surprised, Stiles glances at the werewolf, who jumps to his feet. “Let’s get you some breakfast. You must be starving.” He ushers Stiles away from his snickering sister and towards the buffet without waiting for a reply.

Stiles doesn’t have it in him to tell Brett that he already had breakfast, that usually ended in a very long discussion of his terrible eating habits. During college, Brett had made it his mission to make sure Stiles eats three times a day — even when he was stuck in one of his terrible relationships. Plus, Stiles doesn’t mind to spend as less time as possible with Morrell, who told him she’d kill him the last time they spoke, and Satomi, who still kind of scares him. He doesn’t get a read on her, and he’s not a fan of that.

“Are you sure this is okay?” Stiles asks as Brett pushes an empty tray into his hands. “I don’t want to intrude.” He glances back towards the table and catches Satomi’s eye. Great. Grinning awkwardly, he turns back to Brett. They’ve been close during college, but never meet-the-parents close.

“She likes you,” Brett tells him as he puts a bowl of scrambled eggs and two slices of toast onto Stiles’ tray.

Does she? “I don’t think I’ve ever talked to her.”

Contemplating the options, Brett merely shrugs. “You saved my life. She’d marry me off to you if that were still acceptable in today’s society.”

Stiles squints at the French toasts that are added to his tray. “That’s been a thing?”

“Yup,” Brett says, reaching for a bagel before he continues, “provide and protect are the most important features of a future mate.” Deciding against the bagel, Brett adds a couple of waffles before Stiles even has the chance to move away — who the hell is supposed to eat all of that? “It’s a stupid tradition. Nobody cares about that any longer.”

“I’m good.” Stiles grabs Brett’s arm, stopping him from adding anything else to his plate. “You provided me with enough food. More than enough, actually.”

Brett stares at him.

Stiles tries not to laugh.

“Asshole,” the werewolf mutters eventually, flicking Stiles’ forehead. “Keep that up and you’ll sleep on the floor.”

“Sleep on the—" Stiles isn’t entirely sure if he heard that right. That’s a joke. It has to be. “Are we sharing a bed?” Hopefully, that’s not the case. Stiles hardly survived sleeping on a pull-out couch with Brett after a party, how the fuck is he supposed to get through two weeks of not only sharing a room but also a bed?

“Yup,” Brett confirms as if that’s the most normal thing in the whole wide world. “Don't hog the blanket.”

Oh god.

———

Sighing, Stiles sits up and rubs his eyes. He doesn’t exactly fall asleep on the beach often. To be honest, the last time he did that was when his mum was still alive. The fact that basically passed out in public says a lot about how desperately he needs sleep. This vacation has barely started, and Stiles already misses this freedom. But there won’t be a lot of time to sleep once work is starting again.

Stiles crosses his arms over his knees and scans the beach for Brett. He’s not too far away, entertaining a group of the youngest werewolves with a girl Stiles has never seen before. They look awfully… domestic. Like this is a thing that is happening all the time. It hurts watching them. It hurts in a way Stiles didn’t expect. Feeling like this is fucking stupid. He shouldn’t. After all, he threw himself in every relationship he could find. He stayed in every relationship that was convenient enough, no matter how terrible it ended up being, just to keep his heart occupied because he was too afraid to get his heart broken by losing Brett if he told him he loved him.

The girl brushes her hand over Brett’s arm, something Brett doesn’t react to — either because it’s a too common occurrence or because he doesn’t care.

Please, don’t care.

“That bitch.”

“Lori!” Kira is sitting up on her own towel, staring at her friend in shock.

But Lori doesn’t react. She crouches down next to Stiles, arms crossed over her thighs. “You know I’m right.”

Stiles bites the inside of his cheek. “Who is that?” He can’t deny the pang of jealousy, or the frustration gnawing at him — and he can’t help but wonder, however briefly, if he’s missed an opening, he’s never been aware of.

“It’s Finch’s daughter,” Kira informs him, propping her chin on her left knee.

Finch’s kid? So, she probably knows Brett well. They must be close with each other since Finch and Satomi have decided to go on vacation together. Maybe they’re close in a way that— Stiles shakes his head and curls his hands into his towel. Best not to think about that right now.

Lori looks as if she’s smelling something rotten. “Quinn thinks she and Brett will bring the packs together one day,” Lori drawls, her voice teetering somewhere between annoyance and disgust, “through marriage.” At that, Lori shoots him an exasperated look.

“Marriage?” Stiles laughs because if he didn’t do that, he might end up screaming. “Brett?” he keeps going, going, going, trying so hard not to let the fear creep in. “He’s never going to marry.” Every time they as much as scratched the topic of marriage, Brett instantly changed it.

Lori stands up. “Not her, at least. Come on.”

“What?” Stiles looks up at her, drawing his brows together.

“We’re going to go swimming.” Clearly not in the mood for discussions, Lori grabs him by the upper arm and quite unceremoniously yanks him to his feet. The Talbots’ bossy nature really is fucking exhausting. “Drop the shirt. Kira, let’s go.” Lori doesn’t wait for either of them to follow them.

