Prompt by @derangedangel : Isaac has been flirting with reader since season 2 when he was being a douche but she didn’t like him then and now Stiles still doesn’t like him but reader kinda does. And it doesn’t have to be senior year cause that seems like a long time from season 2.
Word Count: 2,426
Pairings: Isaac Lahey x Reader (Romantically), Stiles Stilinski x Reader (Platonic)
Author’s Note: Took me a while to write this and come up with a story for this imagine, but I hope you like what I came up with. :)
I rolled my eyes before slamming my locker door
shut and turned around to see Isaac with that stupid smirk on his perfect face.
Isaac used to be a shy kid no one knew. Then overnight, he became popular. The
girls loved him; the guys wanted to be him and Isaac knew it. He let the
attention get to his head and automatically assumed I was one of those girls
that only wanted him for one thing.
Isaac’s long fingers began to play with a
strand of my blonde curls. “Got any plans tonight, baby girl?”
I pushed his hand away. “None that involve
you.” I turned on my heel and began walking away from him.
Isaac quickly caught up to me and kept up with
my pace. “You know, your chemistry class is in the other direction.”
I sighed annoyed he wouldn’t leave me alone.
“I was willing to take the longer way to avoid you.”
“Ouch,” he said sarcastically.
“Well now we can both take the long way to class."
Arrow Fic: Breaking Point (Oliver/Felicity, pre-5x01, Mature)
AUTHOR’S NOTE: This fic goes to some dark, angsty places. If you’re looking for fluff, you won’t find it here. There’s nothing in here that I consider dubcon, but it’s possible someone else might interpret it differently, so this is your warning, just in case. Special thanks to @machawicket for talking me through an early draft of this.
There are some days, like today, when
Felicity can’t even stand to look at Oliver.
It’s his face that’s the problem.
His stupid, gorgeous, perfect face. More specifically, it’s what
she sees in his face when he looks at her: love, kindness,
She doesn’t deserve those things, and
she doesn’t want them. Not from him. Not from anyone.
Fortunately for her, almost everyone
who loves her is either gone or too busy to pay her any attention.
Her mother’s off practicing to be Mrs. Quentin Lance. Diggle’s
off being a soldier. Lyla’s mired in her own grief and anger.
Thea has buried her head in the sand of City Hall business. Sara and
Roy are god knows where. Laurel’s dead.
Everyone has left her except Oliver,
who has the nerve to be down here in the bunker with her almost every
night. Looking at her. With his face. Like he loves her, still. Like
she’s worthy of any kind of love. How dare he?
She’s already having a bad day when
he shows up tonight. There’s no particular reason, other than the
same reason that haunts her every breath. It’s just that some days
are worse than others, and today is one of the worse ones.
Her nerves are shot, her patience worn
to a fraying thread, her heart beating too fast and too hard in her
chest. She feels like she’s coiled too tight, ready to snap at any
second. She’s all potential energy, in a constant state of
suppressed combustion. It’s not a matter of if she’ll explode,
but when. How long she can hold it back before a stray spark blows
everything to pieces.
And then Oliver walks into the lair and
smiles at her with eyes that are soft and fond, like he’s happy to
see her. How dare he?
“Your brother is an idiot,” You
slurred, pointing a finger in Sam’s direction. “Actually your
brother is really smart, I’m the idiot. I’m the one who fell in love
with him.” A sigh fell past your lips and you propped your elbow up
on the table, cradling your chin in your palm.
Three tequila shots and ¼ a bottle of
Jack later and any and all filter you had, was long gone.
“Don’t fall in love on the job,”
You quoted yourself in a mocking tone, letting out a bitter laugh,
“Already kinda shot that horse in the face.”
“I knew it. I knew you had it bad for
“Damn right I do. Is that so bad,
Sam? Is it so bad that I wanna kiss his stupid, perfect face?” You
asked as you hiccuped.
