Saturday starts with Stiles' on her stomach, fingers up her cunt again, and she just groans into the pillows and starts working herself over. It takes a little longer than the other mornings and she takes that in stride, touching herself slowly with her free hand and lightly rubbing her fingers into her G spot so that little sparks shoot across her spine in tandem with her fingers, and her stomach tightens and spasms periodically. Her wrist starts to ache from the unfortunate angle of having her fingers so deep inside of her (bless her long and bony fillanges), but she feels too lazy to grab her vibrator, so she removes her fingers and just focuses on her clit.
The need to come burns like a boiling simmer underneath her skin and she can't help whimpering into her pillow with every pinch she gives to her nipples. She slides her free hand all across her skin, breasts to stomach, even dragging her nails down her neck hard enough to leave a red mark that'll fade. She's there, she knows she's so close, and her finger on her clit is working faster and faster, and she widens her legs and lifts her hips, whimpering, whimpering, and for a sudden desperate moment she imagines it's someone else's hands, she imagines she's lifting her hips so they can thrust inside her -
She comes with a soft but long gasp into her pillow. She stretches across her blankets languidly and sighs. She feels nice.
After a moment of lazing she gets out of bed for the day. There's a pack meeting at two. Stiles checks her phone and it's...nine a.m.? What the fuck?
She doesn't feel tired though, so she's a little sad that she missed out on sleeping in on a weekend. It's a little irritating that she has nothing to blame but her own fingers.
She leaves her room and heads down the stairs to get something to eat. Her dad is in the kitchen, which is a pleasant surprise, and he's staring at the coffee maker slowly brewing a pot with the desperation of a man with only an hour of sleep.
"Rough night?" Stiles asks as she walks to the fridge.
He startles so badly that if the coffee maker were closer, he may have upset the pot. "Stiles? You're awake?"
"I would be insulted by how surprised you are, but I'm actually surprised, too." She smiles and takes out some eggs. "I just woke up suddenly and don't feel tired enough to fall asleep again."
"You do seem chipper," he notices groggily. Stiles tries not to blush and resolutely remembers that her dad doesn't have a super sniffer.
She just shrugs. "Eggs?"
Her dad glances at his watch and nods slowly. "Yeah. I got time."
So she makes them eggs as her dad transfers himself to the kitchen table to continue staring at the coffee pot like it's God back on earth. When it beeps its completion, he sidles up to the cupboards and grabs himself a cup. "Want any?"
"Is there enough?"
"We can always make another pot." He's already grabbing another cup.
"Cool. Yeah, I'll take some." She pours the scrambled eggs into a hot frying pan and watches them sizzle. He hands her a cup and it's mostly creamer rather than coffee, which is how she prefers. Too much caffeine makes her twitchy but a cup can be soothing once in a while.
He sits back at the table and Stiles adds some shredded cheese into the frying pan and flips it all together. She grabs plates when it's done and serves it at the table.
They sit and eat in a pleasant silence. Stiles doesn't feel the need to fill it since they're both stuffing their faces with coffee and eggs. She doesn't even get a chance to, since her dad checks his watch and starts to stand. "Gotta go."
"Do you have, like, a sixth sense or something?" Stiles asks around a mouthful of egg.
"Pretty much," her dad smiles. He's looking substantially more awake. "I'll see you later, kiddo. Thanks for breakfast." He comes around the table and ruffles her hair. "This was nice."
He grabs his jacket and yells bye one more time as he closes the door. Stiles stares at her plate for a moment, chewing slowly. It was nice. Maybe she should wake up early more often. They don't have the chance to do this a lot.
She laughs at the thought. God, she can't imagine waking up this early often. What is she supposed to do this early in the day? She's forgotten what mornings are like for the world when she's not going to school. Usually on the weekend she wakes up around noon, and she knows she's not the only one. That's why their pack meetings are usually later in the day.
She finishes breakfast and takes a look around the kitchen with a sigh.
She guesses...she'll do laundry?