Knowing a little too well that any discussion is pointless, Stiles yanks his shirt over his head and tosses it onto his towel. If Lori wants him to go swimming, he will go swimming with her. Kira seems to have come to the same conclusion since she’s joining him on his way to the sea.

That Quinn girl spots them first, her features darkening almost at once. Mrs. Finch disliked him ever since Stiles corrected her once during AP Biology. Clearly, she didn’t speak fondly about him in front of her daughter.

Fantastic.

“Lori, hold on.” To his surprise, she stops dead in her tracks — causing him to almost crash into her — and stares at him with the same intensity remembers very well from Brett. “I don’t want to cause trouble, okay?” For one, it’s the first day of his vacation, he doesn’t need thirteen tense days. His anxiety is going to kill him. For another, Stiles doesn’t need to make shit any more complicated between the two packs.

But Lori merely waves a hand. “You’re here to resolve some issues, trust me.” And with that, the discussion seems to be over for her. Instead, she turns around. “Quinn, the girls want to play mermaid, not sea witch. Feel free to leave.”

Kira covers her mouth to stifle a laugh. Clearly nobody like Quinn.

“Yukimura!” Brett bellows from somewhere to their right. “Time to put your money where your mouth is.”

“Oh, shit.” Without warning, Kira grabs Stiles’ hand and yanks him around, hightailing it in the opposite direction. Her grip around his fingers is tight, unrelenting, almost as if she expected him to take a moment to tap into his fox again. He’s never been the biggest fan of the remains of the nogitsune still deeply anchored in his DNA.

But his body does remember its powers a lot quicker than he expected. “What’s going on?”

Kira lets go of his hand, probably realizing that Stiles can keep up with her, and scrunches up her face. “I may have made a bet with Brett,” she admits, glancing over her shoulder, “saying that there’s no way they could capture us.”

Us as in kitsunes, Stiles assumes, but before he can dwell on it too long, he catches movement out of the corner of his eye. “A little warning would’ve been nice.” He grabs her around the waist and stops both of them in their tracks. Tierney and Jiang have cut off their path now that the beach has gotten a lot emptier. Both of them are brimming with excitement.

Stiles twists around, so he’s standing back to back with Kira.

And Brett is right there.

Fuck.

Stiles steps away from Kira, watching as Brett comes running at him fast. There’s an almost predatory grin on his lips. Heart hammering in his chest, Stiles chances a glance over his shoulder, hating that he can’t see Jiang and Tierney without looking away from Brett. The two of them, however, seem to be focused on Kira. Good. But going up against Brett isn’t exactly the outcome he would’ve preferred.

“Split up,” he says, and Kira doesn’t hesitate a second. She spins on around and dashes back the way she came from. Stiles does the same thing, rushing past Tierney in the opposite direction of Kira. They’re faster than wolves, for the most part, but running in sand is a fucking nightmare for Stiles. He’s more stumbling than running. Finding every fucking hole in the world is really on brand, meaning Stiles’ advantage is dwindling fast— because Brett is not a goddamn klutz while running.

Stiles glances over his shoulder, and instantly regrets his decision. He misses a quite deep hole and steps right into it. His shin smacks against the edge, and all he can do is trying not to eat sand. Cursing under his breath, Stiles pulls himself out. Before he has the chance to get his feet back under him, Brett’s arm is around his waist, and he spins him around, pushing him into the sand.

The grin on his lips is more than predatory. “You can’t run from me, little fox,” Brett whispers as he’s leaning down until their noses almost brush.

Stiles’ heart all but skyrockets. “Is that a threat or a promise,” he asks, and he hates how breathless he sounds, hates that his body wants to stay right here and not move whatsoever. He’s not exhausted, not in the slightest, and he’s here to win a bet.

“A bit of both,” Brett replies, sounding just as breathless. He doesn’t move either and remains kneeling over Stiles’ legs, fingers digging into the sand next to Stiles’ head.

Stiles licks his lips, breath catching in his throat when Brett’s gaze drops down to follow the movement. Despite himself, Stiles holds his breath for a moment, too scared to move a single muscle. What is going on? Why is he looking at his mouth like that? He sucks in a breath. “What’s going to happen now?”

Brett blinks and locks eyes with him again. “Ocean,” he mutters, brows slightly furrowed. It almost seems as if he’s not sure himself if that’s really what’s going to happen. He certainly doesn’t move to get Stiles any closer to the ocean. Instead, his gaze darts back to his mouth again. Brett swallows, licks his lips, and his gaze flicks up to meet Stiles’ again. “I—" Brett cuts off, and he cups his cheek.

Something clicks into place.

Oh god.

Brett is trying to kiss him. Brett wants to kiss him.

And for a second, Stiles considers letting it happen. Because why not? This is everything he wants. Kissing Brett has been on his mind since meeting him again in college. Stiles swallows, parts his lips. But he’s going to leave, and Brett is going to return to Beacon Hills — and he can’t do that to himself. He fucking can’t.

