trashyangelic - Tumblr blog

trashyangelic · 10 days ago

Text

imma reblog this again before it gets deleted or not. dont delete this though i haven't read it yet. but planning to do it soon!

「naps and forgetfulness」 Stiles Stilinski x F!reader

━━━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━━━

The door clicks shut as you walk into Stiles bedroom. Thanks to your luck Sheriff Stilinski was just getting out of the house when you arrived at his porch and quickly let you in before going to work.

You spot Stiles immediately: he is curled up in his bed with his lips parted slightly and his breathing soft, he is wearing the grey sweatpants you love paired with a plain t-shirt and hair slightly messier than usual.

Despite the fact that you're slight mad at him for forgetting to come pick you up after work, the sight can't help but make you giggle lovingly at his expression and let your purse fall on the floor silently before changing into one of his shirts and boxers.

Stiles continues to remain asleep, unaware of your presence in the room and it doesn't really surprise you, he is a very heavy sleeper, after all, and it’d take a lot more than just a small giggle to wake him up.

His body shifts on the blankets, rolling over onto his belly and you take advantage of his change of position to climb on his bed and body to leave a trail of kisses up his back until the nape of his neck. His skin is soft to the touch, and as your lips leave gentle kisses on his skin, his muscles visibly shudders until you can feel him starting to stir, even if his eyes are still closed.

"mh?" he mumbles with frowning eyebrows.

"excuse me sir? I think you're in the wrong bed, and house" you whisper in his ear after nibbling it softly with your teeth.

His body stiffens when your teeth graze over his ear, but he sighs at the sound of your voice as a soft smile appears on his lips. "Baby, what are you doin here?" he mumbles sleepily but he's not displeased to see (hear) you, on the contrary, he loves when you unexpectedly come at his house to see him.

He moves to turn around on his back and you lift your hips just enough for him to do it without difficulty, only to sit back on his hips when he's done moving.

"I wanted to see if everything was okay, but it seems I was worried for nothing" you say with a bit of sarcasm in your voice that Stiles catches immediately, he opens his eyes to look at you groggily.

"oh no, what did I do?" he asks, resting his hands on your hips to squeeze them lightly, his face already looks guilty and your heart melts.

"you were supposed to come pick me up at work so that we could spend the night at my house which, as you may remember, is empty because my parents are away, watch a movie, have sex and sleep together so that we could have gone to school together tomorrow morning, does something ring in that pretty head of yours?" you explain with a victorious smile on your face.

"oh, fuck. baby I'm sorry, I swear I didn't forget I fell asleep after coming back home and forgot to set the alarm, I'm so sorry" he says covering his face in embarrassment. “Are you mad at me?”

"No, I've come to terms with it, my friends had warned me, after all" you sigh while resting your hands on his belly and he looks at you confused, you barely manage to hide a smile "that you would get tired of me and keep me around just for sex, like all boys do, after all-"

"ok that's it, you've said enough bullshits already." he says grinning and pulls you by your hands to lay your body over his and wrap his arms around you to keep you there, a squeal leaves your lips between laughters. After all, he knows you're only joking.

"you're stuck here now, forever" he says laughing as his hands start moving up and down your back, he's strong enough to keep you pressed against his chest but even if he wasn't, you would never dream of moving, ever.

"I don't mind" you admit hiding your face in his neck to kiss it lovingly and he sighs, closing his sleepy eyes as if your lips on his neck are trying to lull him back to sleep.

"I'm really sorry, I didn't want you to take the bus to come here" he apologizes again.

"I didn't take the bus, Logan drove me here" you answer and you feel a sense of satisfaction at your words when you hear your boyfriend groan.

"fucking Logan" you giggle "with his- fucking Mercedes and his- fucking crush on you" he keeps on rambling.

"oh come on! he was being nice" you say to lighten his thoughts.

"yeah right, of course he's always fucking nice, he's got a massive crush on you, I bet you love his car more than mine" he mumbles with a displeased expression on his face.

"don't be ridiculous, I love your Jeep" you tell him between giggles and Stiles rolls you two over so that you're on your back and him splayed on top of you and between your legs, now it's his turn to hide his face in your neck.

"and you love me right? more than- and better than Logan right?" he mumbles nuzzling his nose against your neck, and his arms wrap around your body to keep you still, you're definitely not going anywhere anytime soon.

"I don't know, before making such a statement I should ask him if he would ever forget to come pick m- OW!" a harsh bite on your neck interrupts you.

"don't even joke about it" he says against your skin after kissing the still sore spot and slowly moving up your neck until they're next to your ear. "and for the record, you're stuck with me baby" he whispers.

"I'm happy to hear that, now give me a real kiss" you demand.

"yes, ma'am." he mutters before propping himself on one of his elbows to move better his other hand from your hip to your chin, your head now tilted so that he can kiss you properly. His lips move against yours as his body presses yours further against the mattress.

His tongue slides over your bottom lip and you feel him smiling before his tongue slips inside your mouth, all you can taste and feel is him, and as his tongue teases yours you let your hand tangle into his messy hair and tug at it lightly.

His hands move up, taking your shirt with it until it's bunched over your bra before slowly breaking the kiss to remove the piece of fabric.

"what do you think you're doing?" you ask, taking his wrist in your fingers to stop him and it takes a second for Stiles to understand what you just asked, his lust-filled eyes looks at you unfocused. His dilated pupils roam down the length of your body until he reaches your chest and the black bra you're wearing, but almost as if he just realized he's doing something wrong he shakes his head.

"I- I'm sorry, I thought uhm- I thought we were going to have sex" his words drift off while his fingers, still wrapped around the fabric of 'your' shirt, twitch in excitement and anticipation.

"oh!" you laugh "no, no. we're not going to have sex baby" you tell him with a satisfied smile on your face.

"w-we're not?" your boyfriend asks and he can't help but look disappointed when you push him by his shoulder until he falls on his back next to you so that you're able to get up from his bed, he was looking forward to that.

"No, we're not" you confirm and he looks at you in disbelief, eyes and mouth wide open in shock as he props his body on his elbows again to look at you better.

"is it because I didn't come to pick you up from work?" he asks but he already knows the answer.

"You're so smart, love-" you compliment him, walking towards the bed to kiss his lips "now come on, let's go to my house."

"right now?" he asks and there's still disappointment in his voice, but he doesn't protest further as he gets up to start looking for his car keys.

"Yeah! I still want to spend the night with you at mine's" you say as a matter of fact and Stiles hurries to grab his hoodie from where it laid on his desk.

"And- and we're just gonna- watch a movie and call it a day or…?" he asks, his voice is doubtful, and it's clear he's still waiting for a chance to change your mind.

"That depends, are you going to pay for dinner?"

"Like I always do"

"And are you going to forget about me again?"

"Never again, I'll die before it happens a second time"

"Mh… we'll see" you only say walking out of his room and down the stairs with him following you like a kicked puppy.

"Baby, come on! I said I'm sor- are you wearing my boxers? are you trying to kill me?!"

━━━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━━━

it seems like I also write for Stiles now, lol, enjoy! 💞

Not proofread, I'll correct it in the next days.

Do not copy or repost.

#stiles stilinski x reader #madsstiles💌#stiles stilinski drabble

1K notes · View notes

trashyangelic · 10 days ago

Text

imma reblog this again before it gets deleted or not. dont delete this though i haven't read it yet. but planning to do it soon!

Bribes | Stiles Stilinski x Reader

18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Summary: You get paired with Stiles to write a paper for Coach's class. But when had Stilinski grown into his awkward features? When had he grown out his buzzcut? Why was he suddenly so insanely fuckable?

Contents: NO Y/N, afab!Reader, smut, Stiles is a bit cocky lmao, fucking in the jeep, reader is related to Coach (wether adopted or not doesn't matter), vaginal fingering, p in v sex, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, clumsy sex, playful banter, oral sex (v receiving), casual sex, coming inside, mentions of birth control, making out if I missed any warnings please let me know!

3.5K words

Had to get Stiles out of (pls into plEASE) my system SOMEHOW, so here you go. This one is dedicated to @uglypastels for indulging my obsession and continuously sending me Dylan O'Brien thirst edits <3 <3

“Just so you’re aware, this paper is as high on my list of priorities as the Pope is in Amsterdam,” Stiles dropped his binder on the table, startling you out of your daydream. He was exactly 4 minutes late, not that you were counting. It was still impressive, seeing as he just came from practice.

“Believe me, I, too, would rather be hanging around with Isaac Lahey, yet we’re both here. Let’s just get it over with.” Stiles snorted a laugh, but didn’t comment.

You didn’t not get along with Stilinski. You weren’t sure if you could be called friends, exactly. You’d known each other pretty much all your lives, just like the majority of your school. Beacon Hills wasn’t exactly a metropolis.

You sighed and laid out your notes, Stiles following your example. You raised an eyebrow, giving him a pointed look. “Those are your notes?”

There were only doodles, random calculations and sporadic keywords scribbled on the loose piece of crumpled paper he straightened out next to your notebook.

“I’m surprised, too. There’s actual words. I don’t usually get that far.” The smirk on his face could only be described as smug. You groaned. This was going to take forever. You divided the topics for the paper amongst yourselves and silently got to work. The ‘silently’ part didn't last long, however. It never did with Stiles.

“Are you still living with your uncle?” He questioned suddenly. You frowned at the question, confused, but nodded either way.

“So can’t you just, I don’t know, cook him dinner and have him give us a good grade?” The gleam in his eyes nearly made you laugh. Nearly. Instead, you flicked him on the side of the head. He whined something about unnecessary violence, but it fell on deaf ears.

“I’m not bribing my uncle just so you can slack off, Stiles. Besides, I’m never really sure if he even likes me,” you wondered out loud.

“You and me, both…” Stiles grumbled.

You glanced at Stiles as he scribbled furiously, seeming to finally get some of his research done. His knees wiggled excessively as he wrote about the economic effects of pandemics. You wrote down a few key parts of the paragraphs in your book before turning to your laptop and beginning the outline of the paper. Stiles hummed quietly as he read the entry he’d just written, tapping his pen furiously against the table.

“Can you stop that?” You requested, his incessant movement distracting you more than his general being already did. He glanced up, an amused expression on his face.

“What,” he tapped his pencil faster. “This?” You contained the urge to roll your eyes and stared at him blankly. He stopped the movement for perhaps one whole minute before picking it back up again.

You only glanced up pointedly this time. He added a jiggle of his knees in challenge. You rose from your chair, leaned over and snatched the pen out of his hand, throwing it across the library. “Fetch.”

Stiles gaped up at you in surprise. The timing of it was very unfortunate, but you’d never really noticed how Stilinski had grown into his awkward features. Something must’ve shown on your face, because Stiles now looked just as confused, perhaps intrigued, as you felt. While you’d been confident in throwing his pen across the room in annoyance, having him look up at you like that made it so you weren’t sure if you wanted him to get up. You cleared your throat and sat back in your chair.

“Unbelievable…” Stiles muttered under his breath as he got up to get the pen. It gave you time to recompose. You didn’t look at him as he sat back down, but felt his eyes burn a hole through the side of your head.

An unfamiliar tension hung in the air while you worked in silence. You snuck glances at Stiles, who was finally focussed on his writing once more. His hair was longer, still messy and unstyled from practice. The grey workout gear perfectly accentuated his broadened shoulders. He bit his lip after reading a complex entry, and you couldn’t help but wonder what they’d feel like on your own, or on your neck while your hands tugged on his now perfectly tuggable locks.

A few times his eyes met yours. You’d quickly dart them back to your notebook, pretending you hadn’t been looking, knowing damn well he’d seen.

Oh my god. Get. it. together.

“Did you finish?” You dared ask after a while, having completed your own part. All you had to do was put your parts together, wrap it up and finish.

“I’ll give it to you, but you have to give something to me first,” Stiles spoke in a challenging tone. For a split second back there you’d wondered how he was still single after all this time, but now you were reminded. He was insufferable.

“What could you possibly want from me, Stiles? Just give me your damn part.”

“A kiss.”

“What? No!” You sputtered. Stiles’ tongue poked the inside of his cheek cockily as he raised an eyebrow, pointing to his lips.

“Guess you’ll have some explaining to do to your uncle why you’re only handing in half an assignment, then.”

“This is coercion, Stilinski! Should I call your dad?” You crossed your arms, refusing to look him in the eye. The librarian shushed you loudly. You could feel heat rush to your face, but didn’t relent. Asshole.

Stiles leaned closer, running a finger over the side of your face. Your heartbeat increased what seemed about tenfold.

“It’s not coercion if you want me to.” His breath hit your neck as he spoke, sending goosebumps down your arms. “And I’m getting the feeling you really want me to.”

You jerked away from his reach, coming to your senses. You gathered your things into your bag, mumbling something about your GPA being fine, anyway. You stomped away from the table, heart racing. You were mad, not because he was suggesting something you didn’t want, rather that he’d clocked exactly what you wanted so easily.

Concerned Stiles would follow you out of the library, you hid behind a few bookshelves in a section nobody usually visited. You caught your breath, placing your palm on your chest. You dropped your bag on the floor, turning to peek around the bookshelf to see if Stiles was still stationed at the table. Relieved, you saw he’d indeed decided to follow you out of the library.

