Make A Wish, Make It Hurt
Sciles, cis swap, creature swap, female Scott, werewolf Stiles, menstruation kink, grossness and feelings.
[Read On AO3]
“You smell so good,” Stiles says, pinning Scottie to the wall when she climbs through his window, bending down to nose at her neck. She squeaks in surprise, but tilts her head for him. A happy growl rumbles in his chest as he takes in her scent; ripe, like a bursting plum, warm and heady. It makes him dizzy, spacey; makes his wolf scramble inside of his chest desperately. The only reason he doesn’t shift is because her hand is on his arm, warm and steady.
If only she knew just how much power she has over him. The way his wolf cows for her in ways that it won’t do for him. It wants to fight Stiles, but it wants to show its belly to Scottie. Alpha without even being a werewolf. More importantly, anchor.
It’s probably to be expected. Stiles has always had this subtle obsession with Scottie. She’s his best friend, for a long time she was his only friend. He would march to the ends of the Earth for her. Do whatever she asked. There’s always been this urge to occupy the space under her skin. It was there before Stiles became a wolf. It’s existed since the moment she punched him in the face for peeing on her sand castle.
Now, it’s different. It’s more perverse, more codependent and borderline unhealthy, but Stiles is working out what it means that apparently the wolf is as gone on her as Stiles is. He can track her scent for miles, can hear her heartbeat across town. Deaton says there’s no such thing as werewolf mates, but there’s something about Scottie that makes his wolf howl and whine. Scottie has him hook-line-and-sinker. He wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Stop sniffing me, dog breath,” she jokes, but she strokes over his wrist and makes him melt. He curves further around her. She’s tiny, 5’2, small enough to fit in his pocket, and with one hand she steadies his entirety.
“Why else would you climb in my window at 1AM?” he asks, pressing a kiss below her ear. Her pulse flutters under his lips, her scent goes sweet, aroused. His fingers skim under her t-shirt, the soft curve of her belly.
All her vulnerable skin reminds him just how easy it would be to sink his claws into her, tear her apart. Her body would yield so easily. The fact that he has these thoughts, short bursts of violence, scares the shit out of him. He doesn’t want to hurt Scottie, neither does his wolf. Stiles would rather her body yield in other, more satisfying ways.
“Stiles.”
“Please,” he whines, dragging his teeth over her skin. She shudders underneath him, he feels it through his whole body. “It’ll be good, I promise. It’s always good.” He feels like a puppy, wagging his tail, pay attention to me. She always does. The roll of her eyes is fond, her smile is warm and tender. He wants to bite into her dimpled cheeks. The wolf makes his affection so much more aggressive.
“Fine,” she relents, and kisses him deeply as he picks her up, gripping her under her thick thighs. She’s in a pair of cut-off jeans and his old lacrosse t-shirt. It bathes her in his scent, but it’s not strong enough to mask how strongly she smells.
This is day three of Aunt Flo’s visit, her crimson wave, the whole biological process that she despises. It makes her touchy, because she’s so uncomfortable. He does whatever he can for her. Brings her food and sneaks away her pain, hand splayed over the bottom of her stomach. He scares off anyone who gets too close, who would irritate her. There are stashes of chocolate in his locker for a reason, to provide.
Now that he’s knows when it’s happening, he’s grossly affectionate about it. Insists on caring for her, making her week as easy as he can. The action of it is what proves how much he cares for her, right?
She used to never let him touch her during her period, thought it was gross. She would get irritated when he suggested that orgasms help relieve cramps, but he was persistent because she smells so fucking good every time. Eventually, she relented, just to see.
Stiles is pretty sure he changed her life, but Scottie won’t admit it. She always holds out for a couple of days before she climbs his roof and falls into his bedroom. It’s always because she’s too horny to ignore him, and knows he’ll be awake.
There’s no need to be coy, he dumps her on the bed and drags her jeans off. When he leans up she pulls him in for a hard kiss, panting into his mouth when his hands rub her through her panties. The way she smells his making his mouth water; sweet like arousal, musky like slick, and tangy like iron and blood. It’s the best combination, Stiles is going to devour her.
“Stiles, Stiles,” she groans, arching off the bed, into his palm. He rumbles happily at her enthusiasm, licking over her pulse point, tasting her sweat. He drags her shirt off and chucks it somewhere, getting his mouth on the curve of her tits. The skin goes red and purple, bruising deeply as he pulls with his mouth and his teeth. He can hear the blood surge to the surface, the way her heart stutters. He can hear every pull of her lungs, every sweet noise that escapes her throat.