Sam chuckled at your confession and
your drunk state. If he had known a few drinks is all it would take
for you to spill your obvious feelings for his brother, he would’ve
gotten you drunk a long time ago. He was so sick of you both mopey
around, making googly eyes at each other, and acting like you weren’t
dying to just each others bones.
“I can’t tell him that I want him-
pfft no way, that’s a bad idea,” You sighed, “but God, Sammy do I
want him. I want him bad. In every position.”
“Okay, that’s- ew, this is getting a
little-,” Sam stuttered.
The sound of heavy boots thudded down
the hallway but you were too lost in your own thoughts to notice.
“I just wanna give his things y'know,
like,” You paused for a moment, bringing the shot glass to your
lips and downing the alcohol in one gulp, “orgasms and
“Umm, Y/N-,” Sam’s eyes were wide
but you just kept speaking; thoughts flowing out of your mouth like
You should stop talking.
“Every time I see him washing Baby,
all I think about is going out there, getting a little soapy and
letting him bend me over the hood, and just fuck me sens-”
“Y/N!” He yelled, cutting you off.
Sam had a shell-shocked look on his
face and he gestured behind you with a tilt of his head.
Realization hit you like a truck,
sobering you up instantly and you gulped audibly. “He’s standing
right behind me isn’t he?”
Yeah, you really should’ve stopped
Sam nodded slowly, looking incredibly
Your cheeks flushed a deep shade of red
and you reluctantly turned in your seat to face the older Winchester.
Dean cocked an eyebrow, eyes flashing
with lust and a smirk working its way onto his stupidly, beautiful
face. “So, you wanna go help me wash Baby?”
I’ve been redrawing this all morning, top to front. Sam is so much easier but getting Dean’s face just right is like a fist to my stomach. I have to keep readjusting. Someone slap Jensen for his stupid perfect face. I’m now going to figure out where I’m going with this painting.
Why did his stupid face have to be so goddamn perfect, and why did the simple action of his vocal cords producing sound in that stupidly perfect accent get you so damn flustered? Who the hell did he sacrifice to the Gods of beauty and grace to get such an unfathomably well-sculpted body, more specifically such an unfathomably well-sculpted ass? Moreover, which God thought it was fair to humanity to put someone so insanely and alluringly divine on the planet, a true Adonis among men? You mentally noted to ask Thor each of these questions in impeccable detail when you regained your capability to think and speak clearly.
The feeling of those small, chaste touches the two of you had shared beneath your blanket fortress should not have been so problematic for your mental clarity, and the color of his eyes should not be the only one you could picture now. The white on your walls turned ice blue, like his irises, and the red of your bedspread was sea green, like the little flecks in those aforementioned crystal eyes. If simply existing in his presence could make your knees weak, your heart melt, and your mouth babble like an idiot, imagine what his quick kisses could do.
Actually, imagining his soft lips being anywhere near your body did not help clear your currently fogged mind or dissipate the pooling heat gathering below your stomach in any way, shape, or form. What you were preparing to do seemed wrong and vile in every aspect of the word, he was your friend and he trusted you: this would extend the lines of any acceptable boundaries that your friendship had constructed. That any friendship could construct. However, the fact that it seemed so wrong made it feel so incredibly and so fantastically satisfying.
Starting the hot tap in the glass-paned shower, you tested the cool waters raining down with an unsteady hand before carefully undressing, taking as much time as you needed to cope with the reality of what you were doing, of what you needed to do. ‘He won’t ever know, he won’t be able to judge me’.
Inhaling deeply to attempt to steady your racing mind, you stepped fully into the heat and sighed as the drops rolled down your body and caressed each supple curve gently, such a routine feeling had now turned painfully seductive to your wanton thoughts. You could practically feel his deft and experienced fingers toying with your exposed skin, pressing here and tugging there, or his mouth trailing down and nipping you in places your own fingers couldn’t even find.
