#dylan x reader imagine

[star--stilinski]

wow, you're so fucked.

stiles is standing next to you, a sweaty beacon of pride as he chats with scott and isaac excitedly, his lacrosse uniform still on and not making things any easier for you.

he had just played a game and won. something unusual for him, clear in the way he seems to glow a bit at the attention he's receiving. you can admit that he did better than his regular performances, which often included him sitting idly by on the bench. but you really don't need to deal with this. rambling, hyper focused stiles is one thing.

sweaty, cocky stiles is another.

he laughs at something danny says-oh, danny's here? you didn't even notice him approach, too distracted with the way stiles' hair sticks to his forehead. anyway, his laugh might make you swoon. jesus, are you ovulating? there's a wet patch forming in your panties and you know it. whore.

"oh, yes! we will so be there!" stiles slings an arm over your shoulder and grins at danny. you can smell his sweat, now, and unfortunately stiles' musk only makes you want to ride his dick even more.

"be where?" you blink, turning a curious gaze on stiles, who looks at you all confused and cute and his lips are so pink and his skin glistens with sweat and i bet the rest of him does, too-

"are you okay?" he hums, squeezing you against his side just slightly. you nod and turn to danny to avoid moaning at the sight of stiles' adams apple.

"sorry, i was zoned out."

danny looks like he's disappointed in you. because of-fucking-course danny māhealani can tell that you're this close to giving stiles a blowjob in front of the entire student body. just because he's sweaty and excited and prideful. you glare at danny, just to shut him up.

he talks anyway.

"some of us were gonna go grab food to celebrate, and i was just inviting you guys. unless you'll be... busy." danny drawls his last words with clear implication, but stiles is too busy being excited that he got invited to something by the "in" crowd to notice.

"and i told him we were going." stiles grins down at you, raising his eyebrows in anticipation. you avoid his eyes, tilting your head.

"i dunno..." you pick at your nails, and stiles is quick to stop you. a habit you both have and you're both trying to quit. "it's kinda late, and we have that essay-"

"oh, come on, don't tell me you're passing this up for homework." stiles tosses his head back dramatically and you hear danny snicker. you know if you look at danny again, you'll want to throttle him. but looking at stiles means looking at his moles and freckles, his jawline, his brow.

you swallow thickly.

"yeah, okay, shut up. i was gonna say yes." you fold so quick that stiles actually steps back from you in shock, and you avoid grabbing him by the jersey to keep his scent all over you.

danny smirks at you, nodding once. "see you guys there. try not to fog up the windows on the way."

stiles waves as danny leaves, and you're pretty confident he didn't even hear that last part because of how focused he is on being overdramatic about you saying yes to him so easily. his eyes are wide and his mouth is open when you turn to look at him, and he let's out a squeaky surprised noise.

"what-you always argue about this stuff! did you have some moment of discovery?!" he grabs both your shoulders and you fight a smile, shrugging him off. you can't just tell the boy, 'oh, it's a whole lot harder to say no to you when all i can think about is how far i would go to get you in my pants.'

right?

you settle for an easy half-truth. "just didn't wanna dampen your good mood. you're practically bouncing off the bleachers right now."

when you look back at stiles, he has that stupid crooked smile cocked all smartly at you. feeling bold, he gives your hip a light squeeze and hums, "atta girl."

yeah, you are so incredibly fucked.

☆

this is my most popular from the vault!! it's also one of the first things i published here. stay tuned for more vault releases and an upcoming thomas fic :D

this anon made me giggle so here's a snippet of pt. 2 (its a joke dont get your hopes up)

[nobitchs-world]

If I ever get these men in my claws I will transform into the ultimate freak

[tomsparkyr]

𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐋 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐀 [𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐕𝐀𝐔𝐋𝐓]

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

summary: when coach tells people the room requirements and the 'no sexual perversions perpetrated' rule by the so-called 'little deviants', it only makes the couple want to break that rule even more.

stiles stilinski x fem!reader (no smut sorry babies)

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You were nestled into your boyfriend's neck, the soft flannel material brushing against your cheek and the scent you knew all too well, all of the senses could have made your eyes flutter back closed. You felt a small nudge on your shoulder, groaning and shrugging off the contact, you decided to ignore Stiles’ silent request for you to lift your head up.

It wasn’t until you felt his warm touch brush the hair that had fallen in front of your face away and the palm of his hand stroke your cheekbone, you pulled away from his contact and looked up at him.

His brown eyes looked into your own and he smiled softly at you. He couldn’t help but think you were the most beautiful person he’s ever laid his eyes on. He couldn’t believe he was going out with someone like you. You were beautiful in and out, hence his gut-wrenching crush he’s had on you since the 3rd grade. After long years of pining and certain dreams, he couldn’t thank the supernatural world for existing more as he finally got a chance with you; and boy, did he take it.

At the beginning of your relationship, Scott thought Stiles was joking when he said he kissed you, and you actually kissed him back. He just laughed, patted him on the shoulder and moved on with the subject.

“No, Scott! I’m not kidding.” Stiles said, almost offended. But then he sobered his thoughts and kind of understood Scott because it had taken him 3 hours after your kiss to finally process that he had grown the balls to do that, and apparently you liked it too.

Scott paused momentarily, “Neither am I Stiles, we need to focus on--” Stiles sighed dramatically and flailed his arms around in desperation. Scott paused mid-sentence, tilted his head and waited for his best friend to continue.

“Scott, I kissed her. Like, I actually kissed her!” Stiles smiled widely. Scott remained unconvinced, blinking slowly and scrunched his brows. “You know, when you put your lips on someone else's--”

“Yes, Stiles! I know what kissing is!” The werewolf exasperated, he shook his head. “I just don’t believe it was with her. Y/N? Head cheerleader, popular, smart, way out of your league Y/N?”

“You better believe it, Scotty.” Stiles patted his hand rhythmically on Scott’s back as he began to walk away, intending to walk to his beautiful girlfriend's house. 

Scott grabbed onto Stiles’ flannel and yanked him back for more details, “You mean ‘I’ve had a crush on her since 3rd grade, I wish she would look my way and we would get married and have kids’ Y/N?” Scott grew a proud smile the more he said, knowing how down bad his best friend was for this girl.

Stiles nodded frantically and adjusted his flannel, “And she actually kissed you back?” Scott questioned. “Scott, I think 3rd grade me died a little bit when she held my hand, let alone kiss me back.” Stiles jokes.

The two boys looked at each other before high fiving and doing their ‘bro-hug’. Scott congratulated the boy, not hiding his pure excitement for his friend; borderline jumping for joy. The boys gushed over the new relationship for a few more minutes before Stiles snapped out of it and ran out the room, shouting behind him saying he had to get back to his girlfriend who was waiting for him. Scott doing a subtle fist pump as Stiles turned his back.

“Wake up, baby,” He whispered, not wanting to disturb you too much as you wiped the grogginess and sleep off your face. You looked at your surroundings, “We here?”

Stiles looked out the window of the bus, eye twitching at the surroundings. “Not quite…” 

The motel looked uncomfortable, old and just overall, definitely violating hundreds of safety codes. The poor attempt at the neon lights brightened up the place in the darkness outside, but did little to make the atmosphere any more homely. But he knew it would be fine for one night, as long as you were by his side the entire night.

Everyone began piling out of the bus, a couple of your friends passing you and giving you two a wink as they noticed the state you and your boyfriend were in; cuddled up close, hands intertwined and Stiles admiring you as if you had hung the stars in the sky. Even in this messed up supernatural world, Stiles found beauty in the horror; and that was you.

Stiles helped you off the bus, his hands never leaving you. He slung an arm around your waist as you stepped onto the concrete and became aware of your surroundings. 

It was clear you had the same initial thoughts as Stiles as he read your body language. He rubbed his thumb on the skin between your top and the jeans that hugged your figure, leaning in and kissing the top of your forehead.

As you walked towards your friends and addressed Lydia’s discomfort at the Motel, Stiles had sneaked behind you and hugged you from behind. He rested his head on top of yours and you leaned back into his chest; his arms were locked around your front and you rested your hands on top of his, sighing into the contact.

It felt like you were in a dream, you never wanted to leave this comfortability with Stiles, he was the best boyfriend you could ever ask for.

The Coach’s whistle broke you out of your bliss, snapping your attention to him as he turned away from the Motel and faced the angsty teenagers. 

“Listen up. The meet’s been pushed till tomorrow.” You groaned quietly and nestled backwards into Stiles’ chest, he smiled at you. “This is the closest Motel with the most vacancies and least amount of good judgement when it comes to accepting a bunch of degenerates such as yourselves.”

You would protest Coach’s point, but he was completely correct, actually. Who the hell would want 20 odd, hormonal teenagers who definitely have questionable things packed in their bags to stay in your Motel?

“Now, you’ll be pairing up. Choose wisely.”

You and Stiles look at each other, untangling yourself from his hold and intertwining your hands. You pulled him over to the Coach, not seeing Scott raise his brows at Stiles’ smirking face at the idea of spending a night with you in your own room, no parental interruptions, no supernatural; just a boyfriend and girlfriend in each other's company.

Coach noticed the two of you approaching like a couple on their honeymoon and felt the need to clarify something.

“And I’ll have no sexual perversions perpetrated by you little deviants, got that? Keep your dirty little hands to your dirty little selves!” He shouted, looking directly at you. “Especially you, Stilinski and Y/L/N!”

You two dropped your hands expectantly, reluctantly taking a key for different rooms. The boy sighed at you and leaned in to kiss you before you departed over to Lydia and Alisson.

The sound of the Coach’s whistle made you two jump apart before your lips touched. “What did I just say!” Stiles went to protest, “I don’t wanna hear it! Get out of here!” 

Stiles groaned and turned away to room with Scott, you loitered back for a moment, just in time to hear the Coach say, “How he managed to get you to go out with him… I’ll never know.” You chuckled to yourself and roomed with your friends.

It had been an hour since you got to your room and settled in, kicking back and chatting to the girls for a while until they decided to shower and get themselves ready for bed. You had begun to set up until you got a message from Stiles.

Stiles: come to my room please i miss you

You smiled at his message, missing him too. And typed out a response.

You: i can’t the girls will see i’ve gone somewhere :((((

Stiles: you’ll be back before they’ve noticed you’re gone i promise

Stiles: baby?

Stiles was typing out more questions, and thinking of other ways to convince you to come over as Scott had left the room to explore the Motel more.

He was confused by your silence until he heard a knock at the door. He stood up, expecting it to be Scott but was braced by your beautiful face as he swung the door open.

He smiled, looking you up and down before tugging you into the room. He kicked the door behind him as he twisted your bodies so your back was facing the room. 

Your arms wrapped around his shoulders and you messed with the hair at the nape of his neck, drinking in his appearance and licking your lips. “I missed you, baby.” He groaned in the sexiest voice you think you’ve ever heard in your entire life. “I missed you, too.” You chuckled before connecting your lips.

He leaned into your body as his lips pressed into yours, subtly sneaking his tongue into your mouth. His hands snuck around to your back and held your body against his own, feeling every crevice and worshipping them. His hands explored your back, itching closer as he murmured for you to jump into him.

You obliged and wrapped your legs around his waist, he caught you by planting his hands on your ass. He smiled into his kiss and found himself growing more desperate for you as each second passed.

Your hands tangled in his hair and tugged at it as he walked the pair of you to the rickety bed situated in the middle of the room. He gently placed you on the bed and leaned on top of you, finding himself comfortable in between your legs.

The kiss grew more erratic as it went on, hotter and hands wandering. Stiles slipped his hands underneath your top and began to lift it over your head. 

You stopped him suddenly and he pulled back, his face coated in your lipgloss and his hair a mess; God, he looked good. 

“What? Did I do something wrong?” He panicked. You smiled and placed your hands on his face. “No, baby. Just don’t want Scott to walk in on us.” You confessed.

Stiles shook his head, “He won’t be back for ages…” He whispered and leaned back in to kiss your neck, sucking at your sweet spots that made your back arch. You sighed as his tongue worked wonders.

Stiles noticed you weren’t fully convinced and jumped off the bed, leaving you stranded. You were confused momentarily until he snatched something out of the bedside drawer, and opened the room door, hooking it on the handle and turning back to you.

“Just to be sure.” He winked and situated himself back between your legs and lifted your shirt over your head this time.

The room became hotter with each second, steam practically coating the walls; as the room door held up a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign with pride.

Your stay with Stiles was much more prolonged than you had intended, your clothes now back on your body a little misshapen but the thought that was there. 

You skipped back to your Motel room and quietly pushed open the door at this late hour, knowing Lydia and Alisson were probably curled up in bed at this time. 

Kicking off your shoes, you snuck into the room and breathed a sigh of relief that the girls hadn’t had their suspicions about your disappearance, obviously feeling content enough to go to sleep with no nerves.

You turned on the bedside lamp to see where you were going and jumped at the sight of Lydia and Alisson wide awake and leaning on the headboard of their shared bed, staring right at you with raised eyebrows and a subtle smirk.

Alisson tilted her head, “So, where were you?” She questioned.

You stuttered for a moment, trying to come up with a convincing lie. “I was just… at the vending machine. Stupid things sucked up my money.” You fake chuckled.

Lydia hummed, “Yeah, it took you 3 hours…” You could practically feel a bead of sweat dripping down your forehead, “Yeah, I had a lot of trouble with it… Anyway, I’m heading to bed-”

“I didn’t know vending machines give you hickeys.” Alisson said, making you freeze and pale.

You opened your mouth but no words came out, “And it has nothing to do with the fact that Scott tried to get back to his room but the sound of moaning probably stopped him from going into the hot box.” Lydia smirked.

You quite literally had no words, “Shit.” You murmured.

Alisson giggled at you, "You realise Coach is gonna kill you two, especially Stiles." You groaned loudly.

The two girls chuckled at you and invited you into their huddle, only insisting you showered first. You laughed along with them and jumped into them, “At least someone had fun on this God awful trip.” Lydia smiled at you before you whacked her with the pillow you were previously leaning on.

[sourwulf]

stiles comes to you after his female anatomy class and asks you to help. he says he’s never even watched torn so has never even seen a vagina, but yours is the first one he winds up seeing and eating out

༄  word count  —  2.3k

፨  characters  —  stiles stilinski

☓  tw  —  none

⊹  cw  —  smut & oral, losing of virginity

☼  a/n— i have... severely neglected this blog

✎  masterlist

─

you were sitting on your couch watching tv, a root beer flavored sucker between your lips. you were channel surfing, nothing catching your eye. your front door opened unannounced, making your head whip towards it.

after it closed, the familiar face of stiles poked around the corner.

you sighed, glad it wasn't an intruder.

"hey," you greeted. "ever heard of knocking?"

"sorry, it's raining and the door was unlocked. i figured you wouldn't mind."

he kicked his shoes off and walked over to sit next to you, mimicking your position by crossing his arms.

"what flavor is that?" he asked, looking at the stick in your mouth.

"root beer."

"nice."

"so what's up?"

"i was hoping you could help me study."

"as long as it's not math."

"honestly, i kinda wish it was."

"why? what is it?"

"so... it's for my health class. we're doing a human anatomy course for the sex ed unit."

"and you need my help... why?"

"well... it's female anatomy." you raised your eyebrows. "you're the only person i'm comfortable with asking for help on this."

you just looked at him for a second before taking in a deep breath and turning off the tv.

"alright, fine."

within a couple of minutes you were both upstairs on your bed. you sat against your headboard, him laying on his side horizontal across the bed with his assignment in front of him.

so far, it was just multiple choice and fill in the blank questions. he was reading them out, getting your answers.

"what do the ovaries do?" he asked, a diagram of the uterus, ovaries, and fallopian tubes above the questions, with lines to label each.

"make hormones and contain eggs."

he skimmed the answers, finding the one that fit that description the best.

once he finished that chart, he flipped the page to see a very detailed diagram of a vagina, also with lines pointing to specific parts of it for him to label.

he looked at it for a moment, as if he was really studying it.

"vulva."

"i'm pretty sure that's just an all-inclusive word to include everything."

he circled the right answer

"what is the... clitoris? did i say that right?"

hearing stiles say the word 'clitoris' was a bit weird, but to be fair most people don't really say the full word.

"are you really asking me what the clit is?"

"yeah, what is it?"

you looked at him slightly in disbelief, chuckling a bit.

"come on, stiles."

"what?"

you were dumbfounded. everyone knows what the clit is.

"you've never even heard the word?"

"i've heard of it, i just don't know what it is."

"it's kind of obvious if you're looking at a vagina."

he shrugged. "never seen one. well, other than this drawing."

now this left you stunned. never seen a vagina? how was it possible for a teenage boy to never have seen one?

"you've watched porn, though."

he shook his head. "nope."

somehow he continued to shock you more with every sentence.

"never?"

"never."

"stiles, you're a teenage boy, and you're telling me you've never watched porn?"

"never needed to."

"the clitoris is... it's like a little bud above the vaginal opening. it's full of nerve endings and it's really only there for pleasure purposes."

"huh. interesting. can i ask you a question?"

"shoot."

"does every vagina look like this?"

"what do you mean?"

"like... are they all identical?"

"uh... no. every vagina is different. just like every penis is different. some of them are dangly, some are hairy, it just depends on the person."

"does yours look like this?"

your eyebrows dipped.

"did you really just ask me that?"

"i thought i was allowed to ask questions."

"yeah, general questions."

"that is a general question."

you sighed. "similar. but not really. i mean, they all have the same basic parts. but the anatomy is different sometimes."

he nodded. "wish i could see a real one up close."

it was kind of funny, how he was talking about vaginas like a specimen he could study.

"you will someday." he made eye contact with you and raised his eyebrows slightly. "stiles. you're not implying what i think you are, are you?"

"i mean... i'm not gonna say no."

"i'm not showing you my vagina!"

"that's not what i was asking, pervert," he said in an unconvincing tone.

to be completely honest, you weren't completely against the idea. the best way to learn was to see the real thing, not just a drawing.

you sighed. "fine." his eyes lit up a bit. "on one condition."

"mm?"

"no touching. only looking."

he nodded.

"sounds fair to me."

you could not believe you were fully exposing yourself to him right now, your vagina just out. your upper body was propped up on your pillows, your knees bent and thighs spread with his eyes glued to you.

"and no judging my lack of shaving."

he shrugged. "doesn't bother me."

he was looking at you like it was a book and he was reading every word.

"this is kinda weird, right?" you asked, trying to break the tension. and trying to distract him from the fact that his gaze was causing you to grow wetter and wetter with every second.

"a little bit, yeah."

"so... my vagina is the first one you've ever seen."

"yep. looks pretty similar to the drawing."

a few seconds of heavy silence went by.

"i mean... it's hard to learn when you're not... hands-on." you mentally slapped yourself for how cringey that sounded.

he froze, looking up into your eyes.

"what?"

"yeah, i mean... how are you supposed to learn what the clitoris is if you don't get to see what it does?"

"oh. i don't- i don't know."

"exactly."

"but you said no touching."

"i know what i said. maybe sometimes it's good to... break rules."

he slowly crawled closer to you and you spread your thighs wider. the cold air against your wetness could've given you chills.

"what... what do i do?" he asked, his face only a couple of inches away.

"see if you can find the words on your paper."

he looked over at it. "labia."

he lightly poked your wet lips — not the ones on your face.

"good."

"was that it?"

"mhm. good job."

"clitoris," he said without looking back at the paper.

"you remembered that one."

he looked around for a second before, without warning, placing the pad of his pointer finger onto your clit, making you take in a deep breath.

"that?"

"yep. right again."

"what do you... do with it?"

it was uncomfortable to explain, especially with a face in your vagina and a finger on your clit.

"uh... lots of things. really it's just different ways of touching it and touching it with different things. so, you could go in circles, back and forth, up and down. you can also use your tongue or some kind of toy. it's another thing that just depends on the person, everyone likes different things."

"what do you like?"

"circles, usually."

with a second of hesitation, he began slowly moving that finger in circles. you let out a breathy moan and closed your eyes, but he stopped.

"was that okay?"

you opened your eyes and looked down at him.

"that was good."

"so... what happens? is there like... an end goal here?"

"orgasm. it's how most women have to get there. sex, like penetration, usually isn't enough to get a lot of us there."

"really?"

"yeah. that's why it's important for our partners to do something other than just regular sex."

"so... do you usually prefer fingers or... a tongue?"

"well... me personally, i usually prefer a tongue. i feel like it's just more intimate."

"and what do you do with the tongue?"

"same thing you would with fingers. circles, back and forth, up and down-"

you were interrupted by a warm tongue on your clit, unable to hold in a gasp. he was going in circles like you said to do, and it was like he knew what to do immediately.

it felt good. you looked down at him to see him returning the gaze, a smirk creeping across his face.

"good, just like that, stiles."

you were doing your darndest to keep your hips still, ensuring he did everything right his first time. he placed his hands atop your thighs, making sure they stayed spread.

you reached up and pushed your hair out of your face, fisting a ball of your own hair. you were moaning, which he wasn't expecting to hear the first time he did this.

"you're doing good, stiles. that feels good."

he didn't answer, but his ego grew a few sizes at that. the closer you got to your orgasm, the more he had to hold you still. his arms were now wrapped around your thighs, his hands flat against your belly.

"fuck, okay, i can feel it coming," you said, looking down at him. "keep going, i'm gonna cum."

when you did look at him, it looked like he was experienced in this. his positioning, his hands, his pace, everything screamed 'i've done this a thousand times before'.

he liked this. being able to make you melt with just his tongue was making him hard, but he couldn't help it. your sweet voice moaning his name was like music to his ears, and the closer you got the louder you became.

your fingers tangled in his hair, trying not to pull too hard.

"don't stop, stiles. i'm almost there. i'll tell you when to stop."

he obeyed, not changing a single thing he was doing. if it hadn't have been so obvious, he might not have known you were cumming.

your back arched sharply, you took in a loud gasp, and your legs were trembling.

this was an incredible orgasm. you were perplexed by his skill, as ten minutes ago he had never even laid eyes on a vagina, much less eaten one out. but he was a quick learner, as you'd figured out from all the werewolf stuff.

"alright, stop, stop," you choked out. he immediately pulled away, using his shirt to wipe his mouth. you closed your legs and reveled in your high. your hand covered your eyes and you struggled to catch your breath.

"was that okay?" he asked innocently.

"are you kidding?" a moment later, you propped yourself up on your elbows. "how did you know how to do that?"

he shrugged. "i just did what you described."

"i've had more than one guy go down on me who was experienced and couldn't make me cum at all. that was, what, two minutes?"

"i guess i'm a natural," he joked.

you tilted your head to the side. "c'mere." you spread your legs again and his eyes widened, slowly following your directions. he held himself above you and you pulled him down to kiss you.

your hand trailed down his chest and landed on his belt, the clanking of the buckle making him pull away.