...Sure.
She does do laundry, but it's actually a quicker process than she thought, compared to all the times she had to do it when she didn't want to. In those times, it takes forever. But as it is, she's stuck waiting around now for the first load to be finished.
She thinks for a second about cleaning something then resolutely decides that she doesn't want a free day to be completely dedicated to housekeeping. Blugh. So she starts up her playstation and gets into DOOM.
For the next four hours she goes back and forth between video games and laundry and it's pretty awesome. She usually doesn't have days like this until summer vacation.
Close to two o'clock her body starts to tingle again. That's something that's new, too - kind of the awareness that she's getting horny, or that she is, or - Stiles doesn't know exactly but it's almost like a bell that rings across the entirety of her skin, a ghost of an alert that lets her know she's ready. Maybe that's normal? It's probably something she's felt before, but now that she's feeling it more often, it's very...loud.
She rolls her shoulders and sighs when she sees the time. She thinks about the pros and cons. Pros are that she won't be sitting on it during the meeting, and it won't be anything like that time in class. Cons are that the pack will probably smell it since it's so close to meeting time. Well, actually, Scott said he can smell when she's horny, so either way they'll smell something, right?
Her stomach clenches in need and she pauses the game and throws her controller down with an eye roll.
She'll take care of it. God knows she doesn't want a repeat of the classroom situation. Ugh.
She doesn't bother going to her bed, she falls onto her back and slips her hand under her sweatpants and underwear. She slips her fingers past her clit and dips them inside herself to feel that she's already wet. She glides the wetness up and slowly rubs her clit. Her head falls completely back against the ground and she sighs at the ceiling.
Her hips are shifting up and down with the pleasure from her fingers. After a moment, she lifts her sleep shirt above her breasts and just holds one in the palm of her hand. She's kind of teasing herself, she realizes, with the slow rub of her fingers and the tight clench around her breast. It's just the idea of what could come, and that itself makes her moan in anticipation.
Seconds tick by and she's gasping at her ceiling, eyes closed and focused on the pleasure. She squeezes her breast off and on but doesn't focus on her nipples yet. Her wrist is aching again, probably because it already was this morning, so she slips one leg out of her sweatpants and underwear so that her wrist isn't straining to move under the tightness of the waist bands. She spreads her legs wider and her toes flex off and on with how god it feels to stretch out.
She realizes, as her finger moves faster, that she's on the floor in her room, bedroom door wide open, curtain of her window slid open, afternoon light streaming onto her exposed breasts and lower body that anyone could see, anyone, as long as they came to the door or looked through her window, they'd see her - see her -
It doesn't get her to orgasm but the fucking thought of someone watching her please herself, creeping by the window, staring as she desperately rubs her clit - god, she rubs it faster and finally starts pulling at her nipples and arching her back, letting them see more, letting them have the perfect display -
And maybe they're pleasuring themselves as they watch, gasping at the window, zipper pulled haphazardly down and fervently jacking off with the speed that she is, just as desperate, just as turned on -
She moans unbidden at her ceiling and braces her feet on the ground. Her fingers press roughly against her clit in a tiny back and forth motion and she comes so fucking hard that her back raises from the ground, head thrown back and neck arching against a high and breathy moan, her hips digging into the ground just as hard as her fingers are still rubbing against her clit, extending the pleasure until she's whimpering an "Ah, ah, ah," at the ceiling from the almost painful aftershocks.
When Stiles finally stops, she practically melts into the ground. Her sleep shirt is bundled under her chin. Her hand is dead weight on her mound. She's trying to even her breathing while staring wide-eyed at her ceiling.
Wow. Wow, wow, wow.
She's kinky.
She giggles at her ceiling. God. That was so fucking hot. She thinks that if someone ever was actually staring at her through the window she'd eviscerate them on the spot, but - fuck. The daydream of it certainly sent her over the edge.
She stretches her arms over and up and they tingle as if they lost feeling. Her legs extend outward and she flexes her toes with a long sigh, feeling incredibly satisfied.