Using the normal need to bathe as an excuse to run your fingers against your breasts and thighs, you lathered your rose-scented bodywash in slow circles across your abdomen and legs, rolling your head back against the tiled wall when you imagined your hands as his and your little grunts as a result of his touch. Tentatively, you dipped the tip of your index finger into the divot of your sex, moaning at the realization that you were dripping not because of the water, but because Pietro Maximoff had touched and spoken to and teased you. And that had driven you irrevocably mad with lust.
You leaned against the wall for support, not trusting your tingling legs to hold you in place, and felt electrified as the cold tiles bared against your skin and sent shivers down your spine. Quickly pressing more circles into your most sensitive spot with an unmatched fervor, you forgot to stifle your mewls and moans, gasping out “Pietro” from your agape mouth when you pictured what his lightning-fast fingers could do in place of your humanly slow ones.
If the wall had not been there to support your startled jolt, you would have split your skull open against the shower floor when the door slid open suddenly. Cold air prickled against your skin, causing your flesh to goose over. “What the fuck?” You shouted, scrambling to cover yourself and failing miserably.
Standing there, almost heroically, was your personalized Adonis, otherwise known as the man whose name you had been moaning haphazardly and, unbeknownst to you, rather loudly just seconds prior. “You are not quiet, you know.” It seemed like an odd way to start this conversation. “I could hear you from the hallway.” The horrified expression plastered on your face and the creeping blush traversing your completely exposed skin prompted him to continue. “It’s okay princeza, don’t worry. I’m not mad.”
Surprisingly, he maintained eye contact as he spoke in an attempt to make you more comfortable. “Tell me to leave and I will. I won’t mention this and I won’t ask any questions.”
Unsure of how your subconscious managed to muster the brazen confidence to blurt it out, you whispered “Don’t.” and stepped over to make more room in the tight space. On cue, he slid his shirt over his abdomen teasingly slow before dropping it to the now water-misted ground, not caring where it landed. Seeing as his shoes were already off, he stepped closer to where you stood in the shower, not minding as the water soaked his jeans, and coaxed you out of the corner. He slid his nimble fingers down your wet arm and guided your hand to the belt loops of his pants, pulling you close enough to place a kiss on your lips.
Understanding the gesture as a sign that he wanted you to finish what he had started, you fumbled at the clasp of his jeans, surprising yourself as a giggle escaped your lips and reverberated off the tile walls when you couldn’t undo the little button. It was impossible to picture how awkward you had felt around him only hours prior as he was making you feel so comfortable and in control now. Smiling down at you and reciprocating the laugh as a gesture of goodwill, he claimed your fingers lightly in his and helped you unfasten him. Pulling soaked jeans and boxers off with one fatal swoop, he stood before in all of his natural glory.
To say that you had underestimated exactly how muscular and toned he was would be an underestimation in and of itself. To believe that anyone could be as perfectly cut as him was difficult in its own respect; furthermore, there was nothing to complain about in the size department, either. Before you could comment or express your appreciation of his divine form, you felt his hand tip your chin upwards. “Are you sure?” He asked softly, you nodded against his touch and stroked your free fingers across his abdomen and pectorals in response, savoring each dimple and dip in his hard flesh.
Tilting his head down, water trailed lazily off the slope of his nose and slipped down the curve of your breasts before dripping down your legs and pooling on floor. Lovingly, he parted your bottom lip from the top by pulling slightly on your chin and nuzzled his nose and forehead against yours before completing the kiss. While it was not fierce or crazed like the movies usually depicted, it was passionate and impossibly sweet, both descriptions you would never have thought to attribute to him. The way his deft tongue gently caressed your own made every inch of your body feel aflame. There was no stereotypical battle for dominance, only mutual discovery and heavenly attention as they darted and tangled together.
