𝓼𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂 : you torture stiles, he finds a way to get you back.
𝓐/𝓝 : im a real freak so beware before you read guys! also, please wear condoms and like practice safe sex! i don't have a lot of experience with it but i know that you should use contraception and have safe partners. ALSO consent is hot and if your sexual partner is saying no, please stop. make sure they are okay and if they are, resume and if they are not, please dont force yourself onto them. be a good person.
𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 : no use of y/n, established relationship, porn no plot, heavy making out, blowjobs, dacryphilia (crying), grinding, dry humping (#bringbackdryhumping), overstimulation, edging, stiles whimpers, cum eating, stiles also gets you back, fingering, oral sex (f and m receiving), multiple orgasms, unprotected p in v, creampie, mild breeding kink its barely even there, i told y'all i was a freak.
"soooooo, your house?"
"no stiles, cmon! we always go to mine, i wanna hang out in your room for once!"
"but baby, i love your room! it's so cute, all your pictures and little stuffed animals.."
you grumble and cross your arms, muttering fine and not even bothering to look at stiles, already knowing he's grinning at you.
"i can't believe i let you convince me to ditch class in the first place."
"i can be very convincing, especially when making out is involved."
"excuse you, mieczyslaw, but i will not be making out with you."
"uh huh, sure."
the woods, thick with trees and overgrown ivy, fly past your window, your eyes following the line where the branches meet the sky. it's heavy with clouds, the rain about to start pouring down, you can tell. perfect weather.
you turn your body back to look at stiles, his eyes set on the long stretch of road in front of you. his gaze flickers to you for a moment, and realizes you're staring and he smiles.
"what?"
"just lookin at you."
stiles shyly ducks his head, before letting his hand rest casually on your thigh.
you hear the first raindrop on the roof of the car, the sound letting itself echo for a few seconds. no other raindrops follow for the next minute or two, the quiet before the storm.
then, two more patters. and then ten. and suddenly, no more pauses between the sounds, as the rain starts to fall without holding back. stiles switches on the window wipers and takes his hand off your leg, and onto the steering wheel.
pulling into your driveway a few minutes later, stiles parks under the woodshed, currently empty. he passes you his sweater from the back seat and you both bolt to the door. the rain is fast and heavy, almost slowing down your movements. when you finally reach shelter, your clothes are heavy and wet from running through the field of raindrops.
stiles laughs at your drenched state, shaking his head to dry out his hair. you squeal and bring your hands to cover your face from the assault of water.
"stiles! you're not a dog."
"oh yeah? listen to me woof."
you scoff and rummage through your bag for keys, needing a change of clothes and a warm blanket now.
a sudden gust of wind blows through your porch, making your hair swish all around your face. as you shiver and keep searching for keys, you realize they're still in stiles' car. you yell out over the loud wind,
"stiles! keys are in your car, i'll go get them."
but before you can take a step toward the mini hurricane in your driveway, stiles bolts out through the rain. he reaches the car so much faster than you could have and runs back within thirty seconds, keys in hand.
"shit! i almost drowned!", stiles yells out to you as he runs back.
he jumps up the steps and practically crashes the door open, grabbing your arm and yanking you in, before slamming it shut. it's suddenly so incredibly quiet, the wind a forgotten noise. the only thing you and stiles can hear is the distant howling and your heavy breaths, standing next to each other. you slowly look up at stiles, wet and cold, your body awkwardly standing so you don't drip all over the floor.
"you okay?"
stiles' immediate concern makes your heart flip. nodding and taking a deep breath, you look him over, looking not much better than you.
"are you? you sprinted into that storm!"
stiles nods quietly and moves closer, brushing the wet strands of hair out of your face. he laughs a little, making you pout.
"it's not funny."
"...you're right it's not."
leaning down, stiles connects your mouths, his warm lips feeling amazing against yours. you disconnect with a pop, and look up at stiles.
"i need new clothes, lets go upstairs."
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
after you dry your hair off and get into dry clothes, you feel like a whole new person. the rain is still falling outside and there's almost no light in your room, apart from the candle you lit when you entered.
stiles is sprawled out on your bed, wearing new clothes too, from your drawer of spares for him. a shirt that he has grown out of, tight in all the right places and a plaid pair of boxer shorts. he looks delectable.
you sigh and move over to your bed, plopping down next to him and letting your legs tangle with one of his. stiles' hand comes around to your head, scratching at your scalp and letting it rest in your hair. you cuddle closer and let the warmth radiating off him become a blanket.
"feeling better?"
"much."
stiles makes a low noise and goes down to kiss your head. you roll over to press your body to his side, letting your hand rest on his chest. you slowly rub your hand in circles, the fabric between your hand and his skin moving the slightest bit. stiles' breathing hiccups, and then starts to speed up, very discreetly. so discreetly that you wouldn't have noticed if your hand wasn't on his chest.
you scratch at his torso, relishing the quiet whines stiles lets out. slowly, your hand makes its way down to his abdomen, lifting up the shirt to whisper your fingers over the smooth skin there.
"baby.... what are you doing?"
"do you want me to stop?"
a long silence fills the air between you two. you look up at stiles, your faces so close and yet so far away. you watch his eyes flicker across every feature on your face before his breath stutters at your hand dipping lower and rubbing against his hip bone. stiles shakes his head and you lean upwards to ghost your lips over his and take his bottom lip between your teeth, lightly pulling it away before letting go.
a soft whimper crawls up stiles' throat that makes your hand squeeze against his stomach. his head leans up against your pillows, giving your perfect access to nibble and suck at his neck. you climb onto stiles' lap, feeling his ever quickly growing bulge against your thigh. as you suck and bite at your boyfriend's neck, his hands come up to hold at your hips.
you take a break from making his skin turn red and bloom purple to look down and see stiles' quivering fingers against your body. you start to roll your hips, his erection somehow slipping into place and nestling perfectly between your plush thighs. stiles tightens his grip at your hips, his breathing quickening and making your hands against his chest start moving up and down with his panting.
"h-holy shit, baby- don't stop..."
your lips go back down to kiss under his jaw and at the slope where his neck meets his shoulders, leaving soft pink marks and a shiny residue from your open mouthed kissing.
you pull stiles' head down to make his lips catch yours as his head levels with yours. you hum and lick along the seam of his lips, sneaking inside and making stiles groan. the sensation of his soft warm lips on yours mixed with the push and pull of grinding down onto his dick makes your head spin, and you push him back into the pillow, your lips following him and continuing to sloppily make out with stiles.
he tries to take control back by thrusting his hips up in between your legs but you just push him back down and take in the soft growl stiles lets out, his fingers slipping beneath your shirt to scratch and squeeze at your skin. stiles' chest falters and his breathing starts to speed up, the usual tell tale signs of him when he's about to cum.
you quickly, slow down the pace of your hips, letting your folds grind over him slowly and making stiles feel the heat coming off your pussy. he whips his head up and starts stuttering,
"w-why?- wh-what... why'd you s-stop?!"
you grind down harder and stiles gasps, your eyes meeting his and not leaving. you find a spot that pushes his cock right onto your swollen clit and you whine, pushing and rolling your hips in that spot while making eye contact with stiles. he looks like a predator, and he's looking at you like you're his next meal.
you lean down and brush your lips over his, trying to tease another whimper out of him, but instead, stiles takes a hand out from under your shirt and uses it to pull the back of your neck down, your lips connecting with his heavily and quickly. stiles' lips immediately suction onto yours and you moan, letting your mouth be invaded by him. the hand that remained under your shirt, goes up to grope your breast, stiles' hand massaging the mass and letting his fingers tease the tips.
you find yourself getting lost in the sensation, forgetting what you were trying to accomplish in the first place. all you can think about is how stiles' lips feel moving against yours. how his fingers scrape your nape and make you shiver. you keep a steady rhythm of moving against his crotch, letting stiles chase the pleasure you're giving him. his hips start stuttering up towards your heat and you let him, the hand on your tit moving faster and twisting your nipples.
stiles lets out a filthy sound, one that is immediately swallowed by your own mouth because you're still letting your mouth be dominated by his tongue. stiles thrusts up once, and then twice, and then whimpers and you feel the pressure shoot up in his boxers.
you gasp, stiles' tongue dipping out and licking the edge of your mouth. you keep a steady pace grinding over stiles' very quickly softening crotch. his hand leaves your tit and comes out of your shirt, up to your jaw and he uses it to pull your face gently away from his. stiles looks up at you with awe, his thumb stroking at your skin and his other hand sliding up through your hair to massage your scalp.
you slow down your circles, but you don't stop. stiles' hips are twitching and he lets out a whine, almost like he's in pain but you can feel his boner staying at halfway, not going away entirely.
"i think i just saw god."
"oh yeah? was he hot and sexy and look exactly like your girlfriend?" you giggle, leaning down to kiss stiles slowly, savoring the moment, your bodies moving subtly and slowly against one another.
you lean down so your chest is flush with his and the pressure it puts on your nipples is such a relief you let out a gasp of air. stiles is slack jawed, laying underneath you and letting you use him to feel good. your lips find the abused skin of his neck, ghosting them over the surface and kissing it gently. the look of ecstasy on his face slowly twists into a look of pain, but you can feel his arousal throbbing into yours.
"are you trying to kill me?" stiles manages to choke out.
"sorry baby.. you want to stop?"
you stop moving and stiles lets out a pained moan, shaking his head, the loss of pleasure making his dick twitch.
"n-no please i need it." the pure need and desire in his voice makes your walls clench around nothing. stiles brings his arms around your body to hug you and holds your torso still while your bottom half continues to rub in circles. a pant, mixed with a moan escapes stiles' throat, and you feel his skin vibrate beneath you.
you stop your movement, and then start grinding up and down, your damp underwear creating friction that makes your eyes roll back into your head. stiles starts to kiss all over your face and in-between kisses he lets out little moans of praise,
"you're amazing."
"i can't believe you're mine."
"you've ruined me for anyone else."
"you drive me crazy."
"i love you so much."
until his hips buck up and he lets out a filthy noise. the sticky mess in your pants is suddenly warm, the heat coming from stiles' groin making you whine.
"did you just cum again?"
stiles is staring up at the ceiling, dumbfounded. "yeah... i did."
you laugh, shocked and you kiss his neck. without even realizing, you keep grinding down on stiles until he has to hold you still.
"baby, stop. 'm sensitive."
you smirk and do one last deep circle onto his lap that makes him groan. you climb off him and fix your hair, a mess from when stiles was running his hands over your scalp. you gasp when you look down and see stiles' boxers, a large wet patch on the front and cum basically dripping down his thigh.
''holy shit."
stiles, tired and with little energy, looks down to where you're looking and he drops his head back with embarrassment, covering his red face.
"no way.. no way."
you can't pull your eyes away from his crotch. you are basically drooling at the sight, stiles' stomach fluttering and his boxers sticking to his skin. you need to suck him off. like right now.
"babe.."
stiles acknowledges your words with a little moan. your hand goes to his thigh, resting next to the wet patch in his boxers. you can feel his dick throbbing and pulsing next to your hand.
"what if... i help you clean up?"
your words come out more low and sultry than you intended, making stiles tense again and a little squeak leaves him as you pull his boxers down.
"i can't.. not again.."
you pause, "if that's what you really want, i will stop right here. but i know you baby, and you can take one more."
you dont move an inch until stiles nods and his eyes open to watch you pull his boxers all the way down. his dick is covered in shiny cum and his tip is throbbing red. you run your index finger from the base to the slit, gathering a bead of the thick, hot liquid covering stiles' shaft. you bring the finger to your lips and slowly suck on it, keeping heavy, loaded eye contact with stiles. this makes him thrust his hips up, groaning and moaning until you finally let your hand glide over the silky smooth skin.
starting off slow, you tease him, and let him get all worked up again. your hand pumps with a steady pace until you see stiles' eyes full of tears. he's practically begging you to go faster and let him finish, but you want to see him break.
you move your body down the bed so you can lick up and down his cock. its hot and salty, and the noise that stiles lets out is heavenly. you take his tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue and sucking softly. stiles moves his hands into your hair again, more gently this time. you start to take him down deeper, hollowing out your cheeks and pumping what you cant hold in your mouth.
stiles is whining and he can't speak anymore but he warns you almost coherently before he finishes so you can move if you want to,
"b...b-baby.. 'm gon-na.." while he simultaneously pulls his fingers tighter around your hair.
but you stay where you are, letting his release fill up your throat, swallowing it all and letting stiles scratch at your scalp. he stutters, slows, and you hear a loud breath being taken from above. when stiles fully stills, you take his dick out of your mouth, getting up to get him new boxers while stiles stares at the ceiling in disbelief. when you walk back over you see stiles' face and the tear streaks running down his cheeks. he looks like he'd been ruined.
you have to admit, seeing him cry was one of the hottest things you'd ever seen, but stiles had reached his limit, so that can be for another time. you help him clean up (for real this time) and put the clean shorts on, before tucking his face into your neck and letting him sleep. you stroke his hair and whisper praise into his ear until you feel the rumbling of his chest against you,
"you did so amazing for me baby."
"i love you more than anything."
"you're perfect."
"shhh just go to sleep, you deserve it."
it'd been a week since stiles and you ditched class and ended up messing around in your bedroom. everything has been normal since then, stiles driving you around wherever you needed to go, you helping stiles with any homework he had. nothing had changed.. but stiles had an overwhelming energy radiating off him all week. an aura that just screamed 'im up to something.'
all came to a climax (pun not intended) on saturday night when you went home with stiles after his lacrosse game. you were planning for a regular game night, stiles falling asleep almost immediately and you staying up watching movies. when you got back to his house, stiles climbs out of the car, and runs around to open your door for you. you giggle when he offers his hand to help you out.
your hands stay locked until you get up to his bedroom, stiles letting go to shut his door. not that it matters, the sheriff is out having drinks with some old buddies from high school. you had the whole house to yourselves. you're left sitting on the edge of stiles' bed, taking your shoes off. stiles comes towards you, leaning down to kiss you. you immediately reciprocate, appreciating the warmth of his lips against yours.
so when stiles starts to push you to lay down on the bed, you follow his lead. your hair halos around your head beneath you, your legs wrapping around stiles' hips. angling your head to the side, you allow stiles to invade your mouth with his tongue, his mouth tasting like mint. his hand slides to the back of your neck, scratching softly, making you sigh.
his other hand slides up your leg and rests it on the connection between your thigh and your hip. you feel his fingers squeezing and creeping closer between your legs. stiles breaks the kiss, a whine leaving you. he smirks and pecks your lips before lowering his head to your chest, his hand coming up beneath your shirt. the fabric slowly creeps up, until stiles grabs the hem and pulls it over your head gently. he runs his hands over your tits, not touching in anyway, just admiring.
stiles slides the straps of your bra down your shoulders, and you arch your back to let him unclasp it and remove it completely. your skin is immediately kissed and caressed by his loving hands. stiles licks over your nipple, bringing it into his mouth and sucking softly. a breathy moan leaves your body, stiles tensing at the sound.
"are you wet?", stiles' hoarse voice startles you. he sounds hungry and deep, like he's lost his voice. you nod and your hand comes up to wrap around his hair. stiles shakes his head and removes his hands from your chest. "use your words baby."
"yes... yes." the words that are spoken don't sound like you. it's like you've become consumed by sex. stiles kisses your chest one more time before using his hands to take your pants off.
every layer of clothing that gets removed, increases the humming you feel in your chest, making you need stiles' touch even more. you're left just in your panties and stiles strokes his fingers over the wet patch in front. he brushes your clit and a desperate whimper comes from you. stiles moves slowly and patiently, for what feels like hours. you can feel him right there, you need him to touch you but no matter what you do, he won't.
"s-stiles.. stop teas-ing me.." your breath catches in your throat and you look down to see him looking up at you, eyes dark and full of desire. your heavy breathing starts to slow, the pace of his touch starting to even out. if stiles wants to tease you, then you can handle that.
suddenly, your underwear is pulled to the side, the cold air hitting your exposed opening. you moan, stiles' fingers slipping over your folds and hole. your head is thrown back when he finally rubs against your clit, the sensation washing over you. stiles drags the panties down your hips and legs until you are fully naked beneath him.
"can i finger you?"
"holy shit, yes."
stiles laughs at your reaction, rubbing middle finger around your entrance, teasing you. he slides it in slowly, your walls squeezing down on him. you feel him exhale and he adds another finger and slowly, he pushes in and out, in and out. stiles brings his thumb to circle your clit, the bud feeling the weight of his digit.
while stiles thrusts his fingers inside of you, your fingers are clinging to his hair. you tug and pull, the pleasure too much to handle. you can feel a sharp knot in your stomach and then stiles curls his fingers and hits your sweet spot. you moan and let go of everything, orgasm crashing over you.
stiles slows down but keeps thrusting, riding you through. when you finally come down, stiles takes his hand away and licks his fingers clean. you stay lying down, chest moving up and down while you try to catch your breath. stiles doesn't give you much time though, his head moving back down.
he starts kissing your thighs and biting on the soft skin there. when you start to feel his hot breath on your slickness, you freeze.
"baby... what are you doing?"
stiles stays silent, still kissing your legs but a lot closer to your entrance now. when he's finally done sucking on your skin, he answers,
"i just wanna taste you.." his voice vibrates and sends shocks straight up your pussy.
your breath wavers, "i.. i cant.."
stiles kisses right next to your heat and licks gently, "yes you can."
then his tongue licks a stripe straight up the center of your flesh. you moan, sensitive and worn. stiles licks big and wide, his tongue teasing at your entrance before retreating. your back lifts off the bed and stiles has to use his hands to hold your body down. he circles his tongue around your clit and your thighs squeeze shut, trying to run away from the pleasure, but stiles holds them open and keeps devouring you.
breathy noises leave you, but nothing else can be heard except stiles eagerly eating your pussy. you let a loud moan come from your throat, encouraging stiles to keep going. the tight ball in your stomach is about to burst so you pull his head away.
stiles looks dazed, ready to dive back in when you whimper, "stiles, baby please. i want you inside me."
no hesitation at all, stiles starts pulling his clothes off. first his shirt and then his shoes and he yanks his pants and boxers off in one go. you would love to laugh at him falling all over himself but you are quite literally, pulsing with need. stiles reaches to the nightstand for a condom but you stop him.
"no, no. i wanna feel you. i want you to fill me up."
stiles screws his eyes shut and breathes heavily before looking down at you again, "are you trying to make me come on the spot?" you laugh breathily and reach up to pull him down. you move up the bed and stiles spreads your legs and settles between them. his cock rests hard and heavy against your thigh.
stiles lines himself up and before pushing in, takes your hand into his, intertwining your fingers. then, his dick pushes you open, stretching you slowly and deliciously. the noise that comes out of your throat is something you've never heard before. stiles keeps pushing until he's buried deep inside you and pulsing. you start circling your hips, begging for movement, but stiles holds you still.
"baby. j-just- stay.. for a 'lil bit.."
you breathe hard and heavy, whimpering and clenching around stiles. the orgasm from before, building again and not stopping. stiles takes a deep inhale and then starts to shift his hips, back and forward. you gasp and clench around him, bringing your arms around his shoulders, nails digging into stiles' back.
his thrusts get harder and deeper, reaching every inch of your insides and stuffing you completely. you let every noise out, not holding back. stiles pants into your shoulder, kissing and licking the skin there. you're so close you can feel it already, clenching around stiles to warn him.
suddenly, like a bus, you come and you can't see. every sense is gone, all you can do is feel. feel stiles, thrusting into your heat. feel stiles' hot cum spilling inside of you and filling you up. you cry out, scratching your nails down stiles' back and holding onto him.
stiles keeps thrusting, even though you've both come. his release spilling out of you, providing a sticky lubricant to keep going. he starts to slow down, pushing in deep and pulling out in unhurried strokes. you use your hands to find stiles' cheeks, lifting his face above you. you lean up to kiss him, latching your lips onto his.
the kiss is messy and dirty. you let him completely take over your mouth, tongues swirling against one another and saliva mixing.
stiles stops thrusting, pulling out of you. you whine at the loss of him inside of you. you clench around nothing and more of his load spills out of you. you pull away from the kiss, a string of spit connecting your mouths. you can feel stiles' hot breath fluttering over your face. you can't even speak, your words have been stolen from your throat.
you bring stiles to lay down next to you, his skin hot. you both catch your breath, laying in his room for minutes, not speaking. you let the silence come over you, cool you down and let your head settle. when you finally turn to face stiles, he's still staring at the ceiling in disbelief.
"stiles, you okay?"
he nods, turning to look you in the eyes. his disbelief turns into pure joy, his body shifting to be closer to you. you let his arm rest over your waist. he smiles and you smile back,
"i love you so much."
"i love you stiles."
A/N: we're gonna pretend this didn't take me five months to write. if this gets like 3 likes im gonna be so mad. i put my heart, soul and blood into this.
You and Stiles Stilinski have been best friends forever. Both secretly crushing on each other, both hopelessly oblivious. But when a bra is found in the back of his car, everything changes.
Warnings: sexual references, making out, fade to black
———————————————————————
You jogged across the parking lot, backpack thumping against your spine and hair still damp from the fastest post-gym rinse of your life. Stiles already had the engine running, Scott in the passenger seat digging through a bag of chips like it was a medical necessity.
“Hey! There she is,” Stiles said as you opened the door and climbed into the backseat, his grin bright and obnoxiously endearing. “Our favourite sweaty gremlin.”
Scott leaned back to look at you and nodded solemnly. “Yeah, you kinda smell.”
You threw your towel at the back of Scott’s head. “You’re both disgusting and you smell worse.”
Stiles’ laugh filled the Jeep, warm and bubbly and the exact sound you secretly replayed in your head way too often. “Impossible. I’m a delight. Like fresh laundry.”
“Laundry that’s been forgotten in the machine for two days,” you shot back as you buckled your seatbelt.
Stiles pressed a hand to his heart, dramatically wounded. “Betrayal. In my own vehicle.”
You smirked and leaned forward between the seats. “You’re the one who made us do basketball in thirty-degree heat. I blame you for everything.”
“I didn’t make you,” he said, eyes flicking to you in the rear-view mirror. “You volunteered to be on my team. Remember?”
You did. You remembered way too well, because Stiles had smiled at you that stupid soft way he does, and your brain had short-circuited.
Scott snorted. “She volunteered because she likes—”
You kicked Scott’s seat before he could finish whatever he was going to say. “I volunteered because you can’t dribble to save your life.”
Stiles gave an offended gasp. “I can dribble! I dribble fine!”
“Your form is tragic,” you said, pulling your backpack onto your lap and digging through it for your notes.
“No, it’s innovative,” he argued, glancing back at you again, eyes bright. “You just don’t understand my technique.”
“You tripped over your own shoe,” Scott said.
“ONE TIME!”
You shook your head, smiling as you unzipped your bag. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Stilinski.”
While the boys bickered, you pulled out your history textbook, except something else came with it. You didn’t notice the soft thump as your bra - your pre-gym, expensive, lacy bra - slipped out of the bag and disappeared onto the tragically cluttered floor of the Jeep, blending seamlessly into the sea of loose papers, crumpled receipts, and whatever ecosystem was developing down there.
Stiles glanced back again, eyes flicking to your hands, then your face, then away a little too quickly. He always did that, like he wanted to look at you longer but panicked halfway through. Or maybe that was just your wishful thinking.
“What’re you studying?” he asked, trying to sound casual but somehow managing to sound like he had swallowed a whole handful of nerves.
“Nothing yet,” you said, flipping the book open. “Trying to pretend I’m organised.”
Scott laughed. “You? Organised? Dude, you almost walked out of the girls’ showers with your shoes still missing.”
You clapped your book shut and leaned forward to smack him. “Okay, that happened once.”
“Twice,” Stiles corrected immediately. “Pretty sure I reminded you to go back in for them the second time.”
Your heart did an embarrassing little flip, because of course he remembered that.
“Well,” you said, clearing your throat and sinking back into the seat, “if you two didn’t distract me all the time—”
“You like when I distract you,” Stiles said before he could stop himself, as though he’d forgotten all his nerves.
Your eyes snapped up. His did too. Scott went absolutely still. Three whole seconds passed.
Then Stiles panicked. “I MEAN…NOT LIKE THAT, I—I meant like, you know, friendly distraction. Platonic brain stuff!”
Scott covered his face with both hands. “Oh my God.”
You pretended your heart wasn’t tap-dancing. “It’s okay, Stiles. I know what you meant.”
He relaxed instantly, smiling at you again in the rear-view like he couldn’t help it. And you, idiotically, smiled back, completely unaware that your bra was lying at your feet.
———————————————————————
The next day, Stiles picked you up after school to study at his place. The Jeep smelled far too strongly of whatever air freshener Stiles had panic-sprayed five minutes before picking you up. He kept tapping the steering wheel as he drove, energy buzzing the way it always did around you.
“You ready to suffer through chemistry?” he asked.
“No,” you said flatly. “But at least I get snacks.”
“That’s the spirit.”
By the time he pulled into the Stilinski driveway, you were mid-rant about the mitochondria being the most overhyped organelle in existence.
Stiles turned off the engine just as the sheriff stepped out the front door, a thermos in one hand, car keys in the other.
“Hey, kids,” the sheriff said, walking toward the Jeep as Stiles leaned his elbow out the open window. “Homework date?”
Your heart skipped. Date?
Stiles’s neck snapped so fast you heard it. “Dad, what? NO! Not…it’s…we’re just studying. Like school. Studying for school. With each other.”
The sheriff blinked. “Right. That’s generally what studying is.”
You tried to hide your embarrassed grin behind your hand. Stiles kicked the inside of the door like he could disappear into the chassis.
“Yeah,” Stiles said, trying to brush the exchange off with a joke. “Well I’m trying to educate this one. It’s going poorly.”
“Hey,” you protested, leaning forward to smack his shoulder.
The sheriff opened his mouth again, then something caught his eye. His gaze shifted downward, into the backseat, and then stopped. And then stayed stopped. Right on a bra. A very cute, very lacy bra.
The sheriff’s eyebrows slowly rose. “Stiles?” The sheriff pointed with the slow, horrified precision of a man who wished he had looked anywhere else. “Son, is there a reason there is a…lady’s undergarment…in the back of your car?”
Your entire bloodstream caught fire.
Stiles whipped around so fast he slapped his hand on the seat. “WHAT?!” His entire soul left his body at the sight before him. “Oh my…that…Okay, that’s…that’s not—”
“Oh my God!” you whispered, your heart straining.
Stiles stared at it like it was a live grenade. “THA—THAT IS…THAT, I…THAT’S MINE!”
You choked. The sheriff raised one eyebrow so hard it could’ve lifted off his head. “Yours,” he repeated.
“Yes!” Stiles said, hysterical. “I, um, I took up…cross-dressing. Recently. Very recently. Like, ultra recently.”
You covered your entire face. “Stiles.”
“The, uh, the lace helps my…self expression?” Stiles added weakly.
The sheriff looked at the bra. Then at Stiles. Then back at the bra. He was absolutely not buying it, but he was a father, and fathers sometimes chose peace over truth. Then, very slowly, he nodded with very fatherly resignation. “Well. I…guess…congratulations.”
Stiles looked physically ill. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Sure,” the sheriff said, and with the expression of a man deciding he absolutely did not want any further information, he climbed into his patrol car and drove away.
The silence left behind was suffocating. You didn’t breathe until the cruiser turned the corner. Then you exploded.
“YOU COULD HAVE SAID ANYTHING ELSE!” you yelled, leaning back in your seat.
Stiles twisted around. “OH, I’M SORRY, WHAT WAS I SUPPOSED TO SAY? ‘HEY DAD, NO, THAT’S NOT MINE, I DON’T KNOW WHY THERE’S A SEXY LACE BRA—”
“Why did you call it sexy?!” you repeated, voice pitching embarrassingly high.
“I MEAN…I…IT’S…BECAUSE IT IS? I DIDN’T…WHATEVER! WHY IS IT HERE?!”
“HOW WOULD I KNOW?!”
“I DON’T KNOW!”
Both of you were flushed, flustered, and yelling over each other until Stiles suddenly froze.
He leaned and reached into the back seat, picked up the bra with two fingers like he expected it to bite him, and stared at it as he dangled it before him.
You groaned into your hands. “This is humiliating.”
“It’s humiliating for ME!” Stiles argued. “My dad thinks that I…that I wear lingerie in my free time!”
“I mean…it could be worse?” you offered weakly.
“HOW?!”
“Okay, fair,” you admitted. “It’s pretty bad.”
He ran a hand through his hair, chest rising and falling fast. “It’s not even my size!”
That was the wrong thing to say. You turned slowly, glare sharp enough to cut steel. “Oh, you checked the size?”
“What, NO! I JUST, VISUALLY! I DIDN’T TOUCH…I, WAIT, WHY WOULD IT EVEN BE MY SIZE?!”
You jabbed a finger at him. “Don’t make this weird!”
“YOU MADE IT WEIRD!”
“I’m not the one who left a bra in my car!”
“WELL I DIDN’T EITHER!”
“Then who did?!” you asked, voice tight. “Whose…whose bra is that?”
He looked over, startled. “I told you, I don’t know—”
You cut him off immediately, heat rising. “Don’t lie to me. It’s not like there’s a magical bra fairy that leaves presents for desperate teenage boys. Have you been…hooking up with someone?” Jealousy rose in you fast and searing.
“I’m not hooking up with anyone!” he exclaimed, panicking. “I swear, I’ve never seen this before. I don’t know how it got here!”
You folded your arms, glaring. “Oh, so there actually is a bra fairy and it’s just magically appeared? You expect me to believe that?”
“I…yes! I do! I didn’t put it there, and I don’t know whose it is! I swear!”
You shook your head, biting back a frustrated sigh. “You know, I really thought we’re close enough that you would have told me about it if you were seeing someone. Does Scott know?”
He ran both hands through his hair, eyes wide. “No! Scott doesn’t now because there isn’t anything TO know! There isn’t anyone, and I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t tell Scott and not tell you. And I wouldn’t lie to you! I’m NOT lying to you! I…look, I can’t explain how it got here, but I promise, I’m not lying.”
You opened your mouth to argue, to say something more, but your chest was tight, your stomach twisting. Jealousy and hurt and the fear of losing him to another girl all rolled together in a tight knot.
Stiles looked down at the bra again, hesitant, like it was radioactive. That was when you finally looked at it and recognised the lace. The pattern. The hacked off tag that you had cut because it kept scratching you.
Your bra.
Your lace bra.
“Oh my God!” you whispered. Your stomach dropped.
Oh no.
You reached across the backseat, snatched it out of his hands, crumpled it into a ball, and shoved it into your jacket pocket.
“Why are you taking it?” Stiles wrinkled his nose, questioning you. Then he noticed the flush on your cheeks and the way you wouldn’t meet his eyes and he gasped, putting two and two together. Stiles choked on his own breath. “No way!! It’s YOURS?!”
“Yes, it’s mine, okay!” You slapped a hand over your burning face. “It must’ve fallen out of my bag the other day after gym, I didn’t notice. Can we PLEASE drop this?”
“YOU WEAR THAT TO SCHOOL?!”
“STILES.”
“I’M JUST ASKING!”
“DROP. IT.”
He nodded rapidly. “Dropped. Dropping. Consider it dropped. I’m burying it. Six feet underground. No, twelve feet. I’ll buy a concrete mixer.”
You escaped the Jeep as fast as physically possible, desperate for oxygen that didn’t contain the memory of your bra being publicly discovered. Stiles scrambled out after you, flustered and blinking and definitely thinking too much.
Upstairs in his room, you tried to pretend nothing had happened. Stiles tried to pretend too, only he failed. Badly.
He sat beside you on the bed, textbook open, except he wasn’t reading. He kept sneaking glances at you. Not at your chest. Not anywhere inappropriate. Just…at you. Like you were suddenly different. Like you had become something dangerous to his equilibrium.
Every time you turned your head, he snapped his eyes away, cheeks flushing. You highlighted a sentence. He stared. You brushed hair behind your ear. He stared. You crossed your legs. He stared so hard he forgot to breathe.
Finally, you slammed your book closed. “Okay. Seriously. What is going on with you?”
“Nothing!” He squeaked, actually squeaked. “Nothing. I’m normal. This is normal. We’re normal.”
“You’re acting like you’re afraid to look at me.”
“I’m not afraid,” he insisted, except his voice cracked mid-word.
“Then why won’t you look at me?”
“I…I…I can’t!”
“Why not?!”
He made a hopeless, frustrated noise and buried his face in his hands. “Because you were wearing LINGERIE under your SCHOOL CLOTHES and now my brain is BROKEN.”
You felt your heart flip, twist, and immediately panic. “I’m going home.”
“What?! No, no, wait!”
You shoved your books into your bag and stood up. Stiles stumbled after you, knocking into the desk and tripping on a hoodie on the floor.
“I didn’t mean it! I mean, I did, but I didn’t…I’m not…I just…”
But you were already heading down the stairs, face hot, pulse racing.
“Hey, wait! Please!” he called weakly from the hallway.
You didn’t stop. You couldn’t. You needed air, and space, and distance from him and his stupid, flustered face and the way your stupid heart reacted to it.
Stiles stood at the top of the stairs, watching you leave, looking lost and guilty and absolutely overwhelmed. He was still holding the image of your lace bra in his mind like it was going to haunt him forever.
———————————————————————
By Thursday, you were done. Absolutely done.
Stiles had avoided eye contact, stuttered through every conversation, bumped into three garbage bins, and once walked directly into a closed classroom door because you said ‘hi’ too close to his ear.
You tried giving him space. You tried sitting further away in class. You tried pretending none of this bothered you. But it did. It bothered the life out of you, because you were losing your best friend.
So when you found him lingering by your locker between periods, fidgeting with the sleeves of his hoodie, pretending not to be waiting for you…you snapped.
You grabbed his wrist. “Come with me.”
Stiles made a small confused noise. “Where? Why? Am I in trouble? I feel like I’m in trouble.”
You pulled him through the hallway before he could finish spiraling, yanked open the door to the unused girls’ locker room, checked it was empty, and shoved him inside.
He almost tripped over his own feet. “What? What is happening?”
You shut the door behind you and crossed your arms. “Why are you being so weird?”
Stiles froze, eyes widening. “I…I’m not! I mean, maybe a little, but it’s not my fault!”
“Whose fault is it then?” you demanded.
“Yours!”
“My fault?!”
He ran both hands through his hair, pacing like he was practicing for a panic attack competition. “Yes! You can’t just wear things like that and then expect me to…to function like…like a normal human being!”
You blinked. “You’re still thinking about the bra.”
His face went bright red. “I, no? I mean, yes? I mean, I’m trying not to but my brain keeps, like, throwing it at me like a pop-up ad I can’t close.”
“So you’re avoiding me because you’re imagining things?”
He groaned loudly. “YES! I mean NO! I mean, I’m avoiding you because I CAN’T STOP imagining things and if I could stop imagining things then maybe I could stop being a total freak around you”
You stared at him. You were a mix of annoyed, and frustrated, and embarrassed. Then suddenly, you were oddly calm.
“So if you stop imagining it,” you said slowly, “you’ll go back to normal?”
He nodded too fast. “Yes. Absolutely. Immediately. God, please.”
