#stilesworld!

[murdrdocs]

MISCELLANEOUS ONE SHOTS !

note from author all works are 18+ ; ☽ indicates explicit sexual content; home

includes ... BRUCE WAYNE (BATTINSON); RAFE CAMERON; JAKE SULLY; ETHAN LANDRY; STILES STILINSKI; MIKE SCHMIDT; LUKE CASTELLAN; PAUL ATREIDES; ART DONALDSON, TASHI DUCNAN

BRUCE WAYNE !

❝ after party ❞ ☽ 1.3k+ words 

after a tiring night out, bruce just wants to bury himself between your thighs

RAFE CAMERON !

❝ west village ❞ ☽ 1.1k+ words

all good things must come to an end, and that includes your relationship with rafe

JAKE SULLY !

❝ east to west ❞ ☽ 3k+ words 

sometimes you and jake argue. sometimes those arguments end up with him fucking you against a tree.

ETHAN LANDRY !

❝ stuck with you ❞ 1.6k+ words

by a stroke of sheer bad luck, you end up stuck in an elevator with your self proclaimed worst enemy

❝ bad taste ❞ 1k+ words

you're partnered with ethan landry for a 2000s-esque 'baby project'

❝ just a little bit ❞ ☽ 2.4k+

there's something about the heat of camp nightingale that makes you really want ethan landry

MIKE SCHMIDT !

❝ nothing real ❞ 1.3k+ words

usually haircuts don't include intense longing. but usually, mike doesn't get a haircut from the person he desires most

⇀ ❝ haunting your bed ❞ 2.2k+ words

you, mike, and abby bake a chocolate cake and mike gets to taste it from your lips

PAUL ATREIDES !

❝ do you believe in us? ❞ ☽ 5.4k+

you and paul become stepsiblings, but don't stop your affairs

ART DONADLSON !

❝ sweet as a grape ❞ ☽ 3.6k+

you make art's loss feel like a win

TASHI DUNCAN !

❝ spinnin' out waiting ❞ ☽ 4.2k+

reuniting with tashi in a hotel bar

LOGAN HOWLETT !

❝ go about things the wrong way ❞ ☽ 5k+

logan is a hypocrite. not that you're complaining

❝ i want your video ❞ ☽ 6.5k+

your roommate asks you to film a porno with him

JAKE SERESIN !

❝ house calls ❞ ☽ 1.8k+

your mechanic charges extra for house calls

[murdrdocs]

listening to diet pepsi n thinking abt having the most stereotypical teenage american romance w stiles.......

untouched, XO

young lust, lets- ah

when we drive in your car, im your baby

losing all my innocence in the backseat

car sex; established relationship; rawdogging; brief mention of accidental pregnancy; not proofread MDNI 18+ w/ STILES STILINSKI

a summer of kept promises with stiles.

there’s something in the air, a feeling of change steadily drifting to you both within the front. it’s mostly unspoken, always crept around with fear that if you really said it now, it’ll all end prematurely.

so you keep your impending doom to yourselves, nothing but shared looks across the console of his jeep.

summer is halfway over by the time stiles gets back to beacon hills, but that’s fine. you both make quick work of the time you have left. nostalgia becomes prevalent as you relive a simpler time, a time where stiles was the only one with a license and a car. there’s some things different about it this time, like the shameless way you hold his hand as he drives you both to a sonic just a little far outside of town. you both know it’s so that you can make the drive last longer, hanging on to all of the time you both have left together.

you sip diet pepsi’s and sickingly sweet milkshakes, sharing new stories from freshman year and old stories from the years before. you look at him from your side, your feet tucked up into the seat, your head lolled back against the seat. stiles has always been pretty, but he looks prettier tonight. maybe it’s the sentiment of it all, the young love circling the air.

your last year being teenagers has a way of making you sappy. you hadn’t expected the element of existentialism, but it’s not completely unwelcome. especially when it leads you to doing things you would’ve never done without it.

you weren’t innocent before stiles and you knew he wasn’t innocent before you, but something about giving yourself to stiles in the backseat feels like an act of deflowering. maybe it's the tender way he touches every part of you, equal parts analysis and appreciation as he slides his fingers down between your petals, dragging nectar onto your bundle of nerve endings. when you kiss him, he tastes like a strawberry milkshake, the flavor mixing with your own as he presses his tongue against yours.

he sinks his fingers into you, reaching further and further, gliding his fingertips against your walls. he watches you the entire time, eyes lidded, lips open, his expression one you've never really seen on him before. he wears it well. as well as you wore the jeans that have become nothing but an unimportant bundle of fabric on the floor.

"could stay here just like this," he tells you, his forehead resting against yours as he lets his eyes flutter close. he takes a breath, and you take it with him. he releases his naturally, while yours gets punched out of you with a well-crafted twitch of stiles' hands.

