Pass The Weed

thinking about cowboy!clark kent talking you through riding him in his awfully charming southern drawl.

"yeah, there ya' go, honey," he's guiding your hips on his cock with big, warm, calloused hands heavy on your skin, his tip hitting that sweet spot inside you with each bounce.

there's an obvious bulge in your tummy from just how big he is, disappearing and reappearing with every shift of your hips.

"ohgod–" you choke out a whine, resting your sweaty forehead on his broad shoulder, letting him do most of the work by manually moving your hips. "s'big, clark" you bite down on his shoulder, his salty skin coating your tongue. that pulls a groan from him, he's rubbing the fat of your ass tenderly.

"i know, baby. i know" he's so loving, so incredibly doting that you can't help but cry out his name, wrapping your arms around his neck and clinging to him as his cock nearly splits you open.

"feels good though, don't it?" he drawls, gripping the hair on your head gently and pulling your face from the crook of his neck so he can pepper reverent kisses on your flushed, damp skin. "my pretty baby, jus' want t'make you feel good" he coos, head lolling back as your pussy flutters around him in response to his sweet words.

"fuck, clark" your face twists in pleasure, limbs turning into puddles as you feel that knot in your gut tightening impossibly. greedy hands roam his body, your fingertips running over his tanned arms and squeezing at his biceps. "m'close" you breathe out, looking down and literally moaning at the sight of the creamy white ring at the base of clark's member.

"i know it, sweet girl. can feel ya' milkin' me" he shakes his head, huffing a chuckle that shifts into a groan as you dig your manicured nails into his shoulders, leaving crescent-shaped marks in your wake. he doesn't mind when you mark him up, if anything it makes him twitch inside of you.

his balls tighten up, heavy with cum as you grind down on him a few last times before your orgasm washes over you, leaving you moaning whorishly into his skin as he fucks up into you. "aw, there ya go, s'good h-honey, love you, sweetheart" he praises you for cumming, as if he didn't just do all of the work. "claaark" you breathe out, collapsing on top of him as a post-orgasm calm washes over you.

he finishes shorty after you, as he always makes it a goal to get you to finish before him. he thrusts up into you sloppily and shoots his warm release deep inside of you, making you squirm on top of him from the strange sensation. "i know, baby, feels weird..." he groans lowly, rubbing soothing circles into the small of your back.

he lets you collapse on top of him, basically a puddle from how fucked out you are. he's pressing little kisses to your bare shoulder every so often, making sure you're as comfortable as you can be. "did so good for me, honey." he's just the sweetest cowboy. <3

Like, he's your neighbor in your shity apartment who has walls so thin like a paper, so that's the excuse he thinks for hearing you

You just come from a really bad day from work, so pent up that you just want to relieve stress, so you just disregard all your clothes in way of your bedroom and plop in your bed

He hear all of that, from the moment you open your door, then he just hear the slick of your pussy and get all red and flustered, but he can't help but keep hearing. The amount of slick that he's sure you're making a mess in your bed now, the little whimpers and moans

Soon enough he's rock hard in his sweats, his hand sliding down to palm himself, and don't get him wrong, his a good boy, a gentleman, you and him are good neighbors to each other, but the sweet sound of your voice make him pull down his sweats and stroke his dick

He's trying to move his hand at the same time your fingers go inside and out of you, and oh to his delight he hears you other hand moving to rub your clit, making you moan louder. He knows you're close, he's dizzy with the sound of your fingers coated in your slick, he wish it was his fingers or the other part of him that needed you so bad

When you come hard, so does he, so sad that it's in his palm and not in you, but he's so shy to ask you out, so he has to just fantasy about you while hearing

Clark loves PDA, but not in an overly lovey-dovey type of way; no, his type of PDA is subtle. Barely noticeable unless you know what to look for. His hands are always on you somehow, whether it's gently guiding you through a crowd with his hand on your back or his hand simply resting in yours. Sometimes it's around your waist and other times it's around your shoulder.

He needs to be near you at all times and constantly hovers not for your sake but for his. You need to be in his line of sight or else he will panic. He'll look for you, his head swiveling around the room like a madman until his eyes finally land on you, and when they do, he's immediately up and moving.

And don't even think about walking away without a kiss; whether it's just walking to the other side of the room, he needs at least a kiss on the cheek to be satisfied, or else he'll just follow you until you cave. He knows it's pathetic, but he doesn't care. Not even for a second.

He grossly in love with you. It's sickening.

✶ SUCH A GOOD BOY!

masterlist ⠀! ⠀ do not plagiarize, repost, or translate works without the knowledge or consent of the creator in other platforms or websites. ✶

His love language is acts of service.

