Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/733463.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski, Lydia_Martin/Jackson_Whittemore, Allison
      Argent/Scott_McCall
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski, Lydia_Martin, Allison_Argent, Off-screen
      Jackson_Whittemore_and_Scott_Mccall
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_High_School, Alternate_Universe_-_Human, Underage_-
      Freeform, Masturbation, Mutual_Masturbation, teacher!Derek, Genderswap,
      Alwaysagirl!Stiles, Light_Dirty_Talk, Porn_With_Plot, Don't_ask_me_for_a
      sequel_because_I_suck_at_sequels, Age_Difference_(but_there's_no_mention
      in_the_difference_on_the_gap)
  Series:
      Part 1 of it's_a_(new)_morning
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-03-25 Words: 7300
****** i'm coming (home) to you ******
by colferstilinski
Summary
     First step: Getting an outsider's opinion.
     Second step: Smoulder, seduce and success.
Notes
     P/s: Unbeta'd and probably has a shit ton of writing/spelling/grammar
     errors.
See the end of the work for more notes
Stiles has always been a good student, well; she likes to think that she was
before the whole… situation.
She’s never once been late for classes even when it was freshman year. Not even
when she’s hauling herself out the ladies room five minutes before first
period, a tampon shoved hastily in her vagina and toilet paper trailing under
her Mary-Jane platforms.
She also prides herself that she’s on the honour roll too.
Of course all of that changes with Mr. Hale.
Yeah, cue the collective dreamy sighs of about five hundred hormonal teenage
girls stuck in a semi-rundown high school in a town that shitted out from
nowhere of California and have boys categorized into three different types.
The first are the Whittemore types, the kind of boys that you can’t even say
their first name because it humanizes them, therefore not making them sound
like the spawn of devil they truly are. They go hand-in-hand with the Martin
type girls, but they’re mostly queens, fabulous and are in the cheerleading
squad.
So,there.
Second type is the kind of guys that Stiles always finds herself adoring after.
The Scott McCalls. The boys in this bunch are the best, although they aren’t
many in the lot. They’re well-mannered and actually treat girls the way they
should be treated, like they are a majestic creature that roams the shittier
parts of Earth and has to bow down to all her great ways.
Stiles exaggerates, duh, but the Scott Mccalls are the best bunch of boys you
can find in Beacon Hills for a boyfriend status, but sadly, all of them are
taken by girls who meets the Allison Argent criteria.
The last kind… well, it’s not really a type since there’s only Danny and Matt
in there while all the other boys that’s left just doesn’t count because, well,
they’re not redeemable enough to be mentioned. They’re both gay—for each other.
Yep. Homosexual. Loves it up the ass and have no fanciful taste for the
glorious vagina.
So, yeah, everything isn’t too swell for girls like Stiles, until… drum roll,
Mr. Hale.
Mr. Hale that looks effortless with his permanent dirty scruff that shadows to
his adam’s apple and have about fifty types of sharp looking blazers he shrugs
on with a white pressed oxford that goes nicely with a slim tie every morning.
He’s literally every girls’ walking wet dream from the Playgirl magazine (no,
don’t even judge her) and the best thing?
He’s just in arm’s length reach in distance.
Stiles sometimes wonder why her dad doesn’t just abuse his sheriff title and
arrest Mr. Hale from looking outrageously good in such a small town but that’s
just weird so she doesn’t let her mind ponder on that far.
However, if her mind supplies dirty thoughts of Mr. Hale pressing her against
the hood of the cruiser, hooking an arm under her leg as he fucks into her core
until she feels too dry and raw, well—that’s her own damn business.
-
Stiles likes thinking out of the box and making plans for urgent (read: her
sexual life) situations, so obviously she draws out a whole fool proof plan on
ways and means to seduce the one and only Mr. Hale, which she has already
deducted about an 83.2 percent of success.
First step: Getting an outsider’s opinion.
Stiles doesn’t have much friends because she doesn’t associate most of the
girls who fawns over the Whittemore type dudes at any given moment in school
and shies away from ones who are just a tad too rambunctious with their bitchy
gossips.
So, she engages the only help she can get in Allison, who has been Scott’s
girlfriend for about a year running or so. It’s one of the perks of having
Scott as a next door neighbour because she gets to drop by his place without
the whole high school society ladder burdening her—not that she gives much of a
shit about said imaginary ladder.
Allison squeals out a shrill sounding, “Oh! Lydia’s gonna love this! A make-
over! Oh, Stiles, you could have just gone to me straight!” and then she’s
punching in numbers on her phone, making an appointment to some saloon as she
rattles on words like full-body, bikini and a nice mud massage.
Stiles only start to freak out when she puts two and two together the next day
when both girls are trying to drag her body into the only waxing saloon in
Beacon Hills, assuring her that it’s gonna be fine. That it’s quick and pinches
you like an ant bite.