"what're you doing?" he whispered, looking at your half-closed eyes.

"well... i can see you're rock hard. i just figured, if you're losing your oral virginity, you might as well lose the regular one too."

he gulped hard, not moving.

"oh."

you stopped messing with his belt, furrowing your brow.

"unless you don't want to. you don't have to. don't feel like i'm pressuring you."

he shook his head.

"i don't. it's just... i didn't expect this. i wasn't planning on doing that when i came over, and i definitely didn't expect this. i didn't bring a condom or anything."

"i have some." you reached down and cupped his bulge in your hand, which made him falter a bit. "they might be a bit snug, but they'll fit."

he nodded, and you continued unbuckling his belt. when you got his pants shimmied down a bit and he was exposed to you, you noticed how red his cheeks were.

"what's wrong?"

"nothing. just... i don't want to disappoint you."

"stiles, it's your first time. i'm not expecting you to last past the first thrust." you can tell he took that as an insult. "i didn't mean it like that. no guy lasts past the first thrust during their first time. vaginas are different than hands or socks. i want you to feel comfortable with this. i promise i'm not judging you."

he nodded. "okay."

"if you don't want to have sex yet i could always just blow you instead. you might last longer that way."

"no, i want to do this."

"okay."

you reached over and grabbed a condom out of your nightstand drawer and opened it for him.

"want me to put it on for you?" you asked, to which you received a nod.

the feeling of your hand stroking down on him could've made him cum right then and there. but he wanted to wait until he was at least inside of you.

the feeling of his tip pressing into you was magical for both of you, and once he was fully nestled into you, he pressed a deep kiss onto your mouth.

he didn't move for a moment, wanting this to last as long as possible.

he was a nice size, not small by any means but not the biggest you'd had. he was perfect.

"you okay?" you whispered, pushing his hair off his forehead.

he nodded, the redness in his cheeks spreading to his chest. he slowly pulled out, and let out a loud, shaky moan with the next thrust. him laying his forehead against your chest let you know that he had cum, his arms trembling a bit.

when he looked at you again, he chuckled.

"what?" you asked.

"lasted past the first thrust." you both laughed at that, and you kissed him again. "next time it'll be better."

"next time?" he nodded. "when will that be?"

he thought for a second. "give me a couple of hours."

[bamboozledbird]

𝒈𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒏 𝒈𝒐 // stiles stilinski imagine Characters: Stiles Stilinski, fem!reader, Scott McCall, Lydia Martin, Isaac Lahey, Malia Tate, Kira Yukimura, Allison Argent Pairing(s): Stiles x you, Word Count: 8.9k Tags: human!au, fluff, childhood friends to lovers Warnings: there are a few little nsfw mentions in the middle, so MDNI. Stiles does go out on a window ledge, but i have to make it clear he has no intention ever of jumping lmao.

A/N: this is basically just one day i thought what if stiles had a nick x jess first kiss because he seems stupid and awkward enough to jump out a window. and thus this nonsense was born. also the pov switching was new, so you’ll have to let me know if you’re a fan or not.

The thing is, Stiles isn’t an idiot. He’s stupid, but he isn’t dumb. He knows that it’s not normal to think about your best friend like this. That being so intensely attuned to the curve of her spine when she stretches or the hint of citrus that clings to her hair after she showers isn’t exactly platonic. 

And he really doesn’t want to be that guy. You know, the guy who just wants more, who gets upset when he can’t have more—the guy who can’t be friends with the girl who doesn’t love him back. So. Stiles stuffs it down. Deep down. And he’s content to die like this because he needs you. 

There are other girls. Boys too, after a latent discovery freshman year ( one that surprised no one but himself ). They come, and they go, and Stiles makes due with what he can have because he knows this is how it has to be. 

But they aren’t you. 

A blatant fact that ruins anything real before it even has the chance to start. 

So here he is: 24, single, and perpetually in love with one of his three roommates—but, hey, at least he does his own laundry now.

Stiles watches you on your bed, sitting on the floor like a child, while he pretends to work on a case report. He feels a little like a child too, the longer he stares at you—like a little boy with his hand in the cookie car. 

He plays with the fluff on your rug to keep his hand busy, tugging on it a little too harshly when you pull your hair back with the scrunchie on your wrist. Stiles feels like a cretin when his eyes follow the rise of your breasts as you fiddle with the knot on top of your head. They trail over the flex of your collarbones, and he sinks further into his shame when he imagines tracing the lines with his tongue. 

You catch him staring, and his throat bobs with his swallow. 

“What?” you ask with arched brows. You grin at him like you know something. 

Fuck, what if you know? 

You asked him something. Stiles knows you asked him something, but he can’t remember what. He just swallows again and fumbles for his coffee. Stiles knows that he should be desensitized to it all by now: your clever mouth, your deft fingers, your fluttering lashes, but he’s still startled by it every so often—like right now, when you look like you’re about to say something snarky at his expense. 

“Does it look that bad?” A few strands of your hair slip from their loose hold when you shake your head at him. “Are you moonlighting with the fashion police? I thought you’d be a little busy living in the murder capital of the world.”

Stiles laughs a little, mostly because of the simple fact that your hair always looks pretty. He said it the first time he saw you, blurted it out like a little lamb. Stiles knew, even at six, that he should be embarrassed, but he just couldn’t help it. He was so little and completely overwhelmed by his first case of puppy love; the words had nowhere else to go.

He’s gotten better at swallowing the praise-vomit, but he still notices. You’re always pretty. He’s doing his best to ignore it. 

“That’s St. Louis actually,” Stiles says. He burns his tongue on his coffee and pulls a face that he knows gives him a double chin. 

You slide off of your bed and kneel down next to him. Your knees press into his thigh, and it feels like something more, something profound, but he knows it doesn’t mean anything. You’re generous with your affection; you make everyone feel special when they’re around you. Stiles loves that about you, how you make him feel like he’s so smart, so vital when he knows that he’s moderately clever at best and really a lot closer criminally obsessive most days. 

“Can you tell me anything about it?” you hum, nestling your chin in the hollow of his shoulder. 

Stiles can smell your body wash. It’s sweet, fresh, and tickles his nose pleasantly—marigold and aloe. He’s seen the bottle in the shower. Sometimes, he has to bite his fist and turn the water to freezing when he accidentally imagines your wet, sudsy body, lathering the scent of marigold from neck to toe. It’s the in-between bits that make him especially nauseous with guilt. 

“Huh?” Stiles mumbles, pressing his singed tongue to the roof of his mouth. 

You poke his cheek and say, “You’re eating your lip. You only do that when you get stuck in a case.” 

Stiles can think of several other things that make him suck his top lip between his teeth, but he is stuck—most likely because he’s spent the last hour watching you. 

You frown, and he smiles a little at the wrinkle between your brows. You smooth out his own forehead wrinkles with your thumb and say, “It helps you sometimes—talking. You think best out loud.”

He does. Stiles swallows a little. You know him so well. You know everything about him. Everything except, of course, that the crush he had on you in elementary school has metastasized into an all-consuming, all-encompassing, honest-to-god, tried-and-true-blue, last-of-dying-breed, core-of-the-sun, probably-caused-the-big-bang kind of love. 

Stiles has tried, and failed, to think of a way to casually confess how he feels. How do you even begin to break something like that to a friend? Over Chinese food? After a few beers at your favorite bar? During one of your Buffy binge nights? How is he supposed to say, ‘Hey, so I’m kind of totally and irrevocably in love with you, and it’s ruining my life a little—but that’s okay ’cause I can’t be happy unless I know that you’re happy’ without blowing up his entire life? 

He can’t. So Stiles stuffs it down again with a sip of his coffee: black and bitter, a little like his heart when your not-boyfriend, boyfriend texts you. And he knows that’s so incredibly unfair of him. He knows that he’s needy, and pathetic, and far too possessive of your attention—it all makes him a little sick with self-loathing. 

You have every right to remove your warmth from his side to respond, and Stiles thinks that if a guy can make you smile like that, he must not be all bad. You seem happy. When isn't feeling sorry for himself, Stiles is happy for you. 

“The local police think it’s gang-related,” Stiles says eventually. His voice is raspy from his burnt throat and too loud in the silence of the near-empty apartment. 

You slide your phone back into your pocket, and Stiles tries not to feel victorious. “And you don’t,” you scooch back to his side, ducking your head over his shoulder to see his screen. 

“No,” Stiles combs his fingers through his hair and sighs, “I don’t. It’s too easy.”

“Follow your gut,” you say, poking his abs, “he usually knows what’s up.” 

“You know what he’s sayin’ right now?” Stiles’s back clicks as he stretches and rolls his neck around in slow circles. It does little for the perpetual ache along the ridge of his skull, but it gives him some space from you and your stupidly sweet smile. “It’s time for chimichangas.” 

You smile at him again, and Stiles blames the swooping in his stomach on hunger. “I think you deserve a little more than off-brand, freezer-burned Tex-Mex.” 

“Don’t knock Great Value,” Stiles grumbles, rubbing a hand over his face. His lips, swollen from an afternoon of tearing into them with his teeth, tug into a tired smile when you wave your hand impatiently in front of his face. He wraps his long fingers around yours and says, “She’s been there for me through everything.” 

“Higher standards, Stiles,” you roll your eyes, crinkled at the corners with your grin, “you’re in desperate need of higher standards.” 

Stiles wants to laugh, feels the impulse itch his throat. High standards are precisely his problem. 

“Maybe you should stop being such a brand snob,” Stiles pokes you in the side, a spot between your ribs that he knows is ticklish. You laugh and shove him away with a firm hand; Stiles goes willingly, stumbles into the doorframe just to make you laugh again. 

“I am not a snob,” you push yourself onto a barstool, socked-feet dangling below. He smiles as you swing them and then knock your ankles together. You used to do the same thing on the playground swing set. “Not liking over-salted garbage is not snobbery.”

Stiles reaches for the open bag of corn nuts on the island, needlessly resting his palm on your lower back under the guise of balance. Your skin is warm, and he’s too busy thinking about how his hand must’ve been molded around the shape of your hip to notice how hard you’re biting your lower lip. 

He tosses a few corn nuts in the air and catches them in his waiting mouth, smacking his lips together until they’re free of nacho cheese seasoning. He grins at the look on your face, and he wants to kiss the tip of your scrunched nose. “See,” Stiles sucks the leftover orange dust off of his fingers. His voice is muffled by his thumb when he says, “You’re snubbing my snacks right now—like a little munchie elitist. How dare you; they probably won’t ever recover.” 

You laugh, as expected, and snatch the bag from the counter, not expected. “You’re literally biting your thumb at me!”

Stiles leans against the counter, rests his forearms on the granite, and watches you chew with a dumb, fond smile on his face. You’re just so clever, all wrapped up in keen smiles and sharp wit. You keep him on his toes, always have—Stiles hasn’t ever met anyone else who can spar with him so well. He doesn’t think he ever will. Admittedly, he hasn’t looked that hard; his heart just isn’t in it—who else would paraphrase Shakespeare in the middle of a mock debate? Who else could possibly look so wily and wicked while doing it through a mouthful of, objectively, terrible gas station eats. 

“Purely accidental,” Stiles taps his fingers against the counter, and his shoulders lift with a small, oh-so innocent shrug, “it’s what we professionals call a ‘serendipitous turn of events’.”

“A professional what?” You grin at him. It’s one of his favorites, the one that says you’re about to tease him. “Sadist?”

“Oh,” Stiles’s brow quirks as he leans forward onto his arms, “so I torture you? Being around me is torturous?” 

“Yes.” Your chin jerks with a small, sharp nod, but the only thing Stiles can see is your pouty bottom lip. 

Sometimes, Stiles swears you do it on purpose—turn him on in the most inconvenient of moments. Make his heart swell into his throat until he devolves into a lovesick caveman. You have to know what you’re doing to him when you walk around in those little tank tops with the lace trim and the sleep shorts that ride up to the swell of your ass. It can’t be accidental, the cute laugh-snorts you’re so embarrassed of, or how you get so excited when you see a bird in a parking lot. It’s all too effective to be a coincidence.

Like right now, the way your lip balm shines under the kitchen lights and exaggerates your pout. You must know how completely and utterly kissable you look, and Stiles can’t do anything about it—now that’s torture. 

You give him mercy and tuck your pout away for a solemn line instead. “You’re evil; you never close the cabinets or take the trash out.” 

“Careful,” Stiles grins and snaps his teeth in the air, “I bite too.”

You lean across the island, and it’s torture, the way your arms squeeze your chest and push your cleavage to the neckline of your shirt. Stiles pointedly avoids looking at the round flesh. It just looks so soft, so plush—so ripe. His teeth ache. His tongue salivates. He craves with reckless abandon, and he’s never satiated. 

Stiles knows you’re a smart girl, but sometimes he forgets. You’d have to be pretty dense, after all, to not see the ravenous gleam in his eyes. You certainly don’t seem to notice it now, not with all that fondness twisting your lips into a grin. Stiles often wonders, worries, how you’d look at him if you knew. Disgusted most likely; he’s disgusted with himself half the time—but you’re so sweet, and so understanding, you’d probably forgive him. 

Pity, Stiles decides, if you knew, you’d pity him. He can’t decide if that’s worse. 

You rest your finger between his brows, and his dark lashes flutter, brushing against his freckles like they stamped the specks onto his skin. “Eat your nuts, monster,” you drag your finger along the slope of his nose and then ‘boop’ the tip, “and then preferably something with a single gram of protein.” 

Stiles grumbles to himself and searches the fridge for something that will placate your relentless bullying. He picks up the whipped cream and rolls the chilled can around in his hands, squinting at the label. 0 grams of protein. Stiles scoffs. Reddi Whip is, like, 75% milk, right?

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he forgets to shut the fridge door until it starts beeping at him like it's a personal offense. 

“Work?”

Stiles barely hears you, nose almost smooshed against his screen. “Huh?” He stares at his phone, eyes rapidly flicking back-and-forth, brain turning over how to counter the latest move on his ever-changing chessboard. 

Stiles finally registers what you said when he begins his reply to his unit chief. “Oh…yeah.” His thumbs fly over his screen at a speed that, frankly, shouldn’t be humanly possible, “One sec…”

“You need a break.” You stand and place your hands on your hips in an adorable show of strength. He knows that you’re going for stern, so he bites his twitching mouth lest he invoke your actual wrath. “You’ve been working 18-hour days for the last two weeks.” 

That’s an exaggeration, but Stiles doesn’t argue. He feels like it’s true. His stubble is out of control, and he’s afraid to look in the mirror and see exactly how dark his eyebags are. He only stopped by to shower and get a fresh change of clothes, but you came out of the bathroom in your little pink bathrobe and distracted him. 

Stiles hates that robe. Detests it. He wants to burn it. He wants to rip the flimsy tie off with his teeth. 

Mostly, Stiles wants to tuck you under his blankets and snuggle into the fuzzy fabric until he falls asleep. 

He wants, he wants, he wants. That’s the problem.

You pry his phone from his hands and slip it into your back pocket. “We’re getting drunk tonight,” you say, and you say it in a way that he can’t even argue with. You say it like it’s a fact—you’re informing him, not telling him. Stiles is usually happy to comply. 

That’s how you’ve always worked, after all: You point at a crocodile infested river, and he goes merrily, merrily, merrily down the stream, with a stupid, dreamy smile on his face. 

It’s just. He’s functionally useless at doing anything without you. You take care of him. Always have. 

Way back, when he was pre-Adderall Stiles, all baby energy and undiagnosed ADHD, you shoved a kid off of the swings when he made fun of Stiles’s babbling and twitching. He still babbles and twitches, but at least now he knows why. He doesn’t have some parasitic monster inside him; he’s just Stiles. 

You’ve always known that—how was he supposed to not fall in love with you? 

And after his mom died, you let him cry on your shoulder until your shirt was soaked through. He got snot all over your collar, and you just squeezed him tighter. Held onto him until he could breathe again, and then you said, “Want a grape soda?” and he almost started crying again because right then, at that moment, that was somehow the only right thing to say. Maybe because it was you, or maybe it was because you knew him so well. Maybe, it didn’t matter. 

You spent the rest of the night starfished over your bed, and after a minute of staring at your ceiling fan, Stiles whispered, “Do you think we’ll be best friends forever?”

You looked at him and grinned, all teeth and sparkly eyes, and said, “You better hope so, boy blunder. Who else is gonna watch Twin Peaks with you a zillion times?” And Stiles knows that he was only eight, and he knows that maybe it was just because you made him laugh after all the emptiness, but he thinks that he fell a little bit in love with you then, even if he was too young to put a name to the feeling. 

He finally figured it out when he was seventeen. Stiles wanted to be an adult so badly back then—and he felt like he was sometimes, after everything he’d gone through, but in so many ways he wasn’t. He definitely didn’t know how to handle his breakup with Malia like an adult—his first breakup, his first real relationship. 

Stiles drank a lot that night. He can’t remember exactly how much, or anything that happened after 11 pm, but he does remember how you stroked his hair. He remembers how you wiped the foul mix of bile and sweat from his face with a cool washcloth and tender hands. He remembers how you tucked him into bed and curled up next to him when he asked you to say. 

He remembers falling in love with you. 

The epiphany felt a lot better when he was warm and limp from his dad’s scotch. It hurt a bit, when he woke up hungover and in an empty bed. You were in the kitchen, making him breakfast: greasy eggs and hashbrowns. After he got over seeing you in one of his t-shirts, he wondered if you’d ever get tired of cleaning up after him and all his issues. 

Stiles still wonders that sometimes, even after you crawled into bed with him the night you found out your college sweetheart was cheating on you. He stroked your hair and ignored the wetness soaking into his neck, and you whispered against his skin, “Do you think we'll best friends forever?” 

Stiles wanted to laugh. And then scream. And then kiss you. He didn’t do any of those things. He just said, “Can’t picture it any other way.” He didn’t say that whenever he thought about the future, whenever he pictured forever, you were always there. 

He didn’t ask, ‘Is it okay if I’m in love with you forever?’

Stiles wants to ask it now, while you rattle off your plans for him this evening, but he doesn’t. He chews on a corn nut instead. 

“Lydia’s looking for the right opportunity to make a move on the guy in 2B anyway,” you finish, blowing a strand of hair out of your face. 

You’re looking at him like he’s supposed to say something, so he nods dutifully, “The guy with the mullet, right?”

You roll your eyes and poke around the cabinets, taking stock of the chips and tequila. “It’s not a mullet—you’re so obtuse when you’re jealous.”

Stiles blinks because…where the hell did that come from? “I’m good on the perm front, thanks,” he snarks through the food lodged in his cheek.

“Not of him,” you say, tongue trapped between your teeth and distracted by the mixers on top of the fridge. Your back is to him from your perch on the counter, and Stiles watches you with wary eyes. It would be so much easier if you'd just ask him to get things down from the top shelves, but you never do. Refuse to, actually. Vehemently. You'll do it yourself, even if it means breaking a limb.  

You manage to keep a hold of the pile of bottles cradled against your chest through your dismount, and Stiles breathes easier when your feet are pressed against solid ground. He’s glad your eyes are still on the kaleidoscope of sugar and citrus because you’d mock the relief in his eyes without mercy. 

You line the bottles up in order of emptiness and absently hum, “Well, yes of him, I guess, because—can you check on the vodka and gin?” 

Stiles sticks his head in the freezer, grateful for the blast of frigid air, and tries to untangle the crumbs of meaning in your flimsy accusation. He comes up with absolutely nothing—on every front of his mission.  “No gin.” 

You let out a long, heavy sigh and shake your head at the dangling light fixtures. “Lydia.”

Lydia was the only person in the apartment who liked gin, but Stiles didn’t have any room in his brain for commiseration. “So, I’m jealous of little orphan Annie from 2B because…?” He leans against the counter and tucks his hands under his arms, squinting skeptically, “Just so we’re on the same page n’ all.” 

You’re texting someone. He’s sure it’s Lydia, probably asking her to pick up more gin on her way home, but Stiles can’t help but wonder if you’re inviting your…whatever you call three decent dates and one evening of alright sex. ( Oh, how Stiles loved hearing all the details when you came home. ) 

“Hmm?” Your smile is lit up by your screen and the kittenish glint in your eye, but Stiles knows it’s not for him. He swallows his pettiness before he chokes on it. “Oh, right,” you put your phone down on the counter and smirk. This one is for him, but Stiles actually wouldn’t mind if it was for someone else; the look in your eyes is downright diabolical. “You’re so adorably, blatantly jealous that Lydia is into another no-neck, illiterate jock from the gym—but the perm is pretty bad, I’ll give you that.” 

Stiles’s jaw falls, and you laugh, completely misinterpreting his stupor. He stares at you and just shakes his head, scrambling for a grasp on at least one of the million questions pinging around his skull. “You think I want Lydia?”

“Uh-doy,” you roll your eyes like he’s said something particularly stupid, “only since forever.”

He’s struck again at how you can simultaneously know him so well and not at all. “You don’t think that would’ve come up in the last, I dunno,” Stiles’s head jerks with his choppy hand gestures, “eighteen years?” 

You wave your hand and then grab his wrist, “It’s been intermittent.” 

You lead Stiles back into your room by his hand like he’s a wayward dog on a leash. He’s grateful for it. Stiles can’t do much else besides blink and breathe when he’s like this—when he’s wrapped up in a case he can’t crack.

Stiles drops onto the edge of your bed with a solid thud, feeling a bit like someone slammed a 2x4 into his gut. His tongue seems to be useless, glued to the back of his teeth. All he can do is watch you flit around your room, gathering an armful of skirts and dresses. 

You hold up a black dress in one hand and a black mini-skirt layered under a red baby tee in the other, “Pick.”

Stiles wants to pick the sweats you’re currently wearing because they’re his, but he points at the skirt. He knows it’s your favorite; you’d pick it anyway. 

You sit down in front of your vanity and pull the scrunchie out of your bun. Stiles watches your hair tumble over your shoulders. You’re insecure about it, always have been. One day it’s the color, and then it’s the texture, and he, for the life of him, doesn’t understand why. Your hair shines so prettily under the light, and it always smells so sweet, like citrus and honeysuckle—Stiles can’t decide if he wants to bury his nose in it or wrap it around his spindly fingers. 

Graciously, you twist it into an artful arrangement before he can do either. 

“I don’t want to be with Lydia,” Stiles finally says quietly. 

You stop fiddling with pieces of hair framing your face and meet his gaze in the mirror, “It’s okay if you do.”

Stiles nods and stares at his lap, twiddling his fingers. “I know,” it’d be easier if he did, “but I don’t.”