He read that somewhere—some stupid quiz you made him take一and he latched onto it like a lifeline because it made him sound normal.

See?

See??

He's not a freak, he just likes doing things for you. It's a legitimate psychological concept. It's on the internet, go look it up. It's real.

He loves it when you want something from him. He lives for it. Thrives on it. Gets dizzy with it the second you so much as look at an empty glass.

You barely have to open your mouth. You just shift on the couch and sigh and he's already upright, already halfway to the kitchen, already aching.

"Water? Snacks? A blanket? Your heating pad? Do you want the kitten mug or the big one? Do you—"

"Just water, baby."

Baby.

His knees almost buckle.

Focus.

Water. You need water. He can do that. He's getting you water. Look at him go一such a good boyfriend, so attentive, so caring, he's fucking nailing this.

He pours the water so carefully. No ice. You don't like it too cold, it hurts your teeth, and he remembered that because he remembers everything about you, every tiny preference, every little sound you make when you're happy.

Pathetic. So fucking pathetic.

He hands you the glass with both hands like an offering at an altar. Bouncing a little on his heels. Doesn't even realize he's holding his breath until you take a sip and your throat moves and he's watching the little bob of it and his mouth is dry but that doesn't matter because—

He have to be patient.

Waiting.

Just waiting for it.

Come on. Come on. Say it. Say the words. Give him the thing. He needs it.

"Thank you, love."

Oh.

The words hit his brain like a shot of something warm and syrupy. Thank you. You thanked him. He did good. He did good and you noticed and you said thank you and now he's standing there with his heart doing backflips in his chest.

He wants more. He wants you to say it again. He wants you to pat his head and tell him he did such a good job, that he's so helpful, that you don't know what you'd do without him. He's practically vibrating with it, this desperate, aching need for your approval, and it's pathetic, he knows it's pathetic, he's a grown man getting high off a thank you like it's a line of coke—

Cute isn't he?

No.

No, he's not cute.

He's a dog. A mangy. panting. desperate dog who just got a pat on the head for fetching.

And he gets hard like a dog in heat too.

Always hard.

Always.

You could ask him to pass the salt and he'd have to adjust himself under the table.

You could ask him to zip up your dress and his hands would shake and he'd have to bite the inside of his cheek until it bled just to keep from moaning at the brush of his knuckles against your spine.

What a loser, right?

His dick twitches.

Jesus Christ.

He's hard again.

Weirdo.

Disgusting.

Pervert.

He hates himself. He hates himself so fucking much.

Why can't he be normal? Why can't his dick just stay soft like a regular boyfriend instead of twitching every time you say his name? You're gonna hate him, aren't you?

Oh god oh god oh god.

You're gonna find out. You're going to hate him. You're going to leave him. You think he's disgusting. You think he's a creep. You're gonna leave him. You're gonna walkout that door and he'll never feel your eyes on him again and he'll die, he'll actually just curl up on the floor and stop breathing because what's the point—

"Such a good boy."

Huh?

Good boy??

Him???

He freezes.

Did you just一did those words actually come out of your mouth? Good boy.

Good. Boy.

And you're smiling.

You look so beautiful when you smile. Your soft eyes and your softer lips and the way your cheek creases just a little and he wants to lick it, he wants to suck that smile right off your face and swallow it whole so it lives inside him forever—

Nope.

Nope nope nope.

He's so hard he could die on spot.

"Um... excuse me."

The words come out strangled. He's already backing away, hands positioned awkwardly in front of his crotch like a teenager caught watching porn.

Smooth.

Real smooth.

You probably think he's having digestive issues. That's fine. That's better than the truth.

He immediately bolts to the bathroom, lock clicking behind him.

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck.

Okay. Okay, breathe. It's fine. Everything's fine.

You don't know. You didn't see. You're not going to leave him. He won't let you leave him anyway. He'll lock the doors and he'll nail the windows shut and he'll chain you to bed and he'll chop your pretty legs off if he has to—

no no no no no NO!!!

Don't think that. Don't you ever fucking think that about her. You sick fuck. How can you even imagine hurting her? Chopping off her perfect pretty legs? How dare you?? How fucking dare you???

If you do that you could never feel her thighs wrapped around your head while you suck on her clit. You'd never feel them tremble and clampagainst your ears while she moans your name. You'd never get to press your tongue inside her while her legs are draped over your shoulders, soft and warm and alive.

OH!!!

Okay that's better. He gets it now.

Yeah yeah yeah. See? He's not violent. He just panicked for a second. His brain does that sometimes一throws up these horrible, intrusive images that make him want to vomit but he'd never ever act on them!! He's not a monster!!! He's just... confused. Overwhelmed. He just loves you so much alright??? So much he'd unspool his own intestines into a leash if you asked him to walk himself—

Alright. Shut up. Shut the fuck up.