She gets a text that she ignores in favor of blinking slowly at her ceiling. It's when her phone starts ringing that she realizes she may have lost track of time.
Instead of answering Scott's call, she rejects it and sends a quick message. I'll be there in thirty, sorry!
Then she untangles herself from her pajamas and runs to her bathroom for the quickest shower of her life, because there's no way she's going to the meeting after that and not wiping herself down. As she showers, she slips her fingers inside her sunt in curiosity, and gasps from how wet she is. It makes her stomach tighten in excitement, and she quickly pulls her fingers out before it can lead anywhere.
She dries herself off in a daze, dresses in a daze, then tried to pull herself together on the drive to the house. Stiles has got this. She's got this. It won't be weird, she won't make it weird. They don't know she's late because she was masturbating. It's fine.
And even if they do know, it's still fine! Because Isaac said it's normal, this is a normal thing. Masturbating is healthy. She's healthy!
Stiles parks haphazardly on the lot and runs up to the door. It's unlocked so she rushes in and heads straight to the living room, where everyone turns their head when she's at the threshold and stares right at her.
She blushes.
"Now that we're all here," Derek says with something close to a glare, but not necessarily anger. She's thirty minutes late, she gets it. Stiles jumps over Jackson's legs to quickly have a seat on the ground next to Scott, back against the couch. "We can start."
It's a pretty boring catch-up, if Stiles is being honest. Nothing insane is happening, no infiltrators to speak of. Derek gives the floor to the pack mostly, just to see if anyone has anything to say or something that they've noticed and are worried about.
Scott stays blessedly silent, and she could kiss him.
That unbidden thought send a spark down her spine and Stiles shifts uncomfortably where she's sitting. That's uh...no bueno. No thank you.
Currently, Lydia and Erica are trying to convince everyone that their Chemistry teacher is a supernatural being or just selling drugs on the side. Or both.
"Mr Marx is suspicious," Erica enthuses, and Lydia nods in agreement with every fact Erica states. "I've watched him clean up after classes and he's super shifty, and always wears those huge thick sweaters and keeps the windows wide open like he needs an excuse to. Like, dude, come on, it's freezing," she throws her hands up. "I seriously think he's stealing class materials and hiding it in the jacket pockets until he can get it to his car, or something."
"And," Lydia interjects, "Both of us just have bad feeling when we're around him."
"Whenever he comes to our table to check our work, we both agreed, it's like...we feel uncomfortable."
"Maybe he's just super creepy," Isaac suggests. "Some guys can't control their ick-factor."
Both Lydia and Erica shake their heads. "No, he looks - uh - decent, I guess," Erica shrugs. "It's his energy. I just - I hate when he's close. It makes me feel sguidgy."
"Sguidgy?" Derek repeats, brow raised.
"I get you," Stiles pipes up. "Like a shiver when you're cold, but it's because you're disgusted."
"Yes," Lydia agrees, and Stiles smiles and highfives herself. Lydia continues speaking after rolling her eyes. "He's disgusting. But it's not anything we can tell that's obvious. It's just the feeling we get from him. Our intuition. In looks, he's actually incredibly put together despite the size of his jacket."
"Maybe you're feeling his intentions," Derek says, staring hard at the table, deep in thought. He looks back at the girls. "Whether or not he's supernatural, there's obviously something odd about him. We have better senses overall as werewolves, so it's not something to take lightly if you don't feel safe around him. Erica, don't investigate on your own anymore, especially since we're not sure yet if he's only human. I'll ask Deaton if he's noticed anything odd that might require chemistry equipment. Stiles," she perks up and smiles. "Listen around and see if you're dad is dealing with anything involving the same. That should help us find out if he's making drugs." He looks around the room to everyone. "Don't be alone with him. Both of you let everyone know what he looks like so that if he tries talking to anyone, they can know to avoid him."