“Ocean,” Stiles repeats softly, but Brett doesn’t even react. His thumb is tracing his jaw, and Stiles’ heart feels like it’s about to leap out of his chest. Bad. Bad. “Shark!” Stiles yells, ripping his hand out of the sand.

Brett pulls away, staring at him as if he’s lost his mind. Which is fair. It’s not like sharks are usually hanging out in the sand, but it’s really the only thing he manages to come up with to distract the werewolf — and open up a chance to push him off.

Something he does instantly, forcing a grin on his face and pretending as if Brett didn’t hear his heartbeat or pick on his chemo signals. “I’m not going to be captured by a wolf.” Twisting away, he gets to his feet surprisingly quickly and doesn’t hesitate to dash back in the direction of the others — in the direction of safety.

———

“You’re up early.”

“Look who’s talking.” Stiles grins up at Kira and pets the blanket next to him.

She plops down, body warm and sweaty from what’s very clearly been a morning workout. Her dedication is admirable. He didn’t make it a week, and he’d especially not do it on vacation. Kira yawns and pulls her legs to her chest. “What got you out of bed? Insomnia?”

Stiles wishes insomnia was the issue for once.

“What did he do?”

“Nothing.” Aside from spooning him and giving Stiles the worst and most awkward morning boner, he’s had since fucking high school.

Kira cocks her head. “But he drove you out of bed at 5am?”

Stiles falls back and crosses his arms over is stomach. Only a second later, Kira does the same. They haven’t been able to do this in years. He’s been so busy working on getting the FBI’s supernatural division up and running, he hardly had time to even miss his friends. But right now, he hates being so far away, hates how occupied he is with travelling everywhere, sitting in hour-long meetings, trying to make supernatural creatures understand that he’s with them instead of against them.

And then he goes home alone, or crashes into a strange hotel bed in a strange town with no one to keep him company.

If everything goes well, Stiles will have another 12 months of this.

Stiles lets out a breath. “I can’t do this.”

“You still love him.” It’s not a question. It never has been a question.

“I can’t sleep in a bed with him for two weeks and walk away with my heart in one piece.” At this point, Stiles can’t even tell if he’s not too far down the rabbit hole already. How the fuck is he supposed to be this close to Brett and then act like nothing at all happened?

Kira turns onto her side, brushing strands out of her face. Her eyes are heavy on him, searching. “What if you tell him?”

“That I’ve been in love with him since college?” Stiles barks out a laugh, cold and humorless, a sound that hurts in his throat.

Kira gently pokes his side. “You’re not unlovable.”

Huffing out a breath, Stiles rolls onto his side too, facing her, and instantly, he’s transported back to college. How many nights have they spent exactly like this? More than he can count, that’s for sure. He’s never felt more peaceful. “But it’s Brett. Do you remember him ever being even remotely interested in a relationship?”

“But what if he is interested in you?” Kira urges, raising her brows in question.

Stiles pinches his. “Do you know anything?” It’s not necessarily unlike her to be this pushy, but it’s still a little unusual.

“No.” She shakes her head a little before propping herself up onto her elbow. “But Brett wouldn’t give away his right to a single room for just anyone.” That’s phrased very kindly. They both know Kira means that he wouldn’t give up his chance to have sex with various hot people hanging out at the hotel. “When I talked to him about inviting you, he instantly offered.” It’s not hard to see where she’s coming from. Brett wasting two weeks of sex with strangers without a second of hesitation isn’t exactly like him.

Stiles lets out a breath. “Okay, but even if he just so happens to like me back romantically…” he scowls a bit, but he cannot bring himself to say love. Just thinking about it makes him feel nauseous. “What good is it going to do? I’ll leave in two weeks, and there’s nothing I have to offer in terms of a relationship. I can’t even say when I’ve got the time to see him again. Do you know how hard it was to get these two weeks off?” He knows he’s being unfair by making it sound like this is some type of hardship. He wants to be here, but he’s a one-man-team at the moment. It’s a fucking nightmare. “Please, don’t get me wrong—"

“Oh, I know.” Kira sits up, smiling down at him over her shoulder. “But maybe things are easier than you think. You know how a different perspective can help.”

“So what?” Stiles its up too, bumping against her shoulder. “I should just tell him?” There’s no way that’s going to lead anywhere, not when Brett is Satomi’s second in command, and Stiles is the leader of the supernatural division. Maybe things will be calmer when everything is established.

Stiles squints at the storm in the distance, watching it creep closer minute by minute.

That’s a big fucking maybe.

“I’m just saying that you shouldn’t knock it till you try it.” She bumps into him with a chuckle.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “I’ll think about it.” But he’ll doubt he’s ever going to admit to his feelings. He doesn’t want to allow himself the type of hope that will eat him alive.

“And if it gets too much for you, I’ve got room in my bed too.” Kira wraps an arm around him and scoots closer, so she can prop her head on his shoulder.