"yeah?" he asks. you groan, your head tipping back as it just continues to get better.

stiles laughs to himself a bit. "yeah," he deduces.

you, too, could stay like this forever. letting stiles pull you apart and put you back together until you couldn't think anymore, existing outside of the rest of the world and in a bubble you've both created in the back of a deserted parking lot. a world that smells like black ice little trees, joined by a few empty water bottles on the floor, and shut off from the outside by foggy windows.

but time hasn't stopped here. you only have so many hours left together before you're off to a second year apart, one that'll be so much different than the first.

you need to cherish your time together.

you pull stiles' hand from between your legs when he goes to give you another orgasm. he watches you the entire time, eyes dark while you bring his fingers to your lips. he's weightless, allowing you to maneuver his touch. he only acts when you have his fingers sitting on your tongue, your lips wrapping around his digits soon after.

he thrusts his fingers back into your mouth, pressing onto your tongue once, and pulling out when you gag around him. there's a sick look in his eyes when it happens, but you don't comment on it for fear that he'll take it negatively. you like when he looks at you like that. like you're completely his. his to toy with, his to control, his to learn every single detail of, all for his own twisted benefit.

he tries to tug his hand away in favor of lining himself up, but you keep him there for just a while longer—long enough to swirl your tongue around his fingers, ignoring the taste of yourself because it gives him pleasure to watch you like this. and then when you're done, you let him pull his hand away, grinning when he smears your own saliva over your bottom lip. 

it's risky, letting him enter you raw, but just the once. you tell yourself you're prepared for the consequences, you're not shocked that the idiocy and delusion easily settle into stiles' brain too.

"whatever happens," he tells you, hovering his tip right over your entrance. "we'll go through it together." and when he says it like that, sincerity making way through the thick fog of hormones, you believe him.

you tangle your hands in his overgrown hair and pull him down for a kiss while he slides home. 

[murdrdocs]

coming back from hibernation cause i saw your reblog about void stiles and…….. just thinking about being friends with scott and stiles but being unaware of the supernatural. they were both planning on telling you eventually—but things have taken a turn to worse lately, and none of them seemed to find the right moment to shatter your reality as you know it. void thought you knew— so imagine the pleasant surprise he has when he shows up at your place and he realizes that you—precious little you, who’s name often was at the forefront of stiles’ mind, who scott seemed to hellbent on keeping safe— doesn’t know a thing about the ancient evil standing before you.

and as void leans closer to you, there is a smirk you haven’t seen before on stiles’ lips. void tilts his head. this should be fun.

- 🍒

typical void antics; darker content; MDNI 18+ w/ VOID

void clocks the confusion on your face first. he steps into your room and you wreak of naivety. the scent permeates your room, your clothes, your everything. it sinks into his skin, but it feels good. because he knows that something can and will come out of this.

"stiles?" you say, sitting up from your position on your bed. you're wearing nothing but a sweatshirt and tiny shorts, and every thought stiles has ever had about you comes rushing to the forefront.

void can hear the weak human speaking to him now, begging him to leave you alone. he's trying to negotiate, but stiles doesn't have anything void wants. well, except you. but void is stiles now, and what's stiles' is void's.

void steps closer, wondering if he should disguise himself, if he should pretend to be your best friend. would the payoff be bigger that way? but the initial fear in your body would give him the rush he needed. yes, he'll take that route.

he doesn't say anything and your face contorts into confusion. you rest your book off to the side, standing and rounding the bed to face void.

"what's wrong? are you sick?"

void just blinks down at you, his lips pursed and his arms clasped behind his back. he can sense the fear settling in your body. he's getting you there, but this isn't nearly enough.

you lift your hands to void's face with assurance, as if you've done this before with stiles. void lets you push the dark hair off of his forehead, analyzing his face for any scratches or bruises. and when you come back empty, you're pouting, pressing the back of your hand against his forehead.

"you're freezing, stiles. what happened?"

void tilts his head a bit. "you really care, don't you?"

you seem surprised, either that he's finally spoken or that this is what he asks you.

"of course i care. why wouldn't i?"

your phone rings from on your bed and from where void stands he can see the contact name. it's no surprise that scott's calling you. he's likely trying to make up for lost time, intending to warn you of events that are already beginning to transpire.

void doesn't even resist scoffing, nor does he resist wrapping his hand around your elbow when you try turning away. he pulls you into his chest, holding you there with a hand on your lower back.

his head dips, eyes looking in yours. there, he finds shock, fear, and excitement. he smirks, big and broad, and continues dipping his head down until his lips trail over the side of your neck.

"don't answer it," he tells you.

you're rigid, not even attempting to push him away from you.

stiles is still pleading with void, begging him to not force you into anything. stiles doesn't even know that void won't have to force you, you've been dying to sleep with stiles. it's obvious. void can't see how stiles hadn't noticed.

"why not? what if it's important?"

void lifts the bottom of your sweatshirt, pressing his hands into your sides. you jump at first, but then melt into the contact.

"probably just your little friend scott warning you about me. nothing he can do now, isn't that right?"

there it is. void can feel the fear in your now. the feeling is as close to a home as he'll ever have.

"warning me about you? what do you mean, stiles? what's going on?"

you're worried and scared, but you still let void run his hands down to the waistband of your shorts. he wonders how long it'll take for you to put an end to this. there's only one way for him to find out.

[murdrdocs]

torn at the seams

description. "and if we don't lose our virginities by seventeen, let's just lose them to each other, okay?" you were serious when you told STILES STILINSKI that in middle school, and now that you're both adults, and both still virgins, you intend to hold up your end of the bargain.

includes. SMUT MDNI 18+, loser! stiles (that's just canon), virginity loss for both parties, fingering, protected sex (hallelujah!), typical nervous stiles, teaching, lots of kissing, childhood friends

wc. 5.7k+

a/n: started this a yr ago and found it and finished it. for my bsf, happy (early) birthday! artwork is the kiss by edvard munch. title from cherry by lana del rey

From below, there was a soft thump of music, upbeat song after upbeat song following each other as whatever playlist your friends decided on played throughout the house. The floors and walls vibrate occasionally, giving you a faint idea of the beat. 