You exhaled. “Okay then.”
Before you could think about it and before you could talk yourself out of it, you reached down, grabbed the hem of your shirt, and pulled it over your head.
Stiles made a sound you had never heard from another human being before. A strangled, squeaked, half-swallowed gasp.
You stood there for three seconds - just three - another lacy bra. A different color, different pattern, but the same type that he had considered ‘sexy’.
His eyes went huge. His mouth dropped open. His entire body locked like someone had unplugged his brain from his limbs. You tugged your shirt back on just as fast, heat flooding your face.
“There,” you said, trying for calm and landing somewhere closer to breathless. “Now you’ve seen it. No imagination required. Can you go back to normal now?”
Stiles opened and closed his mouth. Opened it again. Closed it. He looked like someone had thrown a grenade into his neural pathways.
“I-I…I don’t…I can’t…What? Why? YOU…THAT! I’m…I—”
You didn’t wait for him to finish rebooting. Instead you walked out. Not calmly and not gracefully either. You nearly tripped over the doorframe, bolted into the hallway, and speed-walked until your legs hurt. Then you spotted Allison and Lydia.
“Allison, Lydia, help!” you gasped, grabbing both their arms like you needed physical support to remain alive. “I did something. I did something so stupid. So incredibly stupid.”
They exchanged a look and Lydia arched an eyebrow. “Define stupid.”
“I showed Stiles my bra.”
Both girls froze and Allison’s eyes widened. “Wait, like, on purpose?”
Your face burst into flames. “Yes! No? I mean, YES but NO but YES because I panicked and he was being weird and then I was being weird and then I was trying to un-weird him but then I weirded everything more…”
Lydia’s mouth curved into a slow, delighted smile. “Oh, honey.”
“What does ‘oh, honey’ mean?!” you squeaked.
“It means,” Lydia said, looping her arm through yours, “you didn’t ruin anything.”
“Not even close,” Allison added, grabbing your other arm. “In fact…you did amazing.”
“What? How?!”
Lydia smirked. “Trust me. Stiles is currently in that locker room questioning every decision he’s ever made, including being born. That’s good.”
“That’s…good?” you repeated weakly.
“Very good,” Allison said, squeezing your hand. “Now just wait.”
“Wait for what?”
Lydia grinned. “For him to finally stop being oblivious.”
———————————————————————
Stiles did not simply walk out of the locker room. He escaped it. He burst through the doors like he had been held hostage by his own hormones, one hand clutching his chest, the other grabbing the nearest wall for support as he staggered into the hallway.
“Okay, okay, okay…NOPE! Nope, nope, that just…that…that happened,” he muttered to himself. “I’m dead. I’m so dead. My heart is actually…Oh God! Did it stop? Is it beating? Is that what a heart attack feels like?”
“Dude?”
Stiles jumped ten feet in the air.
Scott stood beside him, holding a water bottle and looking extremely concerned. “Are you okay? You look like you saw a ghost. Or like a ghost saw you naked.”
Stiles grabbed Scott’s shoulders with both hands. “SCOTT.”
Scott blinked. “Yes. That’s me.”
“We need to talk.”
“Okay…”
“In private.”
Scott glanced around the empty hallway. “We are in private.”
“MORE private.”
Scott sighed and let himself be dragged into the boys’ bathroom. Stiles checked every stall like he was preparing for a hostage negotiation. Then he turned to Scott with wild eyes.
“Scott,” he whispered. “She stripped.”
Scott’s eyebrows shot up. “What?! Who? When? Are you okay?”
“NO! YES! NO! I mean, she didn’t, like, strip strip. She just…” Stiles slapped his own forehead. “Oh my God, I’m so stupid.”
Scott waited, patient in the same resigned way someone waits for a pot to stop boiling over once turning the heat down. In other words, he looks at the mess that was his best friends, sizzling all over the place.
“Okay,” Stiles said, inhaling deeply. “So she pulled me into the girls’ locker room and confronted me about being weird and asked why I kept imagining her in that bra—”
“Bro…” Scott choked.
“—and I said if I could stop imagining it, I’d go back to normal, so then she took her shirt off.”
Scott’s water bottle hit the floor. “She WHAT?”
Stiles waved his arms like an inflatable tube man having a crisis. “I KNOW!! I KNOW!! She just, did it! She was like ‘will this reset your brain?’ and I was like ‘NO?? IT’S MAKING IT WORSE???’ except I didn’t SAY that, because my mouth forgot how to be a mouth!”
Scott stared at him like he was diagnosing an illness. “Dude,” Scott said slowly, “she likes you.”
Stiles froze. Glitched. Rebooted. Stiles.exe has stopped working.
“What? No. Noooo.” He laughed. A little too loudly. “No, see, that’s….no. People don’t just do that because they like you. That’s not…that’s not a thing.”
Scott gave him a look. The classic ‘Stiles, please’ look. “Be so for real right now,” Scott said.
“I AM being so for real!” Stiles insisted, slapping his chest. “This is my realest! Nothing is realer!”
Scott put his hands on Stiles’ shoulders gently. “Stiles. I know she’s into you.”
“You think—?”
“I know.”
“How can you know?!”
Scott raised an eyebrow. “Stiles,” he said, deadpan. “I’m a werewolf. I can smell it.”
Stiles stopped breathing. Scott continued casually, like he was discussing the weather. “She was into you during gym the other day. She was into you in the hallway this morning. And she was DEFINITELY into you a few minutes ago when she pulled you into the locker room. Dude, when she’s around you, she smells like—”
“STOP,” Stiles yelped, slapping a hand over Scott’s mouth. “Stop talking about smells like that. My brain can only handle one crisis at a time!”
Scott gently removed Stiles’ hand. “I’m just saying. It’s obvious.”
“No it isn’t.”
“It really is.”
“No it…She…No!” Stiles rubbed both hands over his face. “She’s just, being nice, or weird. Or she thinks she’s helping, or something.”
“Stiles.” Scott’s voice softened. “She took her shirt off for you.”
Stiles choked on absolutely nothing. “SHE WAS DEMONSTRATING SOMETHING!”
“Uh-huh.”
“It was a POINT.”
“Uh-huh.”
“It was SCIENCE.”
“I’d hate to see Harris walk into class in a lace bra ‘for science’.” Scott just stared at him, dead-eyed. “You’re an idiot.”
“I KNOW,” Stiles cried, sliding dramatically down the wall. “I KNOW I AM.”
Scott patted his shoulder. “At least you’re self-aware.”
“She’s going to avoid me forever,” Stiles moaned. “I’ve ruined everything. I’ll never recover. I’ll live in the woods.”
Scott nodded sympathetically. “Okay, so new plan.”
Stiles peeked up. “There’s a plan?”
“Yeah. Step one, breathe.”
Stiles inhaled like he was learning how for the first time.
“Step two,” Scott said, “you need to talk to her.”
Stiles shook his head violently. “Nope. No. I cannot. I physically cannot. The last time she looked at me I forgot how to blink. She’s going to think I’m a creep.”
“She won’t.”
“She’s going to think I’m obsessed with her underwear.”
“…well,” Scott admitted, “you did kind of just have a moment about the lace.”
“THIS IS NOT HELPING, SCOTT!”
Scott sighed, kneeling in front of him. “She likes you. I know she likes you. You just have to actually talk to her instead of melting every time she breathes.”
Stiles groaned into his hands. “I’m so screwed.”
“Yeah,” Scott agreed cheerfully. “But if you talk to her, you could be getting screwed in a good way.”
Stiles whimpered.
———————————————————————
You were already annoyed by the time Stiles pulled the Jeep out of the school parking lot. He was gripping the wheel too tight, tapping out nervous rhythms with his thumbs, flicking glances at you and then away like you were a solar eclipse. Like looking too long might blind him. And after three days of this weird, jittery, avoidant behavior, you’d had enough.
“So…” you said, arms crossed, staring pointedly at him. “Are you going to tell me why you’re still being weird?”
Stiles nearly jumped out of his skin. “Weird? Wh-who’s weird? No one’s weird. I’m the least weird. I’m like, the gold standard of normal.”
You stared. He kept talking, which was always a bad sign.
“Like, NASA could use me to calibrate their normal meters, that’s how—”
“Stiles.”
He snapped his mouth shut. His throat bobbed as he swallowed.
You huffed. “I literally showed you what it looked like so you’d stop imagining it. That was the deal. You stop acting weird. We go back to normal.”
He made a strangled noise. “A-and I appreciate that!” His voice cracked so hard it sounded like he’d swallowed a whole xylophone. “Really, I do. That was…a lot. A whole lot. Like, wow. A lot.”
You saw the dazed look on his face and his wide eyes, like he was imagining your chest right now. Your cheeks flushed and you promptly drew him back into the real world. “But?”
“But,” He dragged a hand down his face. “It didn’t stop me.”
You frowned. “…What?”
Stiles let his head fall back against the seat with a soft thud, like he was begging the universe for mercy. “It didn’t stop me,” he repeated miserably. “If anything it…it got worse.”
You straightened, suddenly nervous. “Worse how?”
Stiles clenched the wheel again and kept his eyes on the road, like looking at you might kill him where he sat. “Now I’m…imagining more.”
A beat passed and in that split second you swore your heart contracted at least ten times.
“…More?” you echoed cautiously.
“More,” he squeaked.
“Stiles,” you said, “you have to explain what ‘more’ means. Because right now I’m thinking, like, an alarming range of options.”
He groaned into the steering wheel. He actually dropped his forehead onto it when he stopped at a red light. “I’m having thoughts, okay?” he burst out, hands flailing. “Dirty thoughts. About you. About…doing stuff with you. And I know it’s bad and I know you didn’t mean to do anything and I’m trying. I swear I’m trying, but every time I look at you now I just…” He made a helpless, frustrated noise and slumped back into his seat.
Your heart did something strange. Something dumb. Something hopeful. But you kept your voice steady. “You’re imagining us hooking up?”
Stiles winced. “I’m not proud of it.”
“Oh.”
He turned bright red. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I know that probably freaks you out or ruins everything or makes you uncomfortable and I’m trying to stop but it’s like, my brain got stuck and now every quiet moment is just, ‘you, but less clothed’ and…stuff.”
You cut him off. “…What if we just tried it?”
“WHAT?” He made a noise no human should ever produce.
“To get it out of your system.” You reasoned. Yeah, that was why. You totally weren’t offering because now you couldn’t stop thinking about it.
He blinked at you. Blinked again. Blinked so much it looked like he was trying to restart his entire brain.
You shrugged like your heart wasn’t trying to escape your ribcage. “Yeah. I mean, it’s obviously driving you insane. And maybe if you…I don’t know. If you actually see what it’s like, maybe you’ll stop obsessing?”
Stiles almost veered off the road. He pulled over abruptly, tires crunching on gravel at the edge of the preserve. The Jeep lurched to a stop. The forest hummed around you.
He twisted in his seat to stare at you fully, eyes wide, stunned, hopeful, terrified. “You’re serious?” he whispered.
You forced yourself to meet his gaze. “Yeah. I’m serious.”
Silence dragged for a long, charged moment. The air between you tightened, thickening like steam in a sealed chamber. And then he exhaled shakily. “Okay,” he breathed. “Okay. If you’re sure.”
You swallowed. “I’m sure.”
He nodded once and pushed the driver’s seat forward. His hands were shaking. You crawled into the back first, heart pounding louder than the rustling leaves outside. Stiles followed, closing the door behind him with a soft thump that felt final. Like the click of a seatbelt before a roller coaster drops. His knees bumped yours clumsily.
The backseat felt too small for your heartbeat. Stiles settled in front of you, knees awkwardly bracketing yours, breath already unsteady. His hands hovered near your waist before pulling back like he was afraid to touch you without permission.
“You can touch me,” you whispered.
His hands slid to your hips - warm, unsure, trembling through your shirt. His touch was careful at first, like he was terrified you’d vanish if he held you too tightly. His thumbs pressed lightly against your sides, sending a shiver up your spine.
You’d been touched before - by accident, in hugs, in roughhousing - but never like this. Never with this heat, this hesitance, this reverence.
Stiles sucked in a breath at the sound you made. “You okay?” he murmured.
“Yeah,” you breathed. “Are you?”
“No,” he said honestly. “I’m freaking out. In a good way! A terrifyingly good way.”
You laughed softly, but it died when he leaned closer. He didn’t kiss you right away. Stiles Stilinski - impulsive, chaotic, impatient Stiles - actually paused an inch from your mouth, eyes flicking between your lips and your eyes like he was memorising you.
“You sure?” he whispered again, voice cracking.
“Stiles,” you murmured, “if you don’t kiss me, I’m going to—”
You never finished the sentence. His mouth crashed into yours, not rough but desperate, like he’d been holding this back for years. His hands tightened on your waist. Your fingers found the back of his neck. He inhaled sharply at the feeling of your nails grazing him.
The kiss deepened, messy and real and Stiles, all soft lips and nervous eagerness and the faint taste of Mint Mojito gum. You could feel the way every part of him responded, like he’d been wound too tight for too long and finally snapped free.
You tugged him closer. He made a sound in his throat that you were pretty sure you’d never forget. His hand slid up your back, slow, hesitant, but bold enough to make your breath catch. He broke the kiss just to press his forehead to yours, panting softly.
“I’m losing my mind right now,” he whispered.
Your lips brushed his when you answered, “Good.”
His laugh was breathless, shaky. He kissed you again. Though it was slower this time, and deeper, and your world narrowed to the warmth of his mouth, the brush of his fingertips, the heat blooming low in your stomach. As you shifted closer, his breath stuttered, and you were close enough now that there was no mistaking how your body affected him.
Something in him gave out then. The last thread of restraint. His hands slid, exploring the curve of your waist, the slope of your back. Not pushing. Not taking. Just touching like he’d dreamed about it and still didn’t believe it was real. Your breath mingled. Your legs tangled. His lips traced the line of your jaw. Your fingers hooked into the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer in a silent plea.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispered into your skin, voice shaking. “Just…just say it and I will.”
“I don’t want you to stop.”
Stiles exhaled like the world had been holding him underwater. The moment tipped. Softness sharpened into heat. His mouth met yours again. This time it was hungrier and needier. Your hands slid under the hem of his shirt. His breath caught. His fingers skimmed up your spine. Your pulse roared in your ears. The air in the Jeep grew warmer, charged enough to vibrate and the rest blurred into heat, breath, hands, and sounds pulled back behind locked lips.
———————————————————————
The Jeep was quiet except for the sound of your breathing. Both of you were still trying to catch up, lungs dragging air like you’d just run miles instead of…whatever that had just been.
You lay half-curled on your side in the cramped backseat, your leg draped over his, his arm resting loose and warm around your waist like he wasn’t even conscious of holding you there. Stiles stared at the ceiling of the Jeep with the dazed, blissed-out expression of someone who had just been hit by a truck made entirely of feelings.
Your hair was messy. His shirt was wrinkled. The windows were fogged, and the forest outside hummed quietly, like it was politely pretending it hadn’t heard a thing.
After a minute, you let out a soft, breathy laugh. “So…” you said, voice still a little shaky, “is it out of your system now?”
Stiles turned his head toward you, eyes wide and brown and boyish in the dim light. His hair was sticking up in about six different directions. He looked beautifully wrecked, and then he shook his head slowly, almost apologetically, but with zero hesitation.
“No,” he said, his voice low, honest, still breathless. “I…I don’t think it’s ever going to be out of my system.”
Your stomach flipped. He swallowed, eyes darting over your face like he was bracing for impact. “I think maybe the problem isn’t the thoughts. I think maybe the problem is that I just…like you.”
You didn’t breathe for a second.
“…Like me?” you repeated softly. “As in, like me, like me?”
Stiles nodded, cheeks flushing in a way that made something in your chest tighten. “Yeah. Like you like you. Like, ‘want to do this again, want to take you out, want to hold your hand in public without Scott heckling us’ kind of like you.”
You stared at him and then you beamed. “I like you too.”
Stiles blinked rapidly, like he needed a full system reboot. “You…wait, what?”
You nudged his leg with yours, laughing. “I like you, Stiles.”
His face split into a grin so bright it made your heart lurch. “Oh my God. Okay, okay, um,” He sat up a little, raking a shaking hand through his hair. “Right. So. Next step, dating. Real dating. I should ask you something normal. Something boyfriend-candidate-ish.”
You bit your lip. “Such as?”
He inhaled sharply, like gathering all the courage he’d ever had. “Will you…go out with me?” he asked, nervous and hopeful and ridiculously sweet. “Like, on an actual date? Maybe the movies? Or dinner? Or both? Or something better? I can plan. I can plan so hard. I can—”
“I’ll go,” you interrupted softly. “With you. Anywhere.”
Stiles’ smile softened into something almost reverent. He reached out, brushing a thumb gently along your cheekbone, a tiny gesture you felt everywhere.
You leaned into him, resting your forehead against his, the backseat still warm, the forest still quiet, the two of you still tangled up in the new reality of what had just happened.
For the first time all week, Stiles wasn’t acting weird.
———————————————————————
BONUS SCENE:
By the time second period ended, the entire school had decided you and Stiles were absolutely dating. Not that you were being subtle. Stiles hadn’t let go of your hand once. Not when you walked in through the front doors. Not when you stopped at your locker. Not when he got so distracted looking at you that he actually forgot how to open said locker and had to slam it shut before it embarrassed him further.
Now you were making your way toward the cafeteria, fingers loosely tangled, Stiles swinging your joined hands like he was high on life itself.
“You know,” you teased, “most new couples eventually stop acting like they’re in a cheesy 90s rom-com.”
He gasped dramatically. “How dare you insult my artistic vision?”
You snorted, knocking your shoulder gently into his. He bumped yours back, smiling at you in that soft, ridiculously adoring way that made your heart try to crawl up your throat.
“FINALLY,” a voice sang out from behind you.
Both you and Stiles startled as Scott basically jogged up to you, sliding between the two of you like he was joining a group photo.
“I mean, seriously,” Scott continued, grinning like an idiot. “How long did you two think you were going to be in love with each other without doing anything about it?”
“LOVE?!” Stiles choked, voice jumping an octave.
Scott shrugged. “I’m not wrong.”
Before Stiles could fully combust, Lydia and Allison appeared on the other side of you, each wearing very different expressions. Allison looked delighted and Lydia looked smug, like this was a bet she’d won from months ago.
Allison clasped her hands together softly. “You guys look so cute together. I’m really happy for you.”
Stiles gave her a small, grateful smile, only slightly shaky. “Thanks, Ally.”
Lydia crossed her arms, eyebrows raised in flawless, knowing judgment. “Honestly, I’m just impressed it didn’t take you two another five years. Not to be rude, but the mutual pining was getting painful to witness.”
All three of them stared at you, deadpan and silent. Scott tilted his head. “I literally smelled it.”
“SCOTT!” both you and Stiles shouted.
He smiled widely. “I’m just saying, this is way better. Much healthier for both of you.”
Stiles buried his face in his free hand. “I hate this pack.”
“No, you don’t,” Allison said, patting his shoulder.
“No, I don’t,” he admitted.
Lydia stepped forward and did something shockingly gentle for her. She reached out and adjusted the collar of your shirt. “You look happy,” she said softly.
You smiled back. “I am.”
Her eyes flicked to Stiles. “And you, try not to make this weird.”
“Me?” Stiles protested. “Weird? Never.”
The entire group burst out laughing. Scott slung an arm around Stiles’ shoulders. Allison looped her arm through yours. Lydia walked beside you both like a proud mother hen watching her little ships finally dock.
at first, stiles didn't even notice it. the way his heart would race and his cheeks would flush; he was used to having that reaction around you. so used to it, in fact, that he had stopped letting it be a distraction. you'd giggle at his joke or look up at him through your lashes and he'd blush, fidget, move on. like his own little routine.
what got distracting was when he had made the sudden realization one day: you're hot.
the two of you had been friends for so long, crushing for almost that whole time, that by the time stiles looked up and saw you in your bikini, it was too late to turn back. he was a goner.
literally-he was out of lydia's backyard and in her half bathroom before you could even ask him to help with your sunscreen.
holy shit. he gripped the sink, glaring at his flushed reflection. get yourself together, perv. so she's got nice tits. really, really nice tits and thighs that could suffocate you and jesus her hips-
no! nope, no no no nonono. it is way too early for this. get real. she's seen you recite the entire opening crawl of the force awakens. she is not going to do that with you- woah! or that! get it together. get it together. get it together.
and so stiles marches back out where you and your friends are gathered, playing marco polo. you glance at him and smirk in that way the tells him you're totally cheating, only proven true when allison calls out "marco!" and you slide past her in the water without joining in the choruses of "polo!"s from all over the pool.
stiles stiffens. your goddamn smirk.
this is going to be a loooong day.
☆
and it was. a long day that ended in his right hand wrapped around his cock and a fantasy he wouldn't repeat even if there was a gun to his head.
but that was over, and it was three days later, anyway. the pack was meeting at the movies to see a new romcom, which the girls were excited for, and the guys were... hoping it had a good soundtrack. it's not that they didn't want to go, it's just that their time- well, stiles' time could be better spent on things like useless research and avoiding his homework. that was his mindset walking into the theater.
now, he's about three inches from having no mindset at all. you're sat next to him, too close for him to remember a single detail of the movie, and you're wearing a tank top. low cut. lace trim on the top. prettiest color he's ever seen.
and stiles can see straight down it.
every time he glances over at you, whether it be an excuse of reaching for the popcorn or making a joke or listening to you talk, he has a view down your top right to where your tits are pressed together, rising and falling subtly with each breath. he wonders what the smooth skin of your breasts would look like covered in hickeys. he imagines the sounds you'd make if he had you pinned down, mouth enveloping your pert nipples. he-
he gets up a little too hastily when he rushes out of the theater, into the quiet hall.
"god," he mumbles, tugging his own hair. "fuck."
he has to will his blood to cooperate before he can show his face again.
☆
it's getting worse.
stiles is chewing on the cap of the marker he has in his hand, eyes darting all over his murder board.
"wouldn't they hunt in packs? this fable here, it reads... stiles?"
stiles turns on his heel, watching you now as you sit on his bed. he's been avoiding looking at you lately, since just recently he had a close call when you hit your knee on scott's coffee table and whined a dramatic 'ahh', leaving stiles to imagine that noise, that face you made in other scenarios.
it's been harder (ha, ha, yeah, no pun intended. he's struggling.) since you asked to come over and help with some research he was doing after a meeting with deaton. you sat all pretty and focused on his bed, twirling and tucking and sometimes tugging your hair when you read out of a book he had borrowed (stolen) from the argent's.
so when he looked at you now, it was with great mental strength. especially when you started rattling off a really smart point he didn't think anyone else would notice that he had realized twenty minutes ago, giving him some time to zone out and watch as you gather your hair behind you, tying it up in a ponytail while you look up at him through your lashes. giving him a second to imagine you looking at him like that with your lips wrapped around his cock, letting him guide you by the ponytail-
stilinski! great. mental. strength.
he turns back to the murder board and nods, eyes squeezed shut as he feels the familiar heat spread all over and his jeans get tight. "yeah, that's- i know, that's a good point."
he hears you shift, the way you get noticeably quiet. "stiles, are you... is everything alright? you seem off."
he shrugs, nods, shrugs again. swallows. "yeah. just a bit tired, that's all."
he can feel your disbelief, but he'd rather feel that then disgust. you both sigh at the same time, and the evening moves on.
☆
it's pretty much every time he sees you now. he's a mess, unable to choose between relieving himself and willing his dick to cooperate. you've made a mess of stiles, and he's dying.
you're wearing leggings today, talking to scott while stiles watches from the bench. coach is barking orders at a couple of stray lacrosse boys, and stiles is lucky enough to have dodged his attention this evening.
game night is usually when he's free of the hold you have on him, too busy gnawing on his goalie gloves and tracking scott across the field. but you and allison showed up early (curse scott and his happy relationship), so his pea-sized brain has time to imagine sliding the buttery fabric down your legs, kissing exposed skin as he goes. he'd definitely pay close attention to your thighs- he thinks about those more than he'd care to admit, and he's aware of how idiotically insecure of them you are.
because of his train of thought, he doesn't realize you've caught him staring until it's too late. you're prancing over excitedly and leaving scott to smirk at stiles all knowingly, and stiles resists the urge to flip him off.
"you gonna play, 24?" you nudge his foot teasingly with your own. he looks up at you and feels those telltale signs as he fanaticizes about tracing the line of your jaw with his finger, both of you panting softly as he coos at you while you whine pathetically. he has to blink away the thought before he can speak.
"um, i hope not. it's an important game." he leans back a bit and you tilt your head, clearly mulling over your next words. he fills the space in the meantime. "but if i do, i'll be sure to keep away from the ball."
it's music to his ears when you laugh. finally, finally he's blushing about something normal, having regular fantasies instead of these hormone fueled pornos that seem to be on repeat in his head lately. he smiles up at you and you take a small step closer to being in between his legs.
"i don't mean to bring it up so randomly..." you avoid his eyes, fiddling with your hands. "but i was just wondering if i've done something to upset you?"
he blinks. "what?"
"it's just that you've been distant and honestly, you're acting kind of like you're allergic to me. if i did something or there's something going on just tell me. it's kinda driving me crazy." you ramble, brows drawn together in discomfort.
stiles' eyes widen and he shakes his head, standing. his heart skips a beat when you have to tilt your chin up a bit to keep his eyes. "no, of course not. i didn't know... i guess i've... it's just-" he sighs and rubs the back of his neck. how is he supposed to explain this? 'oh, hey, girl i've been super into for a pathetically long time, i've been imagining what you'd look like if i pinned you to my bed and drove us both insane from a sex marathon! that's cool, right? not objectifying at all!'
you frown, crossing your arms. "just tired?"
it's bait, he knows it is. the same excuse he used less than a week ago to keep you from figuring him out. you're a clever girl and he's stupid when he's horny, so he has to play his cards right here. if you think he's lying, things will only get worse and there's a hefty chance you'll distance yourself. but if he tells a lie a little too well, you're going to be around him constantly again. either way, he's starting to wonder if he's a masochist from the amount of pain he's going to inflict on himself.
"it's nothing, really. i didn't mean to get distant." he clenches his jaw as he gauges your reaction, which is a less-than-ideal-but-not-terrible pout. he wants to smooth the lines of your forehead with his thumb and make you laugh again, but he has to focus. "let me make it up to you?"
you turn your face away (very, very not good) and huff. "no, don't worry about it."
stiles cringes internally and bites the inside of his cheek. how can he un-dig this hole he's in? "no, no, i want to. i shouldn't have made you worry. that's my fault. i'll pick you up tomorrow, we can get food. my treat."
you turn back to face him, and the way your bottom lip just barely juts out tells him you're playing it up, but he doesn't mind. he's come to realize that you like to feel earned, and he's more than happy to earn you. he takes a breath, eyebrows raised. "what are you thinking?"
you drop the pout (much to his relief, he was just starting to imagine you using that face on him when he makes you tell him exactly what you want him to do to you) and put your hands on your (perfect, sexy) hips. "i'm thinking that if you didn't mean to get distant then it was subconscious, and it's going to be more of an effort to be around me than not."
so clever. god, you're so hot when you use critical thinking skills.
stiles sighs and shuffles a bit. "yeah, okay, i can understand where you're getting that but it's wrong-"
"but it isn't. you've been proving it right all week and-"
"hold on, no i haven't, i've just been-"
"-you definitely lied to me in your room a few days ago-"
"-there's no way you're actually believing-"
"STILINSKI!" coach's voice booms over both of you, halting the beginning of an argument that probably would have only turned stiles on more. he whips his head around to where the entire team is gathered, and realizes he was so wrapped up in you that he tuned out everything around him, including the team rallying together to talk strategy before the game started. he blinks, distantly hearing you mumble a mortified "oh." and skitter off, leaving stiles to be completely embarrassed alone.
"would you like to join us or are you too busy harassing the young ladies in the general area?" coach's tone is strung with impatience, eyes wide.
"ah..." stiles glances to the spot you just stood in and then back to the team. "no, coach, 'm coming."
"fantastic." he drawls, before turning back to the team and continuing his rant. stiles is half-listening, half-daydreaming about 'making it up to you' in many different ways, positions, and places. for many hours.
yeah, he's dead. for sure. you're killing him.
☆
although making it up to you currently involved a lot more clothing and a lot less begging, stiles was having a really good time. sat in his room, arguing about book to movie adaptations, both of you holding your own milkshakes. with all his time spent avoiding you out of... sex-driven fear? he really forgot how much he enjoyed your company.
"you wouldn't get it," you shake your head stubbornly as he stands and sets his milkshake on his desk so he can use the dry erase board in his room. "you don't read books."
"i do-"
"yeah, i don't count the bestiary."
"that's besides the point, anyway. i don't have to read the book to know whether the movie is a good adaptation or not!" he starts writing down movies he knows are heavily based off of books while you crawl across his floor to his desk, sneaking a spoonful of vanilla ice cream and whipped cream. he's too busy to notice that the half-melted treat dribbles off of the spoon and spills above the cut of your tank top (the same one as the movie theater, actually) and onto your exposed thighs.
"fuck." you hiss under your breath. stiles turns to see what caused your quiet outburst, but his brain screeches to a halt at the sight of you.
perched on your knees, you're glaring down at the mess that's been spilled on the top of your tits and thighs, white sliding down to the line where they're pressed together. stiles doesn't even blink, just stares with a slightly open mouth at the sight of you. a small noise leaves his mouth and he can feel the tent in his sweats, but he's a bit frozen.
you look up when he makes the strangled grunt, looking caught with his milkshake in your hand, as if that's his issue right now. "uhh... whoops? i swear, it just flew into my hand! how crazy is that...."
your joke trails off as you really see his face. his eyes are dark and hungry, almost predatory as they sweep over your body, hanging on the spills that you made. his mouth shuts and his jaw clenches. his hands are curled into restrained, white-knuckled fists. and...
he's hard as a fucking rock.
it's easy to tell, with his grey sweatpants, and you feel your mouth water at the sight.
"it's fine." he mumbles, voice dry. you take a second before you realize he's talking about the milkshake. both of you are bright red. you force out a breath and he seems to come to, turning back around quickly. "uh, s-so, harry potter-"
"is that because of me?" you blurt, getting hotter in the cheeks every second.
stiles quiets, turning to face you finally. your stomach swoops and you shuffle barely closer. his adams apple bobs.
"yeah. it... it is"
that's it. a simple confession, but it feels like a chord being snapped between the two of you. your confidence grows. you made stiles like that.
"are you gonna do something about it?"
his head snaps up, eyes wide as he looks at you. "you want me to?"
"why else would i ask, stiles?" you sound almost exasperated, like he's taking to long. he swallows and drops to his knees in front of you.
stiles. is crawling towards you. on his knees.
"are you... do you really?" he's close, so close now. looking into your eyes like they'll answer for you. like they contain every 'yes' you've been too scared to whisper.
which, honestly, is probably not far from true.
"i do. i really, really, d-"
his lips are on yours before you can finish, one hand cupping the back of your neck to bring you closer. you let out a muffled noise of surprise, mouth opening on it's own accord as stiles takes the kiss deeper, tongue exploring your mouth hotly.
"you're impossible-" stiles gasps, going in for more before he can finish. "-to be around-" his teeth nip your bottom lip. "-when i can't have you."
his lips leave a wet kiss on the corner of your mouth, so passionate that he misses, and he continues that trail onto your neck until he finds the spot that makes you squirm. his hands go to your waist, pulling you closer and knocking your knees together. you feel dizzy with want, barely registering his words.
"what-" you gasp, blinking and leaning into his demanding mouth. "what is that supposed to mean?"
stiles groans against the skin of your neck, kissing lower, closer to the sticky mess you made just minutes ago. "i can't think... can't even... fuckin'... breathe when you're near, y'look so pretty. j'st wanna make you-"
he interrupts himself again, opting instead to lick the ice cream off the top of your tits like he's starving. you gasp as the feel of his tongue against your skin, pressing your thighs together to try and relieve some of the sudden pressure shooting down your stomach to your core. he's barely making sense and he still has you all foggy brained, swaying just a bit under his touch.
"you-you've thought about this? befo- oh-" you stumble, as he tugs lightly against the low cut to give himself better access to the sweetness melted onto your skin. he laughs, seeming to clear up a bit.
"yeah. you kidding me? i've basically been-" he's kissing back up your neck now, seeming to track a path to your lips. "-perpetually hard for the past three weeks."
you swallow thickly and he captures your lips. stiles tastes like vanilla ice cream and it's the most tempting sin, luring you over the edge. enticing you to do things you'd normally pretend you weren't into. he runs a hand down the side of your body, squeezing your hip lightly. "you're torture, you know that?"
"i could say the same to you."
he smiles at you, like a sap, like a saint. you feel your mind fall into his hands and your heart nestle against his ribcage. you no longer belong to yourself. you never have. and neither does he, it seems, as his eyes wander all over you.
"wanna move to the bed? i can clean up your thighs..." his tone is low, clearly suggestive in a bad-pickup-line way. you nod, giggling girlishly and stiles hauls you up to gently lay you back on his bed, tugging your tank top off on the way. his eyes linger on your chest before moving along, kissing a wet trail down your body as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your shorts. "god, look at you. you're gorgeous."
it's not like you're wearing lingerie and sexy makeup- you went to stiles' place to lounge, so you're wearing your lounge bra and some comfy shorts. stiles looks at you, though, as if you invented beauty. he sighs contentedly as he pulls your bottoms off slowly, eyes drinking in your stomach and hips and thighs like you're the first woman to have them. once he's got them far off enough, his hands press your hips back down and his eyes meet yours.
"not to late to back out. well- obviously it's never too late, it's just... okay, this is me asking for consent. i was trying to make it sexy, but it sounded a bit rapey."
you laugh breathlessly and nod at him where he stands, towering above your almost-naked form. "stiles, please stop talking and fulfill both of our fantasies already."
stiles grins and tugs his shirt halfway off before stopping abruptly. "wait- both?"
you roll your eyes. "stiles, why would i be so... so..."
"obedient?" he offers with a cocky smirk. you flush.
"agreeable, if i didn't want this?" you nibble your lip as he pulls his shirt the rest of the way off his body, getting on his knees at the edge of the bed and spreading your legs. your body moves pliantly under his hands. the sight of it all is downright promiscuous.
"well," stiles presses a kiss to the inside of your knee. it would be sweet if not for the sinful way his eyes are preoccupied with the wet spot on your panties. "i heard girls find consent sexy. maybe i screwed that one up a bit. what do you think is sexy?"
he asks in that absent tone that tells you he's storing away information as he kisses further up the inside of your thighs more fervently. you let out a breath that feels too shaky too early and watch as his pink tongue swipes out to lick up some ice cream spill. it makes you clench around nothing.
"any day now." his hand is gently rubbing your thigh as he moves to lick and suck almost crudely at your other thigh.
your eyes narrow slightly. "gimme a second."
he gets closer to where you're literally soaked for him, nibbling lightly at the plush flesh of your inner thigh. you shove down a low whine of impatience to avoid your already growing embarrassment.