"Oh, you can't miss him." Erica drolls. "The jacket he wears is a brown and yellow plaid. Two sizes too big for him, I think," and she glances at Lydia, who nods. "Yep. Fucking weirdo."
"Alright then. Anything else?"
Silence stretches and Derek nods. "Alright, then. Is anyone hungry?"
Mostly everyone raises their hands in excitement.
Stiles wouldn't say that the pack meeting was a failure, because her worst fears weren't realized in that the entire pack looked at her, breathed in and screamed 'You masturbated!' So she's happy about that, at least. There was a moment where Isaac reached over her to grab another slice of pizza and he paused to waggle his eyebrows at her, which she took in stride and elbowed him in the side just a little bit.
She wouldn't exactly call it a success, either. Inappropriate thoughts kept bombarding her throughout the afternoon, and she kept staring at peoples' hands and having to shake herself from her thoughts. At one point Scott nudged her in the side, a curious expression on his face, and she had just been spacing out, thinking about how his body has developed over time, wondering what it would feel like over her own, and after his nudge she choked on her pizza and drank half a waterbottle down before she could breathe again. She shrugged up to her ears when she finally looked at him, and he glanced over the redness of her face and could tell he was keeping a comment in. But he just tightened his lips and went back to his own food.
"Are you okay?" Allison asks, and jesus Stiles is a bitch.
"I'm fine." Stiles takes the offered napkin from Allison. "Thanks."
Her body starts tingling as the hour ticks by, and she resolutely ignores it. The others are talking around her, and she pretends she's focused on the movie. What movie? She doesn't know. She just stares and stuffs her face with pizza and randomly laughs at some conversation points around her so that she doesn't seem completely out of the loop.
She shifts herself again with a sigh and drinks half of her sprite can. A hand touches her back, and her tummy lights up in excitement.
It has to be Scott. Boyd is on the other end of the couch, and her and Scott are still sitting on the floor at the opposite end. Allison is deep in conversation with Lydia, and Scott himself is nodding along to something Isaac is droning about, but his hand is rubbing up and down her spine slowly, as if he's comforting her. It's not - not something that Scott does very often. If she ever gets bad cramps while they're hanging out, sometimes he does rub her back, but usually she prefers him not to. She'd rather take a shitton of ibuprofen and deal with it than have it acknowledged. But for some reason she guess he thinks she needs this, and his hand is a slow swipe over her shirt across her back, hand fully flat and fingers extended and she can feel how big his hands are.
It's when he flexes his fingers and his nails scratch downward that she flinches forward and turns to him, confused and, unfortunately, fucking aroused. She keeps her legs together tightly and ignores, ignores, ignores.
"Scott," she says quietly, and he turns to her.
"What's up?" he asks with a smile, and she glances down at his arm that's still behind her, because even though she leaned forward, his hand followed and is now just resting there, thumb shifting back and forth.
He follows her eyeline and his eyes boggle out, as if he's surprised to see it there. "Sorry," he says quickly, and takes his arm back and looks at it as if it insulted him. "Won't do that."
"Thanks," Stiles says, and she really wants to ask if he even realized he was doing it, but -
"Everything okay?" Isaac interjects, and both Scott and Stiles say "Fine," at the same time, which is more suspicious than anything.
He stares at them both closely and hums loudly. "Ooooookaaaaaaay."
"Yep," Stiles agrees with a fake smile, "Okay."
For the rest of the afternoon, Scott keeps his arm to himself, and his hand is clenched onto his ankle.
Stiles has blinders the size of Texas, so she's pretty damn good at ignoring the pulse inside of her for the next two hours. When she's finally home, though, her dad still isn't, so she rushes to her room and slams the door shut.
She unzips her jacket, toes off her shoes and practically falls to her knees at the edge of her bed and dives for her vibrator. It accidentally turns on in her fervency and the vibrations light her up even more, makes her start shaking in need.
