i will never get over that picture of his hand ♥

Trying Something New

A/N: Hey guys! I haven’t uploaded an imagine in a while but tbh I’m so fucking busy it’s driving me mad.

Warnings: smut, kinda (male masturbation, Stiles has an overly active imagination 😉), mentions of blood if that kinda stuff creeps you out (not anything major)

Pairings: Stiles Stilinski x Reader


Words: 1500 ish


***


By the time Stiles finally drags himself back to his dorm, the sun is slowly rising and his hair is starting to stink with drying slime from the Kanima (most likely) blood that he’s had the unfortunate displeasure of coming across.

Honestly, he thought that when he went to collage he would finally be away from it all, finally be safe. God knows that he’s put his dad through enough stress with all the shit he and Scott pulled.

The guilt gnaws at his insides at night.

It seems like all this shit just keeps following him around. Not that he’s complaining or anything, but it’d be nice if the monsters were a bit more considerate of Stiles’ upcoming exams.

So, all things considered, seeing his roommate, (Y/N), up at the ungodly hour of fuck-that-o'clock making pancakes naked in the kitchen is probably number 12 on the list of Weird Shit That Only Stiles Has To Deal With This Week. (Y/N)’s got her back to him and in the low light of morning, he can only just make out her soft curves and smooth skin.

“Um,” he says, sounding a like a fucking moron who can’t pull four words together to ask *‘what are you doing?’* Luckily for him, his roommate turns around and saves him the trouble.

And suddenly, this entire thing goes up a few spots on the Weird Shit That Only Stiles Has To Deal With This Week list because (Y/N)’s not naked. She’s got a scarf wrapped around her neck that only just covers her chest bits and a - ridiculously tiny, *oh good lord* - pair of black panties on that makes her ass look absolutely. In a second he realizes that the scarf is the one he asked his dad to send over last month.

And oh, *oh* doesn’t that just make whatever blood Stiles still has in his head go south. Because it’s *(Y/N)* and she’s got his scarf sitting atop her bare chest, the only thing shielding his eyes from the glorious view of her naked body.


He feels weirdly possessive.


Stiles very pointedly shoves those thoughts down along with any other inappropriate images that his mind tries to conjure up. It’s a failed attempt.

“Are those pancakes?” He eventually finds the mental capacity to ask, because now that his upstairs brain’s caught up with the situation, this doesn’t seem that odd compared to all the shit (Y/N)’s pulled in the past. The girl in question nods as Stiles continues to stand in the middle of the kitchen instead of getting the fuck out of there.

“They’re shaped like Mickey Mouseâ„¢,” She informs him and Stiles tries not to be jealous when she flips a pancake and it lands back in the pan, and not on the ceiling. “You want?”

“Pass.” He says, knowing full well that the Kanima blood was drying and if she noticed he’d have some explaining to do. He pointedly tells himself that he’s not running away to hide the tent that he’s now sporting in his jeans. “What are your wearing?” And then something else occurs to him. “Did you just say ‘™’?”

(Y/N) shrugs. “It’s laundry day.” She says lightly, her full attention turned to the pancakes now. “Gotta get it all done. Hope you don’t mind. I stole your scarf.”

Her saying it so casually makes Stiles fell scarily possessive, and his brain is already thinking of the best way to get out of this situation right now. “Keep it.” He says, and clears his throat because his voice is suddenly deep and raspy. “It looks better on you.”

(Y/N) looks at him, as if she knows all the filthy little thoughts running through his head, before putting the pan on a cold plate and walking over to him. It takes a great deal of effort for Stiles to maintain eye contact.

“Really?” She quirks a brow. Now, she’s standing right in front of him, so close that he can see the gorgeous tint of her eyes, can smell the remnants of perfume and vanilla extract on her skin. Stiles gulps. “Honestly Stiles. You put your dad through all the trouble of sending it over only to give it to your roommate so carelessly?”

He should look away. He wants to, because he knows (Y/N), knows that she doesn’t do relationships and loves to play games and, if her screams at night are anything to go by, loves to fuck hard and wild until she can’t walk properly the next day. He should walk the fuck away because he knows that if he does, (Y/N) won’t try it again.