"your attention to foreplay is- i like it." you admit softly and he hums, licking a stripe of ice cream out of the way. taking a second to think, you continue. "i like the... the desperation. how you took me without really... um... i like it when you just do what you want, i mean."
it's difficult to form a single thought once stiles presses a kiss against your clothed clit, being sure to add plenty of pressure. almost like a reward. "what if you don't like what i want? will you tell me to stop?"
you nod, chest rising and falling heavily with every breath. you glance down at stiles, and a small sound leaves your lips when your eyes catch his hand down his sweats, slowly stroking himself. he flushes.
"you.... can't i help?"
he lets out a small moan and his eyes flutter as he halts his movements. "i don't- i don't have a condom."
against all better judgement, you shake your head and thread your fingers through his messy hair. "it's okay. just pull out, yeah?"
his brows shoot up, and you wonder for a moment if he's about to cum in his pants. but then he nods and rises, standing in between your legs now. his fingers deftly tug off your panties, pocketing them in his sweats (for "safe keeping") and his lips part silently once you're exposed to him.
your legs begin to close, feeling suddenly too naked and too insecure for his hungry eyes, but his hands catch your knees easily, even giving you a little tap as a sign to scoot further onto the bed.
before you comply, curiosity takes over and you tug at the strings on his sweatpants. "wait, what about you?"
he tilts his head. "what about me?"
you narrow your eyes, fingers dipping under the band. "can i take these off?"
"oh!" his brows shoot up, as if he forgot about himself altogether. "oh, yeah, of course. please."
you waste no time pulling his bottoms off, his cock springing out. it's flushed and leaking, looking properly erotic in the dim lighting of his room. your eyes flutter up to meet his and you wrap your hands around him, pumping twice.
stiles moans, hips twitching into your hands on their own accord. "holy shit."
part of you just wants to finish him that way, positively fucking hooked on the look he has, pleasure pinching his pretty face all tight. he pants and pulls your hands away, eyes squeezing shut for just a moment. "y're gonna make me cum, holy shit."
"i'm sorry, you just..." you fluster, laughing a tad at the both of you. he shakes his head, though, so you fall silent and let him crawl over top of you, kissing you deeply. he unhooks your bra with a bit of struggle and you both have to cooperate to get it off of your body. you giggle, and his eyes are locked on you as your smile slowly fades.
"don't be sorry," his voice is gentle, "i've imagined that so many times it should be criminal." he kisses you again and you feel his fingers graze along your stomach. stiles pulls back far enough to see your whole face and you wonder why- then his thumb is circling your clit.
the high-pitched gasp you suck in is not as embarrassing as the louder whine that leaves your lips once he's slid a finger into you, eyes closing for a moment to soak in the bliss. it feels like heaven, for a long moment. but his fingers are slow. too slow. and even when you cant your hips, he doesn't speed up enough to have you seeing stars (like you know he can). instead, he has you writhing impatiently. "you're... stiles, please."
it's whiney and pathetic, but stiles seems to stifle a smirk when he hears it, covering it with a sympathetic pout instead. "i know, pretty girl, i know. you gonna ask nicely?"
and you knew you gave him permission to do whatever he wanted. but you didn't expect to be into it. your lips part and you almost tell him to shut up and fuck you already. but you're hot with embarrassment and something else he can totally feel when your walls clench around his torturous fingers. so instead, you opt for falling right into his hands.
"please, stiles, fuck me already." you whisper, lips brushing against his when you speak. "please."
"there we go." he presses a peck to your lips and slips his fingers out. "such a good girl."
you aren't given any time to process that and the fact that it made you throb like a personal whore- stiles is already swiping his tip through your folds, making you gasp when it catches on your clit. he's panting heavily as he lines himself up, and you're a little surprised when he finds your hand and laces his own against it.
then, he's stretching you open and you're seeing stars, just like you knew he could make you do.
stiles is sweet, but he's not exactly gentle. hips rolling into you and his tongue pressing against your own. a hand pinning you to the bed and keeping him upright, the other tweaking your nipples or teasing your clit. he's all over you, pulling back every once in awhile to watch the way you arch your back and gasp out unintelligible pleas. his moans are about as pathetic as yours and he hisses "fuck" into your ear when you clench around him tightly. your dance goes on like this for a moment, and he's rambling horny nonsense constantly.
"stiles, 'm close-" you whimper, free hand pulling him closer by the hair. he gasps out and his hips snap roughly.
"yeah, me too. jesus, you're so perfect. look at you." he pushes some of your hair out of the way, eyes meeting yours. "you gonna cum for me?"
you nod, eyebrows turning up as you feel the warmth crawl up your belly. your free hand tugs at his mussed up hair again and his expression matches yours. he speeds up and you gasp and whimper, pliant under his body as he fucks you into his mattress.
"stiles, fuck, stiles, i'm-"
"that's it, there you go, hooooly fuck." he holds your hips down when you finish, rutting into you with an open mouth. he's got his forehead pressed against your own, swallowing each others desperate moans as he rides you through your orgasm. stiles' moan is sudden and loud when he pulls out in a rush and finishes on your cunt, his tip pressing into your overstimulated clit and making your legs twitch.
you gasp out a breath and sink into the mattress, sighing contentedly. when your eyes flutter open on heavy lids, stiles is gazing at you. he leans down and kisses you, soft and sweet and full of a confession long coming.
"that was..."
"amazing." he finishes dazedly, hands running over your bare skin anywhere he can reach. "want me to use my mouth?"
your brows raise. "stiles, i just came."
"i know." he sighs, playing with some of your hair. "it was so fucking hot."
"you said you've been perpetually hard for three weeks?" you attempt to change the subject, but stiles only grins wider.
"yeah, so i've got plenty more fantasies to play out before i'm out of steam."
you shove him lightly, fighting a flustered smile. "just- give me a second, you dog!"
"awooooo." stiles deadpans an imitation of a howl, nuzzling into your neck. "let me know when you're ready. i'll just be here. naked. on top of you. in the mood to make you pass out from orgasms. willing to learn every kink you have- which, hey, the praise kink was a good guess, right?"
you groan, pushing him off of you. your face is flushed red and you snatch his nearby discarded t-shirt when you sit up. "that was so out of left field."
"yeah, but was it? i mean, you-"
"i'm getting in the shower, stiles." you stand and take a few steps away from him before you turn to gauge his reaction.
his eyebrows shoot up from where he sits on the bed. it makes you bright fucking red when his eyes trail down and he watches a bead of his own cum slide down your inner thigh. he licks his lips.
"i'll come with."
☆
this is from the vault, so if you've read it already, that's why! don't be afraid to interact with it anyway, i love crazy readers and feral responses sjdjsaskdj
Going off on your “stiles being accidentally hot”. Think of like a beach date but then you notice how all the girls are looking at him but he’s obliviously stiles not realizing he’s gained muscle from all his lacrosse training
(Then you prove he’s yours) WHAT?! Who said that?!
(Sorry I’m a freak)
anon is referring to this post.
did i make this ask from a different account?? i feel like we type the same. also that last part looks like the one meme of the spongebob fish looking back... ykwim?? too lazy to find it.
i would like to apologize to all blondes about to read this fic. my condolences.
☆
scott is spraying stiles down, head-to-toe with SPF 50. the way the sunscreen looks on his skin as it soaks in is downright criminal, honestly, and it seems you're not the only one who's noticed.
there's a pretty blonde bitch staring at your boyfriend.
okay, well, wait a second there. she's not a bitch for admiring him. there's been no tell that he's taken.
yet.
you frown and take a drink of the margarita lydia asked you to hold. there's a lipstick stain on the can where her lips were imprinted, but that doesn't sway your gaze from the blonde as she takes notice to his newfound abs. they're not crazy chiseled like derek- but they're definitely there.
meanwhile, bless his heart, your idiot boyfriend is singing along to the song blasting from the speaker scott brought, and he's using the sunscreen bottle as a mic. he turns to you and points as he sings the lyrics like the performance is just for you, and this does make you smile.
"is that a fruity marg? for me?" he drops the sunscreen and takes lydia's drink from your hand. before you can protest, he's already taken a big swig, and there's a shine on his bottom lip when he swallows. "that is really good. wanna taste?"
"what? i already had a taste. besides, it's-"
and then he's kissing you, pressing the strawberry flavor into your mouth. you flush bright pink and he pulls away, bobbing his eyebrows at you with a grin. "good, right? sorry, you just look really nice in that swimsuit."
you're aware, with the way his eyes dip down to peruse over your cleavage and hips, that 'nice' is code for 'unjustly fuckable.' and you kinda wish he would say it. but alas, scott is calling his name to throw a football back and forth and you brought your book for a reason, so you part ways with a mutual look of longing.
from your spot on the beach, the veiw is great. the white sands, the pretty waves, your boyfriend's pecs, the blue sky. really, the scenery is hard to beat. stiles' hair is stuck to his forehead after getting dunked by isaac and liam. oh, and your book is good too. you've been stuck on the same page since you sat down.
and there's two younger teenage girls fawning over stiles under a canopy next to you guys. lydia swirls her half-empty drink and scoffs at their giggling, glancing at you. "don't tell me they're the ones getting to you."
"what ever could you mean?" you bat your lashes at her dramatically. "they're just young girls who can appreciate hard work on a man, anyway."
"those aren't young girls." lydia nods past you, eyes darting between something. when you turn your head to look, there's that gorgeous blonde again with what seems to be her friend. both of them are slim and tall, and totally hotter than you. and eyeing stiles, much more boldly this time.
"careful babe, you're showing your teeth." lydia turns back to her own book and languidly flips the page. you close your eyes and huff out a sigh.
"it's probably just the newfound biceps, right? and the hair. he deserves some flattery."
"go cool off, i can't focus with the smoke blowing out of your ears." lydia hums without looking up.
you stand. "i'm gonna go for a swim."
"watch for sharks."
you glare at the two women across the way. "yeah, i will."
but just as you begin to make your way to the ocean, the football the boys were throwing veers off course and rolls over to the two younger teenagers, stopping right at their bare feet. you pause, watching as if in slo-mo as stiles jogs up and apologizes, seeming oblivious to their blushing and giggling. one of them hands him the ball back, and he beams down at her gratefully. they squeal when he jogs off.
you don't realize your fists are clenched until you're already in the water. they're little girls! that is totally normal! why are you being so territorial, as if he's gonna even know they like him!
you splash some water on your face, calming at the gentle sway of the tide, the cool temperature of the ocean lapping at your skin. yeah, you're fine. it was just a blip. just a blip. you're chill.
you turn towards the beach to beckon lydia in, but halt as you see blonde bitch and her croonie talking to stiles closely. you're so not fucking chill right now-
cool it, take a breath. you clench your jaw and shut your eyes, grounding yourself. you will not play overbearing girlfriend just as soon as stiles is getting attention. he needs to know that you're not lying when you call him hot and sexy and pretty and everything else that is true. this is perfect confirmation.
your eyes open because you hear a pretty, high-pitched laugh. it's the blondie's equally-gorgeous friend, who tucks her hair back and bats her lashes at him. he rubs the back of his neck, which he usually only does when you get suggestive with him.
and then blondie caresses his perfect, freckled bicep.
oh hell no.
you storm out of the water and right up to their little conversation, grabbing stiles by the wrist. "hey, can i talk to you for a sec?"
but you're already moving, practically dragging him along behind you as you make your way to the edge of the open beach, where there's a large rock sectioning off what's open and what's not. you pull stiles around it, stomping through shallow water to reach a completely empty, private side of the beach.
you don't think about who could stumble over or how the long grass tickles your ankles- you're already pressing stiles up against the large rock and kissing him blind.
he makes an "mmph!" noise when you first crash your lips onto his, but enthusiastically returns the kiss with a hand sliding to the back of your head. you barely come up for air as you lap your tongue into his mouth roughly, hands splaying across his naked, smooth torso. you press your whole body up against his, needing more more more of him. you need him all over you, need him to know who he chose and why. your mouth travels to his neck, and it tastes salty sweet when you start the makings of a dark hickey.
"hoooly- i'm- i'm, uh, not suggesting you stop, like at all, but i am a bit curious on what i, uh- fuck- did to get here? j-just so i can..." his words trail off as your fingers trace underneath his swim trunks. a strangled noise leaves his throat when you press your hips into his growing erection, raking your teeth lightly across the new mark at the same time.
"stupid fucking girls practically throwing themselves at you," you mumble bitterly before going in for another heated kiss. "as if it's not obvious we're together."
he pulls back from the kiss and you open your eyes to glare at him, only to be met with a cocky smirk and wide eyes. "are you saying you're jealous?"
you pull your body off of his, shoving his shoulder lightly. "don't look so happy! she was practically stripping you naked with her eyes."
he cups your neck with his hand, reminding you of how big it is. stiles' eyes lose the self-assured glint and go soft, flitting all over your face as he parts his lips. "you're not mad, are you?"
"at you? no." you feel his other hand slide around your hip and over the top of your ass, pressing your body back up against his not-so-subtly. "at the girls practically prowling around you like you're some piece of meat? yes."
his eyes zero in on your lips as you lick them, furrowing his brow a bit like he has to focus in order to finish his thought. "i didn't even know she was flirting. i wouldn't have..."
but you don't let him finish, stretching up to kiss again and he deepens the kisses quickly, his hands pulling you in. you mouth down stiles' neck and chest, slowly sinking to your knees in front of him. before you got far, he was all breathy encouragement. but when you look up at him, face to face with his happy trail and low-hanging trunks, his jaw goes slack and his eyes glaze over in anticipation.
"oh, are we- are we doing-? okay, yep, yepyepyep i am very cool with this, yeah-" he helps you slide his trunks far down enough as you kiss along his subtle v-line. he sighs, brows upturned for you. "all yours, it's all yours."
you nod, smirking to yourself when he has to clamp a palm over his mouth as your hands begin what your tongue will soon replace.
☆
stiles stumbles out from behind the rock a little while after you, red in the face and littered in hickeys. scott turns to you with a scrunched up nose, feigning disgust. "dude. seriously?"
you blink at him, wide eyed. "what? i was just checking on a jellyfish sting!"
lydia raises her drink to you, not looking up from her book. "impressive time."
"you think so?" you smile sweetly at her.
"unless he's always that quick."
"you guys are disgusting." scott gags as he escapes you two.
thomas rubs his hands on his jeans, trying to rid them of their nervous sweating.
as it gets hotter in the safe haven, and civilization gets more stable, there's more time to screw around. at least, that's how frypan put it that morning when he caught thomas staring at a group game of mother may i (something brenda introduced to the kids).
the thing is, thomas wasn't staring at the kids playing specifically. he was staring at you, playing with the kids, in nothing but a tank top and some shorts. he'd never seen you in a tank top before in his life. your tanned shoulders with scattered freckles and scars, the strip of skin that peeked out underneath the hem, and most of all: the scoop neckline. he could see your collar bones, your sternum. not that he was paying attention to that, although it was a fantastic view. he was rather distracted. he had never seen your cleavage before, after all.
he had also never seen you well rested and fed. your eyes had a new glow to them as you scooped a kid into your arms and sent her into a giggling fit. your hair looked fuller, and your legs looked stronger.
and you're wearing a tank top.
now, he's trying to busy himself with helping out. construction work is fun to him, because he likes leading a process and seeing the finished result. right now, the glade guys are working on a shelter for the pregnant women to relax in. although it's in the first phase, production is moving along smoothly and thomas is feeling optimistic about the results!
or, he would be. if you weren't wearing a goddamn tank top.
he's lifting a plank over one of his shoulders when you bring a bucket of filtered water and some makeshift cups. your skin looks smooth in the afternoon sun and all thomas can think about is touching it, just there. pressing his fingertips to the curve of your neck. getting his palms familiar with the dip of your waist and the gap where your stomach shows. letting his lips follow. on your cheek, or your jaw, or making home on your pretty thighs-
the plank he was lifting slips out of his grip and flies forward. one end lands on his foot and the other end knocks him square in the back of the head, sending him stumbling forward into the ground beneath him.
a chorus of "ooo" sounds around him from the guys, while you call out a loud "oh, shit!"
and thomas just lies there, honestly. he's mortified with himself and his head and foot are both throbbing like a bitch, so he makes the executive decision to just choke on sand and die where he's laying so he doesn't have to face you.
unfortunately, he's never been so lucky, and you're on him in a second. crouched at his side and forcibly flipping him over to face you, your eyes still have that energized glow he found that morning as you worridly look him all over for other injuries. "are you okay? jesus, thomas! you need to be more careful, you could've seriously hurt yourself!"
your fussing drowns out as he gazes up at you, your head haloed by the glint of the sun and your tank top right up close where he can see the tan lines you're getting, and the scooped cut, and wow have you always smelled this good? and he's telling his brain not to let his eyes stare at your cleavage and your chest but c'mon it's right there and god his head hurts.
"okay, up. up! i'm gonna go check you out and give you a wrap for your toes. why would you do this barefoot? you're bleeding, thomas!" you urge him to sit up and he can see now that his foot does in fact have some cuts from the edge of the wood. he blinks a few times and looks from you to the guys, all watching from a few feet away. minho gives thomas a very telling look and then glances down, like he's trying to communicate with his eyes.
thomas squints, head still throbbing and making him feel all ruffled. he turns to you and mumbles, "i'm fine, i'm okay," as your gentle fingers card through his hair, caressing the spot on his head that got hit. he lets out a small grunt, uncomfortable with the increased pounding at your touch, and flinches away.
"you're not fine, thomas. just let me wrap your foot up, at least?" you look at him with pretty, pleading eyes and your unoccupied hand lands on his knee. and of course, thomas relents.
"okay, fine." he grumbles, pushing himself to his feet. he's embarrassed of the slight limp he's sporting as you lead him off to the med hut.
and, sure. thomas' pride is a bit bruised by the whole situation and he doesn't feel very much like a protector or provider when you wrap his toes to avoid infection. but all of that is insignificant when you line your body against his, letting him lean back against the makeshift counter and finally, finally slide his hands along your hips.
"i'm worried about your head," you muse, gingerly brushing the spot that was hit. thomas admires your lashes as they flutter, humming distractedly.
"i'll be fine." he pushes your hair back, wishing you'd give him an excuse to leave his work and indulge in his daydreams. "what are you doing today?"
"I'm in charge of the reading/writing classes today." you close your eyes and breathe in deep, "most all the kids are clever, but it's so hard for them to learn. just, you know, with the strain WCKD put on their brains, i can't... thomas? are you alright?"
and thomas is listening, he really is. but you're pressing every damn inch of your body to his, and your tank top is pulled low and all he wants to do is listen, can his stupid fucking brain shut off this response now, please?
"yes," he narrows his eyes, huffing as his frustration with himself escalates. you're clearly in the mood to confide in him, and he can't figure out why the only thing his pea-sized brain can conjure up is a vulgar image of the two of you. "maybe. i... i want to hear about this, i promise. and, you know i'm well aware of the damages WCKD does to the brain-"
"oh, of course, i..." you take a subtle step back, and he realizes too late how he sounds more defensive and less frazzled.
thomas' hands pull you back into him by the hips. "no, no. i'm trying to... aurgh! i'm sorry, i'm so sorry. i can't. think."
your eyebrows shoot up as his body grows more and more painfully aware of your hands on his chest, your thighs pressed to his own, the way your lips part in a little 'o' and how your eyes look when you look up at him without lifting your chin. thomas knows he's hard, he's not a blubbering idiot. but it's never really been such an issue before. as long as he fully remembers, there's always been much more important things to think about, like keeping you and the rest of the gladers alive and safe.
but now, that's not so much an issue. and it feels like every little thing you do, every noise and expression and action, makes thomas have the same reaction.
"you can't think?" you prompt, as he feels you press harder against his erection. you must not feel it, then. thomas tries not to roll his hips into the relieving release of pressure.
"i can, i can." he sucks in through his teeth and tries to gently pry you away. your subtle resistance confuses him, and he hates that he'll have to tell you if you don't figure out soon enough here. "i just... i'm, um, really sorry. that you have to start below ground zero with the kids."
there's a lengthy pause of silence as you stare up at him, like you're waiting. he waits too, hoping there'll be some kind of hint to what else he should say to get you talking again so you can both move on from this mortifying ordeal.
instead, you seem to deflate slightly and take a step back. compared to before, and now lacking the sweet press of your body on his, it feels like a mile between you.
"okay." you sigh, tucking some of your hair back. thomas watches with a level of confusion and guilt he can't even fathom. "well, i should head back. it'll probably be time for me to gather the kids soon."
he stays stuck against the counter with an unmistakable boner right up until you're about to push the curtain out of the way and leave. only then does he regain his composure enough to stop you, pushing off of the counter and taking a couple of steps nearer to you.
"wait."
you turn to face him eagerly, eyes wide and wanting something he can't place. thomas swallows thickly.
"i have to tell you something. because i hate not being honest with you. and... you can be as mad as you want, okay? i promise i won't get upset."
he watches the doubt seep into your body language. "...okay."
and it all comes tumbling out of his mouth.
"i can't stop thinking about you. like- in these terrible, horrible ways that i like. and i feel so bad because you have no idea, but it's just- god, when you wear that top. all i can- everything- the only thing i can focus on is your body. and your hair, too. and your legs. and your lips, a lot. and all i wanna do is... it's so bad. i'm sorry."
thomas wasn't aware of how terrible he felt about thinking about you compromisingly until he voiced it, but when he meets your eyes again... he's completely thrown by your expression. you look- not hungry, that's not the right word. but somehow it is, with the way your eyes rove over him and back up again, how you take a few steps closer. your face is slowly melding into that expression you always get when he flatters you. like, all pretty and flustered with eyes that say more more more.
"you're sorry about it?"
he blinks. "yeah. i just, i don't want you to be in any position you wouldn't want to be in. even in my head."
you nod, of course. because that makes sense. but that's not what your face is saying. he watches as your eyes dip down shyly. "thomas, i... i've been having similar thoughts."
"oh."
well, this changes things.
you've been thinking about thomas? like that? on top of you, behind you, under you? panting and begging and sweaty and jesus christ, he's hard as a rock.
"tell me." his voice comes out as a command, instead of a question. you respond before he can correct himself.
"t-tell you what i've been imagining?"
god, imagining makes it sound so purposeful. thomas can see it in his head; you, in your bed, imagining him doing things to you. making you squirm and whine and plead. he has to know. thomas doesn't know a lot of things, and he loves learning them. but his favorite puzzle has been you. and this is another thrilling piece.
"yes." he can barely get the word out fast enough, closing the distance between the two of you so he can guide you to press up against the rickety counters. he would totally have you perched on them, if he trusted the workmanship at all. but this will do, for now. "what have you been thinking about me?"
"it's probably worse, thomas. i don't want to make you uncomfortable." you sound sincere, but he realizes too late that this is you throwing his words back in his own face, showing that it may have offended you when he apologized for wanting you that way.
he kisses his teeth, meets your eyes. "promise it won't. i'll understand. we can do an exchange, yeah? a thought for a thought."
you huff out a laugh. "what, like a trade? are you bargaining for my dirty fantasies of you?"
his dick twitches like it heard your words instead of his head, and he nods. leaning down close, he lets a smile slip across his lips. "yeah, that's a perfect example. we can value them; the more outlandish the fantasy, the more pricey it is."
"and if you have no fantasy pricey enough to match mine?" you tilt your chin up so your plush lips are a breath away from his, and he listens as your voice dips to a sultry hum. "how will you repay me?"
thomas pretends to think, hmm's in wonder. in the meantime, his hands roam from your waist to your hips, growing confident enough to almost reach lower before he responds:
"guess i'll have to find some other way, then."
your lips meet, and thomas gets a few kisses in before he grows impatient and slides his tongue gently across your bottom lip. you only encourage his demanding mouth, pulling him closer by the back of his neck and letting his tongue press against your own.
thomas loves making out with you. it's only happened twice before, and both times he found something new that made you whimper-whipmer!- and it made him feel like he could rule the world. he's never been egotistical, but there's something about the way you pull a bit too rough on his lip with your teeth or how your mixed saliva catches at the corners of his mouth that makes him think he'd be a great father, and a perfect provider for you. when you suck on his tongue, he groans and his hips flex forward. he doesn't even realize his stupid dick is searching for friction until he breaks away to kiss at your neck and leaves you room to talk.
"thomas, you're-" you pant as he litters open-mouthed kisses against your soft skin. "you're hard."
"mmhm, told you." he rakes his teeth along your collar bone before his mouth finds your ear. "been so distracted by you lately. can't go to bed without touching myself," you moan quietly. he about cums right then and there. "thinking of you."
"m-me too." he can hear the nervous stutter from a mile away, and he smiles, pausing against your skin for a moment.
"tell me what you think of." he kisses your neck, long and soft and slow. just once. and then lifts his mouth away enough to speak again. "when you touch yourself."
he can hear you swallow, feel your heart flutter like a bunny. he doesn't know why, but he likes it. and he doesn't feel bad about it.
"it's bad." you exhale, like you don't want him to hear you.
he pulls back so he can tower over you a little, narrows his brow with concern. "it's alright. tell me."
you pout and glance away before your mouth opens again, but you don't protest any further. good girl.
"i... i like the idea of, um, you." you catch your bottom lip between your teeth for a moment as your eyes flit around the dim hut. "you... all over me. just, out of nowhere. most of the time i imagine me in the middle of hanging the laundry out to dry, or prepping for my class, or tidying or something. and you just come in and push everything out of the way and take me, no questions or comments. i know how you look at me sometimes, when there's people around. there's times i... i wish you'd just tell them to get out and act on whatever you're thinking."
he watches you swallow, so tuned into your posture and movements. listening to every word like it's a sacred truth. you take a breath and continue.
"the other night... i was in the shower late. after i helped out with the fertility house. i touched myself." you confess, and thomas notes how you refuse to meet his head-on gaze. "i was thinking of you coming in and using your... your fingers, um, on me. looking at me in that way you do, with your hair wet. making me tell you all the bad things i thought when i saw you, sweaty and working hard."
you're flustered and shy when you finish, chest rising and falling at a more rapid pace than before. thomas tilts his head as he watches your face, being sure he's keeping contact at every point between your bodies. being sure you know he's not scared of you or your wild imagination. being sure you can feel how much he loves it.
"i'm sorry." your voice is a whisper of insecurity.
thomas quickly snaps out of his silence, gathering your precious face in both of his calloused hands. "no, no, no. don't apologize." he pleads, forcing you to look at him finally. your eyes are swimming with worry and unsureness, and thomas wants to swat your thought spiral away like it's a fly. "never. never apologize for telling me something so lovely."
he pushes your hair back and kisses your cheek sensually. when he feels you melt into him a little, he continues onto your other cheek. before he can reach your mouth, you speak in more hushed whispers.
"i was afraid you'd think it's gross."
he laughs just a little at that, but mostly because it's the most unrealistic thing he's ever heard. pulling back, he finds your eyes and holds their focus with a look of sincerity. "l think the idea of you feeling good because you're thinking of me is the best thing that's ever happened to me."
"thomas, you saved society from a government domination and a deadly virus."
"yes, and you touched yourself at the thought of me." thomas can't help it, he kisses you roughly. takes you in the way you described; ravaging and sloppy and selfish. it feels good. he laps in your mouth and he likes how uncouth it is. like he's defiling you from your lips downward. "i bet you looked so pretty. all helpless and begging for me. that's..."
that's gonna make him finish in his work jeans, for sure. holy fucking shit, you're the greatest thing that's ever happened to thomas. like, seriously, just the idea of you covering your mouth in the shower, arching your back... all because of him?! everything in him is screaming to bring your fantasies to life. but he wants to respect that invisible line, between imagination and reality. you never exactly said you wanted him to do that, just that you thought of it.
thomas kisses your temple and slides a hand down your body, coming to terms with the boundary he just realized was probably there. "i'm so glad you told me."
but he cant help some of it, you're just so kissable. so he allows himself one indulgence, and kisses you slowly.
"you're beautiful." he murmurs against your lips, feeling you shiver lightly at the unprompted flattery. "so pretty. and smart. you know that?"
"thomas," you swallow, but your hand grips his neck and pulls him closer. "please."
what you're asking for, thomas has not an single clue. but when you use that tone, he'd kill a man just for you.
"yes," he matches your desperation and kisses you hungrily. "anything, yes."
thomas' grip on your hips becomes bruising as you begin to make out more explicitly, sounds of smacking and gasping and quiet sighs filling the med hut quickly. you move your hands from his hair to the front of his jeans, undoing the button without breaking your lips. thomas is grateful for the relief, as the strain was becoming unbearable the harder he would get. you're just so goddamn considerate, he'd be an idiot not to give you anything you asked for and more.
his mouth has a mind of it's own as he kisses down your neck messily, carefully guiding your head to the side enough to give him wide access so he can find your spot. it only takes him moments to make you squirm, and he spends considerable time there.
your hand, still at the button of his jeans, begins palming at his erection heavily. thomas hums, meeting you halfway with his hips before he stutters his movements and stops himself. he's embarrassed at how bad he wants the friction, the pressure. who knows what you want? just because he likes how your hand feels pressing on his dick doesn't mean you want him humping into your palm like a dog.
you whine discontentedly (even though he was so sure you liked how he was marking your neck!) and hook your fingers into the waistband of his boxers, tugging him into your body ruthlessly. he pulls back to look at you, confused. what do you need? he'll give it to you, whatever it is. but he needs to be sure he's got the right idea first.
"what is it?" thomas frowns down at you, rubbing your hip affectionately.
you huff, tugging at his waistband again. "thomas, i want... i-i... i need...-"
an eruption of innocent laughter interrupts you. both you and thomas whip your heads to the curtain separating you from the rest of the world, frozen in place as you listen for who's nearby.
and, to both of your dismay, there's children setting up their own game of mother may i just outside the med hut. not exactly a great place for a steamy-make-out-turned-something-more.
thomas is the first to move, sucking in a breath and running his hands up your sides. "well."
you worry your lower lip. "yeah."
"i... i can't really, um." thomas clears his throat, eyes roving up to the ceiling. his neck and ears pinken with mortification. "you go first. don't wait up."
"oh. did you not want to walk together?"
"no! no. it's not that. i just can't... really... go anywhere. right now." he murmurs, eyes dropping down before quickly meeting your own.
your eyes fall down to his unbuttoned jeans. you blush. stare. glance back up. "ah. i see. well. i will... see you at dinner?"
"yes, of course." he smiles sweetly at your understanding.
as you begin walking away, thomas grabs your wrist and tugs you back in, kissing your hand.
"i had a lovely time. you're a great nurse." he kisses your hand again for good measure before releasing you for good, watching you walk out of the med hut and look back twice.
☆
thomas rubs at his jaw absentmindedly, mind full of upcoming plans and responsibilities. the bonfire dances in front of his eyes, casting a warm glow on the haven and everyone gathered around it, eating dinner and conversing and being alive again. it's the perfect background noise for him, the buzz of safety and happiness and health. he hadn't heard it before they created this place.
his plans for reinforcing the makeshift counters in the med hut to support human weight is harshly interrupted by minho, plopping down next to him on the log he's sat on.
thomas glances at minho and his overflowing plate. they both nod shortly to one another. thinking that's the end of the interaction, thomas lets his mind wander again. they'll need to put supports underneath, some sort of beams...
"newt and frypan have a bet going." minho speaks with his mouth full.
"oh, yeah?" or maybe having them fully touch the floor, that way there's extra storage space. cabinets aren't too much work with enough hands.
"yep. if you screwed in the med hut, newt doesn't have to do chores for a week." minho picks something out of his teeth. "honestly, i thought i was the only one who noticed. tried to warn you, man."
"wait, what?" thomas blinks, turns to face minho. "you... what?"
minho takes an analyzing look at thomas' features, squinting his eyes in slight disgust. "dude. none of us are blind."
thomas is still clueless. his face must give him away, since minho goes from sorta-grossed-out to totally-making-fun in seconds. "oh, man. you don't know what i mean, do you? curing serum didn't help you remember the talk?"
"i... don't..." thomas glances around them, making sure no one is nearby to overhear. minho barks out a laugh.
"come on, thomas." minho takes a big bite of his food and nods over thomas' head, eyes flicking to someone behind him. "she showed up and it was like all the blood in your brain rushed to your..."
minho meets thomas' eyes.
"little friend."
thomas flushes, glancing over his shoulder just in time to see you press your ear to the belly of a heavily pregnant woman, smiling excitedly. "minho, tell me you're the only one who noticed."
"whatever helps you sleep at night, man." minho stuffs his mouth again, clearly unperturbed as thomas swings his head back around to gape at him. "so did y'guys get busy 'r not? we're all kinda waiting around to find out. hey, you gonna eat? food's running out fast."
"i'm good." thomas lets his eyes wander back to you as you converse easily with a few of the older women, your tank top riding up just enough to give him a peek at your lovely tummy. "uh, hey, minho?"
"yeah?"
"you... so..." thomas is slow to form words at the sight of your gorgeous hair flouncing about. "you think she'd want to do that? i didn't know... i thought it was, y'know, a guy thing."
minho laughs, clapping thomas' shoulder. it takes him a moment to verbally answer as he swallows his food, but his nodding makes thomas' heart stutter.
"oh, it's a girl thing too. trust me, they're having the same thoughts, if not worse. why do you think she took you all the way to the med hut just for some bruised up toes and a head konk? she's trying to get you to do something."
"i mean, my foot could have gotten infected. and i did hit my head pretty bad." thomas rubs the lightly sore spot as minho fixes a glare on him.
"thomas, you've been shot, drugged, stung by a griever, and jumped off a collapsing building. i really don't think some cuts and bruises are anything to worry about." minho wipes his hands on his jeans, his plate clean of any food. "besides, i bet she had to get all close and personal just to take a look at you?"
"i mean... yeah." thomas shrugs. he hadn't really thought much of it, but... well, you did press up against him, and bat your lashes in that way you do... and when he told you what to do...
oh. oh!
you were- oh wow, the whole time?!
thomas blinks rapidly at the ground, and then at minho, and then at you. and when his eyes meet yours and you smile softly, he feels like an idiot.
"yyyyyeah." minho pats thomas' shoulder lightly as you begin approaching, and thomas can feel his whole body warm. minho leaves with a "good luck, dude," and thomas can barely breathe while the whole world melts into nothing but youyouyou.
"hi." you take minho's place, and you look softly radiant in the glow of the bonfire.
"hi." thomas sighs out, stuck on every movement and shift you make. do you still want that? do you still want him?
"you didn't eat." you observe, adjusting the strap of your top.
"mhm." thomas tracks the motion, flicks his eyes back up to yours. "did you?"
your eyes narrow just slightly at the unintentional deflection, and he's enamored by the crease in your brow. the pout of your pretty lips. the way you look so perfect, he just wants to wreck you, a little. you didn't just want to imagine it? you actually wanted him to...
"yes, i did. are you not hungry, or...?"
"i'm starving." his voice drops an octave, and you bat your lashes almost on impact of the tone shift, glancing away from him.
"oh, well, there's still some fish left, and i think some corn-"
"i don't want that." he swallows, you look back at him.
he gets it now. this isn't confusion, it's not hesitance. this is a game of chess for you, and you want him to check you. to snatch up everything and leave you helpless and needy, and then finish you off.
respectfully, of course.
"but you said..." you start, and trail off when he shakes his head just slightly.