Deep breath.

Okay. Okay, he's fine. He's fine. Just rub one out quick and go back out there. You're waiting. He doesn't want to keep you waiting. That would make him a bad boyfriend, and he's not—he's a good boyfriend, he's so good, you just said so, and if you said so then it must be true—

Shut. Up.

Focus.

His hand is shaking as he pulls down his jeans. He's leaking already, a slick little pearl at the tip, and it smears across his palm when he grips himself. Pathetic. So fucking pathetic.

First—first, he needs something. Something to make it faster, make it pleasing, make it so he can walk out there and not immediately pop a boner again the second you breathe in his direction.

He opens the cabinet under the sink, behind the toilet paper, behind the bleach, where he hid it.

Your panties.

The ones you thought you lost in the laundry.

The lacy ones, light blue, a little damp in the center from a long day. He found them. He found them, okay? He didn't steal them. Fuck off. He found them. That's different. Stealing is a crime. Stealing is bad. He's not a bad person. He just... found them. On the laundry room floor. He was doing laundry like a good boyfriend, separating your underwears from the regulars because he read somewhere that youre supposed to do that, and they were just... there. In his hands. And then in his pocket. And now they're pressed against his face.

Fuuuck.

The smell hits him like a drug. Musky and sweet and so distinctly you that his knees give up. He inhales deep, pressing the soiled fabric to his nose and mouth, and his dick twitches so hard a bead of pre cum drips onto the bathroom tile.

He's disgusting. He's a creep. He's a freak and a weirdo and a pathetic little lapdog who gets hard from a thank you.

You'd hate him if you knew.

He hopes you never know.

He hopes you find out.

He hopes you walk in right now and see him—cock in hand, your panties stuffed in his mouth, tears streaming down his face—and he hopes you step closer. He hopes you laugh. He hopes you call him a disgusting little mutt and pat his head and tell him he's still your good boy.

Your good boy.

Yours.

He cums so hard he sees stars. Ropes of it, hot and thick, splattering his hand, the floor, the little bathroom rug. He bites down on the panties to muffle the sob that tears out of him, and for a long moment he just kneels there, trembling, fucked, still crying, still hard.

But it's fine.

Everything's fine.

He cleans up. Flushes everything. Hides the panties again and washes his hands twice. Splashes water on his face. Looks in the mirror. Practices his smile.

He looks normal.

He is normal.

He's a good boy.

Then he opens the bathroom door and smiles.

"You okay?" you ask, tilting your head.

And he could say it. He could confess. He could drop to his knees right now and tell you everything and beg for forgiveness or punishment or whatever you wanted to give him.

Instead he just nods. Crawls onto the couch beside you. Rests his head in your lap like the loyal dog he is.

"Just missed you," he mumbles into your thigh.

You stroke his hair.

He almost gets hard again.

He's so fucked up.

But you're still here. Still petting him. Still calling him yours.

So he must be doing something right.

If you want to be in my taglist let me know :)

god- love me a nerdy man in glasses (thats how i got knocked up lol)

Clark wasn't a jealous guy. He just wasn't, okay? So, someone help him understand why he was feeling the way he was.

Currently, he was stewing at his desk, watching you giggle and laugh with his new photographer who was somehow comfortable enough in just the two weeks he'd been here that he was sitting on your desk. Didn't you care that he was sitting on your papers and stuff?

peter parker x reader

summary: peter parker, who craves human connection so much that he hears his neighbor jerking off through his shitty, paper-thin apartment bedroom wall and gets FAR too carried away with it

wc: 1.1k

cw: gn reader (no pronouns or body descriptors used), NSFW (mdni), male (peter)!masturbation, kinda dubcon bc reader doesn't know he's listening to them masturbating, pervy and deperate!peter core, being caught, FUCK AI

peter came crashing through his open window with anything other than grace after a shitty night of patrolling, groaning as he read through his cracked phone screen that it was nearing one in the morning. it had been a long evening defined by creepy men in alleyways, and frank giving him shit over something he was definitely not in the mood to deal with tonight.

he began to strip his suit, frustration buzzing off his skin as he tried to peel the hot spandex from his sweaty body, damp curls sticking to his forehead and dripping into his eyes. every one of his senses was overwhelmed; they had been for hours. the streetlights growing brighter as the night wore him out, the smell of sewer still trapped in his nose from his earlier fight, his ears ringing and latching on to every single sound around him -- even still. his clock ticking. the traffic outside. the hum of his shitty fucking radiator, and peter tried his best to steady his breath, to not have a fucking breakdown as his ears tuned in to every single fucking sound in the goddamn apartment complex, and-

oh

oh.