She throws the vibrator onto the bed without turning it off, listens to the buzz as she rips her clothes off and jumps onto her bankets. She crawls up to it, suddenly and desperately wants to tongue it like it's a cock, but it's thumb size in thickness and only about three inches long, purely for vibrations and not at all phallic-like, so she just moans from the desire and grabs it in her hand.
She stays on her hands and knees, lowers her head to the bed and raised her ass. The vibrator slips inside of her so easily and she moans then bites down on her blanket as she tries to shift the vibrator inside of her to hit where it'll feel fantastic. She can't get the right angle, though, with her arm underneath her between her legs, so she grunts in frustration and takes it out, then winds her arm around her back to try and do it from behind. She needs to lift her chest to reach far enough, so she drops the blanket from her mouth and gasps at her wall, holding herself up with only one shaking arm, and finally finds her hole and slips the vibrator inside again.
And she hits it, it's right fucking there, holy shit, yes, yes -
But it doesn't happen every thrust and the position has her whole body tense and aching in a hurt way. She can't keep her back flexed that low and her arm strained that far behind her for too long, and her arm is already ready to give out.
She groans again in frustration, but it comes out more like a sob, and she pulls the vibrator out again and brings her arm back to the bed to catch herself before she falls. She drops the vibrator and rubs her clit with her left hand, the one that was keeping her up, but she has less control over her left hand than her right, so it's just a building dam of frustration that she's fueling and -
She slams her left hand onto the bed and gets up on her knees and shifts forward until she's close to her wall. She fumbles for the vibrator and sits up, left hand braced on her wall, right hand slipping the vibrator into her cunt and -
"Fuuuck, fuck, fuck, yes," she moans, finally decently able to hit just the right angle. She thrusts it inside of her quickly and moans and moans. Her hips start meeting the thrusts half way and fuck, that feels even better, what the fuck -
She pulls the vibrator out and reaches her arm around to enter herself from behind, then holds the base of her vibrator against the bed so that she can thrust onto it securely. She tries a couple lifts and falls, finds the right angle for her hips to drop down, then fucking rides it the best she can so it's hitting, hitting, hitting, exactly where she needs it, not as hard as she wants it to, but hard enough, and not as rough as she wants it to, but -
She takes her left hand away from the wall and she sways for a moment, but with a perfectly timed thigh flex she's abe to stay steady and still bounce down onto the vibrator while using her left hand to pinch and twist her nipples, making it rougher, making it -
The breast she isn't pinching bounces from her force and it makes her feel dirty, makes her feel sexy, god, oh god, oh god -
She's trying to get as much of the vibrator into her as she can, so much so that she's practically grinding into her blankets, her right hand trapped under her cunt with every bounce and fingers desperately trying to keep hold of the base of it because she's so wet that she's dripping and her fingers are slipping. She doesn't know how loud she's moaning, but what she's saying adds to the bursts of pleasure deep in her gut and cunt. It's as if she's hearing it from the outside, the "Oh god, god, yes, please, oh, oh, OH," so loud and desperate, as if she's listening to someone getting fucked and they're fucking loving it, and she wants it to be her, god fucking damnit, she wants to get fucked, hard, good -
"Ah, ah, ah, ahhh," She whines, and she can tell her legs are shaking so badly, she's getting tired, she needs to come, she needs to come -
"Please," she moans, "Fuck, please, please, fuck, please, fuck me, fuck me, please, fuck me, fuck me -"
And she's yelling by the end of it and she's so overwhelmed, so fucking turned on, her orgasm is a punch to the gut, something from deep inside, she rides through it but falls forward too quickly, fuck, fuck, she wanted to fuck through it, fuck.
The vibrator fell out of her and the sound is loud alongside her gasping breaths. Her hands caught her before she could faceplant against her bed, and her head is deadweight between her shoulders. Her whole body is still shaking as if she's still coming, but she knows that it's over, despite the tingles across her skin.
She stretches her back and flexes her toes and moans from the feel of her body. Her thighs burn. She's going to feel this later.
Despite all that, despite the urgency and how intense it was, she doesn't feel satisfied. There were too many things she wanted and didn't have.