"no, i'm starving." his fingertips brush against your knee, slide barely onto your lower thigh. he holds your eyes the entire time as he caresses your knee, thumb tracing a circle. "are you?"
"thomas," you breathe out a flustered laugh, glancing around. "anyone could see."
he shakes his head again, holding your eyes when you return to him. "'s okay, we can head to bed early. if you want."
he watches you consider, deciphering the offer he's laid out. he's not sure how you do it, always reading him like a book, but it only makes him want to show you his appreciation. which... is leading him down a similar mindset. jeez, he really won't be able to shake this, will he?
"alright." you nod your head to the women you were speaking to before. "let me go say goodnight. i'll meet you...?"
"my room." he hums. it feels so illicit to sneak off like this, pretending- even to each other- that you're just tired.
thomas couldn't be further from tired if he tried.
"okay, yeah. okay." you smile shyly at him. "i'll... yeah."
and just like that, you stand and part from him. the lack of your presence makes everything seem blurry and boring, and all thomas wants to do is fast forward to the moment he has you alone. instead, he dusts off his lap and stands, scanning the beach for any watchful eyes.
minho, arm slung over the shoulders of a girl from a different sector, raises his drink to thomas and mouths, 'me too.' the girl wiggles her eyebrows playfully at thomas.
thomas nods awkwardly, pressing his lips together. other than that, he's sure no one suspects anything from the two of you having an innocent conversation. and so, he sets off.
he's out of the beach and the light as soon as possible, making a silent escape to the safety of the dark trek back to his secluded hut. he decided to keep the one that was built further away from the community enough to give him time alone; dealing with the pressure of leading the survivor colony was enough to make him want to lock himself away for a few hours everyday. plus, he liked to be up early and hated bothering anyone. especially since you're a fan of staying up late and sleeping in, and he can't stand to interrupt your rest.
the way your lashes brush against your cheeks, how you drool a little and always deny it, how sweet and heavenly your cheek looks when it's pressed against the pillow...
great, now he's thinking about you pressed into his pillow, mouth open just to gasp since he's going so hard for so long. you whine his name.
holy shit, he has no idea what he's doing.
thomas scrubs his already messy hair. sure, he's thought about this a million times. he's familiar with his right hand, he knows female anatomy, he’s had the talk! but understanding it from the outside and experiencing it from the inside…
from the very inside...
swallowing, he makes his way into his hut with shaky hands and a confusing heap of arousal clouding his brain. he wants this so, so bad. but he needs to do it right.
he fluffs his measly pillows, straightens his blankets. checks the stability of his bed, does a quick smell check (clear)... what's supposed to happen? he just wants to devour you, honestly. to live out every single idea your pretty little head conjures up. he's getting a little dizzy just thinking of it. but, y'know, outside of tackling you like a bear in heat, is he supposed to... say something?
he wants it to be so perfect that nothing comes even close to comparing. he wants to make you sob with satisfaction and see stars and feel how intensely he feels about you. is there something he can do to convey that?
unfortunately, thomas doesn't have time to write a speech, seeing as he can now hear your soft footsteps not too far off. he messes with his hair and feels his nerves thrum with excitement and anticipation. oh god, he wants you.
"how's your head?" you speak quietly when you first arrive, ducking into his humble abode. your prescense snaps him out of his spiral, making his stomach swoop and his mind fuzz out for a moment.
"uh." he swallows, hesitates, before reaching out to pull you close. your skin is so soft, warm from the firelight. "it's fine."
you giggle at his clearly dumbfounded expression and move pliantly as he wraps you in his arms and buries his nose in your hair. "i probably smell like fire and smoke. not too romantic, sorry."
"you smell amazing." he murmurs, taking a deep breath in. it's true. your scent is addicting to thomas, especially when your skin is slick with perspiration and your natural scent is clear. he could inhale it for days and not get bored. "so good."
"alright, okay, you dog!" you laugh, and it only spurs him on, attacking your neck with his nose and making you shrink back from the feather-light sensation. "stop! it tickles!" you shove at his chest to no avail, as he presses you further into him the more you push and laugh. his sniffing turning quickly into kisses, peppered from behind your ear to your collarbone and back again, despite your shrieks of protest and fits of giggles.
"i can't stop," thomas growls excitedly, backing you towards the bed with little to no effort. "my girl tastes as good as she smells."
his hands on your hips are pressing, firm. he wants you make you feel his strength. when he pulls back to meet your gaze, he watches the effect take place. your eyes have a playful glint, like you're exhilarated to not be in control. he feels equally as exhilarated to be in control. then again, you hold all the influence. he only wants this so bad because he knows you want it too. otherwise, it's no fun at all.
thomas stops the two of you just as the backs of your knees touch the edge of his bed, and a silent moment of charged eye contact occurs. he feels like he's falling, his stomach dropping out from under him. his hands are starting to wander, all on their own.
"is your foot alright?" you chirp. thomas blinks.
"it's fine." he dismisses it quickly. his fingers tuck under the bottom hem of your tank top and he tugs on it gently. "i like this shirt."
you tilt your head. "so i've heard."
"it's nice." and then his hands roam again, running along your ribs and then your back with a relaxing pressure to them. as if he's trying to press the feeling into your memory. he finds the outline of your bra and traces it on your back, wetting his lips. "when'd you get it?"
your bodies sway in unison, and he watches your mouth as you speak. the words comes soft, but tinged with feeling thomas was unprepared for.
"last night." you breathe, your brow furrowing as you recall. "some of the girls wanted to trade, and i hated watching them walk around in the same clothes they were given by WCKD. it's so... unfair."
thomas frowns, eyes tracking your features as they melt into something empathetic, sorrowful. he brings a hand to your face and caresses you gently, frustrated that his hands aren't softer, that he's not built with the delicacy you deserve. he tucks a strand of your hair back and cups your cheek, meeting your eyes.
"always thinking about everyone else." thomas states as he runs his thumb across your skin. "I wish you’d focus on what you want."
you let out a disbelieving snort, giving thomas a look. "said the pot to the kettle."
he tilts his head, squinting. "what?"
"it's... never mind, nothing." pressing your soft, perfect hand over his rough one, you turn into thomas' palm. "kiss me again. please."
and thomas is never one to turn down your requests.
he zeroes in on your plush lips this time, trying to go slow enough as not to scare you. he gets lightheaded kissing you like this, so completely alone with all the time in the world and a bed right behind you. he wants to savor you, to drink your skin and lips and hair and scent in and all the same he want to pin you down and force you to beg and whine his name and tug on his hair.
he keeps it slow to feel a sense of self control. his lips slide against yours seamlessly as he guides you by the jaw to tilt your head in cadence with his own, and the way you melt into him is just perfect. he’s obsessed with the way you relax into him, drowning out all his other senses. content with just kissing you for hours and hours, if that’s what makes you happy; anything to make you feel good.
too bad his heart and his dick are fighting for control. his hands slide under your top and across your stomach, finding their way to your bra clasp. his pants are uncomfortably tight already, his body clearly unused to his current situation.
"how..." he mumbles against your lips, fumbling with the hooks. "sorry, i..."
you let out a hushed laugh, pulling away from thomas enough to look him in the eyes as you reach around and unclasp your bra from under your tank top. he watches with parted lips as you pull off your top slowly, and then let your bra slide down your arms.
he swallows, seeming overly focused on holding eye contact.
"thomas," you slowly grin, "you can look."
he sighs with relief as his gaze dips down to your chest, pretty and perfect and all for him. his hands graze up your sides and cup your breasts, and he lets out a small "oh."
"fuck," thomas blurts, meeting your playful look with a pitifully needy one. he swipes his thumbs over your nipples experimentally. "i..."
"is- um, is it what you were expecting?" you reach out and rest your hands on his sides, just to touch him.
"better, somehow. i don't even... wow. can i-?"
"yeah. yes. 'course."
he licks his bottom lip and nibbles it softly as he examines your face, being sure that you're okay with his eagerness. he liked the tank top (no, fuck that, he loved it), but pressing his mouth to your breasts is so. much. his heart is thumping as he sucks and then nibbles softy on your hardened nipple, causing you to whine softly.
the sound alone makes his pants impossibly tighter. he switches to your other side and his movements become a tad more demanding as he tries to draw another sound out of you. and when he sucks harder than before, he's successful. you tilt your head back and whimper.
your pleasure is the hottest thing thomas has or ever will see. he steps back.
your eyes snap open and you look a bit confused and very disappointed at the suddenly ended moment. he raises his brows at you.
"since when do you sound like that?" he challenges, a cocky smirk growing on his face.
you press a hand over your eyes. "jesus, do you want me to be silent? i've never felt this before!"
"no. definitely not silent. i like it." his confidence is growing by the second, and thomas slowly sinks to his knees in front of you. "i wanna hear it again."
"oh." you huff as he kisses your tummy, running his hands up and down the backs of your thighs. his fingers slide carefully under the waist of your shorts, almost casual as he looks up at you. you nod, looking flustered and wanting and all the things he loves to see.
thomas slides your shorts off slowly, kissing along your panties. he can smell your intoxicating scent and the velvety soap you've been making, drawing him deeper into a daze for you. he looks up to find you already watching him, eyes wide and lips kiss-swollen.
"lay down?" he pats the backs of your knees softly. you oblige his request without question and lay on his bed, propping your head up on his pillows.
he returns to soft kisses over your only article of clothing left, realizing the accidental power imbalance he created when he glances up to admire your naked chest.
"oh, baby." he mumbles, sitting up on his knees over you on the bed. you hum in response before he tugs his shirt over his head and tosses it across the room. "sorry. i forgot i had clothes on."
it was an honest comment, but it made you laugh. he smiles sheepishly.
"i dunno how you could. i would assume this is causing some annoyance." you sit up, sliding a deft hand over his painful hard-on. he watches your hand as it glides down his leg.
when you drop it, thomas flicks his gaze back up to your eyes. "you don't have to stop."
"neither do you." your features are focused in a way he's not familiar with, like you're determined to match his confidence. a thrill runs up his spine when you tilt your head challengingly. he smirks, and you match it with one of your own. your hand resumes palming him through his jeans, and you undo the button and zipper seamlessly.
the relief is immense. he stands up when you begin sliding the pants down his thighs so he can finish the job for you, and when you scoot forward to tug his boxers off after, he gasps.
the cool air is less shocking than the sudden sight of his dick. he's slightly embarrassed and very flushed on both heads. his mouth opens when you wrap your hands around the shaft and gently pump him once, experimentally.
"what... feels good?" you watch him through your lashes for a positive response. thomas feels as if his brain is fully submitting to his lust, at this point. "like this?"
he nods helplessly as you begin jerking him off agonizingly slow. you're an accidental tease and he's content with going insane just like this, that is until-
"fuck, holy fuck." he rambles out the moment your lips press an innocent kiss to his tip. his hands feel absolutely useless at his sides and there isn't a single filter from his brain to his mouth anymore. nor is there a filter between your mouth and his cock. you kiss every inch of him as soon as you hear his muffled moaning, spurred on by the sound of his desperation.
"y-you can't," he leans his head back and squeezes his eyes shut, clamping a hand over his mouth when you take him deep inbetween your lips. your tongue swirls around curiously and he shakes his head. "stop, please, please."
you halt immediately, pulling your lips away and dropping your hands. he looks down at you dizzily. you look up at him guiltily.
"not your fault." thomas mumbles with what little consciousness he feels he has. his hand cups your jaw comfortingly. "i didn't want to end this early. i'm... um, i'm sensitive, i think."
"you think?" your smile rests thomas' heart. good, you're not upset. he breathes out a small laugh, stroking the back of your head and leading you up to his face, where he kisses you softly.
you respond easily, and thomas takes that as you being comfortable. thank god, because he needs you relaxed and happy and every positive emotion there is to feel, otherwise he can't take this any further. he just couldn't do it.
you pull him by the neck and lay back down, guiding him to hoover over you. he's definitely nervous, completely out of his depth now. sure, WCKD educated them on health and the technicalities of intercourse, but he's got no clue how to find your sensitive spots and he can't picture the graphs that were presented to them.
he pulls away from your ongoing kiss, thumbing at your panties. "where, um..."
"it's okay." you whisper quietly. your eyes are all glassy and needy and he wants so badly to make you feel good. "you can take them off."
"no, no-" he furrows his brow, "well, yeah, okay. but i don't know how to... what to do, exactly."
"you don't know how to have sex?"
"i remember that part. but i want to make you feel... the way i did, first." he begins sliding your panties down your thighs as he explains, "i know you have a sensitive spot, but i can't remember where it is. show me."
you nod down at him while he kneels back and takes in the sight of you, fully exposed to him. his fingers slide through your wetness and he quickly finds your opening, pressing a finger inside you. "i remember... this one."
he crooks his finger and presses against a spot inside you, making you sigh. you visibly relax further into his cushions and try to close your thighs, but he catches your leg by the knee.
"not from the class i was given, though." he works the spot teasingly as he speaks. "minho gets a little too detailed when he's drunk. says this can make you cry."
his eyes flick up to your face, and he watches you while he teases you from the inside. "show me where it feels good."
"right there." you whine and nod. he chuckles quietly at you.
"no, not this spot." he slides his fingers out of you, leaving you empty and frowning at him. "show me where you touch yourself."
going quiet at the subtle callout, you take his wrist and guide him to press his middle finger against your clit. he circles it carefully and you squirm. "here. i usually... try not to go too fast, too quick. i build up."
"usually?" he raises a brow, grinning evilly. "i guess you have a lot to tell me, huh?"
you throw an arm over your face, partially because you're embarrassed at the accidental admission, partially because he's making slow, small circles against your nerves. "thomas. don't tease me right now."
"i'm not." he lies, scooting forward so that he's bracketed by your legs and sliding a finger back inside you. his finger on your clit never lets up as he starts opening you up for him, mesmerized by the sight of your slick folds.
"y'so pretty. jesus." he barely picks up pace and watches for your reaction, narrowing his eyes at your arm covering your face. "hey. let me see you."
"so much." you sigh as your arm falls. you're flushed and pleading, looking properly pent up. "your fingers are so much longer than mine, i can't ever..."
"mhm, feels good?"
"so good, yes. so good." you arch your back when he uses more pressure on your clit. he smirks proudly.
thomas has you squirming under him after he finds his way around your anatomy. he doesn't know what he was so worried about, it's not so difficult to have you how he wants you. certainly not as difficult as some of the other guys describe it. you're wet and needy and getting closer to the ledge, if your whimpers and whines are any tell, so thomas lets up on his touching and kisses your knee.
"can i...?" he mumbles against your soft skin. you huff at the abrupt ending to the pleasure but meet his eyes with a smile.
"please hurry up and get inside me."
per usual, you never have to ask him twice. he climbs over you and presses a kiss to your forehead before lining himself up.
thomas does his best to go slow, and he stops shortly after pressing his tip into you. he's going insane in his head, overwhelmed with how good it feels. he hears himself whimper in the back of his throat and your eyes snap up to his when you register it.
"that was... um," he huffs with embarrassment. "how are you feeling?'
"i'm alright," you mumble, "just... go all the way."
you don't have to ask twice. thomas sinks into you and his jaw goes slack. later, he's not sure how he didn't come immediately, because he sees stars when he first buries himself to the hilt in your perfect pussy.
"fuck," he breathes, dropping down to bury his face in your neck. "oh my god."
he's in bliss, inhaling your scent while he slowly rocks just barely to press his tip further into you again and again.
"thomas, mmm, hurts-" you gasp out. he snaps to and stumbles back up on his hands, sliding halfway out of you quickly and feeling you both pulse at the sudden sensation.
"sorry, shit, i'm so sorry baby. are you okay? i-i got carried away. i shouldn't have..."
you shake your head just slightly, a hand pressing against his chest to shut him up. he clamps his mouth shut and waits patiently as you pinch your brow together and breathe through your nose.
"it's okay," your voice is higher than usual, soaked in arousal and pain mashed into one. "you're just... bigger. than, y'know, average."
he waits a moment as you breathe, but he can feel a twinge of jealousy seeping in, even if he's halfway inside your lovely cunt and about to be more.
"...how do you know the average?"
"thomas," you roll your eyes, a good sign in terms of how much pain you're in. you're never over animated when you're hurting. "you have a big dick. i'm not talking about any other specific comparison."
"oh." thomas' pride flares in his chest, and he glances down at where you're connected. he props himself up with one hand and uses the other to massage your hip, feeling slightly guilty and slightly proud that he's rendered you helpless like this.
it's just so perfect, how you spend all day helping out everyone else, and now he gets to finally lay you on your back and help you. he licks his lips as he moves just slightly, just to see how your body responds so readily to his. how you clearly feel so much of it, giving him the incentive to make you feel good.
"okay," you sigh just as he feels you begin to relax around him. thomas meets your eyes, and you nod slightly, lips parted. you're perfect, he almost says. but you interrupt him before he can.
"thomas, fuck me."
and you both know he's eager to please.
thomas groans when he slowly sinks back into you, eyelids fluttering closed momentarily. his voice wavers when he tries to speak again "you- oh, god."
you moan right after, back arching slightly off of the bed as your hand goes to grip at his hair. his movements start out slow for your sake, trying to keep enough mindfulness to make sure it feels overwhelmingly good and not overwhelmingly painful. the hand that's not propping him up over you goes back to your clit, matching the pace of his circles with the pace of his hips. you sigh out his name and he twitches inside you.
thomas had no idea two people could be so close to each other. physically, of course, you two are connected, but he feels like you're putting your own claim on him when you tighten around him and whimper how good it feels. when you tell him to go faster, it feels like his brain is melding with yours, like he could stay here forever and feel totally complete. he gasps into your ear and rambles out something or other about how perfect you are, but he can't even hear himself over the roaring in his ears that is just you you you, you, you,you,you,youyouyouyou.
"fuck, thomas, feels so good, gonna-" you writhe pleasantly under him and he presses your chests together.
"yeah?" he huffs. "gonna cum?"
"yes," you meet his eyes and look totally wrecked. he humms loudly and kisses you to muffle a particularly loud moan building in his throat. "please, let me-"
"'m gonna, don't worry baby." he whimpers quietly as you arch under him again, his name leaving your mouth like a prayer. it makes him dizzy and he feels it in his stomach, the chord between you bending, snapping apart.
you roll your eyes back when you finish, and the sight paired with the way you grip his cock like a vice makes him release, almost too stupid to pull out.
almost.
"fuck, so good," he gasps as he hurriedly pulls out just in time to cum outside of your body. you whine at the sudden pullout, and he pops his fingers in his mouth to suck your wetness off of them before cupping your face. "sorry, i know, i know. can't get you pregnant right now."
his dick twitches at the thought.
"...but we can talk about that." thomas mumbles. you breathe out, still nonverbal after your own release. "are you okay?"
you nod, smiling up at him with eyes full of exhaustion. "sooo tired."
your voice is a little shot, probably from the whining and gasping and moaning (that he cannot stop thinking about), and thomas feels a tinge of worry in his chest.
"okay. let me clean up and you can go to sleep. okay? i'll bring you breakfast tomorrow morning, so don't freak out if i'm gone when you wake up."
you nod again, pulling him gently by the arm so he'll kiss you one last time. "i loved it. y're so hot, thomas."
he laughs bashfully and kisses all over your face, feeling your lashes flutter. he knows he needs to get some pants on and grab a rag, but it takes all of his willpower to get him away from you. he kisses down your breasts, your stomach, your thighs. he plants his last kiss to your ankle before peeling himself away. "i'll be right back."
he stumbles out of his tent, shirtless and wracked with euphoric exhaustion from a night that had been long coming. the bonfire is dim, and few people are still out when he makes his way back over to it. after scoring a damp rag and two waters, he runs into gally.
gally presses a hand to thomas' bare chest, his face filled with unrestrained disgust.
"half the bonfire was looking for you. next time, i'm not covering your ass. i'll let them hear all of that."
thomas blinks.
"oh. thanks."
gally wipes his hand on his shirt as he pushes past him, grunting in leu of a response.
thomas is mildly embarrassed that he was so incredibly horny he snuck off without saying goodnight to anyone, but his mind is still preoccupied with getting you comfortable, so he leaves those feelings at the bonfire.
you're fast asleep when he returns, but you wake when he gingerly cleans you up.
"did anyone say anthing?" you mumble when he climbs into bed to spoon you.
"nah." he kisses your shoulder. "i was pretty discreet."
you hum happily and wiggle a little closer to him, falling asleep while he softly rubs your hip.
☆
posting tmr content after it got taken off of netflix... woah im super timely
hii!! could i please request a cedric lives au cedric x ravenclaw!reader smut where they’re head boy and girl and have been close friends for a while (and are in a not necessarily secret relationship it’s just no one’s found out about it yet)??? if not that’s okay!!
Meet Me in the Prefect’s Bathroom ♡ | C.Diggory ⊹ ࣪ ˖
"They say Head Boy should lead by example—but honestly, if snogging my brilliant, maddeningly gorgeous Head Girl in every broom cupboard counts as misconduct, I’d gladly hand in my badge… right after one more kiss."
pairing : Cedric Diggory x fem!headgirl!reader
summary : In a sweeter timeline, Hogwarts’ golden duo can’t quite hide their feelings—or keep their hands off each other. Between secret smiles and stolen kisses, one thing’s certain: he’s utterly obsessed with her.
warnings : 18+, smut, fingering, oral (fem receiving), penetrative sex, lots of fluff and banter, they're way too in love, slight risk of getting caught (but they don’t care), playful dominance/submission vibes, established relationship
author's note : English is not my first language, so please forgive me for any grammatical errors or spelling errors. Re-blogging is completely fine with me, but please don't copy my work. I love you all. Enjoy <3. This is an 18+ fic, so minors do not enter!!!
della's note : Thank you so much for requesting lovie!! Hope you enjoy this lovely!!!
word count : 1.2k
navigation <3
banners : @/cafekitsune
“I swear to Merlin, if I see Filch again tonight I might throw him into the lake.”
You muttered the threat under your breath as your shoes clicked against the stone corridor. Cedric, of course, laughed softly from beside you, his hand brushing against yours in a way that was absolutely not subtle.
“Darling,” he said, voice like warm honey, “you know you’ve got a temper on you when you’re tired.”
You turned to glare up at him, mostly for show. “I wouldn’t be tired if someone hadn’t pulled me into a closet earlier just to snog me.”
He looked at you with a faux-innocent expression that only made him more infuriating. And hot. “That’s slander. I pulled you into the closet to tell you how breathtaking you looked in your robes today. The snogging was… a happy accident.”
You tried not to smile. You really did.
Instead, you elbowed him in the side. “Diggory.”
“Oh, Diggory, is it?” His voice dropped, mischief curling in every syllable. “Not Cedric, not love, not even darling—?”
“I’m not calling you darling in the middle of a corridor, you ridiculous golden retriever.”
He had the nerve to pout. “But I like it when you say it.”
“You like it when I say anything.”
“Exactly. Say something filthy next.”
You slapped your hand over his mouth, horrified and delighted in equal measure. “You’re Head Boy!”
He mumbled something behind your palm that you were fairly certain was ‘And you’re the Head Girl who moans my name’, which earned him a scandalized look and a slightly breathless giggle.
That was the problem with Cedric Diggory: he was way too charming for his own good. Or yours. Or Hogwarts’ collective sanity.
No one knew the two of you were together. Not really. People suspected, sure — there were bets in the common rooms, allegedly. But you two were careful. Mostly.
Except when Cedric was looking at you like that. Except when he brushed your knuckles in broad daylight, when he murmured in your ear during meetings, when he tucked hair behind your ear like he was enchanted.
Except when his mouth was now close to your ear as he murmured, “We’re done with rounds.”
You swallowed. “So?”
“So…” His hand slid around your waist, pulling you gently closer. “I think you owe me a reward. For being so good tonight.”
You arched a brow. “You were good?”
He leaned in, lips grazing your neck, the touch featherlight. “Wasn’t I?”
Merlin. He knew what he was doing.
You let your head tip slightly, barely suppressing a shiver. “What exactly are you hoping your reward will be, Diggory?”
His eyes gleamed, wicked and adoring. “Meet me in the Prefect’s Bathroom in ten minutes, darling.”
Your stomach flipped. You hated him.
No. You loved him.
You were absolutely doomed.
You arrived eight minutes later, breathless and giddy, and Cedric was already there, perched on the edge of the massive tub with a stupid, gorgeous smile on his face.
“Two minutes early,” he murmured. “I knew you couldn’t resist me.”
You rolled your eyes and walked past him—only for him to catch your wrist and tug you into his lap like it was nothing.
“Cedric!” you hissed, giggling against his neck. “We could get caught!”
“That’s part of the fun,” he said smugly, his hands already sliding up your sides. “Besides, we’ve got wards up. You’re safe.”
His mouth was on yours before you could respond—soft and slow, then hungry. Familiar. You kissed him back like you needed him to breathe, fingers threading through his hair, pressing closer.
His hands moved to your thighs, under your skirt, and he groaned into your mouth. “This bloody skirt is going to kill me.”
“I could say the same about those trousers,” you muttered, tugging at his belt with a grin. “And you’re so smug in them.”
“Because I know what they do to you,” he said against your collarbone, nibbling there now. “You eye me up like you’re starving.”
“I am starving. For your silence.”
He laughed—actually laughed, breath hot on your skin. “You’re insatiable.”
“Says the boy who dragged me here after curfew like a man on a mission.”
“Oh, I am on a mission.” His voice dropped. “Get on the side of the tub, darling.”
You obeyed without hesitation, breath caught in your throat as he knelt between your legs, his large hands spreading your thighs apart.
“You’re already wet,” he whispered, almost reverent as his fingers teased at your soaked panties. “Merlin, darling. You’ve been thinking about this all night, haven’t you?”
You nodded, eyes glassy.
He leaned forward and kissed just above the fabric, slow and gentle. “Let me taste you.”
“Please,” you gasped.
He didn’t need more permission.
Cedric moved your panties aside and buried his face between your thighs like a man possessed. His tongue was hot and firm, licking a stripe through your folds before circling your clit slowly. Teasingly.
Your fingers gripped the edge of the tub as he moaned against you, sending vibrations through your entire body.
“Fuck, Cedric,” you whimpered, already breathless. “Don’t stop, don’t—oh—”
He slid two fingers inside you, curling them just right as his mouth worked your clit. His other hand gripped your thigh, grounding you, pulling you closer like he couldn’t get enough.
“You taste like heaven,” he muttered, lips swollen and slick as he glanced up at you. “My perfect darling.”
“Ced—Ced, I’m—”
He didn’t stop until you came with a cry, legs shaking, hand flying to muffle your mouth.
He pulled back slowly, licking his fingers clean like a smug, gorgeous bastard. “You’re so beautiful when you fall apart.”
“Stop being hot for one second,” you groaned, still catching your breath.
“Never,” he said, standing and tugging you back to him. “Not when I have you.”
You kissed him again, messily, urgently, and he groaned as you unfastened his belt.
“Need you inside me,” you whispered.
That nearly undid him.
He lifted you up with ease—show-off—and backed you against the warm tile, pushing into you in one deep, delicious thrust.
You moaned in unison, your forehead falling against his. He held your waist, burying his face in your neck as he began to move.
“Fuck, you feel like you were made for me,” he gasped.
“You’re such a sap.”
“Your sap. Your lovesick, obsessed—”
“—Golden retriever.”
“Exactly.”
He thrust deeper, harder, every movement making you see stars. The tile dug into your back, the sound of water from the tub filling the room, but all you could focus on was him—his hands, his mouth, his whispered “I love you” over and over.
“I can’t stop touching you,” he murmured against your skin. “Don’t ever ask me to.”
“Good. Because I won’t.”
Your nails dug into his back, clinging to him as your second orgasm built fast and desperate.
“Ced, I—”
“I’ve got you,” he breathed, “Come for me again, darling. Wanna feel you.”
That did it.
You cried out his name as you came undone again, and he followed moments later, gasping against your throat, holding you like you’d vanish if he let go.
You stayed like that for a moment, tangled, sweaty, deliriously happy.
Then—
“Do you think they’ll revoke our badges if they find out we’re shagging in the prefects’ bathroom?”
Cedric snorted into your neck. “I’m Head Boy. They’d be lucky I didn’t do it sooner.”
You smacked him, giggling.
He just kissed you again, still breathless, still in love.
Summary: Everyone expects that, when it comes to sex with Cedric Diggory, he’d be as soft and kind as his words. However, after dating him for a long time, you know that he is quite the opposite in the bedroom; and, even out of it.
Words: 4798
Warnings: SMUT, public teasing, light dom/sub, light bondage, lots of explicit language
A/N: Hell here I come!
Requested by anonymous using
27: “Tell me again.” // 46: “What happens if I do this?”
read on AO3 | Read other requested work | Masterlist
the rumours about theodore nott’s size have been circulating around hogwarts like a wild current. and now that you’ve become his girlfriend, you can have your very own confirmation.
⧼ content/tw ⧽ 18+ mdni, smut with some plot, brief fingering, unprotected piv, size kink, belly bulge, girl talk about dicks, cursing, pet names including italian, fem!reader, all characters are aged up, no-war universe
⧼ nota bene ⧽ theodore nott’s redwood tree ain’t hard to see, is all i have to say. yes, i’m horny.
⧼ word count ⧽ 2.5k
“Okay, babe, you have to piss off, or I’ll hex you right now and won’t care about getting expelled.”
Cho rolled her eyes at your insistence to avoid her questions, but she was far from deterred from continuing on her path to find out the truth. She nudged you with her shoulder again, harder this time, as if that could somehow shake the answer right out of you.
“Come on, you have to tell us. It’s like, your duty at this point.”
Lavender nodded eagerly from your right side, her arms crossed on her chest in obvious determination. “Yeah, you must tell us, love,” she whined in that familiar tone of hers that meant she wasn’t getting what she wanted and didn’t like it one bit. “We’ve been dying to know. D-y-i-n-g. Don’t be a bitch.”
You shook your head in a resounding ‘no’, just a wrong breath away from stomping your foot like a fussy toddler. You loved your friends, you really did, but sometimes they were… Fucking insufferable, that’s what they were. Ever since Theo had asked you out—mind you, it happened only two meagre weeks ago, which was virtually nothing in terms of romantic relationships—they’ve been pestering you on and on and on about everything. Does he snore at night? Does he spoil you absolutely rotten? Is he actually Italian or just pretending for attention? This one was exceptionally stupid, even Lavender had to admit it after your astounded ‘What the fuck???’. But one of these never ending questions was the most persistent and frankly, horribly irritating: is Theo actually hung?
Of course, you weren’t a stranger to the rumours circulating your newly acquired boyfriend—in fact, you had participated in them multiple times before the two of you got together. But you also knew that at least two thirds of them were just that—rumours—and Theo wasn’t half as promiscuous as the student folk liked to imagine him as. Maybe it was his mysterious (really, just introverted as hell) persona, maybe it was the ambiguous way he’d never truly denied nor confirmed them, but ever since the two of you went official, your friends were hellbent on bullying you into doing just that.
“I hate you.” Cho huffed, taking note of the fact that her tried and true tactic of being as annoying as possible until you gave up was failing spectacularly. “Just a crumb, maybe? We’re not asking much.”
“Yeah, love, just yes or no,” Lavender joined in again, resorting to her best puppy eyes to try to coax the information out of you at last.
But you were unrelenting.
“Merlin, I am not talking about my boyfriend’s dick!” you exclaimed, and maybe it was a little too loud, since a few people lingering in the corridor glanced—some amused, some bewildered, it was embarrassing all the same.
Before Cho or Lavender could react, and it was very likely that they wouldn’t stop their interrogation anyway, you felt a cool hand settle on your waist from behind. Thank you, thank you, thank you, you repeated endlessly in your head as you turned around to face none other than him—Theo, your lovely, grumpy boyfriend who was eyeing your group of three with a slightly raised eyebrow. Nonchalant, as usual, but at that moment it was an actual saving grace.
“You ready to go?”
His smooth voice filled your ears like honey-laced liquor, and you felt every little drop of your earlier irritation melt away into the pot of lovelorn stupidity. What a sickening effect Theo’s presence had on you, you thought briefly, but quickly forgot all about thinking as soon as his hand pressed gently on your lower back, guiding you away from Lavender and Cho. They didn’t really protest—probably because neither of them had learned how to directly interact with Theo yet. Good. At least for now.
———
“You want to tell me, tesoro?”
“Huh?”
Your mind felt blissfully empty before Theo asked the question, so you didn’t really catch the meaning of it at first. You lifted your heavy head from Theo’s chest, where you had almost dozed off, and looked up. His expression was rather neutral—maybe a little more relaxed than usual thanks to the cuddles you so eagerly provided—but you could see that little hint of concern in the crease between his eyebrows. It was deeper than usual; you were getting better at learning his visual cues already.
“What do you mean? Tell you what?”
“Why you were so upset. When I got you away from your girls,” Theo explained, his fingers lightly caressing your back in silent reassurance. The pleasant little shivers they sent through your body were pretty distracting, but then you remembered what he was even asking about, and—
“Ugh, nothing. It’s stupid.”
You tried to shake off Theo’s worries, but the pout on your lips gave you away completely. It wasn’t even conscious, as if your body was getting pissy about that god-awful conversation by itself all over again. Of course, he noticed, and of course, he couldn’t let you bullshit him. He gave you enough cool down time already—three hours of quiet cuddling, no less—and had to ask to ease his own anxiety about your well-being.
“I know it’s not. You know I know. So just tell me.”
You sighed, realizing he was right, that you couldn’t really hide it. But fuck, it was really stupid…
“Cho and Lav are being fucking ridiculous,” you muttered, avoiding Theo’s gaze while simultaneously sneaking glances to check his reaction. “They’re…”
A groan, because why on Earth was it so awkward to talk about?
“They were asking about your dick.”
Theo stayed silent for a long moment, and you almost started to think he was getting ready to just up and leave because you had such shameless friends… But then, he chuckled. He rarely ever laughed, even with you, and he chose this moment out of everything to chuckle. He looked really good doing it, too—the dimple on his left cheek stood out like a small ray of sunshine in the dim lights of the dorm, a stray curl fell on his forehead. Theo was infuriatingly attractive.
“What?” you bristled indignantly, though there was a worried edge in your voice too. Was this the line? You had only been together for two damn weeks, and this was what did it?
“Amore.” Theo tried to will the smile away, but it creeped onto his lips anyway. The cute sight of it made your face light up—he wasn’t leaving at the very least, for sure. “You were so upset about your friends taking about my dick?”
“Well, yeah,” you grumbled, trying to figure out what to make of his reaction. “You’d be thrilled if Matt or Enzo started pestering you about my tits, I’m guessing.”
“They did.” Theo shrugged, like it was no big deal; with a good dose of satisfaction you noticed the barely-there tension in his jaw. “Told them to fuck off a couple of times, and that was it, pretty much. They stopped.”
“Lucky you.” You sighed, shifting against his side to get more comfortable in the face of your turmoil. Your thigh brushed against Theo’s crotch, and you definitely felt something sticking out there. Didn’t pay much attention, since your mind was still somewhat preoccupied. “I know it’s dumb, okay? I just hate this… mindset. Like they’re entitled to know all about your dick just ‘cause I’m dating you.”
“I get it.”