so that's what a siren song sounds like.

peter heard your soft moans through his paper-thin walls -- walls he hated for their shitty quality until this moment.

god bless this shitty ass drywall.

and suddenly, you were the only thing peter could hear. hours of constant noise instantly drown out by the most beautiful noise he'd ever heard: you. he stopped to think about it for a moment; peter knew better. he shouldn't be listening to this. he'd only met you a handful of times, and this was an insane invasion of your privacy, and-

peter bit back a groan as he palmed himself through his briefs, suit pooled and forgotten at his ankles. he wished he were more embarrassed by how quickly he got hard. he wished he hadn't slowly climbed onto his bed to get more comfortable, to hear you more clearly.

at the end of the day, peter parker was still human.

he shuffled his way out of his briefs, choking on a moan as his heavy cock sprang out and slapped his stomach. he spit as quietly as he could into his palm, gripping himself loosely. it wasn't like peter wasn't used to touching himself. but he was so sensitive in your proximity, his body so desperately craving someone else. even if they were a wall away. even if they didn't know. maybe especially then.

peter listened to your muffled moans and the soft sound of you touching yourself through the wall, his imagination running wild with the possibilities. he imagined your hands all over your body, envisioned all the ways you could be making yourself feel so good right now.

he tried to be quiet, but he began to lose himself a bit as he fantasized about you with desperate, cut-off whines leaving his lips. in his head, your moans only grew louder for him. he closed his eyes and he could hear it: the way you sped up, and the soft whimpers from your throat that turned to unraveled moans deep from your chest.

he understood how the sailors lost their minds to such songs.

he didn't mean to, but peter had picked up on your heartbeat, noting the rapid rate and flutters indicating you were close. peter wasn't far behind you already, the whispers of your pleasure through the drywall enough to get him to the edge, his tip weeping as he stroked faster. he wanted to come with you, so fucking badly. even if he couldn't see it, even if he was such a fucking freak and you had no idea. he really, really didn't care right now. he needed it.

he heard a sharp cry from the room next to him as his stomach tightened and his balls drew up, all of his senses suddenly flooded with the overwhelming scent of you.

"fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-" peter groaned, spilling harshly from his twitching, angry cock, his cum painting his bare and sweaty chest. he heaved louder than he meant to as he fought to catch his breath from the near-blinding orgasm, slapping a hand over his mouth the second he remembered himself. he prayed to thor the walls on your side were somehow more muffled than his.

he figured it was loki, instead, who answered the prayer when peter heard a soft knock on his front door, and all semblance of dignity he had left drained from his body.

he practically fell from his bed, shouting a cracked "just a minute!" as peter crudely wiped himself with a towel from the floor as quickly as possible. he scrambled to find something to cover up with, settling on a pair of yelena's juicy couture sweats and a black tank he hoped landed low enough on his stomach to cover the leftover sin that was drying on his abs.

there was another round of knocking, slightly louder this time, and peter swore loudly as he tripped over his backpack on his way to the door. he peaked out the peephole and plead with the god of mischief as he saw you standing outside his door, random pajamas tossed on in a similar state to his.

peter opened the door slowly, hoping his face wasn't as red as he knew it was. he cleared his throat, "h-hey! hi, what's up? h-how's the night going? so far, i mean. not that anything has happened. like, at this hour of the night, i mean."

you stared at him for a moment, allowing him to take in your appearance, realizing he must look about the same. his guilt is quickly buried and resurrected in kind as he found his cock twitching at the way your hair was tussled, cheeks flushed, and sleep shorts low on your waist. he suppressed a smile as the shame crept back in at the way you met his eyes with knowledge he hoped you didn't have. knew you did have.

you left him conflicted, however, as your lips cocked into a slight smirk and you crossed your arms before whispering a soft, "you could've just knocked, you know."

peter's eyes widened, mouth agape as he searched for a response. you didn't give him a chance as you smirked and walked back to your apartment, flashing a wink at him before disappearing. peter jumped as you banged against the kitchen wall to his right, your voice distant but clear as you spoke to him: "next time, maybe?"

18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

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

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

3.5K words

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

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

── ★ ˙🛋️ ‧₊˚ the one⠀╱⠀stiles stilinski ᵎᵎ

SUMMARY :: out of seemingly nowhere, stiles just shut you out. he wouldn’t talk to you, he wouldn’t see you, then he broke up with you. but the space didn’t deter you, you knew something was wrong with him and you were going to find out exactly what it was.