Slowly, he trailed nimble fingers down away from your chin and on to the top of your right breast, letting his thumb trace against your neck before resting softly against the peak of your nipple. There, he rubbed sweet circles and rotations in to the budding flesh before slipping his other hand down the line of your left shoulder and the shape of your hips. After slipping his hands down the bend of your ass and resting it at the bottom where buttocks met thigh, he brought his fingers towards your front and gently caressed your velvety opening.
Your breathing hitched ever so slightly against the curl of his lips as he brushed over you teasingly, he took the momentary lapse in contact to place his head in the crook of your neck and plant a series of wet, savory kisses against the skin of your shoulder before proceeding to your breasts. Nipping and sucking just how you imagined, he swirled his tongue around your nipple and continued massaging both your breast and lower lips with calloused fingers.
Leaning against the wall in desperate search for support, you mewled as he unexpectedly kneeled, placing his mouth millimeters away from your most sensitive areas and breathing lightly against the skin of your inner thigh. Looking up with a smile, he whispered “You smell like roses, princeza” before eagerly placing his moist lips against your slick clit and sucking softly. Fingers snaked in to his wet hair, you murmured small words of encouragement as he dipped his tongue in slithered it across your soaking opening and lips, hips accidently thrusting against his stubbled jaw as he devoured your sex.
Pausing momentarily, he mimicked your lighthearted laughter at these sporadic movements, smiling against you. As his tongue resumed its vibrations, he removed his fingers from your breasts, dragging them down your torso, and used them to spread you open, one digit after the other. Shuddering at the new sensation, you moaned “Oh fuck” into the crook of your arm, attempting to stifle your cries.
At this, he removed all traces of himself from your body and stood up. Noting your confused expression, he pulled you back into your previous embrace, his newly-gained hardness pressing against your stomach as his lips brushed kisses on your neck and jaw, “Are you ready?” You moaned into his touches and reached down between your bodies to stroke him, nodding and silently saying a prayer to thank whatever Gods there were that you had remembered to take your birth control pill that day.
You felt him shudder as your fingers stroked him up and down, gently tugging and bringing a wet thumb across his slit in encouragement. Before you could register what happened, he repositioned you with your back against the wall, one leg wrapped around his waist, ensuring you were comfortable before teasing your entrance by quickly dipping into you. “You feel so fucking good, princeza.”
Unlike his kisses and caresses, his fucking was franticly paced. Fast, rhythmic thrusts repeatedly drove you further against the wall as you felt the rotations and contortions of his ass and hips with your leg and hand, moving in towards his movements desperately. Your other hand raked dull nails across the skin of his back in attempt to pull him closer to you, letting out a string of light expletives as he buried his head into your neck and his cock further into your body. “Fuck, Pie…Pietro!”
Pressing his lips tight against your shoulders, you felt him murmur words likely from his native tongue as you tangled a hand in his hair and pulled lightly. You grunted as he nipped your skin in response, increasing the speed and depth of his thrusts whenever you cried out until he felt you begin to tighten against him with incredible pleasure as you reached your peak. Riding you out, he slowed considerably and removed himself before spilling out at his climax. The water had gotten cold at some point, but neither of you had particularly noticed.
Turning off the water, he helped you out of the shower, being gentle with your sore body and aching hips. He dried you off carefully, rubbing the towel in soft circles to soak up any moisture without causing discomfort before he carried you to your bed.
He lay next to you, your head resting lightly on his chest as he breathed slowly, calming down from his high. “That was…”
“Yeah…” You interrupted, meeting his flickering gaze with a smile.
“So, do you want to catch a movie some time, maybe dinner?” He jokingly asked, playing loosely with strands of your hair as you cuddled.
“How romantic.” Rolling your eyes, you moved closer to him underneath the comforter, snaking an arm across his midsection.
“Ah, I try. But seriously Snowball, I’m taking you out.”
A/N This was my first smut fic, so I hope it wasn’t too horrible. I might do a more fluffy sequel to Winter Wonderland at some point.