You turned back to grab your bag and head out, but were met with Stiles’ face mere inches from your own. You were startled, but he grabbed your waist before you could fall over. His hold was strong. Your hands instinctively went up to his chest, steadying yourself. Had he always been this tall?

One of his hands wandered slightly lower, rubbing small circles on your lower back. Your eyes met his, which were just shining with mischief and an underlying sense of self-satisfaction. His tongue darted out, licking his lower lip.

“Can I be frank? You’re incredibly annoying,” you stated, slinging your arms around his neck, finally giving in.

“You can be whoever you want as long as I get to kiss you, Frank,” Stiles laughed. You groaned but pulled him close either way.

“Shut up.”

Stiles obliged and put his mouth to yours aggressively, tugging your body against his. One of his hands wandered up, cupping the back of your head to bring it closer. You tugged at the small locks at the back of his neck, eliciting a sighed moan from Stiles.

“You’re so hot,” he confessed when you broke apart for a second. He turned you so you were pushed with your back against the bookcase, a few books falling to the floor. Neither of you cared as your kiss continued, deepening by the second. His hands held your hips as he started grinding against you, sweats low on his hips. His mouth made its way down your jaw, moving to suck hasty kisses on your neck.

“Stiles…” you sighed blissfully. Heat gathered in your stomach at the soft, breathy noises coming from his lips combined with the sound of them against your skin. He put his knee between your thighs.

“Knew you wanted this as much as I did, fuck,” Stiles groaned. The pressure from his knee was delicious, but not enough. It was almost as if he could read your mind as he slid his hand into your bottoms, working your underwear out of the way somewhat clumsily.

“God… so wet for me,” he moaned. You could only reply with breathy whimpers, trying to make as little noise as possible. Stiles shushed you, placing his unoccupied hand over your mouth as the other started rubbing small circles over your clit. You closed your eyes and let your head fall against the bookcase. Your knees went weak at the sensation, not much holding you up besides Stiles.

He slipped his hand out of your underwear, bringing a finger up to his mouth. He casually licked it clean. He hooked his thumbs into your bottoms, seeking eye contact and asking for non-verbal permission to tug them down. You bit your lip and nodded enthusiastically. When your underwear hit the floor, so did Stiles’ knees. Your eyes darted around your environment, but the school was nearly empty at this time, especially the library.

You had to slap your hand over your mouth when Stiles made contact with your clit, his tongue tentatively licking between your folds. Your breathing was laboured, chest heaving as Stiles took his time exploring. Your bottom lip found itself between your teeth, holding in your moans. Your hands shot to Stiles’ hair. Perfectly tuggable, indeed.

He groaned when you gave an exceptionally sharp tug, taking the time to look you in the eyes. The vibrations of his lowered voice felt good. You had seemingly no control over your hands, fingers tightening their grip the closer you got to the edge.

“Shit, baby… So good for me. Gotta stay quiet…” Stiles mumbled. A small, high pitched keen left your lips. You weren’t sure how long you’d be able to keep the silence up. You looked down once more and saw Stiles palming himself over his sweats as he continued eating you out, rhythmically grinding his hips in time with his mouth.

The sound of a bag zipper closing got your attention. You smacked Stiles’ shoulder to stop, wanting to whine in frustration at just how close you’d been. Stiles paid you no mind, lost in giving you pleasure. You put both your hands on his shoulders and pushed him away, careful not to tip him over. It was only then Stiles noticed the noise of someone packing up to leave. He scrambled to stand up, trying to help you get redressed.

“I got it, I got it,” you hissed quietly.

“Who’s there? You can’t be here anymore! Library’s about to close!” It was the librarian who’d shushed you earlier. You grabbed your bag in a hurry.

“Would you still rather be hanging out with Isaac?” Stiles asked jokingly, wiping his chin. You whacked his arm, storming past him to the doors. He followed quickly, arm wandering over your shoulders as you walked out of the now deserted school. You didn’t speak as Stiles led you over to the Jeep, insisting on driving you home, at least.

You sat in the passenger seat as Stiles ran around to the drivers’ side. You wiped your hands on your thighs, huffing a frustrated breath. You hadn’t even finished the paper, and now you got cock-blocked on top of it. So not worth it. You turned to Stiles as he put the keys in the ignition. He’d never looked hotter than that very second, lips bruised, hair tousled and still pent up, besides maybe when he looked up at you with his face buried between your legs. Okay so maybe a little worth it.

“If you keep looking at me like that I’m gonna pull over and we’re gonna have sex in the back seat like right now,” Stiles joked. Or at least, you assumed it was a joke.

You raised an eyebrow. “Is that a challenge, threat or invitation?”

“Option D? All of the above? I mean, D is definitely an option.”

“Pull over and we’ll see how much of an option it is.”

Stiles didn’t need to be told twice, pulling over in a small clearing as soon as he saw the opportunity. He took off his seatbelt, scrambling to get out of the car. He opened the door for you, closing it and letting you in the back seat. You laid back across the seats and manoeuvred your top off, throwing it at Stiles. He caught it, quickly discarding it somewhere in the car. He shimmied his pants down his legs, not bothering to take off his shoes. You did the same, leaving you in your underwear. Stiles stopped to take a proper look.

“You’re gonna kill me. You’ve already killed me and this is my pre-hell Heaven trailer of what could’ve been. God iwantyousobad.” You pulled him on top of you as you laughed.

“Less talking, more fucking, yes?”

“Yes, I agree. Wholeheartedly,” Stiles nodded furiously, tugging his shirt over his head with only one hand. Hot. He finally closed the car door behind him before he could forget.

“I’m going to assume you don’t just casually keep condoms in your car?” You questioned. Stiles closed his eyes and tightened his lips in frustration, mentally scolding himself. He finally had you in his Jeep, half-naked, ready to fuck, and he didn’t have a freaking condom??? He finally shook his head no, sighing and pulling away from you slowly.

You leaned up on your elbows and whispered in his ear. “Hmmm… Guess you’re just gonna have to come inside of me… Wouldn’t want to make a mess of the car…”

Stiles pounced at that, kissing you like his life depended on it. He tugged your underwear back down your legs, now very familiar with your pelvic region. He struggled to undo your bra, cursing under his breath. You laughed and lended a hand, undoing it and slipping it off your shoulders.

“Holy shit,” Stiles groaned. “Promise me to thank Coach for pairing us up.”

“You did not just mention my uncle as a reaction to seeing me naked,” you complained.

“I did. Not sorry. He did me a favour.”

You ignored the comment and decided to kiss him to shut him back up. Him and his mouth… God his mouth. You were still pent up from the library, and if he didn’t fuck you soon you were pretty sure you’d go crazy.

“Stiles, want you,” you whined impatiently. He was too busy paying attention to your nipples, taking one between his teeth as he made eye contact. “Shit,” you gasped.

Your hands wandered down his torso, stopping at the hem of his boxers. You tugged them down, setting his very hard cock free from its confinement. The tip was red, dribbling with pre-cum. He was obviously just as pent up as you felt. You gave him a few experimental tugs with your hand before lining him up with your entrance.

Stiles took over, taking his time to slowly push inside you. You put your hands on his shoulders, holding your breath at the stretch. He was so much bigger than you’d expected. You both moaned when he bottomed out. You felt so full, it was insane. You dug your nails into his shoulders and gave him a nod, indicating he could move.

He set a slow pace, testing the waters. He was enthralled by the jiggle of your tits with every movement. Typical. His hands moved up to hold them, almost as leverage, as he picked up his pace.

“Fuck, so good,” Stiles moaned. You were about to move a hand down to touch yourself, but Stiles stopped you.

“Let me make you feel good, let me make you come.” He put one hand on your shoulder to steady himself and brought the other down to where you were joined. He continued to thrust, putting his fingers on your clit. It took him a second, but he found a rhythm where he could thrust and stroke at the same time.

“Oh my god, Stiles!” You moaned, the added sensation feeling amazing. The sound of his hips slapping against yours was filthy to say the least. You moved to hold onto something above your head as Stiles sped up. Your hands soon found the little ledge, and you gripped it to the best of your ability.

Stiles bent down to kiss you, pace still unrelenting. The new angle of him bent forward sent his cock exactly where you needed it.

“Shit, oh my god.” It was all the confirmation Stiles needed to keep it up.

“So pretty, so tight around my cock. Such pretty tits. You feel so good,” he mumbled against your lips.

The pace of his hips became more erratic, both of you nearing the edge. Your knuckles turned white with how tight you were gripping the car door.

“Gonna come inside you,” Stiles moaned. “Fill you up so nice.”

“Yes, Stiles, please!”

“Fuck, so good, so good for me,” Stiles was becoming more talkative and less coherent as he lost himself in the pleasure. He was mouthing at your jawline, sucking another hickey where there were already plenty.

“Fuck, Stiles, gonna come,” you whined. You could feel his smile against your neck. Smug idiot. He then started rubbing your clit exactly the way you liked it. Combined with him hitting that spot inside you over and over and over again, you were seeing stars.

“Don’t stop, please,” another moan left your lips.

“Come for me. Come on my cock. So pretty, so good,” Stiles blabbered.

“Fuck! Stiles!” You keened, tightening around his dick as you came. He kissed you again as his hips stuttered, thrusting a few more times before painting your walls with his cum. His head fell on your chest as you both caught your breath.

When his breathing had slowed, he groaned before lifting himself off you, chuckling as he pecked both your nipples, then your lips before looking for something to clean you with. He settled on the shirt of his lacrosse uniform.

“Ugh, gross,” you mumbled as he wiped you clean. Stiles shrugged. “It was going into the wash, anyway.”

Stiles put his underwear and sweats back on, opening the door and getting out so you could have the space to redress yourself. When you reached under the seat for your bra, you pulled out a baseball bat. “Why do you have a baseball bat in your car?”

“No… Particular reason. Safety. Lots of dangerous animals… out there.”

“So you settled on a bat?” You wondered, holding the object. Stiles nodded, not meeting your eyes, his locked on your still naked chest. You threw the bat at him and laughed, reaching under the seat again and this time pulling out your bra.

When you were finally dressed, you got back in the passenger seat so Stiles could drive you home. It wasn’t a long drive, as you’d already been halfway there before pulling over. He drove up the driveway, and you cringed on the inside, hoping your uncle wouldn’t see who dropped you off. You took your bag and got out of the car, walking around to the drivers’ side where Stiles was already leaning out the window.

You looked at him and gave him a small smile. You leaned forward to give him a kiss goodbye. “You better email me your part of the paper tonight, Stilinski.”

“You bet, babe,” he winked and gave you a salute, watching as you laughed and turned to walk inside the house.

You closed the door and took off your shoes, hanging your coat and leaving your bag by the door. “I’m home!”

Coach took one look at your appearance and frowned. Right… maybe you should’ve straightened yourself out before walking into the living room. Disheveled hair, hickeys on your neck, it wasn’t exactly rocket science as to why you were home later than usual.

“If you’re gonna be having boys over, do it when I’m not around, please? I have enough of them to deal with at practice and in class. And at least have the decency to tell an uncle who he’s dealing with.”

You cringed as the Jeep’s headlights very obviously flashed through the window at that very second, Stiles driving home. It was anything but unrecognizable.

“Stilinski!? You’re sleeping with STILINSKI?! God, kill me now. If I’m now expected to have him over for Christmas dinner you better throw me off a bridge. And you BETTER use protection because I’m NOT gonna have Mini-linski’s running around.”

#stiles stilinski smut #teen wolf x reader #stiles stilinski x reader

5K notes · View notes

trashyangelic · 10 days ago

Text

i was gonna read this but i didn't get much time to do it.

✦⁺₊✩☽⋆𝓢𝓪𝔂 𝓜𝔂 𝓝𝓪𝓶𝓮⋆☾✩⁺₊✦

CW: p in v, soft

Jinu's buried deep inside you, slow and thick, whispering your name while you struggle to say his. (jinu x hunter!reader)

It was supposed to be a game. Just fun. A filthy, secret arrangement between a hunter and the demon she should’ve killed. Jinu had slipped into your life like a shadow in silk, all smirks, and charm, stealing your breath before you realized how deep you were in.

It could’ve been a love story. Sweet. Poetic, even.

If not for the fact that he was a demon.

And you?

You were this generation’s chosen demon hunter.

You should’ve gutted him the first night. Instead, you let him touch you. You let him whisper lies between kisses and slide into your bed like he belonged there. You convinced yourself it was temporary. Just one more night. Just one more fuck. One more lie. One more reason not to end it.

Now, here you were, beneath him, legs parted and trembling, cunt dripping and stretched tight around his cock as he drove into you like he owned you.

A ragged gasp tore from your lips as he loomed over you, wearing that too-perfect human mask. His skin was smooth and pale, flushed from the friction, and his dark hair clung to his forehead where your fingers had been just minutes ago. His hips rolled slow and deep, each stroke punching a moan from your lungs. You could feel every vein, every pulse of his cock inside you, and you hated how good it felt.

With his cock pushed in to the hilt, his head brushed that soft, sensitive spot deep inside that caused your toes to curl and your back to arch as he leaned in and gave you a slow, wet, and hungry kiss. His canines grazed your lip, too sharp for a human.

You cried out, voice trembling. “F-fuck, hurry up.”