Yeah…
It’s not a fucking ant bite.
Her pubes felt like it got ripped out by Lucifer himself and then decimated
into a pool of lava.
Stiles doesn’t have much dignity left when she waddles her way to the nearest
mall.
-
Okay.
Stiles probably didn’t think through that much on the whole plan (pfft, fool
proof) as she could have done, probably clouded by the overwhelming need to
choke on Mr. Hale’s dick, because she’s suddenly embarking into a life of make-
up—half of it that she doesn’t even know exists, like eyelash curlers.
They are mankind’s destruction to women.
Or, you know, itty bitty tank tops that don’t even cover half of her tits, not
that she has big ones to flaunt in the first place. They’re just there, on her
chest, a small B-cup that justifies well enough on her small frame, but c’mon,
they’re just boobs.
“They’re not justboobs,” Lydia tells her as she rolls her eyes, like it’s
almost outrageous that Stiles could even say think, lest think it. “They’re
your weaponry, the tools to lure and prey on those meatheads. Use them wisely
and you can get anything you want.”
Stiles grumbles as she pulls at the front of tank, trying to cover up some of
the fleshy bits that’s just pouring out for the public eye to see.
“Fine,” Stiles grouses. “Not just boobs, then, but can you at least get me
something I can wear where I can actually, like, oh I don’t know, breathe?”
“Oh, honey,” Allison says and she pats her on the shoulder with a sympathetic
smile. “We don’t actually breathe. Just little sips of breath to last for the
hour.”
Stiles only knows she’s kidding when Allison loses it the next second, but for
that one measly second, she was almost tempted to call everything off. Yeah,
Mr. Hale’s dick is so not worth all of this pain.
Kind of.
Okay, not really. Stiles would rather die from suffocation because of all the
sexing up she’ll be doing but definitely not because of clothes.
That’s just whack talk.
-
Stiles ends up buying that tank top, unknowingly, because Lydia hid it in
between a heap of other clothes and several pairs of lingerie that has more
holes than the ratty, worn in one that her mom bought for her as her first pair
of grown up panties.
That was three years ago before she passed away.
She still keeps it because it’s kind of her first step into womanhood and she
likes remembering that her mom was there to introduce it to her before the
sickness took over her body. Stiles doesn’t like remembering the sad parts,
so…moving on.
Right.
So, Stiles thinks she’s the epitome of unsexy. Well, not really. She knows
she’s smokin’ hot but according to a very messed up society, she’s more of the
girl next door type, the I’ll forget about you in the next minute even though
I’m still talking to you type, which makes her scoff.
Because, Stiles? Is awesome.
C’mon, she came up with her own nickname and everyone calls her that, even the
teachers, especially one Mr. Hale. If that isn’t margining on standards of
Chuck Norris, she doesn’t want to live in this world anymore.
But being on the prowl sexy? Yeah, Stiles no comprende.
She doesn’t even understand the basic mechanics of sexy and her next step is
crucial for it, because:
Second step: Smoulder, Seduce, and Success.
Well, lookie there, she’s fucked.
-
On a Sunday night, after a long three-way conversation with Allison and Lydia
as she questions them about their daily morning routines, she sets the alarm at
five in the morning and tells the girls she’s calling it a night.
Which is a total lie because she throws her phone onto her bedside table,
ushers to grab her laptop, flips it open and starts googling: ‘How to be sexy
and seduce a man’, backspacing ‘so he can fuck me and the night away while
forgetting that I’m actually underage but who the fuck cares? I want his dick’.
She clicks on about twenty websites that teaches her the intricacies to be a
mastermind of a sex goddess, rubs one out because she can only go that long
thinking about possible scenarios where Mr. Hale will succumb to the temptress,
that is she, before it makes her horny and then—then, she calls it a night.
When the alarm clock blares the next morning, she throws it across the room.
 -
Stiles know she’s running late when she stretches her body out, moaning when
the knots in her body cracks as she lazily checks her phone in a sleep-haze.
Her eyes only widens with clarity when she realizes she only has about ETA
forty minutes to prepare her kill-you-with-my-vagina look and she knows that it
isn’t enough from what the girls rattled on last night.
Fucking orgasms. It’s a love/hate thing, she swears.
She scrabbles out of bed, rushes into the bathroom and probably achieving some
form of multi-tasking world record as she dons on the sex bomb with a pencil
skirt, that miniscule tank top which she throws on with some cream mid-waist
jacket and then flies out of her house.
Fuck yeah.
Megan Fox can take a tip or two from her.
Stiles makes it to class about five minutes late, panting (if you have never
ran in killer heels, you wouldn’t understand) and there’s sweat pooling under
her bra wire. She can feel her class of thirty-five staring down at her as she
does her walk of shame to her seat.