But right now, all he wants to do is fuck her senseless, preferably tied to the bed with that damned scarf.

“Umm,” is what he stupidly replies with instead. (Y/N) raises a brow, but Stiles can’t worry about that because she’s got *hands* and suddenly those hands are being placed delicately on Stiles’ shoulders so that her thumb grazes gently over the dip of his collar bone.


He stares at her for a moment, and Stiles quickly realized he could do it forever. She’s so beautiful, she doesn’t even know it. The set of her bright eyes, the smell of her body, that shade of her skin that Stiles could spend years looking for but never actually match, the way her nose fits perfectly onto her face, the arch of her brows and swell of her lips; it drives him mad.

But then those gorgeous eyes are filling with surprise and she’s laughing slightly when she asks him: “Why is your shirt wet?” Suddenly, Stiles is reminded of the reason he’d come back late in the first place, of the blood and gore and *danger* that seems to come along with his life, and he can’t help this primal instinct within him that begs Stiles to *protect* and *fortify* and he knows it. Stiles knows he just can’t.

Even if it was just for one night, he can’t drag her into the hell hole that is his life.

“I need a shower.” He says and pulls away and it takes everything inside of him to ignore the hurt look on her face as he does.

He practically runs to the bathroom, not even bothering to strip down before he stands under the harsh spray. The water’s freezing cold and it turns his face red, but Stiles knows that blood washes off better this way (he also acknowledges that it’s a fucked up thing to know) and honestly, he needs it.

It takes a full five minutes under the freezing spray before Stiles actually strips down. He piles his dirty clothes in the corner and knows that those jeans are probably ruined. As he turns the heat up, Stiles closes his eyes, enjoying the way the water feels cascading down his sore and taut muscles.

And for a moment, just a moment, he allows himself to picture what it would feel like to have (Y/N) in there with him.

It’s wrong, he knows it is, but Stiles can’t stop the thoughts from entering his mind. She’d come in after him, the thinks. Probably when he was just about to step out. He can imagine the way she would look through the frosted glass, the way he would see her delicate hands pull the clothes off her body. He imagines her, finally pulling the shower door open and standing before him, as bare as the day she was born.

Stiles reaches bewteen his legs and strokes his length swiftly, unsuprised to find that he’s already hard. He goes back to the images he’s created in his head. Pictures the way (Y/N) would smirk at the flustered and confused look on his face, and - no.

In his head, this isn’t the first time they’re doing this. In his head, she walks forward with a smile, the genuine kind she gives when she’s high or when Stiles tells a dumb joke. She wouldn’t even wait for him, she’d just step forward, wrapping her arms around his shoulders - Stiles pictures the way she had done it moments before - and joining him under the warm water.

He pictures the way the water starts to wet her hair and face, pictures the droplets running down her body. He squeezes himself at the base. He imagines the way her soft skin would feel under his touch, hears her soft gasps and quiet moans as he dips a hand between her legs. Stiles strokes his dick faster, picturing the look of ecstasy on her face when he slides his fingers into her wet opening. His hand’s moving fast now as he imagines pulling away and silencing her moan of disapproval with a kiss as he slides his length into her cunt.

Stiles gasps slightly as he pictures how she would feel around his dick. He hears her moaning gasps as he slides into her, presses love bites to her neck and breasts and she pants and screams and finally, *finally* Stiles is the one making her do so instead of all those guys she brings home. He feels the way her legs would tremble and her body shake as he reaches between them to press a thumb to her clit, he pictures the way she could clench around him as she comes, gripping onto his shoulders and moaning into his ear and -

Stiles almost let’s his shout slip as he comes in his hand.

It takes him a long while to gather himself. He takes deep breaths and tries to fight away the guilt at what he just did. (Y/N)’s his friend and he’s an ass for thinking about her like that, but goddamn* the way she looked and spoke and laughed - it all made Stiles’ head spin.


It is with a belated sense of worry that he realised he’s fallen for her.

Have a reply post.  :D  I think that’s all?  And I hope I replied to everyone WITHIN the post.  I end up doing replies in weird broken ways and there’ve been occasions where I’ve put the reply but haven’t actually said anything about it… >_>;  xD

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