You rolled your hips, chasing the rhythm, chasing the high that would drown out the guilt. Maybe if you came hard enough, you could forget. Just for a moment. Forget that your thighs were wrapped around the enemy. Forget that your soul was supposed to damn his, not crave it.

But Jinu only smiled, cruel and soft. The faint shimmer of his violet mark flickered across his skin, like an echo of truth you didn’t want to see.

“You always get impatient when you're close,” he murmured, voice like warm velvet soaked in debauchery. His cock dragged out slowly, so slow it burned, before sinking back in inch by inch until your pussy swallowed him whole again. “Let me enjoy you. Just a little longer.”

“Basta—”

He cut you off with a low groan, his hips rocking forward until you felt his pelvis grind flush against your clit, sending sparks through your core. You whimpered, and he chuckled darkly against your skin.

Your legs locked around his waist, and you ground against the rough patch of hair at his base, desperate, clit rubbing just right. You were so close you could taste it, feel your walls fluttering in anticipation. You could’ve come if he hadn’t grabbed your hips and stopped you.

“Are you serious?” you gasped, your orgasm teetering on the edge, denied. Your eyes flared open, fury, and desperation twisting in your chest.

Then… you saw it.

Something flickered behind his gaze. A crack in the mask. Not lust. Not smugness. Something else.

Vulnerability.

Before you could speak, he leaned in and pressed his forehead to yours, still buried deep inside you. The moment was so intimate, so wrong, your throat locked up.

He whispered your name like a prayer. Like it meant something.

You froze.

Your thoughts crashed into each other, a thousand voices screaming inside your skull, but not one word made sense. You couldn’t move, couldn’t think. Only feel.

Then…his lips brushed yours. Gentle. Barely there. A whisper of warmth that lingered like a ghost before he rolled his hips again, slow, deliberate, every inch of his cock dragging against your trembling, soaked walls. He whispered your name under his breath—again, and again, like it was a prayer. Like it hurt to say it, and he said it anyway.

And that…that did something to you.

Jinu had never said your name before. Not once. Not in jest. Not in bed. Not even when you first met. You hadn’t spoken his either. Names were power. Names made things real.

But now, his voice was stripped of arrogance, his usual teasing lilt gone. He sounded bare. Exposed.

His hands slid up your waist, slow and reverent, until they cupped your face, his thumbs brushing your cheeks like you were fragile. “Say my name,” he whispered.

You blinked, heart hammering.

“What…?” your voice cracked.

He stilled inside you, cock buried deep, pulsing with restraint. “Say my name,” he repeated, firmer this time, but his touch stayed gentle. Then, softer: he whispered yours again.

His thumb swept under your eye, like he was memorizing the shape of you. And you— You wanted to stay quiet. You should’ve. You knew what it would mean. If you said it now, like this, while his cock was inside you and your bodies were fused in sweat and sin, there’d be no going back. You couldn’t lie to yourself anymore.

It would be real. And real meant dangerous.

But your hand found his face. And you kissed him. Slow. Tender. Devastating.

“…Jinu,” you breathed.

His entire body tensed, then melted. His eyes shone, lips parting into a smile so bright it hurt to look at, and for a terrifying moment, you thought he might cry.

Then he moved.

A sudden, brutal snap of his hips had you gasping. He fucked into you with reckless hunger, with something feral, like the sound of his name on your lips had broken him wide open.

Your hands flew to the sheets, twisting tight as he rammed into you again, and again, burying himself deep enough to ruin you. His cock dragged deliciously against your tender walls, your clit aching each time his hips slammed into yours with sharp, wet smacks. It was filthy. Loud. Animal.

And through it all, he whispered your name over and over, like a prayer, like he wanted to brand it into the moment.

Your moans blended with his, messy and breathless, echoing off the walls, your bodies locked in rhythm, in sin, in something far too close to love.

His mark glowed faintly across his chest and throat, deep violet beneath the amber light that slipped through your window.

Demon.

Lover.

Liar.

Yours.

“Fuck,” you sobbed, as your legs shook, your body spiralling toward release.

He didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

Your back arched as your orgasm tore through you, a white-hot wave crashing down. Your pussy clenched around him, greedy, milking him. And with a shudder, he followed. Hips jerking, cock twitching deep inside you as he spilled his cum in thick, pulsing waves, burying himself as far as he could go.

Neither of you moved.

The only sound in the room was the ragged cadence of your breathing, your bodies tangled, your souls too close for comfort.

You closed your eyes, chest rising and falling.

You shouldn’t have said his name.

But you did.

Now all the lies you told yourself came apart slowly, gently, and cruelly.

This wasn’t just sex anymore.

You made it real.

And it was going to destroy you.

2K notes · View notes

trashyangelic · 10 days ago

Text

Back to Beacon Hills

Pairing: FBI!Stiles Stilinski x Fem!Teacher!Reader

Word Count: 1.7K

Setting: AFTER the Teen Wolf timeline

Summary: After three years away, FBI agent Stilinski returns to Beacon Hills to investigate a string of strange occurrences at the high school, only to find himself drawn to a new teacher with a quiet strength and a mysterious past. As the investigation intensifies and danger lurks closer, Stiles finds that the town—and the unexpected connection with her—might just be the fresh start he never knew he needed.

It had been three years since Stiles left Beacon Hills. The last time he was home, he’d packed up a lifetime of memories, heartbreaks, and near-death experiences into the back of his jeep and told himself he wouldn’t look back. He needed out. Away from the constant looming threat of the supernatural, away from the haunting shadows of his own mistakes. The FBI was supposed to be his new chapter, a clean slate.

But now, standing in the middle of the high school parking lot with the echo of his dad’s voice ringing in his ears, it didn’t feel like a fresh start. It felt like old ghosts had dragged him right back.

“They’ve been hearing things at the school,” his dad had said over the phone two days ago. “Strange sounds. Flickering lights. Animals acting weird near the woods. People are scared, Stiles.”

Stiles wanted to dismiss it—chalk it up to Beacon Hills being Beacon Hills. But when his dad mentioned an incident with a teacher—a classroom full of students trapped in a room where the temperature had plummeted for no reason—he knew he couldn’t ignore it.

Which was how he ended up here, walking into the high school with his badge tucked in his pocket and an overwhelming sense of déjà vu.

The teacher was nothing like he’d expected.

He’d thought someone who worked in this place—this town—would be frazzled or resigned, the way most people here seemed to be after years of unexplained phenomena. But when Stiles walked into your classroom, clipboard in hand, you stood at the whiteboard, mid-sentence, utterly unbothered by his presence.

You turned to face him with an arched brow, marker still in hand. “Can I help you?”

Stiles blinked, thrown by the directness. You were younger than he’d anticipated, maybe close to his age, and not at all the panicked figure he’d imagined when his dad mentioned the incident. If anything, you seemed skeptical.

“Uh, yeah,” Stiles stammered, recovering quickly. He held up his badge, stepping closer. “Agent Stilinski. FBI.”

Your eyes flicked to the badge, then back to his face, unimpressed. “FBI? Really? What does the FBI want with Beacon Hills High School?”

“It’s more of a precaution,” Stiles replied, trying to match your calm exterior. “You were here when… whatever happened, happened?”

The corner of your mouth twitched, like you were holding back a laugh. “You mean the part where I was stuck in a classroom with twenty tenth-graders and the thermostat decided to stage a coup?”

“Sounds about right,” he said, leaning against the nearest desk. “Mind walking me through it?”

You sighed, crossing your arms over your chest as you leaned back against the desk at the front of the room. “I don’t know what you’re looking for, Agent Stilinski, but it’s probably not here. Weird stuff happens in this town. People get used to it. I’ve only been here a year, and even I’ve figured that out.”

Stiles tilted his head, curiosity sparking. “You’re not from here?”

“Moved here last summer,” you said. “I was teaching in Seattle before this. Figured a smaller town might be… quieter.”

He barked out a laugh before he could stop himself. “Yeah, good luck with that. Beacon Hills has its own definition of ‘quiet.’”

You smirked, but there was a flicker of something else in your expression—something wary, maybe even a little haunted. “I’m starting to see that.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The investigation wasn’t straightforward.

Stiles spent the next few days digging into police reports, chasing dead ends, and finding his way back to your classroom more often than he expected. He told himself it was because you’d been the one present during the most dramatic event—your insight was crucial. But deep down, he knew there was more to it.

There was something about you. The way you carried yourself, calm and composed, but with a sharp edge of sarcasm that kept him on his toes. The way you didn’t seem scared of him—or the things he was starting to suspect were at play here.

You fascinated him, and that scared him more than he cared to admit.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

One night, he found himself standing outside the school, flashlight in hand, staring at the woods where he was sure something was watching him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he felt the familiar prickle of danger.

“Agent Stilinski?”

Your voice cut through the tension, and he whipped around to find you standing on the sidewalk, arms wrapped around yourself against the chill.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, lowering the flashlight.

You shrugged, stepping closer. “I could ask you the same thing. Thought you might need backup.”

“Backup?” Stiles raised an eyebrow, but his lips twitched in amusement.

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t get any ideas. I was working late and saw you skulking around out here.”

“Well, for the record, I don’t skulk,” he replied, but the teasing fell away as his gaze drifted back to the tree line. “You shouldn’t be here. It’s not safe.”

“And you think it’s safer for you to be out here alone?” you shot back, stepping closer. “If there’s something out there, shouldn’t someone else know about it?”

His chest tightened at your words. He’d spent so many years doing exactly this—throwing himself into danger, insisting he could handle it alone. And now here you were, a stranger, challenging that instinct with nothing but quiet determination.

“Okay,” he said finally, his voice softer. “But stick close to me.”

The tension between you only grew from there.

Stiles found himself drawn to you in ways he couldn’t quite explain. Maybe it was the way you didn’t flinch when things got weird, or the way you handled yourself with quiet confidence, even when the world around you seemed to be falling apart. Maybe it was the way your wit matched his, sparring with him effortlessly, giving him something to hold onto in the chaos.

But it wasn’t just fascination. It was something deeper, something that made his heart race whenever you brushed past him in a narrow hallway or glanced his way during a tense conversation.

And it scared the hell out of him.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The break in the case came on a Friday night. Stiles was combing through old records at the station when his phone buzzed. It was you.

Unknown Number

You: I don’t know if this is important, but I think I saw something outside my house.

He stared at the screen, pulse quickening, before he grabbed his jacket and bolted for the door.

When he arrived, the street was eerily quiet, bathed in the dim glow of streetlights. You were standing on the porch, arms crossed, wearing an oversized sweatshirt that looked like it had been thrown on in a rush.

“I wasn’t sure if I should call,” you said when he jogged up to you. “But I saw… something. I don’t know what it was, but it wasn’t human.”

Stiles’ hand twitched toward his flashlight. “Which way did it go?”

You pointed toward the woods behind your house, and Stiles nodded, stepping off the porch. But before he could go more than a few steps, you grabbed his arm.

“Wait.”

He turned, startled by the urgency in your voice.

“Be careful,” you said quietly. Your eyes locked with his, and for a moment, everything else fell away—the case, the danger, the unspoken questions hanging between you. It was just you and him, standing in the glow of the porch light, and the weight of what neither of you could say.

“I will,” he promised, his voice softer than he intended.

And then he disappeared into the trees.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Hours later, after chasing shadows and coming face-to-face with something that definitely didn’t belong in Beacon Hills—or anywhere else, for that matter—Stiles found himself back on your porch.

The creature had fled, wounded but not defeated, and he was sure it would be back. But for now, all he could think about was you, waiting here alone while he was out risking his life.

You opened the door before he could knock, your eyes scanning him for injuries.

“You’re okay,” you said, exhaling a breath you probably didn’t realize you’d been holding.

“Yeah,” he said, stepping inside. “Are you?”

You nodded, but your hands were trembling as you closed the door behind him. He noticed, and without thinking, he reached out to steady you, his fingers brushing against yours.

The contact sent a jolt through both of you.

“Stiles…” you started, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” he said, his hand lingering on yours. “I know this is crazy. I know I shouldn’t—”

“Don’t,” you interrupted, stepping closer. “Don’t talk yourself out of this.”

He froze, caught between the instinct to protect himself and the overwhelming pull he felt toward you. But when you looked up at him, your eyes full of a quiet strength that matched his chaos, he realized he didn’t want to run. Not this time.

So he didn’t.

Instead, he leaned in, his forehead resting against yours as he whispered, “This is a really bad idea.”

You smiled, a soft, almost teasing curve of your lips. “Maybe. But it’s not the worst one you’ve had.”

He laughed, the sound quiet and full of relief, and when you tilted your face toward his, he didn’t hesitate.

The kiss was tentative at first, as if both of you were testing the waters, but it quickly deepened, years of frustration and fear and longing spilling out in a way neither of you could stop.

When you finally pulled apart, your breathing uneven, Stiles rested his hands on your waist, grounding himself in the reality of you.

“Guess I’m not so great at staying away from trouble,” he murmured, his lips quirking into a wry smile.

“Good thing I’m not afraid of it,” you replied, your voice steady despite the flush in your cheeks.

He didn’t know what would happen next—how the case would end, or if he could ever really leave Beacon Hills behind. But as he stood there with you, the weight of the world momentarily lifted, he realized that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t want to.

Because for the first time in a long time, Beacon Hills didn’t feel like a trap.

It felt like home.