You would’ve focused more on it, maybe tried to figure out if it’s a song you’d pressured them into putting into the rotation, if you weren’t so distracted by the body steadily moving around your bedroom. 

You watch Stiles Stilinski, eyes trailing from the back of his faded shirt to the hand holding a red solo cup that you were 80 percent sure was half full of diet Coke. He walks around your bedroom, eyeing the pictures and collectible items you’d acquired over the years. 

Your own solo cup sat on your nightstand, temporarily living with more trinkets. A photo of you and friends, a few rings you didn’t intend to wear tonight, a tube of chapstick that usually sat on your lips in place of the lipgloss you wore tonight, a hand cream. The items you intended to use shortly were stashed under your pillow, purposefully put there for easy access. 

You had the urge to slide your hand under there and check their location, suddenly fearful that something had happened to them between the time you sat them there and went downstairs to join the party. 

But doing so would’ve been too obvious, so instead you sit still on your bed, shoes discarded and your feet folded under you. 

You continue to watch Stiles observe, your lips tugged into a small smile, remembering just how hyperactive Stiles could be. 

“And this picture. When was this?” he asks you. 

You lean forward a little, looking around his body whenever he steps off to the side. The photo in question is of you standing at an amusement park, just a year or so younger, a grin on your face as you stood in front of a popular attraction. 

“Early last year, my family trip.”

Stiles nods, understanding without details that every year your family went on a trip together, extended and immediate meeting at one location for at least a week. There were times when you were younger when you had to ditch plans with Stiles for your family. 

He doesn’t point out another picture. He rocks on his feet, amber eyes looking up at the ceiling. Suddenly, it occurs to you that Stiles is nervous. 

It’s different from how he used to behave when he was nervous as a kid. Then, he would stammer, gnaw on his bottom lip, tap his hands on the desk or his knee. Now his fingers subtly tap against the rim of his cup, his other hand stuffed in his pocket. He’s silent. He licks his lips instead of gnawing on them and the action directs your gaze right to them. 

You try not to stare, averting your eyes elsewhere. 

Scooting over to make room, you let your feet dangle off of the edge of the bed and pat the newly created space beside you. Stiles falters, glancing at your hand and then at you. It takes him a second but he eventually places his solo cup on your desk and skitters towards you.

The bed dips with his weight. He sits a little far from you, basically on the other end of the bed. It’s silent again. You both stare straight ahead. You wonder if he’ll speak first, so you remain quiet, waiting for him to make a move. When he doesn’t, you take a breath. 

“Do you remember when we were in middle school? And we made that pact?” 

You look over at Stiles in time to catch him thinking for a second, his eyes squinted and his lips parted. You see it come to him when he turns to face you. 

“You mean the whole virginity thing. If we didn’t lose our virginities by a certain age—” 17. If neither of you lost your virginities by seventeen. “Then we would …” he trails off, leaving the last bit in the air. 

You finish for him. “Lose it to each other.” 

“Yeah.” A beat, a moment where Stiles doesn’t say anything and neither do you. It’s then that you hear his fingers drum against the bed. “But … but that was just a stupid little pact. We were kids, y’know?” 

You shrug, turning your head to look over at him, fingers starting to twiddle in your lap. “Well, yeah. But I was serious. Were you not serious?” You don’t mean to sound as dejected as you do, but it comes out naturally, an accompanying pout forming on your lips. 

It feels a little manipulative, and you’re trying to get rid of it as quick as it appears, but Stiles already sees. 

Not expecting the effect on him, you’re slightly shocked when you see him start to worry a bit, nerves pushed to the side as he instantly attempts to soothe you. “Wha—Yeah. I mean, yeah. Of course, I was serious. ‘Were you serious?’ D-” He can’t continue his rambling when your lips are pressed against his, gloss finally ending up where you wanted it to. 

He hesitates and you start to worry that you overstepped a boundary. Before tonight, you and Stiles haven’t hung out since freshmen year. Lots of things have changed with you since then, and who knows what could’ve changed with him. Maybe he has a girlfriend, or maybe he was serious about the pact in middle school, but he isn’t serious now. Maybe he already lost his virginity and you’re just the late bloomer. 

You make the first moves to pull back, already planning to scoot to the edge of the bed, apologize, and down the rest of your liquor before going back downstairs. 

But then he kisses you back. Tentatively at first, nothing but a small press of his lips against yours, mimicry of a peck. It’s a tiny movement, but it’s all you need. 

You push yourself closer to him, your duvet rustling under your body. You place your hands in his flannel, fisting the fabric as his hands find your back, his palms resting flat along the curve. 

Eventually, the two of you peel apart, lips separating slowly, leaving both of you to look into the eyes of the other. 

“Was … is this okay?” Your voice is soft, but not because you’re shy. Your voice is soft because that’s how this moment feels—gently, soft, delicate. You feel comfortable in Stikes’ presence, and any timidness dissolves from your body. 

He takes a second, pretty brown eyes scanning your face with a look you’re not used to seeing on his face. His lips pulled into the hint of a smile at the corners, his eyes soft, a little lidded like they were the one time you got high freshman year. He looks relaxed in the way that he is in the morning right before he wakes up, with no stress present in his body at all. Knowing that he’s like this because of you makes you feel giddy inside. 

Stiles blinks and cups the back of your head with one large hand. He pulls you closer and places his lips back on yours. 

Kissing Stiles is nice, to put it simply. 

He tenderly kisses you with attention. His lips, smoother than you thought with the faint taste of cherry, glide over yours with precision. He doesn’t kiss you like he’s starving, but he kisses you like he’s appreciative. Like he’s as thankful for this moment as you are. 