Theo was definitely getting turned on, you could tell by the restless way his hips shifted under your thigh. Yet he dutifully kept his composure for the sake of letting you vent. Boyfriend material, your mind immediately supplied. Good thing he already was exactly that.
“Really?”
“Yeah. I really do.”
Theo’s fingers continued slowly tracing circles on your back. The movements were deliberate, soothing, letting you relax further into his touch and honestly, turning you into a bit of a puddle—both figuratively and literally. Your own hips moved involuntarily against Theo’s thigh, the dampening spot between your legs rubbing against the fabric stuck between you—his sweats and your pyjama shorts. Theo’s exhale was rougher this time, and yet he kept to himself for now.
“I can talk to them,” he offered quietly. “If it bothers you so much, I’ll tell them to knock it off. Okay?”
You let out a breath, an invisible knot in your chest unraveling. It was a comforting thought, to know that your boyfriend took your concerns seriously and was on your side, not even thinking to blame you for the shit your friends were saying.
“I’m good, babe. But I’ll keep this in mind.”
You shifted up the bed to place a tiny kiss on his cheek.
“Thanks,” you murmured, and it finally sounded easy. Theo must’ve felt the shift in your body, your voice, your whole demeanor, because he mirrored it entirely. He turned to his side, your hips slotting against each other like perfectly fitting puzzle pieces, and it became painfully obvious just how aroused both of you were. You’d been suppressing the desire in favour of having the talk, but now that it was out of the way…
Love could run free.
Theo kissed you, your lips connecting softly at first, tentatively, as if he was feeling out the territory and the boundaries that he could potentially breach. Having met no resistance from your side, he deepened the kiss, one hand still resting lightly on your back as the other one cupped your jaw. It didn’t go lower yet, his thumb rubbing your skin to uncoil the last remaining traces of tension, but you knew he was barely holding back. You could feel his cock harden even more where it rested between your thighs, and you couldn’t help a slow roll against it.
“Cazzo,” he breathed into your mouth as he twitched in response, hips grinding leisurely into yours, though he was far from lazy. “You want that, yeah?”
Even though your damp shorts were enough of a proof, you still nodded, lips brushing his because you simply couldn’t pull away. “Yeah, I do. Really do.”
Theo didn’t need any more words. His hand left your face and skimmed over your side, your waist, then hip, and dipped into your shorts at last. His fingers found your folds, long slick with arousal, and circled your clit—something he never had trouble finding. Your breathless moan into his mouth made his cock twitch again, but it wasn’t his focus at the moment.
“I love how wet you get for me.” His voice was hoarse, raspy—it got like that whenever he was in the mood, and it made you that much hornier in return. “Means I’m doing it right, yeah?”
“Yeah,” you breathed back, grinding against his hand. Your impatience was showing, and he didn’t make you wait any longer—two fingers easily slipped into your entrance at once, squelching sounds filling the quiet of the dorm as Theo started moving them inside you.
Your lips stayed sealed together as he fingered you open, curling and pressing all the right spots he had come to know over the still-short period of your relationship. He took his time preparing you even though he could tell you were already hungry for his cock—he’d never risk hurting you if he could prevent it. But eventually his own desire started taking over as well—of course it did when he had his girl dripping all over his hand and rubbing her thigh against his aching erection over and over again.
Placing one last kiss on your swollen lips, Theo turned you onto your back, straightening up on his knees between yours.
“You ready?” he asked a little raggedly, palming himself through his sweatpants as he looked down at the perfect picture—you spread out before him, panting with arousal, hands already tugging at your shorts to get rid of them as soon as possible.
“Always. For you, always.”
When he pulled his pants down just enough to free himself, you couldn’t help it—you stared it his cock as if it was the first time you’d seen it. He was big, you realized once again—not that you hadn’t before, but it felt like the thought hit you with renewed force. Long and thick, flushed red, as if Theo’s entire blood flow rushed straight down there; pulsing veins running up the shaft and ending at the glistening tip. He was already leaking generously, and each drop of precum dripping down to his taut balls made you want to lick them all up and slurp. But now wasn’t the time. Theo was set on pleasuring you tonight.
“You like it, huh?” he murmured, lowering onto his forearms to hover just above you. “Like when my cock’s hard just for you, amore?”
The answer could never be anything other than a ‘yes’ moaned against his lips when he finally sank into you—slowly, carefully at first, until he was fully sheathed inside your clenching pussy. His cock throbbed insistently as he tried to give you time to adjust, groaning quietly into your mouth when he felt your warm walls gripping him just the right way.
“You’re gonna milk me dry, love.” Theo chuckled tensely, at this point unsure if he was going to last as long as he’d want to. But when you whimpered, rolling your hips against his to urge him to move, his tight self-control snapped in half, like a thread thinned out by the burning flame of your need.
His thrusts weren’t fast, but they were deep—oh fuck, were they. Each one seemed to hit a new spot inside you, echoing intensely up your spine, in your belly, everywhere he could possibly reach. Theo couldn’t keep his eyes fixed on anything in particular—they drifted over your blissed out face, then down to where your bodies connected, watching his cock slide smoothly in and out of your cunt, sweat-slick skin slapping against each other again and again. But when he saw it—the bulge in your lower stomach that appeared and disappeared every time his felt his tip grind against your cervix—his vision nearly blurred. How come he’d never noticed it before?
It was the hottest sight he had ever had the honour to witness.
“You feel me? Right here,” he rasped out, one hand resting at that perfect spot where your belly rose and fell in time with his movements. You nodded, your shut eyes opening just enough to see exactly what he was talking about—his cock making your flesh shift, the act itself like a claim on you he hadn’t intended to lay.
“So fucking big,” you breathed out, nails scratching Theo’s back harder when his thrusts grew sloppier, faster.
“And all yours,” he whispered, his lips colliding with yours in a heated kiss once more. “This cock’s all yours, amore. Doesn’t fucking matter what people say, yeah? You know you own it all.”
And when you came shamelessly all over that cock a few intense, mind-numbing seconds later, a brief thought flickered through your fucked out mind—you owned Theodore Nott’s cock, and you’d lie if you weren’t awfully, terrifically jealous of yourself.
Hey - tell me what you want me to say. You know I’m Stupid For You.
I’ll take what I can get.
The best is hard to grip when everybody wants you, and everybody wants you.
Summary:
Stiles tried to return your panties - he really did.
But he still has the contraband in his possession, and he accidentally drops the underwear in the locker room in front of the entire lacrosse team. To cover up the fact that he stole them, he lies and says that he got them from you after a hook-up. And surprisingly - you back up his story?
Only with the promise that he helps you turn his lie into the truth.
Virgin!Stiles Stilinski x Best Friend!Fem!Reader. Best Friends to Lovers. Smut/PWP.
Word Count: 11,900
Teen Wolf Masterlist | AO3 Link
Before you read this fic, be sure to read BRAINWASHED. This fic can be read as a standalone, but you get more Stiles goodness by reading both, and the context of this one will make more sense if you read the other fic first.
Full list of warnings and author's notes below the cut.
Warnings: the reader uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina; this fic DOES use Y/N; as with the previous fic - the reader is implied to be fat/plus-sized; also again - for argument's sake, even though the character's in this fic are in high school, everyone is at least 18 (and the fic was inspired by a 20 something actor, so imagine the characters to be whatever age you want); mentions of panty stealing (carried over from the previous fic - Stiles stole a pair of the reader's panties in that fic and still has them in his possession); mentions of Stiles masturbating, but not described in detail like last time; mentions of Stiles having sexual fantasies about the reader; the rest of the lacrosse team finds Stiles with the panties and mocks him for it - they mock him for potentially having the panties to wear them and call him a 'cross-dresser', so I guess the warning here is transphobia and transphobic ideas (which would be very typical of high school boys, especially around the time this show was made in 2011); mentions of other members of the lacrosse team finding the reader sexually attractive (it is implied that the reader is generally known as a hot, attractive girl); mention of the reader wearing a 'slutty' Halloween costume to a party (Stiles has a picture of it that he 'loves'); for the actual smut section - the reader is dominant and Stiles is submissive; size kink - Stiles likes being manhandled by the reader because he is thin and skinny; the reader imposes rules on Stiles as a dom and he follows them, but there is no safeword implemented or needed (as the writer, I say they don't need one because they will never be put in danger of using one) (because they are fictional characters and their hard 'nos' will never come into play and only things they want will happen); orgasm restriction - Stiles has to ask the reader in order for permission before cumming; bondage - the reader uses a scarf to tie Stiles's wrists to the bed; the reader gives Stiles a handjob; lots of dirty talk; orgasm denial/edging (towards Stiles); the reader calls Stiles: needy boy, good boy, babe, baby, sweetheart; undertones of humiliation kink; undertones of pain kink (nothing severe, but Stiles does like a bit of pain); begging (from Stiles, a lot); protected penis in vagina sex (they DO use a condom this time) (different, I know); Stiles sucks on the reader's tits; Stiles eats the reader's pussy; thigh riding - Stiles grinds against the reader's thigh to cum; praise kink - towards Stiles; the reader calls Stiles 'pretty'; undertones of dumbification kink; I believe that is finally it. I hope you all enjoy!!
A/N: So, I have some mixed feelings about releasing this fic. Currently, I am only rushing to edit and release it in order to get it off my plate, and I want to do so before the end of the year. I wrote this during the hiatus, when I was writing fics without editing them and I really enjoyed getting to write a fic and go onto the sequel without having to stop and think too much about it. But to me, the first fic feels naturally complete. And so I didn't really like people nagging and continually asking for a sequel to the other fic as if it's not a complete fic on its own. It's only recently that I found a way to put it into words. Whenever I release a fic and people only care about seeing a sequel or a second part (especially if it's a oneshot with an intentional ending and people ask for a sequel like it's something so urgent), it makes me feel like that fic is not good enough because people view that fic as incomplete on its own. I know people think it's a compliment or flattering to ask for a sequel, but to me, if you like my writing, ask for me to write more for those same characters or in that same fandom - but if you are constantly asking for a sequel to a specific fic, it makes me think that you think that fic is not good and it needs to be completed in some way. But anyway - I tried to remember why I had fun writing this fic in the first place, and if anybody starts asking for a 'part three', I will start swinging. (THERE WILL NOT BE A PART THREE.) Also, when I originally wrote this, I was watching Season 1 and I had not met Isaac yet, so for my own fun, as my own special treat, I added Isaac to the locker room scene. Because he is my baby. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the fic!
...
A week later, Stiles still had not returned the stolen panties to you.
It was something that he kept meaning to do. Honestly, he really did.
But he just never got the chance to.
Somehow, in that entire week, he had never been left alone in your room. Not for long enough to actually figure out what to do with the stolen goods. Should he leave them in your hamper and let you find them in the laundry? Should he slip them back into your drawer like nothing had happened since, technically, they were clean? He always ended up panicking and shoving them back into his bag whenever he heard you coming back down the hall.
On other nights when the two of you had been studying together, it had been at his place instead of yours. And any time he had gone over to your house, you had been with him pretty much the whole time.
And okay - maybe that wasn’t entirely true. Maybe you had taken bathroom breaks or left the room for a while because your mom wanted to talk to you. Or you ran downstairs to grab a pizza that you had ordered to share with him - but every time he opened his backpack to grab the panties in order to put them back, he felt some insane thing inside his head telling him that he just couldn’t do it. Part of him thought that it was fear over getting caught - the idea that you would walk back into the room just in time to see him with the evidence in hand.
But deep down, he knew it was a possessiveness. The idea that these panties were now his. They belonged to him now and he didn’t want to put them back. Those panties were his prize - his special, secret little part of you. And he couldn’t give that up. Not yet.
He hadn’t jacked off with them since that first time. Well, he hadn’t specifically put them around his cock and made a mess of them in the same way. But he held them in a clean hand and enjoyed the texture of the lace, enjoyed the thought of you wearing them - while he used his other lubed hand to make himself cum. And he had done that every single night, sometimes twice, since he had taken them. It was becoming a bit of a worrying habit.
He was wondering if you had noticed them gone yet.
Maybe, when he finally did get rid of them, he wouldn’t return them back to you - he would have to burn them or something, just to get rid of the evidence. And then he would have to go on believing that you either hadn’t noticed the specific pair gone or you went on thinking that you had simply just lost them.
But he couldn’t dwell on that for too long - because he did actually have other things to do besides viciously jerking off to thoughts about you. Even though that activity alone took up way too much of his time these days. Surprisingly, he was doing a lot better in his classes thanks to studying with you (he actually managed to retain a lot more of the material when you explained it to him), and he had just made First Line of the lacrosse team due to a horrible outbreak of pink eye. So things in his life were really looking up.
The team funneled into the locker room, sweaty and tired after their practice, but personally - Stiles was glowing.
He felt like he had done particularly well that day, and you had shown up to watch his practice. Even if Coach kept getting his name wrong and you had almost stormed into the middle of the field to scream at him about it. Overall, it was a good day. And he had a study date with you planned after this, so he had nothing but excitement brewing in his stomach at the idea of getting to spend more time with you.
But then - it happened.
He had almost completely forgotten that the contraband stolen panties were even in his bag. The item had become such a normal part of his life now that he hadn’t even considered what might happen if someone else found them on his person. So he thought nothing of putting his bag on the bench in the middle of the room and rooting through it, wide open, looking for the fresh clothes he had brought with him. (Of course, the only reason he had even brought fresh clothes was because he knew he would be hanging out with you later, and he wanted to avoid another Mustard Stain Incident.)
When he took out these fresh clothes and began dressing (fresh out of the showers, of course) - it was just a tiny blur in the corner of his eye. Just a little streak of purple falling to the floor. As he put his second foot into his jeans, he spotted them, right there, sitting in the middle of the locker room floor - and his heart stopped.
Naturally - someone else spotted them too.
And just as Stiles raced to pick them up, another hand snatched them out from under him.
“Woah, Stiles.” Danny’s voice chuckled, rising back to his full height. “Are these yours?”
Mockery was dripping in every inch of his words, and Stiles’s heart raced. He rushed to pull his pants up, not yet fastening his zipper, and he glared at Danny, entirely lost for words. He moved to snatch the purple lace panties where Danny was dangling them off one finger, partly disgusted, partly amused.
Naturally, Danny dodged the move, still looking at Stiles with mockery written all over his face.
“Ya know, this really isn’t your color - red would look much better on you.” Danny smirked.
Wait - he thought that Stiles had them because he had been wearing them?
This comment easily caught Jackson’s attention, who slammed his locker door shut and moved to see what his friend was talking about.
“Oh my god,” He chuckled, looking at the item in Danny’s hand and then back to Stiles, amusement spreading into a horrible grin across his face. “You’re a cross-dresser! This is too good. I always knew you were a freak, but this just brings it to a whole new level.”
Jackson’s loud voice caught the attention of the entire team, who all craned their necks to see what he spoke of - including Scott, who practically ran around the corner with his hair still soaking wet and some suds dripping off him, a towel hastily wrapped around his waist as he raced to see what Jackson meant.
“What?” Scott balked, looking at Stiles entirely confused.
“Look, they’re not mine!”
Stiles barked, panic setting in as he realized how fast the rumor would spread. It would be incredibly juicy gossip, if it were true (and most people didn’t care if gossip was true or not, which would make it spread even faster) - so he rushed to stamp it out before that could happen.
“They belong to Y/N!”
With this harsh declaration, he reached out and snatched them back, and Danny was too shocked by these words to move away this time.
The room fell deadly silent, save for the distant hum of the shower that Scott had left running in his haste to watch the confrontation unfold. Everyone was staring at Stiles unabashedly now, very clearly shocked by his words.
Fuck.
Stiles’s heartbeat ramped up again. He had been so quick to try and exonerate himself that he had walked into a whole new problem:
Now everyone on the team would find out that he was a panty-stealing pervert. And he wasn’t sure which reputation was worse: that, or being assumed to be a secret cross-dresser.
“Seriously?” Isaac asked, being the first one to speak up and break the silence. “Because if you of all people managed to hit that,” He let out a low whistle, let a train blowing out a hoot of steam. “I admire you. She is so fucking hot. Normally she doesn’t give guys at this school the time of day. How did you-?”
“No, no fucking way, they’re not hers.” Jackson scoffed, cutting off Isaac’s congratulatory words, immediately in disbelief. His natural instinct was to think that Stiles would never be able to get with someone as hot as you. “She’s a ten and you’re a solid three. Maybe. In the dark. With a bag on your head. That so did not happen.”
Stiles frowned at the insult, but he was relieved that nobody suspected that he had stolen the underwear. Nobody had seen through him to the much more likely truth.
“Come on, he’s like a four.” Danny added on. “He could easily be a seven if he changed his hair.”
Feeling suddenly self conscious, Stiles put a hand up to his head - and felt entirely confused about where this conversation was going.
“You’re getting off topic,” Scott piped up, looking between Danny and Stiles, his face nothing but pure confusion. “You’re telling us that you finally, actually went for it?”
He was shocked that you and Stiles had gotten together without him knowing it. And he was slightly disappointed that his best friend had gotten some action with his long-time crush without telling him about it.
“Yeah, come on - give us some details.” Isaac added on with a grin.
“Yes, yes I did! I finally went for it.” Stiles replied, mocking confidence, puffing out his chest. “Y/N and I hooked up in my Jeep last week. And these are hers,” He added on, proudly holding up the underwear as his prize.
If he was going to screw himself with a lie, he might as well make it a big one.
“Really?” Jackson posed, clearly still not believing him. “So - how did it go down? Did you get to second base? Third?”
“Uh… remind me of the bases again?” Stiles muttered.
Isaac rolled his eyes, and Scott looked as though he was making calculations in his head.
“What was it - handjob? Blowie? Did you finger her? When did you get those?” Jackson persisted. “Is she a screamer?”
Stiles’s gut twisted. So he was going to need details for his fake story.
“You are so utterly barbaric.” Danny muttered, turning back to his locker, clearly tuning out of the conversation now that it had gotten too ‘straight’ for him.
“Gross!” Scott disrupted Stiles’s internal panic with a face of twisted disgust. “Can we not talk about one of my best friends like this? Please?”
“Jesus, Scott, don’t ruin this for me,” Isaac whined, rolling his eyes.
“Yeah, McCall, shut it.” Jackson grunted, dismissing him. “I just wanna know if Stiles here is lying.”
Scott simply rolled his eyes and retreated back to the shower. He was someone who truly believed Stiles at his word. Even if he had never smelled the pheromones of sex on him, he guessed that ‘hooked up’ meant something else to Stiles.
Stiles hated that this left him alone with several pairs of eyes dissecting him - the guys on the team who were perverted and gossipy enough to want to know the details of his hook-up with you.
“Well - I’m not lying.” Stiles hissed through his teeth. “She - we. Well - we made-out in the backseat. And then - she - she rode my dick. Hard.” He said, knowing that his tone didn’t sound the most confident. But he supposedly had proof right there in the form of your underwear.
“Hmm, really?” Jackson replied, still not convinced. “You know what? Why don’t we just go and ask Y/N about this whole thing? She and Lydia are waiting outside, aren’t they?”
Oh fuck.
Stiles was screwed. So, so screwed.
His stomach rose up into his throat and he couldn’t get words out, couldn’t scream out ‘no’, couldn’t do anything to stop Jackson (who was fully dressed and ready) as he snatched the underwear out of Stiles’s hand and marched out into the hallway. All Stiles could do was rush out into the hallway in pursuit, following Jackson and the group of gawking looky-loos that had followed who now seemed very interested in this piece of drama.
Stiles didn’t even have time to pay attention to the fact that he wasn’t yet dressed himself - he didn’t have a shirt or shoes on and his pants weren’t even fastened. He couldn’t bring himself to mind because he was about to be outed as a thief and a pervert, and likely about to be violently jumped by the entire team for it.
He wished that he still had his lacrosse pads on.
You and Lydia were standing against a couple of random lockers, chatting idly, and you both looked utterly confused by the mob approaching. Lydia looked even more confused (with a hint of disgust) when she saw that Stiles was still half naked, and if Stiles wasn’t flooded with panic, he might have noticed you raking your eyes over his torso with a certain hunger and then licking your lips.
“Hey, Y/N,” Jackson smiled at you trying to be charming. “These fell out of-” He held up the underwear to show you, and you immediately frowned.
“Ew! Why do you have them?” You cut him off, snatching them back before he could finish his sentence.
“Are those your underwear?” Lydia asked, looking between you and Jackson with anger brewing. “Jackson, why do you have another girl’s underwear?” She ground out sharply.
“Well, as I was saying,” He said, clearly annoyed. “Those fell out of Stiles’s backpack. And he claims that he only has them because he hooked up with you, Y/N,”
You and Lydia both looked at Stiles - you, with a certain content glow in your eyes, and Lydia, glaring at him while her lips curled in unhidden disgust. Jackson stood there with a smirk, as though waiting to be right, and there was a moment where nobody spoke that Stiles swore his heart swelled up and climbed out of his throat.
Then, you let out a soft laugh and said:
“Yeah. We did. Why is this such big news?”
Jackson glared at you and Lydia’s expression of disgust became even more prominent. Stiles became dizzy with shock and he hoped that nobody noticed the way his chest flexed as he let out a breath of relief.
Thank God - you were covering for him.
Wait. Why were you covering for him?
“He and I have been hooking up for months now. We didn’t want to parade it around the school as gossip and I made him promise that I wouldn’t become locker room talk,” You stressed these words, giving him a small glare.
Behind Jackson, Isaac’s face became painted with guilt.
“But it’s true.” You said, giving Stiles an oddly sultry look. He knew he was standing there with his mouth stupidly agape, but he just couldn’t find it in him to close his mouth. “The last time we hooked up, I gave him these panties in case he got lonely on nights I can’t visit.”
You reached out, running a single finger along his bare torso from sternum right to the waistband of his underwear where they were sticking out of his jeans - and yup, his dick was definitely ballooning to life now.
“I didn’t intend for everybody on the lacrosse team to put their grubby hands all over them.” You said this sharply, glaring at Jackson now.
He simply rolled his eyes in reply. Clearly, he hated the idea that he had been wrong, and he was pouting in silence now.
“Okay, this has been sufficiently gross.” Lydia announced, effectively ending the conversation. “Jackson, can you go get your stuff so we can leave? We have dinner with my mom at five, and-”
“Yeah, yeah.” Jackson sighed, rolling his eyes again.
“Stiles, you better hurry up too.” You told him. “I need to get that bra I left in the back of your Jeep.”
And then - much to his shock, you leaned in and laid a kiss right on his lips. Firm, but fast. Laying a claim on him right in front of everyone. Owning up to the story materially as much as you had with your words.
If it hadn’t been for Jackson slapping him on the shoulder, Stiles would have been frozen with shock long after you pulled away. But then, he was on autopilot, walking back to the locker room with Jackson and the other onlookers who were whispering in hushed tones about him ‘banging such a hot girl’.
“I gotta tell you, Stilinski, I did not think that you had it in you.” Jackson told him, this being a compliment coming from him. “But I guess somehow, you ended up with a ten.”
“I definitely want more details later.” Isaac told him in a low whisper before he returned back to his own locker.
Somehow - Stiles had come out on top in this situation.
In the hallway behind them, Lydia sighed and locked you in a judgemental gaze.
“Really? Stiles?” She asked, harshness seeping through her voice.
“What?” You shrugged. “He’s cute.”
Lydia waited for further explanation, and you folded.
“...And he’s easy to boss around. I like it when he gets flustered from simple instructions, but then does it anyway.”
“Oh.” Lydia nodded. “So it’s a kink thing.”
You laughed, shaking your head. You couldn’t entirely disagree with her.
…
It wasn’t until Stiles was nearly finished dressing, sitting on the bench tying his shoes that it truly hit him:
He was still utterly screwed.
Even if the guys on the team thought he was some high school hero for somehow managing to get into your pants (some of them high-fiving him and patting him on the shoulder in congratulations before they left the locker room). And even if, for some bizarre reason, you had chosen to cover for him in front of everyone (he put that on you being a loyal best friend and quite literally not wanting to air your dirty laundry in front of everyone) - you still knew the truth. You and Stiles might be the only people who knew, but both of you still knew the truth.
For a minute there, he had been deluded enough to start believing his own bullshit story. But it was still complete bullshit.
There hadn’t been some heat of the moment romp in the back of his Jeep that resulted in you naked for him, losing your underwear or giving them to him as a reward. He was still a pathetic virgin who had stolen them and had no right to have them in the first place. He still had to face you, likely knowing that this was the end of your friendship, because you were the only person who knew about the horrible thing that he had done.
Stiles dreaded facing you, but he knew that he couldn’t hide out in the locker room forever. So he grabbed his gear and he braved his way into the parking lot, where you were now waiting by the Jeep since Lydia had left with Jackson. You were distracted, looking at something on your phone, and Stiles savored the few moments he had left to admire your beauty before you would declare that you hated him forever and never speak to him again.
In all honesty, Stiles expected you to slap him, yell at him, and then leave. He expected you to, at the very least, tell him that the friendship was over and that he should never talk to you again.
He was entirely surprised when he approached you and nothing of that nature happened.
Instead, you gave him a cold, uninterested look before you said:
“Door.”
In the most deadpan voice ever, while motioning to the passenger’s side door - oh, of course. Obviously meaning for him to open the door for you.
It was something he usually did upon instinct anyway (always bending over backwards to impress you) but today, the intense dread hanging over his head had caused him to forget.
He rushed to get the door for you and you climbed into the passenger’s seat as you usually did, still not yet speaking to him. So then he busied himself with putting his gear in the back, still feeling anxiety curl in his gut at the conversation that would inevitably take place during the ride home. At least you still felt okay with riding with him. Perhaps the friendship wasn’t entirely ruined after all.
He climbed into the driver’s seat and began fumbling with his keys in nervous, shaky hands, not yet ready to look you in the eye. You were staring at yourself in the flip-down mirror, fixing your hair, wiping off some lip gloss that had smeared. Usually this would be a moment he would absolutely drink in, loving to stare at you while you did such menial tasks. But today, after being caught doing such a horrible thing, he was absolutely drenched in guilt and he just couldn’t bring himself to face you.
The two of you simmered in the silence for a few moments. He was waiting for you to bring it up - for you to scream, yell, hit him, do something.
He was surprised by what came next.
“You said your dad isn’t gonna be home tonight, right?” You posed, still looking in the mirror rather than at him.
It was what he had told you at lunch, inviting you over to watch some horror movies that you had been bugging him to see.
He had guessed those plans would be canceled, hinging on what had just happened.
“Uh, yeah.” He said, confirming it once again. “He’s working the night shift.”
“Good. We’ll go to your place then.”
You thought he would start to drive at this confirmation, but he was still unsettled by anxiety. He was still waiting for you to acknowledge it, at least.
“Ugh, okay… are you gonna yell at me?” He burst out, knowing that it was incredibly stupid, asking to be yelled at, but he truly didn’t know what else to do at this point. You gave him a strange look, almost confused, and ran his hands over his face in frustration. “Come on! We both know what happened!”
“Stiles, my, my… what are you talking about?”
Your voice was dripping with sarcasm and your eyes were filled with determined mischief, and he knew then and there - you wanted him to say it. You wanted him to blatantly confirm in his own words what he had done.
Stiles let out a harsh sigh, leaning his head down and accidentally bumping his forehead against the steering wheel in a way that made the horn dully beep, the knot growing larger and tighter in his gut.
“Come on, you know…”
He trailed off, hoping that you wouldn’t actually force him to say it. He sat upright again, and you continued to look at him expectantly, patiently, and he swallowed around the terrible dryness in his throat before he forced himself to say it.
“I - I stole your underwear and kept them in my bag.”
You both knew that he was leaving out the part where he had masturbated with them. Even if you had no proof of that, it was starkly obvious to you.
But you decided not to push him about that detail. (For now.)
“Oh. That.” You said, continuing to sound utterly sarcastic in your cluelessness.
Then your tone switched to something oddly genuine as you said something he never would have expected.
“I’ve been waiting for like a week to see if you even had them. I kind of thought I was going crazy. I thought maybe my cat stole them because you weren’t fessing up and you didn’t try to bring them back,” You sighed. “I was worried my whole plan failed.”
Something inside of Stiles snapped, and he thought it was the last branch on his tree of his sanity. He chose not to worry about it for now.
“Y - your plan?” He stuttered out, barely grasping at the reality of what you had meant.
You had wanted him to find your underwear? You wanted him to take them? You wanted him to-?
You let out a bright, amused laugh.
“Yes, dummy!” You said, reaching up and poking the side of his head while he stared at you in utter shock. “I left the panties there for you to take. You’re cute, but god - you’re really dense sometimes.” You let out a sigh. “Now drive, please. As long as the blood currently trapped in your dick isn’t gonna distract you too much.”
He hated that he got a sick thrill from you mocking him and calling him ‘cute, but dense’. But he was glad that he was used to driving with boners that you had given him, because it didn’t distract him too horribly. Thoughts of what would happen when the two of you got there had him running a few stops signs, though.
…
Stiles still wasn’t entirely sure how the heinous crime of stealing your panties had gotten him into this glorious position, but with the way things were going, he no longer cared to question it.
The minute that the two of you got through his bedroom door, you grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him into a bruising kiss. He struggled to keep up, clumsy but entirely excited against the movement of your mouth, wondering if he had somehow gotten sucked into another heated daydream.
But no, that couldn’t be true - because this was so much fucking better.
The smell of your perfume in his nose, the little puffing breaths you let out against his cheek, the little moans that emanated from your throat. And holy hell, the feeling of your tongue shoving past his lips that caused him to let out a pathetic moan of his own as you seemed determined to filthily fuck his mouth with it.
You were a lot more aggressive in real life than you were in his dreams.
But he fucking loved it. He loved it so much.
His cock was already throbbing in his pants, likely staining his boxers with copious amounts of precum as you walked him back toward the bed. You then used the hand you had in the middle of his chest to shove him roughly back onto it.
“Oh my god.”
He squeaked out the words at the feeling of being manhandled by you - given, he knew he didn’t weigh that much and he had made no effort to put up a fight, but it was still hot to know that you could shove him around so easily. Which was something he would have to mentally unpack with himself later. But for now, he would simply just enjoy it.
While his dick continued to ache harder, he looked up at you in awe. You were standing at the foot of the bed with your lip gloss smeared, your chest heaving slightly with a wicked grin on your face. Stiles had never seen a more beautiful predator in all his life. The look in your eyes told him that he was about to be absolutely devoured by you - and he couldn’t fucking wait.
“Y/N, please-” He was about to begin begging, but you cut him off sharply.
“Shut up.” You barked, and he felt a beautiful wave of hormones crash over his body at this. You were much more aggressive than in his dreams. It was so perfect. “No more talking now.”
You put a knee on the bed between where his thighs had naturally draped open and you leaned over his body, crowding tightly into his personal space. He hoped that the needy whine he couldn’t contain as you raked your nails across his scalp wouldn’t count as ‘talking’. He was desperate to follow your rules - so desperate to be a good boy for you.
“You will do everything I tell you to.” You whispered against his lips, and he nearly began shaking as he resisted the urge to close the gap and kiss you again. “Unless you want me to tell all the boys on the team that you’re actually a filthy perv who stole my panties?”
“Y-” He nearly gave a verbal confirmation of this, but then he remembered what you had said.
No more talking.
Instead, quickly picking up on following the rules, Stiles nodded his head aggressively.
“From now on, you do not look at any other girl, you do not touch any other girl, you belong to me - do you understand?”
He had no clue what ‘other girls’ you thought he might possibly be touching, or even talking to in a non-platonic way, but he got another tight thrill at being claimed as yours. He wanted so badly to be yours - to be your good boy.
He nodded aggressively again - his tongue lolling out of his mouth, slick with want, practically drooling down his chin like a dog at this point, his eyes staring at you with a hypnotized kind of need.
“When we are having sex, you do not speak unless prompted, you do not cum unless I give you permission, and from now on - you do not touch yourself unless I tell you to.”
His cock throbbed weakly in protest at this. He swallowed thickly, his throat straining with complaints about your words. He knew it would be difficult to go from jerking off every morning and every night to likely not at all, but fuck - you, on top of him, you wanting to have sex with him - it was more than a fair price to pay.
If someone had told him a week ago that he would be in this position, he would have given up anything for it.
So naturally, he nodded again.
“Do you understand?”
He stayed silent, believing that he was following your rules.
“Tell me that you understand.”
“I understand.” Stiles breathed out in a rush, nodding again.
“Good. Now take off your clothes.”
You got off the bed again and he was momentarily distracted by watching you shuffle through your bag for something, but then he remembered the instruction. You wanted him to take off his clothes. You actually wanted to touch him.
Stiles rushed to strip and he didn’t have time to be self conscious before you were kissing him again, drowning him in hot, open-mouthed kisses as he stepped out of his underwear and jeans where they were pooled around his ankles. You pushed him onto the bed again and this time followed him, straddling his waist while still fully clothed yourself. Wearing the shirt, skirt, and tights you had worn to school that day, making for an odd sensation as the fabric covering your hot cunt rubbed against his now bare, very hard dick.
He didn’t think anything of it when you grabbed his hands and brought them above his head - but then there was fabric encircling his wrists, and he pulled himself away from your mouth to blink up dumbly, wondering what you were doing.
You had gotten a scarf out of your bag, and you were tying him to the bedpost.
“Remember what I said?” You grinned at him, tying a knot that was surprisingly secure. “Good boys get rewards, and bad boys get spanked.”
He tugged experimentally on the hold, and it was pretty firm. Not tight enough to cut off his circulation - but he definitely didn’t see himself getting out of it without help.
His stomach jumped as he wondered which you had deemed him as - good or bad. Especially because he was now tied up, completely at your mercy. He was splayed out on his back, so this wouldn’t be an optimal position to spank him in. But theoretically, you would do whatever else you wanted to him. And that thought sent an odd tingle through his body, causing a wonderful jolt through his cock.
“I’m gonna give you a chance to earn a reward, Stiles.” You told him, delivering another messy kiss. “You gonna be a good boy for me?”
“Yes.” He answered eagerly. “Fuck, yes - I wanna be good for you.”
You grinned at this.
He was more than eager to see what you were gonna do next.
A sharp jolt of anxiety hit him when you sat up (leaning more of your weight on his cock, causing him to let out a pathetic moan) - he hated being separated from you already. He churned in anticipation as you took a moment to sit there and just admire him.
Stiles was so pretty, tied up for you, ready to be devoured - his honey eyes glossed over with need and anticipation, his lips bitten pink and slightly swollen, parted in that beautifully dumb way as he heaved out shallow, desperate breaths. Yes, he was skinny - even playing lacrosse hadn’t managed to put much muscle tone on his body, but you did find a certain appeal in his lithe, thin form. You gained a certain thrill from knowing that you could so easily man-handle him, toss him down, and he really wasn’t strong enough to put up much of a fight in return.
His cock, leaking frantically between your legs - was beautiful in its own way. A healthy six inches and nicely thick, his pubes dark, thick and untrimmed. Unkept because he definitely hadn’t been expecting anyone to see him without clothes anytime soon. Charming, in a sense.
Just as Stiles was feeling smothered by the anticipation, by the heated gaze of your eyes running up and down his body, you then leaned to look in his bedside drawer. He wanted to scream for you not to do it, but he had a feeling that it would be breaking your rules; that it would be a ‘bad boy’ thing to do. And that would run the risk of you not touching him at all.