Usually her tits are too sore to go braless when they fuck, but he pulls down her bra to get at her nipple, sucking it to a hard point while she squirms under him, hands in his hair, scrambling against his shoulder. He replaces the one side and pulls the other down to draw more noises out of her.
“Take off your clothes,” she says, when he finally comes up for air. He complies without hesitation, shedding all of his clothes. It isn’t as embarrassing to be naked as it once was. The werewolf power has him gaining muscle quickly, filling out. He’s less awkwardly lanky and more solid for her. Scottie looks at him with dark eyes, drinking him in.
“I’m going to eat you out,” he sing songs, grabbing her around her hips and lifting her so he can shove her up the bed and kneel between her legs, hooking them over his shoulders. She makes a face like she doesn’t enjoy the idea, but doesn’t protest. He stares at her, “is that okay?”
She makes another face, “why are you asking me? Usually you just shove me against the wall and go to town. What gives?”
“You bitched for like three days when I did that,” Stiles points out, dragging down her underwear. Everything is more ripe between her legs; he licks at her thighs, sucks bruises into her sensitive skin.
When he did that, he smelled her coming, grabbed her as soon as she came through the window, hitching her up against the wall. She was wearing a skirt, and he just held her there with his strength and went at it. It was glorious, the way she squirmed and moaned, unable to get any traction because she was upright and pinned.
“I was just surprised,” she huffs. “I didn’t think you’d be that into it.”
“It’s you,” Stiles grumbles. “Of course I’m into it.”
“Fine,” Scottie says, thwacking his shoulder. “I enthusiastically consent to you going in on my bloody pussy, please eat me out Stiles, please.”
“We need to work on your dirty talk, baby,” Stiles says, dragging the tampon out of her and setting it on her underwear on the floor. She watches him with a look, like she’s going to protest, mouth opening up, so he leans down and licks along her slit. That shuts her up.
She whines, hips arching into his face and he complies, tongue delving into her where she’s soft and hot. There’s so much slick already, coating the blood. It’s all tangy goodness on Stiles’ tongue as he fucks it into her, literally trying to eat her up.
He sucks on her lips first, loving the way her hips cant towards him, grinding her cunt against his chin. The tease is what gets her the most, he knows, the way he licks all over her without purpose. It makes her whine and groan his name like a threat. When he gets his mouth around her clit, she practically shouts. It’s swollen and pulsing with blood, practically hot to his wolf senses.
His lips smack as he eats her out enthusiastically. He can’t get enough of her taste, the noises she makes. Whining and groaning and moaning. Stiles knows she isn’t doing it for show, she always gets embarrassed that she’s so loud, but Stiles loves it. It makes the wolf rumble happily, prowling with anticipation.
His goal in life is to make her scream.
“Stiles, shit, fuck,” she says, arching sweetly as he teases her opening. The problem with the way they fuck is that they’re rough, hard, fast. Stiles can get her off in five seconds if he wanted to. Nights like these, he doesn’t really want to, wants to draw it out and make her pant for it.
He slows down, kitten licking at her, making her squirm. Her chest rises and falls with her breath. It’s making him seriously concerned about her asthma.
“There’s an inhaler in the drawer,” he says, popping up, his thumb rubs against the inside of her thigh, teasing over her lips, just to keep her stimulated. “If you need it.”
“Gunna take my breath away?” she asks, with a sweet grin. Stiles blushes and ducks his head, nuzzling into the softness of her hip. He sets his teeth to her skin, sucks in a wicked bruise that makes her swear.
“Concerned boyfriend here,” he says, without thinking about it, sinking his fingers into her. She groans and rotates her hips, circling and trying to fuck herself on his fingers. They’re red when they come out of her, slick and sweet. He licks around his fingers, into her again.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” she groans, hands in his hair, tugging hard. That means she’s going to come all over him. He smirks and starts fingering her harder, curling up against her g-spot as he sucks her clit into his mouth. “Oh, god, Stiles, fuck. Stiles.”
Stiles feels her flutter around him, muscles pulling him in as she comes. He’s still sucking, making her ride it out with his fingers inside of her. He knows when she starts to get overstimulated, hips moving in little circles away from him. There’s a quick slap to his head, making him come up.