#reader insert #teen wolf #teen wolf x reader #stiles stilinski x you #stiles stilinski x y/n #fbi stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski x reader #stiles stilinski self insert #stiles stilinski imagine #stiles stilinski reader insert

128 notes · View notes

trashyangelic · 10 days ago

Text

𝗕𝗔𝗖𝗞𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗘 𝗣𝗔𝗦𝗦

synopsis: you were lucky enough to see the saja boys up close. you thought the heavens have chosen you when you’re given a special service by your bias, jinu.

pairing: jinu x reader

content: 18+ mdni, canon world, afab reader, smut with plot, making out, foreplay, mostly f receiving, cowgirl, p in v, couch sex, mirror sex, recorded sex, usage of petname, use of profanities, jinu being gentle and rough at the same time.

words: 3,420

You weren't sure how you got into this mess of a situation.

It was sudden. Something you never expected, let alone planned. So, why not relish the gift delivered straight from the heavens?

Idolizing artists were never in your course of interest. You never really understood the hype in people fighting with their whole life for concert tickets and photocards.

But oh, you started to understand them bit by bit when your friend introduced you to Saja Boys, the new rising pop icons in the industry.

Their debut song was catchy—you'll give them that. Although, what drew you in more was their center. Jet black hair, defined features that looks like he could pass as a museum worthy sculpture, and overall had the vibes that everyone swoons over.

He was...okay.

At least that's what you thought when you first saw him through the screen. Needless to say, you were immediately hooked, and the man named Jinu became your bias—or whatever the fans call it.

When you heard they'll be hosting a free signed meet and greet near your area, you knew you had to go.

The venue was jam-packed with fans; you could see most of them carrying merchandise, which made you a little bashful. You didn't invest in any kind of merch they have, so all you brought with you was your mini journal notebook they can sign on.

You just like their music and a certain member of the group, that's all.

When it was your turn on the line, you didn't know what to say to them, you only waved a small "Hello." You don’t really mind that you didn't have any conversation with them or whatnot, you already felt lucky enough to see them up close.

Romance was first to sign, then Abby, Mystery, and Baby. Only a smile from them was given to you as they handed you back your notebook.

Until you moved on to the last person on the table—Jinu.

He looked like a God up close.

Jinu looked up at you, with that alluring smile of his. Like what you did with the other members, you muttered, "Hello," as you gave him your notebook.

"Where do I sign?" Jinu asked. His voice is even more soothing in real life than in their records.

"Anywhere is fine," you replied.

He nodded. As he was signing, your body jolted a little when he asked you another question, "How are you liking our recent single so far?"

You tried not to stutter, "It's... fine. I liked the beat."

Your eyes averted away from him to anywhere, really. You just wanted to get this over with and save yourself from the embarrassment if ever you lose control of yourself.

Only you looked back at Jinu again when you heard him clear his throat and slide your notebook on the table back to you.

"Would that be all?" He asked, as if expecting something more.

You didn't know what he meant, "Yes..?" was all you replied before putting your notebook back in your bag.

Jinu fixed his posture and gave you a smile, wave, and a “See you later."

You gave him a smile before walking out of the venue. Supposedly, you are to stay for their live performance after the signed meet and greet. However, you thought that the venue space would be meagre with the amount of fans present.

You didn't want to be squished in the crowd.

You sat down on the waiting shed for a bus, and that was when you pulled out your mini journal to check their signatures whilst waiting.

Their signs were distinct from each other's and each suiting their personalities. When you flip onto the next page, you quirk a brow.

There was a paper, with a design that says "Hello Friend" and a duck character. Underneath the paper was Jinu's sign.

You opened the paper, and you read the contents inside, "7pm. Backstage. See you later... Jinu..?"

It was a total wonder how are the boys even allowed for this. As far as you know, agencies and companies prohibit their idols in the most strict way. Also, does their manager even know about this?

Wait, do they even have a manager?

Perhaps you were just really fortunate that you stood out in the eyes of your bias. Curiosity will get the best of you anyway. So, you waited until the said time.

But oh, what you didn't know is that this little interest of yours will get you in the situation.

The atmosphere in the room was comforting at first; relaxing, inviting.

The boy's dressing room wasn't that big, but enough to fit at least the five of them and a few assistants. There's a couch in one corner and beside it are the rack of their clothes. On the other corner, adjacent to the couch, is a full-length mirror, where the boys can check themselves out once they're done being styled, or so you assume.

You had asked Jinu where the others are, but he dismissed your question with a, "Probably in other rooms, some of them eating or already snoozing out."

At first, the conversation between the two of you was... decent. Then you don't know what's happening, but there's a sudden ache rising in your chest, hot and confusing, making your skin feel too tight.

The room hadn't changed, but it felt different. It felt too warm for your liking—like something antiquated and powerful had opened its eyes.

Jinu, of course, took notice of this, "Is something wrong?"

You let out an awkward breathy laugh, "Is it just me or the air conditioning suddenly became warm?"

Then, you're not sure when, but Jinu suddenly got close to you—so close that he's practically hovering over you.

"Want to drink water?" Jinu asks.

"N-no," you cringe at the way you stutter.

Jinu smirks, his face inches away from yours, "Sure you don't want anything, hm?"

You let out a shaky breath as you can already feel his mouth just beneath your skin. Finally, you gasp when you feel his teeth nipping your neck.

"Jinu—wait," you tried pushing him off, but it just made him grip your wrists, and you felt the velvet cushion behind you as the two of you stumbled on the couch with his legs straddling yours.

He continues biting the same spot on your neck, not listening to your vocal protest.

You didn't want to give in just yet. What if this was just a dream—your imaginations getting the best of you? You'd want to snap out of this trance if that's the case.

You winced when Jinu licked the spot that is bruised up now and you bite your lip as you try to surpress your whimper, "Fuck, wait, your other fans will kill me."

Jinu lets out a low chuckle at your troubles, "No one gets to have this and no one will get to know if that's what you're worried about."

You look away, face flushed, and your pulse racing.

"You're fiddling," Jinu mutters. "Does it scare you?"

You murmur, “I’m a little nervous..."

He pulls back a little, enough to see your face. Jinu smiles at your flustered state, "You can leave," he says hushly, hoping that it would ease you, "Say the word and I'll stop. You walk out of the door, and we'll forget this ever happened. No consequences."

You gathered up enough courage to look back at him, "No, I—is this even decent for an idol-fan interaction?"

Jinu chuckles again, and it sends vibrations throughout your body. You rub your thighs absent mindedly.

"Just think of this as a special fanservice, yeah?"

You pinch your skin, making sure you're not hallucinating. Surely enough, this is your current situation. You hesitate, but he offered it himself, right?

Oh fuck it.

You slam your lips against his, and Jinu's eyes widen at your initiation, but he nonetheless joins you with your urge. His knee hits the edge of the couch and his hand finds your waist, while the other on your back, making you sit upright on the couch.

Your arms snake around his shoulders, and his hands now lightly go up and down on both sides of your waist to cupping your breasts.

You separate from the kiss, but the proximity is still very close, "H-hah...Jinu..."

He hushes you, "Relax," and he presses your lips with his once more, this time, a little more rash. His kisses are far from gentle. It’s needy, like it had been waiting to taste you. Jinu’s hand caress your jaw, while the other on the back of your head to deepen the kiss.

His tongue tugs at your lower lip, asking for permission, to which of course, you gladly give. You feel his tongue battling with yours and your stomach did a swirling sensation while your pussy began to itch out of anticipation and eagerness.

The two of you pull back for air with a string of saliva, “Fuck. You’re amazing,” Jinu says in between his pants. Then, he slowly lifts your shirt above your head, throws it aside to hell knows where, then he skillfully unclasps your bra, letting both straps slightly fall on your arms until he removes it.

Jinu whistles at the sight before him, clearly savoring it. You frown, “Isn’t it only fair if you remove yours too?”

He chuckles, “Alright, princess. So demanding,” then he pulls his hoodie off, giving you something to gawk at. His refined body looks seraphic. He really could pass as a museum sculpture.

“Can I…?” You ask.

Jinu gives you a sly smirk, “Of course. Afterall, it’s part of the fanservice,” he says while making an air quotation at the word “fanservice”.

You waste no time to throw your hands at him again. You move your hands from his abs to his chest, feeling his muscles.

Jinu hums at your touch, he then wastes no time to catch your lips once more whilst your hands are still on his chest. Jinu’s weight made you lean back on the couch. His hand, gently pressing on your neck, made you whimper that Jinu felt it in his throat.

He released his lips from yours with a sound, and he drags it along your neck down to your chest. You squirm under the new sensation he’s giving you, letting out helpless cries as he leaves bruised marks all over.

The version of yourself before you even listen to this group would not even believe you’re being marked by your idol as if making you his. You ought to thank your friend who introduced you to Saja Boys once you’re out of this sanctuary.

“Shi—ah!” You let out a soft moan as his tongue swirls around your nipple, coaxing it with his saliva, while his thumb plays with the other, making sure it won’t feel left out.

You close your eyes out of pleasure, biting your knuckles to stifle your moans. Jinu removes your hand from your mouth, “Let me hear you—mmph,” he commands, and his mouth retreats back on your chest, each of your breasts taking turns from his mouth.

He promptly rests his knee in between your thighs, near enough that it’s pressing on your clothed heat. You could feel your undergarment already drenched, and the contact with Jinu’s knee didn’t help one bit.

Your chest heaves fast, still in the groove for the heat of the moment. Then, Jinu lowers down, now kneeling in front of you. He tugs at the waistband of your bottoms, looking up at you as if asking for permission. You could only nod, and he pulled it down on your legs.

He chuckles menacingly, “Shit. Look at you. All wet, for me. Such a brazen girl you are.”

You whimper at his teasing, which was replaced by a moan when you feel two of his fingers rub your folds with your panty still on you.

“Mmhm—Ah! J-jinu, plea-please..!” You stumble on your words, as his fingers continuously and enjoyingly rub your clothed pussy.

“Please what, princess?” His voice, now more seemingly low.

With your last dignity left, you beg, “More. Need more. Please—aah!” You gasp when he tore your panty apart, now leaving you fully bare in front of him.

Obliging your request, he hastily tastes you, making slurping sounds as he sucks your wet folds. You arch your back as your hand keeps tugging at his hair. His hand grips on your waist, making sure you hold still, as his mouth keeps abusing your cunt.

His tongue, licking the right spot. His hand, playing with your clit, sending you to heaven. “Hngf—fuck! Right there!” Your thighs wanted to close, but Jinu pulled it apart, making this a room of sex sounds.

You feel your stomach turn into a knot, “I-I’m close!”

“Yeah? Cum for me, princess.”

With that, you let out a high pitched moan, and your sweet release comes after. You could’ve sworn you saw Jinu’s eyes glint into a faint golden amber hue as he licks you clean, taking every drop, “You taste divine.”

Your thighs are trembling and you’re still gasping for air when you see him stand up. “Where’s your phone?” Jinu asks. You don’t think you can even form a coherent sentence right now, so you just weakly point out to the vanity table, where your bag is settled.

Jinu opens your bag, and takes your phone out. He then removes his sweatpants, and the bulge on his boxers makes your mouth slightly gape. He walks back near you, removing his boxers down, making a short strip show in front of you. You gulp at his achingly hardened cock, your thighs rubbing against each other once again, and your pussy still eager, wanting to be dicked down already.

But Jinu had other plans. He leans on you, swooping you up in one go, and he switches your position with him. He’s now sitting on the couch as you straddle on his lap. His thumb slides on the screen of your phone, opening the camera, and he switches it to video.

Your eyebrows scrunch, and Jinu only points behind you. You look back, eyes widening as you see your position in the mirror. You’ve been too lost in your pleasure, that you forgot that the mirror is there, and have been watching the two of you.

Jinu gives you a smug look and raises your phone, enough to capture both of your reflections in the mirror, “For a little souvenir made just for you.”

Biting your lip, you slowly grind on top of him, the surface of your pussy sliding on his cock. Jinu hums at the contact, as he presses the record button.

You continue with your work, then eventually, sliding his cock into your hole. You close your eyes at how big he feels inside of you, while Jinu grunts as your clammy walls instinctively tighten around him, “Sh-shit. Thought I had stretch you out a bit earlier, but you’re still tight—fuck.”

You inhale and exhale shakily, trying to regain composure. Then, you slowly move your hips. Jinu looks at the screen of your phone that is recording the nudity shown in the mirror. Your curves prominent even on your back and your ass grinding on his lap; such a perfect scene for the mirror and your phone to capture.

You gradually pick up your pace, now bouncing on his dick. Your hands rest on Jinu’s broad shoulders for support, and he throws his head back on the cushion, groaning at how good your pussy feels—that even the phone on his hand got slightly out of balance, making the angle a little tilted.

“J-jinu,” You manage to muster, “I c-can’t anymore, ‘m too tired…”

Jinu groans, “Just a little more, princess—hah.”

With all your remaining strength left, you continue bouncing up and down, his dick just hitting the perfect spot inside you. Jinu pressed the button to stop recording, and tossed your phone to the side of the couch. That’s when you slow down again, unable to move your hips on your own anymore.

Just as you thought you have time to catch your breath, Jinu harshly grips his hand on both sides of your hips, pulled you slightly up, and pushed you back down on his dick roughly, rummaging your insides as you sit on top him, letting his hands guide you and finish the work himself.