You’ve always imagined yourself in this position. 

During late-night talks with your friends where you discussed crushes each of you would never get over, Stiles was always the first person on your mind. When you lay in your bed at night, sleep just out of reach, you’re only able to get closer to it with the thought of someone—with the thought of this. 

Truth be told, you didn’t expect him to kiss so well. His lips move with a bit of hesitation as if he’s still testing the waters, but his hold on you—large hands on the back of your head and the middle of your back— is secure. He keeps you in place, not like you’d want to be anywhere else. 

You move even closer until your knees knock together. You don’t know if it’s a reaction, but Stiles’ hand moves lower until his pinkie finger is against the small strip of skin left bare by your shirt and your jeans. His touch is warm, and it ignites something low in your belly, making you aware of a feeling you’re suddenly desperate to reach. 

You start to kiss him with a little more fervor, the change instantly picked up by Stiles who matches your energy. He guides both hands onto your back, sliding them lower until they rest at the top of your ass. He circles his grip around solely your hips and digs his fingertips into the meat of your skin. When he tugs you closer to him, there’s nowhere left for you to go. It’s only logical that you straddle his hips instead. 

You throw one leg over both of his, giving him unobstructed access to slide both of his hands down to your ass, the palms cupping the shape through the denim. You want to keep kissing him, but the small inhale of air through your nose isn’t doing much, so you pull away, instantly making it your goal to get as much air as you can as quickly as possible so you can go back to him. 

Stiles, though, wastes no time, his lips latching onto the skin around your jaw, kissing down your neck, reaching your collarbone. You’re incredibly thankful that you decided to wear a revealing shirt tonight, leaving the tops of your tits visible, open to Stiles’ lips. He presses kisses into the tops of your breasts, spurred on by the way you grip the back of his head with both of your hands. You throw your head back and breathe languidly, taking in slow gulps of air and letting them out even slower. 

The straps of your tee shirt fall down and then Stiles stills. You dip your gaze down to look at him, noticing how he’s staring straight at where he’s been pressing his lips. Your shirt still sits over your tits, but barely. If you relaxed and leaned forward a bit, the fabric would fall around your waist. 

Stiles looks up at you, his eyes wider than they have been all night as if all of it is suddenly dawning on him. “Are you sure? Do you want to stop?” 

You shake your head, hands starting to twitch at the back of Stiles’ head with anticipation. You run them up, fingers curling into his hair. Stiles’ eyes flutter shut and the image is breathtaking. It makes you wonder if he likes his hair pulled. Something you’ll have to try out eventually. 

“I’m sure,” you assure him, “but if you want to stop, just tell me, okay?” 

His small smile makes your chest a little tight, a deep breath just barely getting rid of the feeling. 

“Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?” His head tilts and he looks fucking adorable. You want to see Stiles like this as often as you can, even outside of the capacity of fucking around. 

You shrug, hoping you look half as cute as he does. “It can go both ways, can’t it?” 

And you can’t resist him any longer, needing to have your lips back on his. It’s quickly becoming an addiction, kissing Stiles Stilinski. You kiss him with hunger this time, tasting the lingering vanilla Coke on his tongue. Your teeth clack a few times, the sound and feeling both unpleasant. So why do you keep letting it happen? 

It’s definitely because you’ll let Stiles do anything to you. That’s why you’re completely pliant even when he flips you over. 

It’s quick, and a little devoid of grace, but it does the job. 

You end up with you on your back, legs bent at the knees and spread open. The warmth of Stiles kneeling between your legs is comforting. It’s nice to feel crowded like this, but it doesn’t last for long. Stiles is kneeling between your legs for only long enough to kiss you once, and then he stands at the foot of your bed, staring down at you. 

You know you look a little disappointed, a pout probably on your lips, but when he leans down and reconnects your lips one more time, you’re smiling again. As he pulled away the tip of his nose brushed against yours as his eyes opened just enough to stare fondly at you. 

“I’m gonna take your pants off. Is that okay?” He asked you, hands already settling on the fly of your jeans. 

You nodded, your noses playing with each other with the movement. Stiles’ need for consent was driving you crazy in the best possible ways. It’s like you could feel arousal steadily gushing out of you, increasing tenfold when he stood up fully and positioned his hands at the waistband of your jeans. 

His eyes found yours once more, seemingly checking for any indication that you wanted to turn back. There was none deep in your body, and you hoped that your face hadn’t betrayed you and displayed any apprehension. To ease your worries, you gave Stiles a gentle smile, feet digging into the bed beneath you as you lifted your hips just a bit. 

Stiles took your answer in stride, slightly shaky hands peeling the button out of the hole, then sliding your zipper down until you saw the cherry-printed fabric of your panties. Stiles took a manual breath at the sight, hands halting as he just stared for a few seconds. He blinks twice, then hooks his fingers in your waistband and tugs your jeans over your ass, down your thighs and legs, and off around your ankles and feet, leaving you half-bare in front of your lifetime crush. 

You’ve always known that Stiles is one to stare, ogle even. When you were in the same fifth-grade class, he would spend lunch looking across the room at a certain redhead. When you constantly watched a horror movie together the summer before sixth grade, Stiles would shamelessly stare at the main character, even when she had one of the most brutal death scenes you’ve ever seen. 

Ogling is something Stiles is known for in your book. But having that directed towards you feels different. It makes you a little nervous, teenage jitters fluttering low in your belly, making you wring your fingers together and gnaw on your bottom lip. 