“Okay, I came,” she groans, head falling back. There’s a pretty sheen of sweat all over her chest, gathering at her temples. He licks up her mound, the soft curve of her stomach, licks the top of her tits where they peek over her bra. There’s sweat in the dip of her clavicle, up her throat. More bruises, more claim to ownership.
Not that he could ever possess Scottie. It would be like trying to handle the sun. If anything she owns him, every bit of him.
“Can I?” Stiles asks, nudging his dick against her. His arousal was secondary while he was eating her out, but he’s so hard he feels like his dick is going to fall off. There’s a deep ache in him, primal almost, he needs to fuck her, rut into her until he can’t think.
“Yeah, please,” she whines, breath hitching as he lines up.
“Condom?”
“Pill,” she says, quickly, hooking her legs around him. “Want to feel you.”
“Every man’s dream,” he says, kissing her quickly before tracing her slit with his dick. He sinks into her, her body opening around him. She’s so slick and wet inside. The smell of his precome mixes with her everything, and something settles in Stiles’ chest as he starts thrusting.
“Don’t put your bloody hands on me,” she warns, but his hands are already gripping her hips for leverage, so he doesn’t comment. She’ll find out sooner or later.
This is his favorite part. She throws back her head, eyes screwed tightly shut, and just feels him. He gets to watch her, because she’s not watching him; gets to take it all in, the flush on her cheeks, plush lips parted as she pants. Her throat jumps when she whines, crooked jaw clenching and unclenching when he’s particularly rough. Her hair is long and wavy around her face, fanned out like a dark halo. She looks fucking ethereal.
He likes to pull back and watch where he disappears inside of her. His dick is dirty with blood and slick; he’s in heaven, a little bit. The gross parts of them are the best parts, he thinks, as he thumbs across her clit and makes her moan sharply.
“Stiles, you -- you should,” she trails off, eyes opening and staring at him. He arches an eyebrow at her, thrusting in and grinding down. She groans and tightens her legs around him like she can’t help herself. “You should knot me.”
“Oh fuck, Scottie,” Stiles says, words punching him in the gut. They haven’t done it yet. They haven’t tried. Mostly because Scottie talks about time and place and what kind of commitment is it going to be for them to be stuck for ‘like, 30 minutes or whatever’. “Really?”
“Yeah, really,” she says. “Do it before I chicken out.”
“I can’t just pop a knot at your command,” he growls, even though he wishes he could. He falls on her, pinning her hands above her head and kissing her roughly. He growls low, and fucks into her hard and fast, swallows all her noises down. She’s moving beautifully under him, hips counterpointing every thrust, circling like she wants to ride him.
The stimulation is overwhelming. He can smell her all around him, her blood and sweat and slick. It’s filling up his head, making his body throb. He reels her in by her hair, bowing over her, as he knots her soft body. The pressure in his dick is overwhelming, and she screams out his names as he locks inside of her.
He snarls as he comes in hot pulses, pulling her upright so she’s sitting on his knot, grinding down on it as he thumbs her clit hard. She comes again with his teeth at her throat, one hand tangled in her hair, the other settled on her hip. Her body flutters around him, orgasms making them both overstimulated. He’s never come for this long before.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” she groans, still too loud for the dead of night. The sound of their harsh panting fills the air, breath hot between them. Stiles nudges his hips, just to hear her whine, low in her throat.
“That’s so fucking intense,” Stiles says, nosing into her neck. He’s so glad he can feel her skin, that he can touch her. His whole body is buzzing and he needs her to steady him.
“Oh my god, yeah,” she says, sucking in deep breaths, fast. He rubs her chest and leans over, making her gasp as his knot shifts, and grabs the inhaler from the drawer. The look she gives it is disdainful, but she doesn’t protest when he shakes it and presses it to her mouth.
“Good girl,” he says, when she exhales. He doesn’t mean it mockingly, but she smacks him anyway. At least there’s a smile on her lips, a fond mocking grin that makes him feel light and warm all over. He loves her so fucking much.
“How long for this knot thing?” she asks, gesturing down between them. Her clit is still swollen, full of blood, it peeks out from between her lips. Stiles kind of wants to make her come more.
“No idea,” he admits, biting his lip. She’s watching him again, but her eyes are hot, anticipating. He smirks crookedly and unhooks her bra, letting her tits fall heavy between them. He rolls her nipple under his fingers, pulling it to hardness.
