Dylan O'brien & Other-Smut-Imagines

Wrecked

As I lay here, listening to Stiles' heartbeat, Isaac's words echo over and over in my head. "I can give you so much more than he can. I hope you don't regret this." Will I regret this? Yes, Stiles is a fucking god in bed, not that I'll ever admit that out loud, but so far that's all I've gotten from him. We don't talk about our feelings, which is kinda fine with me. Ugh...feelings. I'm not a "feelings" kind of person. I think if you care about people, you should be able to tell how much they care by their actions. Not having them tell you a million times that they love you. But, I will admit, it's nice to hear the words every once and awhile.

I feel like the only thing that's really changed between us, is that we have sex. A lot of sex. Stiles and his uncontrollable need to go down on me all the time, which I'm not complaining about in the slightest, is almost...possessive? And I'm not sure if it's because of this whole thing with Isaac or something else.

When you put stubborn, bullheaded people together it can become toxic. Stiles and I? It's like a nuclear bomb waiting to lay waste and obliterate anything in its path. And it scares me.

Is this whole thing a bad idea? Probably. Am I going to stop it before it gets to that point of no return? Probably not. Because as scared as I am, no one has ever made me feel the way he does, his touch is like a drug. I'm completely addicted to it already. So......I'm pretty much fucked.

"Stiles?" I mumble as I nuzzle my cheek against his chest, the small patch of hair tickling my nose.

"Hmm?" He hums sleepily, his arm tightening around me.

"Am I going to regret this?" I whisper and I hear his heart speed up and his body tense underneath me.

"No." There's a finality in his low tone, so I don't push it. I don't ask him anything else. I let it be and my eyes slide closed, breathing deeply.

I feel him press his lips to the top of my head and mumble something, but I can't make out the words. I slip off into a deep sleep.

Isaac hasn't said more than two words to me in three weeks since that phone call. Stiles' original words come back to me. "What happens if it ends badly? It will be weird and awkward for the pack." Well, it's weird. And awkward. Which is why Stiles and I have pretty much locked ourselves away in my house when we're not at school or mandatory pack meetings while we have the house to ourselves. The 'rents will be back next week, so we've taken full advantage of the alone time and space. Pretty much every surface of my house. Which reminds me...I need to buy some Lysol.

"What do you wanna do today?" Stiles fingers dance across my hip as he leans closer, his nose skimming the shell of my ear.

"I dunno...wanna watch a movie?" I try to ignore that dull ache between my legs that has become a frustratingly constant thing since this whole thing with Stiles began.

"Can we watch Batman?" His breath tickles my ear, his tone making my skin erupt in goosebumps.

"You know the rule, Stilinski. No DC Comics in my house," I smirk and a deep growl sounds in his chest.

"You are so infuriating," his teeth sink into my neck and I giggle at his playful assault, trying to cringe away from him but his hand grips my hip, holding me tighter.

He sees something behind me and scoots away from me, clearing his throat as he scratches the back of his neck. I look over my shoulder to see Scott, Lydia, Malia and Liam walking towards the picnic table and a flash of annoyance washes over me. It's amazing how quickly he can turn himself off as soon as we see our friends, making me wonder if he's ashamed at...whatever it is that's going on between us. I turn to look at him as everyone sits and he gives me a half smile, almost apologetic.