She thinks she even hears a wolf whistle from the back of the class but the
blood buzzing in her ears makes it difficult to hear anything really.
It’s only when she’s settled down in her seat that she feels the vibration of
her phone in her jacket pocket. She whips it out, unlocks it and reads:
Queen of the peasants (08:13)
Got a candid of you in your killer outfit circulating on twitter. You’ve done
me proud.
Of course because this is Stiles’ life, she gets handed her first pink slip
because she’s late but whatever. Monday blues can suck it because Stiles
totally have it beaten down to a pulp.
-
Mr. Hale’s classes are always in fourth or fifth period, just right before
lunch break and he teaches Art and Literature. The two subjects that Stiles
never really paid much attention in because she’s always been a very logical
instead of an artistic person, but let it be known that a man (a very gorgeous
man that so happens to be your teacher) can sway one’s thinking.
Because now all she can thinks is making art with words and having his mouth on
her. Or the other way round. She’s fine with either both as long there’s
orgasms as the final product.
Lots of orgasms.
So when she walks into fourth period—she’s always the first one because there’s
the whole perfect attendance and never being late thing which obviously has
been revoked now—her heels clicking in protest against the floorings of the
classroom as she takes a first row desk.
Stiles can feel Mr. Hale’s eyes burning into her back and she shivers with dark
delight because hell yeah.
“Um,” Mr. Hale clears his throat, pulling against the corner of his shirt after
she smooth out the edges of the skirt and then taking a seat. “Morning Stiles.”
Stiles almost beams at him but then she remembers—cool, collected—and then
precisely tugs the corners of her lips into some sort of smirking smile. It
feels ridiculous. “Oh hey, Mr. Hale!”
“Heard from Frank—I mean, Mr. Durnst, that you were late today.” Mr. Hale says
and he awkwardly shifts a little in his seat. Stiles almost full on pouts
because the teacher’s desk front is covered so she can’t see through anytime
below the waist.
Like, he could be sporting a hard-on as of right now and Stiles would never
know.
A wasted metaphoric boner, she thinks, as she mourns for it internally.
“Yeah,” Stiles dazedly replies. “He gave me a pink slip even though he knows
it’s my first time.”
Mr. Hale gives her a small empathetic smile, “Well, Carl—Mr. Wallace—damn it.
He’s doing the detention shifts today and since you’re my favourite student in
class, I’ll request for it to be shortened to only thirty minutes. How’s that
sound?”
Stiles almost chokes on an inhale and has to grip the desk with her stupid
acrylic nails scritching against the plastic just to prevent herself from
running over there and impaling herself onto his dick in gratitude.
Yeah, she knows detention wouldn’t even be in the cards then.
“You would, really?”
“Yeah,” Mr. Hale chirps—he fucking chirps. How is he smouldering in one second
and then he transcends all of it and becomes an adorable little pup the next?
Stiles is suffering major whiplash, okay? Or maybe it’s because she’s gushing
in her racy purple panties.
Ugh. She can almost smell her pussy juice from up here.
“It’ll be no problem.”
“You’re the best, Mr. Hale!” Stiles grins at him, wide and blinding, and she
doesn’t give a shit if she’s breaking all the do-not rules that top sex gurus
has implemented. Fuck that.
Her soon-to-be sex machine just totally semi-bailed her out of detention. It’s
an A+ all in all, suck on that.
-
Stiles gets home and immediately struggles out of her too tight clothes and
rids herself of the caking make-up on her face before she flops on the bed,
groaning about the amazing sheet count. Good things never last long because the
next thing she knows, her phone is vibrating a mile a minute and she almost
mistaken it for her little…toy.
She’ll just leave it at that for now.
Apparently the girls have decided that since she’s their new experiment, they
need to keep tabs on her through a text conference on Whatsapp. Stiles is fine
with it, she really is, but she would just like to take just a minute to
reflect about how Mr. Hale totally (okay, probably, maybe, the odds aren’t that
much anyway) has a big hard-on for her.
Amazon princess (18:13)
You look so adorable today, Stiles! But you should try letting down your hair.
It really shows off the makeup even better.
Stiles the Magnificent (18:19)
It got the job done, though? ;)
Queen of the peasants (18:21)
Dish!
Queen of the peasants (18:22)
Also, who’s the mystery boy behind all of these changes? Do we know him?
Because I swear to god, Stiles, if you say some loser’s name… I’m going to do
your next waxing session myself.
Stiles the Magnificent (18:24)
Firstly, ouch. Hands off
the goods. Secondly, well, if I say his name, you’d thinkI’m the loser.
Amazon princess (18:29)
We don’t think you’re a loser, Stiles. We never did.
Queen of the peasants (18:31)
Well, I did.
Amazon princess (18:31)
Lydia!
