#yah yah

summary: stiles stilinski has always been the kind of guy whose curiosity gets the better of him. but when his guardian angel starts appearing to him in all their ethereal glory, curiosity turns into something darker, something dirtier. and despite their pure intentions, even angels aren't immune to the sinful pull of human desire. after all, isn't God always watching? (it’s a little rushed, the idea just came to me when i was writing spn!stiles’ backstory sigh…)

warnings; eating out an angel, stiles being a freak, voyeurism /exhibitionism (because God is always watching) don’t know what else to say, it’s just smut.

it started innocently enough, as most catastrophes do.

stiles was lying in bed, staring at his popcorn ceiling and pondering the sheer mediocrity of his life. his latest brush with the supernatural had left him rattled but alive, and he'd muttered a quick "thanks" to whatever celestial being was responsible for his continued survival. he didn't expect a response.

and yet, there you were.

at first, he thought he'd fallen asleep and was dreaming. you stood at the foot of his bed, a faint glow surrounding you, your eyes wide and otherworldly, your hands clasped in front of you as though you were the one nervous to be seen.

"who—what are you?" he stammered, sitting up and clutching his blanket like a shield.

you tilted your head, the gesture slow and deliberate, almost… birdlike. "’m your guardian angel," you said softly, your voice carrying a melody no human throat could produce. "i’ve been watching over you."

that’s was how it began. you’d appear at the oddest times—when he was studying, brushing his teeth, driving. always with that serene, unreadable expression. stiles couldn’t help but notice the way your gaze lingered on him, curious yet unassuming, as though trying to decipher what made him tick.

but then the watching turned into something else.

stiles wasn’t sure when exactly his thoughts started getting... inappropriate. maybe it was the time you perched on his desk while he worked on a paper, leaning so close that he could feel the warmth radiating from your body—if angels even had bodies, which wasn’t something he should be thinking about, what the hell was wrong with him. or maybe it was the time you appeared in his room soaking wet, your clothes clinging to you as water dripped onto the carpet. you’d claimed you’d been “cleansing yourself” in the rain, but the look on your face made it seem like you knew exactly what you were doing.

and god, the way you said things sometimes—your words always came out too calm, too deliberate, with a slight edge that made his skin prickle. like you were aware of your own power, of what you could do to him if you wanted. stiles couldn’t tell if you were mocking him or just... existing in a way that wrecked his sanity.

still, he tried to brush it off. he tried. you were an angel. angels weren’t supposed to be… hot? no, no, not hot, that was wrong—ethereal. otherworldly. totally not something a human should look at and ache.

but stiles was stiles, and of course his brain couldn’t leave well enough alone.

there was that time you’d bent over to inspect something on his desk, and he’d immediately clamped a hand over his eyes, muttering something about boundaries. you just blinked at him, completely unfazed. “are you unwell?” you asked, your voice soft, like you genuinely cared.

and maybe that was the worst part—the caring. You didn’t just watch him; you noticed things. the twitch in his hands when he was anxious. the way his breathing hitched when he lied. the tightness in his voice when he tried to joke away the heaviness in his chest. you noticed all of it, and instead of judging him, you… stayed.

which made everything worse.

he couldn’t stop thinking about you. couldn’t stop thinking about your hands, delicate yet strong, and the way they’d brushed against his once when you handed him a notebook he’d dropped. couldn’t stop thinking about your voice, low and lilting, curling around his name like a prayer. couldn’t stop thinking about your eyes, how they seemed to see through him, stripping him bare until he didn’t know where stiles ended and you began.

either way, stiles knew he was going straight to hell for the things he thought about when you were around.

"you’re supposed to be... holy," he said one night, trying to keep his eyes anywhere but on the curve of your lips or the soft swell of your chest. "aren’t you?"

you tilted your head, genuinely confused. "of course i am. but i don't understand why that bothers you so much."

"’s not that it bothers me, it’s just—" he gestured vaguely at your form. "do angels normally look like that?”

your brows furrowed. "like what?"

"like they walked off a Calvin Klein runway!" he blurted, immediately regretting it. "i mean, come on, the hair, the glow, the whole—" his hands flailed as he tried to encompass your entire existence in one gesture.

you smiled, a faint flush spreading across your cheeks. "i take on a form you’d find pleasing. does this one... please you?"

stiles choked. "uh, yeah, sure, it’s great—very pleasing."

the knowing look in your eyes made his skin prickle.

it came to a head one night when he woke to find you standing by his window, bathed in moonlight. you weren’t glowing this time, but there was something even more divine about the way the light kissed your skin, illuminating every curve, every line.