CONTENT :: based on this request & this request, (brief) arguing, mentions of insecurities, maybe a little ooc (?), stiles’ love language is physical touch, slightly proofread

“I can’t do this anymore.”

Those were the last words you heard from Stiles.

stiles x fem!reader

AN: recently saw a stiles edit and memories of teen wolf obsessed me came back.

STILES DOESN’T GET IT.

Mieczysław "Stiles" Stilinski can find an explanation for pretty much anything. It’s been a habit of his since he was a kid to find the answers to anything his heart desired.

He can uncover secrets of a hidden werewolf population or find the mystery of what a “Kanima” is.

But what he can’t figure out…

is why you show any interest in him.

You.

The new girl in town, the one who even Lydia took an instant liking too.

You were beautiful, intelligent and charming all at once.

A triple threat as Stiles calls it.

From the moment you walked into his Biology class and gave a small smile, his heart was entirely yours.

He initially planned to admire from afar because he unfortunately doubted his ability to even get a coherent sentence out of himself when it came to you.

But oh how that would all change.

Stiles walked into the local cafe with the intention of grabbing a quick coffee for himself.

He knew he was going to pull another all nighter trying to figure out all of Scott’s “alpha” drama and Adderall was not going to do the trick this time.

He entered through the door with his head hung low, just zoned out and staring at his sneakers.

“name is Y/n, thank you”

The sound of your voice caused him to instantly raise his head.

You were here. Right in-front of him. Ordering an iced coffee.

The buzzed hair boy began to suddenly sweat at the sight of you, he could feel his heart rate speeding up.

His palms got clammy and all he began to hear was ringing voices.

“Sir? are you okay?”

The workers concerned words snapped him back to reality.

“uh- ye-yes! I’ll have a large coffee with one milk and sugar”

He stepped onto the side with his hands dug into his pockets.

“studying late tonight?” you asked

Stiles froze. You were speaking to him.

“uh- yeah! some- something like that”

“sounding a bit suspicious there stillinski” you say with a slight grin on your face.

… you know him?

“you know my name?” he asked softly in pure disbelief

“technically i know your last name, now your first name, i can’t pronounce” you say with a teasing tone that brings a smile to the boy’s face.

“ah- that’s alright, it’s a pretty sucky name to learn anyways”

“that’s a challenge I’m willing to take on”.

Stiles felt his heart basically burst out of his chest with the way you were staring at him.

He’s so far gone for you.

“One medium iced coffee and one large coffee with milk and sugar!” the barista calls out abruptly cutting into the lingering looks you and stiles had.

You grab your coffees and both of you make your way to the parking lot in an awkward silence.

“Good luck with whatever you need that coffee for” you say breaking the silence as you unlock your car door.

Stiles gives a frantic awkward grin paired with a deep exhale but no words come out.

He realizes this chance was given to him from a God above. He cannot disappoint and mess this up.

“Y/N!” he says abruptly, startling you just a little.

Your wide-eyed gaze prompts him to go on.

“Ca-can i get your number? you know if you ha-have one. I mean- it’s totally fine if you don’t! Or even if you just don’t want to- Stiles shut up.”

You cut off the buzzed hair boys rambling and push your cellphone into his nerve-shaking hands.

He immediately fumbles your phone and almost dropped it in true stiles fashion but catches it and types his number in before handing it back.

“See you around Stillinski” is what he hears before you drive off from the area.

Stiles continues to stand there, confused and frozen in place.

Stiles still doesn’t get why you’re interested in him, but he does know, it’s something he’s not taking for granted.

The involuntary gestures and moans that escape Stiles as you ride him are pure glory. He can’t stay quiet not when your hips move like this: every lift, every drop, every circular motion drives him wild. His head tilts back, lips parted, and a rough moan escapes him every time you sink down onto him. His fingers dig into your thighs, as if he’s trying to anchor himself to this world before pleasure drags him under completely.

His brain is mush. You know it by the way he blinks, confused, as if he doesn’t even remember his own name. He wants to warn you that he’s about to come, but the words get stuck, coming out in broken, incoherent stutters:

"I... I... fuck..."

"I know, Stiles", you murmur, trying to catch your breath, but seeing him like this, undone, panting, eyes glazed over, sends electric shocks down your spine. Every spasm of his body, every time his hips lift to meet yours, brings you closer to your own orgasm. The wet sound of your bodies slapping together fills the room, mixed with his moans and your gasps.

You go faster. Stiles can only grip your hips, and you know you’ll have bruises tomorrow, if you weren’t a werewolf. His nails dig into your skin, but the pain blends with the pleasure, and it only makes you move harder, with more determination. Sweat slides down your bodies, and the scent of sex and hot skin fills the air.