You scream, your filthy moans continuously coming out of your mouth, “Ah! Ah! Ah!” Along with it, your skins slapping against each other echoes across the room. You pray that the other members won’t hear how their leader is making you see stars through his cock.

“Jinu! S’too much!”

He laughs in between his groans, “You can take it, princess. You will.”

You had a glimpse of his canine. It looked sharp, like it could draw blood if it bit you. You were sure it wasn’t there when he was biting your neck, so when and how did it appear? You would’ve pondered more, but you couldn’t. Not when he’s fucking your brains out.

You shut your eyes, unable to take the pleasure he’s giving you. Your tits bouncing along which is a picturesque sight for him to see. You look like an angel in front of him.

He fucks you down on his dick like you’re his last salvation to momentarily escape his misery.

Gwi-ma be damned right now. Jinu is a man who roamed around this world for hundreds of centuries. He’s not only hungry—he’s starving like a madman. He just knew he had to have you the moment he set eyes on you. Let Gwi-ma be damned.

You lean down on Jinu’s chest, too tired to even sit upright on his lap. Still, your hole is milking his cock for all its worth.

His cock twitches inside of you, making him groan, “I’m close, princess. Think you can take all my seed?”

You just nodded your head that is now nestling on his shoulder. He grunts, bobbing your hips even faster and harder. Then, he came undone inside you, and your yet again, sweet release follows him as you scream his name.

The two of you stay in your position for a moment, allowing the mix of your fluids to roll down on your thighs and both of you retract from your highs. Then, he carefully lifts your hips up, which makes you whimper, and pulls out his dick.

Jinu massages your inner thighs, “You good?”

You close your eyes, too worn out. Still, you give him a satisfactory smile and nod, “Mhm.”

Jinu smiles, placing you on the couch to lie you down as you drift to your slumber. After he cleaned and dressed the two of you, he takes your phone and looks at it.

He smugs. Earlier on the meet and greet line, he was wondering why you have no merchandise with you. He thought you’d be an avid fan of them. Especially when you’ll always be in the list of people who would like his Instagram picture the second it’s posted.

He checked out your account before, and to say the obvious, he was immediately intrigued the moment he saw you in your photos. He may or may not have pulled some strings just to arrange an event in your area.

As luck would have it, you attended. That gave him more reason to make a move. He definitely manipulated the atmosphere of the room earlier just to trigger something in you; he’s a demon—already an embodiment of sins.

But he would never tell you all of that.

He pulls out the drawer of the vanity table, taking out some official merchandise he set aside, and he puts it in your bag along with your phone. So you’ll have more remembrance with you. He reaches for a pen, and his designed paper pad, the same one he gave you, to write his number down.

So the next time you see him in a meet and greet or one of their concerts, you’ll be ready.

And maybe next time, he can go all out demon mode on you.

Jinu didn’t want this to be a one time thing anyways—and he’s already looking forward to the next time he’ll give you another backstage pass.

note: this is not my forte of writing, but a friend of a friend pushed me to write this. i had this storyline idea for quite some time now for a different character from an anime, but then saja boys came along and i had to give it to one of them (totally wasn’t contemplating between abby and jinu but i have a bias so jinu got the role). it’s my first time writing smut, so let me know your thoughts!

#🪷 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐌’𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐎 ⋆˚࿔#jinu saja x reader #jinu kpop demon hunters #jinu saja boys #jinu kdh x reader

1K notes · View notes

trashyangelic · 11 days ago

Text

den of wolves (4/13)

domini album dow album

#19 Izuna Uchiha

summary: Peace in our time – it was the dream your cousin had championed since childhood, and it was the foundation for all of his efforts to bring the constant warring between clans to a permanent end.

And it was why he sent you into the den of wolves with only one order: Save Izuna Uchiha.

word count: 3,601

part three / part five

There was a woman meditating on the opposite side of the room.

She was the first thing that you noticed as you woke, and then it was the dawning realization that you weren’t in Izuna’s room that had you jerking up, hand going to your thigh for a kunai –

You weren’t wearing pants.

Rather – you weren’t wearing your pants.

And your shirt…it had been replaced by a black, short-cuffed kimono-shirt that had been tucked into the equally black not-your pants. Your kunai brace was gone completely, and as you yanked on the hem of the shirt, searching for a clan symbol, the other woman in the room opened her eyes and gave a short laugh.

“It’s blank, don’t worry,” she said, making you tense. She regarded you with honey-brown eyes that contrasted oddly with her lilac hair, and when she smiled slightly, you dug fingers into the hem tighter.

“Where are my clothes?” you asked neutrally, glancing around the room. It was the same size as Izuna’s, but lacked any kind of similar decorum. In fact, the room looked mostly barren, aside from the futon you were laying in and the bundle of black binding tape that you assumed had been your kunai brace sitting beside the Uchiha woman.

“They were soaked after your brawl with my dear cousin,” the woman replied, shrugging slightly. Brawl? “I removed them for you and changed your clothes.”

That…that was slightly relieving, at least, that she had been the one to change your clothes.

You glanced around the room again. “Where am I?”

“In an empty room in the Main House,” she answered and then stood, stretching her arms slightly as she did. You leaned back, shifting your center of gravity as she crossed the room until she crouched beside you, still giving you that slight smile. “After you passed out, Madara left you with me so he could do what he could with the healers to stop ‘zuna’s bleeding.”

Izuna’s bleeding.

“Shit,” you swore, and made to stand. You staggered slightly, but avoided the woman’s supporting hand as you regained your balance. “Izuna – is he okay?” you questioned. “Is he –”

“He’s still alive,” the woman said.

Your shoulders lost some of their tension and you breathed a slow breath. “Thank kami,” you murmured.

The woman laughed again. “I never thought I’d hear a Senju grateful for an Uchiha’s life.”

You frowned slightly, “He’s a person.”

“He’s the path to peace,” the woman countered swiftly.

You looked at her again. She wore clothes not atypical of what you’d seen of the Uchiha before, but the way she spoke and how she acted toward you…that was not what you expected, especially since she knew you were a Senju.

“My name is Naori,” the woman said, and held out the wrappings of your kunai brace to you. “I heard Madara call you (Y/N)?”

You nodded, accepting the bundle. All five of your blades were still there, and…they’d been sharpened.

“Oh,” Naori chuckled at your furrowed brow. “I got bored.” She pulled a whetstone from the wrappings around her waist and waggled it at you. “I figured next time ‘zuna tried killing you, you could at least give him a good poke in due fairness.”

Your expression screwed. “Aren’t you an Uchiha?”

Naori barked a laugh, “Last I checked.” She was grinning now and turned around, willingly showing you her back as she swept her violet hair to the side, revealing the red and white uchiwa fan embroidered onto her navy tunic. “The battlefield doesn’t make for a good show of humor, but I swear not all of us are as sordid as Madara.”

Had Izuna managed to deprive your brain of oxygen long enough to make you hallucinate a friendly Uchiha?

You shook your head slightly. “How long have I been unconscious, Naori-san?”

“Naori is fine,” she waved you off as she turned back around, “and maybe five hours? You were mumbling about a chakra burnout for a while.”

You blanched. “I spoke in my sleep?”

Naori smirked. “Don’t worry – I won’t tell anyone you were mumbling about how cute ‘zuna-chan is.”

Your jaw dropped and you could only stare incredulously at Naori as she snorted at your expression and patted you on the shoulder. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” she chuckled. “You were only mumbling about the infection and something about his blood. Madara said you trying to heal him when you passed out.”

You blinked owlishly at her and then shook your head slightly. “I need to get back to Izuna-sama,” you said. “I need to make sure his condition didn’t deteriorate after that…” you glanced at Naori’s raised eyebrow, “…brawl.”

“Scuffle,” she amended.

“Misunderstanding,” you sighed.

“I’ll walk you back,” Naori said, reaching for the door. “We’re only a few bedrooms away, actually.”

You followed her out of the bedroom, feeling awkward in the clothes you’d been dressed in as you walked beside her down a large hall. It was entirely empty except for its doors, of which there were six, all on the same side.

“Oh, there’s something I forgot to mention,” Naori said, hesitating as she came to a pause in front of one of the doors. It was four apart from the one you’d left, and whereas the others had no signage to indicate them individually, this one had a particular seal whose formula you recognized a few strokes of.

和. 幽境. 抑制.

Serenity. Solitude. Suppression.

Izuna’s bedroom was marked with a silencing seal.

Naori’s fingers slotted into the groove of the door. “Your lovely patient is awake, by the way.”

She pulled the door open before you had the chance to process what she’d said and were instantaneously met with a screaming match that would’ve put the ones you’d had with Tobirama to shame.

Madara was standing up, towering over his brother with his arms crossed over his chest, a severe expression on his face, and on the ground, propped up on his left elbow and sneering up at his elder brother was Izuna Uchiha, conscious and spitting mad for all his worth.

The moment the door hit its frame, both of their heads snapped toward you, whatever words they’d been shouting momentarily dying in their throats, as though the silencing seal had been applied directly to them.

And then Izuna’s eyes went ablaze with the Sharingan, and you diverted your stare to the heir’s tangled hair.

“What the fuck is a Senju doing in our compound, Aniki?!” Izuna shrieked. “What in the four rings of Indra’s eyes are you thinking bringing one of them here? Are you thinking at all?”

Madara snarled at his brother, “Your wounds are too much for our healers to handle, Izuna! If the cost of saving your life is making peace with the Senju, then I will gladly sign whatever treaty they put before me!”

“They’re our enemy!” Izuna’s voice rose another octave. “That Senju is just waiting for the moment to strike you down when you least expect it and kill us all in our sleep!”

“You sound like an alarmist, ‘zuna-chan,” Naori hummed from beside you, entirely nonplussed by the scene in front of her.

“Shut the fuck up, Naori,” Izuna snarled at her, gaze snapping from his brother to his cousin.

“You were going to die, Izuna,” Madara threw his arm out. “Did you expect me to just stand by and let you die?”

“Yes!” Izuna’s voice was shrill in your ears. “I would rather die than let that – that Senju’s chakra into my body!”

Your jaw set, patience fraying. “This Senju’s chakra is the only thing keeping you from going painfully into the arms of the shinigami, Izuna Uchiha,” you replied flatly, hardly able to keep the irritation from your voice.

His glare fixed wholly on you again and you were careful to keep you gaze from directly meeting his while you glared back at his forehead.

“I will welcome the shinigami and all of its promise of death to keep you away from me,” he sneered.

You scoffed and he bristled, but Madara cut in before Izuna could spit out anymore vitriol.

“You will let (Y/N) Senju heal you or I will make you let her, Izuna,” Madara warned, jaw feathering. You could Sense his chakra amassing behind his eyes even from across the room, a much stronger force than the presence that Izuna’s chakra had in the room, but the heir’s glare was a fearsome thing as he met his brother’s eyes, unaffected by the intimidation.

“I will not,” he snarled.

“Brat,” Naori rolled her eyes.

You clenched your jaw, patience thoroughly worn and growing thinner with every moment that passed as you watched more blood seep into the bandages that had been tied around Izuna’s chest. You could only imagine what agitation he was doing to your healing work with his arguing.

“I am second in my clan to only Hashirama Senju in iryō-ninjutsu, Izuna Uchiha,” you spoke before Madara could hurl another threat at his brother. “Your clan possesses no chakra healers and no shinobi that could possibly hope to save you, and I know for a fact that your clan’s allies lack any meaningful healing abilities as well.”

Izuna’s jaw fixed, and he opened his mouth to argue, but you held up a hand, unexpectedly silencing him with the gesture when he paused in shock at your audacity.

“Your Clan Leader has agreed to sign a peace treaty with my clan under the terms that you will live and make a full recovery from your injury, and it is my job to make sure that it happens,” you continued, hands turning to fists at your sides. “I don’t care if you hate me, and I don’t care if you try to fight me every second that I spend healing you from hereon, but I will save your life, Izuna Uchiha, and one day you will be glad that I did, because then you will appreciate what peace between our clans is like.”

Your fingernails had dug stinging marks into your palms, but you kept glaring at Izuna’s forehead.

He scoffed, looking away as he rolled his eyes. “Is that speech supposed to mean anything to me?”

You exhaled a slow breath. “It will when you’ve gathered enough common sense someday.”

Naori snorted, but Madara loosed a subdued groan when Izuna bristled again and jerked, snarling at you.

“I have enough common sense to know that I would rather die than let you near me!” he shouted.

And yet not enough common sense to dodge a mortal blow, you nearly snapped back, but remembered his older brother’s presence in the room and decided that you’d rather live to see another day.

“You could always force him into a harmless genjutsu,” Naori suggested, speaking to Madara. “Keep him under and from fighting.”

Izuna’s face turned an impressive shade of red considering his condition as he whipped his head back toward his brother. “I would never forgive you, Madara.”

Madara exhaled a slow, measured breath, pinching the bridge of his nose, and then when he looked at his brother again, his eyes were dark, absent of the Sharingan.

“Izuna, you are the one thing I will be selfish enough to not let be taken away from me,” Madara replied steadily.

The silence that held the room was brief, but you could feel the weight of both Madara’s love for Izuna and his unquestionable will in the tension that only fractured between the two brothers when Izuna suddenly coughed, shuddering as his elbow gave out under his weight and he curled awkwardly onto his side, wheezing.