Stiles, realizing that he’s staring for once, takes a breath, his hands hovering at your hips before it reoccurs to him that he’s allowed to touch you in a moment like this. You’ve permitted him. 

His hands shake as they approach your hips, but they steady when warm flesh meets warm flesh. 

“You’re so pretty,” he tells you, voice soft and earnest. The moment is tender, it’s vulnerable, and it makes you slightly uncomfortable. 

“I’m not even naked yet.” It’s your attempt at a light joke to ease the heavy tension that’s suddenly painted itself on the walls of your room, surrounding both of you, trapping you in the very thing you’ve wanted since you were young. But having it makes you uneasy, the uncharted territory suddenly a whole lot scarier up close. 

For once, Stiles doesn’t take the bait. He doesn’t crack a joke back, he doesn’t make you double over in laughter with his sarcasm. His amber eyes look at you, his pink lips curl up into a smile, and he tells you, “You don’t have to be naked to be pretty. You’re beautiful.” 

And you’re sure that your friends will tell you that it’s a little cheesy when you tell them every single detail of this moment, but you don’t care about that right now. Right now, your heart is soaring in your chest and your entire body is alight and you need Stiles Stilinski in ways you didn’t even think were possible. 

Your breath hitches. You lick your lips. 

“Stiles,” your voice is softer than you intended, it makes the moment even more tender. His eyebrows lift and you continue. “I need you to touch me. Please.” 

He wants to, you can tell he wants to. But something is holding him back and you think you know what it is. 

“I can teach you how. I can tell you what I like.” Not like you know much, either. Only things you’ve learned from your own explorations. 

He nods, eager, and his hands find the hem of your shirt. “I wanna all of you. Is that okay?” 

Again with the consent. It makes your vision swirl for a second, two blinks bringing Stiles back in focus as you nod and sit up completely, arms over your head so Stiles can take the top off. 

Your bra and panties are the only garments left, and you look down at your frame, a surge of confidence overtaking you as you reach behind you and unclip your bra. 

It falls and the sound Stiles makes would be comical if it weren’t for the situation. Actually, it still is comical, you just stifle your laugh for his own sake. 

His pretty eyes are having some serious tunnel vision, eye line straight at your tits. You sit a little straighter, puffing your chest out just enough to make you question if drool is starting to pool at the corner of Stiles’ lips. 

You know that this is the first pair of tits Stiles has seen in person and the revelation makes you even more proud of the set you sport. 

You eye Stiles’ frame, suddenly all too aware of the stark contrast in clothing. 

You squint at him accusatively. “Are you gonna even the playing field?” 

He blinks at you dumbly once, twice, and then he looks down at his dusty blue shirt. “Oh!” 

He rushes to throw his flannel off and does the same with his shirt off, barely even giving you enough time to do some admiring of your own before his hands fumble with the buckle and zipper of his cargo pants, his legs were suddenly useless as he awkwardly stumbles out of his pants. When he stands up straight, there’s a proud smile on his face that makes you giggle just a little, and just that one moment eases any tension or nerves you are feeling. 

Because this is Stiles. Your Stiles. The kid with the hangout house who would always invite you over after school for movie marathons. The kid who would quickly let you copy his homework before the teacher got to you. The kid who would always wave to you in the hallways, even when your cliques were completely separate and you hadn’t properly spoken for months. 

And now he’s watching you climb further up your bed, following after you, a hungry gaze in his eyes as he trails his eyes over your body from head to toe. 

His hands find your hips once more, his touch light as he trails it down. His fingertips graze over the tops of your thighs, then they find your inner thighs. His touch makes your legs part more, some reference to the Red Sea hidden in there deep beneath all of your all-encompassing hormones. 

Stiles watches between your legs while he brings two fingers to your center. They trail down, separating your lips, letting the tips of his fingers add pressure that already has you wanting more. You gasp, just a small sound that’s accidental, and Stiles licks his lips, a determined look in his eyes. 

It’s a sudden movement when he pulls your panties down and off, tossing them at the foot of the bed where the rest of your clothes sit. There’s not even a moment for you to even imagine being insecure or uncomfortable with your bare skin. Stiles is already positioning his hand at your bare cunt, fingertips just millimeters away from connecting with your skin. 

He wants to act, you can see it, but he doesn’t. Instead, he waits, he hovers, and he glances up at you. “I … I don’t,” he takes a second to breathe, and you let him finish. “What do I do?.” 

There’s just the smallest amount of shame hidden beneath his words, but you don’t let it exist much longer when you soften your eyes. 

You sit up, reaching out for him. “Stiles,” his eyes lift to connect with yours, the furrow between his eyebrows starting to relax. “There’s nothing to worry about. Okay? I want you, like really bad, if you can’t tell.” There’s just enough amusement in your tone to ease the tension, Stiles’ lips turning up into a satisfied smile. 

He leans forward, presses his lips to yours once, and then slides his middle finger into you, slow and steady, met with just enough resistance to showcase your inexperience. His pace is slow, almost tortuous as Stiles slides the single finger in and out. 

The depth that his slender finger reaches is enough to have you begging for more. You lift your hips from the bed and push your pelvis out toward his hand, with a plea for another digit leaving your lips. 

Stiles easily complies, sliding his ring finger in to join his middle. The stretch burns for a second, but you’re fucking dripping at this point, and the haze in your mind combined with the lubrication prevents any possible discomfort. Instead, you’re focused on directing Stiles, directions filling the air along with your moans. 