You make one last slow, torturous circular motion before slamming down hard. Stiles’ grip tightens, his fingers sinking into your flesh, and then you feel it: his body tenses, a deep spasm, and his hot release paints your walls. A guttural moan tears from his throat, and the sound of his pleasure pushes you to the edge.

You pause for a second, feeling him pulse inside you, feeling his seed slowly drip out. But it’s not enough. Not when you still feel him hard, when his hips still twitch in small, desperate movements, as if he can’t, or won’t, let go of the rhythm. You lean forward, brushing your nipples against his chest, and whisper in his ear:

"Again?"

sigh . . . stiles being a huge loverboy

💻 : loverboy! stiles puppy love fluff stiles just wants to give you everything

masterlist

loverboy! stiles who will do anything for you. need to get driven home? he'll take you. lifting something heavy? stiles will get it despite the fact his hands are aching.

loverboy! stiles that will listen to what you say, he's basically like a dog.

loverboy! stiles who says cheesy pick up lines he found on the internet to have you be more attracted to him, which works oddly enough . . .

loverboy! stiles that cannot stop staring at you. scott scoffs when he realizes that he wasn't even listening to him, "dude, your eyes are going to be stuck open."

loverboy! stiles who is infact still awkward around you sometimes. poor guy can help it, your looks and presence makes him forget he's your boyfriend.

loverboy! stiles who once went to your neighbors window instead of yours and ran so quick to your window . . .

loverboy! stiles who LOVES when you kiss him, he pouts and tries to lean back in for more before you put your hands on his mouth to stop him that causes him to groan.

loverboy! stiles does in fact write your initials plus his and draws a heart in pen on the corner of his notes and clears his throat if a teach walks by and sees.

loverboy! stiles who actually felt so dizzy on your first date because he was so nervous and had no idea how to act around you.

loverboy! stiles loves having any part of him touch yours.

loverboy! stiles who is absolutely whipped for you.

stiles stilinski x best!friend reader after he has a nightmare word count - 1.8k! a/n: just now getting back to this ask - sorry for the late turnaround! going through some shit with a boy n i was glued to my bed for a few days :) i love you all very dearly, my muses! also didn't want to tag this as perv!stiles (even though we love him) because this is more sweet baby angel stiles!! content warnings - making out, weed, nightmares, self doubt. also not proofread or beta read - you guys know the fucking drill at this point.

stiles stilinski is a mess. everything in his life has changed since scott turned, and he found himself waiting for it all to blow up. 

more often than not, sleep evaded him. he’d just stare at the ceiling and analyze the facts; what has already gone wrong, and what could possibly be next?

tonight was one of those nights. stiles had rolled a joint and was leisurely smoking it, breathing the marijuana into his lungs as some sort of solace from the supernatural. he rolled over to his nightstand and grabbed his phone, body on autopilot while typing in your phone number.

you had lived a few doors down from stiles’s house for fifteen years. now, it was almost second nature to walk into his house like it was yours (& vice versa - you couldn’t remember how many times you’d gotten home to see stiles buzzing with excitement on your couch).

that night, you had just crawled into your bed from a long study session and opened tiktok to watch some rich girl’s travel videos.

your phone lit up with a notification from stiles, a hey, can you come over? message. it seemed sorta pathetic for the boy who normally stood outside your house and yelled until he got your attention, but that’s how you know he really needed you.

even though you wanted to do nothing but stay in bed and continue to scroll on tiktok for the rest of the night, you were a good friend.

and the thing about good friends is that they will go to their people whenever they need them, no matter if it’s 3pm or 2am.

it’s not here or there that you were slipping on your socks and leaving the house at the latter.

you trudged across the sidewalk in your fuzzy socks, yellow streetlamps lighting the eerily dark street. you used your flashlight to give some more light to your surroundings, picking up pace until you were on stiles’s front porch.

you fumbled with your phone, shutting off the flashlight and slowly opening his front door with a soft creak.

“stiles?” you whispered, all too aware that his dad was either out on shift or asleep.

you heard a voice carry down towards you. “up here.”

as you ascended the stairs to stiles’s room, you realized his dad was totally on night shift. there’s no way he would let his son smoke while he was home.

you coughed loudly as you walked into his room, waving your hand in front of your face to clear some of the haze that had settled over the space. “jeez, stilinski. warn a girl, why don’t you?”

stiles was laid back on his bed, toned abdomen flexing as he inhaled smoke. “want a hit?” he held out the joint with a raised eyebrow, lazy smirk spreading across his face.

you scoffed, yanking it out of his “you should put a shirt on.” you inhaled deep, feeling the drug slowly fill your lungs. “damn, this is good. i forget that you always have the best stash.”