“Damnit!” you swore, lurching forward, but Izuna’s head snapped up, blood smearing down his neck from his mouth as he glared at you, briefly making you pause. Madara and Naori, however, shot ahead in your hesitation, and pulled Izuna back upright, crouching on either side of him.

“Do something!” Madara ordered you, one of his hands supporting Izuna’s shoulder and the other gripping his brother’s arm.

“N-No!” Izuna fought, glaring at you with his Sharingan still activated, trying to escape his brother’s grip, but Naori seized his opposite arm, and stuck her knee into his spine, trapping the heir between her and Madara.

“(Y/N)!” Madara shouted at you.

“Le-Let me go!” Izuna struggled, blood soaking into his bandages as he moved. He wheezed again, and you heard the panic in the sound of his gasps for air.

You dropped to your knees next to Naori and put your hand on Izuna’s chest, using the opposite one to hold him by the left shoulder, just over his wound. He bucked and fought immediately, blood flowing over your lower hand, as he shrieked –

“Knock him out, Madara!” Naori yelled over Izuna.

“He won’t look at me!” Madara shouted back as he tried to grab Izuna’s face without letting go of the arm he was restraining.

“Sorry,” you muttered to the heir, and then pressed your thumb into the pressure point at the base of his neck even as he shrieked and bent away from you, and you prodded his nerve with your chakra again.

Instantaneously, Izuna went limp, and it was only your hand at his neck that kept his head from hitting the floor. Both Madara and Naori tensed, still holding tightly to his arms.

“Neat trick,” Naori said neutrally in the sudden silence as you pressed both your hands to Izuna’s chest, pushing him flat on his back and chakra spearing through his tissues.

“How is he?” Madara demanded. You could feel practically feel the weight of his glare on the side of your face.

“His lung still hasn’t fully healed – that’s where the blood from his mouth was coming from,” you answered, trying to sooth Izuna’s pulse with chakra to slow his blood flow. “He’s lucky that the sepsis is nearly gone, or else he could’ve made recovery from this even worse.”

You spared a glance at Madara, gauging his furrowed brow as he studied his brother’s blood-smeared face.

“What’s wrong with his lung?” Naori questioned, still sitting beside you.

You let your chakra slide between Izuna’s ribs, through his lung tissue.

“It was pierced by the broken pieces of his bones,” you replied. “I was able to remove the fragments a few days ago and healed what I could of his lung, but all his moving and coughing damaged the area again.”

Naori’s lips pressed together. “And you know all of this just from chakra?”

“Yes,” you nodded, and then glimpsed her skeptical expression. “Instead of directing the chakra into genjutsu or ninjutsu, I’m focusing on the already existing energy in Izuna-sama’s body and figuring out where it is he needs healing.”

Over the course of the last day, you’d made progress in reducing the fluids in Izuna’s chest cavity, forcing them up and out through his still-open wound with a cannibalized suiton jutsu, and his breaths had gradually come longer and less strained as the hours had gone on. Though, with all his writhing about and arguing, his breathing was labored again, his body wholly dependent on your chakra as you healed the damaged tissue again.

“Why didn’t you heal him thoroughly enough the first time?” Madara questioned, and you didn’t miss the tone of accusation in his voice.

You pulled at the edge of Izuna’s bandages to unbind them and willed yourself to have patience.

“My concentration was on dealing with the sepsis, Uchiha-sama,” you answered evenly. “Healing him fully with tissue tainted by the infection would have been counterproductive.”

Madara scrutinized your face even as Naori leaned to help you pull Izuna’s bandages out from under him.

“For Indra’s sake, Madara,” Naori scoffed, pulling off the last of the wrappings, “you already know she’s not going to kill Izuna or else send you in a raging fit after her cousin in revenge. You’re not a medic so you wouldn’t know what to do anyway.”

Madara scowled at his cousin as you tried to hide the shock of hearing someone speak so mordantly toward the clan leader. Still, you’d paused to watch his reaction, glancing between the two Uchihas, and Naori gave you a thin but humored smile.

“We were friends long before he was a clan leader,” she explained, sitting back on her haunches as you tied the knot Izuna’s fresh bindings. “Growing up together and having to suffer with him for this long has earned me the right to say what I want to his face.”

Madara scoffed, but the serrated edge to his anger had diminished as Naori had spoken, and he replied, “Rather, you test my patience with every insult.”

“Good,” Naori puffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “Maybe I’ll make a fool of you at the next council meeting when your patience finally runs out.”

Dear gods, you feared what the fallout would be if Naori ever tried to prod at Tobirama’s infamously short patience.

Probably nothing short of a tsunami barreling toward the Uchiha woman.

Madara scoffed again, and though the tension in the room had eased, you still kept your wits about you when he set his gaze on you again. “How long will he be unconscious?”

You hesitated. “A few hours, maybe. It depends on how much his chakra network has recovered from the strain of healing and how much strength he has to even wake.” You glanced at Izuna’s chest, at the pinkening strips of white fabric tied around it and your hand still position over the knot you’d tied. “I honestly didn’t expect him to wake until the wound in his chest was closed, long after the sepsis had been cleared. Either he had more strength than I’d realized, or he’d forced himself to wake up when he consciously didn’t recognize my chakra in his body.”

Naori snorted. “That sounds like ‘zuna,” she said.

Madara ignored his cousin. “You saw how he reacted to you – will you force him to stay unconscious while you finish healing him?”

This somehow felt like a trick question, as if the Clan Leader wanted to confirm what he suspected you’d do.

“It would be easier for me to heal him if was unconscious, but I can’t justify forcing him to stay unconscious, Uchiha-sama,” you replied truthfully, watching Madara’s eyebrows raise just slightly, the only indication of his surprise. “Whether he’ll admit it or not, he’s afraid of being at a disadvantage, especially when he knows someone he doesn’t trust is as close to him as I have to be for this healing, and if I forced him to stay unconscious, his hate for the Senju would only grow.”

Naori tilted her head. “So, you’d rather deal with Izuna’s stellar personality than put him under and work in peace?”

You pursed your lips. “You were right when you said that Izuna-sama is a path to peace. Healing him means that the Uchiha and the Senju will finally stop warring and our clans will make an effort to coexist, but Izuna-sama is still a person, and I’m his healer,” you said. “That comes before him being an Uchiha and me being a Senju.”

Madara huffed, “Now you sound like Hashirama.”

You smiled a little at that.

Naori snorted, and patted Izuna’s arm, though the touch was light in caution of the heir’s wound and lacked most of the strength you could tell that the woman had. “Well, ‘zuna’s always been as stubborn as an ass, so I don’t envy you when he wakes up again.”

You suffered through the effort it took to not laugh at that, but Madara let out a weary, amused sigh.

“I will stay here with you while you heal him until he wakes up, and then I will speak to him again while you’re allowed to rest,” Madara said, turning toward you.

You nodded, though your thoughts snagged around his words: allowed to rest.

Naori, however, leveled a look you couldn’t fully read at the Clan Leader. “She’ll be ‘allowed to rest’ whenever she feels inclined to do so,” she said flatly. “Izuna will only pace at death’s edge if his healer isn’t allowed time to recover as well.”

Madara’s gaze turned razor-edged as he turned back to Naori. “My patience is already worn thin – do not keep testing me, cousin.”

Naori smirked, and you wondered what measure of reckless abandon possessed the woman as she stood up fluidly, replying, “I can see the steam around your ears already, Madara-chan.”

Kami – forget death if you somehow managed to fumble healing Izuna; it would come sooner the longer you remained in the crossfire between the two cousins.

“Food,” you blurted out, straightening and intentionally blocking Madara’s line of sight to Naori. “Is there any food? That would help me.”

Madara blinked at you, and Naori only smiled. If either of them realized what intervention you were staging, they didn’t let on.

“I’ll come back with the very best,” she replied, and then slipped out the door, letting it fall shut behind her, and leaving you alone in the room again with both the Leader and Heir of the Uchiha Clan.

You glimpsed Madara pinching the bridge of his nose out of the corner of your eye as you set your hands over Izuna’s chest again, breathing a sigh of your own.

It was only when your chakra began to seep through the heir’s body did you remember what Naori had teased you about when you’d woken, and you suddenly understood a grain of Madara’s frustration as your cheeks heated again.

leave a comment?

TAGLIST:

@queer-naruto @cosmins @mad-girl-without-a-box @mykuronekome @kakashi-with-the-good-hair @shoyo-baby-sunflower @sup-zfam @tired-ninfa @bluehimeonigiri @mrmountainman @dramaticq @mercymccann @aaubin @wanna-plan-world-domination

140 notes · View notes

trashyangelic · 11 days ago

Text

THE TWIN SIN

𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐔 𝐒𝐀𝐉𝐀 word count :: ( 2,510 ) genre :: dark romance, guilt-ridden intimacy, forbidden lust, && secret desire. content contains :: extremely spicy read 🌶️, infatuation, riding, cunnilingus, sibling betrayal, infidelity(?), dubious morality, manipulation, emotional seduction, internalized shame, reader & rumi are twins. PART TWO !!

𐔌՞꜆. ̫.꜀՞𐦯

you don’t know how you got here.

how it started.

what thread you pulled from the universe to make everything unravel like this.

out of every possible reality, every version of the future that might have protected you from this fate — this is the one you ended up in.

his mouth between your thighs.

his hands gripping the edge of your hips like you’re something sacred.

like you’re something sweet.

like you’re something that was his to begin with.

but you’re not.

and neither is he.

he was never yours to take.

he’s rumi’s.

and this isn’t some nowhere rooftop hidden by red neon haze and moonlight.

this is her room.

her bed.

her mirror still facing the wall like it knows what’s happening behind it.

the air is thick with something unspoken. incense and breath and sweat. shame curls in the corners like smoke. the sheets underneath you are soft and wrong. your legs are parted and trembling, and his name is nearly falling from your lips in the form of a prayer.

god, you’re disgusting. you think it as he licks deeper. slower.

you feel it throb beneath your skin like a curse.

because you know this isn’t just a betrayal. it’s something worse.

not just treason. blood-deep treason.

and yet—

you tilt your hips.

you let him devour you.

his hands trail along your thighs like he’s memorizing a story he’ll never be allowed to tell. like the skin under his palms is a holy text, and tonight is the only night he gets to read it.

you should’ve stopped this the first time he looked at you too long.

the first time your pulse skipped when rumi wasn’t looking.

the first time he said your name and it didn’t sound like hers.

but you didn’t.

and now you’re here.

his mouth is sin and silk.

his tongue, slow and reverent.

his breath — warm, shaking slightly — fans across your skin like he knows he shouldn’t be breathing this close to your soul.

and the worst part?

you like it more because it’s wrong.

because you’re not supposed to be the one beneath him.

because this shouldn’t feel like the only place you’ve ever belonged.

your hands find his hair, trembling.

his name catches at the back of your throat, and you try to swallow it.

but he looks up at you — eyes low, mouth wet, lips parted against the inside of your thigh — and it’s over. you’re gone. you’re ruined. you’re his.

just for tonight.

just this once.

because if this is what betrayal tastes like,

then maybe you were never loyal to begin with.

he doesn’t stop.

your thighs tremble beneath his grip, your back pressed into the sheets like he’s pinned your guilt there permanently, and still — his mouth works at you like you’re his first and final salvation. like you’re the answer to a question he wasn’t brave enough to ask out loud until now. and when you arch, breath caught between your teeth, he groans into your skin — low and hungry — as if the sound of your need is what he’s truly been chasing all along.

you hear it before you feel it — his voice, low and breath-warm against the damp skin of your inner thigh, speaking through the heat like a god who knows he’s already been worshiped.

“she doesn’t sound like you.”

it’s the only thing he says at first. and it splits you open. not physically — not just — but somewhere deeper. somewhere ugly. somewhere that should have never been allowed to bloom.

“she’s softer when she speaks,” he murmurs, and his mouth begins to move upward again, painting your skin with heat and reverence. “but you… you burn.”

his tongue flicks once — slow, deliberate — and you nearly cry out. but you bite down on the sound. you bite down on the guilt.

he laughs softly, like he hears it anyway.

“do you think i don’t know what this is?” he says, eyes finally meeting yours. he’s above you now, hovering, hand sliding up your side with the same kind of touch you give delicate things you’re about to destroy. “you think i didn’t choose this? that i just tripped and fell between your legs?”

his words are velvet-edged, dipped in something bitter and red. the sound of them shouldn’t be beautiful. but they are.

your breath catches when he leans in again — not to kiss you, not yet — but to speak directly against your lips. his hand settles over your throat. not tight. not forceful. just resting there. a reminder. a symbol. a promise.