You turn around in your chair and give him a little smile. It’s fond and sweet, and Stiles feels like a hand is closing around his heart and twisting it behind his ribs. “We’ll find you someone tonight, then,” you say, popping up from your seat. You grab your clothes off of the bed and squeeze his shoulder on your way to the full-length mirror next to your closet.

Stiles turns his head when you start to wriggle out of your shirt. He knows you don’t care what he sees after years of sleepovers and lake vacations, but you don’t know what it does to him. How all your dips and curves slip behind his lids when he’s alone with his fist and too much lube. If he’s really being honest, it also happens when he’s not alone, but that makes him feel like a piece of shit for a whole other list of reasons. 

All of it feels pretty awful when it’s over—when Stiles is left with the unpleasant sensation of drying cum on his stomach and the very unpleasant realization that you’d never wear a swimsuit around him again if you knew exactly what he does with the image. 

So. Stiles does what he can. He doesn’t look when you change, tries to avoid seeing you in a towel altogether, and watches so much porn of people who look nothing like you.

It doesn’t work, of course, but he tries. That has to count for something. 

Stiles swallows and taps his fingers against his thighs. “I can’t think of anything I want to do less than interact with a bunch of drunk strangers partying in my—”

“Not a bunch,” you say around a grunt, tripping over the dragging hem of your borrowed sweats, “and not a party. Just a chill get-together of like-minded peers.”

He scoffs and tips his chin up, rolling his eyes at the ceiling. “I’m sure I have so much in common with Lydia’s guest list. Yeah, we can talk about how they can bench-press two of me and that I also love me some stacking—pancakes, not steroids, but close enough.” 

There’s a whoosh of a zipper and then you’re in front of him with your arms folded over your chest and thinned eyes. “You better behave.”

Stiles grins; it’s decidedly obnoxious. “I’ll be perfectly cordial, promise. I’ll even speak slowly.”

You laugh, and Stiles knows you’re only pretending that you didn’t want to. 

“I think it’ll be good for you.” You return to your vanity and pilfer through your mess of earrings. “Y’know, to get out of your head for a little bit. It really is just gonna be us and a few plus ones. I know you, boy wonder, no parties shall ever be thrown in your honor. I solemnly swear.”

He smiles at the childhood pet name, a private little grin Stiles keeps tucked in his chest and at his feet. It falls, however, when he remembers the middle bits of your speech. “So,” Stiles gnaws on his thumbnail and jiggles his knee, “did you invite a plus one?”

You slide a gold hoop through your ear and grin at him, “Nah, I’m all yours tonight, Stilinski.”

Good. God.

Stiles wants to kiss you. He always wants to kiss you, but sometimes every inch of you rips the air from his lungs—cleaves him right in two. Like right now. He forgets how to speak, trying to remember what he can say and what he absolutely can’t say, while he imagines a life where you really are his and you know that he’s always been yours. 

You’re just so pretty in your little skirt and cherry t-shirt, and you’re so clever, and funny, and you’re looking at him like he’s your favorite person in the entire world, and Stiles feels all of it spilling over the edges of his restraint. He almost says something so heavy—so categorically, catastrophically stupid, it would ruin your friendship for good.  

Stiles swallows it back into his chest, but his voice is still thick when he says, “All mine, huh.”

He’s sick with yearning, and he’s petrified for a moment that you can tell. It seems so obvious to him. It would be obvious to anyone, Stiles thinks, if they heard how weak he sounded, how soft in his throat and reverent in your presence. 

But you don’t notice. You never do. It’s a relief, and it’s endlessly frustrating. 

“Yep,” you smack your lips together, blotting your red lipstick until it’s perfect, “I wanna win, and everyone knows you can’t win True American with a noob on your team.” 

His brow arches, and a lazy grin smears across his mouth, “Oh, so we’re getting drunk drunk tonight.”

You wink at him in the mirror, “If you play your cards right.”

Stiles does, in fact, play his cards right. He picks Scott as the third member of your cabinet, possibly because Scott can outdrink anyone…or maybe it’s because Scott knows that Stiles is pathetically into you and can’t keep his mouth shut at the best of times, but especially not when he’s drunk. 

Who’s to say, really?

Honestly, Stiles doesn’t need the advantage—Lydia’s voluntarily stuck with Isaac and the guy from 2B who can’t follow the rules no matter how many times they shout them at him, and Malia and Kira care far more about making goo-goo eyes at each other than they do helping their friend from yoga make any progress towards the King—but he’s competitive by nature and feeling exceptionally stupid tonight. 

Lydia introduced the Clinton Strip Rules solely to ogle her latest man candy’s aggressively sculpted six-pack and show off her bewitching décolletage, and it was going along swimmingly until the idiot forgot how to count. 

It was so simple. All the guy had to do was hold up three fingers—that’s all. He would’ve matched Lydia's count, and then they could've made out behind the Iron Curtain. But he didn’t. He held up two fingers and in doing so single-handedly crafted Stiles Stilinski’s demise.

Ironic. Considering the moron can't craft a compound-complex sentence to save his life. 

For a single, endless moment, you and Stiles just stare at each other, more specifically, at the four fingers plastered against your foreheads—and then the spell is broken by drunken cackling. Lydia grins like the cat who caught the canary, and Scott laughs until his face turns red. He’s loud and obnoxious with the four drinks he’s downed, and Stiles wants to shove him out the window. 

“Guys,” Stiles whines, “you don’t really—”

You finish the beer in your hand and shrug your shoulders, “It’s fine.” 

Stiles’s head whips towards you, big-eyed and fish-mouthed. He can’t form words. Can’t speak any of the five languages he knows. He’s become a Stiles Stilinski skinsuit held up by a skeleton of gelatin and faulty survival instincts. 

You smile at him a little and shrug again, “It’s just a game, right?” 

You don’t say it, but Stiles can hear it with painful clarity: It doesn’t mean anything. 

Stiles doesn’t know how to say no without telling the truth. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, not exactly. Stiles wants to kiss you—of course he wants to kiss you, feels like the whole goddamn world knows he wants to kiss you and is conspiring against him—but not like this. He doesn’t want to kiss you when it’s nothing. He’s thought about it far too much, imagined it on his bedroom ceiling in the safety of darkness too many nights, to blow it all on a stupid drinking game. A stupid gym-bro’s mistake. 

Stiles had a plan. A plan he never actually had the courage to act on, but a plan nonetheless. 

He was going to hold your face with shaking hands, smooth his thumbs along the sleek line of your jaw, look you in the eyes so that you could see the disbelief, the wonder, the awe. You’d see that he was overwhelmed to the bone, to all the nerves shivering inside the marrow, and you’d have to forgive him for being so tongue-tied and awkward—for taking so long. 

And then, he’d kiss you. 

He’d kiss you again, and again, and again, until one of you started laughing, but that’d be okay because it would give him the chance to kiss your neck and whisper, 'You’re the sky, and the mountains, and everything in-between.'

'You’re dark matter; you’re gravity,' he’d kiss the words into your skin and sigh, 'you’re the only thing holding the universe together.'

But he can’t say that, so Stiles follows you into Lydia’s bedroom and wipes the sweat on his palms off on his jeans.

You’re a little giggly while you fumble for the light. It’s breathy, and you can’t meet his eyes. Stiles feels a little better knowing that you’re almost as nervous as he is. You aren’t usually the nervous kind, after all. That’s his thing. 

Stiles slides his hands into his back pockets and rocks onto his heels, “We don’t…we can just pretend that we…did it.”

“Did it?” you arch a brow, lips curling into a wry grin. “It’s just a kiss, Stiles. I thought you wanted to win? We gotta end Lydia’s streak, or she’ll be insufferable.”

Stiles’s mouth goes dry: cottony with wanting, brittle with misery. He can’t pretend anymore; he can’t pretend that he's not dying from this.  

You can’t look at Stiles’s face. Can’t see the panic. It’s why you shuffle closer to him, stiffly reach for his shoulders and awkwardly search for the least romantic place to rest your hands. Stiles’s back thuds against the wall, and you finally dart your eyes to his. “It’s fine,” you say weakly. 

There’s a loud chorus of, ‘Kiss, kiss, kiss,’ through the door, and Stiles watches the resolve harden your face. His chest rises and falls with quick, shallow exhales. He can hear his pulse ricochet around his ear canal, can feel the sweat gathering on his palms, can taste the anticipation in the air.

You roll your shoulders back a few times and shake your hands by your side, rotating your neck in a few slow circles. “Just kiss me, Stilinski. No biggie. I think we can catch up to Isaac if you hurry the hell up and plant one on—”

“Not like this!” 

Your mouth parts into a perfect little ‘o’, and Stiles’s eyes bulge when he realizes that the pathetic, desperate cry came from him. 

You fold your arms over your chest and tilt your head with an expression on your face that Stiles can’t read for the life of him. “What,” you lick your lip, and Stiles squirms with shame when he can’t stop himself from tracking the movement, “what does that mean?”

Stiles’s face spasms, and he can feel his IQ drop by tens the longer you stare at him. 

“No, I didn’t…” Stiles’s stutters, flicking his gaze to your forehead, your chin, between your brows—anywhere but your eyes. His nose scrunches as he shakes his head, “Nothing. I just—I didn’t mean like that.” Stiles isn’t entirely sure what you think he meant, but considering he can’t decide what he means, it’s a safe bet that you’re wrong.

Stiles's hands take over for his melting brain matter, gesturing wildly every-so often like the flexing and contracting add any actual meaning to his meaningless babble. “I just, we can’t like that because that’s not…Do you know, like…? It’s very, like, you don’t…” His eyelids seem to have forgotten how to blink, and Stiles thinks he’d do just about anything for a piano to fall out of the sky right about now.

The chanting outside the door gets louder; Stiles isn’t sure if it’s real or just his anxiety. Through his narrowing pinprick vision, the only thing he can see at the end of the dark, dark tunnel is Lydia’s window. The heavy purple curtains frame the opening like serendipitous velvet gift wrapping.

Stiles swallows and nods sharply, “If you’ll excuse me.”

Stiles steps around you, and you follow his path with your eyes. They’re pinched with suspicion, but mostly concern. “Stiles, what are you do—”

“I’m fine,” Stiles tries to wave off your worries with a shaky hand. 

And then he unlatches Lydia’s window and crawls on top of a chair to reach the opening.

“Okay, this makes sense. I just need a little air,” Stiles mumbles to himself. His dirty sneakers leave a clear outline of his soles on the white fur. Under any other circumstances, you’d both be desperately trying to scrub the fabric clean before Lydia found the stains and rained her wrath down upon your very fragile, bruisable bodies. Under these circumstances, you’re preoccupied with the half of Stiles’s body that’s hanging outside the window of your 3rd-story apartment.

“Stiles!” you stumble to the wall and freeze, unsure how to pull him back in without accidentally tipping him onto the concrete three floors below. 

Stiles manages to slip the rest of his body through the window without breaking any limbs. Yet. “This is what I needed. Yup, this is—” his eyes engulf his face, a wide pool of churning honey, when he finally realizes just how small the ledge is and just how far away the ground is, “ah, ha, ha!”

“Stiles!” You cover your face with your hands and shake your head over and over again. You hope, childishly, if you spin fast enough, you can rewind time back to 10 minutes ago—when Stiles was safe on the floor and you could stop yourself from giving into the silly, stupid desire to kiss him. Just once. To finally find out how it would feel.  

You peek through your fingers and wince as he stumbles towards the left. “You don’t have to kiss me!”

Stiles disappears from view, and you tumble into the hallway. You let out a low hiss when your hip slams into a sharp corner. The flare of pain is soon forgotten, however, when Stiles slams his hands against the living room window. Everyone turns to gawk at him, eight mouths wide open and not a single word is spoken until Stiles presses his entire body against the glass. 

The window hasn’t been cleaned since you all moved in, so you can’t quite make out his expression through grime and dirt, but you can hear the shrill urgency in his voice. “This is a regret—I immediately regret this.” It would be funny, how high his voice is—approaching autotuned chipmunk territory, honestly—if he wasn’t six inches away from certain death. You can all laugh about it later when Stiles is safe on the couch, you decide. After you’ve punched him in the arm for doing something so bone-shatteringly stupid, obviously. 

Malia does laugh, and Kira smacks her shoulder. You almost appreciate the levity; it reminds you that your brain needs oxygen to function.

Scott cups his hand around his mouth and shouts, “Don’t move!”

Stiles smooshes his button nose into the glass. He inhales and exhales with mad abandon, creating and erasing a cloud of condescension with every breath. “I've made a very bad mistake! I’m not trained for this!” his lips smear against the glass, muffling his cries for help. Stiles pulls back, and leaves a streak of saliva behind. At least, that patch of the window is clean now, biohazard be damned. 

It’s Scott who ends up saving the day. No surprise there. He gets Stiles through the window and shoves him onto the couch, teeth ground in what can only be described as parental frustration. 

Scott folds his arms over his chest and narrows his eyes, “You scared me half to death out there.”

Isaac snorts and rolls his eyes, quipping over Scott's shoulder, “Are you not getting enough attention?”

“I’m fine!” Stiles groans into his hands and pinches the bridge of his nose. It’s still red from being smashed against the window, and the rest of his face matches with his embarrassed flush. “I am fine! I was partly joking and at least 64% drunk!”

“Stiles, we will talk about this in the morning,” Scott’s face is stern, and his grip on Stiles’s shoulder is just as firm, “but right now, I’m gonna go do stuff with a girl.”

Scott’s face is still solemn when he high-fives Isaac, mostly out of habit. You do laugh then. Can’t help it. A little bit of relief creeps through your constricted chest when Stiles smiles. It’s brief, a little twitch at the corners of his slightly-swollen mouth, but it’s there. 

Allison rolls her eyes when Scott holds out his hand, but she still takes it and follows him towards his bedroom.

“Shut the door!” Stiles shouts at their backs. He slumps back against the couch cushions when the thudding of Scott's door closing echoes through the hall.

It’s quiet for a moment. Kira shifts awkwardly, clinging to Malia’s arm for balance when the fog of alcohol spreads from her flushed cheeks to her platform combat boots. Malia doesn’t look that concerned, but she’s always been cool under pressure…and any other emotion. 

You expect Lydia to look as worried as you do, but she has a strange, calculating look in her eyes. They’re sharp in the light of her brilliance; the jade almost looks feline. 

Lydia’s beaux ends up breaking the silence with a loose laugh. His head tips back with his chuckle, and he throws his meaty arm around Lydia’s shoulders. “That was freakin’ hilarious! I mean, dude jumped out on a ledge instead of kissing a 10. Can you believe that?”

Lydia looks wholly unamused and says flatly, “I really can’t.” She fixes Stiles with a look you can’t read, but Stiles seems to understand. 

“I know.” Stiles drops his face into his hands and digs his face into the cradle of his wide palms. "I’m an idiot.”

Everyone seems to hear a cue that you missed while watching Stiles’s chest rise and fall. Malia, Kira, and their plus one filter out the door one-by-one, and Isaac kisses your cheek before wrapping his scarf around his neck. You’re relieved again when you hear Stiles scoff; it’s something he always does when Isaac puts on one of his pretentious kerchiefs in the balmy, LA weather. It’s nice to see some things are still the same. 

Lydia stares at Stiles, and they have a silent conversation that ends with a patented Lydia Martin glare and a quintessential Stiles Stilinski squint. 

Lydia leaves with her late night delight and kiss to your other cheek, and suddenly it’s just you and Stiles. 

You wring your fingers together, gnawing on the lining of your cheek. You can’t think of anything to say. To Stiles. You never thought you’d see the day. 

The couch creaks with Stiles’s shifting weight. He pushes himself to his feet and stands in front of you. The redness in his face has faded, baring the smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose that you’re so fond of. His lips part. Your breath stills, waiting. Wanting. His silence washes over the room like a flood, and you close your eyes. You’re afraid of it, witnessing the inevitable wreckage. 

It doesn’t come. 

You hear the quiet padding of Stiles’s footsteps. When you open your eyes, he’s gone, slinking down the hall to his bedroom. You stare at the place he was just standing, feeling the chill of his absence, and then it’s gone. A glaring blaze of anger warms your face, and you allow it to carry you to Stiles’s closed door. What a metaphor; the thought grinds your molars together until they screech.  

You wrench his door open, and Stiles jumps, halfway out of his jeans. He stumbles over the cuffs and almost falls on his face. You wish you could tease him, laugh until you snort and Stiles glares at you through his pathetic attempt to hide his smirk. But you can’t. Not yet. 

“You’re really just going to leave it like that?” you say, closing his door behind you. It’s preemptive; you feel a little like yelling. “That was a whole other level of stupid, Stiles, even by your standard.” 

Stiles quickly yanks his pants back up and buttons them, struggling with the zipper and his twitching fingers. “Can we just not,” Stiles rubs a hand over his face, looking infinitely older than he is, and mumbles a hollow, “actually, can we never.”

The words hang heavily in the air. In the harrowing quiet, you think: Oh god, is this it? Is this really the end?

Stiles stares at his feet, at the hole he’s wearing in the oak floor. He hears it too, the weight of what he’s done. Fucking hell, he thinks, I didn't know cowardice could be so loud.

You smooth your hands over your hair, clasping for any semblance of composure. “I just…I didn’t realize that the thought of kissing me was so…traumatic.” 

Stiles jerks his head from the floor and tugs his fingers through hair. He pulls at the roots until it stings and shakes his head, “That’s not…you’re,” he gestures towards you helplessly and swallows the millions of things he wants to say, “you.” 

“Yeah,” your shoulder lifts in a tiny shrug, arms winding around your torso like a brace, “that seems to be the issue.”

Stiles just looks at you for a moment. The lamp on his desk bathes his skin in a wave of warmth when he tilts his head. The tip of his nose casts a shadow over his lips, and you want to trace the divot in his cupid’s bow, the little lines by his nose, the hollow space under his eyes. You want to trace them all with your fingertips and then memorize them with your mouth. 

Stiles's eyes are golden in the light, and they’re stuck on yours. 

“You are…” Stiles closes his eyes, and his voice is so soft, so devout, “you are so fucking...inescapable, you know that? You are…you’re so deep inside my head, I can’t do anything without thinking about you. It’s becoming a serious fuckin’ problem—a nuisance, actually, a nuisance. And it’s not like I haven’t tried to stop, y’know, like it would be fuckin’ awesome if I could just forget how you smell like going home and a goddamn spring meadow, or if I could go fuckin’ grocery shopping without looking for those impossible to find chips with the Elmer Fudd lookin’ fucker on ‘em—”

“Hot fries,” you whisper hoarsely. 

Stiles stops pacing for a moment and nods at you, “Thank you—hot fries. And I would love it if I could walk down the street, just once, and not look for a dog to take a picture of, just so I have an excuse to text you without looking like I was just thinking about you—even though I was obviously just thinking about you because, re my previous ranting, there’s literally not a single second of the day that you're not on my mind. You're just…inevitable.” 

“And…I am Iron Man?” your smile is wobbly. 

Stiles gives you a flat look over his shoulder, “You’re a smartass—but I love that. I love everything about you—even the way you talk through my favorite movies and force-feed me a vegetable once a week.” 

“Stiles,” you swallow shallowly and rest your hand on his chest. Stiles stops pacing and meets your gaze with big, endless eyes and blinking butterfly lashes. Tipping your head to the side, you swipe your thumb over his thudding heart, “What are you trying to say?”

Stiles rests his hand on top of yours, clunkily lacing your fingers together for a little stability. “I love you,” he whispers, because he has to. It has to be this soft. It has to stay just between you and him, in the little bubble of air between your lips. “I’ve been in love with you since…” Stiles chews on his lip, trying to pinpoint when he knew, when he knew that you’re it for him. There are so many moments that come to mind, and he can’t pick a single one. It’s just that the line between mud pies, and t-ball, and this is so blurry. Stiles can’t tell where it really begins and where it ends. 

It feels boundless, Stiles thinks, infinity. It’s something, somewhere, past the edge of the universe. He’s yours infinitely. There is no before he loved you, and there is no after. It’s just always.

Stiles breathes and sighs out his answer, “Forever. I’ve loved you since forever, and I couldn’t—I can’t kiss you if it doesn’t mean anything.”  

Your lips curve slowly. It’s a nervous smile, one that’s afraid of the rug being yanked out from under happily ever after. “You love me?” you say quietly, voice little and meek. 

The tip of Stiles’s tongue darts out, wetting his lip. He nods slowly and rubs the back of his neck—an anxious tick you know very well. You’ve watched Stiles for eighteen years, after all. You’ve studied the tendons in his neck, how they flex when he crooks his head down to read, how it makes your belly warm more than it should. You know he flexes his fingers exactly three times before starting a test, and you know that the long veins in his arms are the most stupidly attractive things you’ve ever seen. He’s the most attractive thing you’ve ever seen, and you’ve loved him for so long it’s written in your bone marrow. 

Stiles scratches his neck until it’s pink and raw, and you pull his hand away instinctively. He smiles at you so timidly it breaks your heart, “Is that okay?” 

You nod, and nod, and nod. “Very okay. Very, very okay. The most okay of all the okay’s.” It’s so fast, and it’s been so long, but mostly it’s right. Like this is the only logical conclusion, the answer to a cold case that took eighteen years to solve. Your life has always been youandstiles, and that sounds a whole like forever. 

Slipping a hand to the back of his neck, you run your thumb along the knobs of his spine and whisper, “I am so ridiculously in love with you, boy wonder.” 

Stiles grins. It starts small, fond, tender—but the more times he hears it, every time she loves me, she loves me, she loves me bounces around his ribcage, his grin gets a little bigger, a little brighter. Soon, it stretches across his entire face and swallows you whole. He looks more than alive like this; you want to taste the electricity in his mouth. 

You smile at each other for a long time, and you look at Stiles through your lashes. “So,” you tip your chin and bat your eyes, “you gonna kiss me?”

Stiles is going to kiss you. He swears. He’s just…he’s thinking too much after an evening of not thinking at all. He’s been waiting for this for forever, and what if his lips are dry—or, worse, what if they’re too wet? What if his hands are cold and clammy, and you can feel his sweat when he cups your cheeks. He definitely feels sweaty. And nervous. And—

You rock onto your tiptoes and kiss him. It’s a little kiss, soft and short, but everything goes static and neon around you. You let out a little sigh, start to pull away—and Stiles whimpers. His hands surges forward and latches onto the back of your neck, pulling your mouth back to his. 

Stiles slides the breadth of his large palm up and down your back, chasing the rhythm of your breath. There isn't much to chase, you think deliriously, you aren’t really sure if you need oxygen to survive anymore. You like swallowing his sounds and tasting his tongue far more than breathing. It feels like Stiles agrees with you when he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into his chest, digging his fingers into the small of your back until there’s nowhere else for you to go. Silly boy. As if you’d rather be anywhere else. 