Queen of the peasants (18:35)
Fine. I did, but you’re not anymore, okay? Girls who have flawless complexion
can’t be hated, only envied.
Stiles the Magnificent (18:39)
Ugh. Fine. It’s a teacher, and I’m only saying that.
Queen of the peasants (18:42)
Gross, Stiles. Mr. Hale is probably like two times your age.
Stiles the Magnificent (18:45)
Excuse you, how would you know I’m actually talking about Mr. Hale? You don’t.
So, hah.
Amazon princess (18:47)
C’mon, Stiles. He’s the only teacher that isn’t…you know, weird and disgusting.
Stiles the Magnificent (18:49)
Yeah, but there’s Ms. Joleen! She’s a babe.
Queen of the peasants (18:50)
If this is you coming out, I’m going to punch you in the vagina, Stiles.
Stiles the Magnificent (18:52)
Someone’s on her period…
Amazon princess (18:53)
Scott’s laughing at this conversation. I’m sorry! He peeked!
Stiles the Magnificent (18:55)
My life. Of course.Ugh. I’ll talk to you two later. I’ve homework to do.
Stiles switches off her phone and pointedly ignores trying to switch it back on
even long after she’s done with all her work, even doing some extra credit for
Mr. Hale’s class because—well, if it gets her to pace up to where she can hide
underneath the teacher’s desk and swallow his dick whole, why not?
Obviously a girl can dream.
-
Stiles spends the following week doing a bunch of things off a checklist she
made from the advices she gotten off the variety of websites she researched on.
So, on Tuesday, she tugs on (understatement of the year because there was power
and stuffing of things she never knew she had) the most uncomfortable, tightest
jeans she owns and a V-neck shirt that cuts like sin at the cleavage region.
She thinks that even she might get turned on from her own boobs.
Stiles says her greetings to Mr. Hale as soon she walks in, sits herself at her
usual seat, which is upfront because c’mon, it’s the best view and waits idly
for the rest of the class to fill up the empty desks before she begins into the
nitty gritty.
She pulls out a pen from her bag. It’s just a normal ballpoint, nothing inky,
because she’s smarter than that and places it on her lips when Mr. Hale finally
walks to the front of the class, greeting everyone politely.
It starts as just a tease, nothing much, the end tip of the pen just sliding
against the smooth mixture of spit and gloss after she wets them with a soft
smack of tongue. Stiles knows she’s got Mr. Hale’s attention when he drones out
for a few second only to regain sense and continue talking again.
That’s a huge whoop that Stiles is keeping inside of her.
Then, it gets to the better part—the one where she needs to be a little more
careful because on her left and right, there are also perky little girls, which
she scoffs at them internally to quit dreaming, just wanting to get it on with
Mr. Hale.
Stiles slips the pen into her mouth, lets the plastic glide across the bottom
row of her teeth for a few seconds before she closes her lips around it,
humming softly, and then pulls it back out. She watches Mr. Hale’s steps falter
as she looks up at him, blinking her eyes innocently.
She does it again, taking the pen a little deeper until she feels the end of it
tickling against her upper palate and the way her stomach clenches with heat
and want when her mind flits off with blowing Mr. Hale in front of the whole
class.
What a great lesson in Literature that would be. Shakespeare writes sonnets
while Stiles gives their hot teacher a blowjob as a tribute to him.
She only catches herself a little too late when she realizes she’s lightly
bobbing her mouthing onto the pen—fucking rookie mistake already—and has one of
her hands gripping on her jean-clad upper thigh. She congratulates herself on
not wearing a skirt today or she’d be fucking herself on her fingers already.
Mr. Hale continues the lesson behind his desk for the entire forty-five minutes
left.
-
Derek.
That’s Mr Hale’s name and Stiles is about yay close to combusting because her
mind is going miles a minute with a rapid pornographic slideshow of how she’s
moaning out his name in ecstasy, head thrown back and the walls of her vagina
clenching with her orgasm on his shaft.
Yeah, she’s already flustered up and the school day isn’t even half over yet.
Also, let it be known that Stiles is not a stalker, unlike majority of the
girls who are pawing themselves senseless at Derek, she finds out his name in a
casual and discreet manner. Okay, she eavesdropped a little but still.
She didn’t google him.
Mr. Hale—Derek takes a work call in class, apologizing to Stiles even though it
was just the two of them in the classroom, right before the students start
filtering in and he spoke in a gruff tone, “Derek Hale speaking,” and cue
wetness.
Stiles rushes back home after school and fucks herself on her handy dandy
hairbrush handle until she’s a sweating, groaning mess of uncoordinated limbs.
-
It’s two weeks later and Stiles is still getting absolutely nowherewith the
success part of step two because her bed is definitely missing a broody man
with muscles on his muscles, fucking her brains out until they start oozing out
of her ears.