He listens easily, something you’re more than thankful for, especially whenever his fingertips brush against a spot that sends a tingle up your spine, and he’s finding the spot to abuse over and over again as soon as you tell him where it is. 

When your eyes peel away from the ceiling, and you’re able to keep them open enough, you connect with a set of warm brown that lights your body. Stiles’ eyes are so attentive. You don’t think he’s been looking anywhere but at your face this entire time, despite your sheer nudeness. His lips are parted, still glistening with your gloss and saliva. His eyes are wide, never straying from you, eyebrows raised just enough to give the look of innocence. 

But nothing is innocent about the way his free hand is palming his dick through his briefs. 

Your eyes find the tent accidentally, a blink that sends your gaze downward for just enough time for you to pick up on the bulge beneath checkered boxer briefs. You can’t make out the size from here, especially not with the slight blur in your vision, your eyesight unsteady even as you try to blink it away. 

You start to speak, to ask Stiles for what you really want, when he does, too. 

“I wanna feel you.” 

“I wanna taste you.” 

Both of you sit still, Stiles’ fingers stopping, too. He stares at you as if he’s shocked that the words came from his mouth, and there are three blinks shared from each of you before your hips move again, chasing a high you had briefly forgotten about. 

“Can we do that next time?” The words leave your mouth surrounded by gasps, little breaths that prove how worked up you already are. 

“N…Next time?” His stutter is cute, a little flattering, and you’d spend more time thinking about it if you weren’t on the cusp of an orgasm. Stiles has started moving his fingers again, pace just a little faster, fingers starting to curl at an angle that has your hands fisting the sheets. 

You nod, muscles starting to tense. “Yeah. Next time. Just need you so bad right now, Stiles.” 

“Yeah.” He nods, stares at you, and then nods once more. “Okay. Yeah.” You’re close, so very close, and then Stiles—overeager, enthusiastic, about to blow his pants Stiles—pulls his fingers out.

The noise that spills past your lips is completely accidental, almost guttural. It’s deep, and comes from the part of you that’s so obviously frustrated (the part of you that’s purely hormones and no logic). Stiles looks startled for a second, a string of curses coming past his pink lips as he fumbles off the bed and towards his pants. 

“Shit. Were you about to cum? I’m sorry, fuck, that’s totally my bad.” He’s speaking to you, but his eyes are watching his hands which ransack his pockets. He doesn’t find what he’s looking for, the thud of jeans and a leather wallet hitting the floor alerting you. 

“What is it?” Your tone is a little more bitter than intended, but you’re disastrously horny and Stiles is under too much duress to notice. 

“I don’t have a condom,” he tells you, voice wobbling like it’s the worst news in the world. Like he’s telling you about the impending doom that’ll fall onto this plane of existence. His face is the most serious you’ve ever seen, and it’s a look you don’t really like on Stiles’ usually happy-go-lucky face. 

You don’t bother replying as you dig your hand under the pillow, ignoring how Stiles stares at you like you’ve lost your mind. 

It’s not until you whip out the two condoms you have, pinched between your middle and pointer finger like you’ve seen in countless movies, that Stiles’ face relaxes. 

“I came prepared.” You’re proud when you say it, happy that your anxiety-ridden over planning paid off in the end. 

Stiles looks relieved, too, quickly resuming his previous spot with one of his hands reaching out towards the aluminum packet between your fingers, except this time without his boxers. 

You try not to stare, truly, but it’s hard to keep your eyes from tilting down to look at his hard dick between you both. You're trying to calculate the length-to-girth ratio, making educated guesses on just how much pain and how much pleasure you’ll be in, but you’re just too busy taking it all in. 

Looking at the thick happy trail that leads down to the patch of pubic hair resting above his dick. His abdomen is tight, something you’ve known from the times he’s changed in front of you, too busy ranting about Coach Finstock to notice the way you’d stared at him. Now, you don’t care if he notices. Because Stiles is fucking hot, even more so in his position. 

His eyebrows politely furrow when you pull the aluminum out of his reach, his lips starting to form a question that you already started to answer. 

“Let me put it on. Please?” 

Stiles short circuits, you can see it with the way he dumbly blinks at you. It takes some prompting from you—a simple raise of your eyebrows—for him to nod, retracting his hand and sitting back on his heels.

“Go right ahead,” he confirms, his hands resting on his thighs. 

 You rip the packet open and pull the condom out, throwing the aluminum in the general direction of your nightstand, leaving it there for you to deal with afterward. Placing your fingers over the condom in a mimicking shape, you press it onto the tip of Stiles’ dick, instantly cataloging the way it’s just barely flushed the same color of his lips with a bead of nearly translucent pre cum drooling off to the side. 

The pre smears over his skin as you glide the condom down, allowing yourself to feel the warmth of Stiles’ dick in your hand as you go down. You don’t see it, not when your eyes are staring intently at the cock in front of you, but Stiles’ eyes have fluttered closed above you. His lips have parted, his nostrils flaring just a bit with the exhale he lets out. He’s getting off to you putting a condom on him, and you only catch the tail end of it when you throw a curious glance up at him once the condom is seated completely over him. 

“Good?” 

He nods, opening his eyes to stare down at you. “Fucking great.”

You lay back, spread your legs, and let Stiles back in. 

He hovers, asks you if you’re okay, and as soon as you nod, he presses the tip of his cock against your entrance. 

When your friends ask you about it later, when they press you for details and inevitably come to the question that everyone wonders about, you’ll tell them that it hurt. Because it did. More uncomfortable than anything, a feeling that you had to breathe through. Luckily, Stiles was there coaching you through it. 