"do you ever sleep?" he asked groggily, his voice rough from sleep.

"angels don’t need rest," you replied without turning, your tone calm, matter-of-fact, like you weren’t haunting his room in the middle of the night, looking like that.

"must be nice," he muttered, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. his heart was already racing, though he didn’t want to think about why.

you turned to face him then, and for once, your expression wasn’t unreadable. there was something soft about it, something… human. it threw him off balance. "you were dreaming about me again."

stiles froze, his blood going ice-cold and boiling hot all at once. "uh, what?"

"your dreams," you said, stepping closer. "they're always... vivid."

"okay, first of all, rude," he said, his voice cracking. "second of all, you watch me sleep? isn’t that, like, against angel code or something?"

you frowned, genuinely perplexed, your head tilting like you genuinely didn’t understand the problem. "i’m your guardian. watching over you is my duty."

"yeah, well, maybe watch a little less when i’m unconscious, okay?"

but you didn’t step back. if anything, you moved closer, your gaze dropping to his lips, then lower.

"do you want me to leave?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

he swallowed hard, his pulse pounding in his ears. he should’ve said yes. he should’ve. but instead, the word came out like a confession:

"no."

and that was it.

stiles wasn’t sure who made the first move. one moment you were standing by his bed, and the next you were straddling his lap, your hands tangled in his hair, your lips hot and insistent against his.

it was surreal, the way you melted into him, the way your body—so soft, so warm, so human—pressed against his like you’d been made to fit there. every nerve in his body was on fire, and yet he couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t get enough of you.

“is this… allowed?” he gasped when you pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, his hands trembling against your hips. his voice was rough, desperate.

“don’t know,” you admitted, your breath hitching as his fingers tightened, grounding themselves in your skin. “but it feels… right.”

“God’s probably watching,” he said, a crooked grin tugging at his lips, though there was a flicker of guilt in his eyes.

"let him," you whispered, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "He created me, didn’t He? He made me like this—for you."

the weight of your words sent a shiver down his spine.

"jesus christ," he muttered, his grip tightening on you.

"wrong deity," you teased, your smile wicked.

and then there was no room for talking.

the next kiss was hungrier, more desperate, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as if the space between you was unbearable. stiles’ hands roamed your body with a reverence that made your skin burn under his touch. his fingers trailed the curve of your waist, lingering at the small of your back before gliding down to your thighs, gripping them with a possessiveness that sent shivers up your spine.

"you feel... warm," he murmured against your lips, his voice husky, thick with wonder. his fingers traced the curve of your waist, lingering at the small of your back before sliding lower, squeezing like he needed to anchor himself.

"so do you," you whispered, your breath hitching as his lips trailed along your jaw, then down your neck. your fingers tangled in his shirt, pulling him closer, deeper, until his scent, his heat, his everything surrounded you.

stiles’ hands trembled as he tugged at your clothes—not out of hesitation, but from sheer need. with every layer he peeled away, his breath hitched, his eyes growing darker, hungrier, devouring the sight of you. his lips followed the path of his hands, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, the hollow of your throat, the curve of your shoulder.

"god, you’re beautiful," he breathed, his voice almost reverent, but there was something feral behind his gaze, something that made your chest tighten and your thighs press together instinctively.

"don’t use His name like that," you teased softly, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips even as his words sent a shiver down your spine.

"right, sorry," he said, though the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips was anything but apologetic. his hands slid down your sides, his thumbs grazing the soft dip of your hips before settling on your thighs, his fingers flexing possessively. "but seriously… you're unreal."

the last of your clothes fell away, leaving you bare under the soft glow of moonlight. stiles leaned back for a moment, his eyes roaming your body with an intensity that made you feel both exposed and cherished.

"are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice quieter now, but no less urgent.

"yes," you whispered, your fingers curling against his shoulders, nails pressing into the soft cotton of his shirt as your legs shifted restlessly beneath him. "want this. want you."

that was all he needed to hear.

his lips crashed against yours, hot and desperate, his hands roaming your body with a reverence that made your skin burn under his touch. every kiss, every brush of his fingers felt like he was memorizing you, committing every curve and line of your body to memory. his kisses trailed lower, down the line of your jaw and across your neck, his tongue flicking out to taste the salt of your skin.