You let out a laugh when you saw what was in the drawer.
“You know, somehow I’m not surprised that this is almost empty.” You told him, bringing out the dwindling bottle of lube and placing it beside him. “You must like it really wet, huh?”
The words were absolutely filthy coming off your lips, intentionally so on your part, but it sounded like a rhetorical question. He swallowed a whimper, but said nothing.
“And this,” You picked up one of the many pictures he had of you in the drawer - one of you in your Halloween costume from last year. Lydia had dared you to wear something ‘slutty’, and you had shown up to her Halloween party in a black leather bra, a leather mini skirt, leather boots, and a pair of cat ears. Stiles had spent most of that night in the bathroom. “I have to say, I’m flattered.”
You have another bright giggle before you put the picture back and then closed the drawer.
“So - you think about me a lot, do you, Stiles?” You asked, scooting back on his thighs until you were sitting on his knees.
Not a rhetorical question.
He swallowed thickly, gathering himself to answer.
“Yes.” He answered, his voice far too weak for his liking. “All the time.”
You hummed thoughtfully at this.
You reached to your waist, untucking your shirt from your skirt before you lifted it off completely over your head, revealing your blue lace bra to him. Dear god, you were so perfect. As you tossed your shirt off to the side, the bra strap slumped down your shoulder and he mourned over not having his hands free, wanting to gently lift it back up, or rip the whole thing off you, wanting to kiss along your shoulder-
“How often do you think about me?” You asked, reaching for the bottle of lube.
Stiles felt a wave of shyness splash up inside of his gut. But he knew that it was useless to deny the truth now. He had already been caught, over and over again. You wouldn’t mock him now if he just admitted it.
You cracked the top on the bottle, and the sound shook his insides - his dog-like mind so well trained to associate the sound with having his dick touched. He licked his lips, viciously trying to get his mouth to work in tandem with his brain. You had asked him to speak. He needed to speak. But that was growing more and more difficult while he stared down the ample cleavage coming out of your bra and shook with the anticipation of you about to touch his cock.
“Every day.” He whimpered out. “All the time, I-”
He let off a choked sound when you poured some lube into your hand and then finally, after years of him dreaming about it, you wrapped a loose, cool, wet grip around the base of his hard, leaking cock. His hips jumped up into your touch and he let out a choked sound from the back of his throat while you continued to look at him with an absolutely wicked grin.
“Stiles,” You said his name in a firm tone, reminding him that he was supposed to be giving you an answer.
“I can’t stop thinking about you!” He shouted, much louder than he had intended to. “All the time, I - I feel like I’m going insane. You’re too perfect, you’re too hot, I-I-I-”
“Hey, shh, baby.” You told him, running the other hand up his thigh in a way that made him gasp.
You used that loose grip on his dick and began jerking him off, spreading the lube across him in the most leisurely way possible. It was a dull pleasure, but one so perfect because it was delivered by you.
He had no clue how absolutely deliberate it was. But of course - everything you did with him was so deliberate, so well planned out to drive him entirely insane.
“How often do you jerk off?”
You asked, curiosity ripe within you as you imagined it: Stiles splayed out on this exact bed, pants around his ankles, his hand wet with lube and creating a sloppy blur on his cock as he jerked off as fast as possible, absolutely desperate to cum - his face twisted with pleasure, his thighs tensing, your name hot on his lips.
You really wanted to know the kind of things he imagined, what made his kinky little mind tick. You wanted to know just how desperate he was to steal your panties in the first place. Did he think that he could get away without you noticing them gone or was he just too horny to care?
You tightened your grip slightly, continuing to drag your hand up and down his dick in long, slow, deliberate strokes. You wanted him hard, throbbing, and desperate - even more so than he already was. You wanted him blinded with pleasure and begging.
“A lot.” He breathed back, bucking his hips up to meet your touch, clearly already needy for more.
You put a firm hand on his hip, pinning him to the bed. You tutted your tongue, scolding him.
“Come on, Stiles.” You said, your tone somewhere between mocking and scolding. “You can be more specific than that.”
You tightened your grip again, your hand now acting like a firm vice around his cock - something that made him moan deeply and close his eyes. You let him enjoy it for a few moments as you stroked him deeply, slowly - spreading the wetness over his cock in deep, pleasurably strokes. For the first time ever, delivering the pleasure of having a hand on his cock that wasn’t his own.
Already, intense pleasure was knotting up in his stomach. Already - he was getting close to cumming.
You could tell that from the way his breathing shallowed out, the way his stomach tensed.
You pulled your hand back completely, leaving him to let out a confused sound and pop his eyes open at top speed, craning his neck up to look at you with utter disappointment while you continued to grin at him.
“Tell me.” You instructed firmly. “How many times a week do you make yourself cum?” You continued your interrogation. When his face flashed with a streak of guilt, you changed the question. “How many times a day?”
Stiles took a sharp breath.
Again, he felt caught.
“Twice.” He said it quietly, before gathering his courage. “Twice - twice a day. Usually… once in the morning and once at night.”
You giggled. “Needy boy.”
He was rewarded with your touch back on his cock. He let out a deep, satisfied moan as you started jerking him off again, wet and smooth, a bit faster this time. It created a lovely wet noise and he let out another moan when he heard it.
“What do you think about when you touch yourself, Stiles?” You asked, your voice low and sultry - warm, inviting him to the possibilities.
Perhaps, if he told you about the things he thought about, his most private and guarded thoughts, then you might make them come true.
“You.” He moaned back almost instantly - trying to buck up into your touch again but being held down by you again. “I - I only think about you. I swear.”
You licked your lips.
It was something you loved to hear. But you yearned for more details.
“Cute.” You sighed. “As flattering as that is, babe, I want specifics.” You pressed. “Specific fantasies. Come on, you must have kinks,”
If he had to summarize it - his kink was you.
And it was growing increasingly difficult to think with your hand pumping on his cock.
“Your - your thighs!” Stiles blurted out frantically, saying the first thing that he thought of.
Even now, feeling the heavy, warm fat of your thighs spread across his knees, had his cock jumping in your hand - had him buzzing and dizzy all over. It was one of his favourite parts about you, something that made him hard if your thighs brushed against him when the two of you sat too close together on the couch during a movie night.
“Your thighs are so - so thick, and beautiful, and big, and-” He choked off into a moan when you moved your other hand to his balls, spreading some of the lube there and gently massaging them in a way that sent a jolt through his whole body, practically making him seize off the bed.
You let out a giggle.
“What else, baby?”
His cock was hot and pulsing in your hand, and you knew he was close again. But you wanted him to get right to the edge before you cut him off this time.
“I - I think about - about having your thighs wrapped around my head,”
He choked out, stuttering as he began humping into your touch, so desperate to cum. He had pretty much forgotten about your earlier rules by now, had forgotten about asking for permission, and he just needed to cum into your touch. He needed it so badly.
“I wanna eat you out so badly. I wanna taste you. I wanna eat your pussy. Please, please, please, please-!”
This visceral begging tipped you off to the orgasmic delirium he was tipping into, and you squeezed your touch sharply around the base of his cock to keep him from cumming, even going so far as to give his balls a light tap in punishment. He let out a bitter gasp as his orgasm was sharply cut off, the feeling drowned bitterly in his stomach. It left his muscles so tight and left him flailing against his binds for a moment, squirming chaotically underneath you.
“Bad boy.” You scolded him, your voice wicked and causing his dick to throb woefully in your unforgiving touch. “You didn’t ask if you could cum.”
You leaned down and bit one of his nipples - pure teeth, unforgiving, and it made him cry out in a gargle of his own spit as his head became even dizzier. He didn’t even have the mental capacity to question why he liked the sharp spike of pain so much, especially not when his balls were throbbing so terribly, and he needed to cum so fucking badly.
“Please?!” He cried out. “Please? Can I cum? I need it, I need-”
“Shh, baby.”
You hushed him again, taking your hand off his dick and leaving it to rest leaking against his stomach, running both your hands up his torso in a soothing touch as you leaned in and pressed a few sweet kisses on his open, whining mouth.
“I’ll give you a chance to be good. Is that what you want?”
“Please.” He replied, so desperate that he was on the verge of tears now. “I wanna be good for you, please.”
“I’m gonna ride your pretty cock now. And if you wait to cum until I tell you,” You pressed these words hard, making sure he paid attention to this part. “Then I’ll let you eat my pussy. Does that sound like a good reward?”
“Yes.” He replied, entirely breathy and excited. “Please, please. I’ll be good.”
“Oh, baby. I know you will.”
This spilled from your lips as an overly syrupy coo, and he couldn’t help but to yearn for more of that sound.
You got off him, then, and he let out an utterly disappointed sound - instantly missing your weight and the heat of you above him.
Stiles looked on with curiosity as you went back to your bag. His heart thumped with anticipation when you came back with a condom, and didn’t hesitate to open it and then roll it onto his still very stiff cock. (Just the few touches of you doing this had him warming with even more pleasure, and he worried that the touch of your pussy around him would cause him to cum instantly, disappointing you.)
Then, he watched in awe as you stripped off. Your skirt, tights, and underwear, giving him a pang of disappointment that you left your bra on. You did this with intention, though, slightly worried that the sight of your bare tits would cause him to blow it too early.
“Oh my god.” Stiles let out another whimper as you straddled him once again, putting a hand on his cock to line it up with your pussy.
Fuck, holy fuck - this was really happening. He was really about to fuck you. He was about to fuck your perfect pussy.
It was just as beautiful as he had imagined - covered in trimmed hair, which was glossy with your wetness. Fuck - he yearned to see that pussy spread out underneath him. He yearned to taste you. Even just feeling the heat coming off you as you lined up the tip, even through the condom - it was deadly.
He was not going to survive this.
He squeezed his eyes tight and held his breath, and you didn’t like that. You used your free hand to give him a light tap on the cheek - some small semblance of a slap, a grounding reminder that you were there, controlling him.
“Hey, come on. Look at me.”
Your words forced him to open his eyes, and he easily fell into a streak of obedience, eager to please you. His eyes snapped open and he looked right at you - absolutely enamored by your pretty face.
“Good boy.”
He let out another whimper at the praise.
Then, you finally lowered yourself down onto his cock, sinking down in one smooth movement until you were fully seated - tightly wrapped around his dick and resting against his bony pelvis.
He felt like the air had been punched out of him. That perfect, tight heat being wrapped around him - the wetness leaking out around his skin at the base of his dick, everything squeezing his cock like a vice, like you were made to fit him. It made him so dizzy, stole the air out of his lungs. It was all too perfect.
“Oh. Oh. Oh god-” He gasped out, squirming underneath you, already intensely overwhelmed by the pleasure.
You grabbed his jaw in one hand and held him still for another kiss, and he moaned hotly into your mouth, desperation growing inside of him.
You started slowly grinding your hips into his pelvis, wanting to warm him up gently. As you pulled away from the kiss, he was panting frantically against your mouth, already overwhelmed.
“Hey, shh.” You told him, smoothing your hands over his torso once again. “You gonna be good for me?”
“Yes.” He quickly moaned in return, nodding his head eagerly.
This was a side of Stiles that you had so quickly grown to love. You knew that you weren’t going to get enough of this - this beautiful soft obedience. Especially compared to usual sarcastic abrasiveness.
This was your good boy. And you were going to have such a good time training him, having him learn the rules. You were heavily looking forward to shutting down his future quips on a dime with a simple threat of keeping future orgasms from him.
You positioned your weight on your knees, then, and began lifting yourself off his cock halfway before you slammed your hips back down. You put your hands on either side of his head, between where his arms were stationed above him, still tangled up in the scarf and unable to move. After a moment, you built up a good, even pace - not quite gentle, but not entirely rough either.
You were taking it easy on him for his first time.
Stiles continued letting out shocked pants, sounding like a man drowning on dry land, hurriedly gasping for air. Soon, he began moaning as more wild pleasure was driven through his body from the feeling of your wet pussy gripping around his cock; from the feeling of you bouncing against his balls, from the sound of that perfect wet slap every single time you landed down on him.
It caused a terrible need to brew in his stomach, and he knew it wouldn’t be long now.
All too soon, he was going to cum.
“Please!” He moaned out, trying to buck his hips up to meet yours - his muscles shaking so terribly that he couldn’t keep up with your pace and ended up just jostling wildly underneath you. “Please, please!”
You grinned.
You knew that you wouldn’t cum from this, but you were deeply enjoying yourself anyway. Stiles looked so pretty - so pathetic and pretty - gritting his teeth to try and hold back his sounds (which wasn’t working at all), tears rimming his eyes, a few even slipping out, his face tinging a lovely shade of pink from the exertion and the pure arousal.
“Please ‘what’, baby?”
You pressed, a slight edge of mocking on your voice that punched another harsh wave of arousal through his gut. It took everything he had in those moments not to cum - to hold it back. To be good for you.
“Come on, sweetheart. You can say it. Just say the words-”
“Please lemme cum,” He whined out, the words practically turning into a slur on his lips - mirroring exactly the way he had been begging to a fictional you as he had pumped his cock while sitting on this very bed not too long ago. “Please, please, please Y/N, please-”
You leaned down to his ear then, whispering the words he so badly wanted to hear.
“Cum for me, Stiles.”
But this time it was so very real.
With your permission given, his brain fired off, finally allowing himself to let it go. He let out a guttural, almost non-human sound as he humped his hips off the bed in harsh, fast strokes while you fucked down onto him tightly, roughly grinding into him to allow him to get the most out of it. Wanting him to have the most pressure from your hot cunt in those moments while his eyes rolled back into his head and he released a thick load into the condom.
He was even pretty like this - his mouth wide open, his long lashes fluttering against his flushed cheeks, his chest heaving as he released a concert of beautiful, whorish sounds.
When his hips stopped and his noises dissolved off into a more gentle panting, you leaned down to kiss him again. He most definitely deserved it.
“Good boy.” You mumbled against his mouth, eager to praise him. “Such a good boy for me. You did so good.”
This caused another sound from him, and you simply smiled as he began to kiss you back, eager and sloppy, smearing spit across your cheek while you reached up and began untying the knot in the scarf you had secured him with.
“You want your reward now?” You asked him.
You couldn’t lie, your cunt was thrumming at the idea of him getting between your thighs. You wondered if he would be able to make you cum. He seemed eager to please and so far, he was good at following instructions, so you could probably tell him exactly what to do to get you off. Even if he couldn’t, you would certainly enjoy the view.
“Yes, yes, please.” He moaned against your cheek, that desperation thrashing back up inside of him. “Please, I’ve been good, please-”
“Yes, you have been.” You soothed him again. “Good boy.”
You released him from the binds and then finally got off him, allowing his softening cock to pop free from your pussy - something that caused him to loudly moan.
You took off the condom and tossed it into the waste basket that he had by his desk, the lube and cum seeping into the crumbled up, forgotten papers that he had there. When you came back to the bed, he was looking at you with wide, eager eyes, waiting for his next instruction. Such a good boy. You really loved how this was turning out.
“I’m gonna lay down, and then you can get between my legs. Okay, baby?”
He nodded eagerly again, and hopped off the bed to give you room, nearly tripping over his own feet in doing so.
You fluffed up his pillow and then laid down, spreading your legs wide, and when you looked back to him, he was tracing every single inch of your body with a wide-eyed gaze. His mouth was agape once again, absolutely not hiding the fact that he was absolutely lustful for you, becoming utterly distracted by the sight of you (almost completely) naked in his bed, laid out just for him.
“Stiles.” You called his name, garnering his attention once again. “Come on, baby.”
You held out an arm, signaling for him to come over, and he eagerly climbed into the bed between your thighs.
You thought for sure that he would make himself comfortable down between your thighs and get right to tasting you, as eagerly as he had begged for it before, but it was his turn to surprise you now.
“Please, can you-?” He cut himself off shyly, tracing a single finger along the cup of the bra that you still wore, the last scrap of clothing hiding your body from him. “Can you take it off?”
That sent a thrill through you. Rather than being demanding, he was still so trepidatious - wondering if he had tread too far by asking you to remove clothing, even after you had ridden his cock.
Still, you couldn’t help but to want to tease him - just a little bit more.
“You wanna see my tits?” You asked, running your hands up your body, teasing your fingers along the edges of the bra cups as if threatening to pull them down. “You wanna… play with my tits, Stiles?”
“Yes.” Stiles breathed out, entirely eager.
You could see his cock swelling back to life between his thighs already.
“Do you think you’ve been a good enough boy for that?” You questioned, lustful eagerness in your voice.
His answer would entirely dictate whether or not you took the bra off.
He swallowed thickly, still nervous, his eyes flickering between your cleavage and your own eyes, as if looking for a hint at the answer. He waited a careful moment, and then finally spoke.
“Yes.” He said, pausing for a moment as if waiting for you to argue the point before he continued. “Yes, please, I’ve been good.”
“Hmm…” You said, pretending to think. “Alright.”
You reached up behind you, unhooking your bra and tossing it away. When your naked breasts were finally revealed to him, his tongue lolled out of his mouth in an almost puppy-like way, his eyes nearly bulging out of his head as he stared hungrily at the roundness of your perfect flesh.
This time, he didn’t even ask you before he made his next move - entirely fueled by his own eagerness and desire, he swept down and sucked one of your nipples into his mouth. Instantly, he let out a loud moan around your tit that told you just how much he was enjoying this, something that had your pussy getting wetter as you saw the way his eyes drifted closed with bliss while he sloppily laved his tongue over your skin.
He was so fucking cute, so fucking pretty - so fucking perfect like this.
He continued like this for a few moments before he trailed a line of sloppy kisses to the other tit and began sucking on that one, feeling the need to give both beautiful girls equal attention. He licked his tongue across the skin in a fat trail that had you tingling, that had your cunt clenching. You were glad he was enjoying himself, but it was making the space between your thighs feel rather neglected.
“Stiles, baby,” You called out, starting to sound a bit breathy from need yourself. You raked your nails gently across his scalp again, causing him to let out another moan. “You said you were gonna eat my pussy, right? You don’t wanna disappoint me - do you, baby?”
He popped off your tit immediately.
“Not gonna disappoint you.” He said in a hurried tone, shaking his head.
You pulled him in for another kiss, and when you released him, he rushed down to get comfortable between your legs, which you spread even more, dropping your foot off the bed on one side to give him more room.
Your pussy was so gorgeous.
So much better than he had dreamed of - wet, gleaming, smeared in your own juices and slightly gaped from his cock. A sight that absolutely thrilled him - seeing exactly where he had been, knowing that he had fucked you, he had been inside of you.
The smell of your pretty cunt was something more unique than your sweat or perfume like he had originally thought. He leaned in eagerly and licked a fat, wide stripe from where you were fluttering and open all the way up to your mound, getting his first real taste of you - he let out a loud moan as it fully penetrated his senses, as everything that was you spread across his tongue for the first time.
You were so fucking perfect. You tasted so fucking perfect.
You let out a moan of your own when Stiles moaned against you again, the vibrations radiating through your sensitive core. This time, he latched into your clit, seemingly knowing that swollen bead was his ticket to success without you even having to tell him. He sucked harshly on it for a moment that made your thighs twitch and threaten to close around his head before he began digging his tongue against it, lapping at your cunt, trying to suck all the taste off it that he could.
“Good boy,” You moaned, reaching out and cradling the back of his head (not having much hair to grab onto with the short buzzcut that he had) - keeping him tight against your pussy, not that he seemed intent to pull away any time soon. “Such a good boy. Good boy for me!”
He wasn’t particularly skilled - it was obvious from a mile away that he didn’t have any experience, but fuck, he more than made up for it with his pure eagerness. He was eating your pussy like it was his last meal, moaning against you like he was getting more pleasure from this than you were - and hell, maybe he was.
He didn’t back off or complain when you instinctively bucked your hips against his face. In fact, he seemed to take it in stride, downright enjoying the way your warm juices were smeared across his cheeks and chin, his eyes shut in bliss as he tongued openly across your cunt, his drool mixing with your wetness while he moaned against you.
“Oh, fuck! Stiles!”
He moaned harder at the sound of his own name on your lips, so beautifully pornographic, better than he had dreamed it would be - even when he had imagined it so many times over and over again. Somehow, even when you thought he might not get you there at all, his eager performance and the vibrations from his moans against your clit had you so close already.
“Got me so close, baby,” You moaned, scratching the back of his head. “Such a good boy, so close-”
He moaned in response and tongued more vigorously at your clit, and you worked your hips against him, practically riding his face in order to bring yourself over the edge.
“Fuck! Stiles!”
You let out a throaty moan as you came, beautiful pleasure surging through your body while your back arched against the bed. Inadvertently shoving your hips even closer to his face, making him even more beautifully messy while he sucked and licked you. He loved the feeling of your body twitching and seizing underneath him, he loved hearing your gorgeous moans, he loved knowing that he had made you cum.
He lowered his face down and shoved his tongue inside you, determined to drink right from the source then, his nose bumping against your now orgasm-sensitive clit unintentionally, making you shout loudly. This further smothered him in your essence in a way that he loved, while he shoved his tongue inside of you as far as he possibly could, absolutely loving the way your pussy fluttered around him, the way your taste overwhelmed his senses, the pure heat smothering his face.
“Baby, baby-”
You gasped and struggled for air, knowing that he wasn’t overstimulating you on purpose - he was just eager. And that thought alone was so overwhelmingly hot to you that you almost let him continue. But your clit thrummed with an ache of protest, and you knew that you couldn’t spoil him this much, this soon. You couldn’t handle having a spoiled brat on your hands.
“Baby, you have to come up now!” You ordered sharply, digging your nails into his shoulder as a warning, adding a tiny bite of pain to fully get his attention.
Stiles let out a tiny whine of disappointment, but did as he was told, finally unlatching himself from your cunt. This move made a sinfully wet sound as he pushed himself up with his hands to sit between your thighs on his knees. Your eyes were immediately drawn to his once again hard, throbbing pink cock smearing precum against his stomach.
You had a passing thought about telling him to grab another condom, but again - you didn’t need to spoil him so soon.
You had another idea instead.
“Oh baby,” You cooed, reaching out and loosely gripping his cock, causing him to let out a shuddering moan and buck into your hand furiously - which didn’t give him much sensation, only teased him more. “You got really excited from that, didn’t you?”
He nodded vigorously, his mind completely mush at this point, too weak to form words.
“Do you wanna get off against my thigh?” You purred, gently stroking your knuckles across his temple - feeling a wicked kind of joy in seeing his face smeared in your wetness, especially when paired with the dumb, glossy look in his eyes.
He almost dared to ask for more - wanting to fuck you again, to put his cock between your tits and fuck them - but he had a feeling that you wouldn’t let him get away with it. And he wanted to be your good boy so badly. So he was willing to take whatever you had to give him.
“Yes.” He croaked out, his voice slightly hoarse now from all the moaning. “Yes, please.”
“Good boy.” You grinned at him. “Come on.”
You moved your leg - already slightly stiff from how long he had been between them, stretched around his shoulders - and slotted your thigh between his. You raised it up slightly, gently propping the broadness of your flesh against his aching balls and his hard, leaking cock.
“Wait, I want-”
He looked around for a moment, and then grabbed up the bottle of lube where it had falling on the floor from the vigor of your fucking. He poured a good deal of it (almost emptying it) over his cock, letting it leak down over your thigh, before he capped it and threw it away again.
You smiled.
“You really do like it wet, don’t you?”
He simply nodded, and began moving his hips. Instinctively, you reached out and grabbed him, taking a commanding hold on those narrow hips to guide him. He easily fell under your control, letting you guide his pace - which meant he moved in slow, languid, sloppy, wet (thanks to the lube) movements across your thigh - his cock dragging against your skin in a way that was delicious, but almost not enough at the same time.
He began letting out whimpers, his face twisting with pleasure and the need for something more as his gut curled with a distinctive ache. As if sensing this, even unconsciously, you couldn’t help your mouth.
“You look so pretty like this,” You told him, hot and breathy.
Turns out - that was the something ‘more’ he so desperately needed. Hearing you call him ‘pretty’ would have been an insult on any other day, but today, it was downright delicious. Your voice curling around the word, directed at him - it felt like something he had been waiting to hear his whole life.
“I love seeing you get off against my thigh, rubbing your pretty cock against me,”
Stiles let out a moan and you felt him fighting to move faster, so you encouraged it, pushing and pulling his hips faster, causing more delicious friction on his cock.
“Please, please-” He gasped.
You knew it wouldn’t take much more.
“You know, I’ve probably been waiting for this just as long as you have,” You whispered lowly in his ear, finally confessing your secret. “I’ve been watching you every single day, seeing how wonderful and dumb you are when you stare at me for hours, thinking I don’t notice. And I’ve just been waiting to pin you up against something and fuck your pretty little brains out-”
Your words were cut off by him crying out, a wet splash against your thigh that had alerted you to him cumming. This was almost pathetic, just a few spurts of cum before it was over (you guessed that with how often he jerked off and from the fucking earlier, you had practically drained his balls). It made you curious if forcing him to abstain from masturbation for a few days would yield more impressive results.
An experiment for later, you guessed.
“Good boy.”
You pulled him into another kiss, ultimately satisfied by the end result of your plan - leaving your panties on your bed as bait for Stiles to find as a way to gently tip him off to your attraction to him. It had worked out in the very best way. Even if you had to wait more than a week for the wheels to truly set in motion.
…
After a joint shower (which was filled with Stiles grinning at you, clearly soaking up the beauty of his luck in landing someone as gorgeous as you) - you changed the sheets on the bed while he made something to eat, and after the two of you ate together, you tucked him in to go to sleep.
He was disappointed that you couldn’t stay the night, just as excited to do other non sexual things with you like wake up in your arms and hold your hand in the hallways at school - but you did have to get home before your curfew. Just as he was dosing off, you kissed him on the forehead, and you thought of something delightfully naughty for him to wake up to, even if you couldn’t be there.
You took off the underwear that you were wearing - a pair of lacy blue ones, to match your bra - and you pinned them up on his corkboard for him to find in the morning.
A perfect little present for your good boy.
…
The next morning, Stiles woke up to a knock on his bedroom door.
“Okay, rise n shine, kid, time for-”
His father’s voice cut off abruptly, and Stiles didn’t have time to ponder why before-
“Dear god, what the hell is that?”
Stiles shot up out of bed, practically falling on the floor, wondering what it could be - monster, werewolf, hunter, someone with a gun-
His eyes landed exactly where his dad was looking, and he was relieved not to find danger, and then terribly embarrassed to see your underwear from the day before pinned to his corkboard, spread out in plain view. Stiles immediately went into damage control mode.
“Look, Dad, I can explain-”
“You know what? I don’t wanna know.” His dad said firmly, making a motion with his hand that said he was brushing away the subject. “Just - get ready for school.”
His dad moved to leave the room, and then he sighed and paused in the doorway, turning back to Stiles in a way that made his gut churn.
“Just - did you use protection?”
Stiles almost offered to show his father the used condom that was still sitting in the trash can - even if only as proof that the night before he had a real, living girl in his room. But he figured that would be going too far.
“Yes.” He answered, calm and short.
His dad nodded, and moved to leave again. He made it a bit further down the hallway this time before he turned around and appeared in the doorway again.
“Son - you know, women aren’t objects, you can’t claim them like sexual conquests, and they deserve respect-”
“Dad.” Stiles sharply cut off whatever speech his father was about to give, wanting his father to know that he hadn’t pinned the underwear to the corkboard himself. He wasn’t some fratboy who celebrated getting laid with a fucking trophy.
“She - she gave them to me.” He said. “She did that.” He motioned to the underwear, and his father’s face shifted from anger to deep discomfort.
“Oh.” He said simply. “Well - I - okay. I don’t wanna know any more.” He said firmly. “And for god’s sake, son, take them down.”
Stiles nodded, rushing to do so.
He was going to take them down - but he wasn’t rushing to give them back to you anytime soon.
...
Please keep in mind, this is a oneshot, and this has a distinct, intentional ending. There will NOT be a continuation or a 'Part 3'. If you enjoyed this fic, please consider reblogging it to show your appreciation, or commenting on this fic, or you can take a look at my Teen Wolf Masterlist for more of my fics from this fandom.
However, please do not comment on this fic asking for another sequel or asking for more - I generally consider that stressful and impolite. If you are going to comment, please comment about the body of work that has been written.
If you enjoyed this fic, please consider checking out my other fics about the criminally underrated character Isaac. Fics similar to this one are: Eager Little Puppy and Why Am I The One?
Or if you want more fics about subby boys, consider checking out Tongue Twister, Stop? (Baby, Don't Stop), or Lessons For A Genius.
Everything’s clean - except for my thoughts. (Thinking about me getting you off.)
Can’t stop thinking you got me B R A I N W A S H E D .
Summary:
Stiles likes you. He really, really, really likes you. It's bordering on obsession, but he likes to believe that he has it under control.
So when you accidentally leave a pair of your panties in his presence, ripe for the taking, and they're in his backpack faster than he can blink - he realizes that he might not have it as under control as he would like to think. But he can't find it to be too much of a problem when he has those panties wrapped around his cock.
Virgin!Stiles Stilinski x Best Friend!Fem!Reader. Pining!Stiles/One Sided Fantasies. Panty Stealing. Smut/PWP.
Word Count: 8,000
Teen Wolf Masterlist | AO3 Link
Full list of warnings and author's notes below the cut.
Warnings: the reader uses she/her pronouns and is described as having a vagina; Stiles and the reader have been best friends since childhood and they are in high school now (they are both the same age) (for argument's sake, they are both 18, but the horny parts were motivated by the hotness of a 20-something actor so idc what age you interpret the characters as); the reader's looks are mostly undescribed and left neutral in terms of race, hair texture/colour, height, etc. however the reader is implied to be fat/plus sized; mentions of the reader wearing dresses and tights (things that the other characters on the show would typically wear); mentions of the reader having a cat - I did not give the cat a name so you can imagine it's the same as your cat's name/what you would want your cat to be called if you had one; use of Y/N and L/N (as in Last Name); brief mention that the reader would like wearing bikinis; the reader calls Stiles 'good boy' in non-sexual contexts and it turns him on; mentions of Stiles looking up the reader's skirt when she doesn't know it; some slight dubious consent because Stiles steals the reader's underwear without her consent and uses them in a sexual act (his masturbation); masturbation (Stiles touching himself); this is a one-sided/pining fic - all the sexual acts take place inside Stiles's mind as sexual fantasies while he masturbates; the reader character is described in these sexual acts as they play out in his mind, so that's why she is included heavily in the warnings; Stiles is submissive (even in his own fantasies) and he fantasies about the reader being dominant toward him; Stiles becoming aroused by the idea of the reader not shaving her pussy; technically there is edging - because Stiles edges himself to make his fantasies last longer; panty sniffing (though the panties Stiles took are freshly launder and not used ones); scent kink/sweat kink - Stiles likes the way you smell, including your sweat; kinks and sexual acts mentioned only in Stiles's fantasies (taking place only in his mind in this fic): car sex (in the back of the Jeep (typical, I know)), fingering (reader receiving), degradation kink (Stiles receiving - he likes the idea of the reader insulting him and being mean to him); pussy eating (Stiles fantasizes in depth about this); Reader makes a joke about spanking Stiles and Stiles has a small fantasy about being spanked by her; I think that's finally it.
A/N: Title for the fic comes from the song Brainwashed by Waterparks. Warning - Stiles might be a bit OOC in this because I wrote it before I started re-watching Teen Wolf again (and before I started watching Season 1 for the first time, because previously I had only seen 3B and beyond). In this, I have said that he's flunking classes and he's not really great with studying, while in the show, he's really smart and bookish and really well studied - but it could just be chalked up to the fact that he has a huge crush on the Reader that is distracting him from studying. So, interpret it how you want. I hope that you enjoy it, and please read through to my end notes to find out about a potential sequel to the fic!!
...
Stiles was hopeless.
That was the only way to describe his current state of being. Completely, utterly hopeless.
He was a complete and total loser, hopelessly in love with his best friend. And he was getting more stupidly caught up in that crush every single day. And of course, he didn’t even have the courage to admit his feelings for you so that it could be awkwardly out in the open. So that the two of you could get the rejection part over with, at least.
Basically - his feelings for you were slowly ruining his life.
Stiles had been in love with you for as long as he could remember. Well, maybe not that long.
See, you, him, and Scott had all been friends since the beginning of kindergarten, and naturally, Stiles always liked you as a person. He always thought of you as a good friend, even if he gravitated toward Scott more.
But he distinctly remembered the first moment when he had started to develop a crush on you. It was a very special memory to him - the day when you shifted in his eyes from annoying, slightly nagging friend to a beautiful, fierce woman.
It was the day when the three of you were out on Halloween night during the third grade - and that was around the time people started whispering about crushes in school, when people would have playground girlfriends and boyfriends that they broke up with every other week. That night, a group of eighth grade bullies began chasing the three of you, trying to take your candy.
Without hesitation, you picked up the largest rock in sight and threw it at one of them, causing a large cut across his forehead - and you loudly told them to ‘fuck off’ (the first time Stiles had ever heard such a word when it wasn’t coming from his dad). They had run away, somehow terrified of a girl a foot shorter than them.
That night, you had become his hero.
And since then, you had been the only object of his affections.
Of course, over the years, Stiles had plenty of opportunities to tell you about his feelings for you. He just… always felt too cowardly to do so.
In seventh grade, he had come very close to asking you out to the winter dance - only to have Scott beat him to the punch. When he pulled Scott aside to ask him about it, Scott confessed to him that he also had a crush on you. This resulted in their first ever fistfight. The first ever true rift in their otherwise close, brotherly friendship.
The boys didn’t speak to each other for days. Which, naturally, annoyed the hell out of you. Especially because, of course, neither of them told you why they were fighting, not wanting you to know that you were the source of the rift in their friendship. And to you, this only made the fight seem more stupid and immature.
So finally, when you demanded it, they called a truce. They agreed that they didn’t want to lose their friendship or lose you. They didn’t want to make you choose between them when it wouldn’t make any of you happy.
So Stiles proposed that the three of you should go to the dance as friends, which you loved, and they both got you a corsage, one for each wrist - and the three of you still laughed at the pictures of you holding each of their arms.
Eventually, Scott grew out of his crush on you and moved onto other girls, and he loved that he got to keep you as a close best friend, someone he could go to for dating advice if needed. Scott kept trying to convince Stiles to simply ‘man up’ and tell you about his feelings, but Stiles kept that same sentiment they had concluded upon years ago. Telling you about his feelings would only ruin the friendship. Not just between you, but between the entire group - it would fuck up the pack.
Though it felt like the more he tried to ignore his feelings for you, the more they festered like a tumor. While Scott was able to mature past his crush on you, Stiles only grew more intense, and more insane when it came to his ‘crush’ on you.
Over the years, his crush on you had grown from something sweet and childish into something much more. When puberty truly took over and lust was added into the mix, he now had to deal with the fact that you had grown into a gorgeous woman. He could barely control his arousal when looking at you, hearing your voice, smelling you, talking to you, thinking about you - even simply being in your presence made something in his mind melt. And it was growing much worse with each passing day. There wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t wake up with a raging boner fueled by sexual dreams of you.