The first rumble of thunder is audible when Stiles leans his head against hers. It won’t take much longer until the storm is right above their heads. But neither of them moves.

———

Instead, they ran inside through the rain, laughing and cursing and probably being a menace for the hotel staff. Stiles does feel a little bad in retrospect. They did leave behind a few tracks, but Stiles only cared about getting into the shower, and now he desperately needs to get some food into him.

But the moment he reaches the dining hall, Quinn steps in his way. “So, you’re this year’s conquest.” She leans against the wall right next to the door. As she shifts in front of him, Stiles has the weird feeling that she’s been waiting for him.

Drawing his brows together, Stiles glances from her to the rest of the room and back again. “Sorry?”

“Haven’t you heard?” Quinn’s smirk is about as pleasant as nails on a chalk board. “Every year, Brett finds someone, makes them feel special, fucks them, and then doesn’t even look at them the next day. Didn’t peg you as one to fall for that.”

Stiles stares at her, trying his best not to let his feelings get to him. It’s not like there’s a relationship in the cards; they’re living at opposite ends of this country. Stiles’ schedule with the FBI is a nightmare, and Brett, well, he’s supposed to be Satomi’s successor. He can hardly leave the pack. Stiles doubts he’d— why is the even thinking about this again? Only an hour ago, he’s talked this through with Kira, and as much as he’s trying to find it in himself to look for something positive, he can only focus on the negative. Probably because there are so much more arguments for keeping quiet.

Stiles shakes his head, deciding that not deigning this with a response is probably the best idea, and moves to walk away.

Quinn steps in his way.

“What the fuck do you want from me?”

“An apology.”

Stiles blinks. “For what?” They haven’t spoken a single word since he’s arrived. All she did was glaring at him from a distance.

“You’re ruining this,” Quinn tells him, stepping closer. Her eyes burn yellow, reminding Stiles that he should bring a weapon the next time he joins this type of fun. She looks ready to jump him. “Brett and I are supposed to—.”

“Bring the packs together?” Despite everything, Stiles has never been afraid of most werewolves. He whacked the fucking twins with a baseball bat when they were morphed into one weird as hell abomination, and he very colorfully told one of them what he’d do with a branch of mistletoe. He’s not going to be intimidated by Quinn. Raising his brows, Stiles leans forward a little. “I don’t care about your future plans, so back off before I forget that I’m with the FBI.” Stiles is really good at picking fights with people he doesn’t know. But this time, it’s at least not his fault.

Not entirely at least.

Quinn steps closer again, but before she has the chance to do anything, Brett appears out of nowhere and fits easily into the space between them. “Hey.” His voice is light and charming, but his rigid body speaks a different language. “Is there a problem?”

Stiles lets out a breath. Part of him wants to push Brett out of the way and deal with Quinn himself. He doesn’t need protection.

“You should find a different bitch, that one bites.” Quinn spits, stepping away from Brett with a sneer.

Stiles lunges forward, but Brett is faster than him. Grabbing his waist, he pulls him flat against his side, holding him back with no effort whatsoever. “Call him a bitch again,” Brett says in a low voice that’s so much more threatening than any growl could ever be. “I dare you. See what happens.”

For a moment, Quinn stands stock-still, staring at Brett as if she’s trying to figure out what the right thing to do is. She flares his nostrils as she takes a breath then gives Stiles a nasty smile. “We’ll continue this conversation probably much sooner than later,” she drawls, shooting Brett a look before stepping away. “Have fun.” Turning his back on them, Quinn walks into the dining hall.

Does she think Stiles is afraid of facing her alone? Because if that’s the case, she’s dead wrong. If Brett weren’t having an iron grip on him, Stiles would show her exactly what he thinks of her.

Fucker.

Brett doesn’t let go of him, holding him flush against his side, fingers digging into his waist, probably sensing that Stiles is very much itching to jump the other werewolf. “Let’s go outside.” It’s not a request, and he’s not waiting for a response anyway. Instead, Brett grabs him by the back of his shirt and yanks him around so fast, he almost lost this footing. “You’re a fucking idiot,” he informs him in a hushed tone.

Once through the door, Brett lets go of him with a shake of his head.

It’s stormy outside. Rain is pounding on the canopy of glass. The conversations from inside barely reach them here, even less when Brett pulls the door shut behind them. Stiles nudges a chair with his foot, barely repressing the urge to kick it across the patio and into the pool or turn around and snap at Brett as well. Just for good measure. He can’t believe the guy had the nerve to drag him around like a rag doll. Instead, Stiles takes a deep breath and directs his gaze to the dark horizon. “There’s a beach ten feet from here,” he mutters, pushing his hands in the pockets of his jeans, “why the fuck would they have a pool?” Stepping right up to its edge, Stiles contemplates throwing himself into the cool water. Maybe that would drown the anger.

Stiles gets the feeling this whole vacation was a terrible idea.

“Sharks.” Brett doesn’t hesitate to reply and comes to stand next to him, so close their arms are almost touching. “But I bet you don’t fear those either.”