“right?” stiles said, sitting up from his earlier position to move towards the side of his mattress. “c’mere. sit.” he patted the spot next to him with his right hand, his left busied with rubbing at his reddened eyes.

you joined stiles on the edge of the mattress, passing the joint back to him as he sat down. “so… is something wrong? what happened?”

“bad dream. too afraid to sleep.” stiles mumbled, pressing the rolled paper to his lips. “the one where the house’s burning.”

you swallowed hard. “ah”.

you knew all about stiles’s recurring dreams. one of the worst ones consisted of his house burning down and picking off the ones he loved most - scott and allison in the kitchen, lydia and kira in the living room, the sheriff in the garage, and him and you in stiles’s room. he described it as flames licking up the side of the house and onto your skin - a gentle touch turned terrorizing.

“shouldn’t dwell on it now. too much to think about.”

you put your hand on his shoulder, fingers unconsciously rubbing at the skin. “yeah, you’re right. don’t have to worry about it again for a while, right?”

“for tonight.” stiles scoffed, exhaling smoke in the space in front of him.

“and tonight is enough, stiles. we can sit and talk for as long as you need, okay?”

he smiled, eyes meeting yours. “yeah. yeah, you’re right.” stiles paused, handing you the joint. “wanna lay down? i can put on that projector of the stars that we used to look at all of the time when we were kids.”

you laughed, looking at stiles quizzically. “you still have that? does it even work?”

he shrugged, reaching underneath his bed and pulling out the projector. you remember it clear as day from when you were a child, a midnight blue globe with star cutouts sat on a white stand with a black cord trailing from a hole on the side.

stiles plugged it into the outlet beside his nightstand and sat it on top of his bed, laying down. you quickly joined him, laying beside him and staring up at the circling stars above you.

“hey, stiles?”

“yeah?”

“how do you do it all?”

stiles turned on his side, looking at you. “what do you mean?”

you mirrored his action, looking into his eyes. “you’re… strong, y’know. you always have a plan. you just… you lead everyone.”

stiles scoffed. “scott leads everyone.”

“just because we’re in scott’s pack doesn’t inherently mean he’s the leader. any good leader always has someone to back them up, y’know? you’re his backup. you lead us just as much as scott does, if not more.” you pressed the joint to your lips with a deep inhale, playfully blowing out smoke into stiles’s face. the boy hacked out a few coughs while swatting at your shoulder, yanking the joint from your hands and putting it out on a bowl on his nightstand.

“not nice!”

you giggled, swatting stiles back before settling back into the serious tempo of your conversation. “maybe the reason why you’re so stressed out is because you don’t have a backup. you lead just as much as scott does, but you don’t have your own person to fall back on. i adore scott, but he sometimes gets caught up in the big supernatural aspects a bit too much to worry about you.”

stiles’s expression sobered up, looking at you with a glint underneath his eyes. you couldn’t really make out what he was thinking as he said “that’s not true.”

“what do you mean? what’s not true?”

“i have somebody to fall back on. i’ve always had somebody to fall back on. if i didn’t, i would be sitting here alone and driving myself mad from misery. instead, you’re here with me at 2 in the morning. you’re here while to make sure i don’t drown my problems in weed and you’re here to look at shittily projected stars with me. i have you. you’re my person.” stiles smiled at you, and you suddenly realized that the glint behind his eyes was the type of admiration akin to looking at somebody and realizing that they’re your whole world.

“oh.” you looked back at stiles, staring into his eyes like they’d give you some cliché answer to all of your problems.

“that’s all you have to say?” he quirked his eyebrow up. you laughed, remembering the time when he tried to teach you how to do that. waste of thirty minutes, but being thirteen meant that you had nothing better to do. 

you’re sort of surprised that you remembered that, because it’s been five years.

“no, no. i just… i never thought i supported you that much. i’ve just tried to be a good friend. to be truthful, being a good friend isn’t unnatural when i’m with you. do you know what i mean?” you smiled, breaking eye contact with stiles in favor of looking down towards the bedsheets.

suddenly, you felt a gentle hand on your chin. it pulled you up to look right back at stiles, flushed cheeks and heavy eyes meeting yours.

“eyes on me. don’t look away now. you always say that respect starts with eye contact and communication, right?”

you felt heat spread up your neck and towards your face, completely sure that you’re as red as a tomato right now. “what?” you blurted out, almost sure that you didn’t hear him right.

“something wrong?”

you felt like someone had sliced open your chest and pressed an accelerator to your heart while ripping your lungs apart. “no, i just…”

stiles leaned in closer to you, his hand leaving your chin to rest on your waist. “tell me to stop.”

your eyes widened. “stop what?”