He makes the sweetest little noises in-between your kisses, softening the wet smacking of lips and tongues. You chase them, learning what he likes by unraveling him one sound at a time, with a tug on his hair here, a nibble on his lip there, and your hands just about everywhere.

It’s hot. Literally. You can feel heat licking your skin—or maybe that’s just Stiles. Your head is a little fuzzy from his kisses and not enough oxygen, and logic is a distant thought. Breathing. People need to breathe. 

Stiles’s nose bumps against yours when he pulls back. He smiles drunkenly and leans in for one more kiss. It’s quick and open-mouthed, two little brushes of his lips, and it steals what’s left of the air in your lungs. 

Stiles brushes your hair back and rests his forehead against yours. His breath chills your spit-slick, swollen mouth, and you shiver at the look in his eyes. “I meant something like that.”

[panthressa]

Stiles Stilinski who stops kissing her to bury his face into her neck because he's trying to focus on ramming his dick into her, and multitasking just isn't working right now.

Stiles Stilinski who audibly groans and bites down on any available flesh of hers as he cums into her like a firehose.

Stiles Stilinski who steals his father's handcuffs while he's sleeping and brings them back to his room to cuff her to his bed, teasing her while doing so, saying, "You better be quiet for me or else my dad might catch you in his handcuffs on his son's cock. We don't want him to think you're a slut, do we? No... Not my girl... She's too perfect to be slut, and that's why she's gonna stay quiet for me. Got it?"

[sundrop-writes]

BRAINWASHED

Virgin!Stiles Stilinski x Fem!Reader

Everything’s clean - except for my thoughts. (Thinking about me getting you off.)

Can’t stop thinking you got me B R A I N W A S H E D .

Summary:

Stiles likes you. He really, really, really likes you. It's bordering on obsession, but he likes to believe that he has it under control.

So when you accidentally leave a pair of your panties in his presence, ripe for the taking, and they're in his backpack faster than he can blink - he realizes that he might not have it as under control as he would like to think. But he can't find it to be too much of a problem when he has those panties wrapped around his cock.

Virgin!Stiles Stilinski x Best Friend!Fem!Reader. Pining!Stiles/One Sided Fantasies. Panty Stealing. Smut/PWP.

Word Count: 8,000

Teen Wolf Masterlist | AO3 Link

Full list of warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: the reader uses she/her pronouns and is described as having a vagina; Stiles and the reader have been best friends since childhood and they are in high school now (they are both the same age) (for argument's sake, they are both 18, but the horny parts were motivated by the hotness of a 20-something actor so idc what age you interpret the characters as); the reader's looks are mostly undescribed and left neutral in terms of race, hair texture/colour, height, etc. however the reader is implied to be fat/plus sized; mentions of the reader wearing dresses and tights (things that the other characters on the show would typically wear); mentions of the reader having a cat - I did not give the cat a name so you can imagine it's the same as your cat's name/what you would want your cat to be called if you had one; use of Y/N and L/N (as in Last Name); brief mention that the reader would like wearing bikinis; the reader calls Stiles 'good boy' in non-sexual contexts and it turns him on; mentions of Stiles looking up the reader's skirt when she doesn't know it; some slight dubious consent because Stiles steals the reader's underwear without her consent and uses them in a sexual act (his masturbation); masturbation (Stiles touching himself); this is a one-sided/pining fic - all the sexual acts take place inside Stiles's mind as sexual fantasies while he masturbates; the reader character is described in these sexual acts as they play out in his mind, so that's why she is included heavily in the warnings; Stiles is submissive (even in his own fantasies) and he fantasies about the reader being dominant toward him; Stiles becoming aroused by the idea of the reader not shaving her pussy; technically there is edging - because Stiles edges himself to make his fantasies last longer; panty sniffing (though the panties Stiles took are freshly launder and not used ones); scent kink/sweat kink - Stiles likes the way you smell, including your sweat; kinks and sexual acts mentioned only in Stiles's fantasies (taking place only in his mind in this fic): car sex (in the back of the Jeep (typical, I know)), fingering (reader receiving), degradation kink (Stiles receiving - he likes the idea of the reader insulting him and being mean to him); pussy eating (Stiles fantasizes in depth about this); Reader makes a joke about spanking Stiles and Stiles has a small fantasy about being spanked by her; I think that's finally it.

A/N: Title for the fic comes from the song Brainwashed by Waterparks. Warning - Stiles might be a bit OOC in this because I wrote it before I started re-watching Teen Wolf again (and before I started watching Season 1 for the first time, because previously I had only seen 3B and beyond). In this, I have said that he's flunking classes and he's not really great with studying, while in the show, he's really smart and bookish and really well studied - but it could just be chalked up to the fact that he has a huge crush on the Reader that is distracting him from studying. So, interpret it how you want. I hope that you enjoy it, and please read through to my end notes to find out about a potential sequel to the fic!!

...

Stiles was hopeless. 

That was the only way to describe his current state of being. Completely, utterly hopeless. 

He was a complete and total loser, hopelessly in love with his best friend. And he was getting more stupidly caught up in that crush every single day. And of course, he didn’t even have the courage to admit his feelings for you so that it could be awkwardly out in the open. So that the two of you could get the rejection part over with, at least. 

Basically - his feelings for you were slowly ruining his life. 

Stiles had been in love with you for as long as he could remember. Well, maybe not that long. 

See, you, him, and Scott had all been friends since the beginning of kindergarten, and naturally, Stiles always liked you as a person. He always thought of you as a good friend, even if he gravitated toward Scott more.  

But he distinctly remembered the first moment when he had started to develop a crush on you. It was a very special memory to him - the day when you shifted in his eyes from annoying, slightly nagging friend to a beautiful, fierce woman. 

It was the day when the three of you were out on Halloween night during the third grade - and that was around the time people started whispering about crushes in school, when people would have playground girlfriends and boyfriends that they broke up with every other week. That night, a group of eighth grade bullies began chasing the three of you, trying to take your candy. 

Without hesitation, you picked up the largest rock in sight and threw it at one of them, causing a large cut across his forehead - and you loudly told them to ‘fuck off’ (the first time Stiles had ever heard such a word when it wasn’t coming from his dad). They had run away, somehow terrified of a girl a foot shorter than them. 

That night, you had become his hero. 

And since then, you had been the only object of his affections. 

Of course, over the years, Stiles had plenty of opportunities to tell you about his feelings for you. He just… always felt too cowardly to do so. 

In seventh grade, he had come very close to asking you out to the winter dance - only to have Scott beat him to the punch. When he pulled Scott aside to ask him about it, Scott confessed to him that he also had a crush on you. This resulted in their first ever fistfight. The first ever true rift in their otherwise close, brotherly friendship. 

The boys didn’t speak to each other for days. Which, naturally, annoyed the hell out of you. Especially because, of course, neither of them told you why they were fighting, not wanting you to know that you were the source of the rift in their friendship. And to you, this only made the fight seem more stupid and immature. 

So finally, when you demanded it, they called a truce. They agreed that they didn’t want to lose their friendship or lose you. They didn’t want to make you choose between them when it wouldn’t make any of you happy. 

So Stiles proposed that the three of you should go to the dance as friends, which you loved, and they both got you a corsage, one for each wrist - and the three of you still laughed at the pictures of you holding each of their arms. 

Eventually, Scott grew out of his crush on you and moved onto other girls, and he loved that he got to keep you as a close best friend, someone he could go to for dating advice if needed. Scott kept trying to convince Stiles to simply ‘man up’ and tell you about his feelings, but Stiles kept that same sentiment they had concluded upon years ago. Telling you about his feelings would only ruin the friendship. Not just between you, but between the entire group - it would fuck up the pack. 

Though it felt like the more he tried to ignore his feelings for you, the more they festered like a tumor. While Scott was able to mature past his crush on you, Stiles only grew more intense, and more insane when it came to his ‘crush’ on you. 

Over the years, his crush on you had grown from something sweet and childish into something much more. When puberty truly took over and lust was added into the mix, he now had to deal with the fact that you had grown into a gorgeous woman. He could barely control his arousal when looking at you, hearing your voice, smelling you, talking to you, thinking about you - even simply being in your presence made something in his mind melt. And it was growing much worse with each passing day. There wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t wake up with a raging boner fueled by sexual dreams of you. 

And naturally, he would say that not telling you about his feelings for you was ultimately the best thing for him. He would steadfastly refuse to admit that him being distracted by all these fantasies of you was slowly eroding your friendship from the inside out. Slowly, bit by bit, his worst fears were coming true - your friendship was being ruined by his crush anyway. 

But he tried to ignore that. Even if you were the most gorgeous, perfect being ever put on the planet, he tried his hardest to simply enjoy the platonic version of you. He tried to act like he wasn’t stupidly, head over heels in love with you. 

He tried not to act like it. 

But on nights like this, it was just so hard. 

Tonight, the two of you were studying for an upcoming English mid-term that would be worth a decent portion of your final grade. 

Logically, Stiles knew that he should have locked himself in his room and forced himself to study independently. Or he should have taken up Scott on his offer to study with him and Allison. 

But no, he just had to ask you for your ‘help’. 

And you pitied him and said yes, because he was doing poorly in the class. The only reason for that being because it was one of the classes that he shared with you, and he spent all of his damn time staring at you across the room during it. He had tried to tell himself that he really would study tonight, that he would really take advantage of your intelligence here and now to get his shit together in order to up his grade. 

But no. That was just one of many daily lies that he told himself. Since the moment he had set foot in your bedroom that afternoon (and it was dark out now, well into the evening) - he hadn’t been able to focus on anything but you. 

Sure, sometimes that worked to his benefit. Hearing you recite Shakespeare, the words coming off your sweet lips - it did force him to focus on the material at hand for at least a short period of time. But it wasn’t like he was actually retaining any of it. He was just thinking about how gorgeous your voice sounded and how amazing you would be in an adaptation of Romeo and Juliet. One where he played Romeo, of course - and he would get to use someone else’s well-crafted words to romance you, finally getting to kiss you for the first time. 

Again - he was hopeless. 

Currently, Stiles was laying diagonally on your bed, sitting among a mess of books - the English textbooks, the assigned novels, the published copies of the play, along with binders of your notes and other notebooks, stray papers. He couldn’t pay attention to the notes he was supposed to be writing, not for a moment, not if his life depended on it. Not when you looked this stunningly beautiful while busy writing your own notes. 

With the soft lighting from your bedside lamp brushing across your skin, making that skin look even softer, you were a goddess-like vision sitting on the bed across from him. You were wearing the simple dress that you had worn to school earlier that day, your modest tights since shed off in the name of ‘comfort’ (and so that your cat wouldn’t rip holes in them while crawling across your lap, you had remarked to Stiles). When you had stood at your hamper and peeled them off your legs, Stiles had a hard time not letting the drool spill out across his chin. 

Your thighs were gorgeous. Thick, wide, spread out like a buffet for his eyes to feast on every single time you sat down. From his angle, laying down the way he was, he was up close and personal with the dimpling cellulite and stretchmarks you had there. The hem of your dress had ridden up when you had adjusted your position to get comfortable, and he felt absolutely spoiled by how much more of your thighs were revealed to him. 

A few times throughout the evening, he had to physically clench his fingers, tight, to remind himself not to reach out and touch. To remind himself that he wasn’t allowed to touch. The last thing he wanted to do was to creep you out by randomly reaching out and touching your thigh. But he wanted so badly to touch. 

How many times had he imagined what those thighs would look like bouncing and jiggling while you rode his cock? How many times had he imagined those thighs clamped around his head while he licked your pussy? (Far too many times for the good of his own sanity.) 

Not to mention the concentration spread across your face - you were so fucking hot when you showed off your intelligence. Hell everything about you was hot - your sweetness, your laughter, your sarcasm, even your bitchy side. But your bookish side had to be one of Stiles’s favorites. 

The way you would nibble your own lip when thinking, the way your brows furrowed slightly in thought. Everything about you - from the bra strap sticking out of the neckline of your dress to the chipped edge of your nail polish where you had chewed on it - you were a fucking vision. And Stiles couldn’t take his eyes off you, no matter how hard he tried. 

It was a wonder that you didn’t notice Stiles staring at you - not as often as he did it. 

Stiles felt strangely caught when you put down your pen and looked up from your notebook, then. He quickly scrambled to grab his own pencil and start writing something, to look busy. But of course, he just looked like more of an idiot when the eraser end began scraping across the page in nonsense patterns. 

“Stiles,” You scolded him with a sigh, a way he was used to hearing his name come off your lips. “Have you gotten anything done? I told you to copy down at least half my notes-” 

Of course. You pegged his blank page as simple laziness, rather than his brain slowly melting out through his ears due to his inability to think about anything but you (especially when he was in the same room as you). At least he hadn’t been caught staring at you in that creepy way yet. 

You snatched up his notebook to check his work, and his heart dropped - if you looked too carefully, then he would be caught. In the back of that notebook, there were about three pages of his name and yours in hearts, and a few times he had practiced writing his signature as ‘Mr Stiles L/N’. (He was a feminist, and he liked the idea of starting a new tradition.) There was even a drawing he had made designing your theoretical wedding cake, including a cake topper where he was Superman and you were riding on his back while he was flying. 

“Y/N, uh-” 

He quickly snatched the notebook back, causing a glare from you while he sighed in defeat. 

“Fine.” He shrugged, knowing that he had to admit to a smaller crime in order to cover up the larger one. It was something that he did with his father all too often. “I didn’t get anything done. I was slacking off. You caught me.” 

“Stiles!” You scolded him again, reaching out to gently smack his shoulder. “If you keep this shit up, you’re never gonna graduate!” 

Sadly, you were probably right. His crush on you was absolutely going to ruin him. 

“Well, you could just let me copy off you,” He replied, giving you a wide grin that let you know he was mostly kidding. 

You rolled your eyes in reply, and soon your gaze caught sight of the clock on your nightstand. 

“Well, it seems like you have wasted enough of my time for tonight.” You scoffed sarcastically. 

Stiles knew that you had intended this to be a joke - but he couldn’t help the twinge of pain the words caused in his gut. The idea that he was truly just a waste of time in your life. He pressed his lips tightly together to suppress a frown and didn’t say anything more, and then you continued. 

“It’s almost your curfew anyway.” You pointed out, gesturing toward the clock. You were right. Stiles hadn’t even noticed how late it was getting - too busy enjoying his time with you. “We’ll pack it up for the night - but you should meet me at the library tomorrow morning, early, so we can go over everything again before the exam.” 

Of course, you were still invested in the idea of him getting a good grade, even if that seemed unlikely to happen. 

“You’re gonna make me get up early?” He whined, hating the idea of missing out on even ten extra minutes of sleep. 

“Yes.” You stressed. “I want you there at seven o’clock. Sharp.” 

Your ultra serious voice ordering him around was undeniably a turn-on for him. No matter what sexual fantasies Stiles cooked up about you in his mind, he could never picture himself having full control over you. In fact, most of the time, he found himself covered in cum at the idea of you having complete control over him. And it was likely because this was how most of your friendship went - you told him what to do, and he did it. And that was a huge part of why he fell for you in the first place. 

When he didn’t verbally confirm the time, too caught up in his infatuation yet again, you let out a gentle growl of frustration. 

“Stiles!” You called out his name. “You have to be there at seven. So you can’t get out of bed at seven - you have to set your alarm for like six-thirty, got it? Don’t make me come over there and get your ass out of bed like last time.” 

This thought caused Stiles’s stomach to clench. 

The last time you had come to his house to wake him up for school (because he had agreed to help you with some bakesale project and you were pissed off that he wasn’t there early to help you set up tables and whatnot) - you had charged into his house in a fury. You had your own key, of course, and his dad wasn’t there to busy you with conversation or pleasantries. 

And you charged right up the stairs and nearly caught him with a hand around his cock, jerking off to a picture of you in a bikini from the summer before. And he had rushed to shove the picture in his nightstand and cocoon himself in the comforter to hide his body just as you made it to the top of the stairs, shouting at him for being late. Luckily, he had gotten away with the lie that he had slept in, rather than revealing the truth that he had been distracted because he had woken up with morning wood after having a heated dream about you. 

When Stiles didn’t respond yet again, you grabbed a smaller decorative pillow from behind you and lightly hit him with it for emphasis, causing him to burst into laughter. 

“Promise me you’ll be on time!” You said, smacking him with the pillow again. 

“Yes, yes! I promise!” He finally agreed, his face becoming pink from laughter. 

You dropped the pillow then, and leaned down, causing his eyes to inadvertently go straight to your cleavage while you gave him a gentle, friendly kiss on the forehead. 

“Good boy.” You responded, praising him for agreeing to your terms. Obviously, it was another joke. 

But these praising words combined with your lips even slightly brushing against his skin, along with your tits dangling so close to his face, had his cock swelling to hardness nearly instantly. He grabbed the pillow then, trying to look subtle as he put it over his crotch, desperately trying to hide the very obvious bulge that had popped up at the front of his jeans within seconds. 

He was lucky when you shifted your attention away from him, now busy with cleaning off the bed, gathering your textbooks in a pile and moving to put them on your desk in the corner. You being distracted gave him a few moments to try and mentally will his dick down, which worked slightly. Only slightly. 

“You could help me, you know.” You mocked him lightly - distracting him from his thoughts of baseball, trying to will the blood out of his cock. 

He looked up and saw you standing there with his backpack, putting away his textbooks and notebooks now. He had been so dumbly distracted by his own dick that he hadn’t noticed you taking the kind initiative to clean up his things for him too. 

“Right, sorry.” He jumped into action and did so, taking things from your hands and shoving them into his bag with haste. 

“You don’t have to rush out, I just need the bed cleared off so I can pick out my clothes for tomorrow.” You told him. 

“Wait - you actually pick out your clothes in advance?” He asked, thinking that this was entirely adorable, and explained why you were always so well dressed. 

(And it explained why you were always so punctual in the mornings while Stiles was usually a mess - running around his house still half-asleep, shoving his head into a shirt that he had sniffed to see if it was clean, shoving things frantically into his bag in order to get out the door five minutes late.) 

“Well you know not all of us are okay with just throwing on last week’s mustard stained tee shirt,” You said, playfully pointing to a mustard stain that he had on his shirt from lunch. 

He rolled his eyes in return, trying to ignore the slight twist of embarrassment that wanted to swell up inside of him at the comment. 

There had been a point where he used to make a very pointed effort to impress you. Back when his crush on you had first gotten serious - likely around the beginning of high school. He used to get up early every single morning, spending a lot of time being intensely picky about the clothes he wore. He drowned himself in cologne (until you had complained about it), he wore certain colors just because you mentioned liking them. But none of it seemed to garner any more of your attention than usual. 

And so, he resigned himself to be the loser best friend who would always just float at the corners of your life, drowning in his secret affection for you until some better, hotter guy came along and swept you off your feet one day. 

He was just glad that day hadn’t come yet. 

Stiles was hesitant to leave - he wasn’t done being around you for the day yet, too emotionally attached. But he guessed that he would need to get some decent sleep before waking up at the asscrack of dawn in order to see more of you the next morning. (Even if it would include the horrors of studying at the library.) 

“So - I’ll see you tomorrow morning?” He posed, ready to take his leave as he swung his backpack over his shoulder. 

“Ooh, wait one second.” You said, eagerness twinging through your voice. 

His heart pounded hard in his chest for a moment, wondering if this could be the moment he had been waiting so long for - would you stop him there, grab him by the shoulders and kiss him hard, and then tell him that you had been feeling the exact same way as he had for all these years? 

“Which one?” You asked, spinning around from your closet to face him, holding up two dresses on hangers. 

Oh. You were asking for his opinion about what you should wear to school the next day. 

“The blue one.” Stiles said, motioning towards it. “That shade of blue looks beautiful on you - it compliments your skin tone well, and it makes you shine. But ya know, you look gorgeous in everything. You could wear a paper bag to school and everyone would still be jealous of how amazing you look.” 

He rambled on for a moment too long, and realized that his genuine fondness for you - something straying too far into romantic territory - was slipping out. 

“But - uh, yeah. I’ll see you later.” He quickly added on, now eager to leave before you could make any further comments. 

Then he dashed out of your room and down the stairs, getting out the front door so fast that he practically left a poof of cartoon dust behind him. 

He got into the Jeep and tossed his bag into the passenger’s seat - which, he hadn’t realized was not even zipped up. (A habit you often scolded him for - going around with his bag unzipped.) Papers and books spilled across the seat and underneath it, and he let out a loud growl of frustration. 

“Idiot!” He screamed, scolding himself as he leaned down, trying to clean everything up. “Idiot, idiot, idiot!” 

Partially, he was feeling so idiotic because he had just been so vulnerable with you and you probably thought he was weird for it. Actually, that was mostly why. 

As he was picking up his things, he realized that - yup, he was missing his English textbook. He had forgotten it in your room. He heaved out a sigh and collapsed back against his seat. He could leave without it - but then he would get an earful from you in the morning about how he was ‘forgetful’ and ‘irresponsible’. Ugh. 

He got out of the Jeep again and shuffled his way back into your house - your mom was working late, so there was nobody there to question him running out of the house at top speed and then appearing back so soon. All he got was a curious chirp and a head tilt from your cat, who was sitting on the top of the stairs. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Stiles remarked to the animal, stopping for a moment to pet him. “I’m pathetic. But you can’t rat me out, okay? I know she thinks highly of your opinion and I need you to put in a good word for me. Got it?” 

The cat purred and pushed his face into Stiles’s hand, so he assumed that was a positive affirmation that he would root for Stiles - or at the very least, keep his secret. 

Stiles linger for a moment to scratch the cat’s furry cheek, and then he stepped over the cat and made his way back toward your room. He passed the closed bathroom door and heard the shower running, and he almost cheered. If you were in the shower, then you wouldn’t notice him slipping back in to grab his book, so you couldn’t scold him for being a forgetful idiot. 

He went into your room, and the second he made it through the mouth of your open bedroom, his eyes locked onto your bed like a hot target. Your clothes for the following day were spread out so neatly, and right there, on top of the blue dress he had suggested - there was a pair of lacy purple panties that were something right out of one of his fantasies. 

Stiles had thought about your underwear before - many times. Too many times to count. 

He had even caught small, passing glimpses of your underwear before - when you had worn dresses without tights and bent over in front of him. But he had only seen enough of it to determine the color, not to know if it was lacy or silk or cotton. And even that was enough to send him into a tailspin that had him rushing to the bathroom to relieve his aching cock. 

In the back of his mind - or truly, the forefront of his mind whenever he jerked off to thoughts of you - he always wondered what kind of underwear you wore. What kind of decorative wrapping your pretty pussy would come in if he ever got the other-worldly privilege of getting his hands up your skirt. 

Would they be simple, practical cotton underwear? Would they be cute? Would they be sinfully sexy? Would they be those underwear with the days of the week written across the front? 