Stiles shoots him a look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Humming softly, Brett shrugs. “Not many people would talk to a werewolf like that. You’d probably punch a shark in the nose before it got too close.”

“That’s how you lose a hand,” Stiles replies, fixing his gaze on the thunderstorm in the distance. “You want to hit the gills or eyes. Preferably the gills.”

“And threatening a werewolf is how you lose your head.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, but Brett is probably right. “Noted.”

“Can we go back inside without you trying to kill her?”

Pressing his lips into a thin line, Stiles keeps staring towards the horizon.

Brett huffs out a breath. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“I didn’t do anything.” Stiles crosses his arms over his chest, glaring at the dark clouds as if they’re to blame for this. “She came at me.” He doesn’t even understand why she’s so upset at him. After all, Quinn said herself that Brett is always hooking up with random people. Besides, if she knows him even a little, she’s fully aware that Brett isn’t at all interested in anything that’s even remotely like a relationship. The guy has serious commitment issues. If Quinn really believes Brett will settle down with her, she absolutely has to rethink her world view.

Sighing, Brett wraps an arm around Stiles’ shoulders and pulls him close. “I know.”

Stiles hates how his body instantly melts against Brett’s. At this point, the guy doesn’t even have to be a werewolf to notice that something’s up. But waking up next to him, missing him since graduating from college — part of him is tired of hiding his feelings. Maybe Kira is right. Maybe he should say something. If Brett doesn’t reciprocate his feelings, he might be able to finally move on. “She believes you’ll settle down with her.” Stiles knows he sounds jealous, but perhaps this is another way to figure out what’s what without serving his heart on a silver platter.

“And?” Brett cups Stiles’ jaw, easily moving his head so Stiles has to look up at him. “What do you believe?”

That’s not the answer he hoped for.

Stiles swallows around a lump in his throat. “I can’t see you settling down,” he whispers, suddenly hit with an awful déjà vu.

“Not with her, at least,” Brett mutters, a smirk curling around his lips, and just like that, he leans down.

Slowly.

Giving Stiles time to react.

Panic floods his veins. The moment he kisses Brett, the moment he allows this to happen, there is no going back. There’s no way to stop his heart from free-falling. But he can’t be Brett’s hook-up for this vacation. He can’t do it. So, Stiles jerks backwards — and loses his footing completely. The pool, he realizes belatedly.

Fuck.

Stiles flails, knowing very well that there’s only Brett to hold onto, but Brett merely watches him, hand now pushes in the pockets of his jeans.

Asshole.

He crashes into the water, deciding that breakfast can very much be happening without him. There’s no way in hell he’s leaving his room today.

———

“Well,” Brett says, kicking the door shut behind him, “that day is going swimmingly, isn’t it?” With the most annoying grin this side of the universe, he sets down a box filled with various breakfast foods on the bet next to Stiles. The guy really makes it hard to be annoyed with him. Then again, it’s hard to blame Brett for letting him fall into the pool after pulling away from a kiss twice.

If not for his stupid heart, Stiles would jump at the chance to hook up with Brett fucking Talbot for two weeks straight. But he can’t do that to himself.

Shooting the werewolf a narrow-eyed look, Stiles pulls the box towards him. “Can’t wait for your full routine, Mulaney.”

“At least I’m not holing myself up in my hotel room to mope.” Brett toes off his shoes and collapses into bed next to him, his mood unbearably good.

“I’m not holing myself up,” Stiles shoots back, ignoring the pointed look towards the drawn curtains. Yes, he went straight to his room after falling into the pool. No, he did not come out to eat breakfast — and he will not leave it for lunch or dinner either. This day is very much over for him. “I hate thunderstorms, you know that.” He hates how accusatory he sounds. The storm is hardly Brett’s fault.

Quinn’s bratty behavior isn’t either.

For a moment, Brett doesn’t reply and instead watches him nibble on a waffle with near uncomfortable intensity. “You got up pretty early today,” he says then. It sounds like he’s been meaning to talk about this for a while now.

Stiles isn’t entirely sure what that has to do with anything, so he merely hums in agreement and hopes that’s the end of it. He’d love to watch IT since he, for one, paid money for it — ha — and for another, he really doesn’t want to go into any details of anything that may or may not have happened.

Not even in the slightest.

“Why? Nightmares?”

Stiles gestures towards the TV with his waffle. It’s not like he needs to watch it, he knows the movie inside out. He still very much prefers it over this conversation.

But Brett keeps pushing, “insomnia?”

Once again, Stiles doesn’t reply. Mostly because he has no idea what to say to get out of this. Because the truth is a terrible start.

“Or the fact that we cuddled, and you woke up horny?” Brett snatches the remote and turns the TV off without hesitation. “You know I noticed, right?”

Know would be a bit much, but Stiles somewhat suspected it. Shit like this is just his luck. “Listen,” he says as his cheeks grow uncomfortable warm, “I just…” what? What could he possibly say to get out of this? “Haven’t been close to anyone in a while.” Aside from sounding absolutely pathetic, it’s at least the truth. “Can I please get the remote back now?”