“you’re so soft,” he murmured, his voice rough as his lips moved down to your collarbone. his hands slid to your waist, gripping you firmly, grounding himself in the feel of you as if you might slip away at any moment.

your breath hitched as his mouth found the curve of your breast, his tongue tracing the sensitive skin with maddening precision. his hand followed, cupping you gently, his thumb brushing over your hardened nipple in a way that made you arch into him.

when he reached the apex of your thighs, you tensed, your body trembling under the weight of his gaze. he paused, his hands resting on your hips, his thumbs brushing soothing circles into your skin.

"you’re trembling," he murmured, his voice low and thick with need.

"’m nervous," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

"don’t be," he said, his lips quirking into a crooked smile as he pressed a kiss to your inner thigh. "i’ll take care of you. promise."

he kissed his way lower, pausing just above the apex of your thighs. his hands slid down to your knees, gently coaxing them further apart, and the cool air against your bare skin made you shiver. his gaze flicked up to yours, and the heat in his eyes made your breath catch.

"you’re so soft," he murmured, his fingers tracing the delicate skin of your inner thighs. "so perfect."

the first brush of his lips against your core made you gasp, your hips jerking instinctively at the sudden jolt of pleasure. stiles groaned at your reaction, the sound low and guttural, sending heat pooling low in your stomach.

"easy, angel," he muttered, his breath hot against your slick folds. "let me take my time with you."

and he did. stiles licked a long, languid stripe up the length of your slick folds, his tongue swirling around your clit before dipping lower to taste you. the noises he made—soft groans of approval as he tasted you, hums of satisfaction as your body writhed beneath him—only heightened the fire coursing through you. his lips closed around your swollen clit, sucking gently, and the sensation was enough to make your vision blur.

“stiles,” you gasped, your hands flying to his hair, threading through the messy strands as you tried to ground yourself against the overwhelming tide of sensation.

"that’s it," he rasped against you, his voice rough and gravelly. "let me hear how good i make you feel, angel."

his tongue delved between your folds, exploring every inch of you with a thoroughness that bordered on worship. he alternated between teasing your clit with quick, flicking strokes and thrusting his tongue inside you, tasting you from the inside out. the wet, obscene sounds of his mouth against you filled the room, and the sheer intimacy of it made your cheeks flush. you gasped, your fingers threading through his hair and tugging, but it only seemed to spur him on.

"you taste so fucking good,” he groaned, his voice muffled against you. he tilted his head, changing the angle, and the sound that escaped you—a sharp, desperate cry—made him growl in response. his fingers digging into your thighs as he pulled you closer to his mouth, as if he could consume you whole.

when he slid a finger inside you, curling it to press against that perfect spot, your back arched off the bed, a sharp cry tearing from your throat. he groaned at the way you clenched around him, his hips grinding into the mattress unconsciously as his own arousal built. he added a second finger, thrusting them in and out in a steady rhythm that left you gasping.

"fuck, you’re so tight," he muttered, his voice thick with need. "so wet for me."

his tongue returned to your clit, circling it with deliberate precision before sucking it into his mouth. the combined sensation of his tongue and fingers was overwhelming, and your body tensed as a wave of pleasure began to build, tightening with every movement.

you could feel his own body trembling against the bed, like he was barely holding himself together. every gasp, every twitch of your thighs, seemed to fuel him, his movements growing more fervent, more desperate. his stubble scraped against your sensitive skin, the sensation a sharp contrast to the heat of his mouth, and it made you gasp, your hips bucking against his face.

“fuck, stiles.” you cried, your fingers tugging hard at his hair, your legs shaking uncontrollably.

“yeah?” he muttered against you, his voice rough and almost teasing. “that good, angel?”