“don’t lie to yourself,” he whispers. “you wanted this the moment you saw me watching you.”

you did.

you wanted it so badly you couldn’t breathe during rehearsals. so badly you walked slower past him, pretending not to look. so badly that when he said your name, just once, with that voice, you nearly said his back like a secret.

your eyes close as his mouth finally meets yours again — not soft this time. not reverent.

hungry.

his kiss is deeper now. less prayer, more possession. more promise. his tongue slips past your lips and your hands dig into his back, pulling him closer, hating yourself for how badly you need this — need him — even when you know he’s not yours. even when you know he’s hers.

but in this bed, right now, with the door closed and the sheets twisting beneath your bodies, he is yours.

and when he kisses down your collarbone again, when his fingers slide beneath the last barrier of fabric between you, you stop wondering if you should.

because you already have.

you already did.

and you’re going to keep doing it until there’s nothing left of you to give.

this is no longer about guilt.

or betrayal.

or who he belongs to.

this is about the way he says your name.

about the way his mouth ruins you.

about how, for the first time in your life,

you feel chosen.

you lose track of time.

you don’t know how long you’ve been lying there beneath him — lips swollen from the way he kisses you, fingertips tingling from the way he holds you, eyes half-closed beneath the weight of everything you shouldn’t be feeling. the night stretches long and slow, and he moves with it — like time obeys his hands. like every second only ticks forward when he decides it should.

his kisses soften now. no less hungry, but quieter in their need. like he’s tasting you in pieces — memorizing one sigh at a time, committing the shape of your pleasure to memory. and you let him. you let him press his mouth to your chest, your shoulders, the bend of your throat. you let him trace patterns over your stomach with lips barely parted, breath warm and deliberate, as though he’s spelling out your name in a language only the dark can hear.

the sheets are a mess beneath you, twisted and tangled, pulled up in some places, kicked off in others. the room smells like skin and want and the faintest touch of perfume that doesn’t belong to either of you — a reminder of rumi that lingers cruelly in the corners. and yet, when his fingers lace with yours — gently, almost shy — you forget all about her again.

he turns your hand over, brings it to his lips, and kisses the inside of your wrist like you’re something holy.

“you feel like a sin i’ve waited years to commit,” he whispers against your skin, the words barely a breath, the meaning sinking straight into your bloodstream.

you should be pulling away. you should be crying, screaming, repenting.

but instead—

you smile. slow. aching. like the truth of that line cracked something open inside you.

you pull him down again. you meet his mouth with your own. and now, you’re the one kissing him like he’s yours. like this moment — all of its guilt and heat and hunger — belongs to you and you alone.

he lays beside you eventually. one hand beneath your spine, the other brushing the hair from your cheek. your legs remain tangled. your bodies, flushed and glowing and breathing the same air, sink into the silence like it’s a shared secret.

no one speaks for a long time. but the conversation continues in touches. in kisses too soft to carry guilt. in fingertips ghosting over collarbones and jawlines and ribs. in a kind of intimacy that aches more than it satisfies — because you both know how wrong it is.

because you both don’t stop.

you don’t ask if this means anything.

you don’t ask if he’s going to leave her.

you don’t ask what happens next.

you just exist together, curled in the warmth of what should never have happened, hearts still racing, skin still damp, and breath still hitching every time his mouth finds a new place to worship.

the night presses on around you.

and in its hush, you realize—

this is no longer just temptation.

this is ritual.

this is ruin.

this is everything you were never supposed to feel.

and he — sweet, silent jinu — is no longer hers.

not here. not now.

not in this room where the mirrors are turned to face the wall, and even your reflection is afraid to look at what you’ve become.

his mouth finds yours again, soft at first — slow, reverent — until something hungrier stirs just beneath the kiss. you feel it in the way his fingers press into the curve of your spine. the way his breath catches when you shift your weight. the way his hands — once so careful — begin to tremble with the effort of restraint.

but this time, you’re not content to be still.

there’s something alive beneath your skin now. something restless. something unholy. and it rises with each breath you take against his mouth, until you’re no longer kissing him — you’re claiming him.

you shift above him, palms pressed flat to his chest, legs bracketing his hips, and for a moment — just a moment — you hesitate.

because the guilt still flickers in your chest like a dying match.

because it still whispers her name.

because this is the moment when everything changes.

and you change with it.

his hands slide to your waist, gripping tight. grounding you.

his eyes search yours — not in fear, not even in lust, but in that same quiet awe he’s held since the first time he touched you.

you move.

and the moment your body meets his — the second your hips sink and you feel all of him fill the hollow that shame used to live in — the guilt vanishes.

like it was never even there.

like it was just another lie you told yourself to feel clean.

you exhale. slowly. fully. as if your lungs had been waiting for him to enter them.

jinu gasps beneath you — low and guttural — and his hands clutch at your hips with a desperation that makes your spine arch. his name stumbles from your lips again, not as a confession this time, but as a command. your fingers curl into his chest. your body begins to move. and the two of you fall into a rhythm that’s more sin than salvation.

you ride him like the world doesn’t exist outside this bed.

like you’ve always belonged here.

on top of him.

above her.

inside this chaos of skin and betrayal and unbearable longing.

his grip tightens. his head falls back against the pillow. his voice is a ragged whisper of your name, and every time he says it, it sounds like he’s forgetting hers.

and still, you don’t stop.

you can’t stop.

because in this moment — in this godless rhythm, in this dizzying heat, in this selfish, stolen spiral — you don’t feel like the bad guy.

you feel like the only thing he’s ever wanted.

and worse —

you feel like you were meant to be wanted this way.

you don’t know what pushes you closer — his mouth or his voice. his lips move against your skin like a spell, like every word he’s ever said is meant to burn into the space just beneath your collarbone. and the way he’s looking at you, even now — it’s soft. it’s ruinously soft. like you’re the only thing he’s ever been gentle with.

“that’s it,” he whispers, kissing your jaw between breathless praises.

“you’re perfect when you lose yourself. don’t hold back for me.”

but it’s not him you’re afraid of. it’s not what you’ll do to him if you let go.

it’s what you’ll do to yourself.

your heart is racing faster than your hips. your body’s already begging to fall apart. you feel your climax creeping closer like a truth you can’t outrun — and just when you think you might finally let go—

click.

a door.

and then, her voice.

“y/n? i’m here to pick up my boots!”

your blood turns to ice.

jinu’s eyes snap to yours — gleaming, wicked, alive.

and then he flips you.

fast. fluid. practiced. like he’s done this before.

like he’s wanted this before.

you’re on your back in seconds, and he’s inside you again before you can even whisper his name. his hips move, slow at first — cruelly slow — and then deeper, deliberate, timed with the sound of her footsteps down the hall.

you reach for his shoulder, nails digging into his skin. your mouth falls open, but he catches it in a kiss. each thrust presses your body deeper into the mattress, and each time he fills you, he kisses you again — soft and suffocating — just enough to keep your moans caught between your teeth, not erased, just… contained.

“don’t stop now,” he whispers, lips brushing your cheek. “you’re so close. let her hear what she’s missing.”

you shake your head — you try — but your body doesn’t obey anymore. you’re not in control. not of the pace, not of the sounds you’re making, and definitely not of your pulse, which is slamming behind your ribs like it wants to confess everything.

you hear her voice again.

“oh! here they are!”

closer. too close.

she’s only feet from the door now, and jinu knows it.

he leans in, lips brushing your ear as his pace changes — not rough, not fast, but measured. calculated. just enough to make your stomach tighten, your thighs quake, your voice tremble.

“you’re going to cum with her right outside that door,” he says, voice all silk and sin.

“you’re going to stay quiet for her, but not for me.”

you bite your lip so hard it might bruise. your hands grip the sheets.

your eyes blur.

you hear rumi step back, her footsteps receding down the hall…

but he doesn’t stop.

not even as the door shuts softly again.

not even when the danger has passed.

because for him — this was the point.

the tension. the thrill. the sweetness of knowing you chose him — loudly, violently — when no one else was supposed to know.

and for you?

there’s no guilt anymore.

only the crashing flood of yes.

💬, HELP MY SECOND ONE IN ONE DAY ?? theyre just so ughh 😍 and that whole sister concept got my head AHHHH ENJOY THIS ONE NEXT TO MY BABY ONE EHEHHEHEHEHE!!! 😋 (pls request things guys) GUYS DO I MAKE A PART TWO ???!!!

᧔᧓ you just read a fic that ruined your life—donate a coffee ? ☕️

look here for your next read 📚 !

permanent 🔖: @sukunasrealgf @sinamew

2K notes · View notes

trashyangelic · 11 days ago

Text

𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝟏𝟖+

𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐩𝐭. 𝟐 — 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐟

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬; 𝐧𝐨 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲/𝐧, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐱 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞?

minors/ageless blogs please DNI.

REBLOGS are important. please reblog to share/save.

| 𝐩𝐭. 𝟏 | ⋆ | 𝐩𝐭. 𝟐 | ⋆ | 𝐩𝐭. 𝟑 | ⋆ | 𝐩𝐭. 𝟒 |

It's the worst day you've had in a while.

Each of your classes dragged entirely too long, leaving you glancing at the clock only to find mere minutes had passed since the last time you'd checked.

Then, on the way to the courtyard where you planned to sit in the sun and relax, you'd dropped your lunch. The contents of your takeout container had created a truly heartbreaking splatter across the pavement, and then you hadn't even had enough cash left on you to buy anything else, so you'd had to settle for munching on the bruised apple at the bottom of your bookbag.

And, after an already exhausting morning had tested the strength of your sanity, you had your scheduled office hours in the afternoon. Said meeting was with one of your least favorite professors to discuss an upcoming term paper, and the hour spent in his stuffy office had proved to be grueling and overall unhelpful, which only resulted in you biking home from campus sporting a decidedly bad mood to pair with your rumbling stomach and the beginnings of a stress headache.

When you finally collapse face-first onto your bed a few hours later and release a little scream into your pillow, the sound of it is muffled into no more than a quiet cry. Through the smothering cotton, you fight to pull in a steadying breath, if only so that you might have enough air in your lungs to scream in frustration again.

The sky outside is dark, crickets creating a loud symphony in the distance, and the breeze coming in through your window brings goosebumps along the backs of your thighs where the baggy tshirt you've chosen for pajamas has rucked up to settle in the curve of your spine. The cool air meets your flushed skin like a blanket of ice, your body still warm from a shower in which you'd spent a little longer than usual beneath a cloud of steam and hot water in a failed attempt at releasing some of the lingering tension from the day — But even an extra few minutes breathing in the aromatics of your body wash clinging to the steam-thickened air wasn't enough to settle you. The irritating buzz of the stress still made itself known underneath your skin, the itch of it making your body feel just a little too tight for all of the frustration building up inside.

You can't even find it in you to flinch at the sound of something scrabbling at your bedroom windowsill, nor do you lift your head at the small crash and thump that follow a few seconds later. There's a small rustling of fabric and limbs, shoes thumping against the baseboard as they're kicked off, what you assume is the sound of your backpack being placed back where you'd thrown it on the cushioned bench beneath the window when you'd first gotten home.

There's a moment of silence as Stiles drinks in the sight of you. Hungry eyes rake across every inch of your exposed skin, trailing the length of your legs up to where they meet the supple curve of your ass, and with the way your shirt has bunched up underneath your belly, the soft skin of your backside is hidden from him only by your underwear. He spares a second to admire how the pretty fabric clings to your flesh, the cut high and revealing on the cheeks of your ass.

It takes a few slow seconds for him to reorient his thoughts to something slightly less salacious, but after an audible breath, he manages.

“Are you..? Hey.. 're you sleeping?” Stiles' voice comes out a little incredulous but still hushed, as if he's actually worried about waking you in case you truly had somehow slept through the cacophony of noise he'd caused when he climbed in through the window.

You only give a pitiful whine into your pillow in response, feet kicking a little petulantly as you finally roll to face him to reveal the lack of sleep in your eyes, “Scott isn't home,” You tell him weakly, voice still a little smothered by your pillow, “You coulda jus' come in through the front door.”

Stiles is at the edge of the bed already, kneeling on the mattress and making to join you now that he knows you aren't asleep. He looks deliciously soft, gray sweats hanging low on his hips, his sweatshirt already stripped away in a heap on your bedroom floor to leave him in a cozy-looking tshirt, the fabric of it soft with wear.

“Where's the fun in that?” Stiles asks with a quiet laugh, urging you onto your back and crawling on top of you without warning. His weight settles atop your body and his nose nuzzles into the softness of your breasts over your shirt as he burrows his face into the space between them.

He's so warm. Body heat is quick to seep out from his clothes and through your own with the way he's settled heavily on top of you. It's all a little smothering, the way that his weight is making it a bit hard to breathe, your lungs not quite able to get a full inhale — but it's also grounding, the heavy blanket of warmth he provides managing to alleviate just a little bit of your anxiety.

“One of these days you're gonna hurt yourself, or worse, you might break something of mine with a flailing limb when you inevitably trip and come tumbling through the window,” You tease weakly, pinching your eyes shut as you try to push away that lingering tightness in your chest, “I'm serious. You're gonna break something and I really hope it isn't your face.”

Your fingers come up to tangle in his hair and he hums in appreciation, a content grumble rising in his throat as he settles his cheek onto the plushness of your breast like it's his own personal pillow.

His hand slips down your thigh, fingers blindly drawing little patterns around the top of your knee as he scoffs, “Oh, real exciting. Yeah, next time I'll just use the front door, like some kind of common loser. As if.”

“You are a loser.” You say quietly, the small smile in your voice not quite managing to hide the discontented sigh that slips out as your mind wanders back to the events of the day.

Stiles pushes up onto his elbows at the edge in your voice and your hands fall from his head with the movement. He frowns as his big brown eyes flick over your face in scrutiny, “What’s wrong?” He asks immediately, long brows drawn together as his lip juts out in a pout of concern.