Demonstrating breaths that he repeated with you, gently nodding even when his face screwed up. You could see the way he was holding himself back, the veins in his arms prominent as he held your hip with one hand, the other pressed into the pillow beneath your head. 

“Keep going?” he eventually asked you. Excitement clearly flooded his eyes when you nodded. 

He gave you slow thrusts, deep and meticulous as if he were terrified of hurting you, and he was. He kept glancing from the sight of where the two of you were connected up to your eyes, watching attentively for any sign that you wanted to stop. 

But it never came. After the initial discomfort, you hooked a leg over Stiles’ back. It’s like a switch flipped, telling you that you needed as much Stiles as you could get. He was in you, yes, and he had his hands over your body, but it wasn’t enough. 

Stiles could give you his all and it still would never be too much. 

“More?” 

You nodded. “More, please.”

Stiles was eager to obey your request. He didn’t give it his all, you could still feel the restraint in each of his thrusts, but he gave you more. He drove into you with a little more power, holding his punches towards the end. The drag-out happened faster, as did the slide-in. 

It was a steady pace, rhythmic enough to provide stimulation. You won’t cum from just this, it’s obvious to you, but this is good. It puts a tickle in your lower belly. One that flutters around your insides, twisting them every so often. 

You feel so good, euphoric, even. At this moment, you understand the claims of post-sex glow. How could you not glow after this? It’s like Stiles is a fucking natural. There are a few moments where he’s a little off, but he picks up where he left off. He seems confident, and undoubting of his abilities, and it only makes everything better. 

Stiles groans and you’re brought back. You stare up at him, taking in as much as you can. The freckles and moles dotting his face and shoulders, the slight sunburn he has over his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, how his hair falls over his forehead, a few strands sticking to his pale skin. 

He’s so pretty. You don’t know how you ever thought you would have gotten over him. After this, you don’t think you ever will get over him. 

He leans down and knocks his forehead against yours. 

“You feel so good,” he admits. He sounds so honest and it turns you on. 

You curl your fingers in Stiles’ hair, pulling only a bit, but the reaction is still there. The sound he makes resembles a whine. It’s addicting. You want to hear it again. 

So you pull Stiles further down and suck on his jaw, combining it with another gentle pull of his hair. He doesn’t make the same sound, not immediately. At first, he moans, clean and simple, and then your cunt flutters around him and he whines again. 

It’s such a pretty sound. 

He starts to fuck into you messily, lacking any of the precision from before. His thrusts become more shallow, and you watch his features relax. 

“Are you close, Stiles?” you ask him, although you think you know the answer. 

He nods. “Yes. Yeah, ‘m so fucking close.” 

He takes his hand off of your thigh and searches. You don’t realize what for until he finds your hand. More fumbling and then your fingers are interlocked. Stiles presses your hand back into the pillow, the secure weight of his own hand keeping it there, and then he presses his lips to yours. 

He kisses you for a second, and you’re able to reciprocate for the sole moment. But you’re close, too. You can barely reciprocate when you’re as focused on your own orgasm, everything else pressed to the back of your mind. 

You use your free hand to tweak your clit, speeding your pace up when you realize that Stiles is just a few thrusts short of cumming. 

When he does cum—shooting into the condom with a final thrust, his forehead resting on your sternum as his grip on your hand tightens—you’re not far behind. Stiles weakly thrusts into you a few times and it’s during the second one that your muscles seize, an orgasm unlike anything else you’ve ever felt taking over your body, your middle finger absentmindedly rubbing against your clit as you let the orgasm wash over you. 

It takes a minute for both of you to come down. Stiles stays hovered over your body, his forearm keeping him up as he relaxes the lower half of his body onto yours. A couple of minutes pass before he even makes an attempt to move, and even when he does, he keeps your hands interlocked. 

He speaks first. “Please tell me that was as good for you as it was for me.”

You nod, unable to do anything other than blink up at the ceiling for a second. Eventually, you tell him, “Yeah.”

It’s not much, which Stiles is quick to comment on. “Are you sure? You don’t sound sure.”

“‘m just a little out of it right now, Stiles.” When you turn your head to look at him, he’s smiling like he’s proud of himself. You scoff, weakly kicking his shin. “Don’t be a dick about it.”

“Sorry. I’m just definitely gonna be thinking about this for a while.”

[murdrdocs]

Sunshine, you talking about S3B Stiles and S5 Stiles is making me think and that’s so dangerous. I fear I will always need him. Imagining the one of the ways you really know something’s off is because he’s being rougher with you

I need to rewatch season 3B rn

-❣️

traces of void; reader asks to wait and stiles doesn't so whatever that is; MDNI 18+ w/ STILES STILINSKI

he keeps telling you he's fine. he told you this morning when you called him to ask about lunch plans, he told you this afternoon as he stabbed a fork into his salad, and he told you again as soon as he entered your dorm.

but you know stiles, better than he thinks you do, and you know this isn't stiles when he's "fine". he's never this aggressive, even when he really wants you.

usually, his hands are soft on your hips when he tugs you closer to him. he looks at you fondly, like you've taken every second out of your life to paint the stars because you knew it would make him happy. he knows you would do something like that if you could.

but the stiles sitting in front of you isn't like that. his grip is bruising on your hips to the point where you wince and circle your hands around his wrists, gently telling him "it hurts" as you attempt to pull his grip away. he does eventually let go, but he only mumbles a small "sorry" under his breath before he's moving his hands to your ass instead.

he barely looks at you, his gaze directed to your body instead, amber eyes making direct eye contact with your tits, your stomach, and—eventually—with your cunt as it sucks in his cock over and over again.

when stiles is "fine", he doesn't speak to you like this.