But seeing this now - seeing the tangible evidence in front of him that you actually planned to wear purple lacy lingerie to school - it was something that had all sense draining from his mind as blood rushed to his cock once again. He barely had time to think about it - and he didn’t think about it. Because then, they were in his hands, in his pocket, and he was back in the Jeep, hiding his stolen goods in his bag and hastily zipping it up so he could slam his foot on the gas and race home. 

He didn’t even have a chance to think about the fact that he left without the textbook that he had gone back into your room looking for. He didn’t have the attention span to notice that said textbook was in a stack along with your own - almost as if purposefully kept there like an excuse to lure him back into your room, rather than clumsily forgotten by him. 

… 

When Stiles got into his room, he slammed his bedroom door shut behind him, now entirely frantic, and thankful that his father was working a late shift again. He sat down on the edge of his bed, his hands shaking with anticipation as he unzipped his bag and pulled out the thing he had so hastily snagged. 

His mind was warring with so many sensations. Guilt for taking the panties, paranoia that he would get caught, shame that he even had the urge to take them in the first place - but all of that was easily toppled over and forgotten in the name of lust. Overwhelming lust and arousal that he felt for you. Greed and joy at knowing that he had something so private of yours in his hands now - something so secret that he shouldn’t have. A perfect little piece of you. 

His little secret piece of you. 

He still couldn’t believe that this was the kind of underwear you wore on a daily basis. 

Just imagining that this was what you wore to school - thinking about the fact that this was what you were wearing under your clothes during your everyday interactions with him: it drove him wild. 

He easily pictured this pretty lace sticking to your cunt when you were wet, the lavender colored material getting slick and slightly darker, soaked through and visibly sticky when you spread your legs for him to see. He wondered if your pussy would be shaved or not - but you didn’t have a boyfriend, so currently, you didn’t have anybody to shave for. 

He remembered a conversation from a few weeks ago where Scott had wondered if he should shave his pubes for Allison and you had remarked that ‘putting a razor near your junk’ was ‘ill-advised and stupid’ - so you probably didn’t even like shaving your pussy on principle. 

This immediately put a picture in his mind of your pussy being covered in soft hair that matched the shade on your head - maybe a bit darker. It would clump together with your juices and become soaked when you got wet. The little hairs would probably stick out cutely from the sides of the bikini cut underwear, peeking at him. 

Your pussy would be the prettiest thing he had ever seen, he knew that for certain. 

Stiles imagined getting you in the backseat of the Jeep one night after a game. 

He would still be covered in sweat from his efforts, worn out from trying his best. Sure, he wasn’t the best player, but you wanted to ‘reward’ him for his efforts on the winning side, even if he hadn’t directly contributed to the win. 

So as soon as the game was over, before he even had time to change out of his pads or shower, you hauled him to the parking lot and shoved him into the car. His gear was only half-off, ditched hastily by your feet, and you were in his lap - a perfect prize after all the hard work he had done, sitting astride his already sore thigh muscles while you kissed him - hard. Your mouth greedily sucked the oxygen out of his lungs while you shoved your tongue past his lips, painting his tongue with your sweet spit - and fuck, it felt like he was made for this. 

He got sucked so deep into the fantasy - it felt so damn real. 

He imagined having his hands splayed out against your beautiful, plump ass, gripping you tightly, noting wanting you to separate from him for even a section. While you held on tightly to his face, sealing him into the kiss until his lips were sore. And you would only pull back to look into his eyes with glossy desperation and utter out: 

“Please, Stiles. I need you. I need you to touch my pussy.” 

And what else could he do but obey? 

So he would lift up your skirt - a particularly short skirt that you had worn with nothing else but a pair of knee-high socks. Something that you knew he loved to see you cheer for him on the sidelines while wearing. Even though it was a chilly night, you couldn’t feel too cold when you saw him glancing at you every single chance he got. Of course, those distracted stares had gotten him screamed at by Coach more than once. But he loved the way your skirt would flutter up in the nighttime breeze, teasing him. The way the fucking beautiful thick fat of your thighs would jiggle whenever you would jump around in order to cheer him on. 

He was a man of simple, divine tastes. 

So - he would lift up that perfect skirt to find those purple lacy panties underneath; to find the perfection of your wet cunt waiting for him, growing slicker by the second, more needy for him. You were humping yourself against his athletic cup, which his hard cock was practically dying inside of, bursting to get out of the hard shell of plastic to touch you. But he ignored his own needs for a few minutes longer in favor of yours. Reaching forward, sliding his fingers along the wet spot at the front of your panties, absolutely indulging in the beautiful gasp you let out when his touch grazed across your swollen clit through the fabric. 

“Stiles, please.” 

He could almost hear it - it was so fucking clear inside his mind. The way your voice would be so pitched with desperation, so perfectly needy curled around his name. He wanted so badly to hear it in real life. 

And he would push those panties to the side, pushing his fingers inside of your hot, wet cunt-

Back in the real world, Stiles’s cock gave a needy pulse, leaking into his boxers. 

He heaved out a sigh, his cock practically vibrating with blood. He had driven home the whole time trying to ignore that boner, but he simply couldn’t do that anymore. He just had to give in. 

He hesitantly put your panties aside - already feeling a strange sense of attachment to them - and reached to his nightstand, grabbing the bottle of lube that he had in the drawer. Shamefully, it was already half empty, mostly due to the fantasies that he had about you. He undid his pants and had them around his ankles in record time, and whipped off his shirt for good measure, knowing that he was quite a ‘splasher’ and not wanting to get cum on it to pair with that ugly mustard stain. 

He lubed up his cock more than a healthy amount, knowing that it would contribute to the fantasy of you being so wet around him. It was a distant fantasy that he would never actually get to achieve, but hell - a man can dream. Then he began to slowly pump his cock in hand, wanting to milk it and truly enjoy it, and he let his mind get back to work. 

He thought back to your place. A place he was comfortable, spent a lot of time at hanging out with you. 

He imagined that early that night when he had forgotten his book, rather than you being in the shower, he went back to your room and found that you had been getting ready for bed. You were rubbing sweet-smelling lotion on your arms, pulling back the covers, wearing nothing but a pair of cute little socks, a tiny camisole - where he could very visibly see that you weren’t wearing a bra, with the natural teardrop shape of your breasts bared to the eye, your nipples poking through the fabric - and those purple lace panties. 

When he would appear in the doorway, you would gawk at him and ask: 

“Stiles? What are you doing? Did you… forget something?” 

But you would be positioned half leaning over the bed, taking back the covers so it would be comfortable for you to sleep - and your ass would be unintentionally on full display. Your sweet pussy lips peeking at him from behind, the roundness of your ass so fucking inviting, daring him to leave bite marks across the beautifully fat flesh. 

And after a few moments of him staring so brazenly, saying nothing, simply drinking in the gorgeous sight of your body bent over, wearing so little clothing, wearing those perfect little lace panties-

(Stiles sped up his hand on his cock, the lube sounding downright sloppy in the silence of the room.) 

You would stand up to your full height, come to him in the doorway, put your face so close to his and say: 

“If you’re gonna spend so much time staring at me like a gaping idiot, then you should do something about it.” 

Stiles had to stop the swift movements of his hand and clutch his grip tightly around the base of his cock, making his entire dick throb hard as he edged off his own orgasm. 

He still wasn’t sure why the idea of you calling him an ‘idiot’ in such a brazen tone made him want to cum so hard - but he didn’t have time to unpack all that now. 

He grabbed up the panties again with his non-lubed hand. Something in the back of his mind thought that it would be a crime for him to get them dirty. Another part argued that he would absolutely love to get them covered in his cum, not clean them, and then return them to you. That it would be fucking thrilling to have you wear them in that dirtied state. 

Though he knew that would never fucking happen. 

If he returned the panties to you covered in his cum, then you would slap him, call him a pervert, and likely have Scott beat the shit out of him with his newly harnessed werewolf strength. Stiles pushed this thought to the back of his mind, though. 

Out of curiosity, he lifted the fabric to his nose and took a whiff. They smelled like fresh laundry - a nice lemony detergent. Of course they weren’t ones you had previously worn - they were a pair you had been planning on wearing tomorrow. 

He distantly wondered if that meant you would not be wearing underwear tomorrow, because he had taken your intended pair. And that could have led his mind down a whole different filthy track, but instead - he began to wonder what a pair of your dirty underwear might smell like. 

You should take a pair of used ones. A voice in his mind told him. Snatch them right out of the hamper. Come on, you’re over at her place all the time. She won’t even notice them gone. 

Terrible idea. Terrible rabbit hole. 

But what would they smell like? 

He wasn’t deluded enough to think that pussy smelled like roses. He had never been close enough to one - a real pussy - before to actually know. Yes, he was a virgin. He could have said that he was waiting, ‘saving it’ for you - but every other girl, including you, was smart enough to look past him. There were plenty of other guys who were better looking and more charming than him, and probably better in bed than him, that girls had chosen instead of him. 

He wondered if your pussy smelled like that perfect bit of sweat that you gathered at the end of a long day. Sometimes when he went to hug you before the two of you parted ways, he would catch a whiff of the tiniest undertone of musk, a good amount of sweat paired with the berry scented body spray you had put on that morning, and orange tic-tacs you had popped after lunch. It was a delectable combination. 

He imagined that your cunt would smell like that bit of sweat, combined with the blueberry body wash you used - the one he knew about and loved because of the time you had insisted he use your shower while stinking up a study session because he had skipped the showers after lacrosse practice when he was late to be with you. 

He imagined getting hints of that blueberry body wash smell coming off your thighs when his head was buried between them. What would your cunt taste like? That was a mystery he wanted to solve live. 

He could always imagine the other aspects so well. 

He could imagine the feeling of the heat under his tongue, the perfect feeling of your wetness mixing with his spit. He imagined getting to bounce your swollen clit against his tongue and while feeling your moans and cries of his name vibrate through your body as he pleasured you so well - the feeling of your pubes brushing against his cheeks as his entire face became soaked with your wetness. 

But the taste - that was something he could never conjure up in his mind, no matter how hard he tried. 

He knew that eating your pussy would be perfect. Not just because he would be giving you pleasure, serving you. But he so often dreamed of having his head smothered by your thighs, having you grab his head and shove him tighter into your cunt, you purposeful and demanding. You having that beautiful control over him while he drowned in your wetness. 

He knew that he would likely cum in his pants from eating you out if he ever got the privilege of doing so, and even if you laughed at him - stupidly, he would find that hot too. 

Stiles picked up the pace again, pumping his cock in hand evenly and firmly - even reaching down with the other hand to cradle his balls, gently rolling the flesh in his hand as he got lost in another fantasy of you. 

He imagined the two of you in his bed - textbooks forgotten and pushed off onto the floor, your dress hiked up around your hips, and again, those fucking purple lace panties. He was on top of you, hovering on his knees so that his hard cock wouldn’t brush against you (even through his jeans) while the two of you sloppily made-out. 

It wasn’t long before you pulled away from his kiss-swollen lips. 

“Stiles,” You purred into his ear, kissing along his neck. “You know, you’re so pathetic.” 

These words had his cock jumping, spurting out precum - in his fantasy, it made his underwear messy as you undid his fly. 

In the real world, it made his hand messy as he continued to rhythmically jerk his cock. 

“I’m not gonna let you fuck me.” You told him, contrasting these words with your intentions as you put your hands inside his waistband and shoved his pants and underwear down over his hips - down to his knees until his hard, throbbing cock was exposed. “Not until you prove yourself.” 

Before Stiles could ask the question, the beautiful, fantastic you that he had made up inside his mind gave him the perfect answer. 

“Get yourself off by rubbing your pathetic dick against my panties. And then - I might let you fuck me.” 

In the real world, Stiles let out a throttled moan - a choked sound that surely would have had his father knocking on the door to ask if he was okay if he was at home. And then he rushed to grab the panties again, and without even thinking, he used his sticky lubed up hand to position the fabric around his dick. It was a coarse roughness compared to the slick smoothness he had previously been feeling, but it did wonders to complete his fantasy as he delved back to the you inside of his mind. 

He started rubbing the slightly lube-sticky rough fabric up and down his dick at a very slow pace as he imagined it: 

Being perched between your thighs, with the fabric of the panties stuck to your wet cunt, his cock hard and leaking as he tucked himself right up against you and began to rub his dick against you in order to get off. Just like you wanted, just like you had ordered him to do. 

“Please.” Stiles chanted, the words leaking out of his lips, chanted into his empty bedroom as he pleaded to the imaginary you that would always have a hold over him - just as tight of a hold as the real you had. “Please, please - oh fuck.” 

He moved the fabric over his cock faster as he moved his hips faster in the fantasy, imagining how hot your pussy would feel against him, imagining your nails digging into his hips as you looked up at him with mocking and adoration in your eyes. He imagined you forcing his hips faster, trapping him in place with your knees bracketed around his thighs, showing him absolutely no mercy. 

“Please, please, please.” He chanted, knowing with a distant part of his mind that he must have sounded utterly delirious. “Please, Y/N, lemme cum-” 

“Cum for me, Stiles.” 

Confirmed by that fantasy version of you and truly unable to hold it any longer, Stiles arched up off the bed, cumming all over his own fist. Just as he had predicted, it was an utter, uncontrollable mess. He shot cum all over his stomach, and absolutely soaked the fabric of the panties - making a horrible mess of them. Which, the lube had definitely already done. He laid there for a single moment catching his breath before it truly hit him. 

Fuck. He had fucked up. 

You would definitely notice the underwear missing after a while and he certainly couldn’t return them to you in this condition. 

… 

Stiles spent the next hour in the bathroom, absolutely panicking over how to get them clean. Luckily, he wasn’t a total idiot and he looked up the washing instructions online - and after hand-washing them in warm water with a ‘gentle’ detergent (handsoap was the best that he could do), they came out perfectly clean. 

The only problem? 

Hang to dry. 

He set his alarm for early, earlier than you suggested, and prayed that he wouldn’t sleep through it. In fact, he set three more alarms just to make sure. He couldn’t have you or his father barging into his room to wake him up when he had a pair of your stolen panties pinned to his corkboard in order to properly dry them so that he could sneak them back to you in good condition. 

… 

The next day, he departed for school by 6:45 with the stolen goods hidden away in his bag, ready to sneak them back into your room later that afternoon. He made it to the library ten whole minutes before seven, and you seemed shocked that he was not only on time - but early. 

“Wow.” You said, having just gotten there yourself, spreading out your items at a table - including a tray with some coffees. “You know, Stiles, I am impressed.” 

“You don’t have to act so - so shocked.” He replied, partially interrupted by a yawn. 

You leaned over to get a pen from your bag, and Stiles’s eyes immediately went to your ass, unconsciously trying to spot panty lines through your dress and tights - wondering if you were even wearing underwear because he had stolen the ones you had intended for today. 

Focus, Stiles. Focus. 

“Well, if you weren’t here by seven sharp like I told you, I was gonna pour this in the garbage.” You told him, taking his coffee out of the paper tray and sliding it toward him. 

“You don’t have to be so mean.” He chuckled, airy and light - very secretly annoyed with the way your ‘mean’ streak affected him sometimes. Why did he have to be turned on by you scolding him and punishing him? Why? 

“Hey, if I’m not mean then you never get anything done.” You told him truthfully. “And you know how it works by now. Good boys get rewards and bad boys get spanked.” You told him, letting out a bright laugh - indicating that it was clearly meant to be a joke. 

But instantly, it shook his mind with imagery of you bending him over the table, ripping his pants down and spanking him until he came untouched and cried for mercy, forcing him to agree that he would behave and listen to you. He became downright dizzy at the thought. 

You meant it as a joke - he had to sharply remind himself. But the way you so casually called him a ‘good boy’, said that he was deserving of a ‘reward’ - it sent chills down his spine and already had his cock waking up. Too early. Bad rabbit hole. 

If he was any sort of brave, he would have pushed it more and asked you what kind of ‘reward’ you had in mind. But he wasn’t, and he was too tired to analyze the potential consequences. 

“Oh!” You said, as though suddenly remembering something. You moved to grab your bag again and Stiles closed his eyes to forcefully keep himself from staring at your ass. “You left this at my place last night.” You told him, sliding his English textbook across the table toward him. 

He was too busy trying to calm his own lust that he missed the smirk on your face - the mischief lingering in your eyes, the intention in your tone. He was too caught up, drowning in his own affections for you that he never would have pieced together that you had taken in and hidden it on purpose as a ploy to get him to come back. That you had put out some other bait for him to find. 

“Thanks.” He said quietly. “So - what do we need to go over before the test?”

“Everything.” 

Stiles groaned.

...

Due to much pressure, not the sequel has been posted. I am fully of the belief that this fic is complete and perfect on its own, but if you would like to keep reading, click on the link below. I highly encourage you to leave a comment before you press on, though, and tell me what you enjoyed about this fic since you have gotten this far.

Happy reading!

Keeping Reading Here: Stupid For You - Virgin!Stiles Stilinski x Fem!Reader

[scarletmika]

Requests are open! Last updated: 6/21/2025

Marvel Bob Reynolds, Joaquin Torres, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Tony Stark, Sam Wilson, Johnny Storm

Robert "Bob" Reynolds

Peace and Quiet : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader - fluff, 2.3K words Sometimes the tower is too loud, and Bob can feel himself getting overwhelmed. He's always found comfort with you, in your room, where he can find peace and quiet whenever he needs it. And you'll never turn him away, finding the same comfort in him.

・❥・

Stay With Me : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader - fluff, angst, 5.2K words Bob wants to feel useful, to truly be part of the team, but the others don't think he's ready. You take it upon yourself to teach him control, to guide him through. But mistakes will be made, and it might not be possible to keep the darkness from creeping back in once more. PART TWO: Always : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader - fluff, angst, 5.2K words Bob stayed with you, just as you asked, and life couldn't be better. But the past always has a way of catching up with you, no matter how hard you try and push it away and leave it behind. Now, it's Bob's turn to save you.

・❥・

Destiny or Not : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader - fluff, 3K words As The Darkhold foretold Wanda Maximoff's destiny, The Book of Vishanti foretold your own. You just didn't know how much of that destiny was intertwined with Bob Reynolds, until the day you met him in the vault.

・❥・

I Just Feel You : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader - fluff, 2.6K words Bob Floyd was broken, and he knew that, but he was trying. He was trying to be better, to control himself. But like Stitch had said: broken, but still good. You were beginning to make Bob believe that he was, in fact, still good.

・❥・

Only Good Thing : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader - angst, fluff, 3.2K words There was so much Bob regretted, so much shame riddled through his past, he didn't know what he'd see in his own shame rooms. He hadn't been prepared to see you around every corner, to be reminded of the way he'd left you behind in an effort to be what you deserved.

・❥・

Let Me In : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader - angst, fluff, 4.6K words Sometimes, when two broken people find each other, they become each other's comfort through the hurt. You became Bob's, and as much as you tried not to let him in, he became yours too.

・❥・

Kiss Me Again : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader - fluff, 4.7K words A crush isn't a problem, and when that crush becomes love, it's usually a good thing. For Bob, it terrifies him, because he'd managed to fall in love with a literal Goddess. Why would a Goddess choose a broken man like him? PART TWO: Kiss Me Forever : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader - fluff, 3.7K words Bob never expected to fall in love with a Goddess, or have her fall in love with him, too. But even when you're capable of showing him the entire galaxy, you're the only thing he wants to be looking at.

・❥・

Four Weeks : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader - fluff, 3.7K words When a four-week mission keeps you and Bob separated, with no contact whatsoever, there's nothing either of you wants more than to simply be in each other's arms.

・❥・

The White Witch : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader - fluff, 11.2K total words Bob knew who the Avengers were, who you were; he grew up watching them save the world time and time again. Now, he was one, but none of that could prepare him for what it would be like to meet you, or the instant connection that seemed to flow between you both. PART ONE - PART TWO - PART THREE

Top Gun Bob Floyd, Bradley Bradshaw, Jake Seresin

Robert "Bob" Floyd

Sunflower : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader - fluff, angst, 3.7K words Bob Floyd was head over heels for you from the moment you met. You were the best thing that had ever happened to him. But Hangman knew just how to get under people's skin, too well sometimes, and sometimes frustration hits a boiling point when the people you don't want to hurt are standing in the way.

・❥・

Cliché : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader - fluff, steamy, 13.5K words There's always a joke surrounding weddings that the Maid of Honor and the Best Man will end up falling in love; it's one of the oldest clichés in the book. When you're the Maid of Honor, though, Bob Floyd wouldn't have it any other way.

Even More Cliché : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader - fluff, steamy, 14.3K words The Best Man and the Maid of Honor…you and Bob Floyd fell in love in the most cliché of ways, but you wouldn't have it any other way. Now, it's your turn to say 'I Do.'

・❥・

One Last Gift : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader - fluff, steamy, 6K words Living with Bob Floyd was killing you slowly, especially when you couldn't bring yourself to admit how you felt about him. It's your birthday, though, and shouldn't the birthday girl get whatever it is she wants?

・❥・

Knight in Shining Glasses : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader - fluff, steamy, 11K words All you wanted to do was enjoy your first night in San Diego at the bar recommended to you by your father, but a hot-shot new to the Top Gun program was intent on bringing you home with him, or at least couldn't take a hint. Lucky for you, there's a knight in shining glasses ready to save you.

・❥・

Kiss Cam : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader - fluff, steamy, 12.3K words The San Diego Padres are saluting the U.S. Navy during their upcoming game, and the Dagger Squad has been invited to attend. Hangman's only goal for the game? Get you and Bob to finally act on your feelings and confess to each other.

・❥・

Speak Now : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader - angst, fluff, steamy, 16.2K words Bob Floyd is madly in love with you, and you're in love with him. The problem? You're getting married…and it's not to Bob.

Miscellaneous

I'm Glad You're Here : ̗̀➛ Peeta Mellark x Reader - fluff, 1.3K words The War is over, the Mockingjay has won. All that's left is you, the man you've loved through it all, and the life you now get to choose together.

Wattpad Novels

118 Chapters : ̗̀➛ Slate - Steve Rogers X OC (Charlotte Watson) - angst, fluff, friends to lovers Charlotte Watson deserved a fresh start, a chance to begin her life again and be the woman she was meant to be, the woman that Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes knew she was inside. Her second chance came in the form of a secret SSR project: Project Athena.

・❥・

127 Chapters : ̗̀➛ Imperial - Tony Stark X OC (Audelia Motter) - angst, fluff, friends to lovers Audelia Motter and Tony Stark had each other's backs through thick and thin. But after the abduction of the billionaire in Afghanistan by the Ten Rings, the lengths these two will go through for the other are stretched to their limits. Their trust, their bond, and their hidden love will be tested like no other. Love makes you do crazy things, like become the sidekick of a superhero.