Your eyes fall shut again and you give his biceps a squeeze even as your nose scrunches up, “Just.. Stressed. Had a really shitty day.”

He hums in understanding, sitting up to settle on his knees between your legs and draping your thighs over his own, big hands slipping underneath your hips to rub at the base of your spine. You let out a little noise of appreciation at the rough dig of his fingers massaging the muscles there, hips lifting up from the mattress just a little to give him more room.

“Oh, you like that?”

He's teasing, you know he is, but the way his grip on you tightens, the way his fingers press into the fat of your thighs so that he can tug you just a bit higher up on his own lap — it makes your breath hitch. Your sleep shirt has bunched up just above your navel and it leaves your panties exposed from the way your ass has settled over him. Your body is tilted at an angle, your hips in the air with how he's propped you up on his thighs while your knees press in on either side of his waist.

One of his hands leaves your spine to give the soft dough of your thigh a squeeze before making a slow trail up, settling his palm over the thin cotton at the apex of your thighs. His thumb presses down softly against your clit through the fabric and Stiles watches intently as you let out a breathy sigh when he draws a slow circle against you.

You still haven't dignified him with an answer, opting to pinch your lips together as his thumb slips down a little further to press into the wetness that's begun to soak through the fabric, his finger dipping in and pushing cotton into your opening with it.

“Need me to make you feel better, honey? 's that it?” Stiles asks. The grin in his voice is audible, but when you blink your eyes open to get a good look, you find him peering down at you with awe and hunger swimming in his eyes. When he catches your gaze, the corners of his lips pull up a little more and his thumb moves back to rub at your clit over your underwear, “Need me to make you a little stupid? Huh? Work some of that stress outta your head?”

Your jaw has gone a little slack with the way he's circling your bud with easy drags, knowing exactly how much pressure to use and what angle feels the best and- He asked you a question — What had been the question?

“Huh?” You ask quietly, the sound half a question and half lost to the moan working it's way up your throat.

The smile on Stiles' face goes soft and he leans forward to press a kiss to your cheek, right at the corner of your mouth. Your lips purse and your chin tips up in an attempt to meet him, but he's already leaning back so that he can watch the drag of his finger over your panties.

“You going stupid on me already, baby? I've barely gotten started.”

The circles he's been drawing slow, growing unhurried and leisurely. The movement of his thumb is agonizingly slow now and you huff in frustration and cant your hips up in a silent demand.

“Stiles.” You plead simply.

“Alright, alright,” He laughs, leaning in to press one quick kiss to your mouth before he begins to make his way further down, leaving a trail of kisses along your jaw and neck in his wake, “Settle down. I got you.”

He makes a small detour at your chest to bunch your tshirt up at your collarbones, exposing your tits so that he can leave a cluster of bites to the supple flesh. You gasp at the sharper bites, keening a little, but he's already peppering kisses over the abused skin and moving farther down. His tongue dips out between his lips, the warm wetness making you squirm a bit as he moves in a slow line down your stomach. Lower, lower. When he reaches the waistband of your panties, he hooks his fingers under the fabric and pulls just a little, exposing the sliver of sensitive skin just above your patch of trimmed curls. You gasp again at the sharp sting of his teeth when they scrape harshly over your hipbones and your hips lift up again on instinct.

Stiles takes pity on you and finally eases your underwear down your thighs. The tension is broken for a brief moment as he struggles to coax the fabric past your knees and around your ankles without dislodging you from his lap, a small huff of laughter escaping you when he curses quietly.

He rids you of the article but immediately brings your ankle up to nip at your foot in reprimand, pushing your thigh up against your stomach with the movement.

“You gonna behave?” He asks while he curls his fingers around your ankle.

“Mhm.” Your hum and the small nod of your head are paired with a coy smile.

“See, I don't know if I believe you,” Stiles says with a small laugh and an absentminded peck to your skin, his teeth scraping the bottom of your calf with his grin as he does so, “You've got that look in your eye.”

“What look?” You question curiously, a little lightheaded with the way his lips press a small line of kisses from the top of your foot all the way up to your shin and then back down again.

“The look that says you're feelin' a little bratty.” He tells you.

You scoff in indignation and his teeth nip at your ankle bone again, successful in cutting the sound off before you can say anything to the contrary.

“You gonna let me take care of you, or what?” He asks seriously, eyebrows raising a little as he fixes you with a stern look.

You nod and your eyes go a little wide at the tone of his voice, your cunt clenching with the flash of warmth that rushes down your spine.

“Good girl.” Stiles murmurs with a grin, already beginning to kiss a slow trail up from your ankle. His lips press into your skin in an irregular pattern of teeth and tongue, briefly broken up with gentle pecks as he makes his way up the length of your leg toward your naked cunt.

As he finally reaches his destination, he urges the bend of your knees over his shoulders, your legs framing his head nicely as he dips to press an agonizingly gentle kiss to your clit. You fight the jolt in your hips, making an effort to keep your muscles taught, but then he does it again, his lips parting just enough to nudge the little bud with the tip of his tongue, and you're lifting toward him without really meaning to.

“Sorry, sorry.” You're apologizing breathlessly before he can scold you, fingers curling into the duvet as you settle your hips against the mattress again.

“Atta girl.”

He kisses your clit gently again and you bite back a whine at the soft press of lips against you. His wide palms run up and down the outside of your thighs and he turns his head to where your legs are draped over his shoulders to suck softly at the sensitive skin on the inside of your thigh. Your brows furrow at the sting of the bruise he's leaving there but you manage to stay still and the praise he murmurs against your skin in return makes your head feel a little light.

Another small series of kisses mark his path back to where you want him most and his voice is quiet as it reaches your ears, “No more stress babe. You know I got you, right?”

“Mhm.” You agree quickly, fingers tightening around the blankets in anticipation.

“Good. Good..”

And then his mouth is on you again and you find it a little hard to breathe. He doesn't ease into it, there are no teasing licks up the length of your folds nor are there anymore agonizingly gentle kisses. His mouth closes around your clit, sucking softly, tongue laving over the bud before he's sucking again.

A weak little cry pushes its way out of you, another coming just a moment later when Stiles scrapes his teeth against you gently as he works, his tongue quick to sooth over the sensitive nub in apology. He kisses your clit like he can't get enough, licking and leaving wet little pecks only to close his lips around it again a second later.

Minutes pass. Your mouth doesn't even close between moans anymore, lips permanently parted to let out a near-constant stream of tiny whines and breathy gasps and desperate whimpers. Your whole body feels like a live-wire. The nonstop stimulation to your most sensitive muscle leaves you teetering on the edge of something earth-shattering despite it not actually managing to peak yet.

“F-ffuck,” You manage to get out, lips trembling as you look down and catch sight of the way Stiles is devouring you, the dim lamplight creating golden patches in the dark locks of his hair, his head bobbing as he works. “Stiles.. St-Stiles! 's.. 's so g-fuuck.. 's so good-”

He doesn't slow, nor does he glance up at your first real words since he started, sheer determination pushing him to continue at the same brain-melting pace.

His teeth catch against you again and you gasp sharply, the sound tearing from your dry throat as your hand shoots up to grab a fistful of his hair.

“J-jesus, nngh- God! Stiles-”

Your back arches of its own accord, hips canting toward his mouth as another choked sound drags its way out of your throat. You feel like you could come any second — have felt a little like you might come any second for the past ten minutes at least — and it's making everything a little fuzzy around the edges. Your shower-damp hair is cool against your flushed skin when you tip your head to the side against the pillows while warmth creeps along your neck and spreads down your spine. It crawls all the way to your toes as your eyes pinch shut, fighting to hide the way that they're starting to cross embarrassingly from the pleasure.

“Fuck,” You whine with a stuttered breath at the feeling of his lips closing around you again, sucking so delicately at your sensitive bud, tongue rolling against it softly within the suction of his mouth. “Fuckfuckfuuucck-”

He finally gives you a small response, a quiet, noncommittal hum that rumbles through your cunt and has your hips spasming with a thrum of pleasure. Stiles brings one hand from where it had been drawing absentminded patterns along the length of your thigh and drops it to rest over your torso instead. He firmly pushes your hips back down without ever slowing his skillful mouth and you can't hold back a quiet whimper as you're immobilized, the restless movement transferring almost immediately into a tremble in your thighs and stomach, the muscles beneath quivering and jumping under your skin.

His palm is warm and heavy where the weight of it is spread over your ribs. The width of his hand has his fingers curling around your waist while his thumb begins to drag back and forth over your tummy in long, smooth strokes. His soothing touch is a tether in the dark and you cling to it desperately, your fingers tangling tighter in his hair as you grapple for something to keep you steady amidst what's beginning to feel a little like it might be a constant, never ending orgasm.

A noise rips from you so choked off that it sounds a bit like it might've been punched out of your chest and your hips jump again. The shakes in your thighs and stomach seem to spread, your whole body beginning to quake throughout stuttered breaths that might actually be sobs.

It's then that Stiles finally peers up at you, brown eyes meeting your own and taking in the mess you've become under his minstrations. He still doesn't pause, doesn't slow, but he does raise his eyebrows in silent question as his fingertips dig into the doughy flesh at your waist.

You don't manage more than a garbled, “Yes!”

Your free hand grabs ahold of his forearm with an iron grip and a few tears actually break free and fall back into your hair when the warm fog creeps impossibly further across your body, clouding what little remained of the blurred edges of your mind. Any shreds of lucidity are gone as your eyes roll back with a high keening moan. Your hips stutter wildly now, thighs tightening around Stiles of their own accord as your never-ending orgasm seems to finally crest and send you hurtling over the edge that you've been dragging on for so long.

It's possible you black out. The next thing you become aware of is Stiles pressing loud, smacking kisses to your pelvis, the insides of your thighs, your belly and ribs, his lips are gentle against your skin as the soft sound of the kisses breaks through the fog in your head. By the time he settles on top of you, hands slipping beneath your sweat-slicked shoulders to rest his weight on his elbows underneath you, the heavy beat of your heart is a loud echo in your ears.

He's wiped his face off at some point, but his swollen lips still glisten lightly from the time spent between your thighs as you pant warm breaths against his mouth. The cool smugness that Stiles had worn before is gone and now he looks at you with nothing but adoration, chocolate brown blinking down at you as if, even flushed and sticky with sweat, you might be the prettiest thing he's ever seen.

You intend to bring a hand up to fix the wild tufts of his hair where your hands made a home earlier, but your arm feels entirely too heavy when you lift it and you hardly manage more than a brush of your fingers over his cheek before your hand falls limply to the pillow beneath your head. Stiles chuckles softly at your attempt and tangles his fingers with your own, dipping his head to press a few playful kisses to your cheeks and the tip of your nose until you reward him with a breathless laugh.

“You okay?” He checks quietly, thumb stroking over the side of your own, “Wasn't too much was it?”

“Okay,” You assure him, “Very, very okay.”

The way his sweatpants rub against your naked legs is soft when he readjusts, manhandling you onto your side so he can wrap you up in his embrace, the quilt from the end of the bed being draped over you as he settles in. His arms go around your shoulders and you curl your own around his back in return, your nose pushing into the warmth of his chest as your body continues to come down.

“Hey,” You murmur into his shirt, craning your head back to look up at him and tangling your bare legs with his as you continue, “You're big-spooning me. 'm usually big spoon.”

“Yeah. Not tonight your not.” He says easily, wide palm dragging soft up and down in the space between your shoulder blades.

His hips unconsciously nudge forward just a little and you feel the warm stiffness of his neglected cock against your hip, erection straining against his sweats where he's pressed against you. It makes you gasp almost comically.

“Wha'bout you?” You mumble in sleepy realization, batting your eyes with heavy blinks in an attempt to keep sleep from claiming you.

“Don't worry about me, alright? Seriously, I'll just jerk off in the shower later,” He tells you, fondness in his voice, “Now shut up and let me hold you.”

You hum, burrowing back into his chest contentedly, “Yes, sir.”

A quiet groan meets your ears as the soothing motions of his hand stutters, “None of that, come on.” Stiles huffs quietly, voice laced with self-deprecating laughter, “I know you know you're gonna get me worked up sayin' shit like that.”

You did know that.

Your lips pull into a grin, brain lax and floaty and sleepy. Your arms tighten around him for a moment before relaxing again, “Sorry.”

He grumbles something to the contrary as your eyes slip closed, your body finally free of the tight-coiled tension that had followed you around like a shadow all day.

Stiles Stilinski is loud and weird and passionate to degree that's concerning at times. He's bumbling and he's awkward, often to the point of it being a little adorable and entirely endearing, but then he still always manages to surprise you — With his eagerness to please. With the way he can shift into something else, someone else entirely, behind closed doors. Just for you.

That night, wrapped up in the arms of your brother's best friend you realize that, at some point along the way, after all this time, he might very well have become your best friend too. And finally, feeling warm and safe and cared for, you find yourself slipping into a blissful sleep.

𝐚/𝐧; 𝐢 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐬𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐢 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭? 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐰𝐚𝐲! 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐭! 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠/𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐢 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐢𝐧𝐩𝐮𝐭! — 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐌𝐜𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 🤍

again, REBLOGS are important.

please have the curtesy to reblog to share/save.

3K notes · View notes