The gin curling around Brett’s lips is positively wolfish. “I’ll trade it.”

Stiles puts the waffle down and pushes the box of food towards Brett, raising his brows expectantly. Of course, that’s not what Brett meant at all. “I’m so not in the mood for this.” But Brett is a shithead, and there’s absolutely no way for Stiles to get out of this. He’s too drained to try and out-stubborn a Talbot. “What do you want?” For some awful reason, the question tasted bad in his mouth, as if part of him new he is making a huge mistake giving Brett’s stupid idea even a second of consideration.

“A kiss.”

His breath catches in his throat. “What?” Sure, Stiles probably should’ve expected it since Brett tried to kiss him twice already. Hearing it this bluntly, however, is a very different story. “The fuck is this coming from?” It’s also not technically a lie. Brett has never tried kissing him before.

A flash of surprise cuts through Brett’s expression of confidence. For all but a second, it seems as if he questions his calculations — no matter how quickly the grin returns. “You kissed Kira and Lydia.”

“That’s different.” Stiles regrets those words the second they leave his mouth. Why can’t he think before he speaks? Sure, technically, the situations have been a bit different; mostly because they haven’t been alone in a hotel room. He kissed them during a stupid game. It’s never been serious. Besides, he also didn’t have feelings for either of them when it happened.

Brett’s on his case like a fucking bloodhound. “Oh, is it? We’re friends too, aren’t we? Or is it because—"

Before Stiles can think any better of it, he leans over and presses their mouths together. The very second their lips touch, he pulls back again, not allowing himself to give this any thought at all because if he does, throwing himself out of the window might be the more painless option. “There,” he mutters, not daring to meet Brett’s eyes.

The laugh filling the room is surprisingly breathless. “You call that a kiss?”

“You didn’t specify—"

“A real kiss, Stiles. I thought that’s obvious.”

But it’s not. Nothing is obvious right now. Stiles is two seconds from running away; this time not into a relationship but into Kira’s room. Maybe he should’ve taken her up on the offer the second she made it. “This is fucking stupid.” Stiles sits back on his heels, still staring anywhere that’s not Brett. That, however, is stupid too. Setting his jaw, he locks eyes with the werewolf. “Are people falling for this shit?” He’s angry and defensive, and Stiles knows Brett is more than aware of it — of everything, even the feelings Stiles harbors for him. How could he not? “It’s so stupid.” And it’s certainly not funny.

Brett laughs, tapping the remote against his thigh. “You mentioned that.”

Stiles makes a grab for it. Unsurprisingly, he’s unsuccessful. “I’m really not in the mood.”

“You mentioned that too.”

Stiles wants to smother this asshole with a pillow. It certainly would solved absolutely all of his problems in one go. “Seriously, if you want to kiss me that bad—" stupid, stupid, stop talking “— just do it. Don’t act like a fucking middle schooler.” Stiles snaps his mouth shut entirely too late. With Brett, there’s always a risk that he might do it.

And, of course, Brett doesn’t hesitate.

He tosses the remote aside; because it’s never been about this fucking remote, because Stiles could tell things have been different since the moment he arrived, because Brett attempted to kiss him twice already. He would have, too, if Stiles hadn’t pulled away to protect what’s left of his heart.

But Brett doesn’t allow that this time. He pulls him in by the front of his shirt and crashes their mouths together.

The collar of his shirt digs into the nape of his neck, and Brett’s lips glide over his. He holds him there, doesn’t allow him to pull away again in any shape or form. He wants to, and he doesn’t want to. His body screams for Brett, begs for his hands and his mouth everywhere on him.

But he can’t do that to himself. He’ll have a night, if everything goes well, he has two weeks with Brett, two weeks of living his heart’s desire — and then reality comes crashing down on him.

Brett’s tongue traces Stiles’ lips, and his thoughts evaporate. Stiles cups the back of Brett’s head, holding him close. Brett wraps his arms around his waist, pulling him even closer. His eyes flutter shut, and his heart pounds in his chest.

Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Stiles sighs softly into the kiss, giving Brett the chance to deepen it. His tongue flicks Stiles’ teasingly. His whole body tingles, and Stiles shudders as the werewolf grabs his ass shamelessly. This fucking guy has a way to consume him entirely too easily. It’s not fair.

Before Stiles knows it, he’s on his back, Brett above him, his body warm and heavy. His kiss is desperate and bruising and eager for more.

So much more.

For something Stiles would rather not give.

Fuck.

Stiles let’s go of Brett and pulls away. “Wait,” he whispers breathlessly. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Their relationship is meant to remain strictly platonic. There’s too much risk to ruin it, too much risk to ruin himself.

And he can’t.

Not this time.

But Brett clearly doesn’t get the memo. He kisses him again, and Stiles kisses him back because he really, really wants everything that’s happening so, so fucking bad; the way Brett tastes like orange juice, his nose bumps against Stiles’ and his hands are roaming his body, and the way he bites his bottom lip.