And naturally, he would say that not telling you about his feelings for you was ultimately the best thing for him. He would steadfastly refuse to admit that him being distracted by all these fantasies of you was slowly eroding your friendship from the inside out. Slowly, bit by bit, his worst fears were coming true - your friendship was being ruined by his crush anyway.
But he tried to ignore that. Even if you were the most gorgeous, perfect being ever put on the planet, he tried his hardest to simply enjoy the platonic version of you. He tried to act like he wasn’t stupidly, head over heels in love with you.
He tried not to act like it.
But on nights like this, it was just so hard.
Tonight, the two of you were studying for an upcoming English mid-term that would be worth a decent portion of your final grade.
Logically, Stiles knew that he should have locked himself in his room and forced himself to study independently. Or he should have taken up Scott on his offer to study with him and Allison.
But no, he just had to ask you for your ‘help’.
And you pitied him and said yes, because he was doing poorly in the class. The only reason for that being because it was one of the classes that he shared with you, and he spent all of his damn time staring at you across the room during it. He had tried to tell himself that he really would study tonight, that he would really take advantage of your intelligence here and now to get his shit together in order to up his grade.
But no. That was just one of many daily lies that he told himself. Since the moment he had set foot in your bedroom that afternoon (and it was dark out now, well into the evening) - he hadn’t been able to focus on anything but you.
Sure, sometimes that worked to his benefit. Hearing you recite Shakespeare, the words coming off your sweet lips - it did force him to focus on the material at hand for at least a short period of time. But it wasn’t like he was actually retaining any of it. He was just thinking about how gorgeous your voice sounded and how amazing you would be in an adaptation of Romeo and Juliet. One where he played Romeo, of course - and he would get to use someone else’s well-crafted words to romance you, finally getting to kiss you for the first time.
Again - he was hopeless.
Currently, Stiles was laying diagonally on your bed, sitting among a mess of books - the English textbooks, the assigned novels, the published copies of the play, along with binders of your notes and other notebooks, stray papers. He couldn’t pay attention to the notes he was supposed to be writing, not for a moment, not if his life depended on it. Not when you looked this stunningly beautiful while busy writing your own notes.
With the soft lighting from your bedside lamp brushing across your skin, making that skin look even softer, you were a goddess-like vision sitting on the bed across from him. You were wearing the simple dress that you had worn to school earlier that day, your modest tights since shed off in the name of ‘comfort’ (and so that your cat wouldn’t rip holes in them while crawling across your lap, you had remarked to Stiles). When you had stood at your hamper and peeled them off your legs, Stiles had a hard time not letting the drool spill out across his chin.
Your thighs were gorgeous. Thick, wide, spread out like a buffet for his eyes to feast on every single time you sat down. From his angle, laying down the way he was, he was up close and personal with the dimpling cellulite and stretchmarks you had there. The hem of your dress had ridden up when you had adjusted your position to get comfortable, and he felt absolutely spoiled by how much more of your thighs were revealed to him.
A few times throughout the evening, he had to physically clench his fingers, tight, to remind himself not to reach out and touch. To remind himself that he wasn’t allowed to touch. The last thing he wanted to do was to creep you out by randomly reaching out and touching your thigh. But he wanted so badly to touch.
How many times had he imagined what those thighs would look like bouncing and jiggling while you rode his cock? How many times had he imagined those thighs clamped around his head while he licked your pussy? (Far too many times for the good of his own sanity.)
Not to mention the concentration spread across your face - you were so fucking hot when you showed off your intelligence. Hell everything about you was hot - your sweetness, your laughter, your sarcasm, even your bitchy side. But your bookish side had to be one of Stiles’s favorites.
The way you would nibble your own lip when thinking, the way your brows furrowed slightly in thought. Everything about you - from the bra strap sticking out of the neckline of your dress to the chipped edge of your nail polish where you had chewed on it - you were a fucking vision. And Stiles couldn’t take his eyes off you, no matter how hard he tried.
It was a wonder that you didn’t notice Stiles staring at you - not as often as he did it.
Stiles felt strangely caught when you put down your pen and looked up from your notebook, then. He quickly scrambled to grab his own pencil and start writing something, to look busy. But of course, he just looked like more of an idiot when the eraser end began scraping across the page in nonsense patterns.
“Stiles,” You scolded him with a sigh, a way he was used to hearing his name come off your lips. “Have you gotten anything done? I told you to copy down at least half my notes-”
Of course. You pegged his blank page as simple laziness, rather than his brain slowly melting out through his ears due to his inability to think about anything but you (especially when he was in the same room as you). At least he hadn’t been caught staring at you in that creepy way yet.
You snatched up his notebook to check his work, and his heart dropped - if you looked too carefully, then he would be caught. In the back of that notebook, there were about three pages of his name and yours in hearts, and a few times he had practiced writing his signature as ‘Mr Stiles L/N’. (He was a feminist, and he liked the idea of starting a new tradition.) There was even a drawing he had made designing your theoretical wedding cake, including a cake topper where he was Superman and you were riding on his back while he was flying.
“Y/N, uh-”
He quickly snatched the notebook back, causing a glare from you while he sighed in defeat.
“Fine.” He shrugged, knowing that he had to admit to a smaller crime in order to cover up the larger one. It was something that he did with his father all too often. “I didn’t get anything done. I was slacking off. You caught me.”
“Stiles!” You scolded him again, reaching out to gently smack his shoulder. “If you keep this shit up, you’re never gonna graduate!”
Sadly, you were probably right. His crush on you was absolutely going to ruin him.
“Well, you could just let me copy off you,” He replied, giving you a wide grin that let you know he was mostly kidding.
You rolled your eyes in reply, and soon your gaze caught sight of the clock on your nightstand.
“Well, it seems like you have wasted enough of my time for tonight.” You scoffed sarcastically.
Stiles knew that you had intended this to be a joke - but he couldn’t help the twinge of pain the words caused in his gut. The idea that he was truly just a waste of time in your life. He pressed his lips tightly together to suppress a frown and didn’t say anything more, and then you continued.
“It’s almost your curfew anyway.” You pointed out, gesturing toward the clock. You were right. Stiles hadn’t even noticed how late it was getting - too busy enjoying his time with you. “We’ll pack it up for the night - but you should meet me at the library tomorrow morning, early, so we can go over everything again before the exam.”
Of course, you were still invested in the idea of him getting a good grade, even if that seemed unlikely to happen.
“You’re gonna make me get up early?” He whined, hating the idea of missing out on even ten extra minutes of sleep.
“Yes.” You stressed. “I want you there at seven o’clock. Sharp.”
Your ultra serious voice ordering him around was undeniably a turn-on for him. No matter what sexual fantasies Stiles cooked up about you in his mind, he could never picture himself having full control over you. In fact, most of the time, he found himself covered in cum at the idea of you having complete control over him. And it was likely because this was how most of your friendship went - you told him what to do, and he did it. And that was a huge part of why he fell for you in the first place.
When he didn’t verbally confirm the time, too caught up in his infatuation yet again, you let out a gentle growl of frustration.
“Stiles!” You called out his name. “You have to be there at seven. So you can’t get out of bed at seven - you have to set your alarm for like six-thirty, got it? Don’t make me come over there and get your ass out of bed like last time.”
This thought caused Stiles’s stomach to clench.
The last time you had come to his house to wake him up for school (because he had agreed to help you with some bakesale project and you were pissed off that he wasn’t there early to help you set up tables and whatnot) - you had charged into his house in a fury. You had your own key, of course, and his dad wasn’t there to busy you with conversation or pleasantries.
And you charged right up the stairs and nearly caught him with a hand around his cock, jerking off to a picture of you in a bikini from the summer before. And he had rushed to shove the picture in his nightstand and cocoon himself in the comforter to hide his body just as you made it to the top of the stairs, shouting at him for being late. Luckily, he had gotten away with the lie that he had slept in, rather than revealing the truth that he had been distracted because he had woken up with morning wood after having a heated dream about you.
When Stiles didn’t respond yet again, you grabbed a smaller decorative pillow from behind you and lightly hit him with it for emphasis, causing him to burst into laughter.
“Promise me you’ll be on time!” You said, smacking him with the pillow again.
“Yes, yes! I promise!” He finally agreed, his face becoming pink from laughter.
You dropped the pillow then, and leaned down, causing his eyes to inadvertently go straight to your cleavage while you gave him a gentle, friendly kiss on the forehead.
“Good boy.” You responded, praising him for agreeing to your terms. Obviously, it was another joke.
But these praising words combined with your lips even slightly brushing against his skin, along with your tits dangling so close to his face, had his cock swelling to hardness nearly instantly. He grabbed the pillow then, trying to look subtle as he put it over his crotch, desperately trying to hide the very obvious bulge that had popped up at the front of his jeans within seconds.
He was lucky when you shifted your attention away from him, now busy with cleaning off the bed, gathering your textbooks in a pile and moving to put them on your desk in the corner. You being distracted gave him a few moments to try and mentally will his dick down, which worked slightly. Only slightly.
“You could help me, you know.” You mocked him lightly - distracting him from his thoughts of baseball, trying to will the blood out of his cock.
He looked up and saw you standing there with his backpack, putting away his textbooks and notebooks now. He had been so dumbly distracted by his own dick that he hadn’t noticed you taking the kind initiative to clean up his things for him too.
“Right, sorry.” He jumped into action and did so, taking things from your hands and shoving them into his bag with haste.
“You don’t have to rush out, I just need the bed cleared off so I can pick out my clothes for tomorrow.” You told him.
“Wait - you actually pick out your clothes in advance?” He asked, thinking that this was entirely adorable, and explained why you were always so well dressed.
(And it explained why you were always so punctual in the mornings while Stiles was usually a mess - running around his house still half-asleep, shoving his head into a shirt that he had sniffed to see if it was clean, shoving things frantically into his bag in order to get out the door five minutes late.)
“Well you know not all of us are okay with just throwing on last week’s mustard stained tee shirt,” You said, playfully pointing to a mustard stain that he had on his shirt from lunch.
He rolled his eyes in return, trying to ignore the slight twist of embarrassment that wanted to swell up inside of him at the comment.
There had been a point where he used to make a very pointed effort to impress you. Back when his crush on you had first gotten serious - likely around the beginning of high school. He used to get up early every single morning, spending a lot of time being intensely picky about the clothes he wore. He drowned himself in cologne (until you had complained about it), he wore certain colors just because you mentioned liking them. But none of it seemed to garner any more of your attention than usual.
And so, he resigned himself to be the loser best friend who would always just float at the corners of your life, drowning in his secret affection for you until some better, hotter guy came along and swept you off your feet one day.
He was just glad that day hadn’t come yet.
Stiles was hesitant to leave - he wasn’t done being around you for the day yet, too emotionally attached. But he guessed that he would need to get some decent sleep before waking up at the asscrack of dawn in order to see more of you the next morning. (Even if it would include the horrors of studying at the library.)
“So - I’ll see you tomorrow morning?” He posed, ready to take his leave as he swung his backpack over his shoulder.
“Ooh, wait one second.” You said, eagerness twinging through your voice.
His heart pounded hard in his chest for a moment, wondering if this could be the moment he had been waiting so long for - would you stop him there, grab him by the shoulders and kiss him hard, and then tell him that you had been feeling the exact same way as he had for all these years?
“Which one?” You asked, spinning around from your closet to face him, holding up two dresses on hangers.
Oh. You were asking for his opinion about what you should wear to school the next day.
“The blue one.” Stiles said, motioning towards it. “That shade of blue looks beautiful on you - it compliments your skin tone well, and it makes you shine. But ya know, you look gorgeous in everything. You could wear a paper bag to school and everyone would still be jealous of how amazing you look.”
He rambled on for a moment too long, and realized that his genuine fondness for you - something straying too far into romantic territory - was slipping out.
“But - uh, yeah. I’ll see you later.” He quickly added on, now eager to leave before you could make any further comments.
Then he dashed out of your room and down the stairs, getting out the front door so fast that he practically left a poof of cartoon dust behind him.
He got into the Jeep and tossed his bag into the passenger’s seat - which, he hadn’t realized was not even zipped up. (A habit you often scolded him for - going around with his bag unzipped.) Papers and books spilled across the seat and underneath it, and he let out a loud growl of frustration.
“Idiot!” He screamed, scolding himself as he leaned down, trying to clean everything up. “Idiot, idiot, idiot!”
Partially, he was feeling so idiotic because he had just been so vulnerable with you and you probably thought he was weird for it. Actually, that was mostly why.
As he was picking up his things, he realized that - yup, he was missing his English textbook. He had forgotten it in your room. He heaved out a sigh and collapsed back against his seat. He could leave without it - but then he would get an earful from you in the morning about how he was ‘forgetful’ and ‘irresponsible’. Ugh.
He got out of the Jeep again and shuffled his way back into your house - your mom was working late, so there was nobody there to question him running out of the house at top speed and then appearing back so soon. All he got was a curious chirp and a head tilt from your cat, who was sitting on the top of the stairs.
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Stiles remarked to the animal, stopping for a moment to pet him. “I’m pathetic. But you can’t rat me out, okay? I know she thinks highly of your opinion and I need you to put in a good word for me. Got it?”
The cat purred and pushed his face into Stiles’s hand, so he assumed that was a positive affirmation that he would root for Stiles - or at the very least, keep his secret.
Stiles linger for a moment to scratch the cat’s furry cheek, and then he stepped over the cat and made his way back toward your room. He passed the closed bathroom door and heard the shower running, and he almost cheered. If you were in the shower, then you wouldn’t notice him slipping back in to grab his book, so you couldn’t scold him for being a forgetful idiot.
He went into your room, and the second he made it through the mouth of your open bedroom, his eyes locked onto your bed like a hot target. Your clothes for the following day were spread out so neatly, and right there, on top of the blue dress he had suggested - there was a pair of lacy purple panties that were something right out of one of his fantasies.
Stiles had thought about your underwear before - many times. Too many times to count.
He had even caught small, passing glimpses of your underwear before - when you had worn dresses without tights and bent over in front of him. But he had only seen enough of it to determine the color, not to know if it was lacy or silk or cotton. And even that was enough to send him into a tailspin that had him rushing to the bathroom to relieve his aching cock.
In the back of his mind - or truly, the forefront of his mind whenever he jerked off to thoughts of you - he always wondered what kind of underwear you wore. What kind of decorative wrapping your pretty pussy would come in if he ever got the other-worldly privilege of getting his hands up your skirt.
Would they be simple, practical cotton underwear? Would they be cute? Would they be sinfully sexy? Would they be those underwear with the days of the week written across the front?
But seeing this now - seeing the tangible evidence in front of him that you actually planned to wear purple lacy lingerie to school - it was something that had all sense draining from his mind as blood rushed to his cock once again. He barely had time to think about it - and he didn’t think about it. Because then, they were in his hands, in his pocket, and he was back in the Jeep, hiding his stolen goods in his bag and hastily zipping it up so he could slam his foot on the gas and race home.
He didn’t even have a chance to think about the fact that he left without the textbook that he had gone back into your room looking for. He didn’t have the attention span to notice that said textbook was in a stack along with your own - almost as if purposefully kept there like an excuse to lure him back into your room, rather than clumsily forgotten by him.
…
When Stiles got into his room, he slammed his bedroom door shut behind him, now entirely frantic, and thankful that his father was working a late shift again. He sat down on the edge of his bed, his hands shaking with anticipation as he unzipped his bag and pulled out the thing he had so hastily snagged.
His mind was warring with so many sensations. Guilt for taking the panties, paranoia that he would get caught, shame that he even had the urge to take them in the first place - but all of that was easily toppled over and forgotten in the name of lust. Overwhelming lust and arousal that he felt for you. Greed and joy at knowing that he had something so private of yours in his hands now - something so secret that he shouldn’t have. A perfect little piece of you.
His little secret piece of you.
He still couldn’t believe that this was the kind of underwear you wore on a daily basis.
Just imagining that this was what you wore to school - thinking about the fact that this was what you were wearing under your clothes during your everyday interactions with him: it drove him wild.
He easily pictured this pretty lace sticking to your cunt when you were wet, the lavender colored material getting slick and slightly darker, soaked through and visibly sticky when you spread your legs for him to see. He wondered if your pussy would be shaved or not - but you didn’t have a boyfriend, so currently, you didn’t have anybody to shave for.
He remembered a conversation from a few weeks ago where Scott had wondered if he should shave his pubes for Allison and you had remarked that ‘putting a razor near your junk’ was ‘ill-advised and stupid’ - so you probably didn’t even like shaving your pussy on principle.
This immediately put a picture in his mind of your pussy being covered in soft hair that matched the shade on your head - maybe a bit darker. It would clump together with your juices and become soaked when you got wet. The little hairs would probably stick out cutely from the sides of the bikini cut underwear, peeking at him.
Your pussy would be the prettiest thing he had ever seen, he knew that for certain.
Stiles imagined getting you in the backseat of the Jeep one night after a game.
He would still be covered in sweat from his efforts, worn out from trying his best. Sure, he wasn’t the best player, but you wanted to ‘reward’ him for his efforts on the winning side, even if he hadn’t directly contributed to the win.
So as soon as the game was over, before he even had time to change out of his pads or shower, you hauled him to the parking lot and shoved him into the car. His gear was only half-off, ditched hastily by your feet, and you were in his lap - a perfect prize after all the hard work he had done, sitting astride his already sore thigh muscles while you kissed him - hard. Your mouth greedily sucked the oxygen out of his lungs while you shoved your tongue past his lips, painting his tongue with your sweet spit - and fuck, it felt like he was made for this.
He got sucked so deep into the fantasy - it felt so damn real.
He imagined having his hands splayed out against your beautiful, plump ass, gripping you tightly, noting wanting you to separate from him for even a section. While you held on tightly to his face, sealing him into the kiss until his lips were sore. And you would only pull back to look into his eyes with glossy desperation and utter out:
“Please, Stiles. I need you. I need you to touch my pussy.”
And what else could he do but obey?
So he would lift up your skirt - a particularly short skirt that you had worn with nothing else but a pair of knee-high socks. Something that you knew he loved to see you cheer for him on the sidelines while wearing. Even though it was a chilly night, you couldn’t feel too cold when you saw him glancing at you every single chance he got. Of course, those distracted stares had gotten him screamed at by Coach more than once. But he loved the way your skirt would flutter up in the nighttime breeze, teasing him. The way the fucking beautiful thick fat of your thighs would jiggle whenever you would jump around in order to cheer him on.
He was a man of simple, divine tastes.
So - he would lift up that perfect skirt to find those purple lacy panties underneath; to find the perfection of your wet cunt waiting for him, growing slicker by the second, more needy for him. You were humping yourself against his athletic cup, which his hard cock was practically dying inside of, bursting to get out of the hard shell of plastic to touch you. But he ignored his own needs for a few minutes longer in favor of yours. Reaching forward, sliding his fingers along the wet spot at the front of your panties, absolutely indulging in the beautiful gasp you let out when his touch grazed across your swollen clit through the fabric.
“Stiles, please.”
He could almost hear it - it was so fucking clear inside his mind. The way your voice would be so pitched with desperation, so perfectly needy curled around his name. He wanted so badly to hear it in real life.
And he would push those panties to the side, pushing his fingers inside of your hot, wet cunt-
Back in the real world, Stiles’s cock gave a needy pulse, leaking into his boxers.
He heaved out a sigh, his cock practically vibrating with blood. He had driven home the whole time trying to ignore that boner, but he simply couldn’t do that anymore. He just had to give in.
He hesitantly put your panties aside - already feeling a strange sense of attachment to them - and reached to his nightstand, grabbing the bottle of lube that he had in the drawer. Shamefully, it was already half empty, mostly due to the fantasies that he had about you. He undid his pants and had them around his ankles in record time, and whipped off his shirt for good measure, knowing that he was quite a ‘splasher’ and not wanting to get cum on it to pair with that ugly mustard stain.
He lubed up his cock more than a healthy amount, knowing that it would contribute to the fantasy of you being so wet around him. It was a distant fantasy that he would never actually get to achieve, but hell - a man can dream. Then he began to slowly pump his cock in hand, wanting to milk it and truly enjoy it, and he let his mind get back to work.
He thought back to your place. A place he was comfortable, spent a lot of time at hanging out with you.
He imagined that early that night when he had forgotten his book, rather than you being in the shower, he went back to your room and found that you had been getting ready for bed. You were rubbing sweet-smelling lotion on your arms, pulling back the covers, wearing nothing but a pair of cute little socks, a tiny camisole - where he could very visibly see that you weren’t wearing a bra, with the natural teardrop shape of your breasts bared to the eye, your nipples poking through the fabric - and those purple lace panties.
When he would appear in the doorway, you would gawk at him and ask:
“Stiles? What are you doing? Did you… forget something?”
But you would be positioned half leaning over the bed, taking back the covers so it would be comfortable for you to sleep - and your ass would be unintentionally on full display. Your sweet pussy lips peeking at him from behind, the roundness of your ass so fucking inviting, daring him to leave bite marks across the beautifully fat flesh.
And after a few moments of him staring so brazenly, saying nothing, simply drinking in the gorgeous sight of your body bent over, wearing so little clothing, wearing those perfect little lace panties-
(Stiles sped up his hand on his cock, the lube sounding downright sloppy in the silence of the room.)
You would stand up to your full height, come to him in the doorway, put your face so close to his and say:
“If you’re gonna spend so much time staring at me like a gaping idiot, then you should do something about it.”
Stiles had to stop the swift movements of his hand and clutch his grip tightly around the base of his cock, making his entire dick throb hard as he edged off his own orgasm.
He still wasn’t sure why the idea of you calling him an ‘idiot’ in such a brazen tone made him want to cum so hard - but he didn’t have time to unpack all that now.
He grabbed up the panties again with his non-lubed hand. Something in the back of his mind thought that it would be a crime for him to get them dirty. Another part argued that he would absolutely love to get them covered in his cum, not clean them, and then return them to you. That it would be fucking thrilling to have you wear them in that dirtied state.
Though he knew that would never fucking happen.
If he returned the panties to you covered in his cum, then you would slap him, call him a pervert, and likely have Scott beat the shit out of him with his newly harnessed werewolf strength. Stiles pushed this thought to the back of his mind, though.
Out of curiosity, he lifted the fabric to his nose and took a whiff. They smelled like fresh laundry - a nice lemony detergent. Of course they weren’t ones you had previously worn - they were a pair you had been planning on wearing tomorrow.
He distantly wondered if that meant you would not be wearing underwear tomorrow, because he had taken your intended pair. And that could have led his mind down a whole different filthy track, but instead - he began to wonder what a pair of your dirty underwear might smell like.
You should take a pair of used ones. A voice in his mind told him. Snatch them right out of the hamper. Come on, you’re over at her place all the time. She won’t even notice them gone.
Terrible idea. Terrible rabbit hole.
But what would they smell like?
He wasn’t deluded enough to think that pussy smelled like roses. He had never been close enough to one - a real pussy - before to actually know. Yes, he was a virgin. He could have said that he was waiting, ‘saving it’ for you - but every other girl, including you, was smart enough to look past him. There were plenty of other guys who were better looking and more charming than him, and probably better in bed than him, that girls had chosen instead of him.
He wondered if your pussy smelled like that perfect bit of sweat that you gathered at the end of a long day. Sometimes when he went to hug you before the two of you parted ways, he would catch a whiff of the tiniest undertone of musk, a good amount of sweat paired with the berry scented body spray you had put on that morning, and orange tic-tacs you had popped after lunch. It was a delectable combination.
He imagined that your cunt would smell like that bit of sweat, combined with the blueberry body wash you used - the one he knew about and loved because of the time you had insisted he use your shower while stinking up a study session because he had skipped the showers after lacrosse practice when he was late to be with you.
He imagined getting hints of that blueberry body wash smell coming off your thighs when his head was buried between them. What would your cunt taste like? That was a mystery he wanted to solve live.
He could always imagine the other aspects so well.
He could imagine the feeling of the heat under his tongue, the perfect feeling of your wetness mixing with his spit. He imagined getting to bounce your swollen clit against his tongue and while feeling your moans and cries of his name vibrate through your body as he pleasured you so well - the feeling of your pubes brushing against his cheeks as his entire face became soaked with your wetness.
But the taste - that was something he could never conjure up in his mind, no matter how hard he tried.
He knew that eating your pussy would be perfect. Not just because he would be giving you pleasure, serving you. But he so often dreamed of having his head smothered by your thighs, having you grab his head and shove him tighter into your cunt, you purposeful and demanding. You having that beautiful control over him while he drowned in your wetness.
He knew that he would likely cum in his pants from eating you out if he ever got the privilege of doing so, and even if you laughed at him - stupidly, he would find that hot too.
Stiles picked up the pace again, pumping his cock in hand evenly and firmly - even reaching down with the other hand to cradle his balls, gently rolling the flesh in his hand as he got lost in another fantasy of you.
He imagined the two of you in his bed - textbooks forgotten and pushed off onto the floor, your dress hiked up around your hips, and again, those fucking purple lace panties. He was on top of you, hovering on his knees so that his hard cock wouldn’t brush against you (even through his jeans) while the two of you sloppily made-out.
It wasn’t long before you pulled away from his kiss-swollen lips.
“Stiles,” You purred into his ear, kissing along his neck. “You know, you’re so pathetic.”
These words had his cock jumping, spurting out precum - in his fantasy, it made his underwear messy as you undid his fly.
In the real world, it made his hand messy as he continued to rhythmically jerk his cock.
“I’m not gonna let you fuck me.” You told him, contrasting these words with your intentions as you put your hands inside his waistband and shoved his pants and underwear down over his hips - down to his knees until his hard, throbbing cock was exposed. “Not until you prove yourself.”
Before Stiles could ask the question, the beautiful, fantastic you that he had made up inside his mind gave him the perfect answer.
“Get yourself off by rubbing your pathetic dick against my panties. And then - I might let you fuck me.”
In the real world, Stiles let out a throttled moan - a choked sound that surely would have had his father knocking on the door to ask if he was okay if he was at home. And then he rushed to grab the panties again, and without even thinking, he used his sticky lubed up hand to position the fabric around his dick. It was a coarse roughness compared to the slick smoothness he had previously been feeling, but it did wonders to complete his fantasy as he delved back to the you inside of his mind.
He started rubbing the slightly lube-sticky rough fabric up and down his dick at a very slow pace as he imagined it:
Being perched between your thighs, with the fabric of the panties stuck to your wet cunt, his cock hard and leaking as he tucked himself right up against you and began to rub his dick against you in order to get off. Just like you wanted, just like you had ordered him to do.
“Please.” Stiles chanted, the words leaking out of his lips, chanted into his empty bedroom as he pleaded to the imaginary you that would always have a hold over him - just as tight of a hold as the real you had. “Please, please - oh fuck.”
He moved the fabric over his cock faster as he moved his hips faster in the fantasy, imagining how hot your pussy would feel against him, imagining your nails digging into his hips as you looked up at him with mocking and adoration in your eyes. He imagined you forcing his hips faster, trapping him in place with your knees bracketed around his thighs, showing him absolutely no mercy.
“Please, please, please.” He chanted, knowing with a distant part of his mind that he must have sounded utterly delirious. “Please, Y/N, lemme cum-”
“Cum for me, Stiles.”
Confirmed by that fantasy version of you and truly unable to hold it any longer, Stiles arched up off the bed, cumming all over his own fist. Just as he had predicted, it was an utter, uncontrollable mess. He shot cum all over his stomach, and absolutely soaked the fabric of the panties - making a horrible mess of them. Which, the lube had definitely already done. He laid there for a single moment catching his breath before it truly hit him.
Fuck. He had fucked up.
You would definitely notice the underwear missing after a while and he certainly couldn’t return them to you in this condition.
…
Stiles spent the next hour in the bathroom, absolutely panicking over how to get them clean. Luckily, he wasn’t a total idiot and he looked up the washing instructions online - and after hand-washing them in warm water with a ‘gentle’ detergent (handsoap was the best that he could do), they came out perfectly clean.
The only problem?
Hang to dry.
He set his alarm for early, earlier than you suggested, and prayed that he wouldn’t sleep through it. In fact, he set three more alarms just to make sure. He couldn’t have you or his father barging into his room to wake him up when he had a pair of your stolen panties pinned to his corkboard in order to properly dry them so that he could sneak them back to you in good condition.
…
The next day, he departed for school by 6:45 with the stolen goods hidden away in his bag, ready to sneak them back into your room later that afternoon. He made it to the library ten whole minutes before seven, and you seemed shocked that he was not only on time - but early.
“Wow.” You said, having just gotten there yourself, spreading out your items at a table - including a tray with some coffees. “You know, Stiles, I am impressed.”
“You don’t have to act so - so shocked.” He replied, partially interrupted by a yawn.
You leaned over to get a pen from your bag, and Stiles’s eyes immediately went to your ass, unconsciously trying to spot panty lines through your dress and tights - wondering if you were even wearing underwear because he had stolen the ones you had intended for today.
Focus, Stiles. Focus.
“Well, if you weren’t here by seven sharp like I told you, I was gonna pour this in the garbage.” You told him, taking his coffee out of the paper tray and sliding it toward him.
“You don’t have to be so mean.” He chuckled, airy and light - very secretly annoyed with the way your ‘mean’ streak affected him sometimes. Why did he have to be turned on by you scolding him and punishing him? Why?
“Hey, if I’m not mean then you never get anything done.” You told him truthfully. “And you know how it works by now. Good boys get rewards and bad boys get spanked.” You told him, letting out a bright laugh - indicating that it was clearly meant to be a joke.
But instantly, it shook his mind with imagery of you bending him over the table, ripping his pants down and spanking him until he came untouched and cried for mercy, forcing him to agree that he would behave and listen to you. He became downright dizzy at the thought.
You meant it as a joke - he had to sharply remind himself. But the way you so casually called him a ‘good boy’, said that he was deserving of a ‘reward’ - it sent chills down his spine and already had his cock waking up. Too early. Bad rabbit hole.
If he was any sort of brave, he would have pushed it more and asked you what kind of ‘reward’ you had in mind. But he wasn’t, and he was too tired to analyze the potential consequences.
“Oh!” You said, as though suddenly remembering something. You moved to grab your bag again and Stiles closed his eyes to forcefully keep himself from staring at your ass. “You left this at my place last night.” You told him, sliding his English textbook across the table toward him.
He was too busy trying to calm his own lust that he missed the smirk on your face - the mischief lingering in your eyes, the intention in your tone. He was too caught up, drowning in his own affections for you that he never would have pieced together that you had taken in and hidden it on purpose as a ploy to get him to come back. That you had put out some other bait for him to find.
“Thanks.” He said quietly. “So - what do we need to go over before the test?”
“Everything.”
Stiles groaned.
...
Due to much pressure, not the sequel has been posted. I am fully of the belief that this fic is complete and perfect on its own, but if you would like to keep reading, click on the link below. I highly encourage you to leave a comment before you press on, though, and tell me what you enjoyed about this fic since you have gotten this far.
Happy reading!
Keeping Reading Here: Stupid For You - Virgin!Stiles Stilinski x Fem!Reader
** Indicates smut.
* indicates mentions of smut, it is heading towards smut, …
Italics indicate planned works still in the making!
STILES STILINSKI - TEEN WOLF
#1 Someone needs to **
#2 Tether **
#3 After Hours ** (Lawyer!Stiles)
#4 Northern Lights
VOID STILES - TEEN WOLF
#1 Riddle me this
DYLAN O’BRIEN
#1 On a silver platter
Pt. 1 **
Pt. 2 **
#2 Christmas miracle
Pt. 1 Consider this your lucky day
Pt. 2 Underneath the mistletoe
Pt. 3 Happy New Year!
#3 Teasing leads to …**
#4 No one like her
MITCH RAPP - AMERICAN ASSASSIN
#1 Following Orders
Pt. 1 Just started, but not yet finished. *
Pt. 2 Don’t tempt me, Rapp. **
Pt. 3 You want it just as bad as I need it. **
Pt. 4 I’ll make sure you won’t regret it. **
Pt. 5 That’s an order. *
Pt. 6 You need this just as bad as I want it. **
Pt. 7 I fucking followed an order.*
Pt. 8 Class dismissed**
Pt. 9 Smile at the camera.**
Pt. 10 Epilogue
#2 Partners in crime
This is not a series, but multiple one shots set in the same universe.
i. Ruin Me**
ii. Only you and me**
THOMAS - THE MAZE RUNNER
#1 Morning Glory
Pt. 1 Who’s Thomas?
Pt. 2 Fucking thank you Newt.*
Pt. 3 A day off **
Pt. 4 Unspoken issues
Pt. 5 A posse ad esse **
Pt. 6 Quite the ultimatum*
Pt. 7 You have to earn it.
Pt. 8 Hear me out.
Pt. 9 Time is short on our side.**
Pt. 10 This can’t be happening **
Pt. 11 Ipomoea purpurea
Pt. 12 Even if it’s the last thing I do.**
Pt. 13 M-O-R-N-I-N-G-G-L-O-R-Y
Pt. 14 The maze isn’t what you think it is.
Pt. 15 I’ll explain everything later.
Pt. 16 A Griever’s sting
Pt. 17 You made it, Thomas.**
Pt. 18 What now? - THE ENDING
STUART TWOMBLY - THE INTERNSHIP
#1 Notorious
Pt. 1: You know him. Or at least his reputation.
Pt. 2: Do you know what he said?*
Pt. 3: I’m your wing woman for tonight.*
Pt. 4: Let me return the favor.**
Pt. 5: Did you seriously …*
Pt. 6: Stu, are you home?**
Pt. 7: Whats-her-name changes games*
Pt. 8: My number one rule
Pt. 9: I don’t want this - Do I?
Pt. 10: I think we need to talk*
Pt. 11: What are you sorry for?
Pt. 12: Where’s your bodyguard at?
Pt. 13: Game plans
Pt. 14: Tricks up my sleeve**
Pt. 15: Epilogue
summary; the night is made for doing things you probably shouldn’t do, and the mornings are for running away from them. except, for when you’re snowed in, and trapped with your problems for who knows how long.
notes; this is based vaguely on the movie ‘two night stand’, but very loosely, it does not follow much of the idea at all, just the basic outline. you absolutely do not have to have seen the movie to read this.
warnings; smut, reference to unprotected sex, very light (accidental) slut shaming, that’s about it.
request: Can you do a stiles imagine where he drops the XXL condom in class and beforehand he asked you to hang out after school and he was acting weird with Scott all day and looking at you/flirting. And when he drops it everyone stares at you in class???
word count: 1240
Stiles’ warm, eager brown eyes scanned the hallway for a glimpse of the all too familiar and exceptionally perfect body of Y/N Y/L/N. To Stiles, Y/N was the embodiment of everything wonderful in the world, she was sunshine in human form. And Stiles himself had the pleasure of calling her his, just as he was completely and utterly hers. He found her at her locker, like she always was at this point in the school day, and almost knocked over three students as he rushed toward her. He stopped in front of her locker, his hand on the small of her back as he came to a halt.
“Afternoon, gorgeous,” he smiled at Y/N, grin widening when he saw her smile back at him. “So, guess what?”
“Coach is finally letting you play in an actual game?”