“shut up,” you gasped, but your words held no bite, your voice breaking into a whimper as he thrust his fingers deeper, his tongue swirling over your clit with unrelenting precision.

he chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your core, and it made you tremble even harder. “can’t help it,” he said, his lips brushing against you as he spoke. “you’re just—God, i could do this forever.”

he shifted slightly, pulling your hips closer to his face, his grip bruising as he held you in place. you couldn’t move if you tried—not that you wanted to. all you could do was lie there, your body arching into his touch as he worked you over like he’d been made for this. like he’d been designed to unravel you.

the obscene wet sounds of his mouth on you filled the room, punctuated by your soft gasps and cries. his fingers curled again, dragging over that perfect spot inside you, and your thighs clamped instinctively around his head, trapping him there.

stiles groaned, clearly loving it. he pulled back just enough to grin up at you, his lips and chin glistening, his eyes blazing with lust. “you trying to suffocate me, angel?”

“don’t tempt me,” you shot back breathlessly, your hands still tangled in his hair, trying to pull him back down.

“oh, i’m tempted,” he said, his grin widening before he dove back in with even more fervor, his tongue and fingers moving faster, harder.

you arched off the bed again, your entire body trembling as the pleasure built higher and higher, coiling tight in your stomach. you felt like you were teetering on the edge of something overwhelming, something that threatened to consume you completely.

“shit, i can’t—”

“yes, you can,” he growled against you, his voice rough and commanding. “i’ve got you. let me take care of you.”

his words only pushed you closer to the edge, the heat between your legs becoming almost unbearable. you couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but feel. stiles seemed to sense it, his free hand sliding up your body to grasp your breast, his thumb brushing over your sensitive nipple in time with the flicks of his tongue.

you were trembling all over now, your legs quaking against his shoulders, your nails digging into his scalp. he wasn’t stopping, wasn’t slowing down, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could hold on.

“fuck,” he muttered, pulling back for a brief moment to catch his breath. his lips were swollen and slick, his face flushed, and his hair was a wild mess from where your fingers had tugged at it. he looked wrecked, and it only made you hotter.

“you’re so fucking beautiful like this,” he said, his voice low and rough. “falling apart for me. you have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

you glanced down at him, and your breath hitched when you saw the way his hips pressed against the bed, his obvious arousal straining against the fabric of his boxers. he was rutting against the mattress, unable to stop himself, and the sight of him so desperate, so undone by you, made your head spin.

“stiles…” you whispered, your voice shaky, and he groaned, ducking his head back between your thighs, his lips and tongue resuming their assault.

you weren’t going to last much longer. he wasn’t going to let you.

stiles' fingers worked deeper, curling inside you with a perfect rhythm that made your legs shake uncontrollably. his mouth was relentless, his tongue flicking over your clit in maddening circles, then sucking gently before starting all over again. he was completely lost in you—your taste, your scent, the way your body writhed under his touch.

your hips jerked upward, seeking more of the heat of his mouth, the pressure of his fingers. every nerve in your body was on fire, coiled so tightly you thought you might snap. stiles could feel it too; he groaned into you, his voice vibrating against your sensitive core, and it pushed you that much closer to the edge.

"you're trembling s’much," he murmured, lifting his mouth just enough to let his breath ghost over your soaked skin. his fingers continued their steady thrusts, his palm pressing against your clit in teasing pulses. "you're right there, aren’t you? c’mon, angel... let go. let me feel it."

his words sent a shudder through you, your thighs tightening around his head. stiles buried himself deeper, his tongue returning to your clit with renewed focus, his lips closing around it as his fingers curled again, finding that perfect spot that made your vision blur.

“stiles, oh—fuck,” your hands flew to his hair, holding him there as your body arched sharply off the bed, your head thrown back as the tension finally snapped.

a wave of pleasure crashed over you, raw and all-consuming, leaving you gasping for air as you came undone beneath him. heat spread through your body, every nerve lit up as your release coated his fingers, his mouth, soaking him in your arousal.

"that’s it angel," he said again, his voice dripping with satisfaction. his hips grinding into the mattress as he worked you through it, his tongue lapping at you like a man starved.

he finally pulled back slightly, his lips swollen and shining, his eyes dark as he looked up at you. his chin and cheeks were slick with your arousal, and he wore it like a badge of honor, his grin crooked and breathless.

"that’s my girl," he muttered, his voice thick with pride and awe. "did so good for me." his grin widening as he climbed over you, his body pressing against yours, solid and warm. his lips found yours, and you could taste yourself on him. but even as he kissed you, his hips pressing against yours, you could feel the hard, insistent heat of him through his boxers. “gonna take care of me aren’t you? gonna be a good little angel for me.”

This comic takes place before the seventh division arc 🤝 (read left to right)

commission batch!