It makes him dizzy.

Stiles curls and uncurls his fingers then grabs Brett’s shoulders. “Stop,” he mutters into the kiss. Wait doesn’t set the right signals. “Stop.” And he finally manages to turn his head to the side. “Brett—" He really needs him to fucking stop.

Instead, Brett drags his lips down to his jaw, trails them further down to his throat.

Stiles leans his head back, gasping when Brett sucks on his sensitive skin. It’s so easy to just give in.

No.

“I said, stop!” Stiles gives Brett’s shoulders a shove and finally, finally, the werewolf raises his head, but he’s not moving off him. “I don’t— I don’t want this.”

Brett quirks a brow, clearly not buying it — not when Stiles’ body sends a very different signal. “I beg to differ.”

The amusement rubs him the wrong way, and he gives Brett another push. “I’m not going to sleep with you just because you offered me to stay in your room.”

Brett sits up as if Stiles slapped him in the face. “Is that what you think?” His voice is icy, his muscles rigid, and suddenly, the way he towers over him now is terrifying. It’s easy to forget how dangerous Brett can be — and he’s got every right to be pissed. “Do you believe Quinn? Do you really think I’d treat you that way?” They both know the answer to that question — and that’s most likely why Brett hasn’t kicked him out of the room yet.

Shaking his head, Stiles props himself onto his elbows.

Brett collapses onto the bed next to him. “Are you going to tell me the real reason?”

“I can’t.”

“Can’t? Or won’t.”

Stiles drops onto his back and squints at the ceiling. “A bit of both, I guess.”

To his surprise, Brett laughs. It’s breathless and soft and everything but angry. “Can I tell you something then?” He rolls onto his side and props his head on his hand, studying Stiles’ face with sparkling blue eyes. He’s so pretty it hurts. “Something only Satomi knows?”

Stiles licks his lips and nods. Slowly. He’s not entirely sure what he might hear. “Sure.”

“I love you,” Brett tells him as bluntly as always. He chuckles when Stiles bolts upright — not entirely sure if his heart is going to stay inside his body in the foreseeable future. But Brett continues talking as he scoots behind him and wraps both arms around his waist, “and I can’t stand another year of being away from you.” His left hand slips under Stiles’ shirt.

A shudder runs down his spine, and Stiles grabs his wrist. He doesn’t stop him, not yet, merely holds on for dear life.

With ease, Brett pulls him closer, running his fingers over Stiles’ lower abs. “I wanted to take my time and try to figure out how you felt.” His lips are so close, every word is painted against the shell of his ear. All the while, his hand creeps lower at a snail’s pace. “But the bed is still drenched in your scent from this morning, and… I overheard you talking to Kira”

“Oh god,” Stiles breathes, not sure if it’s because of the admission or because Brett pushes two fingers past the waistband of his sweatpants.

The soft chuckle paves its way straight to Stiles’ dick. He wishes he could say it’s because he hasn’t been close to anyone in forever, but that’s not true — it’s Brett, all of this is fucking Brett.

“And I just can’t help myself,” the werewolf whispers, grabbing Stiles’ chin to turn his head just enough to brush their lips together. “I want your scent all over me.” He hooks a finger under the waistband of Stiles’ boxer briefs, tugging once, twice. A question. ‘Stop me’, it seems to offer.

Stiles lets go of Brett’s waist and curls his fingers into the sweatpants instead, blood rushing in his ears.

And Brett continues; he keeps talking, allows his hand to slip further into Stiles’ boxer briefs. “I hated seeing you with others. I hate how they treated you.” Just like that, Brett curls his long fingers around Stiles’ dick — the touch alone makes him almost jump out of his own body. “I knew I could treat you so much better. I will treat you better.”

Stiles groans and lets his head fall back.

Another chuckle.

Stiles tugs on Brett’s sweatpants.

“You smell so good,” Brett whispers, free and sliding from his chin to Stiles’ throat. His thumb rests right above his pule. He hums, sounding so smug, so fucking happy with himself.

It should be embarrassing that all it took were a few choice words to change Stiles’ mind, but it’s hard to feel bad with a hand wrapped around his dick. “Brett,” he breathes.

Brett hums again and kisses his temple. “Want me to make you feel good?”

“Please.”

Brett makes a sound that’s somewhere between a moan and a grow. Everything after that is rushed. They’re moving, getting rid of clothes. Brett’s shoe refuses to cooperate. It’s fun to see Mr. Smooth getting frustrated enough over such a small thing. A moment later, the shoe is gone, and Brett is on top of him again, kissing him with a hunger that leaves Stiles lightheaded and painfully hard.

Biting his bottom lip, Stiles watches as Brett rummages through his backpack. He’s hard lines and muscle where Stiles is skin and bones, lack of training and time to eat carving their marks into his body. His dick is long and hard and, apparently, now exclusively for Stiles’ pleasure — well, and Brett’s, but that’s a given.