She’s also getting a little tired of biting her lips and having permanent
lipstick stains on her teeth or wearing skimpy clothes that leaves her cold
whenever a breeze of cold air picks up through the windows in class.
So, Stiles is pulling out the big guns. She even texts the girls her plans
which Allison chides her for being so out there and Lydia tells her that if she
pulls through and manages to do it without chickening out, she’ll wear
sweatpants for an entire week.
It’s a total Regina George moment and Stiles can’t back down from that.
Stiles waits, dormant with anticipation with her plans, until she sees the long
awaited cloudy day report pinging on her phone screen on a Thursday morning.
She jumps out of bed, throws the curtains apart clumsily and squeals in delight
when the clouds are looking dark and swelling with rain.
She prepares for the day with a sweet mustard pleated skirt that stops five
inches too high above her knee (holler detention for dress code), a white tank
top that she goes au naturel underneath, her nipples already starting to peek
under the thin material and a pair of wedges that she frumps around clumsily as
she gets used to walking with it.
Today’s already looking positively hopeful.
-
It pours down, heavily, a real cats and dogs situation. The pitter patter or
rain splashes against the window panes of her Jeep as she sits there for
another five minutes, twenty before the first bell rings, brewing with
trepidation.
Stiles has everything timed to a tee because she’s been observing Derek’s
timetable from the side lines. From as soon as he gets out his gorgeous car (a
goddamn Camaro, yes she’s done her research, and she knows he’s not
compensating for anything because she’s seenthe bulge) to when he ushers
himself into his first class.
On Thursday, Derek doesn’t have any morning classes but he always comes to
school a little earlier to share a quiet breakfast with Mr. Wallace and Madam
Tally, the school head’s librarian who totally rocks out the bohemian look that
Stiles never could.
They’re all involved in the performing arts sector of the school and are always
planning for something to engage students to join in, even though they’re
already half of the school year in.
Stiles think it’s so cute that Derek scrunches his nose in delight whenever he
gets excited over something.
No, still not stalking—it’s calledobserving.
When Stiles sees a flash of black turning into the school’s car park in her
peripheral, she peeks at her reflection at the rear view mirror, content that
her face isn’t looking blotchy even without makeup, before she’s slinging her
purse onto her shoulder, nudging the door open.
She takes a sharp inhale when the irk of wet and cold hits her skin immediately
when she steps out of the warmth comfort of her Jeep, her body flushing with
heat to make up the change drop of temperature before she’s carefully walking
into the school compound, hands tucked in her armpits in case her fingers
freezes and drops mid-walk.
“Stiles?” She hears him calling from behind and she’s tempted to just stop and
wait for him to catch up, but no man is worth getting sick in this rain.
“Jesus, Stiles! Wait up, I have an umbrella!”
Her teeth are chattering when he catches up with her and her hair’s matted on
her forehead, dripping with rainwater to her eyelashes. Derek’s waft of cologne
assaults her nostrils before she even feels the pull of heat from his body as
he slides up beside her, a hand ghosting on her lower back as they walk towards
the shelter.
Okay, fine, Stiles may have underestimated the distance from the car park to
school—she blames it on the heels. If she were wearing a pair of vans or even
flats, she’d probably reach in less than thirty seconds but, nope.
The price to pay to be fabulouswhile pulling off the sex kitten look.
When they’re finally out of the rain and Stiles is sluicing away the drops of
water that’s clinging onto her arms, she realizes that Derek’s actually gaping
at her—okay, not really the overall her, but his eyes are locked at the mid-
section area where her tits are being exposed for everyone to see.
She glances down meekly and sees that her shirt is soaked through, the cotton
of her top sticks to her body like a second layer of skin, melting into every
curve and her nipples are at peak point.
“Christ—” Derek exasperatedly rubs on his face, tearing his gaze away which
Stiles grieves and then he’s shrugging his blazer off. “Here, take this. You’ll
catch a cold without a jacket.”
Derek swings the jacket over her shoulders and pulls the lapels of the blazer
until they’re secure on her lithe frame, hiding her semi-exposed (is it even
consideredsemi?) body. Her plans have gone all wired wrong because Stiles had a
well thought out plan where Derek would just be overwhelmed by lust from seeing
her body and taken her on some random table.
At least she gets to snuggle in his clothes.
Stiles looks up from her lashes and pulls the jacket closer to her, smiling
softly. “Thanks Mr. Hale. I’m just a total dork for not checking the weather
reports today. Silly old me.”
Derek gives her a pained smile, “It’s no problem. I’ll see you in class,
Stiles.”
Stiles watches him walk away with a limp and starts giggling to herself when
she realizes he’s doing the boner walk. All in all, it’s still a major success.
-
Amazon princess (09:26)
Stiles? Stiles, I think you broke him.