“what do you think? c’mon, baby. i know you’re not dumb.” he smirked, nose almost brushing against yours.

you felt like your throat was coated in molasses. your words just weren’t coming out, tongue covered in saccharine sweetness. “i… i don’t know.”

at this point, stiles’s lips were very nearly brushing yours. “it’s a yes or no answer. not that hard, darling.”

you swallowed, gathering up all of the courage and remaining wit that was inside of your empty head. “yes.”

stiles’s lips crashed against yours, a tsunami rushing against a sandy beach. they moved against you with fervor, your heart racing as his hands moving down your waist to knead at your hips. you tried to keep pace with his unabashed enthusiasm, but eventually you stilled and just let him move against you.

after a minute, he separated from you. he panted on your cheek, hot breath brushing against your face. “god, i didn’t expect that.”

“neither did i.” you let out a breath that you didn’t know you were holding. 

stiles moved his face to rest on your neck, kissing down the skin. “so?” he mumbled against you.

“what?” you gasped, looking down at his flushed face.

“are we still best friends?” stiles said, smiling against your skin.

you felt your back uncontrollably arch as he sucked on a sweet spot by your collarbone. “i… i think you know the answer to that, stiles.”

“good.” you felt him give a soft kiss underneath your chin, and you let yourself surrender to the touch of your best friend.

a touch that shouldn’t have felt that good and something that you knew couldn’t be taken back.

honestly, you had wanted this for long enough that you were slowly realizing that you didn’t care.

Loves his wife

Is actually pretty chill except when it comes to stupid people

Easy to underestimate

Knows her own mind

A QUICK FIX. [18+] 𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃

‎✧˚₊‧ peter cumming in his pants when you sit on his face!

it’s been far too long since peter has fucked.

yes, you fucked him that one when you had to figure out who in the hell you fucked because he disappeared before you woke up; you’d eventually remember when you saw parker’s tank-top on the floor.

you remember his pathetic whimpers as he piston into you, the way he fucked sloppy and the way he refused to even pull out once, like it was physically impossible for him to pull out— and in some ways? it was… and you also remember, oh yeah! you have his phone number now, so of course, when the night is late, when nobody is around and you’re far too horny for your own good? guess he’d do the trick.

and peter, for all of his flaws, has a really good green flag if you ask the right person; he loves when women sit on his face.

he lovesssss getting a face full of pussy, his tongue licking up and down their folds and tasting all of their juices all over his face. he loves feeling trapped under thighs and under someone in full control… and he loved it especially tonight, when he hasn’t gotten the feeling in forever, and you put all your weight on him.

“p-peter! peter!” your moans echo off the wall just like they did two weeks ago as this time, it wasn’t his cock drilling in and out of you, it was his tongue lapping you up and down.

his rough hands grab your waist and keeps you on him, moaning against your cunt as your fingers stroke his hair. “mhm… so good b-baby.” his moans are broken, blushing as he can’t stop his tongue. “s’so’so good.” he mutters, feeling his cock twitch as his mouth tastes more of of your pussy. “could eat you all fuckin’ night, sweet girl.”

you rock on his face, both of your hands in his hair as he continues to lick and suck on your wet pussy. his legs shake a little, eyes rolling back at the taste of you entering his mouth— you taste so good.

“peter! p’peter! ohhhhh fu-fuckkkk!” you moan out, fingers yanking at his brown hair as you look down at him, shuddering at seeing him.

he didn’t hold himself back— he couldn’t, that’s the thing with his powers; yes, he’s spider-man and one of the downsides? he can’t hold himself back when pleasure overloads his senses… and in no time at all… he feels his balls clench and his cock vibrates in his pants.

and suddenly, he feels ropes of heavy semen leave his cock and stain his pants, unloading in his boxers as he cums— just by you sitting on his face.

you feel him tremble under you and you furrow your brows, looking at him with a mouth agape and turn your head, seeing his grey sweatpants become stained in the crotch area. you turn your head back at him and seeing the blush of embarrassment on his face.

“peter!”

“mhm— what?”

you shake your head as you groan at the vibrations against your cunt. “you— you just cummed? what- what the fuck?”

he shakes his head in between his thighs, running his hands up and down your back. “…’m sorry… you just t-taste so good… fuck…”

oh this absolutely pathetic man.

click here for main masterlist! 𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃

AUTHOR'S NOTE: god, i luv this pathetic ass man. also??? the amount of support on my first peter oneshot? didn’t expect that but if people want more penis parker, they gonna get penis parker!

thank you for all the support in every way possible! all support is very much appreciated! all content created on this blog is mine, do not copy or sent it through ai!