If Brett told him the truth, that is. Which he did, right? They’ve been friends for years. Brett wouldn’t lie to him just to get into his pants.

Right?

“I can hear you overthinking.” Brett drops the backpack next to the bed, flicking a bottle of lube at him.

Stiles catches it awkwardly. For a moment, he stares at it as if the weight of his future rests inside of it. “Are you sure about… this?” Stiles gestures vaguely around, not daring to look at him.

“You mean the sex thing, or the whole I-love-you speech?” Brett asks, and although he smirks at him, his blue eyes have gone unbelievably soft. “Because I fully intend to be your trophy boyfriend.”

Stiles rolls his eyes.

“I’m serious about us. If you let me, I will come with you after this vacation. I’ll travel the US with you. I’ll make sure you eat and sleep, and I fuck you as often as you want me to.”

“And here I thought romance is dead.” Stiles can’t help but grin at the idea. It’s easy to see Brett by his side, to come home to him. Still, “it’s going to be boring for you, though, isn’t it?”

Brett raises his brows, shuffling closer until they’re nose to nose again. “Relaxing by the pool? No way.”

“I’m not staying in hotels like this.” Not usually, at least.

“Stiles,” Brett sounds exasperated, yet he cups his cheeks ever so gently. “I can deal with a year of ratty motels in the middle of nowhere if that means I’m with you, okay?” The moment Stiles opens his mouth for a reply, Brett leans over and kisses him, very clearly done with the conversation, and pushes him back into the pillows. “You’re not going to talk me out of this,” he whispers against Stiles’ mouth. “Stop wasting your breath.” With a chuckle, Brett plucks the lube from his fingers. “And relax, my love.”

Fucking hell.

Stiles runs his fingers through Brett’s hair and pulls him down for another kiss. He’ll allow himself to dream, to imagine this future Brett is painting will have a happy ending. Perhaps it does. He’ll never know if he refuses to try. So, he tries — tries to be an optimist, tries to relax as Brett’s hands and mouth explore every inch of his body, and tries desperately to hold onto his sanity as Brett’s tongue and fingers do their very best to make him fall apart.

Something that gets significantly harder the moment Brett thrusts in to the hilt. He presses their foreheads together, breathing heavily as he stays still for way too long.

Stiles hooks a leg around Brett’s thighs and rolls his hips. The way Brett moans his name makes him almost cum on the spot. “Fuck,” he breathes, “warn a guy.”

Brett chuckles as he captures his lips for another kiss mere seconds before he pulls back out and thrusts back in, fast and hard, yet not quite hard enough. Brett does it again, harder this time — testing how far he can go, or how much he has to hold back.

Stiles moans into the kiss when he does it for a third time, unable to stay quiet any longer.

“Okay?” Brett asks, stilling again.

“Yeah,” Stiles gasps, “better than okay.”

Brett lets out a breath. “You’re perfect,” he mutters, and it almost sounds like a curse. But Stiles can’t be bothered. Now that they’re here, he’d like to feel it for as long as he can, even when Brett won’t be leaving his side anytime soon — or ever, hopefully. God, he wants his marks all over his body, wants to feel this with every step he takes.

Brett seems to be thinking along a similar vein because he keeps the pace, fucking Stiles as if he’s got every intention to leave his mark everywhere. His fingers curl around Stiles’ dicks again, adding more fuel to the fire burning absolutely everywhere inside of him.

Stiles digs his fingers into Brett’s back, feeling his muscles tighten as he rushes towards his orgasm.

They’re hardly kissing any longer, instead, they’re breathing, gasping, moaning against each other’s mouths — lips brushing against each other’s more an accident than purpose.

And then, it hits him. His orgasm cuts to his core, and Stiles throws his head back.

Brett holds him, fucks him, until he collapses on top of him, boneless, skin hot and sweaty, face hidden in the crook of Stiles’ neck.

His brain is still trying to catch up while his heart is already beating in sync with Brett’s. His body truly never fails to disappoint. Stiles lets out a soft breath and runs his fingers through the blond strands. “I could get used to this.”

Growling quietly, Brett nips at his skin.

Stiles flicks his ear. “What the hell was that for?”

Brett chuckles and props himself onto his elbows. His eyes are bright, his lips ever so kissable, and he ducks down and brushes their noses together. “I’m not going to get a quiet afterglow, do I?”

“Have you met me?” Stiles raises his brows, not exactly expecting an answer to a question that couldn’t be any more rhetorical if he tried. “I could offer you cuddles in exchange for the remote, though.” He’s going to finish that movie, even if he has to stay still in Brett’s arms for the rest of it.

Sighing dramatically, Brett kisses him again. “Fine.”

Stiles grins. “I love you.” Three words he’s been wanting to say for years.

“I love you too.” But hearing them feels so much better.

#briles #stiles stilinski #brett talbot #teen wolf #brett x stiles #stiles x brett #kinktober 2023 #*tv:teen wolf #*w:kinktober2023 #*w:complete #*s:briles

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