Queen of the peasants (09:31)
Me and Allie are having his literature class right now and he’s being a total
dick.
Queen of the peasants (09:33)
Blue balls aren’t fun. Trust me. I’ve given Jackson plenty of them.
Stiles the Magnificent (09:39)
One word, Lydia, one word. Sweatpants.
Queen of the peasants (09:42)
Yeah well, terms and conditions apply.
Stiles the Magnificent (09:45)
Ignoring you.
-
“No,” Lydia says plainly, twirling her hair between her fingers. “I’m not
wearing sweatpants to school. It was a euphemism, you know. I only rose to the
challenge because I didn’t think you have it in you to do it.”
Stiles narrows her eyes, “Wow, your words aretoo sweet, Lyds. No, sweet talk to
me more.”
Allison hides a snort behind her textbooks and Stiles takes it like an
achievement. “Well, Lydia, Stiles did do it and nobody—”
“Finish that sentence,” Lydia says cuttingly. “—and you’ll suffer my wrath.”
“Is this going to be my first catfight?” Stiles gasps, eyes widening with
anticipation as she lazily plays with the last button on Derek’s jacket. Yeah,
school’s over and they’re in some little café that serves low-fat, non-
sweetened cappuccinos and she’sstill wearing his jacket because—because she’s
not going to return it until he asks for it.
And Stiles isvery positive that that situation would end with a fuck.
Well, almost positive. It’s a very high positive.
“What is wrong with you?” Lydia asks and her eyes totally betray her tone
because they’re dancing with amusement. “No but I’m not wearing them unless…”
“Unless?” Allison echoes and they’re both sitting at the edge of the seats
waiting for her to continue. They truly are merely mortals in comparison to the
greatness of one Lydia Martin, like if Stiles wasn’t have a big gush-on for
Derek, she’d be humping on Lydia’s hip.
“Unless,” Lydia continues. “Stiles masturbates in front of Mr. Hale, like full
frontal rubbing and everything.”
“No,” Stiles disagrees. “No fucking shit, no.”
Because Stiles is not, will never be a Lydia Martin type girl even if she piles
on ten different brands of make-up, she doesn’t get the final say but it’s not
like she was resisting… much.
-
Stiles alters the challenge a little because she’s not that gutsy to stick her
hand down her panties and finger herself until she comes in a room full of her
classmates. Yeah, she’s still got about six months of senior year left and she
doesn’t want to rein the title of school slut on her name.
Not that there’s anything wrong with being a slut.
She’s an advocate for all the sexing.
So Stiles tells her dad that she’s spending the weekend with the girls at some
cast away lake house that she pulls an address and name for lesser suspicion
and drives to the next over to get the necessary equipment.
She’s been there about once or twice, a sex store that has a conspicuous name,
for her vibrators and a small glass dildo. They’re nothing too fancy or
overpriced, all of them sooth in texture so that it doesn’t cause too much
friction against her vagina lips and are all small enough to fit in her bedside
table.
She goes there and purchases it—a vibrating panty.
The store owner grins at her when she makes the payment in cash and tells that
it’s the hottest selling item in the market as of right now and she quotes him,
“Girl, I don’t lie to ya but those things, yeh, those things make your eyes
roll, babe.”
Stiles blushes so hard that she almost feels dizzy.
She’s holding it in front of her on Monday morning, her clothes neatly placed
on her bed and she’s just staring down at the frisky piece of lingerie. Its
black laced panty with pink satin ribbons at the side and a clit buzzer sewed
in nicely at the middle, just before the frill starts. There’s also a separated
wired bullet vibrator that she know is supposed to go inside her.
It hits her fully when she realizes she’s going to get buzzed inside and
outside.
God.
She shakes the box a little and the remote falls out of it which she pops in
two AAA batteries inside, clicking them once and feels the roar of the bullet
vibrator flipping frantically on her hand.
Well, she’s fucked.
Literally.
-
Stiles the Magnificent (07:42)
If you don’t swear on the sweatpants, Lydia, I will tell everyone your middle
name.
Stiles the Magnificent (07:43)
Isn’t that right… Nancy?
Queen of the peasants (07:49)
I have no idea what you’re talking about. Keep your mouth shut, Stilinski.
-
The first few hours of school is awkward especially when Stiles walks around
with the knowledge that she has something lodged up inside her that isn’t to
prevent her period from becoming the next red sea but her body is definitely
sending a whole different message.
Her clit feels slightly swollen from the constant rubbing against the nub of
the buzzer, even without the hum of the vibrations that she knows will have her
body thrumming with pleasure. Hey, it’s not her fault that Stiles got curious
about how it could work—call it a scientific experiment.
Her thighs are also sticky with her lubrication, wet with promise and she feels
thankful that she decided to with a nice black flared out biker skirt that
would hide any wet stains she leaves on chairs.