Find me on Wattpad at @mikammadi for longer-form stories!

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

a little fashion show

kinktober, day four

a/n: bro, the amount of time this idea has been in the notes app on my phone....

warnings: stiles stilinski x reader, smut, best friends to lovers, mutual pining, trying on lingerie, teasing, flashing, kissing

word count: 990

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist | kinktober 2023

“Who was at the door?” Stiles asked as your giddy form appeared in the doorway to your room once more. 

“The mailman,” you giggled, unable to contain your excitement, “and look!”

“You got a package!” not getting as revved up in the excitement as you were, he nonchalantly pointed out the parcel in your palms, “oh, cool!”

“Not just any package, only the one I’ve been waiting about a billion years to arrive,” you shut the door behind you, gazing down at the bundle in your hands with heart-shaped eyes, “you don’t mind if I just try this stuff on right now, do you? I just don’t know if I can wait till you leave.”

Discretely readjusting in his comfortable seat on your mattress, he waved a hand, “no, no, it’s fine.”

“Really? Great!” you squealed, digging your fingers into the opening of the package, “you can help me see if any of it doesn’t suit me or fit right, give you a little fashion show and everything.” 

“Alright, sure,” he agreed with a soft chuckle as you disappeared behind the wide bookcase that acted as a divider in the middle of your room.

After changing into the first item, you couldn’t stop yourself from springing back out, arms raised high above your head as you sang, “tada! What do you think?”

“Wow, oh, wow,” you watched Stiles eyes grow wide as they landed on the extremely short nightgown hanging around your form, “that’s-, that’s-…”

“It’s cute, isn’t it?” you turned your back to your stunned friend to glance at yourself in the mirror, “the floral pattern especially.” 

Gaze tracing your hands as they played with the tiny skirt, “y-yeah, it is,” you just barely managed to catch sight of his reflection discreetly move one of your pink pillows over his lap, “it’s good, you should definitely keep that one.”

You hadn’t thought that his blush could have gotten any worse, but evidently, as you soon pranced out clad in the next thing, it very much could. 

“What about this one?” you innocently observed the lingerie set in the long mirror, turning a bit to see how the high-waisted, black underwear hugged your bottom, “do you think it fits alright?” 

Looking like a broken PlayStation 2 game you’d have to pull out and blow on, Stiles simply hummed, “huh?”

“I just feel like if I jump around or bend over in this, the girls are just gonna spill out,” your nose crinkled as your fingertips ghosted over the cups of the matching bra. 

“I mean,” he blinked hazily, “you could test it out, if you want.”

Obliging twice, jumping gently in place, the squint to your eye didn’t fade away as not only you observed how your boobs jiggled in the cups, “hm, I don’t know, maybe one of the ones that has a different cut then this one…”

Peeping through the shy slivers of the bookcase, you bit down on your smirk as you watched the trouble you’d stirred up on the other side. As you slid off the black number, daringly arching your back and purposefully sticking your butt out far enough for him to catch a glimpse, you spotted how a string of your want clung to the panties as you dragged the down your legs. 

If this last one wasn’t gonna do the trick, make the guy you’d had a crush on forever fess up and make a move, then you didn’t know what would.

Pink, skimpy and sheer, your pebbly nipples weren’t the only thing on full display as the see-through thong also made your puffy pussylips no secret to anyone. 

Your pace as you returned to the mirror was purposefully slow, not looking to Stiles even once as you felt your desperation for him soak the pretty garments. 

“T-that-, yeah,” his fluttering eyes were trained on your bare bottom, “that’s nice.”

“Yeah?” you still didn’t dare to look at him, “you think so?”

“Mhm,” he nearly groaned. 

Grazing your touch ever so lightly over the elastic edges, you uttered, “you really think it’s pretty?”

“Y-yeah…”

“Stiles,” you sucked in a deep breath and gathered up the courage through the pumping adrenalin of being so exposed before your crush, “can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” flowed from his lips nearly instantly.

“Would you have sex with me?”

The room was dead silent a moment before Stiles choked, “what?”

“Would you fuck me?” you rephrased, still not looking back at him in the refection. 

“Would I-… I’m sorry, what?”

“Would you fuck me?” gnawing at your bottom lips, you finally turned to face him, “because I kinda really like you, like a lot,” your feet slowly carried you closer to where he sat, “and I don’t know, I’m sorry, am I being too forward? Is this too much? Do you not like me in that way? Because I totally get it if you do, I’m really sorry for everything. I thought you’d picked up on the hints I’ve been dropping for a while now and that you-”

“I do like you!” he rushed to cut off your concern, “I-I-, yes,” seizing your hand in his as he emphasized, “yes.” 

“Yes or yes?” you asked, eyes flickering to the pillow hiding his own excitement. 

“Yes,” he nodded, swiftly tugging you down in his lap before you could withdraw your proposal. 

An airy whimper escaped your lips as he then kissed you, your whole body feeling like puddy in his grasp. Drawing back a moment from his long-awaited pecks, you found yourself offering bashfully, “you know, I could also just give you a handjob or blow you or something if you’re not-”

Using his leverage, he suddenly flung you down against the mattress, effectively cutting your suggestion off as he scurried to hover above you, an earnest grin adorning his lips as he then exclaimed “oh my god, just shut up and let me screw my best friend.”

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[star--stilinski]

I would absolutely LOVE to request a buzzcut stiles smut omg😭

If you are comfortable and if this is not too much detail could you write something about Stiles being insecure of his buzzcut thinking it makes him unattractive but when he tells his other bsf/reader she’s like flabbergasted and tells him how hot it makes him and it makes him all cocky. Then he’d probably like ask her is she’s serious and when she says yes finally act on his feelings. Maybe soft smut? If that is okay

HALLELUIAH YES GAWDDDD i love this sm omg

☆

stiles frowns at his reflection. scott is ranting in the school bathroom again, but it's all stuff stiles has already heard before and he's distracted anyway. he runs an absent hand over his short hair before following a still-rambling scott out of the bathroom and down the hall.

it's been getting on his nerves lately, how slow his hair is growing. he thought it was pretty cool at first, until he was slapped in the face with the reality of his best friend getting girls left and right and leaving stiles completely dry. not that it's scott's fault- he's just easy to get jealous of with this kind of thing.

"dude, are you even listening?" scott abruptly stops and whirls on stiles. "you've been dead silent for, like, three minutes."

"yeah, i heard you. but it's a little hard to care about your girlfriend strife when she actively wants to sleep with you. speaking of,"

allison is leaning against a locker, watching scott with a dreamy look. she waves and smiles softly, leaving scott to return the smile-wave combo with a lot less charisma.

"listen," stiles sighs, trying to keep the bite of envy out of his tone, "you probably just need to talk to her. girls love confidence. just, i dunno," he waves wildly with his hands. "do that."

scott squints at him. "i think that might be the worst advice you've ever given me."

"worse than killing derek?"

"possibly. now, i'm gonna go-" scott throws a look towards allison and swallows thickly, "figure that out. i'll see you."

stiles calls after him; "don't be an idiot! remember i'm living vicariously through you right now!"

once scott and allison are far enough down the hall, he rubs a hand over his hair again and huffs. stupid, stupid freshman stiles and his bad hair decisions.

"you're gonna rub right through your skull."

"GAH!" stiles jumps back from you, snapped out of his spiraling thoughts. you laugh at him behind your hand, looking up through your pretty lashes. "jesus, your footsteps are like feathers. i need to put a bell on you."

that makes you frown, shoulder-checking him as you start walking. "you're just not used to anything other than two-left-feet scott mccall. i have perfectly regular footsteps."

he jogs to catch up with you as you make your way to the school parking lot, eyeing your choice of shorts. your legs being out is a big plus for his racing mind today.

"hey, you busy today? scott ditched me to go play loverbirds and i don't want to do my homework." he hums, pushing one of the heavy doors open and letting you through.

"hmm, that depends, do you have food at your house?"

"not even a little," he smirks at the almost-yes as you both trot through the empty lot towards his jeep. "that's why we're getting drive thru."

"who's paying?"

"who do you think?"

you cheer excitedly as he unlocks the jeep.

☆

you're sat criss-cross on stiles' bed as he paces, tracking his movement with your eyes. he's on a tangent about scott, actually, and how his decision-making skills are subpar. you're listening intently with a tilted head, watching his hands flex as he talks, and the way his biceps bulge without his flannel on, and how his jawline is so sharp-

"and girls are confusing, y'know? sorry, no offense, it's just-" this catches your attention, making your eyes flit up to his as they dart around the room. "it's just that you're all so... so... what do you guys even want? can't be money, because scott has a girlfriend. can't be personality, because jackson has a girlfriend. definitely can't be looks, because i'm pretty sure greenburg is going out with abby right now."

he sighs and turns on you, taking a dangerous step closer to the bed. his brow is upturned, eyes pleading, lips parted.

"it's this stupid buzzcut, isn't it?"

you blink, just once, before squinting. "what?"

"my hair, it's so-" he pushes a frustrated hand through it, and his jaw clenches. "so not hot."

and when he says it, with his narrowed eyes all sharp and his pink lips pressed together, you think for a moment he must be joking. "...what?"

he turns his glare onto you. "you know what i mean, okay? it's unattractive, it must be. i mean, i go completely unnoticed-"

"wait, you actually mean to tell me you think your buzzcut is ugly?"

stiles huffs, clearly not liking the bluntness of his feelings being laid out. "that it makes me ugly, yeah."

this makes you pause. maybe you're a minority, but when stiles drives his jeep and starts talking fast about something nerdy, you imagine climbing into his lap and making him crash the car. one time you two were arguing while he was in his lacrosse uniform and you genuinely wanted to offer to suck his dick. and even right now, with his too-tight t-shirt and his frustrated face, you want to ask him to take his frustration out on you... in- in a hot way. you may have gone a little far with that one-

"would you stop looking at me like that?" he snips, eyes darting over your whole face and then your body like he's looking for the off switch. you frown up at where he stands.

"like what? i'm just in disbelief."

he rolls his eyes. "like you're gonna tackle me. it's weird, after what i just told you."

"well, maybe i do want to tackle you." oh shit, that was supposed to stay in your head! quick, make it look like it was on purpose! "the buzzcut doesn't make you ugly."

his face screws up in confusion. "well, then, what does it make me?"

"hot."

you both kinda falter, like there's nowhere to go from here. his mouth gapes open and you watch his cheeks grow pinker, much similar to your own. and since you've already dug the hole and he doesn't seem too bothered, you make it an inch or two deeper.

"you're pretty hot, stiles. i mean, you hang around scott and stay in your room, so it's not like you're around enough girls for them to tell you. and you never ask me, so... that's probably why you're unaware."

he gapes at you, a hand going to his hair like it has a whole new purpose to him. "i didn't know asking you was an option...."

"apparently it is." you shrug. your oversized t-shirt and shorts suddenly seem not pretty enough for where this conversation seems to be going, but it's too late to linger on that thought now. anyway, his eyes are on you like sniper lasers... or something... and he takes another step closer to you.

"okay, um... i'm asking you."

you raise your eyebrows. what, he just wants you to lament on how sexy he is? you're not that easy, he's probably going to use that information to chase the skirts of some long, skinny-legged girl at school. besides, there's not even that much to-

"please." he hums.

you swallow, turning your face away from him. "okay, well, you've got the whole secretly smart guy thing going on. and your nose is really nice. mix that with the way your eyes are...-"

"my eyes are what?"

you glance up to glare at his impatience. he tilts his head at you, and you swear you can see a mischievous glint in those stupid, stupid (aggravatingly sexy) eyes. bastard.

"they're, um, provocative. when you're frustrated. or focused." you turn your eyes awayyyy from his reaction, for your own safety. "and your jaw is nice, so. plus your hands-"

"my hands?"

"are you gonna keep interrupting me? 'cause i'll stop." you gripe up at him, but looking back up was a big mistake. his cheeks are tinted pink but his mouth is quirked up into a knowing little smirk, like your embarrassment is suddenly clay for him to play with. yeah, no. you are not getting stuck in this position with stiles. "okay, yeah, that's enough."

"no, nonononono wait." he crosses the rest of the distance to crouch in front of the bed, looking up at you. "i'm sorry. i'm just not used to this. or you, like this." his hand rests atop your knee. "i won't even react. keep going, just a bit?"

you pout and look at his hand as his thumb rubs back and forth on your bare skin. it's warm and relaxing and makes your whole body burn hot when his hand inches up your thigh just barely. you look back up at him, but his face is earnest, promising. you sigh.

"your buzzcut makes you look good."

his eyebrows inch up his forehead.

"really good."

stiles grins.

☆

you're not really sure if you left stiles' house or escaped it, after that. all you know is that last night did some serious damage to your ego... and some serious maintenance to his. as you leave school, your mind replays the series of events and the blush that has been plaguing your cheeks and making you overheat returns.

dammit! you had to avoid stiles all day because of this stupid embarrassment. which proved difficult, since you guys had plenty of classes together and ate lunch with each other every day since forever. you slap your cheeks as you shoulder your way past the school doors and into the parking lot, glancing over at the field where lacrosse practice is in full swing.

your eyes catch on something odd, and coach's voice fades into the background when the image registers in your mind. stiles is leaning on the fence with his helmet in hand, sweat making his skin glow and a cocky look on his face. he's leaned over the fence, chatting up three soccer girls, who all seem very interested in whatever he's saying.

this, unfortunately, does not make you happy. but alas, what are you going to do? pull him away by the ear and chastise him for... talking to girls? you just wish you hadn't said anything about his stupid buzzcut (which looks unrealistically good with his lacrosse uniform).

all three of the girls throw their heads back laughing. and it's not even, like, pretty girl flirtatious laughter. it's loud, and one of the girls slaps her friend's arm. you want to rip the arm off.

but you keep walking instead, because you decided the bus was too much and walking home was the best option. better than standing in the parking lot, staring like a creep as your best friend (who you want to messy-make-out with) finally gets girls (who you want dead).

this is going to be a pathetic walk home.

you barely get to the end of the parking lot when you hear stiles shout your name as loud as he can.

part of you wants to stomp your feet and cry, or ignore him (as if the echo didn't reverberate off of the school building), or flip him off. like a middle schooler. because right now, you don't want to deal with the humiliation of telling stiles (through mumbles and attitude) how hot he is and how badly you want him to fuck you into his mattress, only for him to use you as matchmaker for hotter, more experienced girls.

but you're not a child, and he's still your best friend. plus, his lacrosse uniform.... yum.

jesus christ, you need a drink. there is no way that thought just consciously happened.

you drag your feet walking back, and the soccer girls skip off with their ponytails swinging. stiles is smiling all big and bright when you finally reach him. you are not smiling at all. "you needed me?"

"yeah, i wanted to know if you were coming over tonight." he stands taller than you, and his buzzcut looks so touchable right now, you want to bend him down to your level and run your fingers through it. you blink up at him as you stare, and the silence stretches. his hand comes up to the back of his neck. "uhh, just 'cause i could help you with the homework we skipped yesterday-" he interrupts himself. "are you okay?"

"i'm fine. for both. the homework and the question." you press your thumb into your palm and turn towards the lacrosse field, away from his searching eyes and worried lips. "see you tomorrow, yeah?"

you start to back away from him when he steps forward, the fence catching him from coming closer to you. "well i just- you should come over. i want you to."

"stiles, i can't wait for lacrosse practice to end-"

"i'll skip. they don't even need me." he clenches his jaw when you look back at him. there's a determination in his eyes you've never seen directed at you, and it makes your stomach flip. you've never fell victim to being his prey before, when he wants something so he gets it. the feeling is unrivaled. his lips part. "please."

you can feel your cheeks flush. why does that always have to work on you?

"okay, alright, no need to beg." you nod your head to his jeep, on the far side of the parking lot. "let's go."

he does a subtle fist pump that he doesn't think you see, and hops the fence to follow you, leaving literally everything in the locker room except his car keys. "how was your day?"

you glance up at him, but only for a second when you see how he's staring. all curious and excited, probably from the attention he was getting from those soccer girls. your lips press together in distaste before you even realize.

"it was fine." you shrug, watching as he gets ahead of you to open the passenger door. "got an A on mrs. martin's project."

stiles hums in approval, which may or may not make your lower stomach fizz with butterflies. then he closes your door and makes the short jog to his side, clambering inside. "good job. you hungry?"

you shake your head as he pulls out of the parking lot, doing your best to ignore the vein in his neck when he looks over his shoulder as he backs out, hand resting on your seat. yeah, you totally don't notice that. "no thanks, i'm okay."

"are you sure? i didn't see you at lunch. or english. or-"

"i wasn't feeling well today."

this shuts him up, but not in a good way. you feel his eyes on you, even as he drives, and it makes you squirm a bit. but he doesn't comment on your icy tone, and you drive the rest of the way in silence.

☆

in fact, you're silent all the way up to his room, where you toss your bag in the corner and toe your shoes off. stiles huffs out a sigh and scrubs over his buzzcut self-consciously, tracking you with his eyes as you trail aimlessly around his room and admire the things on his walls.

he's been dying to ask it. he has to. the girls on the soccer team said... he squeezes his eyes shut while you're turned away, repeating what they said to him in his head for nth time. just be honest, and confident. that's what you'd want.

stiles takes bold strides across the room right up to you. he gives you enough room to turn around and face him, but not much more.

"hey."

you scrunch your face up just a bit in confusion. "...hi?"

he clears his throat, his jaw flexing on it's own accord. "the...- okay, when you said my buzzcut makes me look really good-"

"stiles," you scoff and push past him, walking to the middle of his room as a means of escape. "i'm not doing this with you."

"no, wait, doing what?" he scurries around you to face you again, holding you lightly by the shoulders. "waitwaitwait. you gotta let me-"

"no. stop." you're embarrassed, he can tell now. the way you turn your face away and narrow your brow, he never knew he'd be able to read you so well. but he's doing it now, and he's not happy with what he's seeing.

"no, you stop. let me ask you what i want to ask, alright?" he huffs through his nose, and watches as you seem to come to attention. it gives him an odd thrill to see you react so readily when he corrects you. "are you gonna listen to me?"

you glare up at him for a second too long before nodding slowly. he nods too, and in a impatient, annoyed tone, he grumbles: "good."

and then stiles watches your eyes flicker as you fluster much more than he expected. he didn't think much of the words when he was saying them, but here you both are, weirdly into it. he blinks hard to clear his head.

"when you said my buzzcut makes me look 'really good'," he repeats, "did you mean really good to you or to other people?"

he feels you shift your weight by the movement of your shoulders. looking away, you hum, "i don't understand why this is important to you."

stiles narrows his eyes. "yes you do. you know you're into me and you just wont say it."

you snap your eyes to his and take a challenging step forward. "who said i'm into you? just because i said you're good looking doesn't mean you get to use me as some matchmaking machine. i won't inflate your ego just so you can hook up with popular girls, stiles. you can't-"

"i'm not asking so you can inflate my ego." stiles takes a step towards you, making you step back. "i'm asking because i want to know if you were serious." another step. "because i want you to think that about me." another step, and your back hits the wall.

you watch, doe eyed, as stiles brings a hand up to push some of your hair away from your face. his eyes meet yours, but dip down when your lips part. he swallows.

"so," stiles hums, towering over you. "were you being serious?"

stiles watches in awe as your pretty mouth forms around his new favorite word.

"yes."

he half expects himself to tear both of your clothes off and go wild. but his body moves on its own accord; taking your face gently in his hands, kissing you like you're made of glass. when you reciprocate eagerly, he feels his pants start to strain. fuck. seriously? can you please pretend you've had at least some action before?

he can't believe he has to talk his dick down when he's kissing you.

pressing you back up against his bedroom wall, he feels goosebumps rise as your nails rake lightly over his buzz, and it makes him hum. stiles gently removes one hand from the curve of your jaw and slides it onto your hip instead. he loves your hips. he loves them even more when his hands are on them, apparently, because the feeling of it is otherworldly.

what's even better, though, is when your tongue collides with his and you let out a small noise. it's high-pitched and whiney, and it almost makes him finish prematurely. he licks eagerly into your mouth to try and draw it out of you again, but you seem to silence yourself from embarrassment. this does not fly with stiles. his knee draws forward and splits your thighs apart, resting in between them, and he moves down to kiss at your neck. he'll make you whine again, he's sure of it.

"wait," you breathe out. he almost doesn't catch it, too busy with the way your skin feel on his lips and how he has you up against his wall, breathless and pliant. but he pulls back (albeit reluctantly) and meets your dazed look with one of his own.

"what? is this okay? do you wanna stop?" he might actually die on the spot if you want to stop. but he'd do it, for you. his hand massages your hip where he's got you gently pinned, and he watches as it visibly makes you sway (swoon, but you'd never admit that).

"no, no. but, your dad-"

"he's out."

"he could get home anytime."

"we can be quick. we don't have to do anything more than this right now."

"stiles," you're laughing at him. it's airy, and mostly just a teasing smile, but you're still laughing at him. "are you just saying that to get me in your bed? i mean..."

your thigh, which is in between his because of his being in between yours, slides up and presses lightly against his hard-on. his jaw goes slack as the unexpected pressure washes pleasure all over his nerves, and his shoulders bend over for a moment as his hips react on their own. he stops himself, thoroughly embarrassed, and glares at you. you giggle behind your hand, raising an eyebrow. "how're you gonna say you don't want anything below the collar with that going on?"

he pushes your thigh away, shaking his head. "i never said i didn't want anything more, i said we don't have to do anything more. plus, you're the one making the noises and touching me and... so, if anything, this isn't even my fault." stiles gestures vaguely to his dick.

"i'm flattered." you deadpan, before your hand trails from his chest to his stomach. he watches in awe, still half disbelieving that he got you here. you hook your fingers into his waistband and look up at him. "promise your dad wont walk in on us?"

"can you not talk about my dad while turning me on?" he groans, scrubbing a hand over his face. "swear on my life, you have nothing to worry about."

you nod and lean back against the wall, tugging him by his pants to meet you there. he follows suit, lining his body against yours as he kisses you, hands on your hips with yours running through his buzz. he captures your lower lip in his teeth and gently as he can, and you make another short, high-pitched noise again. his dick twitches in his pants.

"you wanna, um," you suck in a breath as he kisses your neck, "move to the bed?"

"yes," he sighs, and immediately pulls your hips forward and directs you to his bed. when you drop onto it and scoot back, stiles hesitates. your hair is a bit messy, lips are full, and your eyes have a glint in them he's never seen before. he's assaulted with the thought of you being his wife and having his kids and growing old and dying together, and then he blinks it away. jesus christ, you're a powerful woman.

he wants to do anything to make you look like this all the time. needy, pretty, all your insecurities and doubts kissed right off of your lips, even if it's just for a bit. is this what being horny is going to be like for him now? is he gonna be a sap when you want to fuck?

stiles crawls over you slowly, laying you back against his pillows. you're excited and it shows, and you're both smiling when he kisses you this time.