She groans, burying her face in his collar. The movement makes her hips roll forward. He grinds up the tiniest amount.
“Stiles.”
“We’re going to be here a while,” he says, skating his hand over the curve of her tits, just touching. He knows he’s being too obvious. The way he touches her is gentle, worshipping paths across her body. It’s hard not to love everything about her; the deep tan of her skin, the darkness of her eyes. The way she molds so perfectly to him.
His hand has drying blood and come, but she doesn’t comment as he presses his fingers to her pulse, skimming them up her neck. The trust she has for him, his wolf, makes him ache deep down as she bears her most vulnerable parts. Her eyes flutter when he drags the pads of his fingers down her sternum, the median line of her body, dipping into her belly button.
He cups her ass, dragging his hands over top of her thighs. He likes touching her without a real purpose, feeling the way she reacts to him, finding out where she’s sensitive. It’s sensual. Something they don’t do very much, if at all.
They don’t make love, they just fuck. Usually it’s rough and fast and full of laughter, a way to blow off steam. They’re not officially anything except for best friends that fuck a lot, but Stiles loves her more than anything. It’s a deep feeling that swells in his chest, makes him spill over with affection.
It feels like that when she starts rolling her hips, riding his knot. She can’t go very far, but she rocks back and forth, grinds down, gasping. She tilts her head back and groans low when his hand finds her clit. The pressure from his knot is easing, giving her more room to move.
It’s still slow, like rolling waves. They rock together, tenderly. When she comes, there’s no production to it. Stiles can only tell because there’s a crash of pheromones he can taste on his tongue, her muscles fluttering around his dick.
He slips out slowly, like she won’t notice, and kisses her deep. It makes him ache to his toes, the way her mouth works against his. It’s so sweet, she tastes so fucking sweet. He’s still rubbing her clit as he lays her down, and she’s still groaning. She might still be coming.
Stiles moves down her body, kissing every part of her that he can touch before settling between her legs again. She’s leaking onto his sheet, come and slick and blood mixing. It smell like them, tastes like them as he eats it out of her.
She’s pulsing around him, sobbing gently above him as he hooks his fingers into her and rubs her g-spot while he licks over her. Her thighs are trembling around his head. She’s shaking. Coming and coming and coming. It’s like he can’t stop, just wants to make her feel so good, wants it to be so good for her.
Eventually she hauls him up by his ears and kisses him, wet and dirty, licking into his mouth and tasting them together. It makes him rumble in his throat when she groans against his tongue. Her hand comes between them to grip his dick, but Stiles can tell that she’s worn out; she’s still trembling underneath him.
He holds himself up and jerks his cock above her, quick and effective while she watches. Her eyes slide between his face and his dick. When he comes, he comes across her stomach and her cunt, painting her with it.
After, they lie side by side, panting, hands laced together.
“Did you mean what you said before?” she asks, eyes glued to the ceiling. Stiles can hear her pulse, rabbit fast. Anxiety is coming off her, just the barest hint of it. If he wasn’t a wolf, he would have no idea, her face is completely neutral.
He makes a questioning noise.
“‘Concerned boyfriend’?” she says. Stiles can hear the air quotes. His wolf paces in his chest, irritated without explanation. It’s not her tone, that’s neutral, curious even.
“I, uh. Slip of the tongue?” he says. His heart is starting to speed up, unsure of what she’s going to say. She has to know the scope of his feelings for her, even if she doesn’t know the depth of them. Only, Scottie can be oblivious. Stiles sighs, “Yeah, I mean. Yeah?”
“Yeah?” Scottie asks, eyes darting to him. “Is this some weird wolf thing? You made me your anchor and now you think you’re in love with me?”
“I don’t think,” Stiles says, edgy enough to be defensive. Scottie squeezes his hand. Whether it’s meant to be reassuring or a warning, Stiles has no idea. “I know I love you.”
“Fine,” she says. “Concerned boyfriend it is.”
“What?” he asks, feeling a little off kilter.
“I don’t fuck just any wolf,” Scottie says with a huff. She rolls into him so that they’re face to face, pressed close. His arm snakes around her automatically, pressing them flush. All that skin makes him feel so good. “I was dropping hints.”
“That’s not even -- no,” Stiles says, incredulous. He didn’t even notice. Maybe he’s the oblivious one. Scottie laughs and kisses him, nudging her come slicked hips into his. He sweeps his hands down her back and holds onto her, his anchor; wolf content in his chest.