That is until they dry up and becomes a dry patch of white vaginal come. Yeah…
she’s not looking forward for that and she’s hoping the pair of panties she has
on has ultra-soaking devices or some shit.
Stiles rushes into Mr. Hale’s class slightly earlier than she’s used to,
skipping out chatting with the girls at the lockers for a few seconds so she
could ninja out her plan without Derek walking in on her.
She places the remote control for the vibrators on the desk, slips a neatly
handwritten note below it (Derek would surely know it’s her since he’s always
praised her on her amazing penmanship skills) before she saunters her way to
her seat—dead center of the first row and if she spreads her legs wide enough,
he’d get to see everything.
She tries to stop her heart from beating out of her chest when Derek walks into
the classroom, pristine as ever. He’s forgone the blazer today and has on just
a nice gray striped shirt that does wonders to his shoulders and the material
stretches so nicely over his taut biceps.
Stiles groans internally.
“Morning Stiles,” Derek says and it’s almost like he’s keeping in a sigh.
Stiles gives him a playful look and subconsciously cards her fingers through
her hair, pulling her tight ponytail to one side. “Hey Mr. Hale, you’re looking
cheery as always.”
He grumbles under his breath and he looks exhausted, there’s a hint of dark
circles teasing at the bottom of his eyes and his scruff looks untamed instead
of the carefully shaven grains of stubble he always sports.
Stiles almostfeels guilty from playing all these game with him but—hey, she
wants what she wants.
Unfortunately, his briefcase (the one he carries that Stiles positively swoons
about because if love was made into a bag, it was that) and completely barring
him from knowing that he now controls Stiles’ orgasm destiny but she stiles in
relief when students start rolling into class and he gingerly places it on the
ground.
She watches the way his eye snaps to it like a hawk to a prey, eyeing it with a
careful suspicion, as he sweeps it into his hand and reading the note with an
eyebrow raised. Stiles like to pretend that what she wrote was fucking suave or
something really poetic, but it’s not.
It simply said: ‘I want you to make me come.’
Derek jerks his eyes at her and Stiles does a fist bump in her mind because she
was totally right about the penmanship thing. She looks at him coyly; well she
tries, and then hitches her skirt a little higher off her thigh, just a slow
graze of fingertips pulling on the hem of it until she sees a little of lace
being exposed from under the table.
His eyes zooms in to the movement, staring at probably the wet spot on her
lingerie before he’s taking a sharp inhale, his shirt stretching over his pecs
as he does.
Stiles would put Cheshire the cat to shame from how wide she’s grinning.
“Alright class,” Derek clears his throat, voice breaking and rough as he
clutches onto the remote in his hands. He’s not leaving his post on the desk
which Stiles is about ninety-five out of ten oompa loompas sure that he’s hard.
“Settle down now. Today—today we’re going to be watching a movie that’s based
off one of my favourite novels.”
There’s a resounding cheer from the jock seniors at the back of the class while
the girls in the first few rows giggle animatedly at him fumbling over his
words. If only they knew.
“Does anyone want to get the lights for me?”
A dark room and Derek’s full focus on her? Fuck. Yes.
“I’ll do it,” Stiles purrs and she’s sweeping off the chair, sashaying in what
she hopes is a walk that’s probably accentuating her assets and then flicks the
lights off. Yeah, all of it. She’s going all out now because teachers have this
ridiculous thing where they’d always like to keep the back row lights switched
on even though the entire class groans and grumbles about it.
Derek doesn’t comment on it.
“Is this alright, Mr. Hale?” She asks as she gracefully slips back into her
seat. Yep, Stiles is a motherfucking swan when she’s horny.
“Yes,” Derek chokes, he fucking chokes when one of his hands goes under the
desk. He’s probably squeezing himself right now and Stiles would never know.
“Thank you, Ms Stilinski.”
“My pleasure,” Stiles drawls and she licks her lips, wetting them.
Derek messes around with the computer on the teacher’s desk before the
projector flickers, painting the whiteboard with a blue light and it’s only a
few minute later that Pride and Prejudice starts playing on it.
Stiles hums in contentment—Derek makes a ravishing Mr. Darcy.
It’s about ten minutes in on the movie, the students slowly quietening down
from their chatter as they get entranced by the magic of a romance film before
Stiles feels the light spur of vibrations hitting directly on her clit.
She gasps, gripping onto the sides of the table and clenching her eyes shut as
she breathes harshly out through her nostrils. Stiles opens her eyes a few
seconds later when she starts to get used to the hum of pleasure that’s
sparking through her veins and sees that Derek is fucking looking at her with
his dark, twinkling eyes and the remote in his hands.
Stiles bites her lips and sidles her way lower onto the chair, spreading her
legs wider and hitches her skirt higher. She wants—needs—to let Derek see
everything to how her body reaches when he’s the cause of it.