☆

he's a mess for days after, head full of the faces you make when he touches you just right, the noises coming from your mouth when you finish. the feeling of skin on skin, the picture perfect look of you wearing his shirt after. it takes scott about two and a half seconds to scrunch up his nose and make a disgusted face at stiles when he starts thinking it. your beauty is just seeping out of him, like he soaked you up and now every werewolf in a one hundred mile radius can smell the lovesick puppy on him.

you want to go on dates, too. real ones, all the time, and you think he's hot and cute and sometimes pretty, which is confusing to him but he likes it anyway. and he wants to save up his money so he can take you to a fancy restaurant. and he is so whipped.

which he's fine with. as long as it's for you. honestly, he's fine with almost anything, as long as it's for you.

☆

i didn't write smut and i apologize but my writing process is to blackout while my fingers fly across my keyboard like i'm a hacker spy until i come to and there's a story on the screen. so. smut didn't happen naturally so it ain't gonna happen at all, i guess. i dunno. ask writing star, not editing star. sorry i've been so absent, holidays is super busy with extended family and such. wish me luck. xoxo!!!

☆

BONUS!! stiles asks some poor soccer girls for help before you went to his house after lacrosse practice. the advice is... really somethin'.

"hey, um, lily?" he had to guess the name of the girl jogging past, but he got it right. she stopped and approached him skeptically, glancing at her two friends in front of her.

"yeah?" she threaded her fingers through the fence as he strided the rest of the distance to her. her two friends had begun making their way over as well. she had to squint past the sun as she stared at him. "what's up?"

"hi, hey, we have bio together. fourth period? i've sat behind you all sememster?"

her face showed no recognition.

"...anyway, i have a question. actually, i can ask all three of you. since you're, um, girls."

her two friends had approached at that point, and looked equally as put off by stiles as lily did. he cleared his throat and started on his ramble:

"so, let's say i'm best friends with this girl, and i like her. like, a lot. and she's kinda totally way out of my leauge, but we never talk about it because she doesn't see things like that anyway. and one day i get on a rant about girls and how confusing they are because, y'know," he gestured to his face like it was a tell of itself, "and she says that my biggest insecurity- err, physically- is actually really hot. and she says my hands are sexy. and my eyes are seductive. and she's like, kinda blushing a lot? but she blushes anyway about stuff around me so it doesn't really-"

"she likes you." one of lily's friends piped up behind her. "if that's what you're asking."

"are you sure? i'm not her type, plus-"

"dude," sighed the other one. the three girls shared a look, making stiles gulp. "girls don't call guys' hands sexy unless they're dying to have them in their mouth."

"mazie!" lily whirled around to slap her friend's shoulder, which did absolutely nothing to censor her. when she turned back to stiles, it was apologetically. "sorry, but she's got a point."

he slumped onto the fence in relief. "you think so? i want to put my hands in her mouth, if she's asking for that."

"nice." mazie nodded as the other two girls made noises of disgust. ignoring them, mazie continued. "honestly, she probably likes you but thinks you don't like her. especially if you're chatting up three soccer girls, looking like that."

the only girl stiles hadn't gotten the name of nodded solemly, and lily put her hands on her hips, determined. "okay, skinhead. how're you gonna confess?"

stiles smiles awkwardly. "uh, i'll just tell her when she comes over tonight?"

lily barked out a laugh, and her two friends followed suit. it was loud, like three crows making fun of him while they toss their heads back. it ended abruptly, too, and lily glared daggers at him in the silence. "no, idiot."

stiles whimpered a little "oh."

"girls love confidence." the unnamed girl declared, tilting her head. "when i flirt with girls i always make them like, say how hot i am. always gets them going."

"god," lily scrunched her nose, "are you both ovulating? we do not need to know all of that."

"so... what should i do?" stiles blinked at them, and they refocused their attention on him.

"be confident. be honest. that's always a rare, and hot, trait in a guy." lily said, before her eyes roved over him analytically. "anyway, you're attractive. it'll be fine."

"he's attractive?" the unnamed girl said, making all three of them laugh again. lily slapped her arm, and stiles let himself get distracted as his eye caught on someone walking across the parking lot.

oh, it's you.

his body feels a bit warmer, buzzing with nervous energy, as he shouts your name.

☆

[dietcokeangel2004]

Stiles Stilinski

Teen Wolf

[bluewxrld07]

Hollow (Luke Hughes)

Summary: Y/N thought she mattered to Luke in more ways than one. Yet that all changes when he makes a choice that has her feeling betrayal and heartbreak.

Warning(s): She's an angsty one, tears, starvation, negative feelings, self-doubt, bed-rotting, showing some love to our boy Ethan Edwards because he's bestie

Y/N lets out a huff as she shuts her laptop closed, rubbing her forehead as she yawns. She looks at the time to see it's almost five in the evening, causing her to jump up from her seat and pack up her stuff.

It was NHL draft day. Luke's draft year specifically. She wanted to be there on the special day to help celebrate, but he assured her it would just be low-key with his brothers and parents which she happily respected. So she chose to stay with some of the hockey boys back at the Hockey house that had to stay for classes like her, to watch the draft in the living room.

As she walked back to the house from campus she would keep checking her watch to make sure she wouldn't be late, as she promised she'd watch from start to finish.

To say Luke was nervous was an understatement. There was a probability that he'd play with Jack in Jersey, and there was a chance he would be in the top five overall picks in the first round which made him more nervous.

Her and Luke have been the closest of friends since Y/N could remember. Their families having lived next door to one another since Quinn was born, making Y/N one of the honorary family members of the Hughes group. She had seen it all.

She remembered the day she had convinced him to stick with Hockey when he was having his doubts. The day he walked out of the UMich arena because he felt like he couldn't take the pressure. She bursted into that house later that night to get his head out of his ass and show what kind of potential he held.

She was there through every single moment, and she couldn't be more proud of him.

"The party is here!" she yells out as she opens the front door, shutting it behind her and setting her backpack down.

The few boys that were there all let out hums and warm greetings, some giving her hugs as she came and sat on the couch. Rutger's girlfriend squeezed her tight as she sat next to her. "You nervous?" she asks.

Y/N shrugs. "A little, but he's got it in the bag." Y/N assures, thanking one of the boys who handed her a plate of food and a water bottle.

Her phone begins to buzz which causes her to set the stuff down and pick it up. She smiles and graciously slides to answer the call.

"You guys ready to go?" Y/N says in an exciting manner.

"Oh always! Have you met me, Y/N?" Ethan jokes, taking a sip of his soda as he pans the phone to show Duke, Jacob, Luca and Frank. Y/N frowns as she sees the background, noticing it looks a little familiar.

"Where are you guys at?" she asks, making Ethan put a finger up to signal to give him a second. "We're with the man himself, of course. Where else?"

The phone switches over to show Luke standing over by some of the other familiar faces of their friend group and conversing. Her eyes didn't miss how the one girl Luke had been off and on with was there. Y/N's stomach drops a little more.

"Oh," she says a little deflated. "I thought it'd be just him and his family." she says, not really wanting to sound as upset as she felt.

Ethan frowns at her in confusion. "Oh no he's been planning this since he found out he would be drafted. Wanted it to be a big party and what not! Jack and Us have been helping him get it put together since day one. He wanted as many of the important people in his life as he could get that weren't busy." Ethan explains, making her heart drop even more.

Had she really not meant that much to him as she thought?

Y/N tries to fight back the tears in her eyes, not knowing how to react. "I gotcha. It's just when I asked him he said he was just having it be him and his family, so he told me not to worry about coming. He said it was a lowkey thing." she admits, making Ethan stop chewing the food he was eating and look at her in shock.

"Wait what? He's been telling everyone he wanted it to be a big thing," he says, watching her face fall. "Sweetheart I'm sorry I swear I had no idea. I thought you were busy with classes otherwise I would've asked." Ethan apologizes.

Y/N just nods and puts up a fake warm smile. "Not a big deal, Eddy I promise I'll talk to you guys tomorrow yeah? Go be with the big guy." she half-heartedly jokes.

"Y/N-"

"Go enjoy the night Ethan, okay?"

He just sighs and nods before Y/N hangs up the phone. She sets it on the coffee table in front of her, staring into space. She began to chew at her nails, a nervous habit of hers.

A nudge on her shoulder made her snap out of it and look over to see Rutger's girlfriend frowning. "You okay?" she asks, and Y/N just nods with a fake smile.

"Oh shit here it is! Let's go Lukey boy!" Rutger yells out to the side of the couch, causing cheers and howls to come out.

"With the fourth overall pick, the New Jersey Devils select, from the USA Development program, Luke Hughes."

Everyone bursts out into cheers except Y/N. She watches as they all are going ballistic, she sees the TV transition over to where Luke sat. He was sat with his brothers, parents and grandparents next to him while there was an entire large crowd behind him going crazy.

Rutger's cheers silent slightly as he looks at Y/N whom looks like her entire world had fallen apart, trying to fight tears in her eyes and biting her nails which he knew was something she did to prevent from having an attack.

He watches as she slowly gets up and walks her plate and drink into the kitchen. Rutger soon follows.

Hearing soft sobs leaving the kitchen causes his speed to rise, seeing her hands holding onto dear life on both sides of the kitchen counter. Her head had fallen in front of her and he could tell her body was shaking as she cried.

"Y/N?" He asks cautiously, causing her head to snap up and wipe her eyes while turning the faucet.

"Um ye-yeah, yeah? What's up?" she says, not turning to face him.

"Turn around."

"I'm washing my plate-"

"Turn around now."

She sighs as she turns off the water, slowly turning to face Rutger. He sees her eyes bloodshot and red, making his chest deflate.

"What's going on?" he asked as he walked over to her to pull her into a tight hug. She wraps her arms around him.

"Nothing it's not a big deal. I'm just being dramatic." she says to soften the blow.

"Clearly it's not if you're this upset. Why're you upset?"

"I just thought I mattered to him," she admits with a hiccup. "I don't get it."

He frowns as he looks down at her. "What do you mean?"

"Luke," she says. "He told me not to worry about doing something for his draft day. Said it was just only going to be him with his family and that was it."

Rutger felt his chest tighten, knowing that Luke had been boasting about wanting his draft party to be a big get together. He talked about it to the team for weeks.

"Oh Y/N," he sighs, hearing her sniffle into his chest.

"What hurts is I know that people can go from people I know to people I don't," she says. "But I never thought he would be one of them. I thought I mattered more than that."

Rutger just lets her cry and word vomit it all out, feeling her body shake in his arms.

"And I feel like shit that I'm crying over this. I just felt like I was important to him. I care so much about him, Rut. I don't even know what to do." she sobs.

His girlfriend walks into the kitchen a frown on her face as she sees her friend sobbing in Rut's arms. She hurries over and takes Y/N into her arms.

"Bring her up into my room for now. I'll come grab you guys in a bit." he mutters to her and she nods, leading Y/N up the stairs. Y/N turns back to Rutger.

"Please Rut," she begs. "Don't tell him anything. Don't ruin his big night. Do that for me please. Make sure the boys do too. I can't do it right now. Please. He deserves this big night to celebrate. I want him happy."

Rutger hesitantly nods before the girls resume leaving. He pulls out his phone, scrolling through his contacts and pressing the call button when he finds who he was looking for.

The phone answers on the second ring.

"Hello?"

"Hey it's Rut. I need some advice."

"Why, what's going on?"

"I think Luke may have fucked up," he says looking back over to where Y/N had once stood in tears. "Yeah I think he fucked up big time."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The friend group was getting worried.

It had been almost an entire two weeks since draft day, and Y/N hadn't been seen since draft night.

Once Rutger finished talking with Quinn, he had gone up to his room to see Y/N was sound asleep in his girlfriend's arms. The next morning when he went to check in on her, she was gone.

Nobody had seen or heard from her since that night, and they were all worried.

Ethan and the other boys were finally back on campus as well, becoming concerned after hearing how Y/N reacted to what had been said.

When they had gone over to her dorm her roommate had said she hadn't been back in a while, causing them to worry more because they didn't know where else she could be.

They knew that she would never miss her classes, but Duke had also pointed out that most of her stuff was online and remote since there were no summer school classes she could take for teaching.

Luke on the other hand had been going insane.

After his draft night, he was concerned not hearing from her. He had received a text message from her on draft night at almost three in the morning.

So proud of you.

That was all she wrote, but she had been silent since.

He became more stressed out when all of the boys had driven out to the lakehouse, only seeing Y/N wasn't with them. She always came with them after classes got done.

"What do you mean you haven't seen her?" he asks.

"I don't know man she's been MIA. Nobody has seen her in days, her roommate said she hasn't been back at her dorm. She isn't answering anyone's calls."

Luke runs his hand through his hair, the other staying planted on his hips. "Well why would she just stop answering anyone? That's not like her at all!"

The boys just shrug, knowing that it was best not to tell him why. Especially after Rutger had told them Y/N specifically begged them to not tell him and to let it be.

"I'm gonna lose my shit." he scoffs with a half-hearted chuckle.

"I don't really think you have the right to be freaked out about this, man." Ethan slips out, getting an elbow to his stomach from Rutger's girlfriend along with a shush.

Luke whips his head around, narrowing his eyes. "What the fuck do you mean, Edwards."

"What I mean, is that you lied to her face." he says.

"Ethan no." Duke says sternly, Ethan scoffs. "No guys, I'm sick of this."

Ethan turns back towards Luke. "You lied to her, Luke. Why would you lie to her? After all, she was your biggest supporter." he admits, making Luke's entire face fall and turn white.

"What?"

"You lied to her about your draft night. You should've just had the balls to say she wasn't invited, man. Not lie and say it was family only."

Luke felt his heart drop to his ass.

He couldn't even say he forgot about that conversation with her, because she had brought up putting something together multiple times.

He didn't even have an excuse for it.

"So if you really think that that didn't break her heart, seeing all those people there, seeing how blatantly you lied to her face about it, then I don't know what to tell you."

Luke stood there silently, rubbing his hand over his mouth. "Why didn't any of you tell me?" he says softly, trying not to explode.

"She begged us not to, Lukey. She didn't want to take away from your big night. She knew how big of a deal it was, and she felt like she shouldn't be making a big deal of it." Rutger explains.

Luke scoffs and shakes his head, looking down at the floor. "She means more than someone calling my name out for a draft pick! You fucking tell me!" he snaps loudly, making the boys all flinch at his tone.

Ethan doesn't budge, but advances towards Luke with his finger pointed at him.

"Then why fucking act like she doesn't matter? Lie to her fucking face and go behind her back for weeks?" Ethan pushes back.

"You better watch yourself Eddy-"

"No, you're not gonna fucking tell me to watch myself! If I'm gonna be pissed off, I'm gonna be pissed of on her behalf because she's choosing not to be! Have some fucking balls Luke!" Ethan rages, getting pulled back from Luke who is flaring just as bad.

"I didn't fucking mean to! I don't know why I did it okay? Is that what you want to fucking hear?" Luke admits loudly, the house going quiet.

"You're a fucking-"

"Enough!"

Rutger's girlfriend shouts out, putting herself between the group and Luke.

She puts her hands up to both sides, pointing over to the group. "You boys need to get a fucking grip! She would not approve of the attack happening right now, as she told me on our way over here to specifically not do that," and she turns to Luke with a finger pointed. "You need to figure out how you're going to fucking explain yourself. I've never seen her this hurt."

Luke narrows his eyes at her. "Wait, wait, wait. You've spoken to Y/N? Today?" he calls out.

She puts her hands down and keeps her composure as she crosses her arms.

"Yes I have. I saw her yesterday-"

"Kayleigh why the fuck-"

"Don't start! She only wanted me knowing because she knew I'd be able to keep my mouth shut!"

"Where is she then?" Luke asks.

Kayleigh hesitated for a moment. "She's home."

"She's home??? As in she's been next door this whole time??" he bursts out, beginning to walk towards his front door.

"Don't even think about going over there right now!" she burst back, causing Luke to stop in his tracks.

"No I need to see her-"

"Luke not now," she warns. "I'm going over there with Ethan. She specifically asked for me to bring him over while you guys are all out. I wasn't even supposed to say anything today, but you gave me no choice as we see."

Luke scoffs. "So you guys are going to go out, sort your shit out as boys, and I'm going to go see her. See if she's ready." she explains before looking at Ethan.

"Let's go."

Ethan nods before following the blonde out the front door and next door.

Meanwhile, Y/N was inside her bedroom with the curtains shut. She hadn't moved, hadn't left her room since she got in two weeks ago.

Her face was puffy, yet also so hollow. She couldn't bring herself to stomach much, always feeling a sickening type of way every time she thought back to Luke.

She felt so hurt. Betrayed. Used. Depressed. She soon felt so much at once that she became numb. Her thoughts were telling her she was being dramatic, insecure, clingy. Anything to invalidate how she felt.

She hadn't changed out of her sweats and oversized tshirt she had gotten home, not feeling the need to do it since she wouldn't leave her house. The motivation to move was hard for her to do. Her hair was knotted, not caring how it looked. She didn't have anyone she cared to impress anymore.

Not that Luke would ever look her way like that.

A few knocks on her door had made her snap out of her thoughts, hearing her door creak open. "Knock, knock." Rutger's girlfriend's voice boomed in softly.

Y/N didn't move. Didn't mutter a word. Didn't show any sign of living except for the breathing of her chest.

"I brought a guest," she announced, Y/N soon seeing Ethan come into view. Y/N's eyes met his, watching his demeanor falter completely as he looked over her face.

"Oh sweetheart." Is all he has to say, causing Y/N to burst into tears that she didn't know she still had.

Ethan immediately climbs into bed next to her and holds her close as she lets out what she could. His eyes look up from Y/N's figure to Kayleigh. The look on his face showed murder in his eyes towards Luke, making the blonde nod to understand she knows.

Once the girl was calm and quiet in Ethan's arms, that was when he chose to speak. "How're you doing? Dumb question, I know." he says, trying to lighten the mood slightly. Y/N stayed still and didn't say anything, just shrugged her shoulders.

"Haven you eaten?"

She shook her head.

"Have you left your room?"

She shakes her head again.

"Have you showered today?"

She shook her head one last time.

Ethan sighs as he hugs her close before pulling away slightly to look down at her.

"This isn't good for you, sweets," he says with sad eyes. "I know you're hurting, I know." he says, rubbing her arm. "But we gotta start somewhere. He's an asshole, and I'm not going to let him ruin your days any longer. I'm going to get you up and moving. Today." he explains, making her freeze which he felt.

"Y/N."

"No."

Her voice is scratchy and rough, but he hears the fire in her voice.

"Y/N don't make me make you."

"You told me to bring Ethan over, love. You should've known he wasn't going to leave till he's got you going." Kayleigh says with a light chuckle.

Y/N huffs, not moving from her spot.

"If you don't get up, I'm making you take a bath in the pool."

Y/N's puffed eyes meet his with a glare.

"You wouldn't."

Ethan gave her daring eyes, and she just glares back at him. "Y/N I don't want him to be the reason you quit. I don't want you giving up period. I love you, but you need to get up. This is the summer before senior year. The one summer you vowed would be our best summer yet, remember?"

Y/N just looks down.

"You deserve the absolute world. I'll be damned if you let Luke's dumbass decisions get in the way of it." He says, his eyes pleading for her to give in.

Y/N's eyes leave his and looks at Kayleigh. She sheepishly nods. "I think he's right, honey. You deserve to make the best out of the summer. We can make it happen." she adds, earning an agreeing hum from Ethan.

Y/N starts to debate in her mind, before sighing.

"Okay."

Ethan's face breaks out into a large grin, soon perking up in her bed. "Good because now I can happily do this without feeling as bad."

"Doing what-"

Before she can argue, Ethan grabs her and throws her over his shoulder and runs out of her room. She's yelling out in protests and hitting his back, ass, shoulders and wherever else she can reach.

"Ethan I swear I will never talk to you again if you do this!"

"Oh you would never! You love me too much!"

"Ethan no! Kayleigh!" she shouts out in hopes the blonde will be on her side.

"I love you I swear, Y/N!" she sings out, earning an awe faced Y/N

Ethan opens the sliding door to Y/N's house while ignoring her protests. "Ethan no, come on! Put me down!" she shouts, Ethan adjusting her in his hold. Now he held her in his arms bridal style, running towards her pool.

"One!"

"Ethan-"

"Two!"

"I swear if you-"

"And three, in we go!"

Before she can argue anymore, she lets out a yelp as Ethan lets out a howl in excitement while jumping in with her in his arms.

As they resurface, Y/N has the biggest pout on her face along with furrowed brows as Ethan is laughing across from her. She splashes him harshly, earning a squeal from the boy as he splashes her back.

He kept splashing her playfully until he finally heard her giggles breakthrough the shouting and cussing at him, making him stop and let her whip her head back at him.

He just smiles in triumph at her. "There's the smile I know." he says before pulling her in for a hug.

Y/N freezes for a second, soon wrapping her arms around him tightly. Grateful she had friends like Ethan and Kayleigh to give her the tough love they did.

Little did she realize that a certain curly-headed blonde stood over in his own yard with a frown on his face at the interaction he watched, wishing he didn't mess up as badly as he did.

He had to think of a way to make it up to her, and think fast.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Absolutely not."

"Please Y/N? Everyone misses you and has been worried sick about you. Even if it's a quick visit."

"No I'm not going over there. I can't."

Ethan sighs. "You know you're going to have to face him eventually. He's not going to let it go. He's been going crazy without you."

Y/N just looks at her lap. "I don't think I can face him, Eddy. I don't even know what to say to him."

"Look, as much as I'm absolutely ticked at him, I'm going to also back him up and say he really has been losing his mind without you around." he admits.

Y/N just shrugs her shoulder, picking at her nails. "We all miss you, Y/N/N."

"I know, and I miss you all too. It's just hard for me to walk in like I haven't been MIA."

"I'll be honest, when I went back over there I told them that if I could get you over that, that they need to not bombard you. I know you'd be more uncomfy if they did otherwise."

Ethan leans forward to look at her more seriously. She looks back up at him. "Just try at least. If you can't do it, then you can leave. No questions asked."

Y/N sits on it for a moment, fighting with her mind. Would Luke even want her there? Would he even are she was there?

"Fine. Just for a few minutes."

Ethan smiles warmly at her before helping her up and walking towards the front door to put on their shoes.

The walk over to the Hughes household was silent, Y/N taking quiet deep breaths as they got closer. She felt like her stomach dropped to her ass every step she took, unsure of how to react.

Her nails were being picked at so much in that moment, she was wondering they weren't bleeding yet.