She thinks she may have to invest in a dildo. God, if she'd been riding that -
Her stomach clenches and she whimpers, biting her lip. God.
She sighs, kind of let down, and sits up again. She gets a bit light headed for a second, which makes her laugh at the absurdity, and takes a moment to catch her breath again.
She stares down at the vibrator still buzzing on her blanket, feeling a bit betrayed.
She shuts it off.
At some time of the night - she doesn't know, it's just dark, dark all around, it doesn't matter - she wakes up and slides her hand down her stomach and under her underwear and starts rubbing her clit, humping into her hand, raising her knees up to her chest and just rub, rub, rubbing roughly and a bit painfully until she comes hard enough for her to forget that someone might be home. She moans loud and long into her empty bedroom.
Then she falls asleep.
Stiles wakes up the next morning, whimpers into her arm that she's apparently biting into, and slips two of her fingers into herself.
She comes in under a minute, but the buzz continues, so she removes her fingers and starts rubbing her clit, slowly at first since she's still sensitive, but then faster, and faster, and she doesn't bother moving her free arm to touch her breasts, she's so fucking ready -
She comes a second time and groans around the skin between her teeth. She takes a steadying breath in and flops her arm to the bed for the breath out.
"Oh my god," she whispers to her ceiling. Her fingers twitch, still on her clit, and her whole body twitches along with them. She slips her fingers lower to her opening and grazes her fingertips through the wetness, marveling at it, spreading it around while she thinks.
This is fucking crazy. There's no - there's no reason for this that she can think of. Her meds are the same. Her eating habits have gotten better, but that's been consistent enough across the timeframe of months, nothing having changed in just the past couple weeks to effect her like this. She isn't necessarily obsessing over a particular person - well, okay, she's surrounded by attractive people every day, she can't help but notice that, and - and Derek is just a whole other entity of weird feelings and tummy-clenching nighttime thoughts, but that's nothing new either!
So that - that means that - ugh. No.
She can't - no.
It has to be something normal. She'll have a doctors visit. Yeah! She'll just ask them to test her hormone levels, see if something suddenly spiked, or, or something, and -
She just really doesn't want this to be the work of magic, or a pixie, or some fucking magical curly fry she happened to eat last week. Cause what's the solution to magical problems? Uh, yeah, usually death and blood and gross stuff.
All of the problems that have come up for them have ended in some sort of bloodshed and pain. She thinks about the basement, and Gerard, and his general disregard in hurting anyone, werewolf, human, her.
She swallows down a sniffle but can feel tears gathering in her eyes.
Stiles is scared. Okay? She is. And it's a weird problem to have to want to masturbate all the fucking time, and she guesses this frequency might be normal for others, but - but she doesn't know, not for sure, because this isn't her. She realizes it doesn't matter what's normal for other girls. She went from maybe pleasuring herself a couple times a week to having, what, ten orgasms in the span of one? And almost crying out of frustration?
Yeah, that's not normal. Not for her.
Desire is building in the base of her spine again. Even scared, even worried, her fingers went from lazy grazing into light thrusting, and she brings her legs back up so she can crook her fingers inside of herself again, hitting the spot and closing her eyes in bliss.
She fingers herself until she comes, so wet that it's leaking down her ass. Afterwards she stares at her ceiling, gasping, and a little angry at herself.
She slips her fingers out of herself and jumps out of her bed. No more. She won't masturbate any more. This is ridiculous, and until she gets answers, she'll live by the masturbation schedule she had before her pussy started demanding attention.
She grabs her phone and calls her doctors office. She'll make an appointment, and then she'll…
Ugh. She'll talk to Deaton. She guesses. Maybe. Yes, she'll do it. Later, though, cause - uh. She's busy making a doctors' appointment. It'll take all day. It's tiring.
"Hi! I'd, uh, like to make an appointment. For this week if anything is available."
Her gut clenches in after-orgasm pleasure.
"As soon as possible. Please."