Derek is breathing shallowly, she sees it in the way his eyebrows and lips are
drawn taut before he springs the settings higher on the clit buzzer and turning
the bullet vibrator on as well. Stiles clenches her jaw tight, biting down on
her cheek to prevent her from moaning out loud at how good it feels.
How good Derek is making her feel.
She’s so wet—drenchedbecause when she gyrates her hips a little, trying to gain
a little more friction on her clit, she feels the squelching of her lips
rubbing against the coarse feel of the panties. Stiles is so tempted to reach
up to her nipples, twisting them with professional fingers and just displaying
everything for him to just…take.
Derek must have seen how Stiles is clearly desperate for more because the
buzzing of the vibrator suddenly shoots up again, a constant throbbing of
pleasure mixed in with a body quivering wave of adrenaline inside and outside
of her.
If she’s not so keen on getting off right now, she would at least be a little
ashamed that the vibrations are getting a little too loud and the voices from
the overhead speakers aren’t covering it up too well but—fuck that.
Stiles is so close, almost in reach of bursting in little sparks of gold and
pleasure that when she looks at Derek again who still has one hand under the
desk and his hands are moving in little jerky motions, just little twitches
that look too familiar from all the solo masturbation porn she’s watch on guys
that it’s clearly unmistakable in her eye.
“Fuck,” Stiles grunts softly and her nails are digging into the fleshy parts of
her thighs, leaving a trail of red and heat in their wake.
Stiles only loses it, the walls of her cunt clenching tight with throbs of
velvety bliss when she watches the way Derek’s chest start to heave heavily,
eyes flicking down to look at her crotch and then back up into her eyes before
he’s hanging his head down, eyes squeezing shut.
“Shitshitshit,” Stiles gasps, coming down, and she knows she’s breathing too
roughly, too harsh to not notice but she’s glad that the two girls beside her
are too engaged in the movie to even chance a quick look at her.
She just came because of Derek Hale.
No, scratch that, Derek Hale is the reason that she came.
Fuck, no, that doesn’t sound right either.
Derek Hale made her come.
Yeah. That’s the one.
-
Stiles waits for all of the rest of her peers to leave the classroom before she
starts to pack up her things. She’s not risking it and she’s pretty sure that
she left a huge puddle of her come on the chair that she’s just looking forward
to wiping it off with twenty over people looking over her shoulder.
Derek slides behind her, a large hand on her hip as he murmurs into her ear.
“You’re a naughty girl, aren’t you, Ms Stilinski?”
“Mr Hale—” Stiles wheezes and it’s not like she got startled or anything since
she saw the way Derek sat at the desk, not even moving an inch but just
continues to stare at her even when he’s thanking the class. “—I don’t know
what you’re talking about.”
“Oh you know what I’m talking about,” Derek tells her and his tone is the don’t
bullshit with me girl as he tosses the remote on the desk, other hand still
firmly gripping onto her hip like he’s terrified of letting her slip off his
fingers. “Doing all these things that’s slowly driving me insane—God, Stiles. I
feel like a teenager around you instead of the other way round.”
“I’ll let you know that I turn twenty soon,” Stiles huffs, pressing herself
closer into Derek’s chest. “In about, you know, three years.”
“I’m losing my fucking mind,” Derek groans and he presses a light kiss onto her
neck. “Can’t touch you before you turn eighteen, can’t do this when you’re my
student—fuck, you’re mystudent and all I want to do is drive my cock so far up
in you that I’ll feel the heat of your cunt for days.”
“It’s mutual,” Stiles murmurs and moans softly when Derek slides a hand in
between her thighs—that are still wet—she’s still fucking soaked, god. “I want
you too.”
“I’ll give you my number,” Derek says and he almost sounds disappointed when he
says it. “I won’t touch you until you’re eighteen and not my student but
nothing in the law says that I can’t talk to you. Right?”
“Right,” Stiles replies and she turns around and Derek looks so good up close.
He’s mouth-watering, actually. She leans in and steals a chaste peck off his
lips anyway which Derek almost chases her mouth again but holds himself back.
“Just wanna know how it feels—the stubble burn.”
Derek chokes and he pries himself off Stiles, pressing the same piece of paper
into her hand, the same one she left on the desk. “Call me tonight.”
Stiles only dances when he leaves the classroom because that’s totally a
promise for phone sex.
Right?
Right.
-
Lydia spends the entirety of next week parading around in sweatpants and Stiles
closes one eye because they’re pink in colour with rhinestones glued at the ass
region.
End Notes
     I wrote this from the inspiration of my best friend sol because she's
     the muffinpie to my bosom and she deserves all the porn in the world
     *u*
     Same as always, I combine all the kinks that the sterek fandom will
     never write and revolutionizes it into a whole big kinky fic.
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