Ethan pushes open the front door, leading her in to go first with him shutting the door shortly behind her. She could hear the soft booming of music going on in the backyard, signaling that the traditional bonfire was up and blazing.

"You doing okay?" Ethan asks, grabbing a drink from the fridge and handing it to her.

She nods slowly as they continue their journey to the back sliding door, trying to hide her shaking hands.

As they get closer to the bonfire, she can see them all laughing and chatting beside each other while roasting marshmallows. Duke is the first to see her figure, doing a double take as he took a sip of his drink. He throws his arms up in the air as he swallows.

"Heyyyy the party's here!" he jokes, knowing that was her go to line whenever she walked in somewhere.

Everyone soon turned around and stared directly at her, soon hearing cheers and warm welcomes coming in as a few of them hurried up to hug her tight.

She smiled a real smile as they all came to hug her tight, her insides not going a million miles a minute anymore. As she goes to sit down next to Kayleigh, the girl side hugs her tightly before returning back into conversation with Duke's girlfriend.

Rutger walks in front of her and squeezes her arm with a relieved look on his face. "So happy to see you again, Y/N/N. Truly." he says with genuine emotion behind his words. She squeezes his hand.

"Missed you too Rut."

He squeezes her arm one more time before walking over towards Ethan and Tyler.

Y/N takes a deep breath before turning her attention to the two girls next to her whom had her join into the conversation, happily beginning to take part in it.

Luke's eyes never left her figure, as it's been taking everything in him to not run up and hug her and tell her how sorry he was. He knew how she was when she needed space. The last thing he wanted to was overwhelm her when Ethan finally got her out of her house for the first time in days.

So he just watched as she interacted with everyone, seeing the longer she stayed, the more comfortable and less tense she became.

He was snapped out of his daze when a hand smacked onto his shoulder, seeing Ethan looking down at him as he took a seat. His eyes going over towards Y/N.

He nods towards her direction as Luke's eyes don't take long to follow. "She's a mess, man." he says softly. "That's the worst I've ever seen her. She wasn't anywhere near that way when Fantilli broke things off with her."

Luke sighs silently. "I don't even know where to start." he says in defeat.

"Admit you messed up. Be honest with her. Own your shit, Luke." he says. "She cares so much about you. That girl is a ride or die type of situation. You don't let girls like her go." he says, slightly pointing towards her.

Luke huffs. "I know. I just don't know if there's any fixing. I think I took it too far."

Ethan shook his head. "She still wants you around. She may want her space right now. But it doesn't mean she doesn't want you trying."

Luke looks at the ground. "I really do care about her. A lot more than I have ever admitted."

"Oh we know. Trust me dude, you're not slick about it." Ethan chuckles. Luke chuckles lightly too, Ethan slapping his back. "Are we good though?" Luke says, and Ethan hums before nodding slowly.

"Yeah we're good," he says, patting Luke's back once more before look at him. "But just know now thing."

Luke looks at him. "Know what?"

"If you don't finally get your head out of your ass," he starts. "I'm swooping in and going after her."

Luke swears his heart stops for a second. Ethan just nods. "Take care of her when you get her, man. When you get her, keep her. Don't try doing anything that may hurt her. She deserves everything life offers." Ethan says as he looks over at Y/N.

She was laughing at something Kayleigh had said, making Luke's heart warm at the sight of seeing the genuine glow in her eyes again.

Luke nods, clenching his jaw. "I got it. I promise I'll take good care of her." he says, Ethan nodding with a pause smile.

"I know you will."

The night carries on, Y/N feeling a little more at ease being around her friends.

She soon gets up from her spot with a long stretch, bending over to the girls. "I'm going to go to the bathroom real quick and get another drink. I'll be back."

The girls nod at her before she walks back up to the Hughes household, the house looking a little different in her eyes. Once she's inside and walks down the hall, she feels her chest going slightly tight again.

As soon as she's finished freshening up she heads over to the kitchen, opening the fridge doors and skims over the drink selection trying to find what her next drink will be.

"Pineapple high noons are in the drawer behind the Coors," a voice perks up. "I hid them because I know how annoyed you get when Duke takes them." Luke says softly, as if he's afraid she's going to disappear.

Y/N just nods while grabbing one, shutting the fridge and turning around.

Luke is leaning against the kitchen island across from her, his hood up on his head, eyes looking tired and a little bloodshot. "I know you like your space," he says as he clears his throat. "But can I just say something? You don't have to say anything or even listen if you don't want to."

Y/N doesn't say a word, she just looks down at her drink and fidgets with the rim.

Luke takes that as his signal to start.

"I want you to know that I never meant to hurt you. Ever. That's the absolute last thing I'd ever want to do to the one person whose opinion I care about the most."

Y/N stays silent. Luke continues.

"I know that based off of my actions, it may seem like the opposite. The truth is I have no excuse as to why I did what I did. I truly think my mind just thought you'd still come regardless. But I was dumb to not make sure you were there. No excuses for it. I wanted you to be the one I ran to hug, to share the moment with. But you weren't there and that's completely my fault. I can sit here and say I wish I could go back in time to change it, but it's too late for that. I can't change what I did, and now I will sit here day after day owning that how I chose to go about this was wrong. It wasn't fair to you after everything you've helped me through."

Luke has slowly made his way closer to her, ever so cautiously.

"You were the one who dragged me by my ear back into that rink when I wanted to quit playing at UMich. You were the one who came and made sure I was awake even if I snoozed my alarms. You were the one who stayed up late with me in the rink to make sure I got the skill right. You were there for it all. And I am the fucking stupidest person for not making sure the one person I needed by my side the most was not there. Party or not." Luke says, tears in his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Y/N. I will spend every single day in regret for not fixing my mistakes."

Y/N sits there quietly, biting onto her lip to keep it from quivering.

Luke slowly lifts his hands up to cup her face, his hands shaking as he holds her jawline like it's glass. He lifts her face to look up at him.

"Don't ever think that you don't matter to me. You matter more than words can describe. This isn't how I wanted to start our summer, and that's my fault for creating that divide between us." he says, his face falling at seeing how tired mentally she looked.

"I want to spend it taking you on dates, spending it holding you close by the fire, sitting with you on that boat, getting to tell you how hard I've fallen for you," he admits, her lip quivering. "But now I will spend this entire summer, proving to you how much you matter to me. Proving how much I care that you are in my life. Because not having you here the last two weeks, not having you be there when I called or came back to the Hockey house, seeing what it was like not having you exist in my life is something I don't want to experience again."

Luke was sobbing at this point. He was hoping, praying that this wasn't the end of their path. Their story. He looks back and forth between her eyes, pleadingly and in hopes that she will give him a chance to prove himself that he wanted her. Needed her.

Y/N wasn't sure of how to react. He spilled a lot that she didn't know he felt, let alone knowing he had fallen for her. There were so many emotions running through her mind, she didn't know how she wanted to react.

She was so deeply in love with Luke Hughes, and she wanted to give in so quickly. But her body was fighting it, knowing she needed to still give herself some space to ease back into their routine. She didn't know what to do in that moment.

"I don't know what to say Luke," she whimpers out, her voice not feeling steady. "You cut me deep. I'm hurt."

He nods quickly. "I know. I know I did, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." he mutters to her, seeing her internally battling her thoughts. "Just give me a chance. Give me one chance to prove to you." he begs.

Y/N couldn't just let him go after everything. Everything they've been through together since day one. There are things that they have dealt with that nobody else knows about. She felt so deeply for this boy. The way he looked at her like nobody else was in the room, the way he would never fail to make her laugh, or the way he'd always find a way to help her with her presentation for student teaching. There were the big things and the littlest of minimal things he has done that she knew there was more to their story.

Y/N slowly brings a hand to his cheek, wiping the nonstopfilowing tears that were falling. He lets his face burrow into her touch.

"You have a lot of redeeming to do, Luke," she starts. "But I'm willing to try and give you a chance to prove it."

Luke feels like his chest could breathe again. Like she was the one giving him the air in his lungs. He nods continuously, pulling her into a hug.

"I promise, Y/N. I promise." he whispers to her. Y/N didn't have to ask him what he was promising to her.

She just knew.

[uhhhj13iguess]

in his flannel

stiles stilinski x fem!reader (no (y/n) use)

summary: you show up for a study session in a particular choice of clothing

wc: ~900

a best friends to lovers trope is at no moment NOT running through my head. i'm also entirely thinking of buzzcut!stiles in this

masterlist and taglist!

when stiles opened the door, his mouth was dry on impact. there you stood, innocent and ready to study for your upcoming test -- in his flannel. he didn’t remember when it came into your possession, but he didn’t care.

he didnt even know he wanted so badly to see you in his clothing, until now, where he just can't seem to take his eyes off of you.

you.

in his shirt.

"stiles? can i come in, or..."

you spoke suddenly, breaking stiles from his trance. he shook his head dramatically, cringing at his first impression at the door.

"yeah jesus sorry, come in."

he stepped out of the way, making small talk as you made your way to his room, unloading your textbooks and notes across his bed. you sprawled out, laying on your stomach as you began to flip through the pages. stiles' eyes once again fell to the way his flannel fell against the curves of your body, his own feeling too hot suddenly.

he hadn't really thought of you this way before. okay, that was a lie, but he never took it seriously. he’d known you forever, and anytime he felt you unconsciously slip into his thoughts, he felt embarrassed to be thinking of his best friend like that and pushed it away. but now, seeing a shirt he had worn a few days earlier now draped over what he can only presume as your bare torso, he was torn between feelings of cuteness aggression and wanting to rip the shirt off of you.

you could sense the gaze, looking towards his frame slumped at his desk, smiling as he turned away as though he'd been caught.

he cleared his throat. "so. where do you want to start?"

you weighed your response carefully.

stiles had left his flannel in your car the other night after dropping him off, and you hadn't taken it off since. originally, you'd put it in your backpack to bring to him the next day, however after being sleepless long enough, you grabbed it, hoping the extra warmth would send you dreaming.

you were awake the rest of the night.

you couldn't get over the smell. when his scent first hit your nose, you found it calming, sure it would bring you a sense of comfort and immediately put you to sleep. as it turns out, it was taunting.

with the smell of espresso and fresh linen overwhelming you, the only thing on your mind was stiles. everything about him, every memory of you two, every accidental touch -- suddenly, it was all you could think about.

in the back of your mind, you always knew there was something special about him. something deeper within him that drew the two of you together. stiles made you feel every single thing with so much more passion, so much more intention. but you'd brushed it off, convincing yourself you were crazy.

that he didn't feel that way.

but he was flustered, and you hoped you were right about why.

"so, where do you want to start?"

you let out a hum, toying with the topmost button on his flannel, blushing as you noticed his eyes honed in on your actions. you sat up slowly, trying to build any ounce of courage you had.

"i want to start with why you're being so weird today."

stiles cleared his thoat, scratching the back of his head and turning back towards his desk. he shuffled his papers. "I, uh I mean, I don't know what you're talking about, I'm being completely normal."

you sat up facing him, tugging at his sleeves. "sti-"

"why are you wearing my shirt?"

your eyes shot up and you frowned immediately. suddenly uncomfortable, you wrapped your arms around your waist and looked down.

"oh, im sorry, you left it in my car and I didn't think it would be--"

"no no it's okay i just-"

"-- an issue, i have a sweatshirt in my bag I can--"

"-- i like it"

you looked up at him, completely silent. your brain fought hard to process what he said and how you could be reading it incorrectly.

"you..."

"i'm sorry, i, that sounded weird, jesus. i just mean its fine that you, you know you're wearing it, and--"

"stiles."

he shut up. he knew he was rambling and he just hoped he wasn’t reading the situation incorrectly. he locked eyes with you, anxious and listless.

"i wore it so you would notice."

stiles felt hot again.

he took a shaky breath, trying to think past the growing tension in the room. he wheeled his chair closer where you were sitting.

"oh"

you swung your feet over the edge of the bed.

"yeah"

both of you would swear that time stopped. the air got thick, and the moment was a blur. you don't know who made the first move, but suddenly you were both standing, your lips against each other in a relieving kiss. neither of you had allowed yourselves to imagine this moment seriously, yet here it was, and you had no idea how you’d lived without it before this.

his lips moved sweetly across yours, nervous but needy. it felt like forever before you pulled away, your body impatiently reminding you of its need to breathe.

both of you blushed, foreheads touching as you relished in the moment.

"i think i'm going to start forgetting my clothes around you more often."

[panthressa]

stiles wanting to fuck his girlfriend on her period…?🙏🙏

Yeah, that sounds about right for him. Thank you!

"Please? Come on, you can't seriously expect me to wait days to touch you. Wait, what? A WEEK? No. Absolutely not. Get over here right now. You can't do this to me, you don't understand. I'll go feral and start foaming at the mouth. Or is that rabies...? I don't know, but there will be foaming! Lots and lots of foaming! In fact, I'm foaming right now, you just can't see it because it's down th-"

"Desperation" would be an understatement. He needs this like a fire needs oxygen. Her flushed cheeks get to him, though, so he softens his approach.

"Just a little, that's all I want. I promise I don't care about the mess, ok? I promise. No one even has to know... It'll be our little secret. And it'll feel so, so good, won't it? Don't you want me to massage all those achy muscles up there? You know I can reach... Come on. We can stop whenever you want. Just give it a try. For me?"

He's quite convincing, especially with those needy, pathetic eyes, showing her exactly how much he needs her pussy to survive.

[sundrop-writes]

Mister Mxyzptlk

Stiles Stilinski x Fem!Reader Blurb

Word Count: 800

Sundrop's Main Masterlist

Warnings: mentions of bullying (Stiles being bullied for having a 'weird' name); mentions of Stiles's trauma surrounding his mother's death; obscure comic book references; this is mostly just fluff - very light implications toward sexual themes, flirting and romantic attraction between Stiles and the reader.

A/N: So, the last time I was actively watching Teen Wolf (when S3 and S4 were airing) I thought it was a running gag that Stiles's real name was never revealed and it was just always a mystery to the audience (like how it's a gag in Degrassi that Heather St. Claire's face is never seen). But when I saw a tiktok showing his real name, I was shocked, and then entirely amused by it. And I was also really offended because I'm watching S1 for the first time and the coach calls Stiles's name 'child abuse' and his father doesn't even dispute that, knowing that it's a family name to honour his dead mother's side of the family. And the fact that he is a character whose real name is very hard to pronounce and very few people actually know what it is got me thinking about the comic book character - Mister Mxyzptlk - and I realized that Stiles, being a comic book nerd who is always referencing things like The Incredible Hulk and Batman and Robin, would fucking love that comparison. Thus, this mini fic. Usually, this is an idea I would save and put it as a moment in a longer fic, but I'm not currently working a fic where I feel like this fits in, so it has become its own mini fic. Random idea, but enjoy this random fluff.

...

"Is Stiles your real name?"

You inquired lightly, walking out of school with Scott and Stiles.

"It's something I've been wondering since we met."

Stiles felt a unique anxiety clutch in his chest at this question. He hated telling people his real name, especially when those people were pretty girls. Especially when they were pretty girls he had only met a week ago who were new in town who otherwise didn't know what a reputation he had for being a loser and could form their own opinions of him.

He could see any chance he had with you being flushed down the drain at top speed. But it wasn't much different from any other girl he previously had a crush on.

"Cause, I thought maybe it was your last name. Guys who play sports usually do that - always call each other by their last names." You went on, not sensing the awkwardness as Scott and Stiles eyed each other heavily, waiting for the other person to speak. "But I heard the coach calling you Balinski?"

"Stilinski." Stiles corrected you. "I think he gets my name wrong on purpose to belittle me." He gave a fake laugh to play it off, but you frowned.

"Stiles is a nickname." Scott added on, trying to usher Stiles away from the awkwardness of having to tell you himself. "His real first name is... really hard to pronounce, and not a lot of people at our school even know it. So - everyone just knows him as Stiles."

This brought Stiles back to a painful memory - in fourth grade, someone had seen the attendance sheet with his real name on it, and showed it to everyone else. And this had started a barrage of bullying and rumours about how he had gotten the name.

Some said that his mother hated him as soon as he was born and wanted to name him something really ugly to match him. Some said that his mother had a brain tumour and she named him in such an odd manner because her brain was 'mush' when he was born. And whenever people in the halls mockingly called him 'tumour baby' or 'brain tumour' - then he had to painfully be reminded of his mother's absence from his life.

"So you're like Mister Mxyzptlk?" You posed, a smile coming across your face from the joy of making such an apt reference.

Stiles looked at you then, unsure if he had heard you correctly - but his heart started to beat faster and he was sure that his crush developed into full, heart-stopping love in that moment.

A gorgeous, cute, sweet girl like you making such an obscure dorky reference - there was nobody else. Nobody else would ever make him feel the way you had in that moment.

Scott was entirely confused, looking between the two of you with utter dumbness across his face, wondering why Stiles' heart rate had increased so much.

"Ugh - yeah." Stiles stuttered out awkwardly. "Yeah, I guess I am."

"So, is learning your real name the power to defeating you?" You posed, smoothing your voice into a sultry tone, stepping closer to Stiles, running a hand up his bare forearm - clearly flirting now. "Do I get three chances to moan it in your ear without making a mistake before you're allowed to do whatever you want to me?"

Scott regretted his super-hearing, being able to catch exactly what you said in a low whisper against Stiles's ear.

Stiles's brain was short-circuiting.

You were making nerdy references and coming onto him now. His blood was rioting between rushing to his pants and giving him a heart attack, and soon, before he could stop it, he practically shouted:

"Marry me!"

And while this would have been a colossally awkward fumble with any other girl, you simply giggled and smiled.

"You're so cute." You complimented in return, reaching out to gently 'boop' a finger against his nose.

Stiles continued to gape at you, feeling like he needed to say more, needed to communicate just how epicly wonderful you were in his eyes.

"Chocolate? Or vanilla? Our wedding cake could have 4 tiers, or we could get one of those cupcake tower things, I heard those are really trendy."

You let out another laugh, thinking that he was joking - not realising that he was already picking out an engagement ring in his head, and wondering which comic book characters you would name your children after.

"We can start with a date." You told him. "Friday. After the game."

He nodded.

"Yes, date." He agreed eagerly. "A date would be amazing."

"I have to get going now." You added on - and he felt like he was floating when you leaned in and kissed him on the cheek before you departed. "See you later?"

"Everyday for the rest of our lives." Stiles mumbled quietly, entirely love-struck.

"What the hell was that?" Scott asked, still entirely baffled.

"We shall have a spring wedding." Stiles replied, his eyes still locked on your back as you walked away - clearly, he was still caught up in the euphoria of the interaction.

Scott had to drag him away.

[mysticallystilinski]

FEELING [ stiles x fem! reader ]

desc. STILES CAN’T KEEP HIS HANDS OFF YOUR BODY

has : SMUT 17+, fingering, very clingy stiles, tit sucking, tit playing, sub!reader, heavy teasing, whimper!kink.

“please stiles”, you moan out as he rubs against your body. it has been days since he has even came close to touching you. it was an understatement on how badly you needed him. his large hands run up and down your delicate body. he grinned in excitement at any little whimper that comes out of you.

“be patient”, he whispers in your ear. his heavy breath coming that close to you was enough to make you cum. you had no articles of clothing taken off you quite yet, but you knew soon enough he would have to cave in. you push off his torso and place your feet on the cold floor.

you lower your hands to the rim of your shirt, and proceed to pull it off in a quick flash. stiles sat on the bed, practically mind blown at this sudden boost of confidence. you walked closer to him as you heard his breathing pattern get quicker.

stiles had a certain feeling that you were putting on a false show. he tugged onto the waistband of your pants, and pulled you closer in between his legs. he looked up at you with those soft brown eyes. “why are you acting like this sweetheart”, he groaned out. your words got caught in the back of your throat as he slowly stood up and placed you to the side.

he looked down upon you in lust as you scanned his large figure. his brown eyes almost certainly turned to black as he grabbed your shoulders and sat you down upon the bed. he now stood above you while you were in the opposite position as before. he got onto his knees, and slowly ran his hands up and down your thighs.

“stiles please, don’t tease”, you practically whimpered. he interlocked his fingers into your waistband, and slid the soft flannel pants down your legs and to the side of the bed. he was now approached with your light red panties. he slowly moved his head toward your core, took his mouth and dug his teeth upon them.

he smirked as you looked down onto him in waiting. he lowered his head as the panties followed along with him intertwined in his teeth. he dug his fingers into your things as he made his away along your silky legs. he reached the bottom and discarded your sweet panties. stiles mind filled with all the things he wanted to do with you. he thought first about fingering you, then slowly moving onto other things.

he lifted his head up, and saw your facial expression. it was a mix of impression and excitement. your smile lit up the room as stiles started to giggle as he got closer to your heat. he used his large hands to spread your thighs apart, and lowered his head closer. his fingers untangled your thighs and moved to your throbbing pussy.

he slowly inserted one finger, then heard a gasp for air. you whimpered as his long finger headed deeper inside of you. he took it slightly out, and inserted one more finger. your head was thrown back in pleasure as he slowly pumped both fingers in and out. you felt him get closer to you as his fingers continued to glide in and out at the perfect speed.

your body filled with tingles as he increased his speed. one hand was gripping your boob, while the other was heading inside of you. you quickly moved and scrambled as his fingers hit just the right spot. he slowly used the hand on your boob to play with your nipple, slightly pinching it for a pleasurable feeling.

your body was feeling hot and heavy while stiles slowly talked you up to an orgasm. “you’re doing so good y/n”, he spoke. you gasped in shock and pleasure when he said those five words. “please cum for me”, he groaned out. you saw his eyes focused on your wet pussy when he looked up and smirked in a devilish way.

he held eye contact with you as he spoke softly, “baby you look so good taking my fingers.” your head filled with the things he was doing to you, and how good it felt. your core tightened as you felt the moment coming. he hit your g-spot one last time, and you collapsed. cum overflowed out of you as stiles latched his mouth onto your pussy.

he sucked up all he could, and gripped onto your thighs with both hands. you saw him look up at you with his lustful eyes. his tongue delved all around your area as he grinned. he lifted his head and moved his body so that he was on top of you. he lowered his head to your boob as slightly used his tongue to head around the area of your nipple.

stiles couldn’t help but groan as your body smelled sweet. his tongue clenched around your hard nipple, and you moaned out in peace. he slightly chuckled at your noise, but still was focused. he unlatched his mouth, and slightly placed his lips onto yours. he pulled back, “i want you to taste yourself.” your eyes widened but you complied as he stuck his tongue into your mouth. your eyes got heavier as he slid his hand up your bare body.

he made out with you to help you release some tension. you felt on cloud nine as your soft lips intertwined with yours. he removed his lips, and slowly smirked. “what are you up to stilinski?”, you groaned and rolled your eyes.

“round 2?”