"take it, you can take it all, can't you? mhm, i know you can. there you go ... fuckin' sucking me up. you needed this?"

it's hot, you'll willingly admit it, but it's concerning. he's never like this with you. at least, he hadn't been like this since ...

it all clicks for you. the dark look in his eyes, the way his lips are pursed and his jaw is set, the rough pace he sets as he practically slams his cock into you without much care for how you feel.

"stiles," you say, reaching a hand out for him. "stiles, wait." any attempts you make to sound assertive fly out the window as your voice shakes, but you want to check up on him. it doesn't matter if your orgasm is ruined by the conversation you need to have. it's important for you to know that stiles is okay.

stiles shakes his head, his lips parted to give way for his tongue to drag across his lips. "uh-uh. there's no waiting, not when you're this close. i can feel you squeezing around me. so go ahead, let go for me."

there's no harm in cumming first, and then talking it out ... right?

[murdrdocs]

ik stiles is a fiend for tan lines

i had this same exact thought this morning but w someone else

he totally is btw. he loves when you spend the weekend apart and the next time he sees you, you’re wearing a low top that shows off the halter bikini you were wearing a few days ago. bonus if you’re wearing low waisted shorts and he sees the evidence of the way you had you bottoms hoisted up over your hips.

[murdrdocs]

virgin!stiles and virgin!reader ur fucking crazy!!

his cute little freckles n big brown eyes looking up at u while ur dry humping n moaning in each others mouths. ur both not exactly ready to commit to fully penetrative sex but u rationalize that nothings wrong with a lil bump n grind, right? god i want him so bad

dry humping; virgin stiles and virgin reader; not proofread sawry MDNI 18+ w/ STILES STILINSKI

there's absolutely nothing wrong with bumping and grinding, both you and stiles agreed. committing to sex wasn't in the cards right now, especially when both of you were craving a quick release, something that required both of you to be present and not a lonesome slip of hands into pants and rubbing one out that way.

this was far more enjoyable—laying back on stiles' bed, your legs parted to accomadate his hips. he kisses you messily, not unlike he's kissed you many times before. but the circumstances make it different. knowing that he's kissing you with more tongue and teeth than lip because he's distracted by the bump of his erection into your cunt makes this a hell of a lot different.

neither of you are naked, and the clothes covering you both is bothersome in the summer heat, but you don't have the patience to peel your clothes off. besides, you're getting there. pulling apart just to get naked would be nothing but a waste of time.

when stiles pulls back from your lips, it's audible. just as audible as the breath he lets out. it hits your slick lips, and you're sure your labored breaths are doing the same.

"still good?" stiles asks for at least the third time since the two of you began.

you nod, licking your lips and letting your head hang between your shoulders. "yeah. 's good, stiles."

you can't see how he reacts, but he takes your confirmation in stride. his grinds gain more momentum. he speeds up a bit until his hips star to move as sloppy as his mouth did. he starts to make sounds, little gasps turning into moans. he sounds like you, and it's so fucking hot.

you stare up at him, stomach fluttering when you see he's already staring down at you. his amber eyes wide and lidded, his pink lips parted to let every pretty little sound out.

he leans down, likely aiming to kiss you again, but neither of you make it that far. your leg ends up hooked over stiles' back and with just a few more pushes of his dick into you, your moans crescendo as you cum.

you don't know if stiles' own orgasm happens so quick because of your reaction, but it happens right after yours.

[murdrdocs]

I just want them to beg for my touch, to have them so stupid that they would beg for even a hand job, but I also want them to look at me as if I'm a goddess as I ride them, as if I personally put every single little star in the sky (and yes, this is about the subby men)

sub!stiles stilinski; handjobs; begging; MDNI 18+ w/ STILES STILINSKI

stiles' teasing nature always melts away as soon as your hand lands on his crotch. if the roles were reversed, and you melted as quickly as he did with just the slightest touch, stiles would tease you relentlessly. he would mock you as he said something along the lines of "my girl is always so needy, isn't she?".

and it feels so good to be the one saying that now. pouting up at him almost cynically as you stroke over his boner with the lightest touch. "my boy is always so needy, isn't he?"

you don't realize just how far gone stiles is until he doesn't feed you a reply that is just as sardonic. instead, he stares blankly at you, the only signal of life existing behind those eyes being the way they flicker from your own eyes to your lips over and over again.

you drop the act just a bit. just enough to not be mean. but you're still a little rude about it. not in the way you push forward and press your lips to his. not in the way you pull his pants off and spit into your palm before circling his cock with your palm. but in the way you almost give him what he wants.

you pump his cock with perfectly crafted strokes. and just when he starts to get into it, when his head falls back and his breathing turns all labored, you take your touch away. you kiss his neck, you tap your fingertips against his leaking head.

it's surprising how you don't even have to tell stiles what to do. he starts begging on his own volition. not as sweet and desperate as you would have wanted. at least not at first. but when it comes, it's so worth it.

you're between his legs, kissing around his thighs and torso. missing the spot that literally cries thick fluid for you every single time. until up above you, you think he might cry too.

he expels his desire verbally instead of with secretion.

"please. pleasepleaseplease. i'll do anything. just touch me, please?" it would be downright evil for you to deny stiles when his begging is so pretty.