“No, I-”
“You’re getting butt implants? ‘Cause let’s face it that thing is looking a bit like a really flat pancake…”
“Y/N! No, I-”
“You’ve finally gotten over that super embarrassing fear of scary movies so you’re going to take me to see Lights Out and you’re not gonna get scared and accidentally throw popcorn all over the people in back of us and get us kicked out of the theater during the coming attractions like last time?”
“Oh my god, Y/N, this is not the time for jokes. We both know I’m never going to see another movie again- that’s not even the point! Shush for a second, will ya, babe?” He asked, running his hands through his sloppily gelled hair, as he always did when he was becoming flustered. Y/N nodded at him, suppressing giggles behind her tight-lipped grin. Stiles took a deep breath, cracking another smile at her. “Anyways, my dad is staying very late at the station today. I’m talking seven o'clock late. Which means that you should come over. For alone time.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, and she could no longer hold back her laughter.
“How can I resist that extremely sexy, albeit slightly odd, eyebrow thing you got going on?” Y/N replied, shutting her locker and smirking at Stiles. “I’m assuming hijinks are going to ensue, am I correct in this assumption?”
“Extremely correct, baby girl, ‘cause I’m already quite prepared.” He matched her smirk, taking her hand and gently moving her to the other side of the hallway in a corner where they were sure to have at least a minute of privacy. He fumbled with his shirt pocket, producing a shiny, blue square package from inside of it. “See, prepared. Think you can wait until after school this time?” He teased, placing the condom in the back pocket of his jeans and recalling a time when she had been so frustrated during class that she had practically shoved him out the door when the bell rang, dragging him to the nearest janitor’s closet.
“Shut up,” she mumbled, folding her arms and looking down at her sneakers, her face warm. “Stop bringing that up, geez.”
“I thought it was adorable, angel,” he said, tilting her chin up. “And very, very hot. You’re the hottest, most beautiful girl ever, you know that?” He leaned down to press a kiss to her soft lips, pulling away with a disappointed groan when the bell above their heads rang. “Aw, shit. I don’t wanna leave you,” he pouted playfully, giving her hand a soft squeeze.
“You’ll see me in an hour, babe, we can part for an hour. Look, there’s your boyfriend now. Bye, cutie,” Y/N gave him a quick, chaste peck on the cheek before walking quickly down the hallway, disappearing into the English classroom. Stiles sighed, turning to face Scott.
“You’re so in love with her, it’s adorable,” Scott cooed, clapping Stiles on the back as they made their way out into the courtyard, slamming their backpacks on the closet lunch table. “What are you doing after school?”
Stiles froze, eyes widening in fear. He fumbled around in his brain for an excuse, Scott watching with his eyebrows raised. “I- um, you know, gotta study and be a good student and do homework and definitely not let hijinks ensue while my dad isn’t home. Why you ask? What are you trying to say? Are you saying I can’t be a good student, because Lydia isn’t allowed to be the only one with good grades, okay, Scott? Get off my case, man!”
Scott blinked three times, confused. Stiles’ heart was pounding a million miles a minute, for reasons Scott didn’t understand. His question hadn’t been that hard to answer, had it? “Wait, what? I just wanted to know if we could hang out, but clearly there’s something else going on. Are you going to tell me or do I have to force it out of you later?”
Forced laughter, nervous and panicky, tumbled from Stiles’ lips. “Something else? You’re funny, Scott. Haha, hilarious. Oh, look at the time. I’m late for my appointment. Gotta blast,” he said, pretending to check his watch before grabbing his bag and darting off in the other direction, leaving a thoroughly confused and slightly scared Scott in the dust. His best friend sighed, shaking his head as he plopped open his textbook.
“The period just started, and he wasn’t even wearing a watch,” Scott mumbled to himself, rolling his eyes.
An hour later, Y/N was seated behind Stiles in Coach’s class, Scott next to him and casting him strange looks every few minutes, which Stiles blatantly ignored as the lesson droned on. Coach looked around the class, asking loudly, “Does anybody have a quarter? A quarter?” Stiles nodded to himself, happy that the could prove useful to Coach once and for all.
“Yep,” he said, reaching into his back pocket. Before he realized what he was doing, the condom packet flew out of his shaking hands, his mouth dropping open as the packet seemed to fall to the tiled floor in slow motion. He blinked at it, as if it would disappear if he closed his eyes hard enough. It landed quietly, and the entire class leaned over in their chairs to see what had fallen.
Every single student in the room turned to stare at Y/N, who was sinking lower and lower in her seat with each stare that came her way. Coach bent down, picking it up. “Stilinski… I think you, uh, you dropped this.” Coach glanced over at Y/N as well, causing her face to burn as she buried her head in her sweater. Stiles, mouth still agape, stuttered out a quiet and embarrassed apology, to which Coach paid no mind. Scott stared at Stiles with a grin on his face, even more amused than Coach. The silence of the class was broken by laughter, and it didn’t help that the entire class now knew what since condom Stiles Stilinski had to wear in order to have sex with Y/N Y/L/N.
XXL.
When the attention was back on Coach’s obscure lesson, Stiles swiveled in his chair to face his girlfriend, who by now looked as if she were on the verge of murdering someone. “Baby, I-”
“All you had to do was get out a freaking quarter,” she said, shaking her head at him. “That’s all you had to do, Stilinski.”
“Well, at least now everyone knows I wasn’t lying about how big my-”
EVERYONE. GUESS WHAT. @obriengf AND I ARE HAVING A SPRING WEDDING AND YOU'RE ALL INVITED BECAUSE THEY FOUND THIS FIC. ALL TOGETHER MY ANONS SAY "THANK YOU JEMMA" AND GO READ HER FIC ABOUT STILES BEING DAD MATERIAL. IT'S ONE OF THE STILES FIC GOATS. OMG. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH JEMMA.
☆
you're practically vibrating with nerves when you approach stiles' front door, wearing your favorite date night dress and holding a small container of home baked cookies.
sure, you've met noah stilinski in passing. but you hadn't really met him met him and part of you was grateful. it would be so awkward if you were familiar with the sheriff (for the wrong reasons) and he turned out to be your boyfriend's dad.
you only have to knock twice for stiles to swing the door open. he's smiling, a bit disheveled, and he's got... flour on his face?
"hey, come on in, we were just finishing up dinner. what's in the box?" he ushers you inside and leads you through his home, stopping just before the kitchen to smile down at you.
"oh, just a little something to ensure parental approval." you joke, shaking the tupperware gently. stiles laughs and wastes no more time taking the container out of your hands to set on a nearby hallway table, pulling you into a hug. you inhale his scent deeply and feel him do the same to you, squeezing you tightly against him.
"you smell nice." he mumbles into your hair. "missed you."
"you saw me yesterday."
"yeah, and i missed you afterwards. okay, come on." he kisses the top of your head and pulls back, hands sliding down your arms to hold your hand. "burnt pasta awaits."
you don't dare ask how he burnt the pasta when stiles turns a corner and leads you into the very room his dad is standing, mixing a pot of penne pasta. he looks up and smiles politely when he sees you, and you do your best to return the smile with confidence (and not fear of rejection).
"dad," stiles hums excitedly, "this is my girlfriend. girlfriend, dad."
"nice to meet you, sir." you hum. you step forward and shake his hand, meeting his eyes.
"ah, the pleasure's all mine." his handshake is firm and he's grinning kind of like stiles does when he's about to make fun of you. "my son won't shut up about you, it was about time."
you blush and laugh, glancing back at stiles, who snakes his arms around your waist and presses his cheek to the side of your head. "that's very true, she's already gotten that comment from scott."
eyes widening, you feel even hotter with embarrassment. stiles is acting like a theme park couple, one of his hands squeezing your waist where he knows it tickles. you squeak and jump back, wiggling out of his arms. he smiles all dopily at you.
"alright," noah claps his hands together, seemingly not even noticing the interaction. "who's ready for burnt pasta?"
you clear your throat, throwing stiles a bit of a warning look before turning your attention to noah. "i've heard about this, i'm curious to see what burnt pasta could taste like. i'd love a bowl."
noah laughs and dishes you up some, leaving you to bask silently in the victorious (accidental) joke. meanwhile, stiles tucks some of your hair behind your ear and smirks.
"me, too. we never really cook, so it's got to have something wrong with it." he turns to his dad. "dish me up some, chef!"
"you can dish some up yourself. i'm only getting it for our lovely guest." noah looks unimpressed with stiles, waving the wooden pasta spoon at him. "don't think you get off just because you have her to hide behind."
stiles makes a "wha-hey!" noise and scoffs, reluctantly grabbing himself a bowl and scooping out some pasta, bringing both of your dishes to the table. once you're all sat, you thank them both for dinner and ask noah about his work.
and you swear, on your life, you're trying to focus.
but with stiles' big, veiny hand on your thigh like a lifeline, it's a bit fucking difficult.
you know stiles likes touch. but when his fingertips are pushing the hem of your dress up a bit to caress your upper thigh? you swallow thickly. in front of his father, of all people!
you tune back in when stiles starts relaying a funny story. his unoccupied hand reaches across himself and lays on top of your hand as he gets animated, explaining scott's hilarious mistake to his dad with enthusiasm. once he finishes, his hand slides away from yours and the one on your thigh squeezes lightly. "do you guys wanna watch a movie?"
"i rented close encounters of the third kind." noah smirks, pointing at stiles. you watch as stiles gives you a bashful look.
"my dad has an affinity for alien media. you'll learn this sooner than you think."
"they're real!" noah seems only half-joking as he gathers your dishes and makes for the kitchen. "just you wait, you'll be wishing you listened to me."
"yeah, okay dad." hums your boyfriend, waiting for his dad to be out of earshot. once you're safe, he pulls his chair impossibly closer to you. "so, how's it going?"
you blink, still blushing from the whole thigh-hand thing. "oh, uhm, good. right? i think it's going alright."
he nods, standing. you follow and let him cup your face. "i think it's going great. he likes you."
"do you say that to all the girls?" you joke, letting him glance down at your mouth obviously. if stiles wants to make a move on you now that you're dating, he usually does. he hums and laughs a little, pushing your hair out of the way.
"only the pretty ones." he leans down and kisses you, briefly. by the time he's pulling back you've forgotten your manners, pulling him by the t-shirt weakly to keep going. he laughs at you, nibbling his lower lip. "when do you need to be home?"
you glance to the side. "soon, probably. how long is the movie?"
"...two and a half hours."
"yeah," you smile apologetically. "i won't make that. sorry, sti'."
"it's okay babe. my dad and i will probably talk through the whole thing. or worse, we'll kill whoever does talk. it's best if you leave on a good note. c'mon."
you follow blindly as he leads you through the house to the living room, pulling you into his side and wrapping his arms around you loosely. his dad is sat on the couch pulling up the movie, and he turns to look at you guys. he seems only mildly phased by stiles' touchiness. you blush, completely mortified at the inappropriateness of it.
"dad," stiles muses. "she's gotta go."
"ah, alright." noah slaps his thighs and stands, and stiles only moves from your side to behind you, holding your hips lightly as his father approaches. "it was so great to finally meet you. thank you for coming."
you smile and shake his hand, doing your best to ignore stiles' too-comfortable hands. "thank you for dinner, sorry i can't stay."
he shakes his head and waves like 'no problem', but he doesn't get to speak it as stiles perks up. "oh shit, the cookies! we have to try them in front of you!"
"stiles, i'm sure that's not-"
"i'll go grab them, be right back." and he's gone.
you make eye contact with sheriff stilinski, watch as he sizes you up and smiles softly. "i'm sure you're a bit put off by the touching?"
"it's... not unusual. just not so..."
"confident?"
"yes," you laugh, flustered and warm, and glance to where stiles ran off. you can both hear him rummaging around. "i'm sorry about it. i don't want you to think we're immature."
noah shakes his head. "believe it or not, it means good things. i don't know how much he talks about it, but..."
noah stilinski looks off, clenches his jaw. "stiles used to hang off of his mother like that. constantly touching, holding. he used to do it with me, too. a lot. and then, after claudia passed... he just stopped. didn't touch, even hug. the first year was the worst. he's much better, but we don't do much loving anymore. not as much as i should be."
he looks back at you, dead in your eyes. "you're the first person i've seen him so comfortable with. physically, i mean. he holds you almost exactly how he used to hang off of his mother. save for a bit of..." noah clears his throat. "romantic tendencies."
you feel your heart swell; you remember when stiles first got all touchy, that night after you had really dug in, actually had a conversation about the nitty gritty of each other. it had been the first month into dating. he had wandering hands ever since, fully subconsciously.
before you can respond (what are you supposed to say? your boyfriend's dad basically just told you that his son loves you in a way he hasn't loved anyone before), stiles comes barreling back in.
"found 'em! they were on the hallway table, imagine that!" he slings an arm over your shoulder and it makes you all fuzzy in the chest. "okay, lets try them. open the lid, babe. my hands are full."
his hand that isn't offering you the container full of cookies is too busy running through your hair. you smile and gently take the container from him, only giving him another hand to put on you.
☆
later, when he walks you to your car and kisses you goodnight, he can't stop talking about how good the night went. you smile into the kiss (he tastes like chocolate chips) and lean back against the drivers side door (his hands are on your hips your cheeks your neck your sides) as he kisses all over your jaw and cheeks and finally, your lips.
"i love you." he whispers against you as he pulls away. you can feel his hands tighten against your body. he's nervous.
"i love you too, stiles." you smile up at him, feeling your heart flutter as he leans in for more.
☆
another bad boy from the vault!! don't forget to like, subscribe, and drop into my inbox with that daydream you've been having about stiles for weeks on end. you know the one.
I would absolutely LOVE to request a buzzcut stiles smut omg😭
If you are comfortable and if this is not too much detail could you write something about Stiles being insecure of his buzzcut thinking it makes him unattractive but when he tells his other bsf/reader she’s like flabbergasted and tells him how hot it makes him and it makes him all cocky. Then he’d probably like ask her is she’s serious and when she says yes finally act on his feelings. Maybe soft smut? If that is okay
HALLELUIAH YES GAWDDDD i love this sm omg
☆
stiles frowns at his reflection. scott is ranting in the school bathroom again, but it's all stuff stiles has already heard before and he's distracted anyway. he runs an absent hand over his short hair before following a still-rambling scott out of the bathroom and down the hall.
it's been getting on his nerves lately, how slow his hair is growing. he thought it was pretty cool at first, until he was slapped in the face with the reality of his best friend getting girls left and right and leaving stiles completely dry. not that it's scott's fault- he's just easy to get jealous of with this kind of thing.
"dude, are you even listening?" scott abruptly stops and whirls on stiles. "you've been dead silent for, like, three minutes."
"yeah, i heard you. but it's a little hard to care about your girlfriend strife when she actively wants to sleep with you. speaking of,"
allison is leaning against a locker, watching scott with a dreamy look. she waves and smiles softly, leaving scott to return the smile-wave combo with a lot less charisma.
"listen," stiles sighs, trying to keep the bite of envy out of his tone, "you probably just need to talk to her. girls love confidence. just, i dunno," he waves wildly with his hands. "do that."
scott squints at him. "i think that might be the worst advice you've ever given me."
"worse than killing derek?"
"possibly. now, i'm gonna go-" scott throws a look towards allison and swallows thickly, "figure that out. i'll see you."
stiles calls after him; "don't be an idiot! remember i'm living vicariously through you right now!"
once scott and allison are far enough down the hall, he rubs a hand over his hair again and huffs. stupid, stupid freshman stiles and his bad hair decisions.
"you're gonna rub right through your skull."
"GAH!" stiles jumps back from you, snapped out of his spiraling thoughts. you laugh at him behind your hand, looking up through your pretty lashes. "jesus, your footsteps are like feathers. i need to put a bell on you."
that makes you frown, shoulder-checking him as you start walking. "you're just not used to anything other than two-left-feet scott mccall. i have perfectly regular footsteps."
he jogs to catch up with you as you make your way to the school parking lot, eyeing your choice of shorts. your legs being out is a big plus for his racing mind today.
"hey, you busy today? scott ditched me to go play loverbirds and i don't want to do my homework." he hums, pushing one of the heavy doors open and letting you through.
"hmm, that depends, do you have food at your house?"
"not even a little," he smirks at the almost-yes as you both trot through the empty lot towards his jeep. "that's why we're getting drive thru."
"who's paying?"
"who do you think?"
you cheer excitedly as he unlocks the jeep.
☆
you're sat criss-cross on stiles' bed as he paces, tracking his movement with your eyes. he's on a tangent about scott, actually, and how his decision-making skills are subpar. you're listening intently with a tilted head, watching his hands flex as he talks, and the way his biceps bulge without his flannel on, and how his jawline is so sharp-
"and girls are confusing, y'know? sorry, no offense, it's just-" this catches your attention, making your eyes flit up to his as they dart around the room. "it's just that you're all so... so... what do you guys even want? can't be money, because scott has a girlfriend. can't be personality, because jackson has a girlfriend. definitely can't be looks, because i'm pretty sure greenburg is going out with abby right now."
he sighs and turns on you, taking a dangerous step closer to the bed. his brow is upturned, eyes pleading, lips parted.
"it's this stupid buzzcut, isn't it?"
you blink, just once, before squinting. "what?"
"my hair, it's so-" he pushes a frustrated hand through it, and his jaw clenches. "so not hot."
and when he says it, with his narrowed eyes all sharp and his pink lips pressed together, you think for a moment he must be joking. "...what?"
he turns his glare onto you. "you know what i mean, okay? it's unattractive, it must be. i mean, i go completely unnoticed-"
"wait, you actually mean to tell me you think your buzzcut is ugly?"
stiles huffs, clearly not liking the bluntness of his feelings being laid out. "that it makes me ugly, yeah."
this makes you pause. maybe you're a minority, but when stiles drives his jeep and starts talking fast about something nerdy, you imagine climbing into his lap and making him crash the car. one time you two were arguing while he was in his lacrosse uniform and you genuinely wanted to offer to suck his dick. and even right now, with his too-tight t-shirt and his frustrated face, you want to ask him to take his frustration out on you... in- in a hot way. you may have gone a little far with that one-
"would you stop looking at me like that?" he snips, eyes darting over your whole face and then your body like he's looking for the off switch. you frown up at where he stands.
"like what? i'm just in disbelief."
he rolls his eyes. "like you're gonna tackle me. it's weird, after what i just told you."
"well, maybe i do want to tackle you." oh shit, that was supposed to stay in your head! quick, make it look like it was on purpose! "the buzzcut doesn't make you ugly."
his face screws up in confusion. "well, then, what does it make me?"
"hot."
you both kinda falter, like there's nowhere to go from here. his mouth gapes open and you watch his cheeks grow pinker, much similar to your own. and since you've already dug the hole and he doesn't seem too bothered, you make it an inch or two deeper.
"you're pretty hot, stiles. i mean, you hang around scott and stay in your room, so it's not like you're around enough girls for them to tell you. and you never ask me, so... that's probably why you're unaware."
he gapes at you, a hand going to his hair like it has a whole new purpose to him. "i didn't know asking you was an option...."
"apparently it is." you shrug. your oversized t-shirt and shorts suddenly seem not pretty enough for where this conversation seems to be going, but it's too late to linger on that thought now. anyway, his eyes are on you like sniper lasers... or something... and he takes another step closer to you.
"okay, um... i'm asking you."
you raise your eyebrows. what, he just wants you to lament on how sexy he is? you're not that easy, he's probably going to use that information to chase the skirts of some long, skinny-legged girl at school. besides, there's not even that much to-
"please." he hums.
you swallow, turning your face away from him. "okay, well, you've got the whole secretly smart guy thing going on. and your nose is really nice. mix that with the way your eyes are...-"
"my eyes are what?"
you glance up to glare at his impatience. he tilts his head at you, and you swear you can see a mischievous glint in those stupid, stupid (aggravatingly sexy) eyes. bastard.
"they're, um, provocative. when you're frustrated. or focused." you turn your eyes awayyyy from his reaction, for your own safety. "and your jaw is nice, so. plus your hands-"
"my hands?"
"are you gonna keep interrupting me? 'cause i'll stop." you gripe up at him, but looking back up was a big mistake. his cheeks are tinted pink but his mouth is quirked up into a knowing little smirk, like your embarrassment is suddenly clay for him to play with. yeah, no. you are not getting stuck in this position with stiles. "okay, yeah, that's enough."
"no, nonononono wait." he crosses the rest of the distance to crouch in front of the bed, looking up at you. "i'm sorry. i'm just not used to this. or you, like this." his hand rests atop your knee. "i won't even react. keep going, just a bit?"
you pout and look at his hand as his thumb rubs back and forth on your bare skin. it's warm and relaxing and makes your whole body burn hot when his hand inches up your thigh just barely. you look back up at him, but his face is earnest, promising. you sigh.
"your buzzcut makes you look good."
his eyebrows inch up his forehead.
"really good."
stiles grins.
☆
you're not really sure if you left stiles' house or escaped it, after that. all you know is that last night did some serious damage to your ego... and some serious maintenance to his. as you leave school, your mind replays the series of events and the blush that has been plaguing your cheeks and making you overheat returns.
dammit! you had to avoid stiles all day because of this stupid embarrassment. which proved difficult, since you guys had plenty of classes together and ate lunch with each other every day since forever. you slap your cheeks as you shoulder your way past the school doors and into the parking lot, glancing over at the field where lacrosse practice is in full swing.
your eyes catch on something odd, and coach's voice fades into the background when the image registers in your mind. stiles is leaning on the fence with his helmet in hand, sweat making his skin glow and a cocky look on his face. he's leaned over the fence, chatting up three soccer girls, who all seem very interested in whatever he's saying.
this, unfortunately, does not make you happy. but alas, what are you going to do? pull him away by the ear and chastise him for... talking to girls? you just wish you hadn't said anything about his stupid buzzcut (which looks unrealistically good with his lacrosse uniform).
all three of the girls throw their heads back laughing. and it's not even, like, pretty girl flirtatious laughter. it's loud, and one of the girls slaps her friend's arm. you want to rip the arm off.
but you keep walking instead, because you decided the bus was too much and walking home was the best option. better than standing in the parking lot, staring like a creep as your best friend (who you want to messy-make-out with) finally gets girls (who you want dead).
this is going to be a pathetic walk home.
you barely get to the end of the parking lot when you hear stiles shout your name as loud as he can.
part of you wants to stomp your feet and cry, or ignore him (as if the echo didn't reverberate off of the school building), or flip him off. like a middle schooler. because right now, you don't want to deal with the humiliation of telling stiles (through mumbles and attitude) how hot he is and how badly you want him to fuck you into his mattress, only for him to use you as matchmaker for hotter, more experienced girls.
but you're not a child, and he's still your best friend. plus, his lacrosse uniform.... yum.
jesus christ, you need a drink. there is no way that thought just consciously happened.
you drag your feet walking back, and the soccer girls skip off with their ponytails swinging. stiles is smiling all big and bright when you finally reach him. you are not smiling at all. "you needed me?"
"yeah, i wanted to know if you were coming over tonight." he stands taller than you, and his buzzcut looks so touchable right now, you want to bend him down to your level and run your fingers through it. you blink up at him as you stare, and the silence stretches. his hand comes up to the back of his neck. "uhh, just 'cause i could help you with the homework we skipped yesterday-" he interrupts himself. "are you okay?"
"i'm fine. for both. the homework and the question." you press your thumb into your palm and turn towards the lacrosse field, away from his searching eyes and worried lips. "see you tomorrow, yeah?"
you start to back away from him when he steps forward, the fence catching him from coming closer to you. "well i just- you should come over. i want you to."
"stiles, i can't wait for lacrosse practice to end-"
"i'll skip. they don't even need me." he clenches his jaw when you look back at him. there's a determination in his eyes you've never seen directed at you, and it makes your stomach flip. you've never fell victim to being his prey before, when he wants something so he gets it. the feeling is unrivaled. his lips part. "please."
you can feel your cheeks flush. why does that always have to work on you?
"okay, alright, no need to beg." you nod your head to his jeep, on the far side of the parking lot. "let's go."
he does a subtle fist pump that he doesn't think you see, and hops the fence to follow you, leaving literally everything in the locker room except his car keys. "how was your day?"
you glance up at him, but only for a second when you see how he's staring. all curious and excited, probably from the attention he was getting from those soccer girls. your lips press together in distaste before you even realize.
"it was fine." you shrug, watching as he gets ahead of you to open the passenger door. "got an A on mrs. martin's project."
stiles hums in approval, which may or may not make your lower stomach fizz with butterflies. then he closes your door and makes the short jog to his side, clambering inside. "good job. you hungry?"
you shake your head as he pulls out of the parking lot, doing your best to ignore the vein in his neck when he looks over his shoulder as he backs out, hand resting on your seat. yeah, you totally don't notice that. "no thanks, i'm okay."
"are you sure? i didn't see you at lunch. or english. or-"
"i wasn't feeling well today."
this shuts him up, but not in a good way. you feel his eyes on you, even as he drives, and it makes you squirm a bit. but he doesn't comment on your icy tone, and you drive the rest of the way in silence.
☆
in fact, you're silent all the way up to his room, where you toss your bag in the corner and toe your shoes off. stiles huffs out a sigh and scrubs over his buzzcut self-consciously, tracking you with his eyes as you trail aimlessly around his room and admire the things on his walls.
he's been dying to ask it. he has to. the girls on the soccer team said... he squeezes his eyes shut while you're turned away, repeating what they said to him in his head for nth time. just be honest, and confident. that's what you'd want.
stiles takes bold strides across the room right up to you. he gives you enough room to turn around and face him, but not much more.
"hey."
you scrunch your face up just a bit in confusion. "...hi?"
he clears his throat, his jaw flexing on it's own accord. "the...- okay, when you said my buzzcut makes me look really good-"
"stiles," you scoff and push past him, walking to the middle of his room as a means of escape. "i'm not doing this with you."
"no, wait, doing what?" he scurries around you to face you again, holding you lightly by the shoulders. "waitwaitwait. you gotta let me-"
"no. stop." you're embarrassed, he can tell now. the way you turn your face away and narrow your brow, he never knew he'd be able to read you so well. but he's doing it now, and he's not happy with what he's seeing.
"no, you stop. let me ask you what i want to ask, alright?" he huffs through his nose, and watches as you seem to come to attention. it gives him an odd thrill to see you react so readily when he corrects you. "are you gonna listen to me?"
you glare up at him for a second too long before nodding slowly. he nods too, and in a impatient, annoyed tone, he grumbles: "good."
and then stiles watches your eyes flicker as you fluster much more than he expected. he didn't think much of the words when he was saying them, but here you both are, weirdly into it. he blinks hard to clear his head.
"when you said my buzzcut makes me look 'really good'," he repeats, "did you mean really good to you or to other people?"
he feels you shift your weight by the movement of your shoulders. looking away, you hum, "i don't understand why this is important to you."
stiles narrows his eyes. "yes you do. you know you're into me and you just wont say it."
you snap your eyes to his and take a challenging step forward. "who said i'm into you? just because i said you're good looking doesn't mean you get to use me as some matchmaking machine. i won't inflate your ego just so you can hook up with popular girls, stiles. you can't-"
"i'm not asking so you can inflate my ego." stiles takes a step towards you, making you step back. "i'm asking because i want to know if you were serious." another step. "because i want you to think that about me." another step, and your back hits the wall.
you watch, doe eyed, as stiles brings a hand up to push some of your hair away from your face. his eyes meet yours, but dip down when your lips part. he swallows.
"so," stiles hums, towering over you. "were you being serious?"
stiles watches in awe as your pretty mouth forms around his new favorite word.
"yes."
he half expects himself to tear both of your clothes off and go wild. but his body moves on its own accord; taking your face gently in his hands, kissing you like you're made of glass. when you reciprocate eagerly, he feels his pants start to strain. fuck. seriously? can you please pretend you've had at least some action before?
he can't believe he has to talk his dick down when he's kissing you.
pressing you back up against his bedroom wall, he feels goosebumps rise as your nails rake lightly over his buzz, and it makes him hum. stiles gently removes one hand from the curve of your jaw and slides it onto your hip instead. he loves your hips. he loves them even more when his hands are on them, apparently, because the feeling of it is otherworldly.
what's even better, though, is when your tongue collides with his and you let out a small noise. it's high-pitched and whiney, and it almost makes him finish prematurely. he licks eagerly into your mouth to try and draw it out of you again, but you seem to silence yourself from embarrassment. this does not fly with stiles. his knee draws forward and splits your thighs apart, resting in between them, and he moves down to kiss at your neck. he'll make you whine again, he's sure of it.
"wait," you breathe out. he almost doesn't catch it, too busy with the way your skin feel on his lips and how he has you up against his wall, breathless and pliant. but he pulls back (albeit reluctantly) and meets your dazed look with one of his own.
"what? is this okay? do you wanna stop?" he might actually die on the spot if you want to stop. but he'd do it, for you. his hand massages your hip where he's got you gently pinned, and he watches as it visibly makes you sway (swoon, but you'd never admit that).
"no, no. but, your dad-"
"he's out."
"he could get home anytime."
"we can be quick. we don't have to do anything more than this right now."
"stiles," you're laughing at him. it's airy, and mostly just a teasing smile, but you're still laughing at him. "are you just saying that to get me in your bed? i mean..."
your thigh, which is in between his because of his being in between yours, slides up and presses lightly against his hard-on. his jaw goes slack as the unexpected pressure washes pleasure all over his nerves, and his shoulders bend over for a moment as his hips react on their own. he stops himself, thoroughly embarrassed, and glares at you. you giggle behind your hand, raising an eyebrow. "how're you gonna say you don't want anything below the collar with that going on?"
he pushes your thigh away, shaking his head. "i never said i didn't want anything more, i said we don't have to do anything more. plus, you're the one making the noises and touching me and... so, if anything, this isn't even my fault." stiles gestures vaguely to his dick.
"i'm flattered." you deadpan, before your hand trails from his chest to his stomach. he watches in awe, still half disbelieving that he got you here. you hook your fingers into his waistband and look up at him. "promise your dad wont walk in on us?"
"can you not talk about my dad while turning me on?" he groans, scrubbing a hand over his face. "swear on my life, you have nothing to worry about."
you nod and lean back against the wall, tugging him by his pants to meet you there. he follows suit, lining his body against yours as he kisses you, hands on your hips with yours running through his buzz. he captures your lower lip in his teeth and gently as he can, and you make another short, high-pitched noise again. his dick twitches in his pants.
"you wanna, um," you suck in a breath as he kisses your neck, "move to the bed?"
"yes," he sighs, and immediately pulls your hips forward and directs you to his bed. when you drop onto it and scoot back, stiles hesitates. your hair is a bit messy, lips are full, and your eyes have a glint in them he's never seen before. he's assaulted with the thought of you being his wife and having his kids and growing old and dying together, and then he blinks it away. jesus christ, you're a powerful woman.
he wants to do anything to make you look like this all the time. needy, pretty, all your insecurities and doubts kissed right off of your lips, even if it's just for a bit. is this what being horny is going to be like for him now? is he gonna be a sap when you want to fuck?
stiles crawls over you slowly, laying you back against his pillows. you're excited and it shows, and you're both smiling when he kisses you this time.
☆
he's a mess for days after, head full of the faces you make when he touches you just right, the noises coming from your mouth when you finish. the feeling of skin on skin, the picture perfect look of you wearing his shirt after. it takes scott about two and a half seconds to scrunch up his nose and make a disgusted face at stiles when he starts thinking it. your beauty is just seeping out of him, like he soaked you up and now every werewolf in a one hundred mile radius can smell the lovesick puppy on him.
you want to go on dates, too. real ones, all the time, and you think he's hot and cute and sometimes pretty, which is confusing to him but he likes it anyway. and he wants to save up his money so he can take you to a fancy restaurant. and he is so whipped.
which he's fine with. as long as it's for you. honestly, he's fine with almost anything, as long as it's for you.
☆
i didn't write smut and i apologize but my writing process is to blackout while my fingers fly across my keyboard like i'm a hacker spy until i come to and there's a story on the screen. so. smut didn't happen naturally so it ain't gonna happen at all, i guess. i dunno. ask writing star, not editing star. sorry i've been so absent, holidays is super busy with extended family and such. wish me luck. xoxo!!!
☆
BONUS!! stiles asks some poor soccer girls for help before you went to his house after lacrosse practice. the advice is... really somethin'.
"hey, um, lily?" he had to guess the name of the girl jogging past, but he got it right. she stopped and approached him skeptically, glancing at her two friends in front of her.
"yeah?" she threaded her fingers through the fence as he strided the rest of the distance to her. her two friends had begun making their way over as well. she had to squint past the sun as she stared at him. "what's up?"
"hi, hey, we have bio together. fourth period? i've sat behind you all sememster?"
her face showed no recognition.
"...anyway, i have a question. actually, i can ask all three of you. since you're, um, girls."
her two friends had approached at that point, and looked equally as put off by stiles as lily did. he cleared his throat and started on his ramble:
"so, let's say i'm best friends with this girl, and i like her. like, a lot. and she's kinda totally way out of my leauge, but we never talk about it because she doesn't see things like that anyway. and one day i get on a rant about girls and how confusing they are because, y'know," he gestured to his face like it was a tell of itself, "and she says that my biggest insecurity- err, physically- is actually really hot. and she says my hands are sexy. and my eyes are seductive. and she's like, kinda blushing a lot? but she blushes anyway about stuff around me so it doesn't really-"
"she likes you." one of lily's friends piped up behind her. "if that's what you're asking."
"are you sure? i'm not her type, plus-"
"dude," sighed the other one. the three girls shared a look, making stiles gulp. "girls don't call guys' hands sexy unless they're dying to have them in their mouth."
"mazie!" lily whirled around to slap her friend's shoulder, which did absolutely nothing to censor her. when she turned back to stiles, it was apologetically. "sorry, but she's got a point."
he slumped onto the fence in relief. "you think so? i want to put my hands in her mouth, if she's asking for that."
"nice." mazie nodded as the other two girls made noises of disgust. ignoring them, mazie continued. "honestly, she probably likes you but thinks you don't like her. especially if you're chatting up three soccer girls, looking like that."
the only girl stiles hadn't gotten the name of nodded solemly, and lily put her hands on her hips, determined. "okay, skinhead. how're you gonna confess?"
stiles smiles awkwardly. "uh, i'll just tell her when she comes over tonight?"
lily barked out a laugh, and her two friends followed suit. it was loud, like three crows making fun of him while they toss their heads back. it ended abruptly, too, and lily glared daggers at him in the silence. "no, idiot."
stiles whimpered a little "oh."
"girls love confidence." the unnamed girl declared, tilting her head. "when i flirt with girls i always make them like, say how hot i am. always gets them going."
"god," lily scrunched her nose, "are you both ovulating? we do not need to know all of that."
"so... what should i do?" stiles blinked at them, and they refocused their attention on him.
"be confident. be honest. that's always a rare, and hot, trait in a guy." lily said, before her eyes roved over him analytically. "anyway, you're attractive. it'll be fine."
"he's attractive?" the unnamed girl said, making all three of them laugh again. lily slapped her arm, and stiles let himself get distracted as his eye caught on someone walking across the parking lot.
oh, it's you.
his body feels a bit warmer, buzzing with nervous energy, as he shouts your name.
